 | The knave of Clubbs |  |
A Cousening Knaue.
A shifting knaue about the towne,Did challenge wondrous skill
To tell mens fortunes and good haps,
He had the starrs at will.
What day was best to trauaile on,
Which, fit to chuse a wife,
If violent, or naturall
A man should end his life.
Which parties cause preuailes:
When it is good to pick ones teeth,
And ill to pare his nailes.
So cunningly he plaid the knaue,
That he deluded many,
With shifting, base, and cousening tricks
For skill he had not any.
Amongst a crew of simple guls,
That plid'e him to their cost,
A Butcher comes and craues his helpe,
That had some cattell lost,
Ten groates he gaue him for his fee,
And he to coniure goes,
With characters, and vocables,
And diuerse antique showes.
The butcher in a beastly feare,
Expected spirits still,
And wished himselfe within his shop,
Some sheepe or calfe to kill:
His coloure changed red and pale,
The sweat ran downe his face,
And by the smell a man might iudge,
His hose in filthy case.
At length out of an od blind hole,
Behind a painted cloth,
Seeming exceeding wroth,
VVith squibs and crackers round about,
VVilde-fier he did send,
which swaggring Ball the buttchers dog
So highly did offend,
That he vpon the Deuill flies,
And shakes his hornes so sore,
Euen like an Oxe (most terrible)
He made hobgoblin roare,
The cunning man cries, for Gods loue helpe
Vnto your mastiffe call,
Fight Dog, fight Deuill, (butcher said)
And claps his hands at Ball.
The Dog most cruell tore his flesh,
The Deuill went to wracke,
And looked like a tattered rogue,
With ne're a rag on's backe.
Giue me my mony back againe,
Thou slaue the (butcher said)
Or I will see your Deuils heart,
Before he can be laid:
He gets not back againe to hell,
Ere I my mony haue,
Nay and I wil haue intrest too,
Besides mine owne I gaue.
And then a crowne to boote
I smell your Deuils knauery out,
He wants a clouen foote,
The Coniurer with all his heart,
The mony back repaies,
and giues fiue shillings of his owne,
To whome the butcher saies,
Farewell most scuruy Coniurer,
Thinke on my valiant deed,
Which haue done more then English George
That made the Dragon bleed:
He and his Horse the story tells,
Did but a Serpent slay:
I and my Dog the Deuill spoyld,
We two haue got the day.
| The knave of Clubbs | |