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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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[And now from solid Prose I will abstaine]
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58

[And now from solid Prose I will abstaine]

Here followeth a touch of paultry Scabbed and infectious kinds of Sheepe, which J thinke fit to place by themselues in the lagge end of my Booke, as farre as J can from the cleaue, sound and profitable Sheepe before mentioned, for feare the bad should infect the good.

And now from solid Prose I will abstaine
To pleasant Poetrie, and mirth againe.
The Fable of the golden Fleece began,
'Cause Sheepe did yeeld such store of gold to Man:
For he that hath great store of woolly Fleeces,
May (when he please) haue store of golden peeces.
Thus many a poore man dying hath left a Sonne,
That hath tranform'd the Fleece to Gold like Iason:
And heere's a mystery profound and deepe,
There's sundry sorts of Mutton, are no Sheepe:
Lac'd Mutton which let out themselues to hire,
Like Hackneys, who'l be fir'd, before they tire.
The man or men which for such Mutton hungers,
Are (by their Corporation) Mutton mongers:
Which is a brother-hood so large and great,
That if they had a Hall, I would intreat
To be their Clarke, or keeper of accounts,
To shew them vnto what their charge amounts:
My braines in numbring then would grow so quicke
I should be Master of Arithmeticke:
All States, degrees, and Trades, both bad and good,
Afford some members of this Brotherhood;
Great therefore needs must be their multitude,
When euery man may to the Trade intrude;
It is no fredome, yet these men are free,
Not sauers, but most liberall spenders be:
For this is one thing that doth them bewitch,
That by their trading they waxe seldome rich:
The value of this Mutton to set forth,
The flesh doth cost more than the broth is worth:

59

They all are Ewes, yet are exceeding Ramish,
And will be dainty fed, whoso'uer famish.
Nor are they mark'd for any man, or no man.
As mine, or thine, but euery mans in common,
Fine heads, and neckes, and breasts, they yeeld some store,
But scarcely one good liuer in nine score:
The liuers being bad, 'tis vnderstood,
The veines are fild with putrified blood,
Which makes them subiect to the scab, and then
They proue most dangerous diet vnto men.
And then the prouerbe proues no lye or mocke,
One scabbed sheep's enough to spoyle a flocke.
But yet for all this, there is many a Gull,
Loues Mutton well, and dips his bread i' the wooll.
And were a man put to his choyce to keepe,
'Tis said, a Shrew is better then a Sheepe.
But if a man be yok'd with such an Eros,
She may be both a scabbed Sheepe and Shrew.
And he that is so match'd, his life may well
Compared be vnto an earthly hell.
But to my Theame which I wrote of before,
I at this Mutton must haue one cut more.
These kind of Sheepe haue all the world ore'growne,
And seldome doe weare fleeces of their owne:
For they from sundry men their pelts can pull,
Whereby they keepe themselues as warme as wooll.
Besides, in colours, and in shape, they varie
Quite from all profitable sheepe contrarie?
White, blacke, greene, tawny, purple, red, and blue,
Beyond the Raine-bow for their change of hue:
Came ion like in alteration,
But, that bare Ayre they cannot liue vpon.
The Moones mutation's, not more manifold,
Silke, Veluet, Tissue, Cloath, and cloath of Gold:
These are the Sheepe that Golden fleeces weare,
Who robe themselues with others wooll or haire:
And it may bee, 'twas such a Beast and Fleece,
Which Jason brought from Cholcos, into Greece.
VVere it no more but so, I dare be bold
To thinke this Land doth many Jasons hold:
VVho neuer durst to passe a dang'rous waue,
Yet may (with ease) such Golden fleeces haue.
Too much of one thing's good for nought (they say)
Ile therefore take this needlesse dish away:
For should I too much of Lac'd Mutton write,
I may o'recome my readers stomacke quite.
Once more vnto the good Sheepe ile retire,
And so my Booke shall to its end exspire:
Although it be not found in ancient writers,
I finde all Mutton-eaters are Sheepe-biters.
And in some places I haue heard and seene,
That currish Sheepe biters haue hanged beene.
If any kinde of Tike should snarle or whine,
Or bite, or woorry this poore Sheepe of mine,
Why let them barke and bite, and spend their breath.
Ile neuer wish them a Sheepe biters death.
My Sheepe will haue them know, her Innocence
Shall liue in spight of their malcuolence:
I wish them keepe themselues and me from paine,
And bite such sheepe as cannot bite againe.
For if they snap at mine, I haue a pen,
That (like a trusty dog) shall bite agen.
And in conclusion, this I humbly craue,
That euery one the honesty may haue,
That when our fraile mortality is past,
We may be the good Shepheards sheepe at last.
 

They are as soft as Silke-wormes.