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I and two friends of mine; who ne're had been there
Did take a walk to Marston, after dinner.
And here's the truth (whatever praters say)
'Twas of all dayes, upon a Satursday.
And (if I do not much mistake the Chorus)
Pembroke his Exit had the day before us.
But w'had no Vollyet when we went hence
To send us packing with a Vengeance.
But fair and softly, out oth' East-port,
We march a long. But here's the best sport—
One of us three, whether he be sick,
I can't tell well, but he took Physick;
And in a word (for nothing swerve I)
It was a Mornings draught of Scurvy
(Or else Sage) Ale (for you may ha'both)
And now t'had broke the Jewish-Sabboth,
And Workt like mad, As for a Privy,
There was none, but where th'Ox in Livy.
Might do his business—It no scoff is,
He needed much a House of Office.
As for a Bush, be could not chuse one,
Or any Ditch, but Madge or Susan
Had seen him do his need (for heark it pray)
Those passages are full, each market day)

At length he spyes a Hedge, and we must line't.
He had no stool, but oft untrussed a point.
With that one cry'd slid I could spurn ye friend)
When think'st we shall come to our journey's end—
Hold! time enough says he-Indeed 'twas scarce one
(I think) oth' Clock, but we arriv'd, at Marston.
Where when we came (to tell the manner fully)
We went up toward the House, of the Ruff Cully:
Which, being near the Church, (as is my Custome)
I askt for th'Wat'ring-house, thinking there must some
Be sold ith' Town well knowing Thief to Gallows
Is not so proper; as near Church, an Ale-house
But faith! here's none! at last, a good luck on ye!
They shew us where we may have Ale for Money:
Then longer there to stay 'twas folly for,
So strait we trade to th'House of Oliver,
For so mine Host was nam'd, whose sign was little,
Of none at all, only Childrens Whittle.
And Pissing Clouts of all sorts, there were in place,
And eke the Mothers Wastcoat with a green-lace.
And the old Boyes Breeches too, which were not slovenly
For they were right true blue (by th'Mass 'twas Coventry)
The Divel had been here, for (I'le be sworn)
What e're the Cry and Wooll was, th'Hoggs were shorne.

But comeing near the Doore, the Child beseeches One,
Having bewray'd himself, to help is breeches on
When strait (a sight which one much stouter fears)
In comes mine Hostess with hair 'bout her Eares.
For (truth to stain) the cause, of this her frowsing,
Was at her Neighbours house sh'had been a Lowsing.
But in good time she came (as it did fall out)
And having farm'd his Linings clapt on Tayl-clout.
She prayes us draw near house, we tripping than,
Close after found oth' Board, a dripping-pan.
But heark ye, friends! 'tis well, if they a crust eat,
The dripping-pan, was no such sign of Roast-meat.
For I believe (tis worth your listenning.)
Spit ne're went there since Nanties Christning.
But now 'twas us'd (with Comb, halterd with pack-thread,)
To fetch the Nits out of young Alces blackhead.
Well having ta'ne away the spoons & platter,
We sat us down (to make short of the matter)
Where ten to one, but that a body shall
Meet, with the stories of the Prodigall.
I mean ith' hall but you may call't a kitchin
For it was all their Room! when comes the Witch in,
Ugly as Pluto's dam, whom strait we cal to's
To shew a Room—she lead us through the Malt-house
Thence to the Hay-born, but (I can't tell how then)
At length, we crowded are, into the Cow-pen.
Which being unthatcht, the busie Sun, would scarce let's
Stay long, but thence, to th'Garden, sown with harslets,
We drive away where, by chance, at a Barns end,
(Whither for many years God did no Corn send.)
We found a shady place, where, like to fine fooles.
One on the Grass sate down, and two, on Joynt-stooles.
And for a Table, where to set the Water;
She brings the Washing block—the legs came after.
Then like to Mother Gubbins mode in Chaucer
Sends out the Flagon coverd with a Saucer.
And was (indeed) well fill'd (to th'brink e'ne up)
Hostess (sayes one) go fetch a Drinking-cup,
Which spying aske, let's see! what pot d'ye carry.
What's in it! Medicines from the Apothecary.
One swore it was, the others said sure 'tis not,
But furr'd it was, like old wifes Earthen piss-pot

The Ale, which sets one, soon one's wits on side
Was brew'd (indeed) for th'Bumps at Whitsontide.
Or Fryday night, 'gainst Sunday, thinking then some,
Would come and sting their Noses, after En'som.
And was as muddy, to our senses outward,
As is a standing pool, whose cream is, Cowturd.

Well! here's to th'King? all knowing then it down must,
One for a Gully-soaker, cals a brown crust!
But oh! how brown it was good faith! I can't se't!
Hopkins-affliction bread to this, was Manchet.
And was as sower, to the tast, I swear,
As if all Israels Leven had been there,
When they were feeding, on their Eastere Vittle.
They ne're markt, what St. Paul sayes of a Little.
But this I'le say (which not the least disgrace is)
I'me sure it made us make ill favourd faces:
I pr'ythe shew me friend (if e're thou seest one)
That looks but half so sower as did H. Beeston

Now having done, and all things t'ane away,
We call mine Hostess, ask her what's to pay;
A Groat (quoth she) for which we give her six pence.
Then she beseeches us to come, some weeks thence,
And none should be more welcome: urges reason,
Sayes Beans and Harslets, then would be in season.
But if I come where I'de not wish with Pug Jipp
I'le give you leave, to Kiss my Tayl, with Dog-whipp
Hence, this shall bear part, in my Letanie,
From Marston Ale-House, Lord deliver me!