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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The Winchester Goose.
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 | All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet |  |
The Winchester Goose.
Then ther's a Goose that breeds at Winchester,And of all Geese, my mind is least to her:
For three or foure weekes after she is rost,
She keepes her heat more hotter then a tost.
She's seldome got or hatch'd with honesty,
From Fornication and Adultery,
From reaking Lust, foule Incest, beastly Rape,
She hath her birth, her breeding, and her shape.
Besides Whoremongers, Panders, Bawds & Pimpes,
Whores, Harlots, Curtezans, and such base Impes,
Luxurious, letcherous Goates, that hunt in Flockes,
To catch the Glangore, Grinkums, or the Pockes,
Thus is she got with pleasure, bred with paine,
And scarce ere comes where honest men remaine.
This Goose is worst of all, yet is most deare,
And may be had (or heard of) any where.
A Pander is the Cater to the Feast,
A Bawde the Kitchin Clerke, to see her drest.
A Whore the Cooke, that in a pockey heate,
Can dresse a dish fit for the Deuill to eate.
The hot whore-hunter for the Goose doth serue,
The whil'st the Surgeon, and Physician carue.
The Apothecary giues attendance still,
For why the sauce lyes onely in his Bill.
There hath a Turkey at Newmarket bin,
Which to this Goose was somewhat neere a kin:
And some report, that both these Fowles haue seene
Their like, that's but a payre of sheeres betweene.
And one of them (to set them onely forth)
Costs more the dressing then they both are worth.
This Goose is no way to be tolerated,
But of good men to be despisde and hated,
For one of these, if it be let alone,
Will eate the owner to the very bone.
Moreouer, it from Nature is contrary,
And from all other creatures doth vary:
For of all breeding things that I could heare,
The Males doe still beget, and Females beare
But this hath euer a Dam masculine
Engendred by a Father Feminine.
106
The Sir's a Female, and a Male the Mother.
But cease, my Muse, soyle not thy purer straine,
With such contagious mud, rouze, rouze againe,
From this polluted puddle, and once more,
Take the same Theame in hand thou hadst before.
| All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet | |