University of Virginia Library

When I lately came from Oxford,
Unlike that Lad, that under knocks bord
When he does cry—White—I Love thee,
For, friend! I think you can't disprove me
I never yet, was known to flinch,
From any Moysture, (less from Wench)
But being now, with foot in stirrup,
To take my leave, oth' City Syrup.
(E'ne at the Sign of Babe and Eagle,
Hight Billy shawes) they did inveagle
Mine easie Swallow, to a full Can,
(Whereat some think, I shrewdly pul can)
Though waies (I wot) were ne're more dirty,
In all my years (and they are thirty)
I was resolved (hap what hap will)
Upon the fourteenth day of April,
To take my Journey, toward London,
So spirr'd my Mare, & straight she run'd on.
But what said slipper, to his Bitch,
Soft swift! for neither Spurr, nor switch,
Could ever make her mend her pace,
She was no kin, to those, oth' race.
But fair and softly (thou know'st) far goes,
For all our hasts and so my Mare does.
Step stately, e're she trespass Shotover,
I once thought I should ne're have got over
But being near arriv'd at Wheatly,
(Believe't or not, I care not greatly)
My Palfrey (Hall) that then I rod on,
Mov'd, as at heel, sh'ad had a todd on:
And while Indentures, here she's drawing,
Like one that humming stands, and hawing,
When she was e'ne gon past recover
As though she would assign me over.
To Mother Earth, just, in the nick on't,
(For London Hackneyes have the trick on't)
Behold a wight, with Jade e'ne tyr'd!
Like Duck, or worryed Cat! bemyr'd!
Whom after turmoyle, that would toyle man)
I found to be, a City Oyl-man;
Whom others some, do tearm a Salster,
Supposed son, of Oxford Maltster,
but by his Look, seem'd half a Scholler:
(And faith! he prov'd a pretty Droller!)
Who having his sad tale recounted,
Took horse, (I do not say he mounted)
For why? (I've seen a Tinkers Mastiff
With Budgett on; to travel as stiff)
As did this Tit, less high, then some Ass,
Nor yet that Tit, that's Christen'd Thomas.
But of that race, that is so Brittish,
And Gentle too, poor thing! not Skittish.
Whose Height, we reckon not by th'hand,
But by the inch, ('tis quickly scan'd.)
To curry's coat, would not much wrong one,
'Twould soon be done, he's not a long one.
Yet with this I'ade, whose Sirnam's spittle,
We came, by little, and by little.
(And that goes far, to th'Inn at Tetsworth,
Whence (Friend I'le tell thee (he that sets forth
With Palfrey, that is but indifferent,
(But his (I think) the worst, that ever went)
E're he shall elymbe the Hill of Stoken—
I cannot say to's praise be't spoken
But to my Greef (I'le tell thee no lye,
For if I should, 'twere but a folly)
'Twould anger one, that's more then stoick,
And make him swear (perhaps curse) so thik
Though it did half provoke, my laughter,
To see the Beast draw hind Legs after
(As we did once, at Marston, view,
When after Table, Legs they drew.)
But up we got with much a do,
When loe! his Jade had dropt a Shoe.
But Shoe! what's that! worse luck! his Boot heel
Was torn away, then thought I's foot he'le
Run (if he could) Stark mad, but 't wo'nt do
He wanted Heel, and Palfrey Shoe,
And now my sleve was full with Laughter,
He drives on Beast, himself drives after.
'T had joy'd thee (Hall) as Babe doth nipple,
T'have seen the Lame, halt, 'fore the Criple.
But all was well, when come to Stoken
Church, in the next verse, or I'me broken.
Whence going off, who doest think over
Took us, but one clep'd, Western Drover?
Not he, who furnisht out, ith' Leaguer,
Sir William Davenant's, Pert, and Meager.
I speak't not favour for, nor Malice,
He's Christen'd John, Sir named Wallice.
Not he, whom Gill did notch, like Tallies
Nor he, who when he was beside.
Ith' Straw of Bed, cry'd out, I'me wide.
Nor he that drew out T--- so Stayward,
Though like, as Dobbin, to blind Bayard.
And half his Country-men, a Jockie
And plaugy Rogue, at Whore so Pockie;
For why? Quoth he, in every Town,
Upon the Rode, for half a Crown.
I'me furnisht out, with trim Baggages,
(And who sets work, must pay the wages)
Nay! he would undertake for five pound,
From mount, to th'peer, the wives, to S-round
But now, w'are come to Town with Church
Where Vick is often left, ith' lurch,
For why! the Crew, of Country fellows,
Would hardly climbe that hill for Ale-house
Much less, for Even-song, or Mattens,
They ne're pleas'd High-shoe yet, ne Pattens
(For Sickness green, or for the Pthisick
They needed had, none other Physick)

Now (truth to sain, for lies I can't forge)
W'had mighty Ale, at sign oth' St. George,
Th'ast seen the Apes of Cherry lickum,
So drunk I made the Wights, at Wiccham.
Where like Alvarez, in Lluellen,
(I fear, I shall not bring it well in)
Penny in pouch I gave to Begar,
Whose Coat ne're Blazon'd was by Segar,
'Twas Verrey, of a thousand pieces.
Or like to Josephs, who e're sees his,
And for this slender Ragg of Monie,
His Motto was a goodluck on ye!
But did not after, throw old Shoon,
For why? I trow the man had none.

So on we ride, as mortal reckons,
Some seven miles more, to Town of Becons.
Field, where Horses up being put,
I went to rove, the rest to

Host of the Crown.

Rut.
But knowing Wife, was Coacht by Jasper,
I made return to th'Inn, ith' Vesper:
Where was the Drolling Dr Wilson,
(Whose jest with mirth and laughter fils one)
With Schollers three, and Towns-man Zouch
Who, while we drank, did sleep on Couch.
But Sucking well, and keeping coyle,
In Drover comes, and man of Oyl,
Their Brains, with Mutton broth, half-setled
(For Wiccham-Ale, them shrewdly netled.)
At whom we laugh till after mid-night,
When us to Kennel, Drawers did light.

But they, being drinkers, but for need,
And not for Custome, mark their speed!
They were as sick, as Dogs, next morning
As who would take it, for a warning.
With that I take mine Host to task,
March to the Cellar, broach a Cask
Where, Vessel large I bid them fill't,
Till Toung, and Liquor ran at tilt
Then does he, recommend his Tapster,
(Who was his Eldest Son, by hap Sir.)
Unto me for a man of Learning,
Indeed, 'twas beyond my Discerning,
But I was to believe't, the rather,
Because his Tutor, was his Father:
And they were so alike (God bless 'em!
For schollership (I speak to please 'em!)
Ut Canibus catuli—Lad! (to try ye.)
Go on (quoth I) with your Qui mihi.—
But he would ha't hæc ades, though
I cry'd, 'twas then, huc animo.
Then 'bout we drink (for I would ha't in)
Till not two words of (but all) Latin,
Was spoke ith' Room: mine Host could talk ne're
A word of English, like the Falkner.
Oth' Marquess, but next drawing deep
Put him to silence, and to sleep.

Well! Parents head, being laid full low,
I th'Cellars bottom, on I go
To th'son, and he goes on to the Tap,
Then begs, that I would verses cap.
But one great Bowle and murth'ring X
Did so his Pericranium Vex,
That down, he fell on Father, Captus
InÆbriatate, minus Aptus
(As I thought) for to bring't about
When sober, since if there, 'twould out.
Like Hawk he casts, and there lyes Yexing,
But not a sylable of X ing.
Where in this pickle (Precious Nose-gayes)
I lodg'd 'um, like the sign oth' Cross-Keyes.
And taking Horse, from thence I packt on,
Nor stopt, nor stayd till come to Acton.
From thence, I posted strait to London,
And thither got before the Sun down,
Where lighting, at the Bore so blew,
With Cod so yellow, soon I threw
My willing body, to the Devil—
Where Wine being good, and Drawer civil.
I fixt my self with Quart and Friend,
To Drink thy Health, and there's an End.