All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet Being Sixty and three in Number. Collected into one Volume by the Author [i.e. John Taylor]: With sundry new Additions, corrected, reuised, and newly Imprinted |
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 | All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet |  |
As thus.
1. Prisone. Anagramma. Nip Sore.
There men are Nip'd with mischiefes manifold,With losse of freedome, hunger, thirst, & cold,
With mourning shirts, and sheets, & lice some store,
And thus a Prison truely doth Nip sore.
2. Prisone. Anagramma. In Ropes.
Againe the very word portends small hopes,For he that's in a Prisone, is In Ropes.
3. Prisone Anagramma. In Prose.
To all good verses, Prisons are great foes,And many Poets they keepe fast In Prose.
4. Prisone. Anagramma. No Prise.
In deed it is no profit, or No Prise,But woefull purchase of calamities.
The name of Iayles (by letters transposition)
Doth very well discouer their condition.
5. Iayles. Anagramma. I Slaye.
And well it doth befit it euery way,The nature of all Iayles is still to slay:
There are men slaine most strange tormēting waies,
In name, fame, state, and life, with long delayes.
6. Bondage. Anagramma. Bandoge.
And Bondage like a Bandogge still doth gnaw,Fangd with the tushes of the byting law.
7. Iayler. Anagramma. I Rayle.
This doth befit the Iayler wondrous trimme,He at the prisoners railes, and they at him.
8. Aresting. Anagramma. A Stinger.
A Resting very well with this agrees,It is A Stinger worse then Wasps or Bees.
OR, 9. Aresting. Anagramma. In Grates.
This very word includes poore prisoners fates,Aresting briefly claps em vp In Grates.
10. Serieant Anagramma. In Areste.
To turne this word vnto the very best,A Serieant In Areste doth breed vnrest.
128
OR, 11. Serieant. Anagramma. In Teares.
In cares and Teares he leaues men to lament,When credit, coyne, and goods, and all are spent.
12. Wardes. Anagramma. Drawes.
A prisoners purse is like a nurse, for why,His Ward or lodging drawes or sucks it dry:
A Iury here of Anagrams, you see,
Of Serieants and of Iailes empanneld be;
And now my pen intends to walke a station,
And talke of Prisons in some other fashion.
That Iailes should be, there is Law, sense and reason,
To punish bawdry, cheating, theft and treason,
Though some against them haue inuective bin,
And call'd a Iaile a magazin of sin,
An Vniuersitie of villany,
An Academy of foule blasphemy,
A sinke of drunkennesse, a den of Thieues,
A treasury for Serieants and for Shrieues,
A mint for Baylifes, Marshals men and Iailers,
Who liue by losses of captiu'd bewailers:
A nurse of Roguery, and an earthly hell,
Where Deu'ls or Iaylers in mens shapes doe dwell:
But I am quite contrary to all this,
I thinke a Iaile a Schoole of vertue is,
A house of study and of contemplation,
A place of discipline and reformation,
There men may try their patience and shall know,
If they haue any friends aliue or no:
There they shall proue if they haue fortitude,
By which all crosses stoutly are subdu'd.
A Prison leades the creditor vnto
His coozning debter, that would him vndoe,
'Tis physicke that preserues the Common-wealth,
Foule treasons snaffle, and the curbe of stealth,
The whip of hellish pride, the scourge of lust,
The goodmans helpe in plaguing the vniust.
Were thieues and villaines not in prison put,
A world of throats (past number) would be cut:
For when diseases are growne desperate, then
They must haue desperate remedies, and when
Men mend not for repoofe, or admonition,
A Iaile then is the Surgeon or Physician.
The roaring Knaue, that like a horse or mule,
His parents, master, or no friends could rule.
But that he daily would be drunke and sweare,
And like a demy-deuill domineere,
Though to good course he neuer meant to bend him,
A prison at the last will mend or end him.
The deeds of darknesse that doe hate the light,
Frays, brawls & bloudshed which start out by night,
The watch like cunning Fowlers lye in wait,
And catch these Woodcocks in their Sprindges strait,
These Birds are in the Iaile mew'd vp from riot,
Where they may learn more manners and be quiet.
A Iail's a glasse wherein old men may see,
The blemish of their youths deformity;
And yong men quickly may perceiue from thence,
The way to wisdome and experience.
And though the lights of prisons are but dim,
A prisoners candle yet may shew to him
At midnight, without light of Sunne or Moone.
More then he euer could perceiue at noone;
It shewes the fleeting state of earthly pelfe,
It makes him wisely learne to know himselfe,
The world vnto his view it represents,
To be a map or masse of discontents,
It shewes his fained friends like butter-flyes,
That dogg'd his summer of prosperities:
And in a word it truly doth set forth
The world, and all that's in it nothing worth.
These things vnto a wisemans iudgement brings,
A hate to earth, and loue to heauenly things.
T'a wise man nothing in a Iaile doth bide,
But it to some good vse may be applide:
He heares a Ruffin sweare, and so doth heare
That he doth stand in feare, and hate to sweare:
He spies another drunke, and so doth spy
That such vnmanly beastlinesse hee'l fly.
He notes the curtall cannes halfe fild with froth,
Tobacco piping hot, and from them both
His iudgement doth discerne, with wisdomes eye,
The world is vapour, froth, and vanity.
His homely bed and vermines sundry formes,
Doe make him mind his graue, & crawling wormes;
The Spiders cobweb, lawne, or tapestry,
Shew odds 'twixt idlenesse and industry.
The churlish keepers, rattling chaines and fetters,
The hole or dungeon for condemned debters,
Blaspheming wretches of all grace bereauen,
Doe make him thinke on hell, and wish for heauen.
And thus though wise mens corps in prison bee,
Their minds are still at liberty and free.
Besides, experience daily teacheth this,
The soule a Prisoner in the body is:
Our Reason should the keeper be to guide,
The Heart doth lodge within the Masters side,
The Braines the Knights ward may be termed fit,
There lies the vnderstanding and the wit:
129
Is in the Brest where sad despaire doth lye:
Our Sinnes the Manacles, and Bolts, and Giues,
Which fetter vs in bondage all our liues:
Sad melancholy sorrow, griefe and care,
Continuall waiters in those Prisons are,
Our partiall selfe-loue all our crimes excusing,
Our Consciences true euidence accusing,
Our sighs and teates the Messengers we send
To God, that all our sorrowes may haue end;
And then through faith and hope we doe beleeue,
To gaine a pardon, better than repreeue;
Then lastly, death doth free the soule from thrall,
And makes a Iaile delivery vnto all.
Thus is our flesh the wals, our bones the grates,
Our eyes the windowes, and our mouthes the gates;
The Nose the Chimney, Kitchen is the brest,
Our tongue the taster of the worst and best,
Our hands the Caruers, teeth the Cookes to mince,
The diet of a Peasant or a Prince:
Our hunger is best sawce, as I doe thinke,
Our bellies cellers where we lay our drinke:
And in these corps of ours deciphered thus,
Our soules are prisoners vnto all of vs.
As grace guides vs, so we by grace guide them,
The way vnto the new Ierusalem.
Sterne rugged winter, with frosts, stormes and gusts,
Close prisoners yeerely in the earth it thrusts,
Herbs, roots, flowers, fruits, & worms til sun & raine,
With Summers heat doth baile them forth againe.
But of all men aliue, I find a Tailor
Is an approued artificiall Iailor:
Some doe commit themselues vnto his charge,
And may, but will by no meanes goe at large.
I haue seene many in the Taylors Iaies,
Haue labour'd till they sweat with tooth and nailes,
(The whilst a man might ride fiue miles at least)
To get their clothes together on the brest,
And being then in prison button'd vp,
So close, that scarcely they could bite or sup,
Yet I haue heard their pride how loud it lide,
Protesting that their clothes were made too wide.
These men loue bondage more then liberty,
And 'tis a gallant kinde of foolery,
When thus amongst themselues they haue a Law,
To decke and dawbe the backe, and pinch the Maw.
Me thinkes their soules should be in mighty trouble,
Poore Animals, they are imprison'd double,
In Corps and Clothes, and which is true and plaine,
They seeme to take great pleasure in their paine.
A Shoomaker's a kind of Iailor too,
And very strange exploits he dares to doe:
For many times he hath the power and might,
To clap into his Stocks a Lord or Knight,
The Madam and the Maid he cares not whether,
He laies them all fast by the heeles in lether.
Plaine Honesty and Truth, both Prisoners are,
Although they seldome come vnto the barre,
Yet are they kept so closely day and night,
That in an age they scarsely come in sight.
And but for many of our Countries pillers,
True Tailers, Weauers, and cleane finger d Millers,
Good Serieants and kind Brokers did releeue them,
I know not who would any comfort giue them.
No doubt but many a Lasse that faine would wed,
Is her owne Iailor to her maidenhead,
With much vnwillingnesse she keepes it close,
And with her heart she'l gladly let it lose.
But looke to't wenches, if you giue it scope,
'Tis gone past all recouery, past all hope;
Much like old Time which ceaselesse doth run on,
But neuer doth returne, once being gone.
The Gowt's a sawcy Prisoner, and will haue
His keepers to maintaine him fine and braue;
His Iailors shall no needy beggers be,
But men of honour and of high degree,
And ouer them he beares such great command,
That many times they can nor goe, nor stand;
And if he would breake Iaile and flie; 'tis thought
He by his keepers neuer should be sought.
And money is close Prisoner I thinke sure,
Where no man can its liberty procure:
The Diuels Stewards and his Bailifes vow,
That monies freedome they will not allow,
Vnlesse vnto a Miser or a Whore,
But by all meane fast hold it from the poore.
I wish Coine were as painfull as the Gout,
To those that hoard it; and I make no doubt
But miserable Pailers would agree
To ope their Prisons, and let money flee,
And were it not a lamentable thing,
That some great Emperour or some mighty King
Should be imprison'd by a vassall slaue,
And lodg'd aliue (as twere within his Graue.)
Such is the case of Siluer and of Gold,
The chiefest of all mettals fast in hold,
And darknesse lies held in the Misers stocks,
In steele and iron bars, and bolts and locks.
Though gold and siluer royall mettals be,
Yet are they slaues to yron, at we see.
But leauing Gold and Gowr, Ile turne my pen,
To what I haue digrest from Iayles and men:
Let man examine well himselfe, and he
Shall find himselfe his greatest enemie;
130
He can accuse non for it, but himselfe:
How passions, actions, and affections cluster,
And how to ruinate his state they muster,
His frailty armes his members and his senses,
To vndertake most dangerous pretences.
The backe oft tempts him vnto borrowed brauery,
And all his body suffers for't in slauery;
His Belly tempts him to superfluous fare,
For which his cops lyes in a Iaylors snare;
His Eyes from beauty to his heart drawes lust,
For which he's often into prison thrust;
His Eares giue credit to a knaue or theefe,
And's body suffers for his eares beleefe.
His Tongue much like a Hackney goes all paces,
In City, Country, Court and Campe, all places,
It gallops and false gallops, trots and ambles.
One pace or other still it runnes and rambles:
Of Kings and Princes states it often prattles,
Of Church and Common-wealth it idly tattles,
Of passing of it's word and suretiships,
For which at last the Iayle the carkasse nips.
Mans Hands haue very oft against him warr'd,
And made him of his liberty debarr'd:
A stab, a blow, a dashing of a pen,
Hath clap'd him closely in the Iaylors den.
The Feet which on the ground men daily tread,
The way to their captiuity doe lead.
Now for the inward faculties, I find
Some lye in Prison for their haughty mind,
Some for their folly, some because too wise,
Are mew'd vp in the Iaylors custodies;
Some for much gaming, or for recreation,
Doe make a Iayle their homely habitation;
And thus it plainly may be proued well,
Mans greatest foes within himselfe doe dwell.
And now two contraries I will compare,
To shew how like, and how vnlike they are:
A Iayle, our birth, our death, and setting free,
These foure doe all agree and disagree;
For all degrees, our birth and life we know
Is naturall, one way, for high and low:
But death hath many thousand wayes and snares,
To take our liues away all vnawares.
And therefore of our liues it is no doubt,
That ther's but one way in, and many out;
But to a Iayle there's many waies to win,
Ten thousand tricks and sleights to clap men in:
And ther's but one way out as I doe know,
Which is by satisfying what we owe.
O west thou the Law thy life, dispatch and pay,
And from the Prison thou art freed away:
Dost thou owe mony, quickly pay thy score,
And farewell, goe thy wayes man, there's the dore.
As men in all that's ill, are Satans Apes,
So sundry sinnes bring death in sundry shapes;
Life from the God of life, which is but one,
To all degrees one way giues life alone.
And so our seuerall frailties, seuerall waies
Our wretched Carkasses in prison layes,
But there's but one way out that e'r I saw,
Which is by satisfying of the law.
The faults we doe in spring-time of our youth,
In Summer of our man-hood gather growth:
Then Haruests middle age doth make them ripe,
Which winters old age doth in prison gripe;
And thus the very seasons of the yeare,
Fit emblemes of our thraldome doe appeare.
In London and within a mile, I weene,
There are of Iayles or Prisons full eighteene,
And sixty Whipping-posts, and Stocks and Cages,
Where sin with shame and sorrow hath due wages.
For though the Tower be a Castle Royall,
Yet ther's a Prison in't for men disloyall:
Though for defence a Campe may there be fitted,
Yet for offence, men thither are committed.
It is a house of fame, and there is in't
A Palace for a Prince, a Royall Mint,
Great Ordnance, Powder, Shot, Match, Bils and Bowes,
Shafts, swords, pikes, lāces, shouels, mattocks, crows,
Bright armor, muskets, ready still, I say,
To arme one hundred thousand in a day.
And last, it is a prison vnto those
That doe their Soueraigne or his lawes oppose.
The Gatehouse for a prison was ordain'd,
When in this land the third king Edward reign'd:
Good lodging roomes, and diet it affoords,
But I had rather lye at home on boords.
Since Richards reigne the first, the Fleet hath beene
A Prison, as vpon records is seene:
For lodgings and for bowling, there's large space,
But yet I haue no stomacke to the place.
Old Newgate I perceiue a theevish den,
But yet ther's lodging for good honest men.
When second Henry here the Scepter swaid,
Then the foundation of that gate was laid.
But sixty six yeeres ere our Sauiours birth,
By Lud was Ludgate founded from the earth;
No Iayle for theeues, though some perhaps as bad,
That breake in policie, may there be had.
The Counter in the Powltry is so old,
That it in History is not enrold.
And Woodstreet Counters age we may deriue,
Since Anno fifteene hundred fifty fiue.
131
And as they bake, a Gods name let them brew.
Bridewell vnto my memory comes next;
Where idlenesse and lechery is vext:
This is a royall house, of state and port,
Which the eighth King Henry built, and there kept Court.
King Edward somewhat ere his timelesse fall,
Gaue it away to be an Hospitall:
Which vse the City puts it well vnto,
And many pious deeds they there doe doo:
But yet for Vagabonds and Runnagates,
For Whores, and idle knaues, and such like mates,
'Tis little better then a Iayle to those,
Where they chop chalke, for meat and drinke and blowes.
In this house those that 'gainst their wils doe dwell,
Loue well a Bride (perhaps) but not Bridewell.
Fiue Iayles or Prisons are in Southwarke plac'd,
The Counter (once S. Margrets Church defac'd)
The Marshalsea, the Kings Bench, and White Lyon,
Where some like Tantalus, or like Ixion.
The pinching paine of hunger daily feele,
Turn'd vp and downe with fickle fortunes wheele:
And some doe willingly make there abode,
Because they cannot liue so well abroad.
Then ther's the Clinke, where handsome lodgings be,
And much good may it doe them all, for me.
Crosse but the Thames vnto S. Katherins then,
There is another hole or den for men.
Another in East-Smithfield little better,
Will serue to hold a theefe or paltry debter.
Then neere three Cranes a Iayle for Hereticks,
For Brownists, Familists, and Schismaticks.
Lord Wentworths Iayle within White Chappell stands,
And Finsbury, God blesse me from their hands.
These eighteene Iayles so neere the Citty bounded,
Are founded and maintain'd by men confounded:
As one mans meat may be anothers bane,
The Keepers full, springs from the Prisners wane:
This hath beene still the vse, and euer will,
That one mans welfare comes from others ill.
But (as I said) mans selfe is cause of all
The miseries that to him can befall.
Note but our corps, how euery member lyes,
Their seuerall offices, and faculties:
And our owne iudgement will informe vs than,
The likenesse 'twixt a prison and a man:
For as man hath his limbs and linaments,
His sinewes, muscles, nerues, and ligaments:
His Panicles, his Arteries, his Veines,
His ioynts, his membranes, and his beating braines:
So hath a Iayle, Writs, Warrants, & Attachments,
Arestings, Actions, Hues, Cries, & Appeachments:
With Garnish, Sharing fees, and Habeas Corpus,
(Which feede some Iaylors fatter than a Porpus)
And last, for euerlasting Executions,
Vntill the prisoners bodies dissolutions;
And if a man be hurt in legge or arme,
Or head, or heele, 'tis said the man hath harme:
If inward griefe doe pinch in any part,
The anguish is a terror to the heart;
And should a Iayle want these things nam'd before,
It quickly would be miserable poore:
Like men dismembred or of sense bereft,
With scarcely any life or being left.
For in mans corps (like prisners) alwayes lies
His vertues, and his foule iniquities.
And which of these his fancie liketh best,
Shall still be kept in bondage, or releast.
As Wisdome, Bounty, and Humilitie,
(Despised in these dayes of vanitie)
Some keepe so close, not suffering them to walke,
So much as in bare thoughts, or deeds, or talke,
Whilst Folly, and close-fisted Niggardize,
With Barbarisme, haue ease and liberties.
Faith, Hope and Charitie, are pent vp close,
And doubts, despaire and cruelty let loose.
Lust reuels it, rich clad in Robes of Pride:
Friendship and Loue, are liberty denide,
Whereby the liberall Arts in number seuen,
Are of their liberall liberties bereauen,
The whilst the seuen delightfull deadly sinnes,
The game and glory of the whole world wins.
The Cardnall vertues, as vnworthy prices,
Are made but vassals to all Carnall vices.
The Muses are mew'd vp, with woes and wants,
Whilst fortune followes knaues and Ignorants:
And thus within mans little Common-weale,
He like a partiall Iaylor oft doth deale:
Permits his goodnesse neuer to appeare,
And lets his badnesse ramble any where,
So Rorers, Rascals, Banquerouts politicke,
With money, or with friends will finde a tricke
Their Iaylor to corrupt, and at their will
They walke abroad, and take their pleasure still:
Whilst naked vertue, beggerly, despis'd,
Beleguerd round, with miseries surpris'd,
Of hope of any liberty defeated,
For passing of his word is meerely cheated:
And dungeond vp, may tell the wals his mones,
And make relation to the senselesse stones,
Where sighs and grones, & teares may be his feast.
Whil'st man to man, is worse than beast to beast.
Till death he there must take his sad abode,
Whil'st craft and coozenage walke at will abroad.
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Man to a Iayle may fitly likened bee:
The thought whereof may make him wish with speed
To haue his prisoned soule releast and freed.
Thus Iayles and meditations of a Iayle,
May serue a Christian for his great auaile.
But now my Muse, thus long in bondage pent,
Begins to thinke of her infranchizement:
And hauing of a Prison spoke her part,
She mounts vnto the Hangman and his Art.
Wee are all borne im one forme, and come into the world of one fashion, but wee dye and leaue the world infinite wayes.
| All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet | |