University of Virginia Library

The Legend OF THE Thrice-Honourable, Ancient, and Renowned Prince, His Grace HUMPHREY, Duke of St. Pauls Cathedral Walk, Surveyor of the Monuments and Tombs of Westminster and the Temple, Patron to the Perambulators in the Piazza's in Covent-Garden, Master of Kings-Bench Hall: And one of the Colledges Honourable Privy-Council.

Among those Tales that Story doth repeat,
I find not one that doth of Hunger treat,
That may compare to ours His Grace the Duke:
Hath daily giv'n to All a just Rebuke.
His Glories we in ancient Stories read,
How, and with whom his Grace was pleas'd to feed:
Not with Ambassadors, who came to view
Those Rarities they heard of, never knew;
Nor doth the Duke his Invitations send
To Princes, or to those that on them tend,
But payes his kindness to an hungry maw;
His Charity's his Reason, and his Law.
Shall any Mortal then, that knows a Verse,
Withdraw his Pen, his bounty to rehearse?
How many poor distressed Knights hath he
Freely reliev'd in their Necessity!
How open is his Table unto all,
To those that come without, or with a call!
Nay, which is more, his Genius so is bent,
He'd ne'r admit one Penny should be spent!
For to say truth, Hunger hath hundreds brought
To Dine with him, and all not worth a Groat.
Some with their Beads unto a Pillar crowd;
Some mutter forth, some say their Graces loud;
Some on Devotion came to feed their Muse;
Some came to sleep, or walk, or talk of News.
For though they came to Dine, they loathed Meat;
For many had almost forgot to eat.
My self oft-times did at his Table sit,
When neither I, nor others eat one bit.
But come they did, or else they'd been to blame;
To pay their Duty to the Duke, they came:
And of their visits, since they came in love,
His Grace did daily thankfully approve.
Some came with jingling Spurs instead of Chink,
For that was melted on their Mornings drink;
And drink they must; I never yet knew one
Could quench his thirst, with reading Doctor Donne:
Nor is it easie for a common eye
To draw the substance of an Elegy;
Nay some, though old, could sooner eat a staff,
Than suck the marrow of an Epitaph.
Some came with Rags scarce hid their Bodies o're;
Some with foul Cuffs, wash't but three months before;
Some as dull Lovers, in a silent mood,
Walk't as if melancholy was their food.
The Learned call them Amorists, a name
As none more frequent in the Book of Fame.
Those Heroes that in upper Regions move,
Grew proud below, 'cause they could live to love;
And with aspiring thoughts, still soaring high,
They liv'd, and lov'd, and loving, liv'd, to dye.
These Amorists of whom we now do talk,
Took great delight to trace our private Walk:
With folded Arms, and Hat below his brow,
He seems to count his gentle steps, or how
Much full of misery he now is in,
Wishing he ne're had lov'd, or ne're had been;
Anon bethinks himself he did amiss,
Behold this place Diana's Temple is:
All Profanation straightway hence must flee,
Or that great Goddess won't propitious be;
Then to a corner, with a silent Air,
Addresses he to Venus makes in prayer.
There leave we him studying a fresh Caress,
Whilst we press on into the crowd of Guess;
And such a Crowd was never seen before,
To visit Dukes, or to approach their dore.
Some came with Shooes, that fear'd to touch the ground;
Some with half-hose, to shew their shins were sound;
Some decay'd Scholars, with their loyns begirt;
Some with half-sleeves (poor Souls) but ne're a shirt;
Some so attended in their wretched state,
Thousands did hourly round about them wait;
That men might see, although but single-ey'd,
Like persons great they were well fortify'd.
And well observ'd it was, by men of skill,
Their Births were high, on Mountain, or on Hill.
Some even ere their Dinner had an end,
Would boldly dare to kill their bosome-friend:
And in that act, this was their usual cry,
So let Blood-suckers, and Back-biters dye.
Some came with Cloaks, though thredbare as their Lawn;
Some came without; for why? they were at pawn;
Some though they knew their Pockets had no stock,
Could talk, look big, and make their Beavers cock.
And well they might, for as in Bed they lay,
The Rats had almost eat the brims away;
For they were so well oy'ld with store of fat,
For Roast-meat they might pass with Mouse or Rat.
Yet though the brims were swallow'd by the swarm,
They left the Crowns to keep their Noddles warm;
As if the Vermine modestly should say,
We know your births, though fallen to decay:
And did demonstrate by their knowing Art,
Of Hats, for warmth, Crowns was the chiefest part.
Some Pedagogues to set their Learning forth,
Discourse in Latin, of his Graces worth;
They that could understand that tongue might speak,
But all abhorr'd the hideous noise of Greek.
Perhaps among the Crowd a Sword was seen,
But rusty grown, in Holland it had been:
And he that wore it, walk't with such a grace,
As who should say, My steps shall speak my race.
A waggish Boy not yet discreetly grown,
To understand the Virtues of the Town,
Walk't by, but kept at distance, as afear'd,
Still looking back, and as he look't, he snear'd.
Captain, quoth he: The Captain turns about;
Whoop Captain, quoth the Boy, and so runs out.
The Captain he pursues, as mov'd in wrath,
Makes strong attempts to draw his Weapon forth,
But all in vain; at which the Captain curs't,
Whilst standers by, with laughing almost burst.
For as it afterwards appear'd, his Blade
Had cut its way through Europe since 'twas made;
And 'cause for many years it did not peep,
The Captain will'd it might in Scabbard sleep.
Nor was the Captains courage then adust,
For it so deeply was begnawn with rust,
That it defy'd the rules of Martial Law,
And dar'd the Captain, if he durst, to draw.
The angry Captain cryes, I could be mad,
Thus to be ty'd to what I never had.
Just then a zealous Student passing by,
Looking as kick't from th'University,
He gave his grave advice, with whites so ey'd,
As Nonconformist much Presbytrify'd.
The Captain by his frowns appear'd as vex't,
Which put the Parson quite beside his Text.
The Guests being met, and all prepar'd to eat,
What next should come, but what they want, their meat?
Much bussling then appear'd, a general strife
There was, contending where to whet a Knife.
The Parson holding forth, said, 'Twas forbid
In Holy Writ, his Talent should be hid.
Quoth he, We meet in Clusters here to Dine,
But fasting helps a man to be Divine.
When pious Cogitations do decay,
'Tis high time then to fast (not feast) and pray.
In former Ages since the World began,
He that could fast, was held an holy man:
But he that doth delight to feast, when in,
He gluts himself with meat, and drink, and sin.
The poor man fasts, because he has no meat;
The sick man fasts, because he cannot eat;
The Usurer fasteth, to encrease his store;
The Glutton fasts, 'cause he can eat no more;
The Tradesman fasts, his Landlord to enrich;
The Gallant fasts, to cure venereal Itch;
The Lawyer fasts, to gain his Clients cause;
Divines do fast to study for Applause;
Physitians fast, because 'tis for their health;
The Beggar fasts, but when he eats by stealth;
The Hypocrites do fast, to be commended;
The Saints do fast, because they have offended.
And Brethren, since we know we all are sinners,
Now we're here met, let Fasting be our Dinners.
The hungry Captain listned, then cry'd, Sup-
Pose we all now should eat the Parson up;
He prates of Fasting; by my Coat of Buff,
Ide eat, for I have fasted long enough.
Let those of this your Doctrine have a taste,
That daily feast, while we are forc't to fast;
And fast we do, till like poor half-starv'd Elves,
We ready are almost to eat our selves.
Long may the Parson on the subject treat
Of fasting, but however give us meat.
Each shrugs his shoulder, walks from place to place,
Nor could they scarce forbear to blame his Grace:
But some whose judgments deeper far could look,
Would only stamp, and frown, and curse the Cook;
And justly too: for when they all did think
To be well-cram'd with store of meat and drink,
The gen'rous Duke appear'd, and speaking fair,
Quoth he, My Friends, fall to, a Dish of Air
Is all that now our Kitchin can afford;
When next you please to see us, and our Board,
Ye shall have Carps, Crabs, Pouts, and store of Rail,
Varieties of Fish, at least a Tail.
Expect no Sawce, we'll promise no such thing,
Because we know ye all do Stomacks bring.
Much discontent fate on each others brow,
Their food was thin; however none knew how
To shew their ill resentments, but as men
Well-pacifi'd, agreed to come agen.
But ere that happy day was fully grown,
A dreadful Fire consumes the Kitchin down:
Which Fire began not in his Graces house,
But thither came, and Burnt both Rat and Mouse.
On which the Duke, to shun a scorching doom,
Perambulated to Ben Johnson's Tomb,
Where Shakespear, Spencer, Cambden, and the rest,
Once rising Suns, are now set in the West;
But still their lustres do so brightly shine,
That they invite our Worthies there to Dine,
Where their moist Marbles seem for grief to weep,
That they, but stone, should Sacred Reliques keep:
And some have fancied that they've heard them sing,
Within this place is Aganippe's Spring.
There our ingenious Train have thought it fit
To change their Dyet, and to Dine on Wit.
First with a free consent they all combine
To pay their visits unto Cataline,
By whom a Damsel, styl'd the Silent Woman,
Stands in her rich Attire, the like by no man
Was ever yet beheld; and 'tis her due
To stand near him, b'ing fair, and silent too:
For if some Ladies stood but in her stead,
Their Clappers would go nigh to wake the dead.
Hard by this famous Dame, with well-grown Locks,
Behold an ancient well-experienc't Fox,
Plac't as a grave adviser, who with care
Cryes out, O rare Ben Johnson lieth there.
Next day his Grace, and all his Guests so trim,
Do Shakespear find, and then they feast on him.
For two such Dishes at one single meal,
Would like two Thieves into the Senses steal;
And such a Surfeit cause, that by their pain,
They'd judg't unsafe to feed on Wit again.
Our Duke by this time spies a Fairy Queen,
And as a man surpriz'd with Fits o'th'Spleen,
Such strange infusions did his passions move,
That he must live to dote, or dye in love.
Her to behold, is to be blind, or frantick;
To speak her Fame, would seem as if Romantick.
Her eyes shoot Darts, which at the heart you'd feel,
Who like Achilles Lance, both hurt and heal.
By which the world may judge his Grace had skill
In beauties, finding out those eyes that kill,
The great Apelles was for Painting rare,
Yet never drew a beauty half so fair.
Art may contrive a curious Golden Fleece,
But this Fair Queen is Natures Master-piece.
If beauties may be made with painting ore,
What may Art make of what was fair before?
Have you not in the morning first of May,
Observ'd the Countrey-Lasses fresh and gay;
Or a fair Shepherdess with Garlands crownd,
With other Nymphs to dance the Maypole round?
As Phillis, Amarillis bright, and Chloris,
Excelling beauties; and there many more is:
Or have you heard of the Arcadian Dame,
The fair Parthenia, whose immortal Fame
'Bove all that we have nam'd, may bear the sway?
But this our Queen is Lady of the May.
To gain acquaintance with this Lady bright,
He thinks it meet some Doxies to invite.
Next day came tripping in a light-heel'd Girl,
Adorn'd with Ribbons, Paints, and Bastard-pearl.
We need not speak of either feet or legs,
Her face seem'd 'nointed with the yolk of Eggs.
Slily into the Company she slid,
A colour having got for what she did.
Some blam'd her, saying, Sinners us'd to paint;
Others reply, But she's a seeming Saint.
Nor was there want of Pocket-pickers there,
Nor Lifters of the careful Tradesmans Ware.
Old Chaucer, who though sickly, full of ails,
From hence collects a Book as full of Tales.
His Neighbour Drayton, who was his Amoris,
Studying to write Encomiums on Authoris.
The Learned Cambden's Gravity appear'd,
At which they starting, seem'd as if they feard.
One that was grown more crafty than the rest.
Beclouds their fear with this invented Jest;
Hither we come, and in the end perhaps
Our entertainment shall be nought but scraps:
Then let us take a taste of these Remains,
And so depart; the Duke a slighting feigns.
Mean time his Grace, whose passion still grew high
With pangs of pensiveness, was standing by;
Musing, not minding either Guests, or Meat,
His busie-brain allow'd no time to eat:
With starv'ling Body, and with ghastly look,
He seem'd more like a Devil, than a Duke.
His Eyes grew gogled. Cheeks were pale and wan;
Sometimes he sighs, anon doth curse and ban.
Presently afterwards is heard to cry,
Oh that I had not lovd, or now could dye!
Finding no answer to each kind address,
And that she would not love for love express;
He with himself resolves when stronger grown,
To move from thence with thoughts to see the Town.
Then to the Gatehouse went, as nearest to him,
Where he no sooner came, but divers knew him.
A Flock of Wretches do his Grace environ,
All lin'd with Vermine, some with Chains of Iron.
After some mutual Complements were past,
His Grace to Covent-garden maketh haste;
For some there were that for his Grace had staid,
And till he came, at Post and Pillar plaid:
And that I briefly may their worth express,
These the gentilest were of all his Guests;
Only a faculty they had to curse,
To Rant, and Huff, like Gyants; Nay, what's worse,
They'd Ramble all the Night, and Windows break,
Then in a Crowd to the Piazza's sneak.
Some Whore away their Coyn, and then with grief
They humbly come, and beg the Dukes relief;
And swear God-dam-'em they his Grace will serve,
And for his sake they'll even dare to starve.
The Duke return'd his thanks you well may think,
But would however stay with none to drink.
Then to the Temple, Lincolns-Inne, and Grayes,
He walks, but yet at none of either stayes:
For his resolves were now for Newgate bent,
Where some of his acquaintance fast were pent.
First to the Master-side without delay,
His Grace thought fit he should his Visit pay;
Having with busie eye the Rooms survey'd,
He call'd the Nurse, one that was once a Maid:
And having shewn her where the Cobwebs hung,
He chid her, and in wrath away he flung;
Shook hands with some whom he of old had knew,
And only cry'd, We're glad you're well, adieu.
Some that ne'r knew him, might perhaps suppose
Him noble by his Title, and his Cloaths;
Both were grown ancient, and could justly vye
With any Dukedom for Antiquity.
But those that did expect they should behold
Some gallant Complements in yellow gold,
Were much mistaken; for the Duke ne'r went
To visit any one with such intent:
For he ne'r lov'd to suffer Cash so near him,
For which some Wags behind his back would jeer him.
Now to the Felons Jayle he bends his march,
Where being come, one that was chiefly arch
Accosted him in complemental strain;
Whereat the Duke forthwith vouchfast to deign
An answer; what it was I've quite forgot,
But as I guess, 'twas either sense, or not.
For divers Friends he ask't, but heard no more,
But only they were Hang'd a while before:
But one whose skill was far above the rest,
Approach't the Duke, and thus himself exprest.
Great DUKE, although your ancient Guests are fled
From hence, their Craft doth live when they are dead:
For know, this Lesson one hath left behind,
Hear it, and judge, as you the truth shall find.
Cheats are the maintenance of small and great;
A Prison, like the World, is but a Cheat;
The Merchant-man the Cheat by Whole-sale playes;
The Shop-man cheats in ev'ry word he sayes;
The Victualler cheats in Reck'nings, and in Froth;
The Clothier, and the Draper, cheat in Cloth;
And when they do so, boldly will retort;
The Taylor cheats, and pleads a Custom fort:
If a young Heir shall run upon his score,
When once he payes, he payes the worth twice ore.
The Stationer cheats both Lawyers and Divines;
The Vintner cheats with brewing of his Wines;
The Husbandman, and he a man would think
Hath scarcely Brains enough to covet Chink,
He sells his Corn, and if the mould it lack,
He knows to cheat by virtue of his Sack.
The Handicraftsman, true, he taketh pains,
But he will cheat, rather than miss his gains;
The Priest will preach one Sermon oft-times ore;
The Lawyer cheats as fast as all before;
Physitians too, the cheating Art have found
In false Applies: and so the Cheat goes round.
In short, the Countrey doth the City cheat,
'Twould be too tedious to describe the feat;
The City too as briskly cheats the Court;
Thus all are Cheats, oh here's brave cheating sport!
Cheat thou for me, cryes one, I'll cheat for thee;
Thus do the Cheaters lovingly agree:
The only way for any to be great,
Or get preferment, is to be a Cheat.
The honest man that loves not worldly pelf,
Rather than break the number, cheats himself.
The Jaylors cheat, by taking unjust Fees;
The Pris'ner too, he cheats as fast as these;
The Creditor, whose malice is grown great,
Seizes on all, and doth the Pris'ner cheat;
Oh desp'rate Fates, what hazards do we run,
We must be naught, or, to be just, undone!
The Duke with silence heard, and patient stood,
Then took his leave, to visit old King Lud;
Who having seen, he unto Bridewel goes,
Then to the Counters, where are some that knows
What splendid Table 'twas his Grace did keep;
For they went thither not to eat, but sleep.
The Fleet he likewise call'd upon, but there
Were few that knew the Duke, each one did stare.
Upon his Grace, and Censures past aloud;
For they indeed are generally proud,
And so abound with Friends, and store of Coyn,
They'll choose to purchase, rather than purloyn,
Or with an empty Pocket to intrude
Into the number of a multitude.
For they like Fishers with a silver hook,
Caught food enough to entertain the Duke.
From hence his Grace to Southwark bends his course,
And to the Marshalsey with eager force
He hastes, and enters; whence I do divine,
There's many with the Duke were wont to Dine.
Complements flew like Hail-stones round about,
As if the Duke when in, would ne're get out:
Forty and odd a Circle round him lay,
That to get loose, 'twas hard to find the way.
Besides, I've read it in some Book or Song,
That each of these were Twenty-thousand strong;
And I that on his Grace did daily watch,
Observ'd the Duke did in his bosom scratch,
Sometimes in's Codpiece; but I must forbear
To be too busie with his private Ware.
But I can this with modesty assure,
To scratch, or itch, the Duke could ne're indure;
And whether in that Crowd he Vermin got,
Or Crab-lice had before, I know it not:
Much honour for the Duke they joyntly own,
Talk freely with him, as if wealthy grown.
However, though they are with plenty fill'd,
Alms-houses they have all forsworn to build.
The Duke his grave Advice bestows on all,
Bids them be merry, though they are in thrall;
For he himself by his experience finds,
Despair's the issue of ignoble minds.
Thus having said, with eyes about him cast,
Quoth he, Well Sirs, old Friends must part at last;
And Madam Wiat at the Kings-Bench stayes
Until I come: besides, I've divers wayes
How to expend my time, and pass my hours;
Wherefore adieu, I was, and still am yours.
Thus having spoke, the Duke with nimble wings
Takes flight from thence, unto the Bench of Kings:
Where having greaz'd the Key, found way to come
Into his Parlour, call'd the Mumpers Room,
Where he inquiry made how things did stand;
And as it hapned, there was one at hand
Was so indu'd with Art, with Skill, and Worth,
To satisfie the Duke in setting forth
Th'affairs of all the House, and C's the man,
Who having made obeysance, thus began:
These Iron Bars a Lecture preach to me,
That there's no Jewel like true Liberty;
For here to be confin'd in such a Cage,
Brings blooming Youth to an untimely Age.
Behold those high-flown Gallants, who of late
Came hither, and their Creditors and Fate
Did both defie, how now they droop and sink,
Having in Bub and Smoke consum'd their Chink.
Ungrateful slaves, that did profess us love,
Now we are in the Grates like Mountains move.
Those that from Cellar unto Cellar jump,
Must at the last do homage to the Pump;
That Christian Pump, that seems to sigh and moan,
As being conscious of a Pris'ners groan.
The Cook-room which so oft they did frequent,
They must but smell to, when their money's spent.
Their Cittadels now on the Master-side,
Wherein they are with Thousands fortify'd,
They must retreat from, quickly as the Summons
(Having no money) calls them to the Commons,
Where they must beat their brains, & cramp their legs,
In the low livelihood of making Pegs;
Where I leave all those wretched Souls to be
Slaves, till Death payes their Debts, and sets them free.
The Duke with grave attention lent his Ear,
Seeming to grieve for what he then did hear;
Told all about him, That whilst he was able,
He'd make them daily welcome to his Table.
What did more over-pass, I don't well know,
For I got loose, and they cry'd, Let him go:
But any person that hath time to spare,
And fain would see the Duke, may find him there:
Where that they might the Great Dukes mirth prolong,
They entertain him with------