 | All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet
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The Taylers Goose.
Bvt yet a little mirth doth make me stay:
A Taylers Goose comes wadling in my way,
A thing I cannot giue the Epithite
Of Male or Female, or Hermaphrodite.
Of Uulcans brood it is, whose Dam and Sire,
Was windy bellowse, smoake, and flaming Fire.
By Nature it should much delight to lye,
For in a Forge it had Natiuity,
Yet it with lying doth no hurt commit,
Stealing is more addicted vnto it;
And yet to Steele it is so neere a kin,
That to be true, it doth opinion win.
Tis mettle to the hard backe, I am sure,
And 'tis a dish will ten mens liues endure.
Be it of age a hundred winters long,
It is as tender as 'twas when 'twas young.
A Cooke from it can get but slender fees,
It hath no Gibblets, like to other Geese.
It neither breeds nor feedes, yet doth this good,
It doth helpe others to get cloathes and food.
And of all Geese shee's tamest, shee'l not roame,
This Goose a man may alwayes haue at home.
'Tis dyet onely for an Estrich tooth,
It cannot cog, yet very much doth smooth.
It puts downe all the Fowles that ere man saw,
Tis often rosted, yet 'tis euer raw,
It is a Bird that euery slut may dresse,
It knowes no warres, yet euery day doth presse.
And to conclude, it is a messe of meate,
Which whoso can digest it, let him eate.
| All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet
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