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 | Works of John Taylor the Water Poet not included in the folio volume of 1630 |  |
22
The complaint of M, Tenter-hooke the Proiector, and Sir Thomas Dodger the Patentee.
If any aske, what things these Monsters be,
Tis a Projector, and a Patentee:
Such, as like Vermine or'e this Land did crawle,
And grew sorich, they'gaind the Devill and all.
Tis a Projector, and a Patentee:
Such, as like Vermine or'e this Land did crawle,
And grew sorich, they'gaind the Devill and all.
Loe I, that lately was a Man of Fashion,
The Bug-beare and Scarcrow of this Nation,
T'h admired mighty Mounte-banke of Fame,
The Juggling Hocus-Pocus of good name,
The Bull-begger, who did affright and feare,
Now Time hath pluck'd the Vizard from my face,
I am the onely Image of disgrace.
My ugly shape I hid so cunningly
(Close cover'd with the cloake of honesty)
That from the East to West, from South to North,
I was a man esteem'd of ex'lent worth.
And (sweet Sir Thomas Dodger) for your sake,
My studious time I spent, my sleepes I brake,
My braines I tost, with many a strange vagary,
And (like a Spanniell) did both fetch and carry,
To you, such Projects, as I could invent,
Not thinking there would come a Parliament.
I was the Great Projector, and from me,
Your Worship learn'd to be a Patentee,
I had the Art to cheat the Common-weale,
And you had tricks and slights to passe the Seale.
I tooke the paines, I travell'd, search'd and sought,
Which (by your power) were into Patents wrought.
What was I but your journey-man, I pray,
To bring your worke to you, both night and day:
I found Stuffe, and you brought it so about
You (like a skilfull Taylor) cut it out,
And fashion'd it, but now (to our displeasure)
You fail'd exceedingly in taking measure.
My legs were Screwes, to raise thee high or low,
According as your power did Ebbe or Flow.
And at your will I was Screwd up too high
That tott'ring, I have broke my necke thereby.
For you, I made my Fingers fish-hookes still
To catch at all Trades, either good or ill,
I car'd not much who lost, so we might get,
For all was Fish that came into the Net.
For you (as in my Picture plaine appeares)
I put a Swines face on, an Asses cares,
The one to listen unto all I heard
Wherein your worships profit was prefer'd.
The other to tast all things, good or bad
(As Hogs will doe) where profit may be had.
Soape, Starch, Tobacco, Pipes, Pins, Butter, Haye,
Wine, Coales, Cards, Dice, and all came in my way,
I brought your worship, every day and houre,
And hope to be defended by your power.
The Bug-beare and Scarcrow of this Nation,
T'h admired mighty Mounte-banke of Fame,
The Juggling Hocus-Pocus of good name,
The Bull-begger, who did affright and feare,
Now Time hath pluck'd the Vizard from my face,
I am the onely Image of disgrace.
My ugly shape I hid so cunningly
(Close cover'd with the cloake of honesty)
That from the East to West, from South to North,
I was a man esteem'd of ex'lent worth.
And (sweet Sir Thomas Dodger) for your sake,
My studious time I spent, my sleepes I brake,
My braines I tost, with many a strange vagary,
And (like a Spanniell) did both fetch and carry,
To you, such Projects, as I could invent,
Not thinking there would come a Parliament.
I was the Great Projector, and from me,
Your Worship learn'd to be a Patentee,
I had the Art to cheat the Common-weale,
And you had tricks and slights to passe the Seale.
I tooke the paines, I travell'd, search'd and sought,
Which (by your power) were into Patents wrought.
What was I but your journey-man, I pray,
To bring your worke to you, both night and day:
I found Stuffe, and you brought it so about
You (like a skilfull Taylor) cut it out,
And fashion'd it, but now (to our displeasure)
You fail'd exceedingly in taking measure.
My legs were Screwes, to raise thee high or low,
According as your power did Ebbe or Flow.
And at your will I was Screwd up too high
That tott'ring, I have broke my necke thereby.
For you, I made my Fingers fish-hookes still
To catch at all Trades, either good or ill,
I car'd not much who lost, so we might get,
For all was Fish that came into the Net.
For you (as in my Picture plaine appeares)
I put a Swines face on, an Asses cares,
The one to listen unto all I heard
Wherein your worships profit was prefer'd.
The other to tast all things, good or bad
(As Hogs will doe) where profit may be had.
Soape, Starch, Tobacco, Pipes, Pins, Butter, Haye,
Wine, Coales, Cards, Dice, and all came in my way,
I brought your worship, every day and houre,
And hope to be defended by your power.
Sir Thomas Dodgers Answer.
Alas good Tenter-hooke, I tell thee plaine,Too seeke for helpe of me tis but in vaine:
My Patent, which I stood upon of late,
Is like an Almanacke that's out of Date.
'T'had force and vertue once, strange things to doe,
But now it wants both force and vertue too:
his was the turne of whirling Fortunes wheele,
When we least dream'd we should her changing feele.
Then Time, and fortune, both with joynt consent
Brought us to ruine by a Parliament:
Which now I find were but alluring baits,
And I (to much an Asse) did lend my eare,
To credit all thou saydst, as well as heare.
Thou in the Project of the Soape didst toyle,
But 'twas so slippery, and too full of oyle,
That people wondred how we held it fast,
But now it is quite slipp'd from us at last.
The Project for the Starch thy wit found out,
Twas stiffe awhile, now limber as a Clout,
The Pagan weede (Tobacco) was our hope
In Leafe, Pricke, Role, Ball, Pudding, Pipe, or Rope.
Brasseele, Varina, Meavis, Trinidado,
Saint Christophers, Virginia, or Barvado;
Bermudas, Providentia, Shallowcongo,
And the most part of all the rest (Mundungo)
That Patent, with a whiffe is spent and broke,
And all our hopes (in fumo) turn'd to smoake.
Thou framdst the Butter Patent in thy braines,
(A rope and butter take thee for thy paines)
I had forgot Tobacco-pipes, which are
Now like to thou and I, but brittle ware.
Dice run against us, we at Cards are crost,
We both are turn'd up Noddies, and all's lost.
Thus from Sice-sinke, we'r sunke below Dewce-ace,
And both of us are Impes of black disgrace.
Pins pricke us, and Wine frets our very hearts,
That we have rais'd the price of Pints and Quarts.
Thou (in mine eares) thy lyes and tales didst foyst,
And madst me up the price of Sea-coales hoyst.
Corne, Leather, Partrich, Pheasant, Rags, Gold-twist,
Thou brought'st all to my Mill, what was't we mist?
Weights, Bonlace, Mowstraps, new, new, Corporation,
Rattles, Seadans, of rare invented fashions,
Silke, Tallow, Hobby-horses, Wood, red-herring,
Law, Conscience, Iustice, swearing, and For-swearing.
All these thou broughtst to me, and still I thought,
That every thing was good that profit brought,
But now all's found to be ill gotten pelfe,
I'le shift for one, doe thou shift for thy selfe.
John Taylor.
Finis.
| Works of John Taylor the Water Poet not included in the folio volume of 1630 | |