University of Virginia Library

To the Right Honourable THE LORD Marqvesse Hamilton, Master of the Horse to his Maiestie,

Iames Hamillton: Anagramma, I Amm All Honesty.

Of words, 'tis vaine to vse a Multitude,
Your very Name all Goodnesse doth include.

TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE, THE Lord Steward of his Maiesties Honourable Hovsehold

William Herbert Earle Of Penbroke Anagramma. Liberaly Meeke, For Repvte Honovrable.

What can be more then is explained here
T' expresse a worthy well deseruing Peere

TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE, THE LORD Chamberlaine of his Maiesties most Honourable Hovsehold, PHILIP HERBERT EARLE OFF MONTGOMERY

Anagramma, Firme Faith Begot All My Proper Honer.

Firme faith begot mine honor (sayes my name)
And my firme faith shall ever keepe the same.

Errata, or Faults to the Reader.

Faults, but not faults escap'd, I would they were,
If they were faults escap'd, they were not here:
But heere they are, in many a page and line,
Men may perceiue the Printers faults, or mine.
And since my faults are heere in prison fast,
And on record (in print) are like to last,
Since the Correcters let them passe the Presse,
And my occasions mix'd with sicknesses,
And that foure Printers dwelling farre asunder,
Did print this booke, pray make the faults no wonder.
I will confesse my faults are scap'd indeed,
If they escape mens Censure when they read.
No Garden is so cleare, but weedes are in't,
All is not Gold that's coined in the Mint;
The Rose hath prickles, and the spots of sinne,
Oft takes the fairest features for their Inne.
Below the Moone no full perfection is,
And alwaies some of vs are all amisse.
Then in your reading mend each mis-plac'd letter,
And by your iudgement make bad words sound better.
Where you may hurt, heale; where you can afflict,
There helpe and cure, or else be not too strict.
Looke through your fingers, wink, conniue at mee,
And (as you meet with faults) see, and not see.
Thus must my faults escape, (or escape neuer,)
For which, good Readers, I am yours for euer.

In laudem Authoris.

Thou hast no learning, yet with learned skill
Thou dost write well, although thy meanes be ill.
And if I could, I would thy merits raise,
And crowne thy temples with immortall Bayes.

To the Author, Iohn Taylor.

Wast euer keowne to any time before,
That so much skill in Poesie could be,
Th'attendant to a Skull, or painefull oare?
Thou liu'st in water, but the fire in thee;
That mounting Element, that made thee chuse,
To court Vrania, the diuinest Muse.
Row on: to watermen did neuer blow
A gale so good, none so much goodnesse know.

To my worthy and well-deseruing friend, our wel-known hydropoet, Iohn Taylor.

Some till their throats ake cry alowd and hollo
To aucupate great fauors from Apollo.
One Bacchus and some other Venus vrges,
To blesse their brain-brats. Those cœrulean surges,
Gyrdling the earth, emball thy nerues, and season
Those animall parts, quiek Organs of mans reason.
This Nimph-adored fountaine farre excells,
Aganipe Aon; all that Bubulkes wells.
These daunst about thy Quinbro-boate to kisse thee,
And often since roare out because they misse thee.
These wyned with loue-sicke Thame the banks o'rswel
To visit their ingenious darlings Cell.
Blue Neptunes salt tempred with Thames sweet water,
Make thee both tart and pleasing. What theater
Of late; could Cinthius, halfe staru'd mists perswade
T' applaud; nay not to hisse at what they made?
Then call on Neptune still; let Delos sinke
Or swimme; for thee let Phœbus looke, or winke
VVhilst his poore Priests grow mad with ill successe:
That still the more they write they please the lesse.
Thine Amphitritean Muse growes more arrident,
And Phœbus tripos, stoopes to Neptunes trident.

To his friend the Author.

In sport I hitherto haue told thy same,
But now thy Muse doth merit greater Name.
Soares high to Heau'n, from earth and water flies,
And leauing baser matters, mounts the skies.
Where hidden knowledge, she doth sweetly sing,
Carelesse of each inferiour common thing.
Oh that my Soule could follow her in this,
To shun fowle sin, and seeke eternall blisse!
Her strength growes great, and may God euer send,
Me to amend my faults, as she doth mend.

To my honest friend, Iohn Taylor.

What shall I say, kind Friend, to let thee know
How worthily I doe this worke esteeme?
Whereof I thinke I cannot too much deeme,
From which I find a world of wit doth flow.
The poore vnpollisht praise I can bestow
Vpon this well deseruing worke of thine,
Which heere I freely offer at thy Shrine,
Is like a Taper, when the Sunne doth showe,
Or bellowes helpe for Eol's breath to blow:
For thou as much hast soard beyond the straine,
Whereto our common Muses doe attaine:
As Cintyhaes light exceeds the wormes that glow.
And were my Muse reple at with learned phrase,
The world should know thy work deserueth praise.

To the deseruing author, Iohn Taylor.

It is disputed much among the wise,
If that there be a water in the skyes:
If there be one: no Water-man before,
Was euer knowne to row in't with his Oare.
If none; such is thy high surmounting pen,
It soares aboue the straine of Watermen:
Whether there be or no, seeke farre and neere,
Th'art matchlesse sure in this our hemispheere.

To my friend Iohn Taylor.

Row on (good Water-man) and looke back still,
(Thus as thou dost) vpon the Muses Hill,
To guide thee in thy course: Thy Boate's a sphære
Where thine Vrania moues diuinely-cleare.
Well hast thou pli'd and (with thy learned Oare)
Cut through a Riner, to a nobler shore,
Then euer any landed-at. Thy saile,
(Made all of clowdes) swels with a prosp'rous gale.
Some say, there is a Ferriman of Hell,
The Ferriman of Heau'n, I now know well,
And that's thy selfe, transporting soules to Blisse.
Vrania sits at Helme and Pilot is;
For Thames, thou hast the lactea via found,
Be thou with baies (as that with stars is) crownd.

[These Bookes in number sixty three are heere]

These Bookes in number sixty three are heere,
Bound in one Volume, scattred here and there,
They stand not thus in order in the booke;
But any man may finde them, that will looke.

Taylors VRANIA.

[THE SEIGE AND SACKING OF Iervsalem.]

TO THE TRVELY VVORTHY, AND RIGHT HONOVRABLE Iohn Moray, L VISCOVNT Annan, EARLE OF Annandale, one of the Gentlemen of his Maiesties Royall Bed-chamber; Earths Honours, and Heauens happinesse.

This Booke, (Good Sir) the issue of my braine,
Though farre vnworthy of your worthy view,
Yet I in duty offer it to you,
In hope you Gently it will entertaine.
And though the Method and the Phrase be plaine,
Not Artlike writ, as to the stile is due,
Yet is it voyde of any thing vntrue;
And truth, I know, your fauour shall obtaine.
The many fauours I from you haue had,
Hath forc'd me thus to shew my thankefull minde:
And of all faults, I know no vice so bad
And hatefull, as ingratefully inclinde.
A thankefull Heart, is all a poore mans pelfe,
Which, (with this Booke) I giue your Worthy Selfe

THE SEVERALL SIEGES, ASSAVLTS, SACKINGS, AND FINALL DESTRVCTION OF the Famous, Ancient, and memorable Citty of Iervsalem.

[The Life and Death of the Virgin Mary.]

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THE MOST BLESSED AMONGST ALL VVOMEN, THE VIRGIN Mary, The Mother of our Lord Iesvs Christ.

I doe not heere impute this deed of shame
On Iudas, because Iudas was his name:
For of that name there haue beene men of might,
Who the great battels of the Lord did fight,
And others more. But sure this impure blot
Stickes to him, as hee's nam'd Iskarriott:
For in an Anagram Iskarriott is,
By letters transposition, traytor kis.

Iskarriott Anagramma. Traitor Kis.

[SVPERBIÆ FLAGELLVM, OR THE WHIP OF PRIDE.]

TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE, WORTHY, and Learned Gentleman, Sr. Thomas Richardson Knight, Lord Chiefe Iustice of his Maiesties Court of Common Pleas, and Speaker in the High Court of Parliament, &c.

A double Anagramme. Thomas Richardson, As Man Honorde Chrit, So Christ Honerd A Man.

Your name includes, that As Man honorde Christ,
So God againe through Christ honord a Man:
For if Man truely honor the most High'st,
Then Christ to honor Man both will and can.
Right Worthy Lord, this in your name is true,
You honor Christ, and Christ hath honord you.

A FEW LINES, TO SMALL PURPOSE, AGAINST THE SCANDALOUS ASPERSIONS, that are either maliciously, or ignorantly cast vpon the Poets and Poems of these Times.

There doth a strange, and true opinion runne,
That Poets write much worse, then they haue don:
And how so poore their daily writings are,
As though their best inuentions were thread-bare.
And how no new things from them now do spring,
But all hath ref'rence from some other thing:
And that their daily doings doe reueale,
How they from one another filch and steale,
As if amongst them 'twere a statute made,
That they may freely vse the theeuing trade.
And some there are that will not sticke to say,
That many Poets liuing at this day,
Who haue the Hebrew, Latine, Greeke, at will,
And in th'Italian and the French haue skill,
These are the greatest theeues they say, of all
That vse the Trade (or Art) Poeticall.
For ancient Bards, and Poets in strange toungs,
Compiled haue their verses and their songs:
And those to whō those tongues are rightly known,
Translating them, make others verse their owne;
As one that steales a Cloake, and presently
Makes it his owne, by alt'ring of the dye.
So whole bookes, and whole sentences haue bin
Stolne, and the stealers, great applause did win,
And by their filching thought great men of fame,
By those that knew not the right Authors name.
For mine owne part, my Conscience witnesse is,
I n'er was guilty of such theft as this,
Vnto such robbery I could neuer reach,
Because I vnderstand no forreigne speach.
To prooue that I am from such filching free,
Latin and French are heathen-Greeke to me,
The Grecian, and the Hebrew Charactars,
I know as well, as I can reach the Stars.
The sweet Italian, and the Chip Chop Dutch,
I know, the man i'th Moone can speake as much.
Should I from English Authors, but purloyne,
It would be soone found counterfeited coyne.
Then since I cannot steale, but some will spy,
Ile truely vse mine owne, let others lye.
Yet to excuse the writers, that now write,
Because they bring no better things to light:
Tis because bounty from the world is fled,
True liberality is almost dead.
Reward is lodg'd in darke obliuion deep,
Bewitch't (I thinke) into an endlesse sleepe,
That though a man in study take great paines,
And empt his veines, puluerize his braines,
To write a Poem well, which being writ
With all his Iudgement, Reason, Art, and Wit,
And at his owne charge, print and pay for all,
And giue away most free, and liberall
Two, three, or foure, or fiue hundred bookes,
For his reward he shall haue nods and lookes;
That all the profit a mans paines hath gat,
Will not suffice one meale to feed a Cat.
Yet still Noble Westminster, thou still art free,
And for thy bounty I am bound to thee:
For hadst not thou, and thy Inhabitants,
From Time to Time relieu'd and help'd my wants,
I had long since bid Poetry adieu,
And therefore still my thankes shall be to you.
Next to the Court, in generall I am bound
To you, for many friendships I haue found.
There (when my purse hath often wanted bait)
To fill or feed it, I haue had receite.
So much for that, I'le now no more rehearse,
They shew their loues in prose, my thankes in verse:
When death, Mecænas did of life depriue,
Few of his Noble Tribe were left aliue,
This makes inuention to be meane and hard,
When Pride and Auarice doth kill reward.
And yet me thinkes, it plainely doth appeare,
Mens writings are as good as e're they were.
Good lines are like a Banquet ill imployd,
Where too much feeding hath the stomack cloyd.
Good verses fall sometimes (by course of fate)
Into their hands that are preiudicate.
And though the Writer n'er so well hath pend,
Yet they'le find fault with what they cannot mend.
Thus many a learned well composed line,
Hath bin a Pearle that's cast before a swine.
Or more familiarly to make compare;
Like Aqua vita giuen vnto a Mare.
These fellowes, (glutted with variety)
Hold good lines in a loath'd saciety,
Whilst paltry Riming, Libels, Iigges and Iests,
Are to their appetites continuall feasts,
With which their fancies they doe feed and fill,
And take the Ill for good, the Good for ill.
Whilst like to Mōkeyes, scorning wholsome meate)
They greedily doe poysnous spiders eate.
So let them feed vntill their humours burst,
And thus much bold to tell them heere I durst,
That Poetry is now as good as euer,
If to bounty, relieue her would endeuer.
Mens mindes are worse then they haue bin ofyore,
Inuention's good now, as it was before.
Let liberality awake, and then
Fach Poet in his hand will take a pen,
And with rare lines inrich a world of paper,
Shall make Apollo, and the Muses caper.

SVPERBIAE FLAGELLVM, OR THE VVHIP OF PRIDE.

[Against Cursing and Swearing.]

Against Swearing.

[THE FEAREFVLL SVMMER: OR LONDONS CALAMITIE.]

TO THE TRVELY GENEROVS' AND NOBLE KNIGHT, SIR Iohn Millissent, SERIEANT PORTER TO the Kings most Excellent Maiestie.

Right worthy Knight, when first this Booke I writ
To You, I boldely Dedicated it:
And hauing now enlarg'd both Prose and Rime,
To you J offer it the second time.
To whom should I these sorrowes recommend,
But vnto You, the Cities Noble Friend?
I know, you are much grieued with their Griefe,
And would aduenture Life for their reliefe:
To You therefore these Lines I Dedicate,
Wherein, their Sorrowes partly J relate,
I humbly craue acceptance at your hand:
And rest

THE FEAREFULL SUMMER: OR LONDONS CALAMITIE

The Patience and long suffering of our God,
Keepes close his Quiuer, and restraines his Rod,
And though our crying Crimes to Heau'n doe cry
For vengeance, on accurst Mortality;
Yea though we merit mischiefes manifold,
Blest Mercy doth the hand of Iustice hold.
But when that Eye that sees all things most cleare,
Expects our fruits of Faith, from yeere, to yeere,
Allowes vs painefull Pastors, who bestow
Great care and toyle, to make vs fruitfull grow,
And daily doth in those weake Vessels send
The dew of Heauen, in hope we will amend;
Yet (at the last) he doth perceiue and see
That we vnfruitfull and most barren be,
Which makes his indignation frowne,
And (as accursed Fig-trees) cut vs downe.
Thus Mercy (mock'd) plucks Iustice on our heads,
And grieuous Plagues our Kingdome ouerspreads:
Then let vs to our God make quicke returning,
With true contrition, fasting and with mourning:
The Word is God, and God hath spoke the Word,
If we repent he will put vp his sword.
Hee's grieu'd in punishing, Hee's slow to Ire,
And HE a sinners death doth not desire.
If our Compunction our Amendment show,
Our purple sinnes Hee'll make as white as snow.
If we lament our God is mercifull,
Our scarlet crimes hee'll make as white as wooll.
Faire London that did late abound in blisse,
And wast our Kingdomes great Metropolis,
'Tis thou thar art deiected, low in state,
Disconsolate, and almost desolate,
(The hand of Heau'n that onely did protect thee)
Thou hast prouok'd most iustly to correct thee,
And for thy pride of Heart and deeds vniust,
He layes thy Pompe and Glory in the dust.
Thou that wast late the Queene of Cities nam'd,
Throughout the world admir'd, renown'd, & fam'd:
Thou that hadst all things at command and will,
To whom all England was a hand-maide still;
For rayment, fewell, fish, fowle, beasts, for food,
For fruits, for all our Kingdome counted good,
Both neere and farre remote, all did agree
To bring their best of blessings vnto thee.
Thus in conceite, thou seem'dst to rule the Fates,
Whilst peace and plenty flourish'd in thy Gates,
Could I relieue thy miseries as well,
As part I can thy woes and sorrowes tell,
Then should my Cares be eas'd with thy Reliefe,
And all my study how to end thy griefe.
Thou that wer't late rich, both in friends & wealth,
Magnificent in state, and strong in health,
As chiefest Mistris of our Country priz'd,
Now chiefly in the Country art despis'd.
The name of London now both farre and neere,
Strikes all the Townes and Villages with feare,
And to be thought a Londoner is worse,
Then one that breakes a house, or takes a purse.
He that will filch or steale, now is the Time,
No Iustice dares examine him, his crime;
Let him but say that he from London came,
So full of Feare and Terrour is that name,
The Constable his charge will soone forsake,
And no man dares his Mittimus to make.
Thus Citizens plagu'd for the Citie sinnes,
Poore entertainement in the Country winnes.
Some feare the City, and fly thence amaine,
And those are of the Country fear'd againe,
Who 'gainst thē bar their windows & their doores,
More then they would 'gainst Turks, or Iewes or Moores,
I thinke if very Spaniards had come there,
Their well-come had bin better, and their cheare.
Whilst Hay-cock lodging, with hard slender fare,
Welcome like dogs vnto a Church they are,
Feare makes them with the Anabaptists ioyne,
For if an Hostesse doe receiue their coyne,
She in a dish of water, or a paile,
Will new baptize it, lest it something aile.
Thus many a Citizen well stor'd with gold,
Is glad to lye vpon his mother mold,
His bed the map of his mortality,
His curtaines clouds, aud Heau'n his Canopy.
The russet Plow-swaine, and the Leathren Hinde,
Through feare is growne vnmannerly, vnkinde:
And in his house (to harbour) hee'll prefer
An Infidell before a Londoner:
And thus much friendship Londoners did win,
The Deuill himselfe had better welcome bin:
Those that with trauell were tir'd, faint, and dry,
For want of drinke, might starue, & choke, and dye:
For why the hob-nail'd Boores, inhumane Blocks,
Vncharitable Hounds, hearts hard as Rocks,
Did suffer people in the field to sinke,
Rather then giue, or sell a draught of drinke.
Milke-maides & Farmers wiues are growne so nice,
They thinke a Citizen a Cockatrice,
And Country Dames, are wax'd so coy and briske,
They shun him as they'll shun a Basiliske:
For euery one the sight of him would flye,
All fearing he would kill them with his eye.
Ah wofull London, I thy griefe bewayle,
And if my sighes and prayers may but preuaile;
I humbly beg of God that hee'le be pleas'd,
In Iesus Christ, his wrath may be appeas'd,
With-holding his dread Iudgements from aboue,
And once more graspe thee in his armes of loue.
In mercy all our wickednes remit,
For who can giue thee thankes within the pit?
Strange was the change in lesse then 3. months space,
In ioy, in woe, in grace, and in disgrace:
A healthfull Aprill, a diseased Iune,
And dangerous Iuly, brings all out of tune.
That City whose rare obiects pleas'd the eyes
With much content and more varieties,
She that was late delightfull to the eares,
With melody Harmonious, like the Spheares:
She that had all things that might please the scent,
And all she felt, did giue her touch content,
Her Cinque Port scences, richly fed and cloyd
With blessins bountifull, which she enioy'd.
Now 3. monthes change hath fill'd it full of feare,
As if no Solace euer had beene there.
What doe the Eyes see there but grieued sights
Of sicke, oppressed, and distressed wights?
Houses shut vp, some dying, and some dead,
Some (all amazed,) flying, and some fled.
Streets thinly man'd with wretches euery day,
Which haue no power to flee, or meanes to stay,
In some whole streete (perhaps) a Shop or twayne
Stands open, for small takings, and lesse gaine.
And euery closed window, dore and stall,
Makes each day seeme a solemne Festiuall.
Dead Coarses carried, and recarried still,
Whilst fifty Corpses scarce one graue doth fill.
With Lord have mercie vpon vs, on the dore,
Which (though the words be good) doth grieue men sore.
And o're the doore-posts fix'd a crosse of red
Betokening that there Death some blood hath shed.
Some with Gods markes or Tokens doe espie,
Those Marks or Tokens, shew them they must die.
Some with their Carbuncles, and sores new burst,
Are fed with hope they haue escap'd the worst:
Thus passeth all the weeke, till Thursdayes Bill
Shews vs what thousands death that weeke did kil.
That fatall Bill, doth like a razor cut
The dead, the liuing in a maze doth put,
And he that hath a Christian heart, I know,
Is grieu'd, and wounded with the deadly blow.
These are the obiects of the Eye, now heare
And marke the mournefull musicke of the Eare;
There doe the brazen Iron tongu'd loud bells
(Deaths clamorous musicke) ring continuall knells,
Some lofty in their notes, some sadly towling,
Whilst fatall dogs made a most dismall howling,
Some franticke rauing, some with anguish crying,
Some singing, praying, groaning, and some dying,
The healthfull grieuing, and the sickly groaning,
All in a mournefull diapason moaning.
Here, Parents for their Childrens losse lament.
There, Childrens griefe for Parents life that's spent:
Husbands deplore their louing Wiues decease:
Wiues for their Husbands weepe remedilesse:
The Brother for his Brother, friend for friend,
Doe each for other mutuall sorrowes spend,
Here, Sister mournes for Sister, Kin for Kin,
As one grife ends, another doth begin:
There one lies languishing, with slender fare:
Small comfort, lesse attendance. and least care,
With none but Death and he to tugge together,
Vntill his corps and soule part each from either.
In one house one, or two, or three doth fall,
And in another Death playes sweepe-stake all.
Thus vniuersall sorrowfull complaining;
Is all the musicke now in London raigning,
Thus is her comfort sad Calamitie,
And all her Melodie is Maladie.
These are the obiects of the eyes and eares,
Most wofull sights, and sounds of griefes and feares.
The curious tast that whilome did delight
With cost and care to please the Appetite
What she was wont to hate, she doth adore,
And what's high priz'd, she held despis'd before,
The drugs, the drenches, and vntoothsome drinks,
Feare giues a sweetnes to all seuerall stinks,
And for supposed Antidotes, each Palate
Of most contagious weedes will make a Sallate,
And any of the simplest Mountebankes
May cheat them (as they will) of Coine & thankes,
With scraped pouder of a shooing-horne,
Which they'le beleeue is of an Vnicorne.
Angelicaes, distastfull roote is gnaw'd,
And hearbe of Grace most Ruefully is chaw'd.
Garlick offendeth neither tast, nor smell,
Feare and opinion makes it rellish well,
Whilst Beazer stone, and mighty Mithridate,
To all degrees are great in estimate,
And Triacles power is wonderously exprest,
And Dragon Water in most high reque'st.
These 'gainst the Plague are good preseruatiues,
But the best cordiall is t'amend our liues.
Sinne's the maine cause and we must first begin
To cease our griefes, by ceasing of our sinne.
I doe beleeue that God hath giuen in store
Good medicines to cure, or ease each sore,
But first remoue the cause of the disease,
And then (no doubt but) the effect will cease.
Our sinn's the Cause, remoue our sinnes from hence,
And God will soone remoue the Pestilence,
Then euery med'cine (to our consolation)
Shall haue his power, his force his operation,
And till that time, experiments are not
But Paper walls against a Cannon shot.
On many a post I see Quacke-saluers Bills
Like Fencers Challenges, to shew their skills:
As if they were such Masters of defence
That they dare combat with the Pestilence;
Meete with the plague in any deadly fray,
And bragge to beare the victory away,
But if their patients patiently beleeue them,
They'le cure them (without faile) of what they giue them;
What though ten thousands by their drēches perish
They made them purposely themselues to cherish,
Their Art is a meere Artlesse kind of lying.
To picke their liuing out of others dying.
This sharpe inuectiue no way seemes to touch
The learn'd Physician, whom I honour much,
The Paracelsians and the Galennists,
The Philosophicall graue Herbalists.
These I admire and reuerence, for in those
God doth dame Natures secrets fast inclose,
Which they distribute, as occasion serue
Health to reserue, and health decai'd conserue.
'Tis 'gainst such Rat-catchers I bend my pen
Which doe mechanically murther men,
Whose promises of cure, (like lying knaues)
Doth begger men, or send them to their graues.
Now London, for the sence of feeling next,
Thou in thy feeling chiefely art perplext:
Thy heart feeles sorrow, and thy body anguish,
Thou in thy feeling feel'st thy force to languish,
Thou feel'st much woe, and much calamity,
And many millions feele thy misery:
Thou feel'st the fearefull Plague, the Flix, and Feuer,
Which many a soule doth from the body seuer.
And I beseech God for our Sauiours merit,
To let thee feele, the Comfort of his Spirit.
Last for the solace of the smell or scent:
Some in contagious roomes are closely pen't,
Whereas corrupted Aire they take, and giue
Till time ends, or lends liberty to liue.
One with a piece of tasseld well tarr'd Rope,
Doth with that nose-gay keepe himselfe in hope;
Another doth a wispe of worme-wood pull,
And with great Iudgement crams his nostrils full;
A third takes off his socks from's sweating feete,
And makes them his perfume alongst the streete:
A fourth hath got a pownc'd Pommander box,
With woorme-wood iuice, or sweating of a Fox,
Rue steep'd in vineger, they hold it good
To cheere the sences, and preserue the blood.
Whilst Billets Bonefire-like, and faggots dry
Are burnt i'th streetes, the Aire to purifie.
Thou great Almightie, giue them time and space,
And purifie them with thy heauenly Grace,
Make their repentance Incense, whose sweet sauour
May mount vnto thy Throne, and gaine thy fauour.
Thus euery sence, that should the heart delight,
Are Ministers, and organs to affright.
The Citizens doe from the City runne.
The Countries feares, the Citizens doe shunne:
Both feare the Plague, but neither feares one iot
The euill wayes which hath the plague begot.
This is the way this sickenes to preuent
Feare to offend, more then the punishment.
All trades are dead, or almost out of breath
But such as liue by sickenesse or by death
The Mercers, Grocers, Silk-men, Goldsmiths, Drapers,
Are out of Season, like noone burning Tapers,
All functions faile almost, through want of buyers:
And euery art and mysterie turne Dyers,
The very Water-men giue ouer plying,
Their rowing tade doth faile, they fall to dying.
Some men there are, that rise by others falls
Propheticke Augurists in vrinals,
Those are right water-men, and rowe so well,
They either land their fares in Heau'n or Hell.
I neuer knew them yet, to make a stay
And land at Purgatory, by the way:
The Reason very plainely doth appeare
Their patients feele their Purgatory here.
But this much (Reader) you must vnderstand
They commonly are paid before they land.
Next vnto him th'Apothecarie thriues
By Physicke bills, and his preseruatiues:
Worme-eaten Sextons, mighty gaines doe wiune,
And nasty Graue-makers great commings in.
And Coffin-makers are well paid their rent,
For many a woefull woodden tenement,
For which the Trunk-makers in Pauls Church-yard,
A large Reuenue this sad yeere haue shar'd
Their liuing Customers for Trunkes were fled,
They now made chests or Coffins for the dead.
The Searchers of each corps good gainers be,
The Bearers haue a profitable fee,
And last, the Dog-killers great gaines abounds
For Brayning brawling currs, and foisting hounds.
These are the graue trades, that doe get and saue
Whose grauity brings many to their graue.
Thus grieued London, fil'd with mones and grones
Is like a Golgotha of dead mens bones:
The field where death his bloudy fray doth fight
And kild a thousand in a day and night.
Faire houses, that were late exceeding deare,
At fifty or an hundred pounds a yeare,
The Landlords are so pittifull of late
Theyle let them at a quarter of the rate.
So he that is a mightie moneyed man,
Let him but thither make what haste he can,
Let him disburse his gold and siluer heape.
And purchase London 'tis exceeding cheape,
But if he tarrie but one three months more,
I hope 'twill be as deare as 'twas before.
A Country cottage, that but lately went
At foure markes, or at three pounds yeerely rent.
A Citizen, whose meere necessity
Doth force him now into the Country fly,
Is glad to hire two Chambers of a Carter
And pray & pay with thankes fiue Pounds a quarter.
Then here's the alteration of this yeare
The Citties cheapenes makes the Country deare.
Besides another mischiefe is, I see
A man dares not be sicke although he be:
Let him complaine but of the stone or gout
The plague hath strooke him, presently they doubt.
My selfe hath beeue perplexed now and then,
With the wind Collick, yeeres aboue thrice ten,
Wh'ch in the Country I durst not repeate
Although my pangs & gripes, & paines were great.
For to be sicke of any kind of griefe
Would make a man worse welcome then a thiefe,
To be drunke sicke, which er'st did credit winne,
Was feat'd infectious, and held worse then sinne.
This made me, and a many more beside,
Their griefes to smother, and their paines to hide,
To tell a mery tale with Visage glad,
When as the Collick almost made me mad.
Thus meere dissembling, many practis'd then,
And mid'st of paine, seem'd pleasant amongst men,
For why, the smallest sigh or grone, or shrieke
Would make a man his meat and lodging seeke.
This was the wretched Londoners hard case
Most hardly welcome into any place,
Whil'st Country people, where so'ere they went
Would stop their Noses to auoid their sent,
When as the case did oft most plaine appeare
'Twas onely they themselues that stunke with feare.
Nature was dead (or from the Country runne)
A Father durst not entertaine his Sonne,
The Mother sees her Daughter, and doth feare her,
Commands her, on her blessing not come neere her.
Affinity, nor any kinde of Kinne,
Or ancient friendship could true welcome winne,
The Children scarcely would their Parents know
Or (did if they,) but slender duty shew:
Thus feare made nature most vnnaturall,
Duty vndutifull, or very small,
No friendship, or else cold and miserable,
And generally all vncharitable.
Nor London Letters little better sped
They would not be receiu'd (much lesse be read)
But cast into the fire and burnt with speed
As if they had bin Hereticks indeed.
And late I saw vpon a Sabbath day
Some Citizens at Church prepar'd to pray,
But (as they had bin excommunicate)
The good Church-wardēs thrust them out the gate.
Another Country vertue I'le repeat,
The peoples charity was growne so great
That whatsoeuer Londoner did dye,
In Church or Church-yard should not buried lye.
Thus were they scorn'd, despised, banished,
Excluded from the Church, aliue, and dead,
Aliue, their bodies could no harbour haue,
And dead, not be allow'd a Christian Graue:
Thus was the Countryes kindnesse cold, and small,
No house, no Church, no Christian buriall.
Oh thou that on the winged windes dost sit
And seest our misery, remedy it,
Although we haue deseru'd thy vengeance hot,
Yet in thy fury (Lord) consume vs not.
But in thy mercies sheath thy slaying sword,
Deliuer vs, according to thy word,
Shut vp thy Quiuer, stay thy angry rod
That all the world may know thou art our God,
Oh open wide the gate of thy compassion
Assure our soules that thou art our Saluation.
Then all our thoughts, & words, & works, wee'le frame
To magnifie thy great and glorious Name,
The wayes of God are intricate, no doubt
Vnsearchable, and passe mans finding out,
He at his pleasure worketh wond'rous things
And in his hand doth hold the hearts of Kings,
And for the loue, which to our King he beares,
By sickenes he our sinfull Country cleares,
That he may be a Patrone, and a guide
Vnto a people purg'd and purifi'd.
This by a president is manifest;
When famous late Elizabeth deceast,
Before our gracious Iames put on the Crowne,
Gods hand did cut superfluous branches downe,
Not that they then that were of life bereft,
Were greater sinners then the number left:
But that the Plague should then the Kingdome cleare
The good to comfort, and the bad to feare:
That as a good King, God did vs assure,
So he should haue a Nation purg'd and pure.
And as Elizabeth when she went hence,
Was wayted on, as did beseeme a Prince:
Of all degrees to tend her Maiestie,
Neere forty thousand in that yeere did dye,
That as she was belou'd of high and lowe:
So at her death, their deaths their loues did showe,
Whereby the world did note Elizabeth,
Was louingly attended after death.
So mighty Iames (the worlds admired mirour)
True faiths defending friend, sterne Foe to Errour,
When he Great Britains glorious Crown did leaue,
A Crowne of endlesse glory to receaue,
Then presently in lesse then eight months space
Full eighty thousand follow him a pace.
And now that Royall Iames intombed lyes,
And that onr gracious Charles his roome supplies,
As Heau'n did for his Father formerly
A sinfull Nation cleanse and purifie.
So God, for him these things to passe doth bring,
And mends the subiects for so good a King.
Vpon whose Throne may peace and plenty rest,
And he and his Eternally be blest.

[THE TRAVELS OF TWELVE-PENCE.]

THE TRAVELS OF TVVELVE-PENCE.

Imagine Reader (to his griefe and glory,)
Twelue-pence himselfe declares his wandring story:
Relating how he first was borne and bred,
And how about the world he Trauailed.
If any one (as I dare boldly done)
His Bitth, his breeding, and his Life declare:
Let him appeare, and I dare lay my necke,
He wil be hang'd, or else deserue a checke.
From vast America's rude barbarous bounds,
From rocky barren soyle, and sterill grounds,
Where men did not their Creator know,
And where the Deuil's the God to whom they bow,
There from my Heathen Dam, or mother Earth
With Paines and trauaile, I at first had birth.
A hundred strong men-midwiues, digg'd their way
Into her bowels, to finde where I lay
With Engines, Spades, Crowes, Mattocks, & such matters,
They ripp'd & tore her harmlesse wombe to tatters,
And but they did within the mid-way catch me,
They would haue dig'd to Hell it selfe to fetch me.
At last they found me, mixt with dirt and drosse,
Corruption vnrefin'd, eclipst my Glosse,
And from the Earth I in the fire was tride,
And into Ingots purg'd and purifide.
From Paphlagonia, some my birth doe count,
Neere Sandracugium, a most famous Mount,
And that poore Slaues which were cōdemn'd to die,
Were forc'd to digge for me laboriously,
Whereas the dampish Mines infecting ayre
Kill'd the poore wretches, and so eas'd their care.
Some say that Menes, an Egyptian King,
Me to the shape of Coyne, at first did bring:
But when they saw that people, greedily,
For me did runne into all villany,
The Priests did curse the King, that first inuented
Me, that so many wayes their mindes tormented,
For till they knew me, they affirmed true;
No Enuie, Pride, or Auarice they knew.
Thus with great labour, and the death of men,
I first was borne and afterwards agen
He that to Money did conuert me first,
Was by the Priests and People, bann'd and curst.
With blood and curses I at first began,
And euer since haue beene a curse to man.
Yet for me some excuses may be showne,
The name of Twelue-pence, was as then not knowne,
Diuersity of Coynes o're all the world
Were scatter'd vniuersally, and hurld,
In Courts, in Cities, and in warlike Campes,
E're I was made, they all vs'd other stamps.
There were some Sicles, some Meruiades,
An As, a Drachma, a Sesterties,
Quadrens, Sextanes, Minaes, (it appeares)
Didrachmaes, and Sportulas, and Denieres.
My name at first did from the Romanes come,
(As Cooper saies) they call'd me Solidum,
Or from a Souldier it was named thus,
(As 'twere his daily wages) Sollidus,
For though the Times are subiect to mutation,
Yet from Soldafus I haue nomination:
Thus Twelue-pence hath an ancient Warriour bin,
Although men know not when I did begin.
And by experience all the world can tell,
Soldatus doth loue Sollidus so well,
That alwaies euery Souldier is vnwilling,
Long to be kept asunder from a Shilling:
If he doth want me, a moneth, two, or three,
Hee'll grumble, and goe neere to Mutinie.
He hath no mind to draw his Sword and fight,
But (discontented) bids the warres good-night.
When let but Sollidus come to his hand,
Hee'll fight as long as he can goe or stand,
Regarding nor remembring child or wife,
Hee'll hazard and endanger limbe and life.
And thus by way of argument 'tis pend,
A Shilling is a Souldiers loued friend.
A Shilling's much more ancient then a pound,
And in pronouncing giues a better sound:
As for example; which is most mouth-filling
Of fifty pounds, or of a thousand shilling,
A thousand pounds, may make the accent rore,
But twenty thousand shillings soundeth more.
Thus of two sillables I am compacted,
When into one the hounds are all extracted.
The Germane Dollers are my Iuniers farre,
So are the Copesticks of the Brabander.
The Spanish Royall, piece of foure and eight,
On me for my antiquity may waite,
The Floren, Guelder, and French Cardecue
To me are vpstarts, if Records be true,
The Grosh, Potchandle, Stiuer, Doyte, and Sowse,
Compar'd with me, are all scarce worth a Lowse:
Nor can the Atcheson or the Baubee
For my antiquity compare with me.
The halfe Crowne is on horseback mounted hie,
Yet neuer trauail'd halfe so farre as I;
The Scotish Mark's a dang'rous piece of Coyne,
Tis iust a hanging price, if one purloyne,
There is no such hazard in the stealing mee,
I am three halfe pence lower in degree,
And as in pence I for a Iury stand,
I haue eleuen Coynes vnder my command:
And (to grace all the rest) my proper selfe,
Like a Grand Iury-man make vp the Twelfe.
But for men shall not thinke I bragge or prate,
Those whom I doe command 'Ile nominate.
Nine pence (three quarters) with his Harpe befriends me,
And six pence with halfe seruice still attends me,
The foure pence halfe-penny next comes fiddling on,
The Groat my third part doth depend vpon:
The three-pence is a quarter wayter still,
The two-pence is six parts attends my will,
Three-halfe-pence stoops to my commanding sway,
And eight of them at once doth me obey:
The single pence are all my little Cozens,
And doth attend my seruice by the dozens.
Three farthings by sixteens attend in plenty,
And halfe-pence to the summe of foure and twenty,
And last (for Pages) on my State doth waite,
Of dapper farthing tokens forty eight.
But e're I did attaine my shape and forme,
I'abid the brunt of many a furious storme;
For this the world I would haue well to wot,
Mine honour was with paines and danger got.
I past the raging seas and flaming fire:
And gain'd a Face and Crosse for all my hire:
It would almost dissolue a heart of flint,
To be so vs'd as I was in the Mint:
The paines of Purgatory cannot be
But fictions to those things that fell on me.
For what I did endure, had man but felt,
It had (like Kitchinstuffe) haue made him melt.
Then my Tormentors, all at once agrees
From my great heat, to let me coole or freeze,
And dead and cold, me then againe they martyr'd,
Me all in pieces they becut and quartir'd,
Weighing the mangled mammocks, they pronounce
That fiue of me in weight should be an ounce.
Then to the Anuill was I brought in haste,
Whereas with Hammers they did me bumbaste,
And there they neuer left belab'ring mee,
Vntill they brought me to the shape you see.
Thus I mine honour, and my forme did win,
Through many dreadfull dangers I was in.
And though there scarce doth memory remaine,
What I was e're the sixt King Edwards raigne,
Yet long before his time I was in value,
As read in good true written Stories shall you.
My stamp (when Rome did keepe the world in awe)
Was foure swift Steedes that did a Chariot draw,
Which figur'd, that I to and fro should runne
An endlesse Iourney that would ne'r be done.
I am made endlesse, round, which doth portend,
Till the world end, my Iourney ne'r shall end.
And men may plainely in my roundnesse see,
An Emblem of the worlds rotundity.
Round is the Globe, round is the Hemisphere,
Rond runs the Moon and Sun, each month and yeere:
Round ran the Empire from th'Assirian Kings,
Round vnto Persian, Greece, and Rome it flings,
Round to great Britaine, it is come I know,
Whence (hem'd round with the Sea) it cannot goe.
But the maine cause that makes it stay and stand,
Is where'tis guarded by th'Almighties hand.
Round from the North to East, to South and West,
All Arts Laue still runne round, tis manifest.
The Iowes, th'Egyptians, Caldies, Persians,
Deuis'd Arts, and were Astrologians,
And true experience doth approue it thus,
Their knowledge is runne round from them to vs.
The age of man goes round, a child at first,
And like a child returnes vnto his dust.
His body and his limbs, his eyes, his head,
All inround formes are made and fashioned,
The roots, the fruits, the flowers, and the Trees,
All in a round conformity agrees,
Our drinking healths run round, with nimble quicknes,
Vntill at last too many healths brings sickenes:
When store of money to mens hands doe come,
They say they haue receiu'd a good round summe;
And when a man doth take a Knaue vp soundly,
'Tis said, he told him of his faults most roundly.
The Hang-man hangs a Traytor, or a Thiefe,
And is about his businesse round, and briefe.
Round are the dishes where we put our meate,
Our Cups, wherein we drinke, are round compleat:
Round is our Butter, round our Cheeses are,
Roūd are the cloaths which on our backs we weare,
Beasts, fowles and fish, that euery where abound,
Are (for the most part) euery where made round.
Round are all wedding Rings, implying will,
Mens cares runne round, like horses in a mill.
Thus hauing plainely shew'd, why and wherefore
I am made round, now to my taske once more.
About my circle, I a Posie haue,
The Title, God vnto the King first gaue.
The circle that encompasseth my face,
Declares my Soueraignes Title, by Gods grace,
Vpon my other side is, Posvi Devm,
Whereto is added Adivtorem Mevm,
The which last Poesie Annagrammatiz'd,
Wisdome, admit me power, true compriz'd,
Wisdome at first vpon me did bestowe
Such power that for a Shillinh I should goe,
When Wisdome gaue me power, I was then
A seruant, not a Master vnto men.
Now, Power makes me Wisedome force perforce
Improper, like the Cart before the Horse.
For in this Age, so many friends I finde,
My power's before, and Wisedome comes behinde
He that for me and for my kin can rake
Is wise, (although a Coxcombe) for my sake,
He that wants me, shall be esteem'd an Asse,
Although he be as wise as e're man was.
For there's such league one in Triplicity
Sworne firme betwixt the Deuill, the world, and I,
That those who to the one true seruants be,
Are captiue bondslaues vnto all the three.
Great sway vpon the earth to vs is giuen,
Por well we know we ne'r shall come in heau'n,
And all that in vs take delight and mirth,
Their onely heau'n is here vpon the earth.
And couctous they are not, in this case,
Because they couet for no better place;
So much for that: now to my shape againe,
You see my face is beardlesse, smooth and plaine,
Because my Soueraigne was a child 'tis knowne,
When as he did put on the English Crowne.
But had my stamp beene bearded, as with haire,
Long before this it had beene worne out bare;
For why with me the vnthrifts euery day,
With my face downwards do at shoue-boord play ,
That had I had a beard, you may suppose
Th'had worne it off, as they haue done my nose.
Yet doth my bare face sometimes, now and than,
Make a young beardlesse Boy, outface a man,
For any Boy and I, doe both agree,
To outface any man that doth want me
A crosse I beare vpon my other side,
(A glorious figure of true Christian pride)
And with that crosse I any man can crosse,
From wrong to iniury, from harme to losse,
And in me is such working powerfulnesse,
That those that haue me, can both crosse and blesse.
The English and French Armes, the Lyons & flowres,
Shewes France a subiect once to Englands pow'rs,
And when my Master did respire his breath,
His sisters Mary, and Elizabeth
Ordain'd new Twelue-pences with me to ioyne,
But altred not my badge vpon my Coyne,
Except a little, which King Philip did,
Which Queene Elizabeth did soone forbid.
But since the comming of my Soueraigne Iames,
The badge vpon my back more worth proclaimes.
And to mixe state with truth, truth with delight,
Vpon the Armes I carrie, thus I write.

Vpon the Kings Armes.

One ask'd the Cinnicke wise Athenian,
The cause why siluer look'd so pale and wan?
He, in reply was quicke, and answer'd straite,
Because so many for it lay in waite.
And did men thinke in what diuersity
Of fashions men for me in waite doe lye,
They would agree together in a tale,
That I had reason to looke wan and pale.
I haue of Treason, bin made Instrument
To betray Kingdomes, and to circumuent,
To vndermine, and to subuert the states
Of Empires, and of mighty Potentates.
I haue caus'd murther, cruell Homicide,
Foule Fratricide, vnnaturall Paricide.
For which a curse doth vnto me remaine,
A Runuagate, and a Vagabond like Caine.
And though that God in thundring Maiestie
Forbad man to haue any Gods but he,
Yet many thousands that command, forget,
Not minding God, their minds on me they set .
To purchase me, men haue forsworne and sworne,
And from the Booke of life their names haue torne.
For me the Sabbath is prophan'd with workes
Of Christians labours, worse then Iewes or Turkes.
For me those Parents that haue nurst and bred
Their children, by them are dishonoured,
For to haue me (to endlesse ioy or woe)
Some children care not where their Fathers goe.
I with the deu'ls sole helpe (my sole partaker)
Haue bin an vniuersall Cuckold-maker:
For where nor wit, or beauty could come in,
In any shape I could admittance win.
I make the Husband sometimes keepe the dore,
The whil'st (for me) his wife doth play the whore.
And many times (to moue all hell to laughter)
I made a Mother Bawde vnto her Daughter.
I'forc'd a Virgin cast off continence
And Chastity, and put on Impudence.
I made a reuerend Iudge to take a Bribe,
I made a Scribe a forged Name subscribe,
I caus'd a Miser sell his soule to hell,
Because I here on Earth with him should dwell.

[_]

There is no anchor in the text for this note.— Twelue-pence is a shrift.

And eighteene yeeres he kept me day and night
Lock'd in a Chest, not seeing any light.
And though my lot was thus a Slaue to be,
Yet was he a farre worser Slaue to me;
For he had vow'd himselfe to death to pine,
Rather then spend one penny pot of wine,
Although he late had swallow'd downe his throat,
Stinking fresh Herrings threescore for a Groat.
And he did bide this slauish misery,
On purpose to debarre my liberty.
At last this poore, base penurious Knaue,
Was borne (the way of all flesh) to his Graue:
And his braue heire vpon his backe had got
A mourning merry sute, long look'd I wot,
He the next day let flie the ill got treasure,
And I began to see some worldly pleasure;
From my old Masters Chest I was assum'd
To my young Masters pockets, sweet perfum'd,
'T a bawdy house, of the last new translation
He bare me with him, for his recreation,
There for a maydenhead he plaid a game,
Where eightscore more before had done the same:
There did my Master Knaue discharge the score,
And went, and left me with my mistris Whore.
I stai'd not in her seruice long, for shee
Was not two dayes before she set me free,
For hauing got a Frenchified heat,
She was prescrib'd a Dyet and a sweat,
She gaue me to the Surgeon, for some Lotion,
For Unguents, and a gentle working Potion,
For Plaisters, and for oyntments in a Box,
And so I left my Mistris, with a Pox.
The Surgeon me to the Physician sent,
From him I to th'Apothecary went,
But there I thought that Hell I had beene in,
And all the Fiends had in his Boxes bin.
For it appear'd to me that all his drugs
Had got the names of the infernall Bugs:
Zarzaparilla, Colloquintida,
Auxungia Porci, Cassia Fistula,
Egiptiacum, Album Camphiratum,
Blacke Oxicrotium, and white Sublimatum.
But soone my Master freed me from my feare,
He to the Tauerne went and left me there.
And whilst I in the Vintners house remain'd,
Some knowledge of my Masters state I gain'd.
Let no man say that drunke, my selfe I showe,
For what I speake, I vnderstand and know.
I'le shew some discommodities that waite
(For the most part) on euery Vintners state.
First, if a rowe of houses stands together,
All of one bignesse form'd, no oddes in either,
If one of them be to a Vintner let,
Amongst the rest at double rent 'tis set.
Next, if French Wine be twenty pound the Tonne,
But a poore penny in a quart is wonne:
Besides, he sometimes in the Caske doth finde,
Of Lees sixe Gallons, for a Lagge behinde.
And more, when in the Celler it is laid,
The Carmen, and Wine-Porters must be paid.
And by misfortune if the Caske be weake,
Three or foure Gallons in the ground may leake,
Or taking vent, it may grow dead and flat,
And then the Vintner little gets by that.
And if he be a fellow of free heart,
He now and then must giue a pint or quart.
His Candles (night and day) are burning still
Within his Seller, lest his Wines should spill:
And if two Kennell-rakers chance to come,
To come i'th euening, they must haue a roome,
And ouer one bare pint will sit and prate,
And burne a Candle out (perhaps) thereat,
Whilst all the Drawers must stay vp and waite
Vpon these fellowes, be it ne'r so late:
The whilst a Candle in the Kitchin wastes,
Another to his end ith'Seller hastes,
One with the Guests, another at the Barre,
Thus for one pint, foure Candles burning are.
By day-light, this I haue seene some to doe,
Call for a pipe, a pint, and Candle to,
By that time he hath done, 'tis quickly counted,
To what large summe the Vintners gaines amoūted.
Besides all this, his charge is euer great,
For seruants wages, cloathes, and fire, and meat,
For linnen, washing, Trenchers, losse of Plate,
For Glasses broken (by the course of Fate)
Besides, he hath some scores, which if you looke,
They make his posts look white, & black his book:
And if a debter seu'n long yeeres doe stay,
But six pence for a quart of wine hee'll pay,
When if a Merchant doe a Vintner trust
For his forbearance deare he answer must.
And when some Guests haue liquor in their braines,
How they will swagger in their roaring straines,
Out goe their swords, and by the eares they fall,
And now and then one's nail'd vnto the wall.
The man and's wife abus'd, his seruants beaten,
No moneyes pay'd for what is drunke or eaten,
His house in question brought, a man is kill'd,
His and his wiues heart both with sorrow fill'd,
And whereas other Trades their labours end
At night, till midnight He doth still attend,
At euery Groomes command officiously
He waits, and takes hard words most courteously.
He that amongst these harmes can purchase profit,
Much good may't doe him, he is worthy of it.
My Masters Vintner Trade, I thought to touch,
Because I cannot thinke his gaines is much,
I loue them all, my lines here manifests,
And so God send them honest sober guests.
From thence vnto the Wine-Marchant I went,
He presently me to the market sent:
For Butter, and for Egges I was exchang'd,
And to the Country with my Dame I rang'd.
Her Husband gaue me to a lab'ring Ditcher,
He to the Ale-house went, and bang'd the Pitcher.
To stay long there, I was exceeding loth,
They vs'd so much deceit with nick and froth.
My Master Host, vnto the Brewer gaue me,
The Malt-man came on Munday, & would haue me,
He to the Alehouse brought me backe in haste,
From thence I quickly to the Baker past,
My seruice there was very short and briefe,
He plac'd me with a Miller and a Thiefe,
That was a merry Master for the nonce,
He got his liuing cogging with two stones;
I next dwelt with a Butcher, that had tricks
To liue and thriue by Mutton and by pricks.
Thus haue I oft beene tossed to and fro,
From bad to worse, from misery to woe,
From miserable Slaues, to Prodigals,
To arrant Thieues, and to good Hospitals,
To good and bad, to true men and to Taylers,
To Fiddlers, Pipers, Fishmongers, and Saylers,
To Mercers, Grocers, Drapers, Tinkers, Peddlers,
To Fruiterers, for Pipins, Plumbs, and Medlers,
To Silk-men, Sadlers, Turners, Tylers, Glasiers,
To Tripewiues, Mealmē, Gardners, Grasiers, Brasiers,
To Plummers, Bricklay'rs, Smithes, and Carpenters,
To Dyers, Goldsmiths, and to Playsterers,
To Noble-men, to Water-mea, and to Ioyners,
To honest men, to Knaues, to clipping Coyners,
To Knights, to Beggers, Scriu'ners, Colliers, Lawiers,
To Stationers, to Printers, Silk-men Sawyers,
To Fooles, to Wise-men, Dunces, and to Doctors,
To Harlots, Varlots, Serieants, Bayliffes, Proctors,
To Papists, Protestants, and Puritans,
To Traytors, Subiects, Matchiuillians,
To Catchpoles, Beadles, Iaylors, Ironmongers,
To Cooks (whose labours do asswage mēs hungers)
To Cuckolds, Bawdes, to greasie Pimps & Panders,
To Cowards, valiant men and stout Commanders,
To Fishers, Fowlers, Shepheards, Queristers,
To Feather-makers, Girdlers, Barristers,
To Players, Bearewards, Fencers, to goodfellowes,
To those that make no breath, yet cā make bellows,
To Pewt'rers, Shoomakers, and Buttonmakers,
To Marshals men, and dirty kenell-rakers.
To Leather-sellers, Armourers, and Curriers,
To Iuglers, Iesters, Masons, Barbers, Spurriers,
To Woodmongers, to Tapsters, and to Salters,
To Ropemakers, for Cables, Ropes, and Halters,
To Painters, Pointers, Hackney-men, and Skinners,
To Hearb-wiues, Fish-wiues, & such scolding sinners
To Cutlers, Parrators, to Posts, to Iudges,
To Druggists, Felmongers, and to toyling Drudges,
To Hatters, Powlterers, Coniurers, and Farmees,
To Priests, Clerks, Sextanes, Sorcerers, & Charmers,
To Bowyers, Chandlers, and Astronomers,
To Gulls, to Gallants, and Embroyderers,
To Basket-makers, Milke-maydes, Iewellers,
To Comfit-makers, and Soliciters,
To Yeomen, Hostlers, and to Vnder-Shrieues,
To Millainers, to Chamberlaines, and Thieues,
To Cappers, Faulkners, Plow-men, Haberdashers,
To Coopers, Weauers, Scullions, Coblers, Trashers,
To Hunts-men, Gunners, Grauers, Rhethoricians,
To Coachmen, Tuckers, Potters, and Musicians,
To Reapers, Spinners, Caruers, and Suruayors,
To Orators, to Carriers, and Puruayors,
To Clothiers, to Logicians, Mowers, Sheermen,
To Clockemakers, Collectors, Miners, Carmen,
Tobacco-sellers, Netmakers, Men, Boyes,
To Sharkes, Stales, Nims, Lifts, Foysts, Cheats, Stands, Decoyes
T'a Cut-purse, and a Pocket picking Hound,
To as mad Rogues as euer trod on ground.
To married men, to Batchelers, to Lads,
To sober fellowes, and to drunken Swads,
To Maydes, to Wiues, to Widdowes, & Whores,
To liberall mindes, and hungry hide-bound Boores,
To Midwiues, Chimney-sweepers, Beadles, Nurses,
To Seampsters, Laundresses, and Gossips purses,
To Drummers, Draimen, Pyrates, Drawers, Glouers,
To Trumpets, Whitsters, Ratcatchers, and Drouers,
To Hang-men, Side-men, to Churchwardens, Cryers,
To Fluits, Horse-coursers, Sellers, and to Buyers,
To Prisoners, to Night-farmers, & to Broome-men,
To all estates of forraigners, and Freemen:
I could name more, if so my Muse did please,
Of Mowse Traps, and tormentors to kill Fleas:
For Ballads, Table-bookes, and Conny-skins,
For ends of Gold and Siluer, Poynts and Pins:
For Knights, and Madames made of Ginger-bread,
And many a stale and musty maydenhead.
These Masters haue I seru'd, and thousands more
Of all degrees and Trades, on seas and shore.
And amongst all the places that I had,
Whereas I found one good, I got ten bad;
If I did serue a poore man but one day,
I fiue yeere (for it) with the rich would stay.
I haue bin Twelue-pence seuenty od long yeere,
And to the world I'le make it plaine appeare,
That where I had one Master lou'd the poore,
I had ten Drunkards, that did loue a Whore,
For each houres seruice good men had of mee,
To my great griefe I seru'd bad people three.
I weare the Kings badge, yet flie from the King,
And to a Misers Chest I profit bring.
The words I haue are Latine, which implies,
That I should waite vpon the learn'd and wise,
But for one Scholler, that can vnderstand,
I haue seru'd twenty Artlesse fooles command.
My seruice to the Poets hath bin euill,
I ranne more swift from them, then from the Deuill,
I know not well the cause, but they and I
Together long could ne'r keepe company.
I haue a true excuse that will defend me,
They loue me not, which makes e'm quickly spend me.
But there's no great loue lost 'twixt them and mee,
We keepe asunder, and so best agree.
They that doe loue me best, beyond Sea dwell,
For there I am like to a soule in hell,
From whence there's no returning, and so I
In the Low Countries or in Germanie,
If they doe get me once vpon their shore,
'Tis ten to one I ne'r see England more.
I haue seru'd Cut-purses, and high-way Fellowes,
And haue brought ten thousand to the Gallowes,
Were he the arrantst Thiefe that euer 'twang'd,
For my loue he would venture to be hang'd.
Some Scriueners, & some Post Knights (it appeares)
Fo louing me too much, haue lost their eares,
There's many a reuerend Bawde rode in a Cart,
For bearing vnto me a louing heart,
There's many a swee-fac'd Punk hath bin perplext,
Whip'd, & behind her back, much grieu'd & vext,
Some of my Masters, would take paines to haue me,
And like to Barbers, wash, clip, poll, and shaue me,
In this I onely differ from a Whore,
We both haue wicked followers great store:
The whore they may kisse, clip and coll, and strip,
Me they may safely kisse, but neuer clip.
And now and then, like imitating Apes,
With Brasse, Tin, Iron, they counterfeit my shapes.
They lou'd me more then honesty requires,
But commonly the Hangmin payes their hires.
Thus though I be but of a small account,
I haue had power to make my Master mount,
And some againe (by their owne bad endeuour)
I haue had power to sinke them downe for euer.
To some I am (in comming) slowe as Lead,
But quicke as Quicke-siluer, againe soone fled.
Suppose that any mischiefe that could be,
Had lately bin by th'onely meanes of me,
As casting good men into great distresse,
T'vndoe the Widdow and the Fatherlesse,
A long delaide sute, longer to prolong,
Or hang'd a guiltlesse man, that did no wrong:
Corrupted a chaste Mayd, intic'd a Wife
To folly, and to loath her Husbands life:
If I had bin the meanes to worke all this,
Or ten times more such actions of amisse,
Yet doe I looke as white as Innocence,
And neuer blush, at the most vile offence.
Nay more, there's none will (for my faults refraine me,)
But euery one will straitway entertaine me.
If treason (through my meanes) bee thought or wrought,
I neuer am vnto my triall brought:
For I haue had the triall touch before,
And am so knowne, I shall be tride no more.
For though I be in ill, chiefe formost Actor,
No man suspects me for a malefactor,
And if there be one man that will reueale me,
There are at least ten thousand will conceale me.
Indeed I was a Pagan borne at first,
And since in Christendome I haue beene nurst,
So they might haue me to encrease their pelfe,
Many are turn'd worse Pagans then my selfe.
For I no God or deity did know,
To whom I should my loue and seruice show:
But they forsake their God, whom they know well,
And make a God of me, an Infidell.
So, though I be but of a Heathen state,
I am no base Apostate, Reprobate.
Look on the hearbs, the flowr's, the fruits, the trees,
Fowles of the ayre, the painefull lab'ring Bees,
And aske their Owners why they breed and spring,
His answere is, they must him money bring.
Note but the toyling Plow-man, he is sowing,
He's hedging, ditching, taking, reaping, mowing,
Goes to bed late, and rises before day,
And all to haue my company, hee'll say.
For me with dagled Gownes, and dirty ham'd
The Hall at Westminster, ith' Terme is cram'd,
Such writing, running, sweating, interceding,
Remouing Causes, Pleading, Counterpleading,
Aske the cause why, the answer true will be,
Their wrangling and their strife is all for me.
Looke in the Towne, how folkes throng to & fro,
So thicke, one cannot for another goe,
And how the Shops with Wares are furnish'd out:
How euery one stares, pryes, and gapes about.
Demaund the reason, all will answer make,
They watch, & waite, cause they would money take.
I know, not why my reputation's such,
But still my credit hath beene wondrous much,
I am more willing taken, now and then
Then a seal'd Bond of any Aldermen,
For by long proofe, the Prouerbe true doth say,
That ready money euer will away.
I am no worse then I haue beene of old,
When thrice my worth, for me was bought & sold,
For I could once haue paid a quarters rent
For a small Garden, and a Tenement,
And that (for me) of Barly, Wheat or Rye,
Three times as much as now a man might buy:
The cause why now I not so much attaine,
Is (that I am not lighter halfe a graine)
But that through greedinesse, and hatefull pride,
I still am ill imployde, and worse applide:
For though the world be in a tott'ring state,
Yet am I constant alwayes at one rate,
Let house, land, cloathes, food, high or lower rise,
I am in value, alwayes at one sise,
Raise the price vp, or let it fall downe lowe,
A shilling is but Twelue pence, all men know,
I am the same I was, 'tis onely men
Haue lost the consciences they harbour'd then.
I might (as they might vse me) be a blessing,
And they make me the cause of their transgressing,
Some to obtaine me into mischiefe runne,
And some to spend me haue destruction wonne:
There's many a Master, where I vs'd to dwell,
That tooke delight (with me) to purchase hell.
And all the vicious wayes they ranne a side,
They made the Deuill and me, their onely guide:
(Perhaps) their Fathers went to hell to haue me,
And their mad heires, run the same way to leaue me,
The whilst a haire-brain'd needy crue beset me,
And gallop to the Deu'll amaine, to get me.
Thus vilely, how to get, and keepe, and spend me,
Three quarters of the world doe still attend me.
I haue made Mariages in many a place.
Where hath bin neither beauty, wit, or grace,
All's one for that, I am of that high price,
I can make vice seeme vertue, vertue vice.
I am of that great power, and high command,
In ioyning house to house, and land to land:
That where one hath a dwelling to abide.
One hundred knows not where their heads to hide:
And as one may three hundred Tenants haue,
Fiue hundred know not where to haue a graue.
Far though from Earth man hath originall,
And to the Earth, from whence he came doth fall,
Though he be Earth, & can claime nought but earth,
(As the fraile portion due vnto his birth)
Yet many thousands that the earth doth breed,
Haue no place (certaine) where to lodge or feed:
In which respect mens pleasures are behinde
The Birds, and Beasts for they contentment finde
With the prouision dame Nature giues,
Free (wiout money) euery Creature liues,
Their foode, attire, their Caues, dens, holes, & rests,
They haue and hold, as their owne interests.
And man, that hath a reasonable soule,
Whose reason countermands each beast and fowle,
Within whose face, a Maiestie is seated,
Beyond all Creatures that were e're created;
Yet let him but want money, and 'tis plaine,
He's th'onely briefe and abstract of disdaine,
Despised, scorn'd, deiected, and contemn'd,
And round about with miseries behem'd.
Search all the worlds Records from age, to age,
And view Times variable Pilgrimage:
Note that though Fortune (in her tott'ring guise)
Hath play'd at Foot-ball with great Monarchies,
Yet shall you finde how euer States haue varied,
How-euer things were carried or miscarried,
That money still bare the commanding sway,
To whom both right and wrong, and all obey.
Should all the Witches in the whole world sit
In Counsell, and imploy their damned wit,
And haue the aydes of all the fiends of hell,
With many mumbling Necromantick spell,
And all this toyle and paines of their should be,
To bring Pecunia into infamy,
To cast my Lady Argent in disgrace,
And make some other thing supply her place:
The fruits of all their labours they should finde,
Would be like throwing feathers 'gainst the winde:
For in mans heart 'tis rooted with such loue,
That nothing else but Death can it remoue.
And many humane reasons doe approue it,
That aboue all things earthly he should loue it,
Do'st thou want honour, money straite will buy it.
Although ten thousand needy Slaues enuie it.
Would'st thou an office thy estate to reare,
Money will helpe thee to't man, neuer feare:
Do'st want wit how to guide and gouerne it?
If thou hast money thou canst want no wit.
Art thou a damned Matchiuillian,
Thy money makes thee held an honest man.
Hast thou a scuruy face, take this of me,
If thou hast money, 'tis not seene in thee.
Would'st haue a Whore, a coach, smoke, drinke, or dice?
Money will bring thee all at any price.
Woul'dst haue all pleasures in variety,
Money will thy insatiate wants supply:
Then seeing money can doe what it will,
Haue not men reason to regard it still?
Some things there are that money cannot win,
But they are things men take small pleasure in;
As Heau'n, and a good Conscience, Vertue, Grace,
He that loues Money, cannot these imbrace.
For he whose heart to Money, is inclin'd,
Of things Cœlestiall hath but little minde.
If Money were a woman, I doe see,
Her case most pittie pittifull would bee,
Because I thinke she would no louers haue,
Except a Gowty miserable Knaue:
One that all night would by her lye and Grone,
Grip'd with the Collicke, or tormenting Stone,
With stinking coughing, grūting, spitting, spauling,
And nothing but Contagious Catterwalling.
Besides hee'd be so Iealous day and night,
He would not suffer her goe out of sight:
That sure I thinke her Case farre worse would be,
Then is the Turkish Galley slauery.
For none but such as those whome Age hath got ,
Are in the Loue of Money extreme hot.
And when as Hearing, Sent, and Taste, and sight,
Are gone, yet Feeling Money's their delight.
The whilest a Young-man, full of strength and pride,
Would make her goe by water, Run and Ride,
Force in all things to supply his neede,
For Recreation, or to Cloath and Feede,
Compell her to maintaine him fine and braue.
And in a word make her his Drudge or Slaue,
And all his Loue to her would be so so,
For hee'd but kisse her, and so let her goe.
Thus if It were a Woman as I say,
Her Case were lamentable euery way:
For Old men within Doores would euer worr'y her,
And youngmen round about the world would hurry her.
That were she matchd with either yong or old,
Her miseries would still be manifold.
But this Commanding bright Imperious Dame,
Vsde well or ill, Shee's euermore the same:
Locke her, or Let her loose, she cares not which,
She still hath power the whole world to bewitch.
I call to minde, I heard my Twelue-pence say,
That he hath oft at Christmas beene at play:
At Court, at th'Innes of Court, and euery where
Throughout the Kingdome, being farre and neere.
At Passage, and at Mumchance , at In and in,
Where Swearing hath bin counted for no Sinne,
Where Fullam high and Low-men bore great sway,
With the quicke helpe of a Bard Cater Trey.
My shilling said such swaggering there would be quoth he
Among the wrangling Knaues for me
Such shouing, sholdring, thrusting, thronging, setting,
Such striuing, crowding, iustling, and such betting,
Such storming, fretting, fuming, chafing, sweating,
Refuse, renounce me, damne me, swearing, cheating,
So many heauy curses, plagues and poxes,
Where all are losers, but the Butlers boxes:
That sure in hell the Deuils are in feare,
To curse and to blaspheme as they doe there.
Whilst without touch of conscience, or of sence,
They abuse th'Almighties great Omnipotence,
And this wicked stirre that they doe make,
Is me from one another how to rake.

[_]

There are no anchors in the text for these notes.— And tewnty games more.

False Dice.

That though I were a Pagan borne, I see
They make themselues much worse to pocket me.
These Gamesters make this time a time of mirth,
In memory of their blest Sauiours birth.
Whose deare remembrance, they doe annually
Obserue with extreme odious gluttony,
With gurmandizing beastly belly filling,
With swinish drinking, and with drunken swilling,
With ribald Songs, Iigges, Tales, & gawdy cloathes,
With bitter cursings, and most fearefull oathes,
That svre my shilling saith, the Heathen will
Not entertaine the Deuill halfe so ill;
But worship Satan in more kinde behauiour,
Then some professed Christians doe their Sauiour.
In Saturnes raigne when money was vnfound,
Then was that age with peace and plenty crown'd,
Then mine was thine, Thine mine, and all our liues,
All things in common were, except our wiues.
But now the case is altred (as they say)
Quite topsie-turuy the contrary way:
For now mens wealth is priuatly kept close,
The whilst their wiues are commonly let loose.
For he whom loue of money doth besot,
For's owne soule, or's wiues body, much cares not.
It bewitch'd Achan at the siege of Ai,
For which the Israelites did lose the day:
It made Gehezi false in his affaires,
And gain'd the Leprosie for him, and's heires,
It with th'Apostle Iudas bore such sway,
That it made him the Lord of life betray;
And Ananias and his wretched wife,
By suddaine death it made them lose their life;
And Diuine stories, and prophane, recite
Examples of such matters infinite,
'Tis said in Salomons Dominions,
That Siluer was as plenty as the Stones:
But sure the sinne of Couetise was not
Amongst them either borne, or scarce begot.
For all that Siluer, and a great deale more,
Rak'd and Rip'd from the Europian shore,
From Asia, and Sun-parched Africa,
And from the wombe of vast America,
From which last place the Potent King of Spaine,
Eleuen millions in one yeere did gaine,
And from Pottozzy Mines he daily had
Three hundred thirty thousand Ryals made.
To speake what mighty summes King Dauid won,
And left them vnto Salomon his Son,
Of Gold one hundred thousand Talents fine,
Siluer one Thousand thousand, from the Mine,

[_]

There are no anchors in the text for these notes.—

Ioshua 7.

2 Kings 5.

Acts 5.

1 Kings 10. 27.

Purchas.

Besides from Ophír he had at the least,
Three thousand Golden talents of the best.
Iosephus doth of Dauids Tombe thus write,
How th'hidden Treasure there was infinite,
The Basons, Candlesticks, and Censors all,
Lampes, Organs, Instruments most musicall,
Ports, Altar, Tables, Hindges the Gates to hold,
They were all made of pure Refined Gold.
Besides six hundred Shields and Targets more,
The King causd all with Gold be plated o're.
Besides the Richnes of his Royall Throne,
The like whereof elsewhere was neuer none.
When the Great Macedonian did subdue
Darius, and his haples Persian Crue,
'Tis said his Treasure did so much abound,
Twenty nine thousand Talents there was found.
And more he saith (if we may credit this)
How that in Susa and Persepolis,
They found, of Siluer to encrease their store
One hundred seuenty thousand Talents more
When Cyrus Conquer'd Crœsus Crœsus lost
Three hundred millions of good Gold almost,
'Tis writ that Midas Treasure so amounted
Innumerable, not be Accounted.
Sardanapalus an Assyrian King,
Neere eight score millions to the fire did bring.
Where fifteene daies did burne his house, & pelfe,
His whores, & ('mongst the rest) his wretched selfe.
And Plutarch saith, Marke Anthony spent cleare
Of Gold, full sixe score millions in one yeere.
What should I speake of Cleopatraes Treasures,
Or wealth, or Triumphs of the Roman Cæsars?
Or what they were whose riches haue bin such?
Or who they are that now possesse too much?
But here's the question, seeing times of old
Did yeeld such store of siluer and of gold,
And seeing daily more and more is found,
Digg'd in aboundance from the solid ground,
I muse which way the Deuill all is gone,
That I, and thousand thousands can haue none.
I know my selfe as able to abuse it,
As any man that knowes well how to vse it,
But sure I neuer should my Master make it,
But as my seruant take it, and forsake it.
I haue described in particular
What Twelue-pence is, how it hath trauell'd far:
How to all ages, Sexes, Trades and Arts,
It comes and goes, it tarries and departs:
I could tell further how it doth command,
In pressing men to serue by sea or land,
How Bakers thirteene penny loaues doe giue
All for a shilling, and thriue well and liue,
How it a pottle of good Clarret buyes,
How 'tis a quart of rich Canaries prise,
How for a thousand things 'tis daily ranging,
And is so round a summe, it needs no changing,
How vp and downe the world he still doth firrit,
And takes no more rest then an ayery spirit.
Then at the last my Muse to minde doth call,
The mighty power of money in generall,
And how all ages still haue had good store,
Musing the cause my selfe can haue no more.
And Money hauing writ all this for thee,
Shew not thy selfe ingratefull vnto me:
But as I know thou canst, so preethee grant
That when I want, thou wilt supply my want,
Reward thy Poet, that doth set thee forth,
I'le loue thee still, according to thy worth.

[AN ARMADO, OR NAVY OF SHIPS AND OTHER VESSELS, WHO HAVE THE ART TO SAYLE BY LAND, AS WELL AS BY SEA.]

THE DESCRIPTION HOW THE WHOLE NAVY IS VICTVALLED WITH THIRTY TWO SORTES OF LING, BESIDES OTHER NECESSARIES.

[Iniurious death, to make an Emperour mourne]

The Suretie-Ship, with her Regement.

[With the cry of the Hounds]

With the cry of the Hounds,
And the Eccho resownds
Through the Meade, through the fallow,
With the Horne, with the hallow,
With the Horse lowd neigh, & the Bucke at a Bay,
And with the Deers fall, & the Hornsounding knell,
My Pen bids Hunting Woodman-Ship farewell.

[THE BEGGER.]

THE PRAISE, ANTIQVITY, AND COMMODITIE OF BEGGERIE, BEGGERS, AND BEGGING.

There was a Rich hard miserable Lord,
That kept a knauish Foole at bed and boord,
(As Great men oft affected haue such Elues,
And lou'd a Foole, as they haue lou'd themselues.)
But Nature to this Foole such vertue gaue,
Two simples in one Compound, Foole and Knaue,
This Noble Lord, ignobly did oppresse
His Tenants, raising Rents to such excesse:
That they their states not able to maintaine,
They turn'd starke Beggers in a yeere or twaine.
Yet though this Lord were too too miserable,
He in his House kept a well furnish'd Table:
Great store of Beggers dayly at his Gate,
Which he did feed, and much Compassionate.
(For 'tis within the power of mighty men,
To make fiue hundred Beggers, and feed Ten.)
At last, vpon a time the Lord and's Foole,
Walk'd after dinner their hot bloods to coole,
And seeing three or fourescore Beggers stand
To seeke reliefe from his hard-clutched hand,
The Nobleman thus spake his Foole vnto,
Quoth he, what shall I with these Beggers doe?
Since (quoth the Foole) you for my Iudgement call,
I thinke it best we straightwayes hang them all.
That were great pitty, then the Lord reply'd,
For them and me our Sauiour equall dy'd:
Th'are Christians (although Beggers) therefore yet
Hanging's vncharitable, and vnfit.
Tush (said the Foole) they are but beggers tho,
And thou canst spare them, therefore let them goe:
If thou wilt doe, as thou hast done before,
Thou canst in one yeere make as many more.
And he that can picke nothing from this tale,
Then let him with the Bergger drinke small Ale.
Thus is a Begger a strange kinde of creature,
And begg'ry is an Art that liues by Nature:
For he neglect all Trades, all Occupations,
All functions, Mysteries, Artes, and Corporations.
Hee's his owne Law, and doth euen what he list,
And is a perfit right Gimnosophist.
A Philosophicall Pythagoras,
That without care his life away doth passe.
A Lawyer must for what he gets take paines,
And study night and day, and toyle his braines,
With diligence to sift out Right from wrong,
Writes, trauels pleads, with hands, & feet, & tong;
And for to end Debate, doth oft debate
With Rhetoricke, and Logicke Intricate:
And after all his trauell and his toyle,
If that part which he pleads for get the foyle,
The Clyent blames the Lawyer, and the Lawes,
And neuer mindes the badnes of his Cause.
Tis better with a Begger that is dumbe,
Whose tongue-lesse mouth doth onely vtter mum:
In study, and in care, no time he spends,
And hath his businesse at his fingers ends.
And with dumbe Rhetoricke, & with Logick mute,
Liues and gaines more, then many that Dispute.
If case a Begger be old, weake or ill,
It makes his gaines, and commings in more still;
When Beggers that are strong, are paid with mocks,
Or threatned with the Cage, the Whip, or Stocks.
Hee's better borne then any Prince or Peere,
In's Mothers wombe three quarters of a yeere:
And when his birth hath made her belly slacke,
Shee foure or fiue yeeres, beares him at her backe
He liues as if it were grim Saturnes Raigne,
Or as the golden age were come againe.
Moreouer many vertues doe attend
On Beggers, and on them doe they depend:
Humility's a Vertue, and they are
In signe of Humblenesse, continuall bare:
And Patience is a vertue of great worth.
Which any begger much expresseth forth,
I saw a Begger Rayl'd at, yet stood mute,
Before a Beadle, of but base repute.
For Fortitude a Begger doth excell,
There's nothing can his valiant courage quell:
Nor heate or cold, thirst, hunger, Famines rage,
He dares out-dare Stocks, whipping-posts, or Cage.
Hee's of the greatest Temperance vnder heauen,
And (for the most part) feeds on what is giuen.
He waytes vpon a Lady, of high price,
Whose birth-place was cœlestiall Paradice.
One of the Graces, a most heauely Dame,
And Charity's her all-admired Name;
Her hand's ne'r shut, her glory is in giuing,
On her the Begger waytes, and gets his liuing,
His State's more ancient then a Gentleman,
It from the Elder brother (Cain) began:
Of Runagates and vagabonds he was
The first that wandring o're the earth did passe.
But what's a Vagabond and a Runagate?
True Anagramatiz'd I will relate:

Rvnagate, Anagram, A Gravnte. Vagabonde, Anagram. Gave a Bond.

And many well-borne Gallants, mad and fond,
Haue with a Graunt so often Gaue a Bond,
And wrap'd their states so in a Parchment skin,
They Vagabonds and Runagates haue bin.
A Begger's nob'ly borne, all men will yeeld,
His getting and his birth b'ing in the field:
And all the world knowes 'tis no idle fable,
To say and sweare the field is honourable.
A Begger is most courteous when he begges,
And hath an excellent skill in making legges,
But if he could make Armes but halfe so well,
For Herauldry his cunning would excell.
A Begger in great safety doth remaine,
He's out of danger to be rob'd or slaine:
In feare and perill he is neuer put,
And (for his wealth) no thiefe his throat will cut.
He's farre more bountifull then is a Lord,
A world of hangers on at bed and boord:
Which he doth lodge, and daily cloath and feed
Them and their Issue, that encrease and breed;
For 'tis disparagement, and open wrong,
To say a Begger's not a thousand strong:
Yet haue I seene a Begger with his Many,
Come at a Play-house, all in for one penny.
And though of creatures Lice are almost least,
Yet is a Lowse a very valiant beast.
But did not strength vnto her courage want,
She would kill Lyon, Beare, or Elephant.
What is it that she can, but she dares do?
She'le combate with a King, and stand to't too:
She's not a starter like the dust-bred-Flea,
She's a great traueller by land and sea,
And dares take any Lady by the Rea.
She neuer from a battell yet did flye,
For with a Souldier she will liue and dye.
And sure (I thinke) I said not much amis,
To say a Lowse her selfe a Souldier is.
An Hoast of Lice did to submission bring
Hard-hearted Pharaoh the Egyptian King,
But when these cruell creatures doe want meate,
Mans flesh and blood like Canibals they eate.
They are vnto the Begger, Natures gifts,
Who very seldome puts them to their shifts,
These are his Guard, which will not him forsake,
Till Death, a coarse doth of his carkasse make.
A Begger liues here in this vale of sorrow,
And trauels here to day, and there to morrow.
The next day being neither here, nor there:
But almost no where, and yet euery where.
He neuer labours, yet he doth expresse
Himselfe an enemie to Idlenesse.
In Court, Campe, City, Countrey, in the Ocean,
A Begger is a right perpetuall motion,
His great deuotion is in generall,
He either prayes for all, or preyes on all.
And it is vniuersally profest,
From South to North, from East vnto the West.
On his owne merits he will not relie;
By other mens good works he'le liue and die.
That begg'ry is nat'rall all men know,
Our naked comming to the world doth show:
Not worth a simple rotten ragge, or clout,
Our silly carkasses to wrap about.
That its will is, and hath perpetuall bin,
All goes as naked out, as they came in,
We leaue our cloathes, which were our couers here,
For Beggers that come after vs to weare.
Thus all the world in generall Beggers are,
And all alike come in, and goe out bare.
And whoso liues here in the best degree,
Must (euery day) a daily Begger bee:
And when his life hath run vnto his date,
He dies a Begger or a Reprobate.
(Good Reader, pray misconster not this case,
I meane no profanation in this place)
Then since these vertues waite on beggery,
As milde Humility, and Charity,
And Temp'rance, Honour, Health, Frugality,
With Patience, Fortitude, and Courtesie,
Security, Uniuersality,
Necessity and Perpetuitie,
And since heau'n sends the Subiect and the Prince
All Beggers hither, and no better hence,
Since begg'ry is our portion and our lot,
Our Patrimony, birth-right, and what not?
Let vs pursue our function, let vs do
That (which by nature) we were borne vnto.
And whil'st my Muse a little doth repose,
I'le Character a Begger out in prose.

[Inuention many thousand wayes could go]

Inuention many thousand wayes could go,
To shew their variations to and fro:
For as vpon the soule of man attends,
The world, the flesh, the deuil, (three wicked friēds)
So likewise hath a Begger other three,
With whom his humour neuer could agree.
A Iustice to the world he doth compare,
And for his flesh, a Beadle is a snare:
But he, that he of all accounts most euill,
He thinks a Constable to be the Deuill.
And 'tis as easie for him as to drinke,
To blind the world, and make a Iustice winke;
The Beadle (for the flesh) 'tis little paine,
Which smart he can recouer soone againe.
But yet the Deuils (the Constable) a spirit,
From hole to hole that hunts him like a ferrit,
Both day and night he haunts him as a ghost,
And of all furies he torments him most.
All 's one for that, though some things fall out ill,
A Begger seldome rides vp Holborne hill:
Nor is he taken with a theeuish trap,
And made dispute with Doctor Stories cap.
A common theefe, for euery groat he gaines,
His life doth venture, besides all his paines:
For euery thing he eates, or drinkes, or weares,
To lose his cares, or gaine a rope he seares.

[_]

There are no anchors in the text for these notes.—

A Constable is a Bugbeare to a Begger.

Tyburne.

But for a Begger, be it hee or shee,
They are from all these choaking dangers free.
And though (for sinne) when mankind first began,
A curse was laid on all the race of man,
That of his labours he should liue and eate,
And get his bread by trauell and by sweate:
But if that any from this curse be free,
A Begger must he be, and none but he.
For euery foole most certainely doth know,
A Begger doth not dig, delue, plow, or sow:
He neither harrowes, plants, lops, fells, nor rakes,
Nor any way he paines, or labour takes.
Let swine be meazeld, let sheepe die and rot,
Let moraine kill the cattell, he cares not:
He will not worke and sweat, and yet hee'l feed,
And each mans labour must supply his need.
Thus without paines or care, his life hee'l spend,
And liues vntill he dies, and ther's an end.
But I this reckning of beggry make,
That it much better is to giue then take:
Yet if my substance will not serue to giue,
Ile (of my betters) take, with thankes, and liue.

[TAYLORS Goose.]

TAYLORS GOOSE: By Iohn Taylor.

DESCRIBING THE VVILDE GOOSE, THE Tame Goose, the Taylors Goose, the VVinchester Goose, the Clack Goose, the Soleand Goose, the Huniburne Goose, Goose vpon Goose, the true nature and profit of all Geese, the honourable victories of the Gray-Goose-wing, the worthinesse of the Pen, the Description of Goosetoft, and Goose Fayre, with the valour of the Gander.

VVhen restlesse Phœbus seem'd himselfe to rest
His flaming Carr, descending to the West,
And Hesperus obscur'd her twinkling light:
Then in a sable mantle (Madame night)
Tooke of the world the sole command, and keepe
Charming the eyes of mortals sound a sleepe:
She sent dull Morpheus forth, and Somnus both,
(The Leaden Potentates of Sleepe and Sloth)
Who vnto euery one good rest imparts
Saue Louers, guilty mindes, and carefull hearts.
The stealing houres, creep'd on with sleeping pace,
When masqued Midnight shew'd her Ebon face;
When Hagges, and Furies, Witches, Fairies, Elues,
Ghosts, Sprites, & Goblins doe disport themselues:
When fond imaginarie dreames doe raigne
In formelesse formes, in mans molested braine:
On such a time, I sleeping in my bed,
An vnaccustom'd dreame came in my head,
Me thought as neere vnto a Riuers side,
Within a pleasant Groue I did abide,
That all the feathered birds that swims or flies,
Or liues betwixt the breeding earth and skies,
One at the least of euery seuerall sort,
Did for their recreation there resort.
There was such a variety of notes,
Such warbling, & such whistling frō their throates:
The Base, the Tenor, Trebble, and the Meane,
All acting various Actions in one Sceane:
The sober Goose (not thinking ought amisse)
Amongst the rest did (harshly) keake and hisse:
At which the Peacocke, and the pyde-coate Iay,
Said, Take the foolish gaggling Goose away.
The Goose (though angry) with a modest looke,
Seem'd as she gently this affront would brooke,
When all the Fowles in generall out did breake,
Commanding her she should not dare to speake.
Away the melancholly Goose return'd,
And in a banke of Reede she sate and mourn'd,
Complaining 'gainst the hatefull multitude,
And iustly taxing with Ingratitude
The Race of all mortality; and then
Is none (quoth she) suruiuing amongst men,
That will my true worth search and vnderstand,
And in my quarrell take a Pen in hand,
And in a stately high Heroicke stile,
My Predecessours noble Acts compile,
From age to age descending vnto me,
That my succeeding Issue all may see
The admirable deedes that I haue done,
And runne that worthie course that I haue runne.
O impious age, when there is no defence
For Vertue, and for hated Innocence:
When Flatt'rers, Fooles, and Fiddlers are rewarded,
When I must liue inpittied, vnregarded!
Me thought these last words ended with a keake
Of such force, as if her heart would breake.
At which I starting, wak'ned from my dreame,
And made the Gooses wrong, my Muses theame:
I' arose, put on my cloathes, sate downe, and than
I tooke my Pen in hand, and thus began.
From darke obliuious den I here let loose
Th'imprison'd honour of the famous Goose:
In her creation and originall,
And after in the Law Leuiticall,
And at all times before and since the Flood,
A Goose hath iustly gain'd the name of good.
To value her with any other Bird,
Comparisons are weake and meere absurd:
First, for her flesh, she is mans daily fare:
She's good, she's cheape, she's plenty, and she's rare:
Bake her, or rost her, vse her as you will,
And Cooke her as she should be, she's good still:
But as great summes are made with little driblets,
So put the Hares head 'gainst the Gooses giblets;
And men may piece a dinner vp (perhaps)
Which otherwise would rise with hungry chaps:
For the old Prouerbe, I must here apply,
Good meate men may picke from a Gooses eye.
She is good fresh, but better two dayes salted,
For then she'le try if Ale or Beere be Malted;
Her greace is excellent (probatum est)
For such as numnesse in their ioynts molest:
For the Sciatica, the Crampe, or Gowte
It either cures or eases, out of doubt.
Mix'd with Stauesacre, and Argentum viue,
It will not leaue a man a Lowse aliue.
Her lungs and liuer into pouder dride,
And fasting in an Asses milke applide,
Is an experienc'd cordiall for the Spleene,
As oftentimes it hath approued beene.
Her braines, with Salt and Pepper, if you blend
And eate, they will the vnderstanding mend.
Her Gall, if one be but with drinke opprest,
Or meat, or fruit, and cannot well digest:
But swallow't downe, and take the 'tother cup,
And presently 'twill fetch the rest all vp.
And thus a Goose, for med'cine and for food,
I haue Anatomiz'd exceeding good.
As for her qualities, whil'st she doth liue,
She doth example and instruction giue:
Her modesty, and affabilitie,
Shewes she's descended from Gentilitie,
For if they be a hundred in a troope,
To a Barne doore in courtesie thei'l stoope.
How neate & comely they themselues will pick,
That no one feather out of order stick:
How grauely they from place to place will waggle,
And how (like Gossips) freely they will gaggle,
That sure I thinke, the fashion of her prate,
Our wiues at Gossipings doe imitate.
In Plinie and in Gesner I doe finde,
That Geese are of strange sundry sorts and kinde.
In Scotland there are Geese which grow on Trees,
(Which much from humane reason disagrees)
Bred by the Ayre and Sunnes all-quickning fire,
That ne'r was Egge, nor e'r had Dam or Sire.
Then ther's a Soleand Goose, which they so call,
Because the female hath but one in all.
Sole is as much to say, as be alone,
And neuer Soleand Goose did hatch but one:
Or else the name of them may well proceede
From the Dams foot-sole, whence they all do breede,
Which in her Claw she holds vntill it hatch,
The Gander fetches food, the Goose doth watch.

The Winchester Goose.

Then ther's a Goose that breeds at Winchester,
And of all Geese, my mind is least to her:
For three or foure weekes after she is rost,
She keepes her heat more hotter then a tost.
She's seldome got or hatch'd with honesty,
From Fornication and Adultery,
From reaking Lust, foule Incest, beastly Rape,
She hath her birth, her breeding, and her shape.
Besides Whoremongers, Panders, Bawds & Pimpes,
Whores, Harlots, Curtezans, and such base Impes,
Luxurious, letcherous Goates, that hunt in Flockes,
To catch the Glangore, Grinkums, or the Pockes,
Thus is she got with pleasure, bred with paine,
And scarce ere comes where honest men remaine.
This Goose is worst of all, yet is most deare,
And may be had (or heard of) any where.
A Pander is the Cater to the Feast,
A Bawde the Kitchin Clerke, to see her drest.
A Whore the Cooke, that in a pockey heate,
Can dresse a dish fit for the Deuill to eate.
The hot whore-hunter for the Goose doth serue,
The whil'st the Surgeon, and Physician carue.
The Apothecary giues attendance still,
For why the sauce lyes onely in his Bill.
There hath a Turkey at Newmarket bin,
Which to this Goose was somewhat neere a kin:
And some report, that both these Fowles haue seene
Their like, that's but a payre of sheeres betweene.
And one of them (to set them onely forth)
Costs more the dressing then they both are worth.
This Goose is no way to be tolerated,
But of good men to be despisde and hated,
For one of these, if it be let alone,
Will eate the owner to the very bone.
Moreouer, it from Nature is contrary,
And from all other creatures doth vary:
For of all breeding things that I could heare,
The Males doe still beget, and Females beare
But this hath euer a Dam masculine
Engendred by a Father Feminine.
Quite kim kam, wiw waw, differing from all other,
The Sir's a Female, and a Male the Mother.
But cease, my Muse, soyle not thy purer straine,
With such contagious mud, rouze, rouze againe,
From this polluted puddle, and once more,
Take the same Theame in hand thou hadst before.

The Taylers Goose.

Bvt yet a little mirth doth make me stay:
A Taylers Goose comes wadling in my way,
A thing I cannot giue the Epithite
Of Male or Female, or Hermaphrodite.
Of Uulcans brood it is, whose Dam and Sire,
Was windy bellowse, smoake, and flaming Fire.
By Nature it should much delight to lye,
For in a Forge it had Natiuity,
Yet it with lying doth no hurt commit,
Stealing is more addicted vnto it;
And yet to Steele it is so neere a kin,
That to be true, it doth opinion win.
Tis mettle to the hard backe, I am sure,
And 'tis a dish will ten mens liues endure.
Be it of age a hundred winters long,
It is as tender as 'twas when 'twas young.
A Cooke from it can get but slender fees,
It hath no Gibblets, like to other Geese.
It neither breeds nor feedes, yet doth this good,
It doth helpe others to get cloathes and food.
And of all Geese shee's tamest, shee'l not roame,
This Goose a man may alwayes haue at home.
'Tis dyet onely for an Estrich tooth,
It cannot cog, yet very much doth smooth.
It puts downe all the Fowles that ere man saw,
Tis often rosted, yet 'tis euer raw,
It is a Bird that euery slut may dresse,
It knowes no warres, yet euery day doth presse.
And to conclude, it is a messe of meate,
Which whoso can digest it, let him eate.

The prayse of the Gray Goose wing.

The Winchester and Taylers Goose I see,
Are both too heauy, and too hot for me:
I will returne the honour to Emblaze,
Of the Gray Goose that on the greene doth graze.
To speake of wandring Wild-geese in this place,
Were (like a Goose) to run the Wild-goose chase:
The Egyptians did obserue their wonted guise,
How in the Skie they flew triangle-wise,
Which with one Corner forward, is their drift,
Thus figured to cut the Ayre more swift.
For me the wilde-Goose is too high a game,
My minde is onely to the Goose that's tame,
I in her Fleshes prayse haue wrote before,
But yet her Feathers doe deserue much more.
They are of farre more est mate and price
Then th'Estrich, or the bird of Paradise,
The Rauen, the Crow, the Daw in mourning dight,
The prating Pye attyr'd in blacke and white,
The Buzzard, Redshanke, Kite, Owle, Gull, & Rook,
The fabled Phœnix that breedes where (goe looke,)
The Pheasant, Partridge, Turtle, Plouer, Pidgeon,
The Woodcock, Woodquist, Woodpecker, & Widgeō
The Iay, the Snipe, the Teale, the Cock, the Hen,
The Chogh, the Larke, the Lapwing, & the Wren,
The Falkon, the Gerfalkon, Hobby, Marlin,
The Sparrowhauke, the Goshauke, Tassell, Starlin,
The Haggard, Keistrell, Lanneret, Cormorant,
The Caperkelly, and the Termagant,
The Bunting, Heathcocke, Crane, and Pellican,
The Turkey, Mallard, Ducke, the Storke, the Swan,
The Pewet, Parrot, and the Popinjay,
The Eagle, and the Cassawaraway,
The Sheldrake, Bittour, Blackbird, Nightingale,
The Cuckow that is alwayes in one tale,
The Sparrow of the hedge, or of the house,
The Ringdoue, Redbrest, and the Tittimouse,
The Bulfinch, Goldfinch, Ringtaile, Wagtaile, and
The Hearne that liues by water and by land:
The Swallow, Martin, Lennet, and the Thrush,
The Mauis that sings sweetly in the bush;
The Morecoote, the Kingfisher, and the Quaile;
The Peacock, with his proud vaine-glorious taile.
These sorts of Birds that I haue nam'd before,
If they were thrice redoubled three times more,
And let men value them but as they are,
They cannot with the Goose (for worth) compare.
Many of these doe feed on Carrion still,
And still are Carrion, euer being ill,
Neither in flesh or feathers they affoord
To doe man seruice at his bed or boord.
And some of them yeeld Plumes, and ornaments
For Ladies, and for Knightly Tournaments:
But let these toyes be weigh'd but iust and right,
And thei'le be found as vaine as they are light.
Others there are, as Parrots, Stares, Pyes, Dawes,
Are mightily accounted of, because
They can speak perfect none-sence, prate & chatter,
Feeding the eare: these fowles makes fooles the fatter.
Then there are others great, and small in size,
But great all for the greatnesse of their price,
Most pleasantly their flesh men doe deuoure,
The sawce lyes in the reckoning, sharpe and sowre.
Some are to sing continually in Cages,
And get but bread and water for their wages.
And others, with great paines men doe procure
With cost of Manning, Diet, Hood, Bels, Lure;
The pleasure's little, and the gaine is small,
A Goose for profit doth surpasse them all.
When with her flesh mans stomack she hath fed,
She giues him ease and comfort in his bed:
She yeelds no whim-whams wauering on his crest,
But she relieues him with repose and rest.
And though the world be hard, she layes him soft,
She beares the burthen, and he lyes aloft:
Let him be drunke, or weary, sicke or lame,
She's semper idem, alwayes one the same.
Thus to supply our wants, and serue our needes,
Good meate and lodging from a Goose procedes.
Besides she loues not farre abroad to gad,
But at all times she's easie to be had;
As if (to satisfie mans hungry gut)
She wayted still that he her throat should cut.
Men neede not be at charge for Hawkes and Dogs,
And ride, and run o're hedge, ditch, mires, & bogs:
She's quickly caught, and drest well, eates as pleasant
As (far fetch'd deere bought) Partridge or a Pheasāt.
Throughout the world the Trumpe of Fame loud rings,
T'emblaze the glory of the Gooses wings:
The Romane Eagle ne'r had spred so farre,
But that the gray Goose was the Conquerer.
Sosostris King of Egypt with her feather,
Rain'd stormes and showres of Arrowes, like foule weather,
And ouercame the Iewes, th'Assirians,
Th'Arabians, Scithians, Germanes, Thracians.
The Huns, the Gothes, the Vandals, and the Gals,
With Arrows made great Rome their seu'rall thrals:
The Philistines were mighty Bow-men all,
With which they got the conquest of King Saull.
Cyrus with thousands of his Persians
With Shafts were slaine by the Messagetans,
Turkes, Tartars, Troyans, and the Parthians,
Danes, Saxons, Sweuians, and Polonians;
Yea all the Nations the whole world around,
The gray-Goose-wing hath honour'd and renound.
But why should I roame farre and wide aloofe,
When our own Kingdome yeelds sufficient proofe?
But search the Chronicles, it is most plaine,
That the Goose-wing braue conquests did obtaine.
Remember valiant Edwards name (the third)
How with the wing of this deseruing Bird,
When to small purpose seru'd his Shield or Lance:
At Cressie he ore-top'd the pow'r of France.
And after that, remember but agen
That Thunder-bolt of warre, that Mars of men,
The black Prince Edward, his victorious sonne,
How he at Poictiers a braue battaile wonne,
Where the French King and many Peeres wer tane,
Their Nobles, and their Gentles most part slaine,
And thirty thousand of their Commons more,
Lay in the field all weltring in their gore.
Henry the fift (that memorable King)
All France did vnto his subiection bring,
When forty thousand of the French men lay
At Agincourt, slaine in that bloody fray.
And though true valour did that conquest win,
But for the Gooses wing it had not bin.
In these things, and much more then I can say,
The Gooses feather bore the prize away.
If I should write all in particular,
What this rare feather hath atchieu'd in war,
Into a sea of matter I should runne,
And so begin a worke will ne'r be done.
And thus from time to time it hath appear'd,
How the gray Goose hath brauely domineer'd:
With swiftly cutting through the empty skie,
Triumphantly transporting victorie
From land to land, offending and defending
The Conquest on the Arrowes still depending.
Our English Yeomen, in the dayes of old,
Their names and fames haue worthily extold
Witnesse that Leash, that stout admired three,
Braue Adam Bell, Clim Clough, Will Clowdeslee.
I could capitulate, and write vpon
Our English Robin Hood, and little Iohn,
How with this feather they haue wonne renowne,
That euermore their memories shall crowne.
And e'r the Deuill these damned Gunnes deuis'd,
Or hellish powder here was exercis'd,
With the Goose-wing we did more honour get,
More nobly gain'd, then Gunnes could euer yet.
And how hath Vice our worthy Land infected,
Since Archery hath beene too much neglected?
The time that men in shooting spent before,
Is now (perhaps) peruerted to a Whore,
Or bowling, swearing, drinke, or damned Dice,
Is now most Gentleman-like exercise.
But for these few that in those dayes remaine,
Who are addicted to this shooting veine,
Let men but note their worthy disposition,
And we shall see they are of best condition,
Free honest spirits, such as men may trust,
In all their actions, constant, true, and iust.
It is a thing I haue obserued long,
An Archers mind is cleare from doing wrong,
It is a note worthy respect, and marke,
An Archer is no base defamed Sharke,
Not giuen to pride, to couetousnesse, or
To swearing, which all good men doe abhorre,
Nor doth he exercise, or take delight,
To cheate, to cogge, to lye, and to backe-bite,
But with most louing friendly conuersation,
He practiseth this manly recreation.
There was a Statute in th'eight Henries raigne,
Which Statute yet doth in full force remaine,
And as it stands in force, so doth my Muse
Wish that it were obseru'd, and kept in vse.
Within these few yeeres (I to mind doe call)
The Yeomen of the Guard were Archers all,
A hundred at a time I oft haue seene,
With Bowes & Arrowes ride before the Queene,
Their Bowes in hand, their Quiuers on their shoulders,
Was a most stately shew to the beholders:
And herein, if men rightly doe obserue,
The Arrowes did for two good vses serue:
First for a shewe of great magnificence,
And trusty weapons for to guard their Prince.
Prince Charles (our hope of Britaines happinesse)
Doth his affection oftentimes expresse:
With many Noble men of worthy race,
Doe with their best performance, shooting grace:
And long may these superiour Worthies liue,
Example to th'inferiour sort to giue,
That though this exercise be much declin'd,
May some supporters and defenders find.
King Sauls braue sonne (true-hearted Ionathan)
Dauids true friend, a Prince, a valiant man,
Did in this noble quality excell,
As the true story of his life doth tell.
King Dauid made a Law, and did command,
That shooting should be taught within this land.
Thus from true Histories we plainely see,
That shooting is of great antiquity:
And that the glory of the Gooses wings
Hath beene aduanc'd by Princes, Lords, and Kings,
And that yet Princes, Peeres, and Potentates,
And best of all conditions, and estates,
Doe giue to Archery the praise and prise
Of the best, manly, honest exercise.

The praise of the Gooses Quill.

And thus for shooters hauing shew'd my skill,
I'le now say somewhat for the Gooses Quill.
Great Mars his Traine of Military men
I leaue, and turne the Shaft into a Pen:
The Gooses feather acteth sundry parts,
And is an Instrument both of Armes and Arts.
Many diuine and heauenly mysteries,
And many memorable Histories
Had with blind Ignorance beene ouer-growne,
And (were't not for the Pen) had ne'r bin knowne.
The Muses might in Parnass hill haue staid,
Their fames had ne'r bin through the world displaid
But that the Gooses Quill with full consent,
Was found to be the fittest Instrument
To be their Nuntius, and to disperse
Their glory through the spacious Vniuerse.
Grammar (that of all Science is the ground)
Without it in forgetfulnesse were drownd,
And Rethorick (the sweet rule of eloquence)
Through the Goose Quill distils it's Quintessence:
Logick with definitions (I am sure)
Were nothing, or else very much obscure:
Astronomie would lye, or lye forgot
And scarce remembred, or regarded not;
Arithmetick would erre exceedingly,
Forgetting to deuide and multiply:
Geometry would lose the Altitude,
The crassie Longitude and Latitude:
And Musick in poore case would be o're-throwne,
But that the Goose Quill pricks the Lessons downe.
Thus all the liberall Sciences are still
In generall beholding to the Quill.
Embassages to farre remoted Princes,
Bonds, Obligations, Bills, and Euidences,
Letters twixt foe and foe, or friend and friend,
To gratulate, instruct, or reprehend,
Assurances, where faith and troth is scant,
To make the faithlesse to keepe couenant;
The Potent weapon of the reuerend Law,
That can giue life or death, saue, hang, or draw,
That with a Royall, or a noble dash,
Can from the Kings Exchequer fetch the Cash.
To most shop-keepers it a reckoning makes,
What's got or lost, what he layes out, or takes:
Without the Goose a Scriuener were a foole,
Her Quill is all his onely working toole:
And sure a Goose is of a wondrous nature,
Contrary to each other liuing creature,
Things that in water, earth, or ayre haue growth,
And feede and liue, bite onely with the mouth:
But the Goose with sophisticated skill,
Doth bite most dangerously with her quill,
Yet is she free from prodigality,
And most of all bites partiality:
She oft with biting makes a Knight a detter,
And rankle to a Begger, little better.
She oft hath bit a Gallant from his land
With quick conueyance, and by slight of hand:
Sometimes his biting is as durable,
As is a Gangren most incureable,
And many that into her fangs doe fall,
Doe take the Counters for their Hospitall;
A Forger, or a Villaine that forsweares,
Or a False-witnesse, she bites off their eares:
On me her pow'r she many times hath showne,
And made me pay more debts then were mine own.
Thus doth her Quill bite more then doe her chaps,
To teach fooles to beware of after-claps.
They say in Latine that a Gooses name
Is Anser, which made in Anagram,
Is Snare, in English, which doth plaine declare,
That she to fooles and knaues will be a snare.
Indeede she oft hath beene a snare to mee,
My selfe was in the fault, alas not shee.

The memorable honour of the Goose sauing the Capitoll at Rome.

Bvt now to shew her neuer-dying name,
And how at Rome she wan deseruing fame:
When barbarous Brennus, cruell King of Galls,
Had wasted Italy, and raz'd Romes walls:
When deuastation did depopulate,
With sword and furious fire the Romane state.
When many a throat was tyrannously cut,
And all the Citie to the sacke was put:
When many of the Citizens did flye
Into the Capitoll to liue and dye,
Whereas the Image of great Iupiter,
(The rip rap, thwick thwack thumping thunderer)
Was of refined gold, adorn'd, ador'd,
Where helples fooles, poore helples helpe implor'd.
The Capitoll a goodly building was,
And did (for strength) by Art and Nature passe,
So that the people that were there within,
Thought it impregnable, that none could win:
But slender watch vpon the walls they kept,
And (thinking all secure) secure they slept,
They thought Ioues Statue, and his Temple there,
Was a sure guard, that foes they need not feare:
But Ioue these dangers did not vnderstand,
Or else he had some other worke in hand:
Perhaps poore Io like a Cow in shape,
He like a Bull then wrong'd with beastly rape,
Or like a Swan for Leada, he thought fit,
In that fowles forme, that foule fault to commit:
Perchance that time faire Danae to intrap,
He rain'd bewitching gold into her lap;
He then (perhaps) did to Alcmena goe,
And made a Cuckold of Amphitrio,
Or else to Semele that time he came,
And burnt his burning loue with lightnings flame,
Perhaps with Hele he the Ram did play,
Or with Europa toy'd the time away,
Mnemosine he could not let alone,
Or he to Hebe at that time was gone,
It may be to Antiopa he went,
Or to Astery, for his more content:
Or it may be he lay within his bed,
And play'd and fool'd with wanton Ganimede:
But whither Iupiter that time was got,
He to defend the Capitoll was not,
Vnlesse he were transformed wondrous strange,
And to a Gooses shape his Godhead change:
For all the Guard were sleeping at that time,
When as the armed Galls the walls did clime.
Then when the Watch did to destruction sleepe,
The carefull Goose true sentinell did keepe,
She spide the foe, and keak'd out an Alarme,
At which the Sleepers wak'd, & cri'd, Arme, Arme:
Then they their Enemies in fury slew,
Which down the battlements in heaps they threw.
And thus a Goose the honour did obtaine,
To saue the Romanes, which had else beene slaine:
And to preserue the famous Capitall,
And set Rome free from the insulting Gall.
The Romane Generall that time, as then
Was manly Manlius, a stout man of men,
The Senate gratefully did raise anon,
An Altar with a golden Goose thereon,
And for the Gooses seruice had beene such,
They allowd almes-Oates from the common Hutch,
For old and sicke decayed Geese to feed,
In memory of that braue Gooses deed.
Why should the Eagle be the Bird of Ioue,
When as the Goose deserueth so much loue?
'Tis plaine and euident the Goose was cause,
That all Rome scap't from speedy Martiall lawes,
Yet did the Romans (like ingratefull Nags)
Aduance an Eagles portrait in their Flags,
When as Cornelius Agrippa sayes,
The Goose deseru'd it more by many wayes.
Now hauing done the Capitoll Goose right,
Ile trye some other wayes to breed delight.

Goostoft in Lincolnshire.

In Lincolnshire an ancient Towne doth stand,
Call'd Goostoft, that hath neither fallow'd Land,
Or Woods, or any fertile pasture ground,
But is with watry Fens incompast round.
The people there haue neither Horse or Cowe,
Nor Sheepe, nor Oxe, or Asse, nor Pig, or Sowe:
Nor Creame, Curds, Whig, Whay, Buttermilke or Cheese,
Nor any other liuing thing but Geese.
The Parson of the Parish takes great paines,
And tyth Geese onely, are his labours gaines:
If any charges there must be defray'd,
Or Impositions on the Towne is layd,
As Subsidies, or fifteenes for the King,
Or to mend Bridges, Churches, any thing.
Then those that haue of Geese the greatest store,
Must to these Taxes pay so much the more.
Nor can a man be raisde to Dignity,
But as his Geese encrease and multiply.
And as mens Geese doe multiply and breed,
From Office vnto office they proceed.
A man that hath but with twelue Geese began,
In time hath come to be a Tythingman:
And with great credit past that Office thorough
(His Geese increasing) he hath bin Headborough.
Then (as his Flocke in number are accounted)
Vnto a Constable, he hath bin mounted.
And so from place to place he doth aspire,
And as his Geese grow more hee's raised higher.
Tis onely Geese there that doe men prefer,
And 'tis a rule, no Goose, no Officer.
At Hunnibourne, a Towne in Warwickeshire,
What Gogmagog Gargantua Geese are there,
For take a Goose that from that place hath bin,
That's leane, and nought but feathers, bones & skin,
And bring her thither, and with little cost
Shee'l be as fat as any Bawde, almost.
For take foure Geese, and with a like expence,
Feed one there, and the others two miles thence,
And she that feedes at Hunnibourne shall bee
More worth in weight & price, then th'other three.
She shall with flesh vnable be to goe,
I cannot yeeld the Reason, but 'tis so .

Goose Faire at Stratford Bow, the Thursday after Whitsontide.

IACKE A LENT HIS BEGINNING AND ENTERTAINMENT: with the mad prankes of his Gentleman-Vsher Shroue-Tuesday that goes before him, and his Footman Hunger attending.

[Of Iacke an Apes I list not to endite]

CERTAINE BLANKE VERSES VVRITTEN of purpose to no purpose, yet so plainely contriu'd, that a Childe of two yeeres old may vnderstand them as well as a good Scholler of fifty.

Great Iacke-a-Lent, clad in a Robe of Ayre,
Threw mountaines higher then Alcides beard:
Whilst Pancradge Church, arm'd with a Samphier blade,
Began to reason of the businesse thus:
You squandring Troglodites of Amsterdam,
How long shall Cerberus Tapster be?
What though stout Aiax lay with Proserpine,
Shall men leaue eating powdred Beefe for that?
I see no cause but men may picke their teeth,
Though Brutus with a Sword did kill himselfe.
Is Shooters-hill turn'd to an Oyster pie,
Or may a May-pole be a butterd Plaice?
Then let Saint Katherins saile to Bride-well Court,
And Chitterlings be worne for statute lace,
For if a Humble-bee should kill a Whale
With the butt-end of the Antarticke Pole,
'Tis nothing to the marke at which we ayme:
For in the Commentaries of Tower Ditch,
A fat stew'd Bawd hath bin a dish of state.
More might be said, but then more must be spoke,
The weights fell downe because the Iacke rope broke.
And he that of these lines doth make a doubt,
Let him sit downe and picke the meaning out.

THE PENNYLES PILGRIMAGE, OR THE MONEY-LESSE PERAMBVLATION, OF JOHN TAYLOR, ALIAS, THE KINGS MAIESTIES WATER-POET.

HOVV HE TRAVAILED ON FOOT, FROM LONDON TO EDENBOROVGH IN Scotland, not carrying any Money to or fro, neither Begging, Borrowing, or Asking Meate, Drinke or Lodging.

TO ALL MY LOVING ADVENTVRERS, BY VVHAT NAME OR TITLE SOEVER, MY GENERALL SALVTATION.

That I should write of Cities situations,
Or that of Countries I should make relations:
Of brooks, crooks, nooks; of riuers, boorns and rills,
Of mountaines, fountaines, Castles, Towres and hills.
Of Shieres, and Pieres, and memorable things,
Of liues and deaths of great commanding Kings,
I touch not those, they not belong to mee:
But if such things as these you long to see,
Lay downe my Booke, and but vouchsafe to reede
The learned Camden, or laborious Speede.

[List Lordings, list (if you haue lust to list)]

List Lordings, list (if you haue lust to list)
I write not here a tale of had I wist:
But you shall heare of trauels, and relations,
Descriptions of strange (yet English) fashions.
And he that not beleeues what here is writ,
Let him (as I haue done) make proofe of it.
The yeere of grace, accounted (as I weene)
One thousand, twice three hundred and eighteene,
And to relate all things in order duly,
'Twas Tuesday last, the foureteenth day of Iuly,
Saint Reuels day, the Almanacke will tell ye
The signe in Virgo was, or neere the belly:
The Moone full three dayes old, the wind full South;
At these times I began this tricke of youth.
I speake not of the Tide, for vnderstand,
My legges I made my Oares, and rowd by land,
Though in the morning I began to goe,
Good fellowes trooping, flock'd me so,
That make what haste I could, the Sunne was set,
E're from the gates of London I could get.
At last I tooke my latest leaue, thus late
At the Bell Inne, that's extra Aldersgate.
There stood a horse that my prouant should carrie,
From that place to the end of my fegarie,
My Horse no Horse, or Mare, but gelded Nagge,
That with good vnderstanding bore my bagge:
And of good cariage he himselfe did show,
These things are ex'lent in a beaste you know.
There in my Knapsack, (to pay hungers fees)
I had good Bacon, Bisket, Neates-tongue, Cheese,
With Roses, Barberies, of each Conserues,
And Mitridate, that vigrous health preserues:
And I entreate you take these words for no-lyes,
I had good Aqua vita, Rosa so-lies:
With sweet Ambrosia, (the gods owne drinke)
Most ex'lent geere for mortals, as I thinke.
Besides, I had both vineger and oyle,
That could a daring sawcie stomack foyle.
This foresaid Tuesday night 'twixt eight and nine,
Well rigg'd & ballac'd, both with Beere and Wine,
I stumbling forward, thus my iaunt begun,
And went that night as farre as Islington.
There did I finde (I dare affirme it bold)
A Maydenhead of twenty fiue yeeres old,
But surely it was painted, like a whore,
And for a signe, or wonder, hang'd at' dore,
Which shewes a Maidenhead, that's kept so long,
May be hang'd vp, and yet sustaine no wrong.
There did my louing friendly Host begin
To entertaine me freely to his Inne:
And there my friends, and good associates,
Each one to mirth himselfe accommodates.
At Wel-head both for welcome, and for cheere,
Hauing a good New tonne, of good stale Beere:
There did we Trundle downe health, after health,
(Which oftentimes impaires both health & wealth.)
Till euery one had fill'd his mortall Trunke.
And onely Nobody was three parts drunke.
The morrow next, Wednesday Saint Swithins day,
From ancient Islington I tooke my way.
At Hollywell I was inforc'd carrowse,
Ale high, and mightie, at the Blind-mans house.
But ther's a helpe to make amends for all,
That though the Ale be great, the Pots be small.
At High-gate hill to a strange house I went,
And saw the people were to eating bent,
I neither borrow'd, Crau'd, Ask'd, Begg'd or Bought,
But most laborious with my teeth I wrought.
I did not this, 'cause meate or drinke was scant,
But I did practise thus before my want;
Like to a Tilter that would winne the prize,
Before the day hee'le often exercise.
So I began to put in vre, at first
These principles 'gainst hunger, 'gainst thirst.
Close to the Gate, there dwelt a worthy man,
That well could take his whiffe, & quaffe his Can,
Right Robin Good-fellow, but humours euill,
Doe call him Robin Pluto, or the Deuill.
But finding him a Deuill, freely harted,
With friendly farewels I tooke leaue and parted.
And as alongst I did my Iourney take,
I dranke at Breemes well, for pure fashions sake.
Two miles I trauelled then without a bayte,
The Sarazens head at Whetstone entring straight,
I found an Host, might lead an Host of men,
Exceeding Fat, yet named Lean, and Fen.
And though we make small reckoning of him here,
Hee's knowne to be a very Great man there.
There I tooke leaue of all my Company,
Bade all farewell, yet spake to No-body.
Good Reader thinke not strange, what I compile,
For No-body was with me all this while.
And No-body did drinke, and, winke, and scinke,
And on occasion freely spent his Chinke.
If any one desire to know the man,
Walke, stumble, Trundle, but in Barbican.
Ther's as good Beere and Ale as euer twang'd,
And in that street kind No-body is hang'd.
But leauing him vnto his matchlesse fame,
I to St. Albanes in the Euening came,
Where Master Taylor, at the Sarazens head,
Vnask'd (vnpaid for) me both lodg'd and fed.
The Tapsters, Hostlers, Chamberlaines, and all,
Sau'd me a labour, that I need not call,
The Iugges were fild & fild, the cups went round,
And in a word great kindnes there I found,
For which both to my Cousin, and his men,
Ile still be thankefull in word, deed, and pen.
Till Thursday morning there I made my stay,
And then I went plaine Dunstable high-way.
My very heart with drought me thought did shrink,
I went twelue miles, and no one bade me drinke.
Which made me call to minde, that instant time,
That Drunkennes was a most sinfull crime.
When Puddle-hill I footed downe, and past
A mile from thence, I found a Hedge at last.
There stroke we sayle, our Bacon, Cheese, and Bread,
We drew like Fidlers, and like Farmers fed,
And whilst two houres we there did take our ease,
My Nag made shift to mump greene Pulse & Pease.
Thus we our hungry stomacks did supply,
And dranke the water of a Brooke hard by.
Away t'ward Hockley in the hole, we make,
When straight a Horsman did me ouer-take,
Who knew me, & would faine haue giuen me Coine.
I said, my Bonds did me from Coyne inioyne,
I thank'd and prayd him to put vp his Chinke,
And willingly I wisht it drownd in drinke.
Away rode he, but like an honest man,
I found at Hockley standing at the Swan,
A formall Tapster, with a Iugge and glasse,
Who did arest me: I most willing was
To try the Action, and straight put in bale,
My fees were paid before, with sixe-pence Ale.
To quit this kindnesse, I most willing am,
The man that paid for all, his name is Dam,
At the Greene-dragon, against Grayes-Inne gate,
He liues in good repute, and honest state.
I foreward went in this my roauing race,
To Stony Stratford I toward night did pace,
My minde was fixed through the Towne to passe,
To finde some lodging in the Hay or Grasse,
But at the Queenes-Armes, from the window there,
A comfortable voyce I chanc'd to heare,
Call Taylor, Taylor, and be hang'd come hither,
I look'd for small intreaty and went thither,
There were some friends, which I was glad to see
Who knew my Iourney; lodg'd, and boorded me.
On Friday morne, as I would take my way,
My friendly Host intreated me to stay,
Because it rain'd, he told me I should haue
Meate, Drinke, & Horse-meate and not pay or craue.
I thank'd him, and for's loue remaine his debter,
But if I liue, I will requite him better.
(From Stony Stratford) the way hard with stones,
Did founder me, and vexe me to the bones,
In blustring weather, both for winde and raine,
Through Tocetter I trotted with much paine,
Two miles from thence, we sat vs downe & dinde,
Well bulwark'd by a hedge, from raine and winde
We hauing fed, away incontinent,
With weary pace toward Dauentry we went.
Foure miles short of it, one o're-tooke me there,
And told me he would leaue a Iugge of Beere,
At Dauentry at the Horse-shoe for my vse.
I thought it no good manners to refuse,
But thank'd him, for his kinde vnasked gift,
Whilst I was lame as scarce a leg could lift,
Came limping after to that stony Towne,
Whose hard streets made me almost halt rightdown.
There had my friend perform'd the words he said,
And at the doore a Iugge of liquor staide,
The folkes were all inform'd, before I came,
How, and wherefore my iourney I did frame,
Which caused mine Hostesse from her doore come out,
(Hauing a great Wart rampant on her snowt.)
The Tapsters, Hostlers, one another call,
The Chamberlaines with admiration all,
Were fild with wonder, more then wonderfull,
As if some Monster sent from the Mogull,
Some Elephant from Africke, I had beene,
Or some strange beast from th' Amazonian Queene.
As Buzzards, Widgions, Woodcocks, & such fowle,
Doe gaze and wonder at the broad-fac'd Owle,
So did these brainelesse Asses, all-amaz'd,
With admirable Non sence talk'd and gaz'd.
They knew my state (although not told by me)
That I could scarcely goe, they all could see,
They dranke of my Beere, that to me was giuen,
But gaue me not a drop to make all euen,
And that which in my minde was most amisse,
My Hostesse she stood by and saw all this,
Had she but said, Come neere the house, my friend,
For this day here shall be your Iourneyes end,
Then had she done the thing which did not,
And I in kinder wordes had paid the shor.
I doe intreat my friends, (as I haue some)
If they to Dauentry doe chance to come,
That they will balke that Inne; or if by chance,
Or accident into that house they glance,
Kinde Gentlemen, as they by you reape profit,
My Hostesse care of me, pray tell her of it.
Yet doe not neither: Lodge there when you will,
You for your money shall be welcome still.
From thence that night, although my bones were sore,
I made a shift to hobble seu'n miles more:
The way to Dunchurch, foule with dirt and mire,
Able, I thinke, both man and horse to tire.
On Dunsmore Heath, a hedge doth there enclose
Grounds, on the right hand, there I did repose.
Wits whetstone, want, there made vs quickly learn,
With kniues to cut down Rushes, & greene Fearne,
Of which we made a field-bed in the field,
Which sleepe, and rest, and much content did yeeld.
There with my mother Earth, I thought it fit
To lodge, and yet no Incest did commit:
My bed was Curtain'd with good wholesome ayres,
And being weary, I went vp no stayres:
The skie my Canopy, bright Phebe shinde,
Sweet bawling Zephirus breath'd gentle winde,
In heau'ns Star-Chamber I did lodge that night,
Ten thousand Starres, me to my bed did light;
There baracadoed with a bancke lay wee
Below the lofty branches of a tree.
There my bed-fellowes and companions were,
My Man, my Horse, a Bull, foure Cowes, two Steere:
But yet for all this most confused rowt,
We had no bed-staues, yet we fell not out.
Thus Nature, like an ancient free Vpholster,
Did furnish vs with bedstead, bed, and bolster;
And the kind skies, (for which high heau'n be thanked,
Allow'd vs a large Couering and a Blanket:
Auroras face gan light our lodging darke,
We arose and mounted, with the mounting Larke,
Through plashes, puddles, thicke, thinne, wet & dry,
I trauel'd to the Citie Couentry.
There Master Doctor Holland caus'd me stay
The day of Saturne, and the Sabbath day.
Most friendly welcome, he did me afford,
I was so entertain'd at bed and boord,
Which as I dare not bragge how much it was,
I dare not be ingrate and let it passe,
But with thankes many I remember it,
(In stead of his good deedes) in words and writ,
He vs'd me like his sonne, more then a friend,
And he on Munday his commends did send
To Newhall, where a Gentleman did dwell,
Who by his name is hight Sacheuerell.
The Tuesday Iulyes one and twentieth day,
I to the Citie Lichfield tooke my way,
At Sutton Coffill with some friends I met,
And much adoe I had from thence to get,
There I was almost put vnto my trumps,
My Horses shooes were worne as thinne as pumps;
But noble Uulcan, a mad smuggy Smith,
All reparations me did furnish with.
The shooes were well remou'd, my Palfrey shod,
And he referr'd the payment vnto God.
I found a friend, when I to Lichfield came,
A Ioyner, and Iohn Piddock is his name,
He made me welcome, for he knew my iaunt,
And he did furnish me with good prouant:
He offred me some money, I refus'd it,
And so I tooke my leaue, with thankes excus'd it.
That Wednesday, I a weary way did passe,
Raine, wind, stones, dirt, and dabbling dewie grasse,
With here and there a pelting scatter'd village,
Which yeelded me no charity, or pillage:
For all the day, nor yet the night that followed.
One drop of drinke I'm sure my gullet swallowed.
At night I came t'a stony Towne call'd Stone.
Where I knew none, nor was I knowne of none:
I therefore through the streets held on my pace,
Some two miles farther to some resting place:
At last I spide a meddow newly mowde,
The hay was rotten, the ground halfe o're-flowde:
We made a breach, and entred horse and man,
There our pauillion, we to pitch began,
Which we erected with greene Broome and Hay,
T'expell the cold, and keepe the raine away;
The skie all muffled in a cloud gan lowre,
And presently there fell a mighty showre,
Which without intermission downe did powre,
From ten a night, vntill the mornings foure.
We all that time close in our couch did lye,
Which being well compacted kept vs dry.
The worst was, we did neither sup nor sleepe,
And so a temperate dyet we did keepe.
The morning all enrob'd in drisling fogges,
We being as ready as we had bin dogges:
We neede not stand vpon long ready making,
But gaping, stretching, & our eares well shaking:
And for I found my Host and Hostesse kinde,
I like a true man left my sheetes behinde.
That Thursday morne, my weary course I fram'd,
Vnto a Towne that is Newcastle nam'd.
(Not that Newcastle standing vpon Tine)
But this Towne scituation doth confine
Neere Cheshire, in the famous County Stafford,
And for their loue, I owe them not a straw for't;
But now my versing Muse craues some repose,
And whilst she sleeps Ile spowt a little prose.
I that haue wasted, Mōths, weeks, dayes, & houres
In viewing Kingdomes, Countries, Townes, and tow'rs,
Without al measure, measuring many paces,
And with my pen describing many places,
With few additions of mine owne deuizing,
(Because I haue a smacke of Coriatizing)
Our Mandeuill, Primaleon, Don Quixot,
Great Amadis, or Huon, traueld not
As I haue done, or beene where I haue beene,
Or heard and seene, what I haue heard and seene;
Nor Britaines Odcombe (Zany braue Ulissis)
In all his ambling, saw the like as this is.
I was in (would I could describe it well)
A darke, light, pleasant, profitable hell,
And as by water I was wafted in,
I thought that I in Charons Boate had bin,
But being at the entrance landed thus,
Three men there (in stead of Cerberus)
Conuaid me in, in each one hand a light
To guide vs in that vault of endlesse night,
There young & old with glim'ring candles burning
Digge, delue, and labour, turning and returning,
Some in a hole with baskets and with baggs,
Resembling furies, or infernall haggs:
There one like Tantall feeding, and there one,
Like Sisiphus he rowles the restlesse stone.
Yet all I saw was pleasure mixt with profit,
Which prou'd it to be no tormenting Tophet:
For in this honest, worthy, harmelesse hell,
There ne'r did any damned Deuill dwell:
And th'Owner of it gaines by 't more true glory,
Then Rome doth by fantasticke Purgatory.
A long mile thus I past, down, downe, steepe, steepe,
In deepenesse far more deepe, then Neptunes deepe,
Whilst o're my head (in fourefold stories hie)
Was Earth, & Sea, & Ayre, and Sun, and Skie:
That had I dyed in that Cimerian roome,
Foure Elements had couered o're my tombe:
Thus farther then the bottome did I goe,
(And many Englishmen haue not done so;)
Where mounting Porposes, and mountaine Whales,
And Regiments of fish with finnes and Scales,
Twixt me and Heauen did freely glide and slide,
And where great ships may at an anchor ride:
Thus in by Sea, and out by land I past,
And tooke my leaue of good Sir George at last.
VVhy should I waste Inuention to endite,
Ouidian fictions, or Olympiam games?
My misty Muse enlightned with more light,
To a more noble pitch her ayme she frames.
I must relate to my great Master Iames,
The Calydonian annuall peacefull warre;
How noble mindes doe eternize their fames,
By martiall meeting in the Brea of Marr:
How thousand gallant Spirits came neere and farre,
With Swords & Targets, Arrowes, Bowes, & Guns,
That all the Troope to men of iudgement, are
The God of Warres great neuer conquered Sonnes.
The Sport is Manly, yet none bleed but Beasts,
And last the Victor on the vanquisht feasts.
If Sport like this can on the Mountaines be,
Where Phebus flames can neuer melt the Snow:
Then let who list delight in Vales below,
Skie-kissing Mountaines pleasure are for me:
What brauer obiect can mans eye-sight see,
Then Noble, Worshipfull, and worthy Wights,
As if they were prepard for sundry fights,
Yet all in sweet society agree?
Through heather, mosse, mōgst frogs, & bogs, & fogs,
'Mongst craggy cliffes, & thunder battered hills,
Harts, Hinds, Bucks, Roes are chas'd by Men & dogs,
Where two houres hunting fourscore fat Deere kills.
Low land, your Sports are low as is your Seate,
The High-land Games & Minds, are high and great.

THE EPILOGVE TO ALL MY ADVENTVRERS AND OTHERS.

Thus did I neither spend, or begge, or aske,
By any course, direct or indirectly:
But in each tittle I perform'd my taske,
According to my bill most circumspectly.
I vow to God, I haue done Scotland wrong,
(And (iustly) 'gainst me it may bring an Action)
I haue not giuen't that right which doth belong,
For which I am halfe guilty of detraction:
Yet had I wrote all things that there I saw,
Misiudging censures would suppose I flatter,
And so my name I should in question draw,
Where Asses bray, and prattling Pies doe chatter:
Yet (arm'd with truth) I publish with my Pen,
That there th'Almighty doth his blessings heape,
In such aboundant food for Beasts and Men;
That I ne're saw more plenty or more cheape.
Thus what mine eyes did see, I doe beleeue;
And what I doe beleeue, I know is true:
And what is true, vnto your hands I giue,
That what I giue, may be beleeu'd of you.
But as for him that sayes I lye or dote,
I doe returne, and turne the Lye in's throate.
Thus Gentlemen, amongst you take my ware,
You share my thankes, and I your moneyes share.

THE GREAT EATER, OR PART OF THE ADMIRABLE TEETH AND STOMACKS EXPLOITS OF NICHOLAS WOOD, OF HARRISOM IN THE COVNTY OF KENT.

HIS EXCESSIVE MANNER OF EATING WITHOVT MANNERS, IN STRANGE AND TRVE MANNER DESCRIBED, BY IOHN TAILOR .

[Like as a Riuer to the Ocean bounds]

Like as a Riuer to the Ocean bounds,
Or as a Garden to all Britaines grounds,
Or like a Candle to a flaming Linck
Or as a single Ace, vnto Sise Cinque,
So short am I of what Nick Wood hath done,
That hauing ended, I haue scarce begun:
For I haue written but a taste in this,
To shew my Readers where, and what he is.

[SIR Gregory Nonsence HIS NEVVES FROM NO PLACE.]

SIR Gregory Nonsence HIS NEWES FROM NO PLACE.

It was in Iune the eight and thirtieth day,
That I imbarked was on highgate Hill,
After discourteous friendly taking leaue:
Of my young Father Madge and Mother Iohn,
The Wind did ebbe, the tide flou'd North Southeast,
We hoist our Sailes of Colloquintida.
And after 13. dayes and 17. nights,
(With certaine Hiroglyphicke houres to boot)
We with tempestuous calmes, and friendly stormes,
Split our maine top-mast, close below the keele.
But I with a dull quicke congruity,
Tooke 19. ounces of the Westerne winde,
And with the pith of the pole Artichocke,
Saild by the flaming Coast of Trapezond,
There in a Fort of melting Adamant,
Arm'd in a Crimson Robe, as blacke as Iet,
I saw Alcides with a Spiders thred,
Lead Cerberus to the Prononticke Sea,
Then cutting further through the marble Maine,
Mongst flying Buls, and 4. leg'd Turkicocks,
A dumbe faire spoken, welfac'd aged youth,
Sent to me from the stout Stimphalides,
With tonguelesse silence thus began his speech:
Illustrious flap-iacke, to thy hungry doome,
Low as the ground I eleuate my cause,
As I vpon a Gnat was riding late,
In quest to parley with the Pleiades,
I saw the Duke of Hounsditch gaping close,
In a greene Arbour made of yellow starch,
Betwixt two Brokers howling Madrigales,
A Banquet was serued in of Lampraies bones,
Well pickel'd in the Tarbox of old time,
When Demogorgon saild to Islington;
Which I perceiuing with nine chads of steele,
Straight flew vnto the coast of Pimlico.
T'informe great Prester Iohn, and the Mogull,
What exlent Oysters were at Billingsgate.
The Mogull (all inraged with these newes,)
Sent a blacke snaile post to Tartaria,
To tell the Irishmen in Saxony,
The dismall downefall of old Charing Crosse.
With that nine butter Firkins in a flame,
Did coldly rise to Arbitrate the cause:
Guessing by the Sinderesis of Wapping,
Saint Thomas Watrings is most ominous.
For though an Andiron, and a paire of Tongs,
May both haue breeding from one teeming womb,
Yet by the Calculation of Pickt-hatch,
Milke must not be so deere as Muskadell.
First shall Melpomene in Cobweb Lawne
Adorne great Memphis in a Mussell boat,
And all the muses clad in Robes of Ayre,
Shall dance, Leuoltons with a Whirligig,
Faire Pluto shall descend from Brazen Dis,
And Poliphemus keepe a Seamsters shop,
The Ile of Wight shall like a diue-dapper,
Deuoure the Egyptian proud Piramides,
Whilst Cassia Fistula shall gurmundize,
Vpon the flesh and bloud of Croydon cole dust,
Then on the bankes of Shoreditch shall be seene,
What 'tis to serue the great Vtopian Queene.
This fearefull period with great ioyfull care,
Was heard with acclamations, and in fine,
The whilst a lad of aged Nestors yeeres,
Stood sitting in a Throne of massy yeast:
(Not speaking any word) gaue this reply:
Most conscript Vmpire in this various Orbe,
I saw the Cædars of old, Lebanon,
Read a sad Lecture vnto Clapham heath,
At which time a strange vision did appeare,
His head was Buckrum, and his eyes were sedge,
His armes were blue bottles, his teeth were straw,
His legs were nine wel squar'd Tobacco Pipes,
Cloath'd in a garment all of Dolphins egges,
Then with a voyce erected to the ground,
Lifting aloft his hands vnto his feet,
He thus beganne, Cease friendly cutting throtes,
Clamor the Promulgation of your tongues,
And yeeld to Demagorgons policy.
Stop the refulgent method of your moodes,
For should you liue old Paphlagonias yeeres,
And with Sardanapalus match in vertue.
Yet Atropos will with a Marigold,
Runne through the Mountains of the Caspian Sea.
When you shall see aboue you and beneath,
That nothing kils a man so soone as death,
Aquarius ioyn'd with Pisces, in firme league,
With Reasons and vindictiue Arguments,
That pulueriz'd the King of Diamonds,
And with a diogoricall relapse,
Squeaz'd through the Sinders of a Butterflye,
Great Oberon was mounted on a Waspe,
To signifie this newes at Dunstable.
The Weathercock at Pancrage in a fume,
With Patience much distracted hearing this,
Repli'd thus briefly without feare or wit,
What madnesse doth thy Pericranion seaze,
Beyond the Dragons taile Artyphilax.
Think'st thou a Wolfe thrust through a sheep-skin, gloue,
Can make me take this Gobling for a Lambe:
Or that a Crocadile in Barly broth,
Is not a dish to feast don Belzebub,
Giue me a Medler in a field of blue,
Wrapt vp stigmatically in a dreame,
And I will send him to the gates of Dis,
To cause him fetch a sword of massie Chalke,
With which he wan the fatall Theban field,
From Romes great mitred Metropolitan.
Much was the quoile this brauing answere made,
When presently a German Coniurer,
Did ope a learned Booke of Palmistry,
Cram'd full of mentall reseruations:
The which beginning with a loud low voyce,
With affable and kind discourtesie,
He spake what no man heard or vnderstood,
Words tending vnto this or no respect,
Spawne of a Tortoyse hold thy silent noyse,
For when the great Leuiathan of Trumps,
Shall make a breach in Sinons Tennis Court.
Then shall the pigmey mighty Hercules,
Skip like a wildernesse in Woodstreet Counter,
Then Taurus shall in league with Hanniball,
Draw Bacchus dry, whilst Boreas in a heat,
Inuellop'd in a Gowne of Isicles:
With much discretion and great want of wit,
Leaue all as wisely as it was at first.
I mused much how those things could be done.
When straite a water Tankard answer'd me,
That it was made with a Parenthesis,
With thirteene yards of Kersie and a halfe,
Made of fine flaxe which grew on Goodwinsands,
Whereby we all perceiu'd the Hernshawes breed,
Being trusted with a charitable doome,
Was neere Bunhill, when strait I might discry,
The Quintescence of Grubstreet, well distild
Through Cripplegate in a contagious Map.
Bright Phaeton all angry at the sight,
Snatcht a large Wool-packe from a pismires mouth.
And in a Taylors Thimble boi'ld a Cabbage.
Then all the standers by, most Reuerend, Rude,
Iudg'd the case was most obscure and cleere,
And that three salt Ennigmates well appli'd,
With fourescoure Pipers and Arions Harpe,
Might catch Garagantua through an augor-hole,
And twas no doubt but mulley Mahamet,
Would make a quaffing bowle of Gorgons skul,
Whilst gormundizing Tantalus would weepe,
That Polipheme should kisse Auroraes lips,
Tri-formed Cinthia in a Sinkefoile shape,
Met with the Dogstarre on Saint Dauids day,
But said Grimalkin mumbling vp the Alpes,
Made fifteene fustian fumes of Pasticrust.
This was no sooner knowne at Amsterdam,
But with an Ethiopian Argosey,
Man'd with Flap-dragons, drinking vpsifreeze;
They past the purple gulfe of Basingstoke.
This being finisht, search to any end,
A full odde number of iust sixteene dogs,
Drencht in a sulpher flame of scalding Ice,
Sung the Besonian Whirlepooles of Argeire,
Mixt with pragmaticall potato Pies,
With that I turn'd my eares to see these things,
And on a Christall wall of Scarlet dye,
I with mine eyes began to heare and note,
What these succeeding Verses might portend,
Which furiously an Anabaptist squeak'd,
The audience deafly listning all the while.

A most learned-Lye, and Illiterate Oration, in lame galloping Rime. fustianly pronounced by Nimshag, a Gimnosophicall Phoolosopher, in the presence of Achittophel Smel-smocke, Annani-Asse Aretine, Iscariot-Nabal, Fransiscus Ra-viliaco, Garnetto Iebusito, Guido Salpetro Fauexit Pouderio, and many other graue Senators of Limbo. Translated out of the vulgar Language, of Terra incognita, and is as materiall as any part of the Booke, the meaning whereof a blind man may see without Spectacles as well at midnight, as at noone day.

Then with a tuchbox of transalpine tarre,
Turning thrice round, and stirring not a iot,
He threw fiue tunne of red hot purple Snow,
Into a Pigmeis mouth, nine inches square,
Which strait with melancholly mou'd,
Old Bembus Burgomaster of Pickt-hatch,
That plunging through the Sea of Turnebull streete,
He safely did ariue at Smithfield Barres.
Then did the Turnetripes on the Coast of France,
Catch fifteene hundred thousand Grashoppers,
With foureteene Spanish Needles bumbasted,
Poach'd with the Egs of fourscore Flanders Mares,
Mounted vpon the foote of Caucasus,
They whorld the football of conspiring fate,
And brake the shinnes of smugfac'd Muleiber:
With that grim Pluto all in Scarlet blue,
Gaue faire Proserpina a kisse of brasse,
At which all Hell danc'd Trenchmore in a string,
Whilst Acheron, and Termagant did sing.
The Mold-warp all this while in white broth bath'd,
Did Carroll Didoes happinesse in loue,
Vpon a Gridiron made of whiting-mops,
Vnto the tune of Iohn come kisse me now,
At which Auernus Musicke gan to rore,
Inthron'd vpon a seat of three-leau'd grasse,
Whilst all the Hibernian Kernes in multitudes,
Did feast with Shamerags stew'd in Vsquebagh.
At which a banquet made of Monopolies,
Tooke great distaste, because the Pillory
Was hunger-staru'd for want of Villianes eares,
Whom to relieue, there was a Mittimus,
Sent from Tartaria in an Oyster Boate,
At which the King of China was amaz'd,
And with nine graines of Rewbarbe stellified,
As low as to the altitude of shame,
He thrust foure Onions in a Candle-case,
And spoild the meaning of the worlds misdoubt,
Thus with a Dialogue of crimson starch,
I was inflamed with a num-cold fire,
Vpon the tenterhookes of Charlemaine,
The Dogstar howld, the Cat a Mountaine smilde,
And Sisiphus dranke Muskadell and Egges,
In the hornd hoofe of huge Bucephalus,
Time turn'd about, and shew'd me yesterday,
Clad in a Gowne of mourning had I wist,
The motion was almost too late they said,
Whilst sad despaire made all the World starke mad,
They all arose, and I put vp my pen,
It makes no matter, where, why, how, or when.

Some Sence at last to the Learned.

You that in Greeke and Latine learned are,
And of the ancient Hebrew haue a share,
You that most rarely oftentimes haue sung
In the French, Spanish, or Italian tongue,
Here I in English haue imployd my pen,
To be read by the learnedst Englishmen,
Wherein the meanest Scholler plaine may see,
I vnderstand their tongues, as they doe me.

[A very Merrie VVherrie-Ferry-VOYAGE.]

AS MVCH HAPPINESSE AS MAY BE WISHED, ATTEND THE Two hopefull Impes, of Gentility and Learning, Mr Richard and George Hatton.

You forward Payre, in Towardly Designes,
To you I send these sowsde Salt-water Lines:
Accept, Reade, Laugh, and breathe, and to't againe,
And still my Muse, and I, shall yours remaine.

PROLOGVE.

I now intend a Voyage here to Write,
From London vnto Yorke, helpe to Jndite,
Great Neptune lend thy Ayde to me, who past
Through thy tempestuous Waues with many a blast,
And then J'le true describe the Townes, and men,
And manners, as I went and came agen.

A very Merrie VVherrie-Ferry-VOYAGE. OR, YORKE for my Money.

The Yeere which I doe call as others doe,
Full 1600. adding twenty two:
The Month of Iuly that's for euer fam'd,
(Because 'twas so by Iulius Cæsar nam'd)
Iust when sixe dayes, and to each Day a Night,
The dogged Dog-dayes had begun to bite,
On that day which doth blest Remembrance bring,
The name of an Apostle, and our King,
On that remarkeable good day, Saint Iames,
I vndertooke my Voyage downe the Thames.
The Signe in Cancer, or the Ribs and Brest,
And Æolus blew sweetly, West Southwest.
Then after many farewels, Cups and Glasses,
(Which oftentimes hath made men worse then Asses)
About the waste or Nauell of the Day,
Not being dry or Drunke, I went my way.
Our Wherry somewhat old, or strucke in age,
That had endur'd neere 4. yeeres Pilgrimage,
And carried honest people, Whores, and Thieues,
Some Sergeants, Bayliffes, and some vnder-Shrieues,
And now at last it was her lot to be
Th'aduentrous bonny Barke to carry me.
But as an old Whores Beauty being gone
Hides Natures wracke, with Artlike painting on:
So I with Colours finely did repaire
My Boats defaults, and made her fresh and faire.
Thus being furnish'd with good Wine and Beere,
And Bread and Meat (to banish hungers feare)
With Sayles, with Anker, Cables, Sculs and Oares,
With Carde and Compasse, to know Seas & Shores,
With Lanthorne, Candle, Tinder-box and Match,
And with good Courage, to work, ward, and watch,
Wel man'd, wel ship'd, wel victual'd, wel appointed,
Well in good health, well timbred and wel ioynted:
All wholly well, and yet not halfe Fox'd well,
Twixt Kent, and Essex, we to Grauesend fell.
There I had welcome of my friendly Host,
(A Grauesend Trencher, and a Grauesend Tost)
Good meat and lodging at an easie rate,
And rose betimes, although I lay downe late.
Bright Lucifer the Messenger of Day,
His burnisht twinkling splendour did display:
Rose cheek'd Aurora hid her blushing face,
She spying Phœbus comming gaue him place,
Whilst Zephirus, and Auster, mix'd together,
Breath'd gently, as fore-boding pleasant weather,
Old Neptune had his Daughter Thames supplide,
With ample measure of a flowing Tide,
But Thames supposde it was but borrowed goods,
And with her Ebbes, paid Neptune backe his Floods.
Then at the time of this Auspicious dawning,
I rowzd my men, who Scrubbing, stretching, yawning,
Arose, left Grauesend, Rowing downe the streame,
And neere to Lee, we to an Ancker came.
Because the Sands were bare, and Water low,
We rested there, till it two houres did Flow:
And then to trauell went our Galley foyst,
Our Ancker quickly weigh'd, our sayle vp hoyst,
Where thirty miles we past, a mile from shore,
The water two foot deepe, or little more.
Thus past we on the braue East Saxon Coast,
From 3. at morne, till 2. at noone almost,
By Shobury, Wakering, Fowlenesse, Tittingham,
And then we into deeper water came.
There is a crooked Bay runnes winding farre,
To Maulden, Esterford, and Colchester,
Which cause twas much about, (to ease mens paine)
I left the Land, and put into the mayne.
With speed, the crooked way to scape and passe,
I made out strait for Frinton and the Nasse.
But being 3. Leagues then from any Land,
And holding of our Maine-sheate in my hand,
We did espy a cole-blacke Cloud to rise,
Fore-runner of some Tempest from the Skies;
Scarce had we sayl'd a hundred times our length,
But that the winde began to gather strength:
Stiffe Eolus with Neptune went to Cuffes:
With huffes, and puffes, and angry Counter-Buffes,
From boysterous gusts, they fell to fearefull flawes,
Whilst we 'twixt wind & water, neer Deaths jaws,
Tost like a Corke vpon the mounting maine,
Vp with a whiffe, and straightway downe againe,
At which we in our mindes much troubled were,
And said, God blesse vs all, what weather's here?
For (in a word) the Seas so high did grow,
That Ships were forc'd to strike their topsails low:
Meane time (before the winde) we scudded braue,
Much like a Ducke, on top of euery waue.
But nothing violent is permanent,
And in short space away the Tempest went.
So farewell it; and you that Readers be,
Suppose it was no welcome Guest to me:
My Company and I, it much perplext,
And let it come when I send for it next.
But leauing jesting, Thankes to God I giue,
Twas through his mercy we did scape and liue,
And though these things with mirth I doe expresse,
Yet still I thinke on God with thankfulnesse.
Thus ceast the Storme, and weather gan to smile,
And we row'd neere the shoare of Horsey Ile.
Then did illustrious Titan gin to steepe
His Chariot in the Westerne Ocean deepe:
We saw the farre-spent Day, withdraw his light,
And made for Harwich, where we lay all night.
There did I finde an Hostesse with a Tongue
As nimble as it had on Gimmols hung:
'Twill neuer tyre, though it continuall toyl'd,
And went as yare, as if it had bin Oyl'd:
All's one for that, for ought which I perceiue,
It is a fault which all our Mothers haue:
And is so firmely grafted in the Sexe,
That he's an Asse that seemes thereat to vexe.
Apolloes beames began to guild the Hils,
And West Southwest the winde the Welkin fils,
When I left Harwich, and along we'Row'd
Against a smooth calme flood that stifly flow'd,
By Bawdsey Hauen, and by Orford Nasse,
And so by Aldbrough we at last did passe.
By Lestoffe we to Yarmouth made our way,
Our third dayes trauell being Saturday,
There did I see a Towne well fortifide,
Well gouern'd, with all Natures wants supplide;
The situation in a wholsome ayre,
The buildings (for the most part) sumptuous, faire,
The people courteous, and industrious, and
With labour makes the Sea inrich the Land.
Besides (for ought I know) this one thing more,
The Towne can scarcely yeeld a man a Whore:
It is renownd for Fishing, farre and neere,
And sure in Britaine it hath not a Peere.
But noble Nash, thy fame shall liue alwaies,
Thy witty Pamphlet, the red Herring praise,
Hath done great Yarmouth much renowned right,
And put my artlesse Muse to silent quite.
On Sunday we a learned Sermon had,
Taught to confirme the good, reforme the bad;
Acquaintance in the Towne I scarce had any,
And sought for none, in feare to finde too many,
Much kindnesse to me by mine Host was done,
(A Mariner nam'd William Richardson)
Besides mine Hostesse gaue to me at last
A Cheese, with which at Sea we brake our fast,
The gift was round, and had no end indeed,
But yet we made an end of it with speed:
My thankes surmounts her bounty, all men sees
My gratitudes in Print: But where's the Cheese?
So on the Munday, betwixt one and twaine,
I tooke my leaue, and put to Sea againe,
Down Yarmouth Road we'row'd with cutting speed,
(The winde all quiet, Armes must doe the deed)
Along by Castor, and Sea-bordring Townes,
Whose Cliffes & shores abide stern Neptunes frowns,
Sometimes a mile from land, and sometimes two,
(As depthes or sands permitted vs to doe)
Till drawing toward night, we did perceiue
The winde at East, and Seas began to heaue:
The rowling Billowes all in fury roares
And tumbled vs, we scarce could vse our Oares:
Thus on a Lee-shore darknesse'gan to come,
The Sea grew high, the winds'gan hisse and hum:
The foaming curled waues the shore did beate,
(As if the Ocean would all Norfolke eate)
To keepe at Sea, was dangerous I did thinke,
To goe to Land I stood in doubt to sinke:
Thus landing, or not landing (I suppos'd)
We were in perill round about inclos'd;
At last to rowe to shore I thought it best,
Mongst many euils, thinking that the least:
My men all pleas'd to doe as I command,
Did turne the Boats head opposite to land,
And with the highest waue that I could spie,
I bade them rowe to shore immediately.
When straight we all leap'd ouer-boord in haste,
Some to the knees, and some vp to the waste,
Where sodainely 'twixt Owle-light and the darke,
We pluck'd the Boat beyond high-water marke.
And thus halfe sowsd, halfe stewd, with Sea & sweat,

[_]

There is no anchor in the text for this note.—

And a ship Carpenter.

We land at Cromer Towne, halfe dry, halfe wet.
But we supposing all was safe and well,
In shunning Sylla, on Caribdis fell:
For why, some Women, and some Children there
That saw vs land, were all possest with feare:
And much amaz'd, ran crying vp and downe,
That Enemies were come to take the Towne.
Some said that we were Pirats, some said Theeues,
And what the women sayes, the men beleeues.
With that foure Constables did quickly call,
Your ayde! to Armes you men of Cromer all!
Then straitway forty men with rusty Bils,
Some arm'd in Ale, all of approued skils,
Deuided into foure stout Regiments,
To guard the Towne from dangerous Euents;
Braue Captaine Pescod did the Vantguard lead,
And Captaine Clarke the Rereward gouerned,
Whilst Captaine Wiseman, and hot Captaine Kimble,
Were in the mayne Battalia fierce and nimble:
One with his squadron watch'd me all the night,
Lest from my lodging I should take my flight:
A second (like a man of simple note)
Did by the Sea side all night watch my Boate,
The other two, to make their names Renownd,
Did Guard the Town, & brauely walk the Rownd.
And thus my Boat, my selfe, and all my men,
Were stoutly Guarded, and Regarded then:
For they were all so full with feare possest,
That without mirth it cannot be exprest.
My Inuention doth Curuet, my Muse doth Caper,
My Pen doth daunce out lines vpon the Paper,
And in a word, I am as full of mirth,
As mighty men are at their first sonnes birth.
Me thinkes Moriscoes are within my braines,
And Heyes, and Antiques run through all my veines:
Heigh, to the tune of Trenchmoore I could write
The valiant men of Cromers sad affright:
As Sheepe doe feare the Wolfe, or Geese the Fox,
So all amazed were these sencelesse Blockes:
That had the Towne beene fir'd, it is a doubt,
But that the women there had pist it out,
And from the men Reek'd such a fearefull sent,
That People three miles thence mus'd what it ment,
And he the truth that narrowly had sifted,
Had found the Constables, had need t'haue shifted.
They did examine me, I answer'd than
I was Iohn Taylor, and a Waterman,
And that my honest fellow Iob and I,
Were seruants to King Iames his Maiesty,
How we to Yorke, vpon a Mart were bound,
And that we landed, fearing to be drownd.
When all this would not satisfie the Crew,
I freely op'd my Trunke, and bade them view,
I shew'd them Bookes, of Chronicles and Kings,
Some Prose; some Verse, and idle Sonettings,
I shew'd them all my Letters to the full:
Some to Yorkes Archbishop, and some to Hull,
But had the twelue Apostles sure beene there
My witnesses, I had beene ne'r the neere.
And let me vse all Oathes that I could vse,
They still were harder of beliefe then Iewes.
They wanted faith, and had resolu'd before,
Not to beleeue what e'r we said or swore.
They said the world was full of much deceit,
And that my Letters might be counterfeit:
Besides, there's one thing bred the more dislike,
Because mine Host was knowne a Catholike.
These things concurring, people came in Clusters,
And multitudes within my lodging Musters,
That I was almost woorried vnto death,
In danger to be stifled with their breath.
And had mine Host tooke pence apiece of those
Who came to gaze on me, I doe suppose,
No Iack an Apes, Baboone, or Crocodile
E'r got more mony in so small a while.
Besides, the Pesants did this one thing more,
They call'd and dranke foure shillings on my score:
And like vnmanner'd Mungrells went their way,
Not spending ought, but leauing me to pay.
This was the houshold businesse: in meane space
Some Rascals ran vnto my Boate apace,
And turn'd and tumbled her, like men of Gotham.
Quite topsie turuey vpward with her bottome,
Vowing they would in tatters piece-meale teare
The cursed Pirates Boate, that bred their feare;
And I am sure, their madnesse (to my harme)
Tore a Boord out, much longer then mine arme.
And they so brus'd, and split our Wherry, that
She leak'd, we cast out water with a Hat.
Now let men iudge, vpon this truths reuealing,
If Turks or Mores could vse more barb'rous dealing;
Or whether it be fit I should not write
Their enuy, foolish feare, and mad despight.
What may wise men conceiue, when they shal note,
That fiue vnarm'd men, in a Wherry Boate,
Nought to defend, or to offend with stripes,
But one old sword, and two Tobacco-Pipes,
And that of Constables a Murniuall,
Men, women, children, all in generall,
And that they all should be so valiant, wise,
To feare we wou'd a Market Towne surprise.
In all that's writ, I vow I am no lyer,
I muse the Beacons were not set on fire.
The dreadfull names of Talbot, or of Drake,
Ne'r made the foes of England more to quake
Then I made Cromer; for their feare and dolor,
Each mā might smel out by his neighbors Collor.
At last, the ioyfull morning did approach,
And Sol began to mount his flaming Coach:
Then did I thinke my Purgatory done,
And rose betimes intending to be gone;
But holla, stay, 'twas otherwayes with me,
The messe of Constables were shrunke to three:
Sweet Mr Pescods double diligence
Had horst himselfe, to beare intelligence
To Iustices of Peace within the land,
What dangerous businesse there was now in hand:
There was I forc'd to tarry all the while,
Till some said he rode foure and twenty mile,
In seeking men of worship, peace and quorum,
Most wisely to declare strange newes before vm.
And whatsoeuer tales he did recite,
I'm sure he caus'd Sir Austin Palgraue, Knight,
And Mr Robert Kempe a Iustice there
Came before me, to know how matters were.
As conference 'twixt them and I did passe,
They quickly vnderstood me what I was:
And though they knew me not in prose and lookes,
They had read of me in my verse, and bookes;
My businesses account I there did make,
And I and all my company did take
The lawfull Oath of our Allegeance then,
By which we were beleeu'd for honest men.
In duty, and in all humility
I doe acknowledge the kinde courtesie
Of those two Gentlemen; for they did see,
How much the people were deceiu'd in me.
They gaue me Coyne, and Wine, and Suger too,
And did as much as lay in them to doe,
To finde them that my Boat had torne and rent,
And so to giue them worthy punishment.
Besides Sir Austin Palgraue bade me this,
To goe but foure miles, where his Dwelling is,
And I and all my Company should there
Finde friendly Welcome, mix'd with other Cheare.
I gaue them thankes, and so I'l giue them still,
And did accept their Cheare in their good will.
Then 3. a Clocke at afternoone and past,
I was Dischar'd from Cromer at the last.
But for men shall not thinke that Enuiously
Against this Towne I let my Lines to flye:
And that I doe not lie, or scoffe, or fable,
For them I wil write something Charitable.
It is an Ancient Market Towne that stands
Vpon a lofty Cliffe of mouldring Sands:
The Sea against the Cliffes doth daily beate,
And euery tyde into the Land doth eate,
The Towne is poore, vnable by Expence,
Against the raging Sea to make defence:
And euery day it eateth further in,
Still wasting, washing downe the sand doth win,
That if some course be not tane speedily,
The Town's in danger in the Sea to lye.
A goodly Church stands on these brittle grounds,
Not many fairer in Great Britaines bounds:
And if the Sea shall swallow't, as some feare,
Tis not ten thousand pounds the like could reare.
No Christian can behold it but with griefe,
And with my heart I wish them quicke reliefe.
So farewell Cromer, I haue spoke for thee,
Though thou didst much vnkindly deale with me,
And honest Mariners, I thanke you there,
Laboriously you in your armes did beare
My Boat for me, three furlongs at the least,
When as the tyde of Ebbe was so decreast,
You waded, and you launch'd her quite afloate,
And on your backes you bore vs to our Boate.
Th'vnkindnesse that I had before, it come,
Because the Constables were troublesome:
Long'd to be busie, would be men of action,
Whose labours was their trauels satisfaction:
Who all were borne when wit was out of Towne,
And therefore got but little of their owne:
So farewell Pescod, Wiseman, Kimble, Clarke,
Foure sonnes of Ignorance (or much more dark)
You made me lose a day of braue calme weather.
So once againe farewell, fare ill together.
Then 'longst the Norfolke Coast we row'd out-right
To Blackney, when we saw the comming Night,
The burning eye of Day began to winke,
And into Thetis lap his beames to shrinke:
And as he went, stain'd the departed Skye,
With red, blue, purple, and vermillion Dye,
Till all our Hemisphere laments his lacke,
And mourning night puts on a Robe of blacke,
Bespangled diuersly with golden sparkes,
Some moueable, some Sea-mens fixed markes.
The milky way that blest Astrea went,
When as she left this Earthly continent,
Shew'd like a Christall cawsey to the Thrones
Of Ioue and Saturne, pau'd with precious Stones.
Old Oceanus, Neptune, Innachus,
And two and thirty huffe-capt Æolus,
Had all tane truce and were in league combin'd,
No billowes foaming, or no breath of Winde;
The solid Earth, the Ayre, the Ocean deepe
Seem'd as the whole world had bin fast asleepe.
In such a pleasant Euen as this came I
To Blackney, with my Ship and Company:
Whereas I found my entertainment good
For welcome, drinking, lodging, and for food.
The morrow when Latonaes Sunne 'gan rise,
And with his Light illumines mortall eyes:
When Cocks did crow, & Lambes did bleat & blea,
I mounted from my Couch, and put to Sea.
Like Glasse the Oceans face was smooth and calme,
The gentle Ayre breath'd like Arabian Balme,
Gusts, stormes and flawes, lay sleeping in their Cels,
Whilst with much labour we Row'd o'r the Welles.
This was the greatest Day of worke indeed.
And it behou'd vs much, to make much speed:
For why, before that day did quite expire,
We past the dangerous Wash, to Lincolnshire.
And there in three houres space and little more,
We Row'd to Boston from the Norfolke shore:
Which by Report of people that dwell there,
Is six and twenty mile, or very neere.
The way vnknowne, and we no Pilot had,
Flats, Sands and shoales; and Tydes all raging mad,
Which Sands our passage many times denide,
And put vs sometimes three or foure miles wide,
Besides the Flood runs there, with such great force,
That I imagine it out-runnes a Horse:
And with a head some 4. foot high that Rores,
It on the sodaine swels and beats the Shores.
It tumbled vs a ground vpon the Sands,
And all that we could doe with wit, or hands,
Could not resist it, but we were in doubt,
It would haue beaten our Boates bottome out.
It hath lesse mercy then Beare, Wolfe, or Tyger,
And in those Countries it is call'd the Hyger.
We much were vnacquainted with those fashions,
And much it troubled vs with sundry passions:
We thought the shore we neuer should recouer,
And look'd still when our Boat would tumble ouer.
But He that made all with his word of might,
Brought vs to Boston, where we lodg'd all night.
The morrow morning when the Sun 'gan peepe,
I wak'd and rub'd mine eyes, and shak'd off sleepe,
And vnderstanding that the Riuer went,
From Boston vp to Lincolne, and to Trent,
To Humber, Owse, and Yorke, and (taking paine)
We need not come in sight of Sea againe,
I lik'd the motion, and made haste away
To Lincolne, which was 50. mile, that Day:
Which City in the 3. King Edwards Raigne,
Was th'onely staple, for this Kingdomes gaine
For Leather, Lead, and Wooll, and then was seene
Fiue times ten Churches there, but now Fifteene;
A braue Cathedrall Church there now doth stand,
That scarcely hath a fellow in this Land:
Tis for a Godly vse, a goodly Frame,
And beares the blessed Virgin Maries name.
The Towne is Ancient, and by course of Fate,
Through Warres, and Time, defac'd and Ruinate,
But Monarchies, & Empires, Kingdomes, Crowns,
Haue rose or fell, as Fortune smiles or frownes:
And Townes, and Cities haue their portions had
Of time-tost Variations, good and bad.
There is a Prouerbe, part of which is this,
They say that Lincolne was, and London is.
From thence we past a Ditch of Weeds and Mud,
Which they doe (falsly) there call Forcedike Flood:
For I'l be sworne, no flood I could finde there,
But dirt & filth, which scarce my Boat would beare,
'Tis 8 miles long, and there our paines was such.
As all our trauell did not seeme so much,
My men did wade and draw the Boate like Horses,
And scarce could tugge her on with all our forces:
Moyl'd, toyl'd, myr'd, tyr'd, stil labr'ing, euer doing,
Yet were we 9. long houres that 8. miles going.
At last when as the Day was well-nigh spent,
We gat from Forcedikes floodlesse flood to Trent.
Eu'n as the Windowes of the Day did shut,
Downe Trents swift streame, to Gainsborough we put,
There did we rest vntill the morning Starre,
The ioyfull doores of Dawning did vn-barre:
To Humbers churlish streams, our Course we fram'd,
So Nam'd, for Drowning of a King so nam'd.
And there the swift Ebbe tide ranne in such sort,
The Winde at East, the Waues brake thick & short,
That in some doubts, it me began to strike,
For in my life, I ne'r had seene the like.
My way was vp to Yorke, but my intent
Was contrary, for from the fall of Trent
I fifteene mile went downewards East Northeast,
And as my way was vpward West Southwest.
And as against the Wind we madly venter,
The Waues like Pirats boord our Boate and enter,
But though they came in fury, and amaine,
Like Theeues we cast them ouer-boord againe.
This Conflict lasted two houres to the full,
Vntill we gate to Kingston vpon Hull:
For to that Towne I had a Prooued friend,
That Letters did and Commendations send
By me vnto the worthy Magistrate,
The Maior, and some of's Brethren, in that State.
Besides I had some Letters, of like Charge,
From my good Friend, the Master of the Barge,
Vnto some friends of his, that they would there
Giue me Hull Cheese, & welcome & good Cheere.
Sunday at Mr Maiors much Cheere and Wine,
Where as the Hall did in the Parlour Dine,
At night with one that had bin Shrieue I Sup'd,
Well entertain'd I was, and halfe well Cup'd:
On Munday noone, I was inuited than
To a graue Iusticer, an Alderman,
And there such Cheere as Earth and Waters yeeld,
Shew'd like a Haruest in a plentious Field.
Another I must thanke for his Good will,
For he Prest on to bid me welcome still.
There is a Captaine of good Life and Fame,
And, God with vs, I oft haue call'd his Name.
He welcom'd me, as I had bin his fellow,
Lent me his silken Colours, Blacke and Yellow,
Which to our Mast made fast, we with a Drum
Did keepe, till we to Yorke in Triumph come.
Thankes to my louing Host and Hostesse Pease,
There at mine Inne, each Night I tooke mine ease:
And there I gat a Cantle of Hull Cheese
One Euening late, I thanke thee Machabees .
Kind Roger Parker, many thankes to thee,
Thou shew'dst much vndeserued loue to me,
Layd my Boat safe, spent time, Coyne and endeauor,
And mad'st my mony counted Copper euer:
But as at Feasts, the first Course being past,
Men doe reserue their Dainties till the last,
So my most thankes I euer whil'st I liue,
Will to the Maior and his Brethren giue,
But most of all, to shut vp all together
I giue him thankes that did Commend me thither,
Their Loues (like Humber) ouerflow'd the bankes,
And though I Ebbe in worth, I'l flow in Thankes.
Thus leauing off the Men, now of the Towne
Some things which I obseru'd I'l here set downe:
And partly to declare it's praise and worth,
It is the onely Bulwarke of the North.
All other Townes for strength to it may strike,
And all the Northerne parts haue not the like.
The people from the Sea much Wealth haue wonne,
Each man doth liue as he were Neptunes Sonne.
Th'Antiquity thereof a man may Reede
In Reuerend Cambdens workes, and painfull Speede:
How in King Edwards Raigne first of that Name
Then called Wike. Then did they Kingston frame,
And then the Townesmen cut a Riuer there,
An ex'lent Hauen, a Defence or Peere:
Built with excessiue Charge, to saue it from
Fierce Humbers Raging, that each Tyde doth come.
From time to time, more Greatnesse still it gaind,
Till lately whē the Eighth King Henry Raign'd,
He made it greater, by his oft Resort,
And many times kept there his Royall Court,
He Wall'd it well, built Battlements, and Gates,
And (more with Honour to augment their States)
He built two Blockhouses, and Castle strong,
To Guard the Towne from all Inuasiue wrong.
He gaue thē much Munition, Swords, Shafts, Bowes,
And Brazen Ordnance, as the world well knowes,
Which Guns he gaue them for the Towns defence,
But were in 88. all borrowed thence,
With promise they againe should be sent backe:
But the performance euer hath beene slacke.
Now in this Yron age, their Guns I see,
Are mettle like, the Age, and Yron be:
And glad they would be, if they could obtaine,
To change that mettle, for their owne againe.
Foure well built Gates, with bolts, & lockes, & bars,
For ornament or strength, in Peace or Wars:
Besides, to keepe their Foes the further out,
They can Drowne all the Land three miles about.
'Tis plentifully seru'd with Flesh and Fish,
As cheape, as reasonable men can wish.
And thus by Gods grace, and mans industry,
Dame Nature, or men's Art doth it supply.
Some 10. yeeres since Fresh water there was scant,
But with much Cost they haue suppli'd that want;
By a most ex'lent Water-worke that's made,
And to the Towne in Pipes it is conuai'd,
Wrought with most Artificiall engines, and
Perform'd by th'Art of the Industrious hand
Of Mr William Maultby, Gentleman,
So that each man of Note there alwayes can
But turne a Cocke within his House, and still
They haue Fresh-water alwayes at their will,
This haue they all vnto their Great Content,
For which, they each doe pay a yeerely Rent.
There is a Prouerbe, and a Prayer withall,
That we may not to three strange places fall:
From Hull, from Hallifax, from Hell, 'tis thus,
From all these three, Good Lord deliuer vs.
This praying Prouerb's meaning to set downe,
Men doe not wish deliuerance from the Towne:
The Town's nam'd Kingston, Hul's the furious Riuer:
And from Hulls dangers, I say, Lord deliuer.
At Hallifax, the Law so sharpe doth deale,
That whoso more then 13. Pence doth steale,
They haue a Iyn that wondrous quicke and well,
Sends Thieues all headlesse vnto Heau'n or Hell.
From Hell each man sayes, Lord deliuer me,
Because from Hell can no Redemption be:
Men may escape from Hull and Hallifax,
But sure in Hell there is a heauier taxe,
Let each one for themselues in this agree,
And pray, From Hell good Lord deliuer me.
The Prouerbe and the Prayer expounded plaine,
Now to the Orders of the Towne againe:
I thinke it merits praise for Gouernment,
More then all Townes in Britaines continent,
As first their Charity doth much appeare,
They for the Poore haue so prouided there,
That if a man should walke from Morne till Night,
He shall not see one Begger; nor a Mite
Or any thing shall be demanded euer,
But euery one there doth their best endeauour
To make the Idle worke, and to relieue
Those that are old and past, or Sicknesse grieue.
All poore mens Children haue a House most fit,
Whereas they Sowe, & Spin, and Card, and Knit:
Where all of them haue something still to doe,
As their Capacities will reach vnto,
So that no Idle person, Old or Young
Within the Towne doth harbour or belong.
It yeerely costs Fiue hundred pounds besides,
To fence the Towne, from Hull and Humbers tydes,
For Stakes, for Bauins, Timber, Stones, and Piles,
All which are brought by Water many miles,
For Workmens labour, and a world of things,
Which on the Towne excessiue charges brings.
All which with perill, industry and sweat,
They from the bowels of the Ocean get.
They haue a Bridewell, and an ex'lent skill,
To make some people worke against their will:
And there they haue their Lodging and their meat,
Cleane Whips, and euery thing exceeding neat:
And thus with faire or foule meanes alwayes, they
Giue idle Persons little time to play.
Besides, for euery Sea or Marine cause
They haue a house of Trinity, whose Lawes
And Orders doe Confirme, or else Reforme
That which is right, or that which wrongs deform.
It is a comely built well ordred Place,
But that which most of all the House doth grace,
Are roomes for Widowes, who are old and poore,
And haue bin Wiues to Mariners before.
They are for House-roome, food, or lodging, or
For firing, Christianly prouided for,
And as some dye, some doe their places win,
As one goes out, another doth come in.
Should I in all things giue the Towne it's due,
Some fooles would say I flatter'd, spake vntrue:
Or that I partiall in my writings were,
Because they made me welcome, and good cheare:
But for all those that haue such thoughts of mee,
I rather wish that them I hang'd may see,
Then that they iustly could report, that I
Did Rime for victuals, hunger to supply;
Or that my Muse, or working braines should beat,
To flatter, fawne, or lye, for drinke or meat:
Let Trencher-Poets scrape for such base vailes,
I'l take an Oare in hand when writing failes;
And 'twixt the Boat and Pen, I make no doubt,
But I shall shift to picke a liuing out,
Without base flatt'ry, or false coyned words,
To mowldy Madams, or vnworthy Lords;
Or whatso'er degree, or Townes, or Nations;
I euer did, and still will scorne such fashions.
Heare-say, sometimes vpon a lye may light,
But what I see and know, I dare to write.
Mine eyes did view, before my pen set downe,
These things that I haue written of this Towne:
A new built Custome-house, a faire Towne-Hall,
For solemne meetings, or a Festiuall:
A Maior, twelue Aldermen, one Shrieue, Recorder,
A Towne-Clarke, altogether in one order,
And vniformity doe gouerne so,
They need not flatter friend, or feare a foe,
A Sword, a Cap of maintenance, a Mace
Great, and well Guilt, to do the Towne more grace:
Are borne before the Maior, and Aldermen,
And on Festiuities, or high dayes then,
Those Magistrates their Scarlet Gownes doe weare,
And haue sixe Sergeants to attend each yeare.
Now let men say what Towne in England is,
That truly can compare it selfe with this:
For Scituation, strength and Gouernment,
For Charity, for Plenty, for Content,
For state? And one thing more I there was told,
Not one Recusant all the Towne doth hold,
Nor (as they say) ther's not a Puritan,
Or any nose-wise foole Precisian,
But great and small, with one consent and will,
Obey his Maiesties Iniunctions still.
They say that once therein two Sisters dwelt,
Which inwardly the pricke of Conscience felt,
They came to London, (hauing wherewithall)
To buy two Bibles, all Canonicall,
Th'Apocrypha did put them in some doubt,
And therefore both their bookes were bound without.
Except those two, I ne'r did heare of any
At Hull, though many places haue too many.
But as one scabbed sheepe a flocke may marre,
So there's one man, whose nose did stand a jarre:
Talk'd very scuruily, and look'd ascue,
Because I in a worthy Towns-mans Pue
Was plac'd at Church, when (God knowes I ne'r thought,
To sit there, I was by the Owner brought.
This Squire of low degree displeased than,
Said, I at most was but a Water-man,
And that they such great kindnesse setting forth,
Made more a'th flesh, then e'r the broth was worth:
Which I confesse, but yet I answer make,
'Twas more then I with manners could forsake:
He sure is some high-minded Pharisee,
Or else infected with their heresie,
And must be set downe in their Catalogues,
They lou'd the highest seats in Synagogues,
And so (perhaps) doth he, for ought I know,
He may be mounted, when I sit below:
But let him not a Water-man despise,
For from the water he himselfe did rise,
And windes and water both on him haue smil'd,
Else, The great Marchant he had ne'r bin stil'd:
His Character I finely will contriue,
He's scornefull proud, and talking talkatiue:
A great Ingrosser of strange speech and newes,
And one that would sit in the highest Pues,
But bate an Ace, he'l hardly winne the game,
And if I list, I could rake out his name.
Thanks Mr. Maior, for my Bacon Gammon,
Thankes Roger Parker, for my small fresh Sammon,
'Twas ex'lent good, and more the truth to tell ye,
Boyl'd with a fine Plum-Pudding in the belly.
The sixth of August, well accompani'd
With best of Townes-men to the waters side,
There did I take my leaue, and to my Ship
I with my Drum and Colors quickly skip:
The one did dub a dub and rumble, braue
The Ensigne in the aire did play and waue:
I launc'd, supposing all things had bin done,
Bownce, from the Block-house, quoth a roaring Gun.
And wauing Hats on both sides with content
I cri'd Adiew, adiew, and thence we went
Vp Humbers flood that then amaine did swell,
Windes calme, and water quiet as a Well:
We Row'd to Owse with all our force and might,
To Cawood, where we well were lodg'd all night.
The morrow, when as Phœbus 'gan to smile,
I forwards set to Yorke eight little mile:
But two miles short of Yorke I landed than,
To see that reuerend Metropolitan,
That watchful Shepheard, that with care doth keep
Th'infernall Wolfe, from Heau'ns supernall Sheepe:
The painefull Preacher, that most free Almes-giuer,
That though he liue long, is too short a liuer:
That man, whose age the poore doe all lament,
All knowing, when his Pilgrimage is spent,
When Earth to Earth returnes, as Natures debter,
They feare the Prouerbe, Seldome comes the better.
His Doctrine and example speake his due,
And what all people sayes, must needs be true.
In duty I most humbly thanke his Grace,
He at his Table made me haue a place,
And meat and drinke, and gold he gaue me there,
Whilst al my Crue i'th Hal were fill'd with cheare:
So hauing din'd, from thence we quickly past,
Through Owse strong Bridge, to York faire City last;
Our drowning scap'd, more danger was ensuing,
'Twas Size time there, and hanging was a brewing;
But had our faults beene ne'r so Capitall,
We at the Vintners Barre durst answer all.
Then to the good Lord Maior I went, and told
What labour, and what dangers manifold,
My fellow and my selfe had past at Seas.
And if it might his noble Lordship please,
The Boat that did from London thither swim
With vs, in duty we would giue to him.
His Lordship pawsing, with a reuerend hum,
My friend (quoth he) to morrow morning come:
In the meane space I'l of the matter thinke,
And so he bade me to goe nee'r and drinke.
I dranke a Cup of Claret and some Beere,
And sure (for ought I know) he keeps good cheere.
I gaue his Lordship in red guilded leather,
A well bound booke of all my Workes together,
Which he did take .
There in the City were some men of note,
That gladly would giue money for our Boat:
But all this while good manners bade vs stay,
To haue my good Lord Maiors yea, or nay.
But after long demurring of the matter ,
He well was pleas'd to see her on the water,
And then my men Row'd halfe an houre or more,
Whilst he stood viewing her vpon the shore.
They bore his Lordships Children in her there,
And many others, as she well could beare.
At which his Honour was exceeding merry,
Saying it was a pretty nimble Wherry:
But when my men had taken all this paines,
Into their eyes they might haue put their gaines.
Vnto his shop he did perambulate,
And there amongst his Barres of Iron sate.
I ask'd him if he would our Boat forgoe,
Or haue her? And his Lordship answer'd, No.
I tooke him at his word, and said, God buy,
And gladly with my Boat away went I.
I sold the Boat, as I suppos'd most meet,
To honest Mr. Kayes in Cunny street:
He entertain'd me well, for which I thanke him,
And gratefully amongst my friends I'l ranke him.
My kind remembrance here I put in paper,
To worthy Mr. Hemsworth there a Draper.
Amongst the rest he's one that I must thanke,
With his good wife, and honest brother Franke.
Now for the City: 'Tis of state and Port,
Where Emperors & Kings haue kept their Court,
989, yeere the foundation
Was layd, before our Sauiours Incarnation,
By Ebrank who a Temple there did reare,
And plac'd a Flammin to Diana there:
But when King Lucius here the Scepter swaid,
The Idols leuell with the ground were layd,
Then Eleutherius, Romes high Bishop plac'd,
An Archbishop at Yorke, with Titles grac'd,
Then after Christ 627.
Was Edwin baptiz'd by the grace of heauen,
He pluck'd the Minster down, that then was wood,
And made it stone, a deed both great and good.
The City oft hath knowne the chance of warres,
Of cruell forraigne, and of home-bred iarres.
And those that further please thereof to read,
May turne the volumes of great Hollinshead,
'Tis large, 'tis pleasant and magnificent,
The Norths most fertile famous ornament:
'Tis rich and populous, and hath indeed
No want of any thing to serue their need,
Abundance doth that noble City make
Much abler to bestow, then need to take.
So farewell Yorke, the tenth of August then
Away came I for London with my men.
To dinner I to Pomfret quickly rode,
Where good hot Venison staid for my abode,
I thanke the worshipfull George Shillito,
He fill'd my men and me, and let vs goe.
There did I well view ouer twice or thrice,
A strong, a faire, and ancient Edifice:
Reedifi'd, where it was ruin'd most,
At th'high and hopefull Prince of Wales his cost.
I saw the roome where Exton and his rowt
Of Traytors, Royall Richards braines beat out:
And if that King did strike so many blowes,
As hackes and hewes vpon one pillar showes,
There are one hundred slashes, he withstood,
Before the Villaines shed his Kingly blood.
From Pomfret then, vnto my noble friend,
Sir Robert Swift at Doncaster we wend,
An ancient Knight, of a most generous spirit,
Who made me welcome farre beyond my merit.
From thence by Newarke, I to Stamford past,
And so in time to London at the last,
With friends and neighbors, all with louing hearts,
Did welcome me with pottles, pintes and quarts.
Which made my Muse more glib, and blythe to tell
This story of my Voyage. So farewell.

An Epilogue.

Thus haue I brought to end a worke of paine,
I wish it may requite me with some gaine:
For well I wote, the dangers where I ventered,
No full bag'd man would euer durst haue entered:
But hauing further shores for to discouer
Hereafter, now my Pen doth here giue ouer.

[THE GREAT O TOOLE.]

THE GREAT O TOOLE.

To the Honour of the Noble CAPTAINE O TOOLE

A DISCOVERY BY SEA, FROM London TO Salisbvry.

[As our accounts in Almanacks agree]

As our accounts in Almanacks agree,
The yeere cal'd sixteen hundred twenty three:
That Iulyes twenty eight, two houres past dinner,
We with our Wherry, and fiue men within her,
Along the christall Thames did cut and curry,
Betwixt the Counties, Middlesex and Surry:
Whilst thousāds gaz'd, we past the bridge with wōder,
Where fooles & wise men goe aboue & vnder.
We thus our Voyage brauely did begin
Downe by S. Katherines, where the Priest fell in,
By Wapping, where as hang'd drownd Pirats dye;
(Or else such Rats, I thinke as would eate Pie.)
And passing further, I at first obseru'd,
That Cuckolds-Hauen was but badly seru'd:
For there old Time had such confusion wrought,
That of that Ancient place remained nought.
No monumentall memorable Horne,
Or Tree or Post, which hath those Trophees borne,
Was left, whereby Posterity may know
Where their forefathers Crests did grow, or show.
Which put into a maze my muzing Muse,
Both at the worlds neglect, and times abuse,
That that stout Pillar, to Obliuions pit
Should fall, whereon Plus vltra might be writ,
That such a marke of Reuerend note should lye
Forgot, and hid, in blacke obscurity,
Especially when men of euery sort
Of countries, Cities, warlike Campes or Court,
Vnto that Tree are plaintiffs or defendants,
Whose loues, or feares, are fellowes or attendants:
Of all estates, this Hauen hath some partakers
By lot, some Cuckolds, and some Cuckold-makers.
And can they all so much forgetfull be
Vnto that Ancient, and Renowned Tree,
That hath so many ages stood Erected,
And by such store of Patrons beene protected,
And now Ingloriously to lye vnseene,
As if it were not, or had neuer beene?
Is Lechery wax'd scarce, is Bawdry scant,
Is there of Whores, or Cuckolds any want?
Are Whore-masters decai'd, are all Bawds dead?
Are Panders, Pimps, and Apple-squires, all fled?
No surely, for the Surgeons can declare
That Venus warres, more hot then Marses are.
Why then, for shame this worthy Port mainetaine,
Let's haue our Tree, and Hornes set vp againe:
That Passengers may shew obedience to it,
In putting off their Hats, and homage doe it.
Let not the Cornucopiaes of our land,
Vnsightly and vnseene neglected stand:
I know it were in vaine for me to call,
That you should rayse some famous Hospitall,
Some Free-schoole, or some Almshouse for the pore,
That might increase good deeds, & ope heau'ns dore.
'Tis no taxation great, or no collection
Which I doe speake of, for This great erection:
For if it were, mens goodnesses, I know,
Would proue exceeding barren, dull, and slow:
A Post and Hornes, will build it firme and stable,
Which charge to beare, there's many a begger able;
The place is Ancient of Respect most famous,
The want of due regard to it, doth shame vs,
For Cuckolds Hauen, my request is still,
And so I leaue the Reader to his will.
But holla Muse, no longer be offended,
'Tis worthily Repair'd, and brauely mended,
For which great meritorious worke, my pen
Shall giue the glory vnto Greenwitch men.
It was their onely cost, they were the Actors
Without the helpe of other Benefactors,
For which my pen their prayses here adornes,
As they haue beautifi'd the Hau'n with Hornes.
From thence to Debtford we amaine were driuen,
Whereas an Anker vnto me was giuen:
With parting pintes, and quarts for our farewell;
We tooke our Ieaues, and so to Greenwitch fell.
There shaking hands, adiews, and drinkings store,
We tooke our Ship againe, and left the shore.
Then downe to Erith, 'gainst the tyde we went,
Next London, greatest Maior towne in Kent
Or Christendome, and I approue it can,
That there the Maior was a Waterman,
Who gouernes, rules, and reignes sufficiently,
And was the Image of Authority:
With him we had cheap Reck'nings & good cheere.
And nothing but his friendship we thought deere.
But thence we rows'd our selues and cast off sleepe,
Before the day-light did begin to peepe.
The tyde by Grauesend swiftly did vs bring,
Before the mounting-Larke began to sing,
And e'r we came to Lee, with speedy pace
The Sun 'gan rise with most suspicious face,
Of foule foreboding weather, purple, red,
His Radient Tincture, East, Northeast o'rspred:
And as our Oares thus downe the Riuer pull'd,
Oft with a Fowling-peece the Gulls we gull'd,
For why, the Master Gunner of our Ship
Let no occasion or aduantage slip,
But charg'd and discharg'd, shot, and shot againe,
And scarce in twenty times shot once in vaine.
Foule was the weather, yet thus much I'l say,
If't had beene faire, Fowle was our food that day.
Thus downe alongst the spacious Coast of Kent
By Grane and Sheppeies Ilands downe we went,
We past the Nowre-head, and the sandy shore,
Vntill we came to th'East end of the Nowre,
At last by Ramsgates Peere we stiffly Rowed,
The winde and tyde, against vs blow'd and flowed,
Till neere vnto the Hauen where Sandwitch stands,
We were enclosed with most dangerous sands.
There were we sowsd & slabberd, wash'd & dash'd,
And grauell'd that it made vs halfe abash'd:
We look'd and pry'd, and stared round about,
From our apparant perils to get out.
For with a Staffe, as we the depth did sound,
Foure miles from land, we almost were on ground.
At last (vnlook'd for) on our Larboord side
A thing turmoyling in the Sea we spide,
Like to a Meareman; wading as he did
All in the Sea his neather parts were hid,
Whose Brawney limbs, and rough neglected Beard,
And grim aspect, made halfe of vs afeard,
And as he vnto vs his course did make,
I courage tooke, and thus to him I spake.
Man, monster, fiend or fish, what-e'r thou be,
That trauelst here in Neptunes Monarchy,
I charge thee by his dreadfull Three-tin'd Mace,
Thou hurt not me or mine, in any case,
And if thou bee'st produc'd of Mortall kinde,
Shew vs some course, how we the way may finde
To deeper water, from these sands so shallow,
In which thou seest our Ship thus wash and wallow.
With that (he shrugging vp his shoulders strong)
Spake (like a Christian) in the Kentish tongue,
Quoth he, Kinde sir, I am a Fisherman,
Who many yeeres my liuing thus hauewan
By wading in these sandy troublous waters
For Shrimps, Wilks, Cockles, and such vsefull matters,
And I will lead you, (with a course I'l keepe)
From out these dangerous shallowes to the deepe.
Then (by the nose) along he led our Boate,
Till (past the fiats) our Barke did brauely floate.
Our Sea-horse, that had drawne vs thus at large,
I gaue two groats vnto, and did discharge.
Then in an houre and halfe, or little more,
We throgh the-Downes at Deale went safe on shore.
There did our Hostesse dresse the Fowle we kill'd,
With which our hungry stomacks well we fill'd,
The morrow being Wednesday (breake of day)
We towards Douer tooke our weary way:
The churlish windes awak'd the Seas high fury,
Which made vs glad to land there, I assure yee.
Blinde Fortune did so happily contriue,
That we (as sound as bells) did safe ariue
At Douer, where a man did ready stand,
To giue me Entertainment by the hand,
A man of mettle, marke and note, long since
He graced was to lodge a gracious Prince,
And now his speeches sum, and scope and pith
Is Iack and Tom, each one his Cousin Smith,
That if with pleasant talke you please to warme ye,
He is an Host much better then an Army,
A goodly man, well fed, and corpulent,
Fill'd like a bag-pudding with good content,
A right good fellow, free of cap and legge,
Of complement, as full as any Egge:
To speake of Him, I know it is of Folly,
He is a mortall foe to Melancholy.
Mirth is his life and trade, and I thinke very,
That he was got when all the world was merry:
Health vpon health, he doubled and redoubled,
Till his and mine, and all our braines were troubled,
Vnto our absent Betters there we dranke;
Whom we are bound to loue, they not to thanke:
By vs mine Host could no great profit reape,
Our meat and lodging was so good and cheape,
That to his praise thus much I'l truly tell,
He vs'd vs kindly euery way and well.
And though my lines before are merry writ,
Where-e'r I meet him, I'l acknowledge it.
To see the Castle there I did desire,
And vp the Hill I softly did aspire,
Whereas it stands, impregnable in strength,
Large in Circumference, height, bredth, and length,
Built on a fertile plat of ground, that they
Haue yeerely growing twenty loads of Hay,
Great Ordnance store, pasture for Kine and Horses,
Rampires and Walls, t'withstand inuasiue forces,
That it be well with truth and courage man'd,
Munition, victuall'd, then it can withstand
The powers of twenty Tamberlaines (the Great)
Till in the end with shame they would Retreat.
Tis gouern'd by a graue and prudent Lord,
Whose Iustice doth to each their right afford,
Whose worth (within the Castle, and without)
The fiue Ports, and the country all about,
The people with much loue, doe still recite,
Because he makes the wrongers render Right.
The kindnesse I receiued there was such,
That my remembrance cannot be too much.
I saw a Gun thrice eight foot length of Brasse,
And in a Wheele I saw a comely Asse
(Dance like a Dog) that's turning of a Spit,
And draw as it were from the infernall pit,
(Whose deepe-Abisse is perpendicular)
One hundred fathome (or well neere as farre)
So christaline, so cleere, and coole a water,
That will in Summer make a mans teeth chatter:
And when to see it vp, I there had stood,
I dranke thereof, and found it sweet and good.
So farewell Castle, Douer, Douer Peere,
Farewell, Oast Bradshaw, thanks for my good cheer.
My bonny Barke to Sea was bound againe;
On Thursday morne, we lanch'd into the Maine,
By Folstone, and by Sangates ancient Castle,
Against the rugged waues, we tugge and wrastle
By Hyde, by Rumney, and by Rumney Marsh.
The Tyde against vs, and the winde blew harsh,
'Twixt Eolus and Neptune was such strife,
That I ne'r felt worse weather in my life:
Tost and retost, retost and tost againe;
With rumbling, tumbling, on the rowling Maine,
The boystrous breaking Billowes curled locks
Impetuously did beate against the Rockes,
The winde much like a Horse whose wind is broke,
Blew thicke and short, that we were like to choake:
As it outragiously the billowes shaues,
The Gusts (like dust) blown from the bryny waues,
And thus the winds and seas robustious gods
Fell by the eares starke mad at furious ods.
Our slender Ship, turmoyld 'twixt shores and Seas,
Aloft or low, as stormes and flawes did please:
Sometimes vpon a foaming Mountaines top,
Whose height did seeme the heau'ns to vnderprop,
When straight to such profundity she fell,
As if she diu'd into the deepest Hell,
The Clowds like ripe Apostumes burst & showr'd,
Their mattery watery substance headlong powr'd;
Yet though all things were mutable and fickle,
They all agreed to souse vs in a pickle,
Of waters fresh and salt, from Seas and Skye,
Which with our sweat ioynd in triplicity,
That looking each on other, there we saw,
We neither were halfe stewd, nor yet halfe raw,
But neither hot or cold, good flesh or fishes
For Caniballs, we had beene ex'lent dishes.
Bright Phœbus hid his golden head with feare,
Not daring to behold the dangers there,
Whilst in that straight or Exigent we stand,
We see and wish to land, yet durst not land,
Like rowling Hills the Billowes beate and roare
Against the melancholly Beachie shore,
That if we landed, neither strength or wit
Could saue our Boate from being sunke or split.
To keepe the Sea, sterne puffing Eols breath
Did threaten still to blow vs all to death,
The waues amaine (vnbid) oft boorded vs,
Whilst we almost three houres beleaguerd thus,
On euery side with danger and distresse,
Resolu'd to run on shore at Dengie Nesse.
There stand some thirteene Cottages together,
To shelter Fishermen from winde and weather,
And there some people were as I suppos'd,
Although the dores and windowes all were clos'd:
I neere the land, into the Sea soone leapt
To see what people those same houses kept,
I knock'd and cal'd, at each, from house to house,
But found no forme of mankinde, Man or Mouse.
This newes all sad, and comfortlesse and cold,
Vnto my company I straightwayes told,
Assuring them the best way I did thinke,
Was to hale vp the Boate, although she sinke.
Resolued thus, we all together please
To put her head to shore, her sterne to Seas,
They leaping ouerboord amidst the Billowes,
We pluck'd her vp (vnsunke) like stout tall fellows.
Thus being wet, from top to toe we strip'd,
(Except our shirts) and vp and downe we skip'd,
Till winde and Sunne our wants did well supply,
And made our outsides, and our insides dry.
Two miles frō thence, a ragged town there stood,
To which I went to buy some drinke and food:
Where kindely ouer-reckon'd, well misus'd
Was, and with much courtesie abus'd.
Mine Oastesse did account it for no trouble,
For single fare to make my payment double:
Yet did her mind and mine agree together,
That (I once gone) would neuer more come thither:
The Cabbins where our Boat lay safe and well,
Belong'd to men which in this towne did dwell:
And one of them (I thanke him) lent vs then
The Key to ope his hospitable Den,
A brazen Kettle, and a pewter dish,
To serue our needs, and dresse our flesh and fish:
Then from the Butchers we bought Lamb & sheep,
Beere from the Alehouse, and a Broome to sweepe
Our Cottage, that for want of vse was musty,
And most extremely rusty-fusty-dusty.
There, two dayes space, we Roast, & boile, & broile,
And toyle, and moyle, and keepe a noble coyle,
For onely we kept open house alone,
And he that wanted Beefe, might haue a Stone.
Our Grandam Earth (with beds) did al befriend vs,
And bountifully all our lengths did lend vs,
That laughing, or else lying downe did make
Our backes and sides sore, and our ribs to ake.
On Saturday the windes did seeme to cease,
And brawling Seas began to hold their peace,
When we (like Tenants) beggerly and poore,
Decreed to leaue the Key beneath the doore,
But that our Land-lord did that shift preuent,
Who came in pudding time, and tooke his Rent,
And as the Sunne, was from the Ocean peeping,
We lanch'd to Sea againe, and left house-keeping.
When presently we saw the drisling skies
'Gan powt and lowre, and Winds and Seas 'gan rise,
Who each on other plaid their parts so wilde,
As if they meant not to be reconcilde,
The whilst we leape vpon those liquid hills,
Where Porposes did shew their fins and Gills,
Whilst we like various Fortunes Tennis ball,
At euery stroake, were in the Hazzard all.
And thus by Rye, and Winchelsey we past
By Fairlegh, and those Rockie cliffs at last.
Some two miles short of Hastings, we perceiu'd
The Lee shore dangerous, and the Billowes heau'd,
Which made vs land (to scape the Seas distresse)
Within a harbour, almost harbourlesse,
(We giue God thanks) amongst the Rocks we hit,
Yet were we neither wash'd or sunke, or split.
Within a Cottage nigh, there dwels a Weauer
Who entertaind vs, as the like was neuer,
No meat, no drinke, no lodging (but the floore)
No Stoole to sit, no Locke vnto the doore,
No straw to make vs litter in the night,
Nor any Candlesticke to hold the light,
To which the Owner bid vs welcome still,
Good entertainement, though our cheare was ill.
The morrow when the Sun with flushed face
In his diurnall course began to trace,
The wind exceeding stiffe and strong and tough,
The Seas outragious, and extremely rough,
Our Boate laid safe vpon the Beachy sand,
Whilst we to Hastings went or walk'd by land.
Much (to that Towne) my thankfulnesse is bound,
Such vndeserued kindnesse there I found.
Three nights we lay there, and three daies we spent,
Most freely welcom'd, with much merriment.
Kinde Mr Maior his loue aboue the rest:
Me and my crue, he did both feed and feast,
He sent vs Gold, and came himselfe to vs;
My thankes are these, because his loue was thus.
Mine Host and Hostesse Clayton thus I thanke
And all good fellowes there, I found so franke,
That what they had, or what could there be got,
They neither thought too heauy or too hot.
The windes and Seas continued still their course,
Inueterate seem'd their rage, vntam'd their force,
Yet were we loth to linger and delay:
But once againe to venture and away.
Thus desperately resolu'd, 'twixt hope and doubt,
Halfe sunke with lanching, madly we went out,
At twelue a clocke at noone, and by Sun-set
To Miching, or New Hauen we did get.
There almost sunke (to saue our Boat at last)
Our selues into the shallow Seas we cast:
And pluck'd her into safety to remaine
Till Friday that we put to Sea againe.
Then 'mongst our old acquaintance (storms & flaws)
At euery stroake neere deaths deuouring iawes:
The weary day we past through many feares,
And land at last quite sunke o'r head and eares.
All dropping dry, like fiue poore Rats half drownd,
From succour farre, we halde the Boat on ground,
Cast out our water, whilst we brauely drop'd,
And vp and downe to drie our selues we hop'd.
Thus we our weary Pilgrimage did weare,
Expecting for the weather calme and cleare:
But stormes, flawes, windes, seas, tooke no minutes rest,
Continuall fiercely blowing, West Southwest.
A Town call'd Goreing, stood neere two miles wide,
To which we went, and had our wants supplide:
There we relieu'd our selues (with good compassiō)
With meat and lodging of the homely fashion.
To bed we went in hope of rest and ease,
But all beleaguer'd with an Host of Fleas:
Who in their fury nip'd and skip'd so hotly,
That all our skins were almost turn'd to motly.
The bloudy sight endur'd at least sixe houres,
When we (opprest with their encreasing pow'rs)
Were glad to yeeld the honour of the day
Vnto our foes, and rise and runne away:
The night before, a Constable there came,
Who ask'd my Trade, my dwelling, and my name:
My businesse, and a troope of questions more,
And wherefore we did land vpon that shore?
To whom I fram'd my answers true, and fit,
(According to his plenteous want of wit)
But were my words all true, or if I li'd,
With neither I could get him satisfi'd.
He ask'd if we were Pyrats? We said no,
(As if we had, we would haue told him so.)
He said that Lords sometimes would enterprise
T'escape, and leaue the Kingdome, in disguise:
But I assur'd him on my honest word,
That I was no disguised Knight or Lord.
He told me then that I must goe sixe miles
T'a Iustice there, Sir Iohn, or else Sir Giles:
I told him I was loth to goe so farre:
And he told me, he would my iourny barre.
Thus what with Fleas, and with the seuerall prates
Of th'Officer, and his Ass-sociats,
We arose to goe, but Fortune bade vs stay:
The Constable had stolne our Oares away,
And borne them thence a quarter of a mile,
Quite through a Lane, beyond a gate and stile,
And hid them there, to hinder my depart,
For which I wish'd him hang'd with all my heart.
A Plowman (for vs) found our Oares againe,
Within a field well fill'd with Barly Graine.
Then madly, gladly out to Sea we thrust,
Gainst windes & stormes & many a churlish Gust:
By Kingston Chappell, and by Rushington,
By little Hampton, and by Middleton,
To Bognors fearefull Rockes, which hidden lie
Two miles into the Sea, some wet, some dry:
There we suppos'd our danger most of all,
If we on those remorcelesse Rockes should fall:
But by th'Almighties mercy and his might,
We Row'd to Selsey, where we stay'd all night.
There, our necessity could haue no Law,
For want of beds, we made good vse of Straw,
Till Sol, that old continuall Traueller
From Thetis lap, 'gan mount his flaming Car.
The weather kept it's course, and blow'd & rag'd,
Without appearance it would e'r be swag'd,
Whilst we did passe those hills, & dales, & Downs,
That had deuour'd great ships, and swallow'd Towns.
Thus after six or fiue houres toyle at least,
We past along by Wittering, West, and East,
Vpon the Lee shore still the winde full South,
We came neere Chichesters faire Hauens mouth.
And being then halfe sunk, and all through wet,
More fear'd then hurt, we did the Hauen get.
Thus in that harbour we our course did frame
To Portsmouth, where on Munday morne we came.
Then to the Royall Fleet we Row'd aboord,
Where much good welcome they did vs affoord.
To the Lord Generall, first my thankes shall be,
His bounty did appeare in gold to me,
And euery one aboord the Prince I found,
In stead of want, to make their loues abound,
Captaine Penrudduck there amongst the rest,
His loue and bounty was to vs exprest,
Which to requite, my thankfulnesse I'l show,
And that I'l euer pay, and euer owe.
On Tuesday morning we with maine and might,
From Portsmouth crost vnto the Ile of Wight:
By Cowes stout Castle, we to Yarmouth hasted.
And still the windes and Seas fierce sury lasted.
On Wedn'sday we to Hursts strong Castle crost,
Most dangerously sowsd, turmoyl'd and tost:
Good harbour there we found, and nothing deere,
I thanke kinde M. Figge, the Porter there,
He shew'd vs there a Castle of defence
Most vsefull, of a round circumference:
Of such command, that none can passe those Seas
Vnsunke, or spoyl'd, except the Castle please.
On Thursday, we, our Boat row'd, pull'd and hal'd
Vnto a place, which is Key Hauen call'd.
The winde still blowing, and the Sea so high,
As if the lofty waues would kisse the skie,
That many times I wish'd with all my hart,
My selfe, my Boat, and Crue, all in a Cart;
Or any where to keepe vs safe and dry,
The weather raged so outragiously.
For sure I thinke the memory of man
(Since windes and Seas to blow or flow began)
Cannot remember so stormy weather
In such continuance, held so long together,
For ten long weekes e'r that, tis manifest,
The wind had blown at South or west Southwest,
And rais'd the Seas: to shew each others power,
That all this space (calme weather) not one hower,
That whether we did goe by Sunne or Moone,
At anytime, at midnight, or at noone:
If we did launce, or if to land we set,
We still were sure to be halfe sunke, and wet.
Thus toyling of our weary time away,
That Thursday was our last long look'd for day:
For hauing past, with perill, and much paine,
And plow'd, & furrow'd, o'r the dangerous maine,
O'r depths, and flats, and many a ragged Rocke,
We came to Christ-Church Hau'n at fiue a clocke.
Thus God, in mercy, his iust iudgement sparing,
(Gainst our presumption, ouer-bold, and daring)
Who made vs see his wonders in the deepe,
And that his power alone aloft did keepe
Our weather-beaten Boate aboue the waues,
Each moment gaping to be all our Graues.
We sinking scap'd: then not to vs, to Him
Be all the Glory, for he causd vs swim.
And for his mercy was so much extended
On me (whose temptings had so farre offended)
Let me be made the scorne and scoffe of men,
If euer I attempt the like agen.
My loue, my duty, and my thankfulnesse,
To Sir George Hastings I must here expresse:
His deedes to me, I must requite in words,
No other payment, poore mens state affords.
With fruitlesse words, I pay him for his cost,
With thanks to Mr. Templeman mine host.
So leauing Christ-Church, and the Hauen there,
With such good friends as made vs welcome cheer:
Some serious matter now I must compile,
And thus from verse to prose I change my stile.

[If Wholsom Aire, Earth, woods, & pleasant Springs]

If Wholsom Aire, Earth, woods, & pleasant Springs
Are Elements, whereby a house is grac'd:
If strong and stately built, contentment brings,
Such is the house of Wilton, and so plac'd.
There Nature, Art, Art, Nature hath embrac'd;
Without, within, below, aloft compleat:
Delight and state, are there so enterlac'd
With rich content, which makes all good, and great
The Hangings there, with Histories repleat,
Diuine, profane, and Morall pleasures giuing-
With worke so liuely, exquifite, and neat,
As if mans Art made mortall creatures liuing.
In briefe, there all things are compos'd so well,
Beyond my pen to write, or tongue to tell.

[Art redily began a breeding tryall]

The Scourge of Basenesse: OR, The old Lerry, with a new Kicksey, and a new-cum twang, with the old Winsey

To the Reader.

My hearty condemnations I send forth
Vnto a crue of Rascals nothing worth,
(Yet in some sort I wrong their high reputes:
Some of them are worth hanging for their sutes)
Such as (to pay debts) haue the meanes, not mindes,
Whose words, and bonds, are constant as the winds,
Such as thinke satisfaction is a sinne,
And he most vertuous that's in debt most in,
Such, for whose sakes, (to my apparent losse)
To Germany, I twice the Seas did crosse,
To Scotland all on foot, and backe from thence,
Not any Coyne about me for expence,
And with a Rotten weake Browne paper Boate,
To Quinborough, from London I did floate:
Next to Bohemia, o'r the raging Maine,
And troublous lands, I went and came againe.
Next, with a Wherry, I to Yorke did Ferry,
Which I did finde a voyage very merry.
And lastly, late I made a desperate Iaunt,
From Famous London, (somtimes Troynouant)
To Salisbury, through many a bitter blast,
I, Rockes, and Sands, and foaming Billowes past,
That in ten thousand mouthes, the City round,
The lying, flying newes was, I was drown'd
But I may see them hang'd before that day,
Who are my Debtors, can, and will not pay:
These toylesome passages I vndertooke,
And gaue out Coyne, and many a hundred Booke,
Which these base Mungrels tooke, and promist me
To giue me fiue for one, some foure, some three:
But now these Hounds, no other pay affords,
Then shifting, scornefull lookes, and scuruy words;
And sure I thinke, if I should harrow Hell,
VVhere Diuels, and cursed Reprobates do dwell,
I might finde many there, that are their betters,
And haue more conscience, then my wicked debters.
Thus to my seuen-fold troope of friends and foes,
My thankes, and angry Muse, thus onward goes.

A KICKSEY VVINSEY, OR, A LERRY COME-TWANG:

Wherein Iohn Taylor hath Satyrically suted seuen hundred and fifty of his bad debtors, that will not pay him for his returne of his iourney from Scotland.

Taylors Motto.

DEDICATED TO EVERY BODY.

Yet not to euery Reader doe I write,
But onely vnto such as can Read right:
And with vnpartiall censures can declare,
As they find things, to iudge them as they are.
For in this age, of Criticks are such store,
That of a B. will make a Battledore,
Swallow downe Camells, and at Gnats will straine,
Make Mountaines of small Molehills, and againe
Extenuate faults, or else faults amplifie,
According as their carping censures flye.
Such are within the Motto of I haue,
But though the gallant Gulls be ne'r so braue,
And in their owne esteeme are deemed wise,
I haue a mind their follies to despise.
There are some few that wil their iudgement season
With mature understanding, and with reason:
And call a spade a spade, a Sicophant,
A flatt'ring Knaue, and those are those I want.
For those that seeme to read, and scarce can spell,
Who neither point, nor keepe their periods well:
Who doe a mans inuention so be-martyr,
So hanging, drawing, and so cut and quarter,
Making good lines contemptible threed-bare,
To keepe my booke from such as those I care.

TAYLORS MOTTO. ET HABEO, ET CAREO, ET CVRO.

J HAUE, I VVANT, I CARE.

Et Habeo, I haue.

Et Careo, I want.

Et Curo, I Care.

My serious Cares and Considerations.

The names of many of the bookes that I haue written.

• First, the Sculler.

• Odcombs complaint,
• Coriats resurrection, and
• Laugh and be fat.
• The nipping or snipping of Abuses.
• Two mad things against Fenor.
• Taylors Vrania.
• The marriage of the Princesse.
• An Elegy on Prince Henry.
• Two bookes of all the Kings of England.
• Three weekes, three dayes, and three houres obseruations in Germany.
• Trauels to Scotland.
• Trauels to Prague in Bohemia.
• As Englishmans loue to Bohemia.
• The Bible in verse.
• The Booke of Martyrs in verse.
• The praise of Hempseed.
• A kicksy winsy.
• The great O Toole.
• Iacke a Lent.
• The praise of Beggery.
• Taylors Goose.
• Faire and foule weather.
• The life and death of the Virgin Mary.
• The Whip of Pride.
• And lastly (since the reigne of th' Emperour Otto)
• Was neuer seene the like of Taylors Motto.

ODCOMBS COMPLAINT:

OR, CORIATS FVNERALL EPICEDIVM: OR DEATH-SONG, VPON HIS late-reported drowning.

With his Epitaph in the Barmuda, and Vtopian tongues: And translated into English by Iohn Taylor.

The Authour in his owne defence.

If any where my lines doe fall out lame,
I made them so, in merriment and game:
For, be they wide, or side, or long, or short,
All's one to me, I writ them but in sport;
Yet I would haue the Reader thus much know,
That when I lift my simple skill to show
In poesie, I could both read and spell:
I know my Dactils, and my Spondees well;
My true proportion, and my equall measure,
What accent must be short, and what at leasure,
How to transpose my words from place to place,
To giue my poesie the greater grace,
Either in Pastorall or Comick straine,
In Tragedy, or any other vaine,
In nipping Satyrs, or in Epigrams,
In Odes, in Elegies, or Anagrams,
In eare-bewitching rare Hexameters,
Or in Iämbicke, or Pentameters:
I know these like a Sculler, not a Scholler,
And therefore Poet, pray asswage your choller,
If as a theefe in writing you enuy me,
Before you iudge me, doe your worst and try me.

TO THE GENTLEMEN READERS, THAT vnderstand A.B. from a Battledore.

No sooner newes of Coriats death was com,
But with the same, my Muse was strookē dom:
For whilst he liued, he was my Muses subiect,
Her onely life, and sense sole pleasing obiect.
Odcōbian, Græcian, Latin, Great Thom Asse
He being dead, what life hath she alasse.
But yet I hope his death was false Report,
Or else 'twas rumord to beget some sport:
To try how his deare friends would take his death,
And what rare Epicediums they would make,
T' accompany his all-lamented Herse,
In hobling, iobling, rumbling, tumbling verse,
Some smooth, some harsh, some shorter, & some long:
As sweet Melodious as Madge Howlets song:
But, when I saw that no man tooke in hand
To make the world his worth to vnderstand,
Then vp I bussled from Obliuions den,
And of a Ganders quill I made a pen,
With which I wrote this following worke of woe,
(Not caring much if he be dead or no:)
For, whilst his body did containe a life,
The rarest wits were at continuall strife,
Who should exceed each other in his glory,
But none but I haue writ His Tragick story.
If he be dead, then farewell he: if not,
At his returne, his thankes shall be thy lot,
Meane time, my Muse doth like an humble Pleader
Intreat acceptance of the gentle Reader.

A SAD, IOYFVLL, LAMENTABLE, DELIGHTFVLL, MERRY-GO-SORRY ELEGY OR FVNERALL POEM VPON the supposed death of the famous Cosmographicall Surueior, and Historiographicall Relator, Mr Thomas Coriat of Odcomb.

CERTAINE SONNETS, IN PRAISE OF Mr Thomas THE DECEASED; FASHIONED OF diuers stufts, as mockado, sustian, stand-further off, and Motly, all which the Author dedicates to the immortall memory of the famous Odcombian traueller.

[Conglomerating Aiax, in a fogge]

Conglomerating Aiax, in a fogge
Constulted with Ixion for a tripe,
At which Gargantua tooke an Irish bogge,
And with the same gaue Sisiphus a stripe,
That all the bumbast Forrests 'gan to swell,
With Triple treble trouble and with ioy,
That Lucifer kept holiday in hell,
'Cause Cupid would no more be cald a boy.
Delucitating Flora's painted hide,
Redeemes Arion from the hungry Wolfe,
And with conglutinating haughty pride,
Threw Pander in the damb'd Venetian gulfe,
The Mediterrane mountaines laught and smil'd,
And Libra wandred in the woods so wild.

[Bright Cassia Fistula was wondrous sad]

Bright Cassia Fistula was wondrous sad,
To heare Zarzaparillas great mis-hap,
And Coloquintida was raging mad,
When Saxafrage was set in Rubarbs lap;
Dame Lickorish was in a monstrous fume,
Against the lushious Reasons of the sunne,
And Trinidado smoake auoids the roome,
Whil'st Gum-armoniack sweares she is vndone;
Vnguentum album is so pale and wan,
That Paracelsus plaister mournes in black.
The Spanish Eleborus strongly can
Make Lignum vita's hide with neezing crack:
Lo, thus with vnguents, plaisters, oyles, and drugges,
We coniure vp the fierce infernall bugges.

[The head strong Torchlight of Cimerian waues]

The head strong Torchlight of Cimerian waues,
With fiery frozen wonder leaps and vaults:
And on th' Atlantick Ocean cuts and shaues,
Whilst thunder thwacking Ossa limps and halts,
Robustious Ætna drownes the Artick Pole,
And forked Vulcan hath forsooke his forge,
Apollo'es piebald mare hath cast her fole,
And Mulley Mahomet hath fild his gorge.
Don Belzebub sits fleaing of his breech,
And Marble Proteus dances, leaps and skips,
Belerophon hath pend an excellent speech,
And big-boand Boreas kist Auroraes lips;
The Welkin rumbles; Argos-lies asleepe,
And Tantalus hath slaine a flocke of sheepe.

[When flounder-flapping Termagant was slaine]

When flounder-flapping Termagant was slaine,
The smug-fac'd Cerberus did howle and yell,
And Polyphemus rid in Charles his Waine,
Whilst Gorgons head rung great Alcides knell,
The rip-rap-riffe-raffe, thwick thwack stout Baboon
Gripes in his downy clutch the spungy Oake,
And young Andromeda at night rings noone,
Whilst Asdrubal at tick tack lost his cloake.
Prometheus couering the Vmbranoes head,
And Typhon tumbles through the solid Ayre:
Proud Pegasus on Cheese and Garlick fed,
And Proserpina went to Sturbidge faire.
Pope Hildebrand bade Pluto home to supper,
And Don Diegoes horse hath broke his crupper.

[Dick Swash drew out his three-pil'd blunted blade]

Dick Swash drew out his three-pil'd blunted blade,
And slasht in twaine the equinoctiall line:
Tom Thumb did through th' Arabian deserts wade,
Where Castor and his brother Pollux shine,
The threed-bare flap-Iacks of the westerne Iles,
Exasperate the Marble Sithian Snow,
Dame Venus traueld fifty thousand miles,
To see the bounds of Nilus ebbe and flow.
The Gormundizing Quagmires of the East,
Ingurgitate the Eremanthean Bull:
And rude rebounding Sagitarius Ceast
To pipe Leualtoes to Gonzagaes Trull,
The Adriaticke Polcats sate carousing,
And hidebound Gogmagog his shirt was lowsing,
Sweet Semi-circled Cynthia plaid at maw,
The whilst Endimion ran the wild-goose chase.
Great Bacchus with his Cros-bow kild a daw,
And sullen Saturne smil'd with pleasant face.
The nine-fold Bugbeares of the Caspian lake,
Sate whistling Ebon horne-pipes to their Ducks,
Madge-howlet straight for ioy her Girdle brake,
And rugged Satyrs friskd like Stagges and Bucks.
The vntam'd tumbling fifteene footed Goat,
With promulgation of the Lesbian shores,
Confronted Hydra in a sculler Boat,
At which the mighty mountaine Taurus rores,
Meane time great Sultan Soliman was borne,
And Atlas blew his rustick rumbling horne.

THE EIGHTH VVONDER OF THE VVORLD:

OR, CORJATS ESCAPE FROM HIS SVPPOSED DROWNING.

DEDICATED To the Mighty, Magnificent, Potent, and Powerfull Knight, Sir Thomas Parsons, (alias) Pheander, (alias) Knight of the Sunne, Great Champion to Apollo, Palatine of Phœbus, Sword-bearer to Sol, Tilter to Tytan, Housekeeper to Hyperion, and heire apparant to the inuisible kingdome of the Fairies: your deuoted Votary, Iohn Taylor, wisheth your Worshits wisdomes Longitude, Latitude, Altitude, and Crassitude may increase aboue the Ridiculous multitude of the most eminent Stultorums of this latter age.

To thee braue knight, who from the Delphiā god come
I cōsecrate these famous Acts of Odcomb:
To thee alone, and vnto none but thee,
For Patronage my toyling Muse doth flee,
I gaue my drowning Coriat vnto Archy,
And with his faire escape to thee now march I,
Not doubting but thou wilt in kindnesse take
These lines thus writ, for his, and thy deare sake.
If thou in kindnesse wilt accept this taske,
Hereafter I will better things vn-caske,
And make the world thy worth to glory at,
In greater measure then at Coriat.
I'l mount thee vp in verse past Charles his Wain,
I'l make the Moone Endimion to disdaine,
I'l write in euer-during lines thy fame,
As farre as Phœbus spreads his glorious flame.
I'l make thee plucke sterne Saturne by the Chaps,
And braue great Ioue amids his thunder-clappes.
I'l cause thy praise t'eclipse the god of Armes,
I'l make Dame Venus yeeld to loues alarmes.
The nimble Mercury shall be thy foot-man,
If thou wilt grace my lines, therfore looke too't man.
But if to patronize me thou dost scorne,
'Twere better then, thou neuer hadst beene borne:
For 'gainst disdaine my Muses onely sport is,
To write with Gall, commixt with Aqua-fortis:
And Vineger, and Salt, and Sublimatum,
Which where it falls, wil scortch & scald: probatū.
Then as thou lou'st the Fairy Queene thine Aunt,
Daine to vouchsafe this poore and triuiall graunt:
Then I thy Poet will with low Subiection,
Proceed to write Tom Coriats Resurrection.

The cause of the contention betwixt sir Thomas the Scholer, and Iohn the Sculler.

A pamphlet printed was, The Sculler nam'd,
Wherein Sir Thomas much my writing blam'd;
Because an Epigram therin was written,
In which he said, he was nipt, gald and bitten.
He frets, he fumes, he rages and exclaimes,
And vowes to rouze me from the Riuer Thames.
Well, I to make him some amends for that,
Did write a Booke was cald, Laugh and be fat:
In which he said I wrong'd him ten times more,
And made him madder then he was before.
Then did he storme, and chase, and sweare, and ban,
And to superiour powers amaine he ran,
Where he obtaind Laugh and be fat's confusion,
Who all were burnt, and made a hot conclusion.
Then after that, when rumour had him drownd,
(The newes whereof, my vexed Muse did wound)
I writ a letter to th' Elizian coast,
T'appease his angry wrong-incensed Ghost.
The which my poore inuention then did call,
Odcombs Complaint, or Coriats Funerall.
But since true newes is come, he scap'd that danger,
And through hot Sun-burnt Asia is a ranger:
His raising from the dead I thought to write,
To please my selfe, and giue my friends delight.

The VVorlds eighth VVonder: OR, CORIATS REVIVING.

Epilogue to Sir Thomas Coriat vpon his name.

VVhy haue I spent my time thus, Coriat?
Wherfore on thy leud lines thus pore I at?
Why like an Ideot foole adore—I at
Thy workes? which wisedome will not glory at.
At no place euer was before—I at
Where wonders vpon wonder more—I at
With pen, in stead of Lance, now gore—I at
Thy Odcomb foppery now bore—I at.
At thy prides altitude, now sore—I at
Thou art the Theame I write my—story at.
If ought befell me to be—sory at
Hard-hearted fate, 'gainst thee then rore—I at.

Vpon his bookes name, called his Crudities.

A Simile for his Learning.

My Fare-well to him.

Now Coriat, I with thee haue euer done,
My Muse vnto her iournies end hath wonne:
My first Inuentions highly did displease thee,
And these my last are written to appease thee.
I wrought these great Herculean works to win thee:
Then if they please thee not, the foole's within thee:
What next I write, shall better be or none,
Doe thou let me, and I'l let thee alone.
But if thou seem'st to rub a galled sore,
Vindictas vengeance makes all Hell to rore.

Laugh, and be Fat:

OR, A COMMENTARY VPON THE ODCOMBYAN BANKET.

LAVGH, AND BE FAT.

Now Monsieur Coriat, let them laugh that wins,
For I assure ye now the game begins.
'Tis wondrous strange how your opinions vary,
From iudgement, sence, or reason so contrary;
That with infamous rash timerity.
You raile at me with such seuerity,
The broad-fac'd Iests that other men put on you,
You take for fauours well bestow'd vpon you.
In sport they giue you many a pleasant cuffe,
Yet no mans lines but mine, you take in snuffe.
Which makes the ancient Prouerbe be in force,
That some may with more safety steale a horse,
Then others may looke on: for still it falls.
The weakest alwayes must goe to the walls.
I need not vse this Etymology,
My plainer meaning to exemplifie;
Which doth induce me to expresse the cause,
That my vntutor'd Pen to writing drawes.
Be it to all men by these presents knowne,
That lately to the world was plainely showne,
In a huge volume Gogmagoticall,
In Verse and Prose, with speech dogmaticall,
Thy wondrous Trauels from thy natiue home,
How Odly out thou went'st and Odly Come.
And how, as fitted best thy Workes of worth,
The rarest Wits thy Booke did vsher forth.
But I alas, to make thy same more fuller,
Did lately write a Pamphlet call'd the Souller:
In which, as vnto others of my friends,
I sent to thee (braue Monsieur) kind commends,
Which thou in double dudgeon tak'st from me,
And vow'st, and swor'st, thou wilt reuenged be.
The cause, I heare, your fury flameth from,
I said, I was no dunce-combe, cox-combe Tom:
What's that to you (good Sir) that you should fume,
Or rage, or chafe, or thinke I durst presume
To speake, or write, that you are such a one?
I onely said, that I my selfe was none.
Yet Sir, I'l be a Cocks-combe if so please you,
If you are ouer-laden, Sir, I'l ease you,
Your store of witlesse wisdome in your budget,
To giue your friend a little neuer grudge it.
Nor that from Odcombs towne I first began,
Nor that I Greeke or Latine gabble can.
I am no Odcombe Tom, why, what of that?
Nor nothing but bare English can I chat.
I pray what wrong is this to you good Sur?
Your indignation why should this incurre?
Nor that I thought our Land had spent her store,
That I need visit Venice for a whore;
Which (if I would) I could make neerer proofes,
And not (like you) so farre to gall my hoofes.
I said, If such a volume I should make,
The rarest wits would scorne such paines to take,
At my returne, amidst my skarre-crow totters,
To runne before me like so many trotters.
I know, my merits neuer will be such,
That they should deigne to honour me so much.
I further said, I enuied not your state,
For you had nothing worthy of my hate.
In loue, your innocence I truly pitty,
Your plentious want of wit seemes wondrous wittie.
Your vertue cannot breed my hatefull lothing,
For what an asse were I, to hate iust nothing
Your vice I hate not, neither, I protest,
But loue, and laugh, and like it like the rest.
Your vice, nor vertue, manners, nor your forme,
Can breed in me fell enuies hatefull worme.
I said it was a lodging most vnfit,
Within an idle braine to house your wit.
Here, I confesse, my fault I cannot hide,
You were not idle, nor well occupide.
Be't faire, or foule, be't early, or be't late,
Your simple wit lies in your humble pate.
A King sometimes may in a cottage lye.
And Lyons rest in swines contagious stye:
So your rare wit that's euer at the full,
Lyes in the caue of your rotundious skull,
Vntill your wisedomes pleasure send it forth,
From East to West, from South vnto the North,
With squib-crack lightning, empty hogshead thundring,
To maze the world with terror & with wondring,
I boldly bade you foole it at the Court,
There's no place else so fit for your resort.
But though I bid you foole it, you may chuse,
Though I command, yet Sir. you may refuse;
For why, I thinke it more then foolish pitty,
So great a iemme as you, should grace the citty,
Whilst I would foole it on the liquid Thames,
Still praying for the Maiesty of Iames.
Good Sir, if this you take in such disgrace,
To giue you satisfaction, take my place,
And foole it on the Thames, whilst I at Court
Will try, if I, like you, can make some sport:
Or rather then for fooleship we will brawle,
You shall be foole in Court, on Thames and all.
Thus what to you I writ, loe here's the totall,
And you with angry spleen haue deign'd to note all;
And vow from hell to hale sterne Nemesis,
To whip me from the bounds of Thamesis:
Yet when I ope your paper murd'ring booke,
I see what paines the wisest wits haue tooke,
To giue you titles supernodicall,
In orders orderlesse methodicall:
There doe I see how euery one doth striue
In spight of Death, to make thee still suruiue.
No garded gowne-man dead, nor yet aliue,
But they make thee their great superlatiue.
In the beginning Alphabeticall,
With figures, tropes, and words patheticall,
They all successiuely from A to N,
Describe thee for the onely man of Men.

The frontispice of Master Coriats Booke very learnedly descanted vpon, by Master Laurence Whitakers, and Master Beniamin Ionson.

Thy Shipping, and thy Haddocks friendly feeding,
Thy Carting in thy Trauels great proceeding:
Thy riding Stirroplesse, thy iadish courser,
Thy Ambling o'r the Alpes; and which is worser,
After the Purgatory of thy Legges,
Thy Puncke bepelts thy pate with rotten egges.
When thou, braue man, assault'st to boord a Pinace,
As fits thy state, she welcomes thee to Venice.
Thy running from the mis-beleeuing Iew,
Because thou thought'st the Iew sought more then due;
For why, the Iew with superstition blind,
Would haue thee leaue what most thou lou'st, behind.
How with a rusticke Boore thou mad'st a fray,
And manfully broughtst all the blowes away.
The Turkish Emp'rour, or the Persian Sophy,
Can hardly match thy monumentall Trophy.
Thy ancient Ierkin, and thy aged sloppes,
From whose warme confines thy retainers drops.
I stand in feare to doe thy greatnesse wrong,
For 'tis suppos'd thou wast a thousand strong;
Who all deriu'd from thee their happy breeding,
And from thy bounty had their clothes & feeding.
Thy lasting shooes, thy stockings, and thy garters,
To thy great fame are drawn and hangd in quarters.
Thy Hat most fitly beautifies thy crest,
Thy wits great couer, couers all the rest.
The letter K doth shew the brauest sight:
But wherefore K? I'm sure thou art no Knight:
Why might not L, nor M, nor N, or O,
As well as knauish K, thy picture show?
But saucie K, I see will haue a place,
When all the Crosse-row shall endure disgrace.
Who at the letter K doth truly seeke,
Shall see thee hemm'd with Latine & with Greeke:
Whereas thy name, thy age, and Odcombs towne,
Are workemanly ingrau'd to thy renowne.
Beleaguerd round with three such female shapes,
Whose features would enforce the gods to rapes,
France, Germany, and smug-fac'd Italy,
Attend thee in a kind triplicity.
France giues thee clusters of the fruitfull vine,
And Germany (layes out) t'adorne thy shrine:
And Italie doth wittily inuite thee,
And prittily (she sayes) she will delight thee.
But yet thy entertainement was but bitter,
At Bergamo with horses in their litter:
Whose iadish kindnesse in thy stomacke stickes,
Who for thy welcome flung thee coltish kickes.
Thy begging from the high-way Purse-takers,
Describes thee for a learned wiseakers.
Lo thus thy single worth is praised double,
For rare inuention neuer counts it trouble,
With rimelesse reasons, and with Reasons verse,
Thy great Odcombian glory to rehearse.
But yet, whilst they in pleasures lap doe lull thee,
Amidst thy praise egregiously they gull thee:
Th'art made Tom Table-talke, mongst gulls and gallants,
Thy book, and thee, & such esteemed tallants,
When they are tired with thy trauels treading,
Then hauing nought to do, they fall to reading.
Thy wits false-galloping perambulation,
Which ease the Readers more then a purgation.
But to proceed, I'l recapitulate
The praise that doth thy worth accommodate.
Thy Character in learn'd admired Prose,
The perfect inside of thy humour showes:
Attended with thy copious names Acrosticke,
To shew thee wisest being most fantasticke.

All these Noblemen and Gentlemen that are named in this following book, did write merry commendatory verses, which were called the Odcombian banquet, and were inserted in Mr Coriats booke, intituled, Coriats Crudities: Vpon which verses, I haue seuerally and particularly paraphrased.

Next which, in doggrell rime is writ, I wot,
Thy name, thy birth, and place where thou wast got:
Thy education, manners, and thy learning,
Thy going outward, and thy home returning.
Yet there I finde, the Writer hath tane leaue,
Midst words that seeme thy fame aloft to heaue,
That for no little foole he doth account thee,
But with the greatest vp aloft doth mount thee.
Th'art lik'ned to a Ducke, a Drake, a Beare,
A iadish Gelding that was made to beare:
An Owle that sings, no wit, to whit, to who,
That nothing well can sing, nor say, nor doe.

Incipit Henricus Neuill de Aberguenie.

Then follows next, a friend that faine would knight thee,
But that he fears he should do more then right thee:
Yet whē his verses praise on cock-horse heues thee,
He found thee Thomas, & Thom as he leaues thee.

Iohannes Harrington de Bathe.

The Goose that guarded Rome with sensles gagling,
Is here implor'd t'assist the Ganders stragling:
A pen made of her quill would lift thee soone,
As high as is the thorn-bush in the Moone.

Incipit Ludouicus Lewknor.

Fooles past and present and to come, they say,
To thee in generall must all giue way:
Apuleius asse, nor Mida's lolling eares,
No fellowship with thee (braue Coriat) beares,
For 'tis concluded 'mongst the wizards all,
To make thee Master of Gul-finches hall.

Incipit Henricus Goodyer.

Old Odcombs odnesse makes not thee vneuen,
Nor carelesly set all at six and seuen.
Thy person's odde, vnparaleld, vnmatchd,
But yet thy Action's to the person patch'd.
Thy body and thy mind are twins in sadnesse,
Which makes thee euen in the midst of odnesse.
What-e'r thou odly dost, is eu'nly meant,
In Idiotisme thou art eu'n an Innocent.
Thy booke and thee are shap'd so like each other,
That if I looke on t'one, I see the tother,
Th'art light, th'art heauy, merry midst thy sadnesse
And still art wisest midst of all thy madnesse.
So odly euen thy feet thy iourney trod,
That in conclusion thou art euenly odde.

Incipit o Ihannes Paiton Iunior.

Thou saw'st so many cities, townes, and garisons,
That Cæsar must not make with thee comparisons:
Great Iulius Commentaries lies and rots,
As good for nothing but stoppe mustard pots.
For Coriats booke is onely in request,
All other volumes now may lye and rest.
Blind Homer in his writings tooke great paines,
Yet he and thee doe differ many graines:
For in my minde I hold it most vnfit,
To liken Homers verses to thy Writ.

Incipit Henricus Poole.

Next followes one, whose lines aloft doe raise
Don Coriat, chiefe Diego of our daies.
To praise thy booke, or thee, he knowes not whether,
It makes him study to praise both, or neither.
At last, he learnedly lets flie at large,
Compares thy booke vnto a Westerne Barge;
And saies, 'tis pitty thy all worthlesse worke,
In darke obscurity at home should lurke;
And then thy blunted courage to encourage,
Couragiously he counsels thee to forrage
'Mongst forraine Regions, and t'obserue their state,
That to thy Country-men thou might'st relate
At thy returne, their manners, liues, and law,
Belcht from the tumbrell of thy gorged maw.

Incipit Robertus Philips.

This worthy man thy fame on high doth heaue,
Yet Mounsieur Leg-stretcher, pray giue me leaue.
He saies that men doe much mistake thy age,
That thinke thou art not past the making sage.
Tis hard to make a foole of one that's wise;
For wit doth pitty folly, not despise:
But for to make a wise man of a foole,
To such a Clarke we both may goe to schoole.
Yet much I feare, to learne it is too late,
Our youthfull age, with wit is out of date.
He sayes, If any one a foole dares call thee,
Let not his thundring big-mouth'd words apall thee;
But in thine owne defence draw out thy toole,
Thy Booke, he means, which will his courage coole.
For why, thy Booke shall like a brazen shield
Defend thy cause, and thee the glory yeeld.
An asse I'm sure, could ne'r obserue so much,
Because an asses businesse is not such.
Yet if an asse could write as well as run,
He then perhaps, might doe as thou hast gone.
But tis impossible a simple creature
Should doe such things (like thee) aboue his nature.
Thou Aiax of the frothie Whitson Ale,
Let Æolus breathe, with many a friendly gale,
Fill full thy sailes, that after-times may know,
What thou to these our times dost friendly show:
That as of thee the like was neuer heard,
They crowne thee with a Marrot, or a Mard.

Incipit Dudleius Digges.

Here's one affirmes thy booke is onely thine,
How basely thou didst steale nor yet purloyne,
But from the labour of thy legges and braine,
This heire of thine did life and soule obtaine.
Thou art no cuckold, men may iustly gather:
Because the childe is made so like the father,
In nat'rall fashion, and in nat'rall wit:
Despight of Art, 'tis Nat'rall euery whit.

Incipit Rowlandus Cotton.

Columbus, Magelan, nor dreadfull Drake,
These three, like thee, did neuer iourny take.
Thou vntir'd trauelling admired iemme,
No man that's wise will liken thee to them.
The Calfe, thy booke, may call thee sire and dam,
Thy body is the Dad, thy minde the Mam.
Thy toylesome carkasse got this child of worth,
Which thy elaborate wit produced forth.
Now Ioues sweet benison befall the Barne,
How quickly it the fathers wit could learne!
So thou nor male nor female art by right,
But both in one, a true Hermaphrodite.
That man may well be call'd an idle mome,
That mocks the Cocke because he weares a combe:
A man to better vse may put his tongue,
Then flowt an Asse because his eares be long.
To thee alone in Tropes sophisticall,
These lines are writ in speeches mysticall.
The Moones own man that bears the bush of thorn,
May rue the time, that e'r thy selfe wast borne;
Thou hast beene, whereas he hath neuer beene,
And seene more sights then Luna's man hath seene:
Cast lots with him, for why, I thinke it fit,
Thou hadst his bush to shrowd thy nat'rall wit.
Tis pitty Calculations of thy birth,
Should be diuulg'd about this massie earth;
For out of it each foole would matter pike,
By Obseruation to beget thy like.

Incipit Robertus Yaxley.

Now Mounsieur Coriat, enuy not the Sculler,
Here's one would haue thy coat of many a culler,
And as befits thy person, he thinks best,
Thou had'st a cap and Cocks-combe for thy crest.
And 'cause a traueller may boldly lye,
A whetstone Embleme-wise must hang thereby.
And at the last he ends in pleasant sort,
And saies, Thy booke and thee, were made for sport.

Incipit Iohannes Strangwaies.

This Gentleman thy trauels doth aduance,
Aboue Kemps Norwich anticke Morris-dance:
And hauing grac'd thy fame with praises meet,
Talkes of thy shooes, and of thy galled feet,
And how thou thought'st the Iewes were too too cruel,
And ranst away from them, to saue thy iewel.
Thy heeles there help'd thee nimbly in thy flight,
Since which, thy hands haue done much more to wright.

Incipit Gulielmus Clauel.

Here's one whose Muse was coniur'd from her sleep
And being rapt with admiration deepe,
Thy booke he titles Gogmogog the huge,
Thy shield of safety, and thy wits refuge.

Iohannes Scorie.

Here's one that mounts thy fame beneath the sky,
And makes thee famous for Cosmography.
He saies, (but sure he either iests or flouts)
Thou drew'st a Map, when first thou pist thy clouts.
And how it was allotted thee by fate,
As soone as thou wast borne, to talke and prate.
For as a candles stuft with cotton weeke,
So thou art cramm'd vp to the brim with Greeke.
To Asia and to Affricke, prethee goe,
Let them like Europe thy rare vertues know,
And make thy Booke thy Buckler 'gainst all euill,
Whose grim aspect will terrifie the diuell.

Iohannes Donne.

Another here thy Booke doth much commend,
That none can studie it to any end.
Without or head, or foot, or top or taile;
Yet like a sauage monster dares assaile
The front of sadnesse, who with anticke grinning,
Applauds thee without ending or beginning.
Great Lunaticke, I thinke thou'lt ne'r be full,
Vntill the world cannot containe thy skull:
And like a foot-ball cram the vaulty skies,
Because, earth, aire, nor sea cannot suffice
The greatnesse of thy Fame, thy booke and thee,
All three in one, and one compact of three.
Yet here's a Prophecie concernes thee much,
Which doth thy booke and thee too neerely tutch;
Both gulls, and gallants, thy poore brat bereaues,
And from thy booke, shall rend both lims & leaues,
To wrap vp pepper, ginger, cloues and mace,
And drie Tobacco in each skuruie place:
To fold vp drugs, and pilles, for Physicks vse,
And serue for each Mechanicall abuse.
But I not minding with thy state to flatter,
Thinke 'twill be vs'd in many a priuie matter.
Thou o'r thy wit dost keepe such carefull watch,
That from thee one can hardly any catch:
And sooth to say, his conscience is but little,
Which in his wants would seeke to rob the Spittle.
Thy wits exchequer hath bin ouer-kinde,
That (much I feare) there's little left behinde.
But thou (braue man) bidst freely farewell it,
We'll raise Fifteenes, and Subsidies of wit
Shall fill thy seruiceable pate againe,
Whose pōdrous waight shal tire thy bearing brain.
Then feare not, man, but spend it whilst thou hast it,
To doe thy Countrey seruice 'tis not wasted.
This Author saies, thy book o'r-throwes him quite,
And therefore bids both it and thee good night,
The greatnesse of it puts him in such feares,
That he'll reade neither all, nor none, he sweares.

Richardus Martin.

This friend of thine, thy wisedome cannot mocke,
Yet he intitles thee an Od comb'd cocke:
'Thad bin all one, if at thy comming home,
He had but plac'd the cocke before the combe.
To make thy name more learnedly appeare,
He calls thee here an Od comb'd Chanticleere.

I know not who this should bee, but it is the next English to Mr Laurence Whitakers Out-landish.

Now here's another like a true Attourney,
Pleades very wisely, and applauds thy iourney:
And saies, thy trauels thou didst so decipher,
As well the world may see thou art no cipher.
And how thy booke so liuely out doth show thee,
That whosoe'r doth see't, must truly know thee.

Hugo Holland.

This man doth praise thy totterd ragged shirt,
Thy shooes and shanks at all he hath a flirt:
And like a patient bearing Asse, he saies,
Thou bear'st thy load through faire & foulest waies.
And for in carriage thou didst proue so able,
At night thou laist with Iades within a stable.
Thou wast not onely in thy pace an asse,
But thou all other asses didst surpasse.
All beasts in knowledge were to thee but weake.
For thou the tongue of Balaams asse didst speake.
But much I feare, thy booke in print will staine,
Because thou art not di'd a (------) in graine.

The Preamble to the Paralel, and the Epilogue.

Robertus Riccomontanus.

A large relation this thy friend did write,
Describing thee a monstrous man of might:
And bids thee venter such another taske,
And at thy backe returne hee'll haue a caske,
Much bigger then the Heidelbergian bumbard,
To keepe thy works, that neuer can be numberd.

Christopherus Brooke Eboracensis.

This Gentleman in some vnmeasur'd measure,
Compares thee vnto Homer and to Cæsar.
Old Homers Iliads are but idle tales,
Waigh'd with thy works, thy booke will turne the cales.
And like great Cæsar he doth thee commend,
For thou, like him, hast all thy trauels penn'd,
But yet, me thinks he playes the merry foxe,
And in thy praises writes a Paradoxe.

Iohannes Hoskins, Cabalisticall, or Horse verse.

Pricksong.

Iohannes Pawlet, de George Henton.

Now here's another in thy praises ran,
And would intitle thee the great god Pan.
No warming-pan thou art I plainely see,
No fire-pan, nor no frying-pan canst thou be.
Thou art no creame-pan neither, worthy man,
Although thy wits lie in thy heads braine-pan.

Lionel Cranfield.

This Gentleman thy wondrous trauels rips,
And nothing that may honour thee, he skips.
Thy yron memory thy booke did write,
I prethee keepe a wench to keepe it bright;
For cankerd rust, I know will yron fret,
And make thee wit and memory forget.
Lest rust therefore, thy memory should deuoure,
I'd haue thee hire a Tinker it to scowre.

Iohannes Sutclin.

Now here's a friend doth to thy fame confesse,
Thy wit were greater if thy worke were lesse.
He from thy labour treats thee to giue o're,
And then thy ease and wit will be much more.
Lo thus thy small wit, and thy labour great,
He summons to a peaceable retreat.

Inigo Iones.

What liuing wight can in thy praise be dum,
Thou crowing Cock, that didst from Odcom come.
This Gentleman amongst the rest doth flocke,
To sing thy fame, thou famous Odcomb'd cocke.
And learnedly, to doe thee greater grace,
Relates how thou canst scrue thy veriuyce face.
He wishes him that scornes thy booke to read,
If at the Sessions house he chance to plead,
That he may want his booke, although he craue;
But yet, thy booke will sooner hang then saue.
So many gallowses are in thy booke,
Which none can read without a hanging looke.

Georgius Siddenham.

Now here's a Substantiue stands by himselfe,
And makes thee famous for an anticke elfe:
But yet, me thinkes, he giues thee but a frumpe,
In telling how thou kist a wenches rumpe:
To spoile her ruffe, I thinke thou stood'st in feare,
That was the cause that made thee kisse her there.

Robertus Halswell.

Thy praise and worth this man accounts not small,
But 'thad bin greater, writing not at all:
Thy booke he calls Dame Admirations brother,
I thinke the world vnworthy such another.
Thy booke can make men merry that are sad,
But such another sure will make men mad.

Iohannes Gifford.

This friend amongst the rest, takes little paine,
To laud the issue of thy teeming braine:
And to applaud thee with his best endeauor,
He begs his wits to helpe him now or neuer.
He bids graue Munster reuerence thy renowne,
And lay his pen aside, and combe thy crowne.
He praises thee, as though he meant to split all:
And saies, thou art all wit (but yet no witall)
Except thy head, which like a skonce or fort,
Is barracado'd strong, lest wits resort,
Within thy braines should rayse an insurrection,
And so captiue thy head to wits subiection.

Robertus Corbet.

The luggage of thy wit, thy Booke he tearmes,
The bagge and baggage of thy legs and armes,
That neuer can be vnderstood by none,
But onely such as are like thee alone.

Iohannes Donnes.

This Gentleman commends thy Trauels much,
Because like thee, was neuer any such.
Decembers thunder, nor hot Iulies snow,
Are nothing like the wonders thou dost show.

Iohannes Chapman.

Here's one in kindnesse learnedly compacts,
Thy naturall iests, and thy all naturall acts,
And craues the Reader would some pity take,
To buy thy booke, euen for his owne deare sake.
For of thy trauels, and thy great designes,
There's little matter writ in many lines.
Thou in much writing tak'st such grear delight,
That if men read, thou car'st not what thou write.
This man could well afford to praise thee more,
But that hee's loth to haue thee on his score:
For he no longer will thy praise pursue,
Lest he should pay thee more then is his due.

Iohannes Owen.

This Author (to thy fame) in friendship saies,
How ancient Writers pend the Asses praise:
And wishes some of them aliue agen,
That they alone might thy high praises pen.

Petrus Alley.

Now here's a friend that lowd thy glory rings,
With Cannons, Sakers, Culuerings, and Slings,
Guns, drums, and phifes, and the shrill clang'rous trūpet
Applauds thy courting the Venetian strūpet

Samuel Page.

This Gentleman accounts it no great wrong,
Amidst thy praise, to say thy eares be long:
His meaning my construction much surpasses,
I wot not what he meanes, except an (------.)

Thomas Momford.

Here's a strange riddle puts me much in doubt,
Thy head's within thy wit, thy wit's without:
'Twere good some friend of thine would take the paines
To put thy wit i'the inside of thy braines.
For pitty doe not turne it out of dore,
Thy head will hold it, if'twere ten times more.

Thomas Bastard.

This Gentleman aduiseth thee take heed,
Lest on thy praise too greedily thou feed:
But though, too much, a surfet breed he saies,
Yet thou shalt surfet, but not die of praise.

Guilielmus Baker.

Here's one by no meanes at thy fame can winke,
And saies, how most men say thou pissest inke:
If it be true, I'de giue my guilded raper,
That to thy inke thou couldst sir-reuerence paper:
Thy gaines would be much more, thy charges lesse,
When any workes of thine come to the Presse.
'Twere good thy eares were par'd from off thy head,
'Twould stand Cosmographers in wondrous stead,
To make a Globe to serue this massie earth,
To be a mappe of laughter, and of mirth.
All new-found sustian phrases thou do'st sup,
And 'gainst a dearth of words, dost hoard them vp.
Yet where thou com'st, thou spendst thy prating pelfe,
Thogh no man vnderstand thee, nor thy selfe.
Thou art in a iewell to be hang'd most fit,
In eares, whose heads are nothing, but all wit.
And thy blown tongue wil make great ships to saile
From coast to coast, if winde and weather faile.

Againe.

Againe his Muse from sodaine sleep is waked,
And saies, this booke of thine is nat'rall naked.
Thou surely art a seruiceable waiter,
For when thou mad'st this booke, thou didst not loyter.
Yet much he doubts, if God or fiend will haue thee,
For if thou be'st sau'd, sure thy booke will saue thee.
If I to scape the gallowes needs must read,
I surely for another booke will plead:
The reason that incites me thereunto,
Thy booke to saue thee hath enough to doe.

This man hath a Greeke name.

This Gentleman thy praise doth briefely note,
Compares thy wit and senses to a Goate,
And well thy breeding he hath here exprest,
A Phœnix hatch'd from out the Wag-tailes nest.
But let them say, and call thee what they will,
Thou wast, and art, and wilt be Coriat still.

Thomas Farnabie, alias Baiurafe.

Here's one that like a carefull true Collector,
Tells, like a Bee, thou fill'st thy combe with Nectar:
Die when thou wilt, in honour of thy Name,
Ram-headed Bel-weathers shall ring thy fame.

Guilielmus Austin.

I thinke this Author doth equiuocate,
In writing of the word Assassinate.
The word so prittily he feemes to curtall,
That I imagine it is done for sportall.
But he perswades thee, trauell once agen,
And make the world to surfet with thy pen.

Glareanus Uadeanus.

Thou fatall impe to Glastenburie Abby,
The Prophecie includes thou art no baby,
That ouer Odcombs towne must one day ferrie,
As Whiting earst did ouer Glastenberie.
But yet 'tis pitty one of thy rare skill,
Should like the Monke be drownd vpon a hill.
If thou canst climbe to heauen in hempen string,
Thy fame for euer then my Muse shall sing:
But yet 'tis safer in a Trunke to hide,
Then such a dang'rous wincing iade to ride.

Iohannes Iackeson.

Thou that hast trauel'd much from coast to coast,
Come eat this Egge, that is nor rawe nor rost:
For like a friend, this man hath plaid the cooke,
And potch'd this Ginnie Egge into thy booke.

Michael Draiton.

Now here's another followes with a messe,
In haste, before thy Booke comes to the Presse.
The shortnesse of the time, is all his fault:
But now he's come, and brings thee spoons & salt.
He saies that thou hast taught the right behauior,
How with great men we all may liue in fauor.
He bids thee liue, and with their loues to ioyne,
Whose worth and vertues are most like to thine.

Nicholas Smith.

This Author liuely hath thy fame exprest,
But yet his lines are different from the rest:
For all but he that doe thy praises pen,
Say thou art farre vnlike to other men.
But this man to thy honour doth relate,
How many Courtiers thee doe imitate:
And how for feare thou should'st be stolne away,
They make themselues as like thee as they may.
For if they lose thee by false theft, or slaughter,
The Court (I feare) will weep for want of laughter.
Thy greatnes here the pore-blind world may see,
He saies (not I) thy peeres haue iudged thee:
Stand to their censures then, make no deniall,
For surely thou hast had a noble triall.

Laurentius Ensley.

Here's one commends thy booke, and bodies paine,
And counsels thee to trauell once againe;
Whereas the treasure of thy wit and body,
Shall tire each lumpish asse, and dronish noddie.
A horse that beares thy corpes, more ease shall find,
Then men can haue in bearing of thy minde:
For in thy minde is many a paire of gallowes,
Waigh's more then thee, or twentie of thy fellowes.
Was nothing in thy iourney, small or mickle,
But in thy minde thou barrell'dst it in pickle:
So that if men to see thy minde were able,
There's more confusion then was ere at Babel.
For there's confusion both of tongues and towers,
Of loftie steeples, and of lowly bowers.
Of Iibbets, racks, and round tormenting wheeles,
Of Haddockes, Paddockes, and of slipp'rie Eeles:
Of wit, of sense, of reason, death, and life,
Of loue, of hate, of concord, and of strife.
The seuen deadly sinnes, and liberall Arts,
Doe in thy minde discord and haue tane parts.
It is a doubt which side the conquest winnes,
Either the liberall Arts, or deadly sinnes.
Not fourtie Elephants can beare the loade,
Of pondrous things, that haue in thee abode.
Thy minde waighs more then I can write or speak,
Which heauie burden Atlas backe would breake.

Iohannes Dauis.

This Gentleman thy trauels doth relate,
Applauding much the hardnesse of thy pate:
I thinke thy head's as hard as steele, or rockes,
How could thy cox-comb else endure such knocks?
The brauest Smithes of Britaine haue tane paines,
To beat vpon the anuill of thy braines.
But let them beat, thou canst abide the blowes,
Thou countst thē fauors which thy friends bestows,
One with a cocks-combe hits thee o'r the comb,
Another with an Asses eares strikes home:
Another with a fooles coat, and a cap,
As hard as he can driue, giues thee a clap:
But let them strike with what they please to strike,
Thy hardened head will not their strokes dislike.
The blows the Boore did giue thee in the vineyard,
Thou put'st them vp, & neuer drew'st thy whiniard:
Thou took'st a beating from a boorish foe-man,
I hope that thou wilt scorne a knocke from no man.

Richardus Badley.

Here's one whose lines cōmend thee with the most,
And saies, how that a foole at Pentecost,
(At Whitsontide he meanes) did ouerthrow thee,
And at thy owne blunt weapon ouer-crow thee.
If it be true, me thinkes 'tis wondrous strange,
That thou so many countries o'r should'st range:
And hast the tongues of Latine and of Greeke,
Yet 'gainst a foole should'st haue thy wits to seeke.
I at the Sessions house the like haue seene,
When malefactors at the bar haue beene,
Being well-read Schollers, for their booke would plead,
Yet for their liues haue had no power to read.
So thou great Polypragmon wast more graueld
With this wise foole, thē else-wher as thou traueld.

Henricus Peacham.

Of all rare sights, in city, court, or towne,
This Author saies, thou brauely put'st them downe;
The horrid darke eclipse of Sunne or Moone,
The Lyon, Elephant, or the Baboone:
The huge Whale-bone, that's hang'd vp at Whitehall,
The sight of thee puts downe the diuell and all.
Tricks, Iigges, and motions, are but idle toyes,
The sight of thee their glories all destroyes.
The sweetnesse of thy Phisnomy is such,
That many to behold it would giue much.
But they are blind, and would giue more to see,
And therefore would giue much to looke on thee.

The Vtopian Tongue.

Thoytom Asse Coria Tushrump codsheadirustie,
Mungrellimo whish whap ragge dicete tottrie,
Mangelusquem verminets nipsem barely bittimsore
Culliandolt trauellerebumque, graiphone trutchmore.
Pusse per mew (Odcomb) gul abelgik foppery shig shag
Cock a peps Comb sottishamp, Idioshte momulus tag rag.

Iacobus Field.

This Author 'mongst the rest in kindnesse comes
To grace thy trauels with a world of Toms:
Tom Thumbe, Tom foole, Tom piper, and Tom-asse,
Thou Tom of Toms dost all these Toms surpasse.
Tom tell-troth is a foolish gull to thee,
There's no comparisons twixt thee and hee.
If tell-troth Tom were any of thy kin,
I thinke thy Booke not halfe so big had bin.

Clareanus Videanus.

Not last, nor least, but neere thy praises end,
This worthy man thy worthlesse works commend:
No scuruy idle name he will thee call,
And therefore he will call thee none, but all.
If I on euery Epithete should write,
Thy friends bestow on thee, thou wandring wight,
No Reader then durst on my writings looke,
They would so far out-swell thy boystrous booke.
But shortest writ, the greatest wit affoords,
And greatest wit, consists in fewest words.
Thus Monsieur Coriat, at your kind request,
My recantation here I haue exprest,
And in my Commentaries haue bin bold
To write of all that haue your fame inrol'd,
I meane of such, my wit can vnderstand,
That speake the language of the Britaine land.
But for the Latine, French, the Greeke, or Spanish,
Italian, or the Welsh, from them I vanish.
I on these tongues by no meanes can comment,
For they are out of my dull Element.
Consider with your selfe, good Sir, I pray,
Who hath bin bolder with you, I, or they?
If I, I vow to make you satisfaction,
Either in words, or pen, or manly action:
I haue bin bold to descant on each iest,
Yet from the Text I nothing wrong did wrest:
My lines may be compared to the Thames,
Whose gliding current, and whose glassie streames,
On which if men doe looke, as in a glasse,
They may perceiue an asse to be an asse,
An owle an owle, a man to be a man:
And thou, thou famous great Odcombian,
Shalt see thy selfe descypherd out so plaine,
Thou shalt haue cause to thanke me for my paine.
But holla, holla, whither runnes my pen?
I yet haue descanted what other men
Haue wrote before: but now I thinke it fit
To adde additions of mine owne to it.
I yet haue champ'd what better writers chaw'd,
And now my Muse incites me to applaud
Thy worth, thy fortune, and thy high desart,
That all the world may take thee Asse thou art.
And now to sing thy glory I begin,
Thy worthy welcome vnto Bossoms Inne.

Mr Coriats entertainement at Bossoms Inne.

Iewes-trumps & Bag-pipes, musick high and low,
Stretch to the height your merry squeking notes
And all you Cockney cocks clap wings and crow,
Here comes an Odcomb cocke will eat no oates.
Pipes, tabers, fiddles, trebble, and the base,
Blow, sound, and scrape, fill all the ayre with mirth:
Blind harpers all your instruments vncase,
And welcome home the wonder of the earth:
Great Coriat, mirrour of the foure-fold world,
The fountaine whence Alacrity doth flow,
On whom rich Nature nat'rall gifts hath hurld,
Whom all admire, from Palace to the Plow:
The onely Aristarck-asse of this age,
The maine Exchequer of all mad-cap glee;
For Fortune thrust him on this earthly stage,
That he the onely Thing of Things should be.
He that so many galling steps hath trac'd,
That in so many countries earst hath bin,
And to his euiternall fame is grac'd,
To be well welcom'd vnto Bossoms Inne.
Vnto which place, whilst Christmas time doth last
If any once in progresse chance to come,
They of my Lords great bounty needs must taste,
Which oftentimes doth proue a pondrous summe.
For why, my lusty liberall minded Lord
Is very friendly to all passengers,
And from his bounty freely doth afford
Both pounds, and purses to all messengers.
And thither now is Monsieur Odcombe come,
Who on his owne backe-side receiud his pay;
Not like the entertainement of Iacke Drum,
Who was best welcome when he went his way.
But he not taking my Lords coyne for current,
Against his Lordship and his followers raues,
Like to a cruell all-deuouring torrent,
These words he vtterd stuff'd with thūdring braues:
Base vassals of the blacke infernall den,
Vntutor'd peasants to the fiends of hell,
Damn'd Incubusses in the shapes of men,
Whose mind's the sinke where impious dealings dwell;
Curst age, when buzzards, owles, and blinded bats,
Against the princely Eagle rise in swarmes,
When weazels, polecats, hungry rau'ning rats,
Against the Lyon raise rebellious armes,
When as the offall of the vilest earth,
Raile roguishly 'gainst their superiour powers,
And seeme to contradict them in their mirth,
And blast with stinking breath their pleasāt houres,
When base mechanicke, muddy-minded slaues,
Whose choysest food is garlicke and greene cheese,
The cursed off-spring of hells horrid caues,
Rude rugged rascals, clad in pelt and freeze.
And such are you you damn'd Tartarian whelps,
Vnmanner'd mungrels, sonnes of Cerberus,
Whom Pluto keepes for speedy hellish helps,
T'increase the monarchie of Erebus.
But now my Muse with wrinkled laughter fild,
Is like to burst: O hold my sides, I pray,
For straight my Lord by his command'ment wild,
('Cause Corsat did his Lordship disobay)
That in the Basket presently they mount him,
And let him see his ancient royall tower:
For he hath maz'd them all, that they account him
To be some mighty man, of forcelesse power:
And now the matter plainer to disclose,
A little while I'll turne my verse to prose.

2. Oration.

MASTER THOMAS CORIAT TO HIS FRIENDS IN ENGLAND SENDS GREETING,

From Agra, the Capitall City of the Dominion of the Great MOGOLL in the Easterne India.

Printed according to the true Copie of the Letter written with his owne hand in the Persian paper, and sent home in the good Ship called the Globe, belonging to the Company of East India Merchants:

With an addition of 200. Verses written by I. T. that like a Gentleman Vsher goes bare before his pragmaticall Prose, in commendation of his Trauels.

[Some may perhaps suppose this Prose is mine]

Some may perhaps suppose this Prose is mine,
But all that know thee, will be sworne 'tis thine:
For (as 'twas said b'a learned Cambridge Scholler)
(Who knows the stile, may smel it by the Coller:)
The Prose (I sweare) is Coriats, he did make it,
And who dares claime it from him, let him take it.

Certaine Verses in commendations of this mirrour of footmanship, this Catholique or vniuersall Traueller, this European, Asian, African Pilgrime, this well letterd, well litterd discouerer and Cosmographicall describer Master Thomas Coriat of Odcombe.

O thou , whose sharpe toes cut the Globe in quarters,
Mongst Iews & Greeks & tyrannizing Tartars:
Whose glory through the vasty Welkin rumbles,
And whose great Acts more then nine Muses mumbles,
Whose rattling Fame Apollo's daughters thunders,
Midst Africk monsters, and mongst Asian wonders;
Accept these footed Uerses I implore thee,
That here (Great Footman) goe on foot before thee:
To sing thy praise I would my Muse inforce,
But that (alas) she is both harsh and hoarse:
And therefore pardon this my Loues Epistle,
For though she cannot sing, I'l make her whistle.

IN PRAISE OF THE AVTHOR MASTER Thomas Coriat.

Thou that the world with pleasures ful hast pleasur'd,
And out of measure many kingdomes measur'd.
Whilst men (like swine) doe in their vices wallow,
And not one dares for's eares thy steps to follow;
Not one within the Compasse of the Cope,
Like thee that dares suruay the Horoscope:
For who is he that dares call it a lye,
That thou hast trotted into Italie?
By th'edge of France, and skirts of Spaine th'ast rambled;
Through Belgia & through Germany th'ast ambled.
And Denmarke, Sweden, Norway, Austria,
Pruce, Poland, Hungary, Musconia,
With Thracia, and the land of merry Greekes,
All these and more applaud thee, that who seekes
Vpon the top of Mount Olympus front,
Perhaps may see thy name insculp'd vpon't,
And he that durst detract thy worth in Europe,
I wish he may be hang'd vp in a new rope.
It were a world of businesse to repeat
Thy walkes through both the Asiaes, lesse & great,
Whereas (no doubt) but thou hast tane suruay
Of China and the kingdome of Catay,
Th'East Indies, Persia, Parthia, Media,
Armenia, and the great Ass-yria,
Caldea, Iurie, (if we not mistake vs)
Thou hast o'r-look'd the Sea call'd Mortuus Lacus.
And I durst venter somewhat for a wager,
Thou hast seene Ionia, Lidia, Misia Maior,
Old Iliums Ruins, and the wracks of Priam,
But of Inuention I (alas) so dry am,
I beat my braines and with outragious thumping,
My lines fall from my pen with extreme pumping.
Auaunt, dull Morpheus, with thy leaden spirit,
Can matter want of him that wants no merit?
As he through Syria and Arabia's coasting,
My lines from Asia into Africke poasting,
I'l follow him alongst the Riuer Nilus,
In Egypt, where false Crocodiles beguile vs.
Through Mauritania to the towne of Dido,
That slew her selfe by power of god Cupido.
The Kingdomes vnsuruaid he'l not leaue one
From Zona Foride, to the Frozen Zone.
With Prester Iohn in Æthiopia,
And th'ayrie Empire of Eutopia.

A SHORT DESCRIPTION OF THE LONGING desire that America hath to entertaine this vnmatchable Perambulator.

America , A merry K, Peru,
Vnhappy all in hauing not thy view:
Virginia of thy worth doth onely heare,
And longs the weight of thy foot-steps to beare:
Returne thee, O returne thee quickly than,
And see the mighty Court of Powhatan;
Then shall great Volumes with thy Trauels swell,
And Fame ring lowder then Saint Pulchers Bell.
Then maist thou (if thou please) despight the Deuil,
End thy good daies within the Towne of Euill.
And then at Odcombe thou entomb'd maist be,
Where Trauellers may come thy shrine to see,
By which the Sexton may more money get,
Then Mecaes Priests doe gaine by Mahomet.
These Letters following, which thou didst subscribe
Vnto thy Mother and th'Odcombian Tribe,
Declare thy Art, and also whence thou art,
And whence, from thence thy purpose is to part.
Thy learn'd Oration to the mighty Mogull,
All men thereby may see if thou beest no gull,
Tis so compactly and exactly writ,
It shewes an extraordinary wit.
For write thou what thou please, ('tis thy good lot)
Men like it, though they vnderstand it not.

A LITTLE REMEMBRANCE OF HIS VARIETY OF TONGVES, AND Politicke forme of Trauell.

A very Babel of confused Tongues,
Vnto thy little Microcosme belongs,
That to what place soeuer thou doest walke,
Thou wilt lose nothing through the want of talke.
For thou canst kisse thy hand, and make a legge,
And wisely canst in any language begge:
And sure to beg 'tis policy (I note)
It sometimes saues the cutting of thy throat:
For the worst thiefe that euer liu'd by stealth,
Will neuer kill a begger for his wealth.
But who is't but thy wisedome doth admire,
That doth vnto such high conceits aspire?
Thou tak'st the bounty of each bounteous giuer,
And drink'st the liquor of the running riuer:
Each Kitchin where thou com'st, thou hast a Cook,
Thou neuer runst on score vnto the Brooke;
For if thou didst, the Brook and thou wouldst gree,
Thou runst from it, and it doth run from thee.
In thy returne from Agra and Assmere,
By thy relation following doth appeare,
That thou dost purpose learnedly to fling
A rare Oration to the Persian King.
Then let the idle world prate this, and that,
The Persian King will giue thee (God knows what.)
And furthermore to me it wondrous strange is,
How thou dost meane to see the Riuer Ganges,
With Tigris, Euphrates, and Nimrods Babel,
And the vnhappy place where Cain slew Abel.
That if thou wert in Hebrew circumcised,
The Rabbyes all were wondrous ill aduised;
Nay more, they were all Coxcombs, all stark mad,
To thinke thou wert of any Tribe but Gad.
Sure, in thy youth thou at'st much running fare,
As Trotters, Neates-feet, and the swift-foot Hare,
And so by inspiration fed, it bred
Two going feet to beare one running head.
Thou filst the Printers Presse with griefe & mourning,
Still gaping, and expecting thy returning:
All Pauls Church-yard is fild with melancholly,
Not for the want of bookes, or wit; but folly
It is for them, to greeue too much for thee,
For thou wilt come when thou thy time shalt see.
But yet at one thing much my Muse doth muse,
Thou dost so many commendations vse
Vnto thy mother, and to diuers friends,
Thou hast remembred many kind commends,
And till the last, thou didst forget thy Father,
I know not why, but this conceit I gather,
That as men sitting at a feast to eat,
Begin with Beefe, Porke, Mutton, and such meat,
And when their stomacks are a little cloyd,
This first course then the Voyder doth auoyd:
The anger of their hunger being past,
The Pheasant and the Partridge comes at last.
This (I imagine) in thy minde did fall,
To note thy Father last to close vp all.
First to thy Mother here thou dost commend,
And astly to thy Father thou dost send:
Shee may command in thee a Filiall awe,
But he is but thy Father by the Law.
To heare of thee, mirth euery heart doth cheere,
But we should laugh out-right to haue thee heere.
For who is it that knowes thee but would chuse,
Farther to haue thy presence then thy newes.
Thou shew'st how wel thou setst thy wits to work,
In tickling of a misbeleeuing Turke:
He call'd thee Giaur, but thou so well didst answer
(Being hot and fierie, like to crabbed Caucer)
That if he had a Turke of ten pence bin,
Thou toldst him plaine the errors he was in;
His Alkaron, his Moskyes are whim-whams,
False bug-beare bables, fables all that dams,
Slights of the Diuell, that bring perpetuall woe,
Thou wast not mealy mouth'd to tell him so,
And when thy talke with him thou didst giue ore,
As wise he parted as he was before:
His ignorance had not the power to see
Which way, or how to edifie by thee:
But with the Turke (thus much I build vpon)
If words could haue done good, it had beene done.

The Author of the Verse, takes leaue of the Author of the Prose, desiring rather to see him, then to beare from him.

Those Rimes before thy meaning doth vnclose,
Which men perhaps haue blūdred ore in Prose:
And 'tis a doubt to me, whose paines is more,
Thou that didst write, or they that read them o're:
My Scullers muse without or Art or Skill,
In humble seruice (with a Gooses quill)
Hath tane this needlesse, fruitlesse paines for thee,
Not knowing when thoul't doe as much for me.
But this is not the first, nor shall not be
The last (I hope) that I shall write for thee:
For whē newes thou wast drown'd, did hither come,
I wrote a mournefull Epicedium.
And after, when I heard it was a lye,
I wrote of thy suruiuing presently.
Laugh and be tat, the Scullers booke, and this
Shew how my minde to thee addicted is;
My loue to thee hath euermore beene such,
That in thy praise I ne'r can write too much:
And much I long to see thee here againe,
That I may welcome thee in such a straine
That shall euen cracke my pulsiue pia mater,
In warbling thy renowne by land and water:
Then shall the Fame which thou hast won on foot,
(Mongst Heathēs, Iews, Turks, Negroes black as foot)
Ride on my best Inuention like an asse,
To the amazement of each Owliglasse.
Till when fare well (if thou canst get good fare)
Content's a feast, although the feast be bare.
Let Eolus and Neptune be combinde,
With Sea auspicious, and officious winde;
In thy returne with speed to blow thee backe,
That we may laugh, lie downe, and mourne in Sacke.

[A BAWD.]

[A Bawd. A vertuous Bawd, a modest Bawd: ]

A Bawd. A vertuous Bawd, a modest Bawd:
Deserues, reproue, or else applaud.

A Bavvd.

My Verse is honest, seemely, neat, and cleane,
Yet is my Theame polluted and obsceane:
Ile touch foule pitch, yet will not be defilde,
My Muse shall wade through dirt, and not be soild.
The Sun on noysome Dunghils shines as well,
As on faire flowers that doe fragrant smell:
The Ayre by which wee liue, doth euery where
Breathe still alike vpon the poore and Peere.
The Sea beares many an old despised Boat,
Yet on the Sea the best ships doe but float,
And Earth allowes to all her scatterd brood,
Food, Clothes and lodging, to the bad and good.
Yet Sun, Ayre, Sea, nor Earth receiue disgrace
By any bounty which they giue the base.
Euen so my Muse, (free from all foule intents)
Doth take example from the Elements,
In laying better studies by a while,
And in cleane fashion write a beastly stile:
Yet will I not my sense or meaning marre,
With tearmes obscure, or phrases fetcht from farre,
Nor will I any way equiuocate,
With words sophisticall, or intricate,
Utopian-Fustianisme, poore heathen Greeke,
To put my Readers wits to groape and seeke.
Small eloquence men must expect from me,
My Schollership will name things as they be.
I thinke it good, plaine English, without fraud,
To call a Spade a Spade, a Bawd a Bawd.
Two little Pamphlets I haue wrote before,
Which I was bold to call a Thiefe, and Whore,
Yet was my Whore so chaste, that shee had not,
From end to end, one foule offensiue spot,
Nor did my Thiefe from any man purloyne,
Or liu'd by filching either goods or coyne.
And now by chance it came into my mind,
That with the Bawd my pen was much behind:
My Whore was honest, and my Thiefe was true,
And in this sort Ile giue the Bawd her due.
Strange fruit from my poore barren labours springs,
I modestly must vse immodest things,
'Tis somewhat hard, but yet it is no riddle,
All Bawdry doth not breed below the middle.
So many seuerall sorts of Bawdes doe grow,
That where theres not a Bawd, 'tis hard to know.
The first with spirituall Bawdes, whose honour high.
Springs from the whoredome of Idolatry.
Cast but your eyes vpon the Man of Rome,
That stiles himselfe the head of Christendome,
Christs vniuersall Uicar, and Vicegerent,
In whom fooles thinke the Truth is so inherent.
That he can soules to Heauen or hell preferre,
And being full of Errours, cannot erre:
And though his witchcraft thousands hath entic'd,
He will be call'd Lieutenant vnto Christ.
How hath that false Conuenticle of Trent,
Made lawes, which God, or good men neuer meant,
Commanding worshipping of stones and stockes,
Of Reliques, dead mens bones, and senslesse blocks,
From which adultrate painted Adoration,
Men (worse then stocks or blockes) must seeke saluation?
The Soules of men are His that dearly bought them,
And he the onely way to Heauen hath taught them.
And whoso forceth them to false adoring,
Is the maine Bawd, vnto this Spirituall Whoring.
Besides, it is apparent, and most cleere,
That hee's the greatest Bawd the Earth doth beare:
For he that tolerates the Stewes erection,
Allowes them Priuiledges and protection,
Shares in the profit of their sordid sweat,
Reapes yeerely Pensions and Reuennues great,
Permits the Pole-shorne Fry of Fryers and Monks,
For Annuall stipends to enioy their Punckes.
When Paul the third the Romish miter wore,
He had contributary Truls such store,
To fiue and forty thousand they amount,
As then Romes Register gaue true account.
Besides, it was approu'd, the gaine was cleere
Full twenty thousand Duckats euery yeere.
Moreouer, once a Bishop (boasting) said,
He had Ten Thousand Priests that paid
(Some more, some lesse) by way of Rent or fines,
Each one of them for keeping Concubines.
And he that keepes none, payes as much as he
As for his vse doth keepe one, two, or three.
All's one, the Priests must pay t'augmēt the treasure,
Keepe or not keepe, Whore or not Whore at Pleasure.
Now iudge, good Reader, haue I said amisse,
Was euer any Bawdry like to this?
Pope Alexander, of that name the sixt,
With his owne childe incestuously commixt.
And Paul the third (affecting the said Game)
With his owne daughter did commit the same:
And after with his sister tooke such course,
That he with her did doe as bad or worse.
Iohn the thirteenth, and other more, 'tis plaine,
Haue with their sisters and their daughters laine,
And when their stomackes haue beene gone & past,
To Princes they haue married them at last.
Here's Bawdes of state, of high and mighty place,
Our Turnbull street poore Bawdes to these are base.
But those braue Doings better to disclose,
A little while Ile turne my Verse to Prose.
Besides, a most pernicious Bawd is hee,
That for poore scraps, and a bare ten pounds fee,
Dares not his mighty Patron to offend,
Or any way his vices reprehend,
Nor preach 'gainst pride, oppression, vsury,
Dice, drinke or drabbes, vaine oathes or simonie,
Nor Veniall sinne or Mortall, or nothing
That may his Worship in the Withers wring:
But euery way must fit his Text and time,
To leaue vntoucht th'Impropriators crime.
Thus those whose functions Heauen doth dignifie,
(Who should like Trumpets lift their voyces high)
Are mute and muzzled, for a hireling price,
And so are Bawdes vnto their Patrones vice;
For he's a Bawd who doth his Liuing winne
By hiding, or by flattring peoples sinne.
The Prince of darknesse, King of Acheron,
Great Emperor of Styx and Phlegeton,
Cocitus Monarch, high and mighty Dis,
Who of Great Limbo-Lake Commander is,
Of Tartary, of Erebus, and all
Those Kingdomes which men Barathrum doe call,
He is the chiefest Bawd, and still he plods
To send vs Whoring after godlesse gods:
And by his sway, and powerfull Instigation,
Hath made the world stark drunk with fornication.
For since the first Creation, neuer was
The least degree of Bawdry brought to passe,
But he began it and contriu'd it still,
He laid the Plot, and did the Act fulfill.
So that of all the Bawdes that euer were,
The Deuill himselfe the bell away doth beare:
Yet all his whoring base Idolatry,
Did seeme Religious zealous sanctitie.

[A WHORE.]

[A Common Whore with all these graces grac'd]

A Common Whore with all these graces grac'd;
Shee's very honest, beautifull and chaste.

[Now after this, I'l bee exceeding briefe]

Now after this, I'l bee exceeding briefe
To send another Pamphlet call'd a Thiefe;
The Hue and Cry is out, and I protest,
Though hee scape hanging, yet hee shall be prest.

A WHORE.

[A THIEFE.]

[An arrant Thiefe, whom euery Man may trust]

An arrant Thiefe, whom euery Man may trust:
In Word and Deed exceeding true and iust.

[This Water Rat, (or Art) I would commend]

This Water Rat, (or Art) I would commend,
But that I know not to begin or end:
He read his Verses to me, and which more is,
Did moue my Muse to write Laudem Authoris,
If for his Land Discoueries she should praise him,
Whether would then his liquid knowledge raise him?
Read his two Treatises of Theefe and Whore,
You'l thinke it time for him to leaue his Oare.
Yet thus much of his worth I cannot smother,
'Tis well for vs when Theeues peach one another.
This Preface is but poore, 'tis by a Boy done,
That is a Scholler of the Schoole of Croydon,
Who when he hath more yeeres and learning got,
Hee'l praise him more or lesse, or not a ior.

[When a fresh Waterman doth turn Salt Poet]

When a fresh Waterman doth turn Salt Poet,
His Muse must prattle all the world must know it:
Of Whores and Theeues (he writes two merry Bookes)
He loues them both, I know it by his lookes.
Alas, I wrong him! blame my Muse, not we,
She neuer spake before, and rude may be.

TO THE HOPEFVLL PAIRE OF BRETHREN, AND MY WORTHY PATRONES, Master Richard, and George Hatton, Loue, Learning, and true Happinesse.

Your Muses, th'one a Youth, and one an Infant,
Gaue me two Panegericks at one Instant:
The first Pen, the first line it pleas'd to walke in,
Did make my Art a Rat, and like Grimalkin,
Or a kinde needfull Vermin-coursing Cat,
By Art I play, but will not eate your Rat.
I thanke you that you did so soone determine,
To Anagram my Art into a Vermine,
For which I vow, if e're you keepe a Dayrie,
Of (now and then) a Cheese I will impaire yee.
Kinde Mr. George, your Muse must be exalted,
My Poetry you very well haue salted.
Salt keeps things sweet, & makes them rellish sau'ry,
And you haue powdred well my honest kna &c.
I thanke you to, nor will I be ingratefull,
Whilest Rime or Reason deignes to fill my pate full:
You truly say that I loue Whores and Thieues well,
And half your speech I think the world belieus wel.
For should I hate a Thiefe, Thieues are so common,
I well could neither loue my selfe or no man;
But for Whores loue, my purse would neuer hold out,
They'l Cheat and picke the Siluer and the Gold out.
You both haue grac'd my Thiefe, he hath confessed,
You (like two Shrieues) conuay'd him to be Pressed.
In mirth you write to me, on small Requesting,
For which I thanke you both, in harmlesse Lesting,
And may your Studies to such goodnesse raise you,
That God may ener loue, and good men praise you.

A THIEFE.

THE PRAISE AND VERTVE OF a JAYLE and JAYLERS:

WITH THE MOST EXCELLENT MYSTERIE, and necessary vse of all sorts of Hanging.

ALSO A TOVCH AT Tybvrne FOR A PERIOD, AND THE Avthors FREE LEAVE TO LET THEM be hangd, who are offended at the Booke without cause.

Dedicated To the Sensible, Reasonable, Affable, Amiable, Acceptable, minded, Honourable, in VVit, Iudgement, and Vnderstanding Able, Robert Rugge Gentleman, Reare Adelantado of the Holy Iland, the Fairne, and the Staples, on the Coast of Northumbria.

No hanging Tap'strie, Quilt, or Couerlet,
This dedication of my wit could get:
No Mattresse, Blanket, Sheet, or Featherbed,
Could haue these labours of my working head:
But (cold by nature) from my Nurses dugge,
My inclination still hath lou'd a Rugge:
Which makes my thankefull Muse thus bold to be,
To consecrate this worthlesse worth to thee:
Thou that within those happy Iles doest bide,
Which Neptunes waues doe from our Land diuide,
Where in the Holy Iland stands a Fort
That can defend, and iniuries retort:
That doth command a goodly Hauen nigh,
Wherein a hundred ships may safely lye:
Thou in the Fairne and Staples bearst such sway,
That all the dwellers there doe thee obey:
Where Fowle are all thy faire inhabitants,
Where thou (Commander of the Cormorants)
Grand Gouernour of Guls, of Geese and Ganders,
O'r whom thou art none of the least Commanders:
Whereas sometimes thou canst not stirre thy legs,
But thou must tread on tributary egs:
For they like honest, true, plaine-dealing folkes,
Pay thee the custome of their whites and yolkes,
Which to thy friends oft-times transported be,
As late thou sentst a barrell-full to me:
And in requitall to so good a friend,
This Prison, and this Hanging here I send.
Because within the Fairne and Staples too,
The dwellers doe as they doe please to doe
Their pride and lust, their stealing and their treason,
Is all imputed to their want of reason:
I therefore haue made bold to send thee this,
To shew them what a Iayle and Hanging is.
Thou hast from Hermes suck'd the Quintessence
Of quicke Inuention, and of Eloquence:
And thou so well doest loue good wittie Bookes,
That makes thee like Apollo in thy lookes:
For nature hath thy visage so much grac'd,
That there's the ensigne of true friendship plac'd.
A chaulkie face, that's like a pewter spoone,
Or buttermilke, or greene cheese, or the moone,
Are either such as kill themselues with care,
Or hide-bound miserable wretches are.
Giue me the man, whose colour and prospect,
Like Titan when it doth on gold reflect;
And if his purse be equall to his will,
Hee'l then be frolicke, free, and iouiall still:
And such a one (my worthy friend) art thou,
To whom I dedicate this Pamphlet now;
And I implore the Heau'ns to proue so kinde,
To keepe thy state according to thy minde.

THE VERTVE OF A IAYLE, AND NECESSITIE OF HANGING.

My free-borne Muse of bondage rudely treats,
And strange vagaries in my Brain-pan beats:
Whilst I vnmaske, vnuisor, or vnueile
The vertues of a Iaylor and a Iayle:
And then of Hanging, and the Hang-mans art
My lines doe end, and at the Gallowes part:
First, I doe finde in Histories enrold,
Iayles for antiquity, are very old:
For Ioseph was in prison (false accus'd,
That he his Masters Wife would haue abus'd.)
And all the world doth vnderstand, a Prison
Is not an vpstart Fable newly risen.
And Ieremie was vnder bolts and locks,
By Pashur once imprison'd in the stocks:
And after that he twice was put in thrall,
For true foretelling Israel, Iudah's fall.
The Sacred Histories doe well declare,
That Prisons for their time most ancient are.
Yet though my lines doe speake of Iayles, I see
That mine inuention and my Muse is free:
And I doe finde the name of Prisone, frames
Significant alluding Anagrams.

As thus.

THE NECESSITIE OF Hanging.

Of Hangings there's diuersity of fashions,
Almost as many as are sundry Nations:
For in the world all things so hanged are,
That any thing vnhang'd is strange and rare.
Earth hangs in the concauity of Water,
And Water hangs within the Ayerie matter,
The Ayre hangs in the Fierie continent:
Thus Element doth hang in Element,
(Without foundation) all the Massie Globe
Hangs, which the skies encompasse like a Robe,
For as an egge, the yolke within the white,
The white within the skin's enuellop'd quite,
The skin within the shell doth outmost lye:
Eu'n so these Elements hang midst the skie.
First, all the world where mortals liue, we see
Within the Orbe of Luna hanged be;
Aboue her, Mercurie his course doth steere,
And next aboue him is bright Venus Sphere.
And in the fourth, and middle firmament,
Sol keepes his hot and fiery Regiment.
Next aboue that runs Mars, that star of warre:
Beyond him Iupiter, that Iouiall starre;
Then last is sullen Saturnes ample bounds,
Who once in thirty yeeres the world surrounds;
This earthly Globe (for which men fight & brawle)
Compar'd to Heauen, is like an Artom small,
Or as a Needles point compar'd to it,
So it to Heauen may be compared fit;
And it doth Hang, and hath its residence
I'th centre of the skies circumference.
Thus to proue Hanging naturall, I proue,
We in a Hanging world doe liue and moue.
Man is a little world, wherein we see.
The great worlds abstract or epitomie.
And if we note each linament and lim,
There are not many parts vnhang'd of him;
His haire which to his head and beard belongs,
Hangs, if not turn'd vp with the Barbers tongs,
His armes, his hands, his legges and feet we know,
Doe all hang pendant downewards as they grow:
Ther's nothing of him that doth hanging skip,
Except his eares, his nether teeth and lip,
And when he's crost or sullen any way,
He mumps, and lowres, and hangs the lip, they say:
That I a wise mans sayings must approue,
Man is a tree, whose root doth grow aboue,
Within his braines, whose sprigs & branches round,
From head to foot grow downward to the ground.
Thus world to world, and man to man doth call,
And tels him, Hanging is most naturall:
The word Dependant doth informe our reason,
That Hanging will be neuer out of season.
All that depends doth hang, which doth expresse,
That Great men are like Iybbets for the lesse.
It is an old phrase, many yeeres past gone,
That such a Lord hath many hangers on;
Thereby describing, that all mens Attendants
As it were hangers on, were call'd

All dependants are hangers on.

Dependants:
And sure of all men, they are best indeed,
Who haue most hangers on to cloath and feed;
For he that hath the meanes, and not the grace,
To helpe the needie, is a Miser base.
Hee's no good Steward, but a hatefull Thiefe,
That keepes from good Dependants their reliefe:
And of all Theeues, he hanging doth deserue,
Who hath the power to feed, and lets men sterue.
To end this point, this consequence I'll grant,
He that hath wealth, no hangers on can want;
For since the time that mankinde first began,
It is a destinie ordain'd to man,
The meane vpon the mighty should depend,
And all vpon the Mightiest should attend.
Thus through all ages, Countries and Dominions,
We each on other hang like ropes of Onions.
Some wealthy slaues, whose consciences condem,
Will hang themselues, lest others hang on them;
And some spend all on Hangers on so fast,
That they are forc'd to steale, and hang at last.
If they from these Extremes themselues could wean,
There is betwixt them both a Golden meane,
Which would direct their superfluities,
They would not hang themselues for niggardize,
Nor wastefully or prodigally spend,
Till want bring them to hanging in the end,
And they and many others, by their purse,
Might scape that hanging which is cald a curse.
There's many a Gallant made of foole and feather,
Of Gold and Veluet, Silke, and Spanish leather,
Whose ragged Hangers on haue mou'd my minde,
To see pride goe before, and shame behinde,
With scarce a button, or an elboe whole,
A breech, or any shooe that's worth a sole:
Those that like golden lybbets, and their traines
Are like poore tatter'd Theeues hang'd vp in chains.
He that doth suffer Whores, or Theeues, or Knaues,
Base flattering Villaines, or such kinde of slaues,
To hang vpon him, and knowes what they are,
That man vnto a Gallowse I compare.
That Vintner I account no friend of mine,
Who for good money drawes me scuruie wine,
And by the rule of Conscience (not of Law)
That he is fitter made to hang, then draw.
The Lawyer that at length doth spin mens causes,
With false delayes, and dilatory clauses,
Who makes a trade to broach and draw contention,
For him a hanging were a good preuention.
But holla, Muse, come backe, you beare my Rime,
To hanging in good earnest ere the time.
There are a many sorts of hangings yet
Behinde, which I by no meanes must forget:
One hanging is a necessary thing,
Which is a pretty gamball, cald a Swing,
And men of good repute I oft haue seene
To hang, and stretch, and totter, for the spleene:
This hanging is a military course,
Not by the Law, but strength of armes, and force:
Thus euery morning for a little spurt,
A man may hang himselfe, and doe no hurt.
This hanging oft (like Tyburne hath a tricke,
Saues charge of physicke, or of being sicke.
Besides, the word Hang is so much in vse,
That few or none will take't as an abuse;
It doth a great mans kindnesse much approue,
When he shall bid a man Be hang'd in loue:
And with some men 'tis common courtesie,
To say, Farewell, be hang'd, that's twice God bwy.
The pictures of the dearest friends we haue,
Although their corps are rotten in the graue,
We hang them for a reuerend memory
To vs, and vnto our posterity.
Some hang their wiues in picture, which haue cause
To hang their persons, wer't not for the lawes:
Some hang their heires in picture, who would faine
Wish their good fathers hang'd, their lands to gaine.
I oft haue seene good garments for mens wearing,
Haue very thriftily beene hang'd to ayring;
And I haue seen those garments (like good fellows)
Hang kindly with their master at the Gallowse,
And then into the Hangmans Wardrobe drop,
Haue beene againe hang'd in a Broakers shop,
Which after by a Cut purse bought might be;
And make another iourney to the Tree;
Twixt which, and twixt the Broaker, it might goe
Or ride, some twelue or thirteene times, or moe.
Thus th' hangmans haruest, and the Brokers grow,
They reape the crop, which sin and shame doth sow.
There are rich Hangings made of Tapestrie,
Of Arras, and of braue embrodery;
Those are for Princes, and for men of worth,
T'adorne their roomes, and set their greatnes forth.
But as dead bones in painted Tombes doe bide,
These Hangings, filthy rotten wals doe hide.
A Harts-horne to a post fast nailed on,
Serues well for men to hang their hats vpon:
But if they knew their heads would serue the turne,
They would not shift their hats from horne to horn.
Mens swords in Hangers Hang, fast by their side,
Their Stirrops Hang, when as they vse to ride:
Our Conies and our Deere are Hang'd in toiles,
Our meat hangs o'r the fire when as it boiles;
Our light Hangs in the Lanthorne, all men sees
Our fruit wee eat was hang'd vpon the trees,
Signes hang on posts, shew whereas tradsmen dwels,
In steeples all men know are Hang'd the Bels,
The scales or ballance hangs where things are weigh'd
Goods Hang'd in Craines, that's in or out conuei'd;
Yards, sailes, sheets, tacks, lists, caskets, bolins, braces,
Are fitly hang'd in their conuenient places.
The compasse that directs where windes doe blow,
Is Hang'd vpon the Needles point we know:
In stately buildings, Timber, Lead and Stone,
Are Hang'd and hoist, or Buildings would be none.
Our Maps wherein the world described be,
Are all Hang'd vp against the wals we see:
Our Cazements Hang as they doe ope and shut,
Our Curtaines Hang, which 'bout our beds we put;
Our Hogs are Hang'd, else Bacon we might looke.
Doores Hang on hinges, or I am mistooke;
And many a trusty Padlocke Hangs no doubt,
To let in honest men, and keepe knaues out.
Sea-Cabins Hang, where poore men sleepe and rest,
Our Clokes Hang on our backs 'tis manifest:
The Viall, Citterne, the Bandore and Lute,
Are cas'd or vncas'd, all Hang'd vp and mute:
Our Linnen (being wash'd) must Hang to dry,
Or else Lice will Hang on and multiply:
Thus Hanging's beneficiall to all States,
Whilst Gods dread curse Hangs o'r the reprobates.
And as for those that take my lines amis,
And will be pleas'd to be displeas'd with this,
For groats a piece, nay lesse, for three pence either,
I'll giue them all leaue to be Hang'd together;
Since Hanging then is prou'd so naturall,
So beneficiall, so generall,
So apt, so necessary, and so fit,
Our reason tels vs we should honour it.
It is a good mans life, and 'tis their death,
That rob and rifle men of goods and breath:
This kind of Hanging all offences ends,
From which God euer blesse me and my friends.
I from the Hangman this conclusion draw,
He is the fatall period of the Law:
If thieues or traytors into mischiefe runne,
If he haue done with them, then they haue done.
'Tis often seene that many haplesse men
Haue beene condemn'd and iudg'd, reprieu'd agen,
And pardon'd, haue committed new transgressions,
And in againe oft many a Size and Sessions:
When many warnings mend them not therefore,
The Hangman warnes them, they offend no more.
Hee's the Catastrophe and Epilogue
Of many of the desperate Catalogue;
And he is one that cannot wanted be,
But still God keepe him farre enough from me.

THE DESCRIPTION OF TYBVRNE.

I haue heard sundry men oft times dispute
Of trees, that in one yeere will twice beare fruit.
But if a man note Tyburne, 'will appeare,
That that's a tree that beares twelue times a yeere.
I muse it should so fruitfull be, for why
I vnderstand the root of it is dry,
It beares no leafe, no blossome, or no bud,
The raine that makes it fructifie is bloud.
I further note, the fruit which it produces,
Doth seldome serue for profitable vses:
Except the skilfull Surgions industry
Doe make Desection Anatomy.
It blossomes, buds, and beares, all three together,
And in one houre, doth liue, and die, and wither.
Like Sodom Apples, they are in conceit,
For touch'd, they turne to dust and ashes streight.
Besides I find this tree hath neuer bin
Like other fruit trees, wall'd or hedged in,
But in the high-way standing many a yeere,
It neuer yet was rob'd, as I could heare.
The reason is apparent to our eyes,
That what it beares, are dead commodities:
And yet sometimes (such grace to it is giuen)
The dying fruit is well prepar'd for heauen,
And many times a man may gather thence
Remorse, deuotion, and true penitence.
And from that tree, I thinke more soules ascend
To that Cœlestiall ioy, which ne'r shall end:
I say, more soules from thence to heau'n doe come,
Than from all Church-yards throughout Christendome.
The reason is, the bodies all are dead,
And all the soules to ioy or woe are fled.
Perhaps a weeke, a day, or two, or three,
Before they in the Church-yards buried bee.
But at this Tree, in twinkling of an eye,
The soule and body part immediatly,
There death the fatall parting blow doth strike,
And in Church-yards is seldome seene the like.
Besides, they are assisted with the almes
Of peoples charitable prayers, and Psalmes,
Which are the wings that lift the hou'ring spirit,
By faith, through grace, true glory to inherit.
Concerning this dead fruit, I noted it,
In stead of paste it's put into a pit,
And laid vp carefully in any place,
Yet worme-eaten it growes in little space.
My vnderstanding can by no meanes frame,
To giue this Tyburne fruit a fitter name,
Than Medlers, for I find that great and small,
(To my capacity) are Medlers all.
Some say they are Choak'd peares, and some againe
Doe call them Hartie Choakes, but 'tis most plaine,
It is a kinde of Medler it doth beare,
Or else I thinke it neuer would come there.
Moreouer where it growes, I find it true,
It often turnes the Herke of grace to Rue.
Amongst all Pot-herbes growing on the ground,
Time is the least respected, I haue found,
And most abus'd, and therefore one shall see
No branch or bud of it grow neere this Tree:
For 'tis occasion of mans greatest crime,
To turne the vse, into abuse, of Time.
When passions are let loose without a bridle,
Then precious Time is turnd to Loue and Idle:
And that's the chiefest reason I can show,
Why fruit so often doth on Tyburne grow.
There are inferiour Gallowses which beare
(According to the season) twice a yeare:
And there's a kinde of watrish Tree at Wapping,
Wheras Sea-theeues or Pirats are catch'd napping:
But Tyburne doth deserue before them all
The title and addition capitall,
Of Arch or great Grand Gallowse of our Land,
Whilst all the rest like ragged Laqueyes stand;
It hath (like Luna) full, and change, and quarters,
It (like a Merchant) monthly trucks and barters;
But all the other Gallowses are fit,
Like Chapmen, or poore Pedlers vnto it.
Thus Iayles and Iaylors being here explain'd,
How both are good, and for good vse ordain'd:
All sorts of Hanging which I could surmise,
I likewise haue describ'd before your eyes;
And further hauing shew'd what Tyburne is,
With many more inferiour Gallowsis,
My pen from paper with this Prayer doth part,
God blesse all people from their sinnes desart.

The Vnnaturall Father:

OR, The cruell Murther committed by one Iohn Rovvse of the Towne of Ewell, ten miles from London, in the County of Surry, vpon two of his owne Children.

John Rovvse of Ewell his owne Arraignment, Confession, Condemnation, and Iudgement of himselfe, whilst hee lay Prisoner in the White Lyon, for drowning of his two Children.

His Inditement for murder of his Children.

His Iudgement.

For these thick Stigian streams in which th'ast swom,
Thy guilt hath on thee laid this bitter doome;
Thy loath'd life on a Tree of shame must take
A leaue compeld by Law, e'r old age make
Her signed Passe port ready. Thy offence
No longer can for dayes on earth dispense.
Time blot thy name out of this bloudy roule,
And so the Lord haue mercy on my Soule.

His speech what hee could say for himselfe.

O wretched Caitiffe! what perswasiue breath,
Can cal back this iust Sentence of quick death?
I begge no boone, but mercy at Gods hands,
(The King of Kings, the Soueraigne that cōmands
Both Soule and Body) O let him forgiue
My Treason to his Throne, and whilst I liue,
Iebbits and Racks shall torture limme by limme,
Through worlds of Deaths I'l breake to fly to him.
My Birth-day gaue not to my Mothers wombe,
More ease, then this shall ioyes, when e'r it come.
My body mould to earth, sinnes sink to Hell,
My penitent Soule win Heauen, vain world farewell.

[TAYLORS REVENGE.]

TAYLORS REVENGE: OR, The Rimer William Fennor, firkt, ferrited, and finely fetcht ouer the Coales.

William Fennor. Anagramma. NV Villany For me; OR, Forme NV Villany.

Nv Villany For me, Nue, fresh and New,
Or Forme NV Villany, Come Turk, come Iew,
Come who dares come, for I haue found a Theame,
That ouerflowes with matter like a streame.
And now stand cleere, my masters, 'ware your shine,
For now to kick and fling my Muse begins,
How fit his name is Anagrammatiz'd,
And how his Nature is Anatomiz'd,
'Twould make a horse with laughing breake his bridle,
But to the purpose, long delayes are idle.

To William Fennor.

To the Reader.

Now honest Reader (if thou be so) tell,
Haue I not Canuas'd this same Rascall well?
Me thinkes I heare some say I am too bitter,
And if I were more milde, they hold it fitter.
Let such men truely but conceiue my wrong,
And thinke the case did to themselues belong:
When such a fellow with me shall agree,
And take my money for an earnest fee:
And make me print a thousand Bils and more,
And daily on the Posts to clap vp store,
For thousand Readers as they passe the way,
To see my name engag'd to play a Play
'Gainst William Fennor, my Antagonist;
And then, for me each houre to persist,
(Vpon his word) to study and to write,
And scarce in six weekes rest or day, or night;
And when the time is come the play should be,
My opposite should run away from me,
And leaue me to be made a wondring stocke,
A scorne, a by-word, for the world to mocke:
To make me lose my credit, and my name,
To be o'rclouded with perpetuall shame.
Iudge, if this would not moue a man to spleene,
To be thus basely vs'd as I haue beene.
Thus to the censure of the World I send
This sharpe Inuectiue, which my Anger pend.
And as my wrong was publike, so will I
Reuenged be vpon him publikely.
And for him I haue worser Rods in pisse,
If he but dare to write and answer this.
But if he durst no better play the Knaue
Then answer me, he would not goe so braue.
But yet heer's one thing was almost forgot,
Which till this time my Muse remembred not,
And sure it must his Fooleship needs molest,
This hath beene read and laught at by the Best,
That when he dares but to the Court to come,
His entertainment will be like Iack Drum.

To my Friends.

And now, kind Friends, a word or two to you,
Before I bid your Iudgements all adiew.
Full well I know you all were angred much,
That my vnfortunate euents were such:
And well I know, you do beleeue and know,
I meant no shuffling-shifting tricke to show.
To you my minde doth need no more reuealing,
You all doe know I meant plaine vpright dealing;
And sure I hope your informations will
Defend me 'gainst the force of scandall still.
There were some Lords, some Knights, Esquires, and some
Good Marchants, Tradesmen, to the Play did come,
On purpose onely for my onely sake,
The most of which I know will vndertake,
To doe me any good in word or deed,
If my occasions did require their need:
Though my deserts can no such fauour win,
Yet well they know I still haue honest bin:
I speake not this in any tearmes of boast,
For why, my faults are equall with the most:
But this is written, that it may appeare,
That I from cony-catching tricks am cleare:
And vnto all the world I dare appeale,
Who dares accuse me that I did misdeale.
So crauing pardon where I haue transgrest,
I wish my Friends all earthly, heau'nly rest.

To my despightfull Foes.

To you that screwd your Iawes awry, & mewd,
And so your worthlesse, witlesse wisdom shewd,
And now and then bestow'd a hisse or twaine,
(To giue more vent to your fantasticke braine)
You might haue kept away, I sent not for you.
If you hate me, I doe as much abhor you:
Like Guests vnbid, you might haue brought your stools,
For as you came, you went away like Fools.
The purpose which my study did intend,
Was by no meanes any one to offend;
And therefore whatsoeuer that they be,
That enuiously do raile and snarle at me,
I can no lesse doe, but with word and pen,
Informe them that they are malicious men.
'Gainst no man in particular I write,
But generally to all that beare me spight:
I pray for them (to make their fury madder)
God turn their hearts, or Hangman turn the ladder,
Which turning sure will either mend or end them,
To one of which my daily Prayers commend them.

FENNORS DEFENCE: OR, I AM YOVR FIRST MAN.

Wherein the Water-man, Iohn Taylor, is dasht, sowst, and finally fallen into the Thames: With his slanderous Taxations, base Imputations, scandalous Accusations, and foule Abominations, against his Maiesties Ryming Poet: who hath answered him without Vexations or trembling Recantations.

[Although I cannot Rogue it, as he can]

Although I cannot Rogue it, as he can,
Yet will I shew my selfe an honest man.

An Apologie to the Anagram of my Name, made by no Scholler, but a Sculler.

It were a simple Tree thy breath could shake;
But see (meere Malice) how thou dost mistake:
For what thy Title would bestow on me,
Thy selfe art Author of, New Villanie,
But since thou vrgest me, marke how I'l blase
That name, which thou with villany wouldst glase:
For I will ope the Casement, and cleare Light
Shall chase thy blacke verse to eternall Night.
When the first William, Duke of Normandy,
Sayl'd from the Coasts of France to Britany,
Amongst his best Rankes came a Chiualiere,
Whose name in French was called le Fogniere;
Which then our English Tong so well did tender,
Gaue him the Name and Title of Defender,
On the Sea-coasts he did defend so well;
That for his Chrest he beares the Scallop shell.
Since, briefer Language giues vs Fennors dame,
Nor can thy impudence impaire the same:
And for a Token of wrong'd Innocence,
I doe resume my first name for Defence.
My Anagram if thou but rightly scan,
Then thou wilt find 'tis, I will feare no man.
How can I then feare thee that art a Taylor;
A shred of Fustian, and a ragged raylor;
A dish that is not worth the feeding on,
When thou art best in Lent, th'art but Poore Iohn.

An Anagram vpon the Scullers Name.

Iohn Taylor, Anagramma. O Hate, rayle on.

O hate, rayle on; or this. Rayle on, O Hate:
For spight of Rayling, I must dedicate
An answere to thy Theame, though ne'r so large,
Will sink thy Scullers Boat, though 'twere a Barge,
To halter vp your Muse, my Muse beginnes;
I'l trusse the Iade for breaking peoples shinnes.
Then Monster doe thy worst, yerke out thy fill,
Thou canst not touch my goodnesse with thy ill:
Though Horses breake their Bridles, and escape,
My Lines shall load an Asse, or whippe an Ape.

To his approued Poe Iohn Taylor.

To my kinde Friends in generall.

Now you haue read, and vnderstand my minde,
I hope your wonted fauors I shall finde,
In spight of rayling basenesse, whose lewd tongues
Are Sathans instruments for sland'rous wrongs.
Sure I haue satisfi'd your expectation,
And vsde the Sculler in his owne vocation:
But if you thinke my answer ouer-milde,
Know this, I would not haue my tongue defilde,
With such vnciuill tearmes, much lesse my pen,
Which now giues satisfaction to all men
Of truth; I will auouch, in spight of ill,
My answer was set vp in Taylors Bill,
Falsely, without my knowledge or consent:
Then was not that a cause sufficient,
To giue my purpose suddaine alteration,
When I was plai'd the knaue with in that fashion.
But though we could not then meet face to face,
I hope my pen hath follow'd him apace:
If I be not deceiu'd, it hath out-stript him,
And spight of all his rods in pisse, 'tath whipt him,
And made his howling hollow voyce to rore:
Yet for your loues, I'l giue him one lash more.

Fennors finall Fare-ill to Taylor, with his blue Bitch and Cods bellie.

Bladder of enuie, one word more with you,
I must hunt out your Bitch, of Azure hue:
You that at Roterdam haue Spies to houer,
And in Cods bellies transport Slanders ouer,
And without Licence belcheth them abroad,
'Twere fit she should be seartcht to see her Load:
For in her head, her bellie, and her crookes,
I doubt there wil be found some dang'rous Bookes:
For he that vndertooke this Worke for thee,
Perhaps prints Romish Doctrine for a fee;
Or matters preiudiciall to the State;
Or things Schismaticall, to breed debate.
If it be found so, spight of your Reuenge,
You and your Bitch may in a halter swinge,
And your Cods bellie starue for want of water:
To you all three I doe commend this Satyre,
And to my Country all my loue and skill,
To root out all such instruments of ill.

A CAST OVER THE VVATER, BY JOHN TAYLOR.

Giuen Gratis to William Fennor, the Rimer, From London to the Kings Bench.

[He giues himselfe an honest good report]

He giues himselfe an honest good report,
And to himselfe he is beholden for't:
Yet 'twixt the greatest knaue and him, I weene,
Ther's thus much ods, A pair of sheers between.

Master Fennors taking Boate.

Come fellow Bull-beefe, quicke, thrust in the boat,
Here comes a braue fare in a horsemans coat;
Hold in man: Sir, lend me your worships hand,
Take heed, t'hath rain'd, 'tis slippery Sir to stand.
But sit you downe, we haue the winde and tide,
Good Sir, a little on the Star-boord side.
Thrust off now: I am glad I haue you here,
Good Master Fennor (alias) Le Fognier:
You are a fare falne to my lot diuinely,
Trim you my Boat, and I will trim you finely:
And as I Row, Ile tell you whom I am;
I am Iohn Taylor made your Annagram.

In defence of the true Annagram I made of William Fennor. Nv Uillany for mee.

That I thy Annagram did truely finish,
No letter did I adde, or none diminish:
For which Nu Villany for me's the same,
True Annagram of William Fennors name.
Thou think'st to make thy Reputation stretch,
And out of Normandy thy name wilt fetch:
Where men may see thy folly plaine appeare,
Thou wilt (forsooth) be called Le Fognier.
Le Fognier, out alas thy wits are fogg'd;
I can but laugh to see thee mir'd and bogg'd,
But holla, holla, hobby, hold my fist,
I'l helpe thee out of this blacke foggy mist.

Le Foggnier. Annagramma. Flieng Roge.

How lik'st thou this braue Annagram, 'tis true,
And euery letter in his place, is due:
And for thy further grace shal't haue another,
Ile hardly do so much for mine owne Brother.

Le Foggnier. Annagramma. Forge Lieng.

Thou seest how I haue help'd thee at a pinch,
And Annagramatiz'd thee to an inch:
The sunshine of my Muse the Fog hath broke,
And clear'd thy Name from out the misty smoake.
Thou shew'st thy plenteous beggery of wit,
That mak'st thy Annagram so much vnfit;
Thy Name's but thirteene letters (as I weene)
And in thy Annagram thou hast fifteene.
Then William Fennor's Annagram's not such,
I will feare no man, 'sE and A to much:
I guesse (at first) thy Ancestors did keepe
Within some fenny ground, Hogs, Kine, or sheep;
And liuing Hogheards, or poore labring men,
They tooke their Names of Fennor, from the Fen.
And now to write a iest, my Muse doth smile,
I thinke thou wast begotten on a stile:
Thy father looking one way, and thy mother,
For feare of being spide, she look'd another;
And leering sundry waies, kept carefull watch,
Lest any at their businesse should them catch.
And that's the reason why thine eies doe rowle,
And squint so in thy doltish iobbernowle.
I cry thee mercy, in my other booke,
Thy Coat of Armes I very much mistooke.
As from the Fen at first thou didst suruiue,
Thy Scutchion from the Fen I will deriue.
Marke how I will emblaze thee, I'l be briefe,
Within a Quagmire-field, two Toades in Chiefe,
A Lope-staffe for the Bend, I hold it best,
A paire of Oxe hornes Rampant, for the Crest,
Well Mantled with an old Raw tough Cow-hide,
Thus I my armes diuide, and subdiuide.
For calling me a Taylor and a shred,
A dish not worthy whereon to be fed;
Could I but Cut, and sow, and steale and stitch
As well as thou canst lye, I would be rich.
The Time hath bin a Poor-Iohn's scraps would fill
The hungry Maw of thredbare Lowzy Will.
Thou hast forgot thou rim'st to me of late
For sixteene Oysters once at Billingsgate,
Thou hast forgot I gaue thee my old breeches,
Because thou sung'st & spok'st extrump'ry speeches
When barly bread and Lamp oyle thou didst eate,
A Poor-Iohn then with thee had bin good meat.

Vpon his false Annagram on my name.

Art not asham'd to be so false in print,
Thy Muse is like thine Eyes (sure) all a squint,
The world may see my name no E affords,
And thou hast thrust in two, to make vp words;
O hate rayle on, and then rayle on O hate,
Thy wit, I see, is in a desp'rate state,
Else thou wouldst neuer (vnto all mens view)
Declare thy folly, printing things vntrue;
For thine owne sake let Annagrams aloue,
Thou canst not make a true one, then make none.

To him I hold too vnworthy to be my foe: William Fennor.

Thou hast look't ouer, I perceiue and seene,
Th'inuectiue Scourge of my reuenging spleene,
And wisely (as thou dem'st) thou weighest it lightly,
Thou Gracelesse, disgrace thou esteemest slightly:
There's not a bad word in it that is writ,
But well thou knowst thou hast deserued it;
And if I thought I ow'd thee any more,
I would rayle on, till I had paid the score:
For though my iust incensed anger sleepe,
Yet doe I keepe my Satyres whip in weepe,
In salt and brine, that to the quicke shall scourge
Thee, or who dares my angry Muse to vrge.
And by your leaue Sir, I'l a little firke yee,
And with a milder lash I'l gently ierke yee.
I will not rayle, or rogue thee, or be-slaue thee,
But I will finely baffle, beard, and braue thee:
I'l squeeze, & crush, and vnto poulder pounce thee,
I'l make thy wits for euer to renounce thee.
I'l lay thee open, and I will attaint thee,
And for a pittifull poore scab I'l paint thee.
I'l nip, and strip, and whip thee out of breath,
Like Bubonax, I'l rime thee vnto death.
Thou sayst my verse is impotent and hault,
Thou dost accuse me for thy onely fault;
Alack in Rime thou canst doe naught but cobble,
Thy cripled Verses vp and downe doe hobble.
And doe so lamely runne, and rise, and fall,
Like maimed Beggers in an Hospitall.
Thou hast no iudging, vnderstanding eare,
Thy Accents and thy Sillables to reare
Or let them fall: thou botchest many a line,
That I would shame to father such for mine.
When a tressillable a verse doth end,
'Tis harsh, 'tis palty, and it doth offend;
In a translation I with it would beare,
But in Inuention it offends the eare:
Thou often end'st thy lines with Memory,
And then thou answer'st that with Pillory,
And then thou comst vpon me Horribly,
And in conclusion writ'st so lowsily,
That when thou gett'st'a Poets dignity,
I'l hang thee of mine owne benignity.
Ther's many a fault thou mak'st which I wold show
But that I feare 'twould make thee halfe a Poet,
And well I know thou wouldst vnthankfull be,
And wouldst deny thou learndst thy skill of me.
I'l therefore leaue thee as a plague to time,
A selfe-conceited witlesse Asse in Rime.
I know thy ouer-daring minde doth dare
With me and my inuention to compare,
Indeed (by fortune) I some things haue done,
Which many sayes from better wits did run.
But let their enuious misconceit belye me,
Nor thee, or they, or any dares to try me,
But to the purpose, dar'st thou thus much doe
Let one man giue one Theame betwixt vs two,
And on that Theame let both of vs goe write,
And he that best and soonest doth indite,
Giue him the praise; and he that is out-strip'd
(For his reward) let him be soundly whip'd.
To this I dare thee, thou poore Poet Ape
And I'l behang'd if thou a whipping scape.
Thy Muse (or Mule) can frame some Riming notes,
To borrow shillings, six-pences or Groates
Of Vintners boyes, and that's the highest straine
Thy borrowed stolne inuention can attaine.
For thine owne credit some rare worke deuise,
Turne into Verse the Chimney sweepers cries,
Or worke for Tinker, Couers for close stooles,
Then shalt thou be disputed on in Schooles,
And held a braue man, and thy famous Verse
About the Towne thy Patrons will rehearse.
Besides, I wish thee beg the Monopolly,
That to thy selfe thou maist ingrose it wholly,
That none but thee may write the Elegies,
And Epitaphs of Tiburne Tragedies.
And so the Hangmans Poet thou shalt be,
And sometimes haue as good a Fee as he:
No course to thriue is to be counted base,
And I'l speake for thee thou maist haue the place.
I muse how Ladies dares to heare thy stile,
'Tis so abominable harsh and vile,
How canst thou from them any fauour win,
Me thinkes thy Rimes should fret their tender skin.
For 'tis more rougher then a Russian Beare,
And rubs and frets, and gaules each gentle eare.
Thou art the rarest fellow aboue ground,
To serue some Costiue Lord, that is hard bound,
Thy riming would procure an easie stoole,
That seruice hath some sauour, Goodman foole.
The Doctors and Apothecaries swears,
How they will lugge thee by the Asses eares
Because thy riming now doth purge men more,
Then all their Art in many yeeres before.
Thou nam'st here, for a rabblement of fooles,
Tom Coriat, Archy, and the great Otooles.
Asse for thy selfe, a foole I ne'r did take thee,
Dame Nature at the first (I thinke) did make thee
One compound of two simples, Foole and Knaue,
Who striuing in thee which should maistry haue,
The crafty knauish part got all the sway,
And turn'd the silly harmelesse Foole away:
And in thy making Natures care was chiefe,
To fashion thee on purpose for a Thiefe;
Shee turn'd thine eyes keele vpwards, for the nonce,
That thou might'st see fiue or six waies at once.
For why, thou hast an admirable looke,
T'informe a Thiefe, from windowes how to hooke
Apparell, Cushions, Carpet, Rugge, or Sheete,
That they withall by hooke, or crooke, can meete.
I doe not say thou dost this trading vse;
But therein thou thy making dost abuse,
In that thou closely follow'st not the trade,
For which thee & thy thiefe-like eyes were made.
When at a great mans house, men flocke about thee,
'Tis not to heare thee rime, but cause they doubt thee,
And therefore euery one keeps carefull watch
For feare thou should'st the plate, or so what catch:
Thou thinkst they do applaud when thou hast rim'd,
And they are fearefull that thy fists are lim'd.
The Butlers sweat for feare, whil'st thou dost prate,
And double diligently guard their plate.
Thy beautious Phisnomy doth this, for which
Most women feare thee, that thou art a Witch,
And therefore snatch their children vp, and run,
Thy ominous ill-looking looke to shun.
For if before a Iudge, thou euer speake,
Thy very countenance thy neck will breake.
More I could say, and more I could deuise,
But that I thinke I should rime out thine eyes;
If all trades faile, I'd haue thee pull them out,
And I'll procure thee liuing doe not doubt,
I in thy nose will put an Iron ring,
And lead thee vp and downe the Towne to sing,
To Feasts, and Markets, Wakes, & Sturbridge faire,
And then to euery place with me repaire,
I would aduance a faire ingrossed bill,
That in these words should promise wondrous skill.
Then I, or else my Boy, will beat a Drum,
If any be desirous for to come,
At two a clocke within the after noone,
There shall you see an old blind braue Baboone,
That can put on the humor of an Asse,
Can come aloft Iack, heigh passe and repasse;
That for ingenuous study downe can put,
Old Holdens Camell, or fine Bankes his Cut,
And for his action he eclipseth quite,
The Iigge of Garlick, or the Punks delight.
King Ninus motion, or the great tall Dutch-man,
Or th'Elke, or man-Beare baiting was no such man.
To all your costs he will his wis wits imploy,
To play the second part of Englands Ioy.
Hee'l rime, and sing well, and if need require,
Can tell more lies then you would all desire.
Our Lady Fayre, nor yet Saint Bartholomew,
A motion like to this did neuer shew.
These things I hope for to employ thee in,
By which wee needs must store of money win.
I neither hate good counsell, or yet thee,
But why shouldst thou presume to counsell me.
I prethee then leaue off thy fruitlesse taske,
No godnesse comes from such a mustie Caske.

My Defence against thy Offence.

How proudly thou thy Ancestors dost praise,
Aboue the Pleyades, their Fame to raise:
Was euer seene so vile a paltry Nag,
So much of his Antiquity to brag.
As if his Grandam had some Burgesse beene,
In Parlament vnto the Diamond Queene:
If I should answer all thy base contention,
I then should haue no roome for my inuention:
And therefore famous Monsier Le Foggnier.
I will but only nip thee here and there:
According as I see the time and place,
I will my byting phrases enterlace.
And first (Don Bussard) vnto you 'tis knowne,
The writing of my play was all mine owne:
And though thou tearm'st it fopp'ry, like a fop,
Into the Hangmans Budget thou wilt drop,
Before thy muddie Muse (Dame ignorance)
On a conceit so good, as it shall glance.
Thou brag'st what fame thou got'st vpon the stage,
Indeed, thou set'st the people in a rage,
In playing Englands Ioy, that euery man
Did iudge it worse then that was done at Swan.
I neuer saw poore fellow so behist,
T'applaud thee, few or none lent halfe a fist:
Some stinkards hands, perhaps went pit to pat,
Who ignorantly lik'd they knew not what;
Besides, thou knowst, thou promist in thy Bill,
In rare extempory to shew thy skill.
When all thou spok'st, thou studiedst had before,
Thou know'st I know, aboue a month and more.
Besides, the best conceits that were in it,
(Poore Foole) thou had'st them from a better wit,
Then is thine owne, thy beggerly conceit
Could ne'r haue mounted to so high a height.
Good wine is spild, in stinking vessels leaking,
And so good words were mar'd with thy ill speaking:
Where like a Scar-crow) or a Iack of lent
Thou stoodst, and gau'st the people small content:
And yet thy impudence wouldst raise thy fame,
From out the loathsome Garbage of thy shame.
Thy little honesty so high thou deem'st,
And more then Thames reuennew it esteem'st:
Make much on't, thou art worthy to haue more,
Thou mak'st such reck'ning of so little store.
Thy honesty is bred within the bone,
Out of the flesh, I thinke came neuer none:
Thou sai'st I call'd a Christian, Cur, O fie!
Will Fennor, wilt thou neuer leaue to lye?
'Twas thee I call'd so, ponder well vpon't,
For I thinke thou wast neuer at a Font;
I wish thee yet thy Baptisme to procure,
Thou canst not be an Anabaptist sure:
If I should answer euery lye and line,
My booke would then be bigger far, then thine.
Besides, it with my mind doth not agree,
To paraphrase on thy poore stuffe and thee.
Thou put'st one trick vpon me, and a rare one,
Thou'lt make me vnder Sculler vnto Charon;
When thou com'st to the Deuill on a message,
Then I'l take nothing of thee for thy passage:
And for my loue (then thine) shall not be shorter,
Thou shalt be Plutoes vgly vnder Porter.
For Cerberus and thee must needs agree,
Thy one good face, accommodates his three.
Thou bid'st me watch and write, and doe my worst,
And sai'st, thy Pen and Inkehorne is as curst.
I thinke 'tis curst indeed, for I protest,
That neither thee, or them, was neuer blest:
Perhaps thou hast good Paper, Pens, and Inke,
But thy inuention (Fogh) how it doth stinke.
Thou bid'st me fall vnto my Scull againe,
And hold'st my calling in thy high disdaine.
Know Peasant, if I were a Baron borne,
Yet I my honest trade would neuer scorne:
A Water-man doth get his bread more true,
Then fifty thousand idle Knaues, like you;
They cannot rime, and cony-catch, and cheat,
For what they haue, they must be sure to sweat.
And I esteeme my labour far more deare,
Then all thy riming's worth in twenty yeere:
I'l carry Whores and Knaues too, for my fee;
For money, I'l transport thy wife and thee:
I'l carry any body for my fare,
Wee haue no power to question what they are.
My Boat is like vnto a Barbers Chaire,
To which both honest men, and Knaues repaire:
No Trades-men, whatsoeuer that they be,
Can get their liuing honester then we.
We labour truly, and we take great paine,
With hands and feet, we stretch out euery vaine:
Thy hands did neuer worke, thou art so nice,
Except 'twere in thy Doublet cracking lice.
And not to brag, but to our trades great fame,
The learned Sapho, that admired Dame,
Who could the Saphicke Verse so rarely write,
Did wed a Water-man, who Phaon hight:
Besides, eight Kings, in famous Edgars raigne,
To row with Oares did hold it no disdaine:
But as Records and Chronicles relate,
They row'd vnto the Parlament in State.
Thou maist infer these Kings, were captiues all:
Why? are not all men so by Adams fall.
Nay more, when water the first world did end,
The second world did presently descend,
From the High Admirall of Heau'n and Earth,
The Patriarke Noah, we had second birth:
He ferri'd mankind to this worlds Lee shore,
From the bar'd-hauen of the world, before
Such Landsharkes as thy selfe, their way did take,
Downe through the Deluge to Cocitus Lake,
Where all the comfort the poore Caitiffes found,
Was this, that all the Gallowses were drown'd:
No Authors write, no not the Poets tales,
That they lou'd Cheatry, Porposes, or Whales.
One note this History doth more afford,
That all were damb'd that scorn'd to lie aboord,
No part of this world we inherit can,
But by our Title from a Waterman.
Then wrong not vs with thy calumnious tongue,
For from a Waterman we all are sprung:
From Iaphets Ioynes I well descended am,
And thou (my cursed Couzin) cam'st from Cham.
Besides thus much, thy Ignorance may note,
That all the world may well be cal'd a Boat,
Tost on the troublous waues of discontent,
All subiect vnto change, vnpermanent.
Our life's the tide, which euer ebbes and flowes,
And to their iournies end all Creatures rowes:
The Souldier with his sword rowes vp and down.
And floats in bloud sometimes to gaine a Crown.
The Lawyer rowes, and makes his tongue his oare,
And sometimes sets his Clyent poore ashoare.
But the Deuine (of all men) he rowes best.
He brings vs safely to the Port of rest:
He lands vs at our euerlasting Inne,
And the tenth penny for his paines doth winne.
Thus Fennor thou mai'st see, that Watermen
Are farre beyond the limits of thy Pen
To doe them wrong; I could speake more of this,
But that I thinke enough sufficient is.
Thou sai'st that Poetry descended is
From pouertie, thou tak'st thy markes amisse.
In spight of weale or woe, or want of pelfe,
It is a Kingdome of content it selfe.
A Poet's here or there, or where he please,
In Heau'n, in Ayre, in Earth, in Hell, or Seas,
Gods, men, fish, fowle, beasts, and infernall fiends,
All tributary homage to him sends;
They're called makers, for they'l vndertake
By Art, of nothing something for to make,
And though in making, little skill I haue,
Yet could I easily make thee a Knaue.
But therein I should be but thy partaker,
A Knaue thou art, and so art thine owne maker.
In which thou dost most makers much excell,
For hauing made thy selfe so ill, so well.
And now at thee, once more I'l haue a fling,
Thou saist thou hadst thy title from the King
Of riming Poet: I beleeue it true.
What name would best befit thee, well he knew,
He call'd thee not a Poet, for deuising,
Or that thou couldst make ought worth memorizing,
He call'd thee riming Poet, note why 'twas,
And I will shew thy picture in a Glasse:
He gaue thy Poetry not Reasons Name;
But Rime, for he knew well his words to frame.
Now what a Rimer is, vnto a Poet,
Because thou knowst it not, I'l make thee know it:
Th'are like Bell-ringers to Musicians,
Or base Quack-saluers to Phisicians;
Or as a Zany to a Tumbler is,
A Rimer's to a Poet such as this;
And such art thou, or in a worse degree:
For if a Poet should examine thee
Of Numbers, Figures, Trimeters, Alchaicks,
Hexameters, Pentameters, Trochaicks,
Iambicks, Allegories, and Allusions;
With Tropes, Similitudes, Types and Conclusions:
And whosoeuer chanceth but to looke
In Chaucer, or th'Arcadia (well writ Booke)
Shall find these Rules which I before haue nam'd,
Which makes a Poets Art for euer fam'd:
And in these things, thy knowledge is no more
Then hath an Asse, a Horse, a Beare, or Bore.
Thou art the Rump, the taile, or basest part
Of Poetry, thou art the dung of Art.
Thou art all Rime, and voyd of reason, thou
Dost cloz: and shut vp lines, no matter how.
Some men will say, I must a Scholler be,
Or else these words could neuer come from me:
To them I answer; I can English read,
But further I could neuer write or plead:
Those words of Art, I know them euery one,
And knowing them, I'l let them all alone;
Because I doe not know well how to vse them,
And by misplacing them, I may abuse them.
When I a learned word in Verse doe plant,
I will be sure to write significant.
So much to them, whose hearts will not beleeue
But that in Poetry I filch and theeue.
I dare them all to try me, and leaue threatning,
The proofe of pudding's alwaies in the eating:
Thus I haue told thee, why, wherefore, and how
His Maiesty did thee that name allow;
The name of Rimer carry to thy graue,
But stile of Poet, thou shalt neuer haue.
Search well in Turn-bull street, or in Pickt-hatch,
Neere Shorditch, or Long-alley prethee watch,
And 'mongst the trading females, chuse out nine
To be thy Muses, they will fit thee fine,
They'l make thy rimes and thee of more account,
And mount thy fame aboue Parnassus Mount:
Thou writst a hotch-potch of some forty lines
About my Play at Hope, and my designes;
Where men may see thy stocke of wit is poore,
To write of that which I had writ before.
Thou fill'st thy Booke with my inuention full,
And shew'st thy selfe an idle shallow Gull:
And then thou talk'st & prat'st, and keep'st a Rut,
And tearm'st my Muse Melpomones Tayle Gut;
I wonder where thou didst that phrase procure,
Thou art beholden to some Tripe-wife sure.
When hunger doth prouoke thee rime and sing,
That Gut will make thy Muse a Chitterling;
For thou from tripes, and tayl-guts, & hogs mawes,
Hast won thy greatest credit and applause,
There's none that eats a Partridge or a Pheasant,
But takes thee for a foole to make them pleasant,
I know not if thy wife be he or shee,
If she be honest, shee's too good for thee.
Thou partly offrest me to hold the dore,
If I will make thy Kitchin-maid my whore:
But prethee hold thy prating, witlesse Gander,
Shalt ne'r haue honor to become my Pander.
Thou saist, I raile, 'tis true, I had decreed
To giue my wronged Muse a purge with speed,
And (as the fittest vessell) 'twas thy lot,
To be her foule vnworthy Chamber-pot:
Shee's well recouer'd, and the world doth see
Her filthy excrements remaine in thee.
No blacke contagious mist her pure light suffers,
But strait she makes of thee a paire of Snuffers,
To make her glorious greatnesse shine more cleere,
And this shall be your office Le Fogniere.
And now a thought into my mind doth creepe,
How thou a Kitchin or a Maid canst keepe:
I know the time thou wouldst haue lick'd thy chaps
From out an Almes-basket to get some scraps,
And hast thou now a Kitchin and large roomes,
To entertaine faire Lasses, and braue Groomes?
I see thou art the frugal'st Lad aliue,
And car'st not greatly what thou dost to thriue.
I wrongly call'd thy Kitchin-seruant, maid;
No maid can dwell with thee, I am afraid:
And now a pretty tale I meane to tell;
Marke it, I prethee, for it fits thee well.
There was a fellow once some faults had done,
Which fearing hanging, did his Country run,
And comming to the City, full of feare,
(Nay note my tale, good Mounsier Le Fognier)
In hope to get his pardon, 'twas his chance
Vpon a man, (as might be thee) to glance,
The poore distressed fellow told his mind,
And said, If any man would be so kind
To get his pardon, and to set him free,
He should haue threescore angels for his Fee:
Now he that this mans pardon should procure,
(To saue his owne stake, and to make all sure)
He leaues the Thiefe in London, and strait went
And brought a Hoy full of his goods from Kent,
Then out of hand, this man like thee, call'd Momus
Did hire a goodly building called Domus,
Which this thiefs houshold-stuffe did furnish well,
And there this Gentleman (like thee) doth dwell.
Now to proceed, the poore vnhappy thiefe
Is ready still to hang himselfe with griefe:
For he is cheated of his goods, I wot,
And knowes not when his pardon will be got.
And 'tis much fear'd, the Cheater his owne selfe,
Will worke some meanes to hang him for his pelfe.
How lik'st thou this, i'st not a pretty trick?
But wherefore dost thou chafe, and spurn and kick:
A guilty conscience feeles continuall feare,
And this discourse doth seem to touch thee neare:
Nay, then I will relate another thing,
Which I suppose will make you wince and fling.
Vpon S. Georges day last, Sir, you gaue
To eight Knights of the Garter (like a Knaue)
Eight Manuscripts (or Bookes) all fairely writ,
Informing them they were your Mother wit,
And you compild them; then were you regarded,
And for anothers wit was well rewarded.
All this is teue, and this I dare maintaine,
The matter came from out a learned braine:
And poore old Vennor, that plaine dealing man,
Who acted Englands Ioy first at the Swan,
Paid eight crownes for the writing of these things,
Besides the couers, and the silken strings:
Which money baeke he neuer yet receiu'd,
So the deceiuer is by thee deceiu'd.
First, by those Bookes thou stol'st a good report,
And wast accounted a rare man in Court:
Next, thou didst much abuse those Noble-men,
And kild'st their bounty, from a Poets Pen.
And thirdly, thou a Poet didst beguile,
To make thy selfe the Author of his stile.
And last, thou shewst thy cheating good and euill,
Beguiling him, that could beguile the Deuill.
Thou highly hast prouok'd the Muses fury,
Twelue Poets are empaneld for thy Iury;
Then William Fennor, stand vnto the Bar,
Hold vp thy hand, here thy accusers are:
Art guilty or not guilty of those crimes
Thou art accus'd, th'ast stole fiue thousand rimes,
From But ends of old Ballads, and whole books,
What saist thou for thy selfe, hold vp thy lookes?
He falters, and his words are all vnsteady,
Poore fellow looks as he were hangd already.
His silence doth affirme these things are true,
And therefore let the Bench in order due
Giue sentence, that within a hempen string
He at S. Thomas Wat'rings may goe swing:
And for he liu'd the wonder of our time,
Do him this honor, hang him vp in rime.
A Sirrha, is the matter falne out so,
Must thou Extemp'ry to the Gallowes goe,
For old atquaintance, e'r thou breathe thy last,
I o'r the Water wiil giue thee A Cast.
And till the halter giue thy necke a wrench,
Thou shalt haue time and space in the Kings Bench,
To Con and fesse, and to repent thy fill,
And to dispose thy goods, and make thy will:
Which being done, and thou well hang'd and dead,
This Epitaph vpon thy graue I'l spread,
That passers by may read, and reading see
How much thou art beholden vnto me.

Epitaph.

An Epilogue.

I told thee I had worser rods in pisse,
Thou findst it true, and I haue worse then this,
Which on occasion I will freely vtter,
If thou but dare against me for to mutter:
In three daies thou didst write that book of thine
Thou saist, and I in fourteene houres did mine.
For I would haue thee well to vnderstand,
I businesse haue by water and by land,
My seruice and occasions me incites
To write by snatches, and by spurts a nights.
That if my businesse were but ouer-past,
The writing such another, I durst fast
From sleepe, or sustenance of meat or drinke,
And such a taske would famish thee I thinke.
I for a wager will be locked vp,
And no reliefe will either bite or sup,
Vntill as much as this my muse deuise,
And scarcely be an hungred when I rise.
Then for thine owne sake (Poet Pedler) cease,
Or bind my sharpe fang'd Muse vnto the peace:
For thou maist sweare, & keep thy conscience cleere
That of thy life thou liu'st in mighty feare.
Shee'l make thee desp'rate, thine owne breath bereaue,
By which, she Hangman thou wilt much deceiue,
Thus doe I leaue my lines to all mens view,
To iudge if I haue paid thee not thy due.
To write of thee againe, my Muse hath ceast,
Sufficient is enough, enough's a feast.
I know thy lying Chaps are stopt for euer,
That all thy study and thy best endeuour,
Nor fifty more such shallow brains as thine,
Can answere this one little booke of mine.
But if thou dost, I know 'twill be so lame,
A wise man will not reade it o'r for shame,
And therefore Fennor gnaw vpon this bone,
What next I write, shall better be or none.

Taylors defence of the honesty of his Blew-Bitch.

Now Fennor once more I'l giue thee a twitch
For hunting hotly after my Blue Bitch:
Beware she doth not teare thee by the throat.
She's neither Salt, nor hot, I'd haue thee know't.
Thou (like a Hound) perhaps maist licke her taile,
But further all thy wits cannot preuaile:
I wish thee from thy Kennell not to roame,
But for thine owne tooth keep thy Brache at home.
My Bitch will bite thee sorely, I am sure.
And where she fangs, 'tis commonly past cure.
At honest men shee'l neuer cry baw waw,
But she will snarle, and snap such knaues as thou.
As for my Cod let her be op'd and rip'd,
Let her be search'd to see what she hath ship'd,
And nothing in her all the world can see,
But sharpe Satyricke whips to torture thee.

His Landing.

Now here Iland thee at S. Mary Awdries,
I think not for your worships wōted bawdries
I know your businesse is not for a wench,
The Tipstaffe tels me you are for the Bench,
Where you may feed your Muse on Carrat rootes,
And lie a bed, borrow no shooes or bootes,
And liue within the rules, a good thing truly,
For such a man as you that liue vnruly:
Farewell, and yet I'l visit you againe,
When in a Rugg you Clamor at the Chaine.
And once againe when it falls to your lot,
Below your eare to weare the pendant knot.
Meane space because you are a merry Greeke,
I'l send thee bread and pottage thrice a weeke.

The praise of cleane Linnen. VVITH THE COMMENDABLE VSE OF THE LAVNDRES.

My Muse no tydings brings from Prester Iohn,
Nor from the Fridgide or the Torrid Zone:
She hath not search't Americaes vast bounds,
Nor forag'd ouer Affricks scorched grounds;
For this here vnder writ I trauel'd not
Vnto the Welch, the Irish, or the Scot:
To Towne nor Citty did I make repaire,
Nor did I buy in Market or in Faire
This Linnen treasure, but in Bed alone,
Where (cares except) Bed-fellow had I none.
My drowzy Muse awak'd, and straight she meets
This wel-beloued subiect, 'twixt the sheets.
Yet though not farre my Muse for it did rome,
I did accept it when she brought it home,
And taking pen in hand, I 'gan to write,
What you may read, and reading take delight.
And O sweet Linnen, humbly I implore,
(Though of thee I haue no aboundant store)
Yet, for I am thy seruant at this time,
And with my Muse attend thee with my rime,
Assist thy Poet, neuer let him lacke
A comely, cleanly shirt vnto his backe.
Cleane Linnen is my Mistris, and my Theame
Flowes, like an ouer-flowing plenteous streame,
But first I will discouer what I meane,
By this same seemly word, which men call Cleane:
As Titans light's offenciue to the Owle,
So, Cleane is opposite to what is foule:
Yet (in the ayre) some flying Fowle there are,
Which tane, and cleanly drest, are Fowle cleane fare,
But fouly drest, when it is fairely tooke:
Foule is that Fowle, a foule ill take that Cooke.
But to the word cal'd Cleane, it is allotted,
The admirable Epithite Vnspotted,
From whence all soyl'd pollution is exiled,
And therefore Cleane is called vndefiled:
'Tis faire, 'tis clarifi'd, 'tis mundifi'd,
And from impurity is purifi'd.
But to be truly Cleane is such a state,
As gaines the Noble name immaculate:
And I wish all mankind the grace might win,
To be (as here I meane) all Cleane within.
As 'tis no grace a man a man to be,
If outward forme want inward honesty:
So Linnen if with (Cleane) it be not grac'd,
'Tis noysome, lothsome, and it giues distaste.
As Vertue man or woman doth adorne,
So (Cleane) is Linnens vertue; and is worne
For pleasure, profit, and for ornament,
Throughout the Worlds most spacious continent.
Much more of this word (Cleane) might here be writ,
But tediousnesse is enemy to wit,
Cleane Linnen now my verse descends to thee,
Thou that preordinated wert to be,
Our Corps first Couer, at our naked birth:
And our last garment when we turne to Earth.
So that all men Cleane Linnen should espie,
As a Memento of mortalitie:
And that a Sheet vnto the greatest State,
Is th' Alpha and Omega of his fate.
As at our births Cleane Linnen doth attend vs,
So doth it all our whole liues race befriend vs;
Abroad, at home, in Church or Common-wealth,
At bed, or boord, in sickenesse and in health.
It figures forth the Churches puritie,
And spotlesse Doctrine, and integritie:
Her State Angelicall, white innocence,
Her nursing loue, and bright magnificence.
Yet some for Linnen doe the Church forsake,
And doe a Surplice for a Bug-beare take.
But alwayes to the Church I bring mine eares,
Not eyes to note what roabes Church-men weares:
Now from the Church, let vs returne but home.
And there the cloth is laid against you come:
Though raging hunger make the Stomacke wroth,
'Tis halfe asswag'd by laying of the Cloth.
For in the warres of eating 'tis the vse,
A Table of cloth is hungers flagge of Truce:
Whilst in the fight the Napkins are your friends,
And wait vpon you, at your fingers ends.
Your Dinner and your Supper ouer-past,
By Linnen in your beds, you are imbrac'd,
Then, 'twixt the sheetes refreshing rest you take,
And turne from side to side, and sleepe and wake:
And sure the sheetes in euery Christian Nation
Are walles or limits of our generation;
For where desire, and loue, combined meets,
Then there's braue doings 'twixt a paire of sheets:
But where a Harlots lust doth entertaine,
There one sheets pennance, bides the shames of twaine:
To all degrees my counsaile here is such
That of the lower sheet, take not too much.
As from our beds we doe oft cast our eyes,
Cleane Linnen yeelds a shirt before we rise,
Which is a garment shifting in condition,
And in the Canting tongue is a Commission:
In weale or woe, in ioy or dangerous drifts,
A shirt will put a man vnto his shifts.
For vnto it belongs this fatall lot,
It makes him shift that hath, or hath it not.
The man that hath a shirt doth shift and change,
And he that hath no shirt doth shift and range,
So the conclusion of this point must fall,
He shifteth most that doth not shift at all.
Besides, a shirt, most magically can
Tell if it's owner be an honest man:
The washing will his honesty bewray,
For, the lesse soape will wash his shirt, they say.
Most men Cleane shirts at such esteeme doe prize,
That the poor'st thiefe, who at the gallowes dyes,
If but his shirt is cleane, his mind is eas'd,
He hangs the hansomer, and better pleas'd.
Next, at the smocke I needs must haue a flirt,
(Which is indeed the sister to a shirt)
'Tis many a females Linnen tenement,
Whilest twixt the quarters she receiues her rent.
A Smock's her store-house, or her ware-house rather,
Where shee her commings in doth take and gather.
Her gaines by it are more then can be told,
'Tis her reuenue, and her copy-hold,
Her owne fee simple, shee alone hath power,
To let and set at pleasure euery houre:
'Tis a commodity that giues no day,
'Tis taken vp, and yet yeelds ready pay.
But for most other wares, a man shall bee
Allow'd for payment dayes three months and three.
Yet hath a smocke this great preheminence,
(Where honour's mix'd with modest innocence)
It is the Roabe of married chastitie,
The vaile of Heauen-belou'd Virginitie,
The chaste concealemēt of those fruits close hidden,
Which to vnchaste affections are forbidden,
It is the Casket or the Cabinet,
Where Nature hath her chiefest Iewels set:
For whatsoe'r men toyle for, farre and neere,
By sea or land, with danger, cost, and feare,
Warres wrinkled brow, & the smooth face of peace,
Are both to serue the smocke, and it's increase.
The greatest Kings, and wisest Counsellours,
Stout Soldiers, and most sage Philosophers,
The welthiest Merchants, and Artificers,
Pleibeians, and Plow-toyling labourers,
All these degrees, and more haue woo'd and praid,
And alwayes to the smocke their tributes paid.
Besides, 'tis taken for a fauour great,
(When one his mistris kindly doth intreat)
He holds these words as Iewels dropt from her,
You first shall doe as doth my Smocke, sweet Sir.
This Theame of smocke is very large and wide,
And might (in verse) be further amplifide:
But I thinke best a speedy end to make,
Lest for a smel-smocke some should me mistake:
I first began it with a flirt or flout,
And ending, with a mocke, I will goe out.
The Anagram of Smocke I find is Mockes,
And I conclude, A pox of all strait smockes.
Now vp aloft I mount vnto the Ruffe,
Which into foolish mortals pride doth puffe:
Yet Ruffes antiquity is here but small,
Within this eighty yeeres, not one at all;
For the eighth Henry, (as I vnderstand)
Was the first King that euer wore a Band,
And but a falling Band, plaine with a hem,
All other people knew no vse of them,
Yet imitation in small time began,
To grow, that it the Kingdome ouer-ran:
The little falling-bands encreac'd to Ruffes,
Ruffes (growing great) were waited on by Cuffes,
And though our frailties should awake our care,
We make our Ruffes as carelesse as we are:
Our Ruffes vnto our faults compare I may,
Both carelesse, and growne greater euery day.
A Spaniards Ruffe in follio, large and wide,
Is th'abstract of ambitions boundlesse pride.
For roundnesse 'tis the Embleme, as you see,
Of the terrestriall Globes rotunditie,
And all the world is like a Ruffe to Spaine,
Which doth encircle his aspiring braine,
And his vnbounded pride doth still persist,
To haue it set, and poaked as he list.
The sets to Organ-pipes, compare I can,
Because they doe offend the Puritan,
Whose zeale doth call it superstition,
And Badges of the Beast of Babilon.
Ruffes onely at the first were in request,
With such as of abilitie were best:
But now the plaine, the stich'd, the lac'd, and shagge,
Are at all prices worne by tagge, and Ragge.
So Spaine (who all the world would weare) shall see,
Like Ruffes, the world from him shall scat'red bee.
As for the Cuffe 'tis pretily encreast,
(Since it began, two hand fuls at the least:)
At first 'twas but a girdle for the wrist,
Or a small circle to enclose the fist,
Which hath by little and by little crept;
And from the wrist vnto the elboe leap't,
Which doth resemble sawcy persons well,
For giue a Knaue an inch, hee'l take an ell.
Ruffes are to Cuffes, as 'twere the breeding mothers,
And Cuffes are twins in pride, or two proud brothers.
So to conclude, Pride weares them for abuse,
Humilitie, for ornament and vse,
A Night-cap is a garment of high state,
Which in captiuitie doth captiuate
The braine, the reason, wit, and sense and all,
And euery night doth beare sway capitall.
And as the horne aboue the head is worne,
So is the Night-cap worne aboue the horne,
And is a Sconce or Block-house for the head,
Wherein much matter is considered,
And therefore (when too much wee sucke the tap)
'Tis truly called a considering Cap.
By day it waits on Agues, Plurifies,
Consumptions and all other malladies,
A day worne Night-cap, in our Common-wealth,
Doth shew the wearer is not well in health:
Yet some mens folly makes my muse to smile,
When for a kib'd heele, broken shin, or bile,
Scab'd hams, cut fingers, or a little sear,
A Groyne Bumpe, or a Goose from Winchester:
When I see Night-caps worne for these poore vses,
It makes my worship laugh at their abuses.
Thus is a Night-cap most officious,
A Captaine, Captious, and Capritious,
And though vnmarried young men may forbeare it,
Yet age, and wedlocke makes a man to weare it.
A Handkerchiefe may well be cal'd in briefe,
Both a perpetuall leacher, and a thiefe,
About the lippes it's kissing, good and ill,
Or else 'tis diuing in the pocket still,
As farre as from the pocket to the mouth,
So is it's pilgrimage with age or youth.
At Christning-banquets and at funerals,
At weddings (Comfit-makers festiuals)
A Handkerchiefe doth filch most manifold,
And sharke and steale as much as it can hold.
'Tis soft, and gentle, yet this I admire at,
At sweet meates 'tis a tyrant, and a pyrat.
Moreouer 'tis a Handkerchiefes high place,
To be a Scauenger vnto the face,
To clense it cleane from sweat and excrements,
Which (not auoyded) were vnsauory scents;
And in our griefes it is a trusty friend,
For in our sorrow it doth comfort lend:
It doth partake our sighes, our plaints and feares,
Receiues our sobs, and wipes away our teares.
Thus of our good and bad it beares a share.
A friend in mirth a comforter in care.
Yet I haue often knowne vnto my cost,
A Handkerchiefe is quickly found, and lost.
Like loue where true affection hath no ground.
So is it slightly lost, and lightly found;
But be it ten times lost, this right I'l doe it,
The fault is his or hers that should looke to it.
Should I of euery sort of Linnen write,
That serues vs at our need, both day and night,
Dayes, months and yeeres, I in this Theame might spend
And in my life time scarcely make an end.
Let it suffice that when 'tis fretted out,
And that a cloth is worne into a clout,
Which though it be but thin and poore in shape,
A Surgeon into lint the same will scrape,
Or rolles, or bolsters, or with plaster spread,
To dresse and cure, all hurts from heele to head,
For gangrens, vlcers, or for wounds new hack'd,
For cuts, and slashes, and for Coxcombs crack'd.
Thus many a Gallant that dares stab and swagger,
And 'gainst a Iustice lift his fist or dagger:
And being mad perhaps, and hot pot-shot,
A crazed Crowne or broken-pate hath got;
Then ouer him old Linnen domineeres,
And (spight of's teeth) it clouts him 'bout the eares.
Thus new or old, it hath these good effects,
To cure our hurts, or couer our defects:
And when it selfe's past helpe, with age and rending,
Quite past selfe mending, 'tis our means of mēding,
The flint and steele will strike bright sparkling fire;
But how can wee haue fire at our desire,
Except old Linnen be to tinder burn'd,
Which by the steele and flint to fire is turn'd?
Thus all Cleane Linnen that a Laundresse washes,
My Muse hath worne to clowts, or turn'd to ashes.
And ther's the end on't. Now I must pursue,
(The old consumed) how to purchase new.
Now of the louely Laundresse, whose cleane trade
Is th'onely cause that Linnen's cleanely made:
Her liuing is on two extremes relying,
Shee's euer wetting, or shee's euer drying.
As all men dye to liue, and liue to dye,
So doth shee dry to wash, and wash to drye.
Shee runnes like Luna in her circled spheare,
As a perpetuall motion shee doth steare.
Her course in compasse round and endlesse still,
Much like a horse that labours in a mill:
To shew more plaine how shee her worke doth frame,
Our Linnen's foule e'r shee doth wash the same:
From washing further in her course she marches,
She wrings, she folds, she pleits, she smoothes, she starches,
She stiffens, poakes, and sets and dryes againe,
And foldes: thus end of paine begins her paine.
Round like a whirligigge or lenten Top,
Or a most plenteous spring, that still doth drop.
The Suddes vnto the Sea I may compare,
The Reake or smocke, the wind; the fishes Linnen are,
The Laundresse fishes, foaming froth doth lighten,
The whilest her tongue doth thunder & affrighten,
The totall is a tempest full of chiding,
That no man in the house hath quiet byding.
For Laundresses are testy and full of wroth,
When they are lathering in their bumble broth,
Nor can I blame them, though they brawle & talke,
Men there haue nought to doe, they may goe walke:
Yet commonly their worke this profit brings,
The good-wife washeth, and her husband wrings.
But though my verse thus merrily doth stray,
Yet giue the Laundresse still her due I pray:
What were the painefull Spinner, or the Weauer,
But for her labour, and her good endeauour,
What were the function of the Linnen Draperye,
Or Sempsters odmirable skill in Naperye?
They all might turne and wind, and liue by losse,
But that the Laundresse giues their worke a glosse,
All Linnen that wee vse to weare, 'tis plaine,
The Laundresse labour giues it grace and gaine,
Without her 'tis most loathsome in distaste,
And onely by her paines and toyle 'tis grac'd,
Shee is the ornamentall Instrument,
That makes it tastefull to the sight and scent:
All you man-monsters, monstrous Linnen soylers,
You shirt polluting tyrants, you sheets spoylers,
Robustious rude Ruffe-rending raggamentoyes
Terratritorian tragma Troynouantoyes
Remember that your Laundresse paines is great,
Whose labours onely keepe you sweet and neat:
Consider this, that here is writ, or said,
And pay her, (not as was the Sculler paid)
Call not your Laundresse slut or slabb'ring queane,
It is her slabb'ring that doth keepe thee cleane,
Nor call her not Drye-washer in disgrace,
For feare shee cast the suddes into thy face:
By her thy Linnen's sweet and cleanely drest,
Else thou wouldst stinke aboue ground like a beast.
There is a bird which men Kings fisher call,
Which in foule weather hath no ioy at all,
Or scarce abroad into the ayre doth peepe,
But in her melancholy nest doth keepe:
Till Tytans glory from the burnish'd East,
Rich Bridegroome-like in gold and purple drest,
Guilds, and enamels mountaines, woods, and hilles,
And the rotundious Globe with splendor filles,
In these braue Buksome merry Halcion dayes,
Then this most bewteous bird her plumes displaies.
So doth a Laundresse, when the Sun doth hide
His head, when skyes weepe raine and thunder chide,
When powting, lowring, slauering sleete & snow,
From foggy Austers blustring iawes doth blow,
Then shee in moody melancholy sittes,
And sighing, vents her griefe by girds and fittes:
Her liquid Linnen piteous pickl'd lyes,
For which shee lowres and powts as doth the skies,
But when bright Phœbus makes Aurora blush,
And roabes the welkin with a purple flush,
Whē mourning cloudes haue wasted all their teares,
And welcome weather faire and dry appeares,
Then to the hedge amaine the Laundresse ambles,
In weeds of pennance clothing bryers and brambles,
Like a Commaundresse, vsing martiall Lawes,
She strikes, she poakes and thrusts, she hangs and drawes,
She stiffens stifly, she both opes and shuttes,
She sets, and out she pulles, and in she puttes.
Nor caring much if wind blow low or hye,
Whilst drunkards thirst for drink, she thirsts to dry.
Thus hauing shew'd the Laundresse praise and paine,
How end or worke begins her worke againe:
I hope amongst them they will all conclude,
Not to requite me with ingratitude:
But as an Act they'l friendly haue decreed,
I ne'r shall want Cleane Linnen at my need.
Whil'st to their owne contentments I comend them,
And wish faire drying weather may attend them.
If thankefully you take this worke of mine,
Hereafter I will cause the muses nine,
To helpe me adde, to what seemes here diminish'd,
So Vale Tote, here my Booke is Finish'd.

VVit and Mirth: CHARGEABLY COLLECTED OVT OF TAVERNS, ORDINARIES, Innes, Bowling-Greenes and Allyes, Alehouses, Tobacco-shops, Highwayes, and Water-passages.

Made vp, and fashioned into Clinches, Bulls, Quirkes, Yerkes, Quips, and Ierkes. Apothegmatically bundled vp and garbled at the request of old Iohn Garrets Ghost.

IOHN GARRETS GHOST.

The doores and windowes of the Heauens were barr'd,
And Nights blacke Curtaine, like an Ebon Robe,
From Earth did all Celestiall light discard,
And in sad darknesse clad the ample Globe;
Dead midnight came, the Cats 'gan catterwaule,
The time when Ghosts and Goblings walke about;
Bats flye, Owles shrick, & dismall Dogs doe bawle,
Whiles conscience cleare securely sleeps it out.
At such a time I sleeping in my bed,
A vision strange appear'd vnto my sight,
Amazement all my senses ouer spread,
And fill'd me full with terrour and afright.
A merry graue aspect me thought he had,
And one he seem'd that I had often seene:
Yet was he in such vncouth shape yclad,
That what he was, I could not wistly weene.
His cloake was Sack, but not the Sacke of Spaine,
Canara, Mallago, or sprightfull Shery,
But made of Sack-cloth, such as beares the graine,
Good salt, & coles, which makes the Porters weary;
Lac'd round about with platted wheaten straw,
For which he nothing to the Silke-man owed:
A wearing neuer mention'd in the Law,
And yet far off, like good gold lace it show'd.
Lin'd was his mantle with good Essex plush,
Pyde Calues skins, or Veale sattin, which you will:
It neuer was worne threedbare with a brush,
I (naturally) sau'd the labour still.
A hat like Grantham steeple, for the crowne
Or Piramide was large in altitude:
With frugall brim, whereby he still was knowne
From other men amongst a multitude.
A Princes shooe, he for a iewell wore,
Two ribbonds, and a feather in his beauer,
Which shape me thought I oft had seene before,
Yet out of knowledge where, as't had bin neuer.
He in his hand a flaming torch did hold,
(And as he neerer did approach to me)
My hayre 'gan stand on end, feare struck me cold;
Feare not, I am Iohn Garrets ghost, quoth he,
I come to rowze thy dull and lazy Muse
From idlenesse, from Lethe's hatefull lake:
And therefore stand vpon no vaine excuse,
But rise, and to thy tooles thy selfe betake.
Remember me, although my carkasse rot,
Write of me, to me, call me Foole or Iester.
But yet I pray thee (Taylor) ranke me not,
Among those knaues that doe the world bepester,
Thou wrot'st of great O toole and Coriat,
Of braue Sir Thomas Parsons, Knight o'th Sun,
And Archy hath thy verse to glory at,
And yet for me thou nought hast euer done.
Write that in Ireland, I in Mars his crayne,
Long time did vnder noble Norris serue:
Where (as I could) I stood 'gainst Pope and Spaine,
Whilst some were slain, & some wth want did starue
Where shot, & wounds, & knocks, I gaue and tooke,
Vntill at last halfe maimed as I was,
A man decrepit, I those warres forsooke,
And (with my Passe) did to my Country passe.
Where getting health, I then shooke hands with death,
And to the Court I often made resort.
Where Englands mighty Queene Elizabeth
Allow'd me entertainment for disport.
Then by the foretop did I take old time:
Then were not halfe to many fooles as now;
Then was my haruest, and my onely prime,
My purse receiuing what my wit did plow.
Then in such compasse I my iests would hold,
That though I gaue a man a gird or twaine,
All his reuenge would be to giue me gold,
With commendations of my nimble braine.
Thus liu'd I till that gracious Queene deceast,
Who was succeeded by a famous King:
In whose blest Sons reigne (I with yeeres opprest)
Me to my graue, sicknesse and death did bring.
And now (kind Iacke) thou seest my ayrie forme,
Hath shaken off her Iayle of flesh and bone,
Whilest they remaine the feast of many a worme,
My better part doth visit thee alone.
And as betweene vs still, our good requests,
Thou neuer me, I neuer thee deny'd:
So for my sake collect some merry iests,
Whereby sad time may be with mirth supply'd.
And when 'tis written, find some good man forth,
One (as thou think'st) was when I liu'd my friend:
And though thy lines may be but little worth,
Yet vnto him my duty recommend.
So farewell Iacke, dame Luna 'gins to rise,
The twinkling stars begin to borrow light:
Remember this my suit, I thee aduise,
And so once more good honest Iacke good night.
With that more swifter then a shaft from bow,
He cut and curried through the empty ayre,
Whilest I amaz'd with feare, as could as snow,
Straight felt my spirits quickly to repayre.
And though I found it but a dreame indeed,
Yet for his sake of whom I dreamed then,
I left my bed, and cloath'd my selfe with speed,
And presently betooke me to my pen:
Cleere was the morne, and Phœbus lent me light,
And (as it followeth) I began to write.

WIT AND MIRTH.

(55)

[This bawdy Miller in a trap was catch]

This bawdy Miller in a trap was catch,
Not onely married, but most fitly match:
In this the prouerb is approued plaine,
What breadmen breake is broke to them againe.

(56)

[This mans blind ignorance I may compare]

This mans blind ignorance I may compare
To Aquavitæ giuen to a Mare:
Let each man his owne calling then apply,
Ne sutor vltra crepidam, say I.

(57)

[Let not man boast of wit or learning deepe]

Let not man boast of wit or learning deepe,
For ignorance may out of knowledge creepe
Amongst 12 men 4 mile an houre to ride;
He that hath wit, to each his share diuide.

(58)

[If vp the hill a measur'd mile it be]

If vp the hill a measur'd mile it be,
Then downe the hill's another mile; I see:
A groat to pay, 4 pence will quit the cost:
What's won in t' hundred, in the shire is lost.

(59)

[Here rashnesse did the Gallants tongue o'rship]

Here rashnesse did the Gallants tongue o'rship,
To whom the Shepheard gaue a pleasing nip:
Thus softest fire doth make the sweetest Mault,
And mild reproofes makes rashnesse see his fault.

(60)

[The boyling of this wenches eggs I find]

The boyling of this wenches eggs I find,
Much like vnto a greedy mizers mind:
The eggs, the more they boyle are harder still;
The mizer's full, too full, yet wants his fill.

(61)

[Thus wit with wit agrees like cake and cheese]

Thus wit with wit agrees like cake and cheese;
Both sides are gainers, neither side doth leese:
Conceit begets conceit, iest, iest doth father,
And butter falne to ground, doth something gather.

(62)

[What's one mans yea, may be anothers nay]

What's one mans yea, may be anothers nay;
The Sun doth soften wax, and harden clay:
Some Citizens are like to iests, for why,
They'll breake in iest, or bankrupt policy.

(63)

[This is a ridle to a foole, methinks]

This is a ridle to a foole, methinks,
And seemes to want an Oedipus or Sphinx.
But Reader, in my booke I hold it fit,
To find you lines, your selfe must find you wit.

(64)

[Too much of one thing oft proues good for nothing]

Too much of one thing oft proues good for nothing,
And dainties in satiety, breed lothing:
Th'ones flattery mingled with the others pride,
Had seru'd them both, both might liue long vnspide

(65)

[Be it to all men by these presents knowne]

Be it to all men by these presents knowne,
Men need not kneele to giue away their owne:
Ile stand vpon my feet when as I giue,
And kneele when as I beg more meanes to liue:
But some by this may vnderstand,
That Courtiers oftner kneele then stand.

(66)

[One Spaniard mongst 6000, pitty t'were]

One Spaniard mongst 6000, pitty t'were,
Better ten thousand Britains bold were there,
Led by braue Leaders, that might make Spain quake
Like Vere, or Morgan, Essex, Blunt, or Drake.

(67)

[I will not say the man that spake so ly'd]

I will not say the man that spake so ly'd,
Seuen veeres agoe, no doubt hee might haue dy'd:
He by his trade perhaps might be a dyer,
And daily dy'd to liue, and bin no lyer.

(68)

[Thus in the preter tense a foole he was]

Thus in the preter tense a foole he was,
And in the present tense he is an Asse;
And in the future, foole and asse shall bee,
That goes or rides so far such sights to see.

(69)

[I wish that all the Fencers in our Nation]

I wish that all the Fencers in our Nation,
Were onely of this Parsons Congregation:
That he his life and doctrine should explaine
By beating them, whilst they beat him againe.

(70)

[Eight's before eighty, all men may descry]

Eight's before eighty, all men may descry,
Yet wee name eighty first, contrarily.
Pull off my Boots and Spures, I you beseech,
When Spures and Boots is rather proper speech.

(71)

[The prouerbe saies, hee that will sweare will lie]

The prouerbe saies, hee that will sweare will lie,
He that will lie will steale by consequency:
Swearers are lyers, lyers most are thieues,
Or God helpe Iaylors, and true Vndershrieues.

(72)

[The prodigall at Pouerty doth scoffe]

The prodigall at Pouerty doth scoffe,
Though from his backe the begger's not farre off.
Here flour with flout, and bob with bo is quitted,
And proud vain-glorious folly finely fitted.

(73)

[Men sleepe at Sermons, sure their braines are adle]

Men sleepe at Sermons, sure their braines are adle,
Sly Satan lulls them, and doth rocke the cradle:
When men thus doe no ill, 'tis vnderstood,
The diuell hinders them from doing good.

(74)

[They say he's wise that can himselfe keepe warme]

They say he's wise that can himselfe keepe warme,
And that the man that sleeps well thinks no harme
Hee sung not, yet was in a merry mood,
Like Iohn Indifferent, did not harme nor good.

(75)

[Here's Bore and Brawne together are well met]

Here's Bore and Brawne together are well met,
He knew that giuing was no way to get.
The world gets somewhat by the prodigall,
When as the Mizer gets the diuell and all.

(76)

[This Rascals eye is with a beame so blind]

This Rascals eye is with a beame so blind,
That in the poore mans hee a moat can find:
The Wolfe himselfe, a temperate feeder deemes,
And euery man too much himselfe esteemes.

(77)

[All is not gold (they say) that glisters bright]

All is not gold (they say) that glisters bright,
Snow is not suger, though it looke as white:
And 'tis approued to be true and common,
That euery Lady's not a Gentlewoman.

(78)

[Here Pride that takes Humility in snuffe]

Here Pride that takes Humility in snuffe,
Is well encountred with a counterbuffe:
One would not giue the wall vnto a knaue,
The other would, and him the wall he gaue.

(79)

[This fellow was a knaue, or foole, or both]

This fellow was a knaue, or foole, or both,
Or else his wit was of but slender growth:
He gaue the white-fac'd Calfe the Lyons stile,
The Iustice was a proper man the while.

(120)

[He cals for light, she vnderstood him right]

He cals for light, she vnderstood him right,
For shee was vanity which made her light:
She sayd, she would Incontinent attend,
To make her Continent, she needs to mend.

TO THE KINGS MOST Excellent Maiestie.

The humble petition of Iohn Tailor, your Maiesties poore Water-Poet.

Sheweth,

Most mighty Monarch of this famous Ile,
(Vpon the knees of my submissiue minde)
I begge thou wilt be graciously inclin'd,
To reade these lines my rusticke pen compile:
Know (Royall Sir) Tom Coriate workes the wile,
Your high displeasure on my head to bring;
And well I wot, the sot, his words can file,
In hope my fortunes head long downe to fling.
The King, whose wisedome through the world did ring,
Did heare the cause of two offending Harlots.
So, I beseech thee (Great) great Britaines King,
To doe the like for two contending Varlots.
A brace of Knaues your Maiesty implores,
To heare their suites as Salomon heard whores.

A DOGGE OF VVARRE, OR, The Trauels of Drunkard, the famous Curre of the Round Woollstaple in Westminster.

His seruices in the Netherlands, and lately in FRANCE, with his home returne.

To the Reader.

A Dogge of Warre.

ANNO.

This Series writ the day and yeare,
That Seacoales were exceeding deare.

The VVorld runnes on vvheeles: OR, Oddes betwixt Carts and Coaches.

The Diuell, the Flesh, the World doth Man oppose,
And are his mighty and his mortall foes:
The Diuell and the whorish Flesh drawes still,
The World on wheeles runnes after with good will.
For that which we the World may iustly call,
(I meane the lower Globe Terrestriall)
Is (as the Diuell, and a Whore doth please)
Drawne here and there, and euerie where, with ease.
Those that their Liues to vertue here doe frame,
Are in the World, but yet not of the same.
Some such there are, whom neither Flesh or Diuell
Can wilfully drawe on to any euill:
But for the World, as 'tis the World, you see,
It Runnes on wheeles, and who the Palfreys be.
Which Embleme to the Reader doth display,
The Diuell and Flesh runne swift away.
The Chain'd ensnared World doth follow fast,
Till All into Perditions pit be cast.
The Picture topsie-turuie stands kewwaw:
The World turn'd vpside downe, as all men know

The Nipping or Snipping of ABVSES: OR, The Wooll-gathering of Wit.

To the Castalian Water-writer, Splende & dignoscar.

A diall set vpon an eminent place,
If clouds doe interuall Apolloes face,
Is but a figur'd shape: whereby we knowe
No article of Time, which it doth owe
Vnto our expectations, yet wee see
The tractes by which Times should distinguish'd be:
In paralelled punctuall, ciphered lines,
Which by a shadow, when the faire sunne shines,
Explaines the houres: So if the Sonne of men
Thy Glorious Patron, deeme to blesse thy pen
With his faire light, Thy Muse so young, so faire,
So well proportion'd, in conceites so rare:
And Naturall streames, and stile, and eu'ry part,
That Nature therein doth exceed all Art,
Will then as with Enthusiasme inspir'd,
Print Legends by the world to be admir'd.

To my friend by land and by water, Iohn Taylor.

These leaues, kind Iohn, are not to wrap vp drams,
That doe containe thy witty Epigrams,
Let worser Poems serue for such abuse,
Whilst thine shall be reseru'd for better vse.
And let each Critick cauill what he can,
Tis rarely written of a Water-man.

To his deare friend Master Iohn Taylor.

To the Water-Poet, Iohn Taylor.

Honest Iohn Taylor, though I know't no grace,
To thee, or me, for writing in this place,
Yet know I that the multitudes of friends
Will thee protect, from vile malignant mindes:
The rather cause what euer thou hast showne,
Is no one mans inuention, but thine owne.
Malicious minded men will thee dispraise;
Enuy debases all, her selfe to raise.
Then rest content, whilst to thy greater fame,
Both Art, and Nature striue to raise thy name.

To my friend Iohn Taylor.

If Homers verse (in Greeke) did merit praise,
If Naso in the Latine won the Bayes,
If Maro 'mongst the Romanes did excell,
If Tasso in the Tuscan tongue wrote well,
Then Taylor, I conclude that thou hast don
In English, what immortall Baies haue won.

To my honest friend Iohn Taylor.

Thy Taylors shears, foule vices wings haue clipt,
The seames of impious dealings are vnript:
So Art-like thou these captious times hast quipt,
As if in Helicon thy pen were dipt,
All those who' gainst thy worth are enuious lipt,
Thy sharpe Satyrick Muse hath nipt and snipt:
And to conclude, thy 'nuention is not chipt,
Or stolne or borrowd, begd, or basely gript.
Then Taylor, thy conceits are truely sowde,
And, Sculler, (on my word) it was well rowde.

In Laudem Authoris.

Most commonly one Taylor will dispraise
Anothers workmanship, enuying alwaies
At him thats better then himselfe reputed,
Though he himselfe be but a botcher bruted:
So might it well be said of me (my friend)
Should I not to thy worke some few lines lend,
Which to make probable, this sentence tendeth,
Who not commends, he surely discommendeth:
In my illiterate censure, these thy rimes,
Deserue applause, euen in these worst of times:
VVhen wit is onely worthy held in those,
On whom smooth flattery vaine praise bestowes;
But I not minding with thy worth to flatter,
Do know thy wit too good to toyle by water.

To my friend Iohn Taylor.

This worke of thine, thou hast compil'd so well,
It merits better wits thy worth to tell.

The Authours description of a Poet and Poesie, with an Apology in defence of Naturall English Poetry.

Shall beggers diue into the Acts of Kings?
Shall Nature speake of supernat'rall things,
Shall Eagles flights attempted be by Gnats?
Shall mighty Whales be portraied out by Sprats?
These things I know vnpossible to be,
And it is as vnpossible for mee,
That am a begger in these Kingly acts,
Which from the heau'ns true Poetrie extracts.
A supernat'rall foole by Nature I
That neuer knew this high-borne mystery,
A worthlesse gnat, I know my selfe more weake,
Yet of the Princely Eagle dare to speake:
A silly sprat the Ocean seekes to sound,
To seek this Whale, though seeking he be drown'd:
Then to proceed: a Poets Art, I know,
Is not compact of earthly things below:
Nor is of any base substantiall mettle,
That in the worlds rotundity doth settle:
But tis immortall, and it hath proceeding,
From whēce diuinest soules haue all their breeding.
It is a blessing heau'n hath sent to men,
By men it is diuulged with their pen:
And by that propagation it is knowne,
And ouer all the world disperst and throwne:
In verball elocution so refinde,
That it to Vertue animates mans minde:
The blessed Singer of blest Israel,
In this rare Arte, he rarely did excell,
He sweetly Poetiz'd in heau'nly verses,
Such lines which aye eternity rehearses:
What Reuerend rare, and glorious great esteeme
Augustus Cæsar did a Poet deeme.
Admired Virgils life doth plainely show,
That all the world a Poets worth may know:
But leauing Israels King, and Romane Cæsar,
Let's seeke in England English Poets treasure,
Sir Philip Sidney, his times Mars and Muse,
That word and sword, so worthily could vse,
That spight of death, his glory liu's, alwaies
For Conquests, and for Poesie crown'd with bayes:
What famous men liue in this age of ours,
As if the Sisters nine had left their bowres,
With more post haste then expeditious wings
They heere haue found the Heliconian springs.
We of our mighty Monarch Iames may boast,
Who in this heau'nly Arte exceeds the most:
Where men may see the Muses wisdome well:
When such a glorious house they chose to dwell.
The Preacher whose instructions, doe afford
The soules deare food, the euerliuing Word:
If Poets skill be banisht from his braine,
His preaching (sometimes) will be but too plaine:
Twixt Poetry and best diuinity
There is such neere and deare affinity,
As 'twere propinquity of brothers blood,
That without tone, the other's not so good:
The man that takes in hand braue verse to write,
And in Diuinitie hath no insight,
He may perhaps make smooth, and Art-like Rimes,
To please the humours of these idle times:
But name of Poet hee shall neuer merit,
Though writing them, he waste his very spirit:
They therefore much mistake that seeme to say,
How euery one that writes a paltrie play:
A sottish Sonnet in the praise of loue,
A song or jigge, that fooles to laughter moue,
In praise or dispraise, in defame or fame,
Deserues the honour of a Poets name:
I further say, and further will maintaine,
That he that hath true Poesie in his braine,
Will not profane so high and heau'nly skill,
To glory or be proud of writing ill:
But if his Muse doe stoope to such deiection,
Tis but to shew the world her sinnes infection:
A Poets ire sometimes may be inflam'd:
To make foule Vices brazen face asham'd.
And then his Epigrams and Satyres whip,
Will make base gald vnruly Iades to skip:
In frost they say 'tis good, bad blood be nipt,
And I haue seene Abuses whipt and stript
In such rare fashion, that the wincing age,
Hath kick'd and flung, with vncontrouled rage.
Oh worthy Withers, I shall loue thee euer,
And often maist thou doe thy best indeuer,
That still thy workes and thee may liue together,
Contending with thy name and neuer wither.
But further to proceed in my pretence
Of natr'all English Poetries defence:
For Lawreat Sidney, and our gracious Iames,
Haue plunged been in Arts admired streames:
And all the learned Poets of our dayes,
Haue Arts great ayde to winne still liuing Bayes:
All whom I doe confesse such worthy men,
That I vnworthy am with inke and pen
To carry after them But since my haps
Haue been so happy as to get some scraps,
By Nature giu'n me from the Muses table,
I'le put them to the best vse I am able:
I haue read Tasso, Virgill, Homer, Ouid,
Iosephus, Plutark, whence I haue approued,
And found such obseruations as are fit,
With plenitude to fraught a barren wit.
And let a man of any nation be,
These Authors reading, makes his iudgement see
Some rules that may his ignorance refine,
And such predominance it hath with mine.
No bladder-blowne ambition puff's my Muse,
An English Poets writings to excuse:
Nor that I any rule of art condem,
Which is Dame Natures ornamentall Iem:
But these poore lines I wrote (my wits best pelfe)
Defending that which can defend it selfe.
Know then vnnat'ral English Mungril Monster,
Thy wandring iudgemēt doth too much misconster:
When thou affirm'st thy Natiue Country-man,
To make true verse no art or knowledge can:
Cease, cease to do this glorious Kingdome wrong,
To make her speech inferiour to each tongue:
Shew not thy selfe more brutish then a beast,
Base is that bird that files her homeborne neast.
In what strange tongue did Virgils Muse commerce?
What language wast that Ouid wrote his verse?
Thou sayst 't was Latin: why I say so too,
In no tongue else they any thing could doo:
They Naturally did learne it from their mother,
And must speake Latin, that could speake no other:
The Grecian blinded Bard did much compile,
And neuer vsde no foreigne far-fetcht stile:
But as hee was a Greeke, his verse was Greeke,
In other tongues (alas) he was to seeke.
Du Bartas heauenly all admired Muse,
No vnknowne Language euer vs'de to vse:
But as he was a Frenchman, so his lines
In natiue French with fame most glorious shines,
And in the English tongue tis fitly stated,
By siluer-tongued Siluester translated.
So well, so wisely, and so rarely done,
That he by it immortall fame hath wonne.
Then as great Maro, and renowned Naso,
Braue Homer, Petrarke, sweet Italian Tasso:
And numbers more, past numbring to be numberd,
Whose rare inuentions neuer were incumberd,
With our outlandish chip chop gibrish gabbling:
To fill mens cares with vnacquainted babbling:
Why may not then an English man, I pray;
In his owne language write as erst did they?
Yet must we suit our phrases to their shapes,
And in their imitations be their Apes.
Whilst Muses haunt the fruitfull forked hill,
The world shall reuerence their vnmatched skill.
And for inuention, fiction, methood, measure,
From them must Poets seeke to seeke that treasure.
But yet I think a man may vse that tongue
His Country vses, and doe them no wrong.
Then I whose Artlesse studies are but weake,
Who neuer could, nor will but English speake,
Do heere maintaine, if words be rightly plac'd,
A Poets skill, with no tongue more is grac'd.
It runnes so smooth, so sweetly it doth flow,
From it such heauenly harmony doth grow,
That it the vnderstanders sences moues
With admiration, to expresse their loues.
No musicke vnder heauen is more diuine,
Then is a well-writ, and a well-read line.
But when a witlesse selfe-conceited Rooke,
A good inuention dares to ouerlooke:
How pitteous then mans best of wit is martyr'd,
In barbrous manner totter'd, torne and quarter'd,
So mingle mangled, and so hack't and hewd,
So scuruily beseuruide and bemewde?
Then this detracting durty dunghill Drudge,
Although he vnderstand not, yet will iudge.
Thus famous Poesie must abide the doome
Of euery muddy-minded raskall Groome.
Thus rarest Artists are continuall stung
By euery prating, stinking lumpe of dung.
For what cause then should I so much repine,
When best of writers that ere wrote a line,
Are subiect to the censure of the worst,
Who will their follies vent, or else they burst?
I haue at idle times some Pamphlets writ,
(The fruitlesse issue of a nat'rall wit)
And cause I am no Scholler, some enuy me,
With foule and false calumnious words belie me:
With brazen fronts, and flinty hard beleefe,
Affirming or suspecting me a theefe:
And that my sterrile Muse so dry is milch'd,
That what I write, is borrow'd, beg'd, or filch'd.
Because my name is Taylor, they suppose
My best inuentions all from stealing growes:
As though there were no difference to be made
Betwixt the name of Taylor, and the Trade.
Of all strange weapons, I haue least of skill
To mannage or to wield a Taylors bill.
I cannot Item it for silke and facing,
For cutting, edging, stiffning, and for lacing:
For bumbast, stitching, binding and for buckram,
For cotton, bayes, for canuas and for lockram.
All these I know, but know not how to vse them,
Let trading Taylors therefore still abuse them,
My skil's as good to write, to sweate, or row,
As any Taylors is to stea e or sow.
In end my pulsiue braine no Art affoords,
To mint or stamp, or forge new coyned words.
But all my tongue can speake or pen can write,
VVas spoke and writ, before I could indite,
Yet let me be of my best hopes bereft,
If what I euer writ, I got by theft:
Or by base symony, or bribes, or gifts,
Or beg'd, or borrowd it by sharking shifts,
I know, I neuer any thing haue done,
But what may from a weake inuention runne.
Giue me the man whose wit will vndertake
A substance of a shaddow for to make:
Of nothing something, (with Arts greatest aide)
With Nature onely all his Muse arraide,
That solid matter from his braine can squeez,
Whilst some lame Artists wits are drawn to'th leez.
By teaching Parrots prate and prattle can,
And taught an Ape will imitate a man:
And Banks his hors shew'd tricks, taught with much labor,
So did the hare that plaid vpon the tabor.
Shall man, I pray, so witlesse be besotted?
Shall men (like beasts) no wisdome be allotted?
(Without great studie) with instinct of Nature,
Why then were man the worst and basest creature?
But men are made the other creatures Kings,
Because superiour wisdome from them springs:
And therefore Momus, vnto thee againe,
That dost suspect, the issues of my braine,
Are but my bastards, now my Muse doth flie,
And in thy throat giues thy suspect the lie.
And to the triall dares thee when thou dar'st,
Accounting thee a coward, if thou spar'st.
I haue a little wit, and braine, and spleene,
And gall and memorie, and mirth and teene,
And passions, and affections of the minde,
As other Mortals vse to be enclinde.
And hauing all this, wherefore should men doubt,
My wit should be so crippled with the Gowt,
That it must haue assistance to compile,
Like a lame dog, that's limping or a stile?
No, no, thou Zoylus, thou detracting else,
Though thou art insufficient in thy selfe,
And hast thy wit and studies in reuersion,
Cast not on me that scandalous aspersion.
I hate such ballad-mongring riming slaues,
Such iygging rascals, such audacious knaues,
The bane of learning, the abuse of Arts,
The scumme of Natures worst defectiue parts:
The scorne of schollers, poison of rewards,
Regardlesse vassalls of true worths regards,
The shame of time, the canker of deserts,
The dearth of liberall and heroicke hearts,
That like so many bandogs snarle and snatch,
And all's their owne they can from others catch:
That licke the scraps of Schollers wits (like dogs)
(A Prouerbe old) draffs good enough for hogs.
Purloyning line by line, and peece by peece,
And from each place they read, will filch a fleece.
Me thinks my Muse should piecemeale teare these rogues
More base & vile thē tatter'd Irish brogues.
Clawkissing raskals, flattering parasites,
Sworne vices vassalls, vertues opposites.
Tis you dambde curs haue murderd liberall minds,
And made best Poets worse esteem'd then hindes:
But wherefore doe I take a Schollers part,
That haue no ground or Axioms of Art,
That am in Poesie an artlesse creature,
That haue no learning but the booke of Nature;
No Academicall Poeticke straines,
But home-spun medley of my mottley braines?
The reason a Schollers wants bewaile,
And why against base litter'd whelps I raile,
Is this, that they long time should time bestow,
In painefull study, secret Arts to know,
And after liue in want, contempt and scorne,
By euery dung-hill peasant ouer-borne,
Abus'd, reiected, doggedly disgrac'd,
Despised, ragged, lowzie, and out-fac'd,
Whilst Bag-pipe-poets stuft with others wind,
Are grac'd for wit, they haue from them purloind.
Now in my owne defence once more I'l say,
Their too rash iudgements too much runne astray,
That, 'cause my name is Taylor, I doe theeue it,
I hope their wisdomes will no more beleeue it:
Nor let my want of learning be the cause,
I should be bitten with blacke enuies iawes:
For whose'r by nature is not a Poet,
By rules of Art he neuer well can show it.
Ther's many a wealthy heire long time at Schoole,
Doth spend much study, and comes home a foole.
A Poet needs must be a Poet borne,
Or else his Art procures his greater scorne,
For why? if Art alone made men excell,
Me thinks Tom Coriat should write ex'lent well:
But he was borne belike in some crosse yeere,
When learning was good cheap, but wit was deare.
Then to conclude, as I before began,
Though nought by Schollership or Art I can,
Yet (if my stocke by nature were more bare)
I scorne to vtter stolne or borrowed ware:
And therefore Reader, now I tell thee plaine,
If thou incredulous dost still remaine;
If yea or nay these reasons doe perswade thee,
I leaue thee and thy faith to him that made thee.

To the Kings most excellent Maiesty.

Anagramma. Iames Stuart. Mvses Tari at.

Great Soueraigne, as thy sacred Royall brest
Is by the Muses whole and sole possest:
So do I know, Rich, Precious, Peerelesse Iem,
In writing vnto Thee, I write to them.
The Muses tarry at thy name: why so?
Because they haue no further for to goe.

To the high and mighty Prince, Charles Stvart.

Anagramma. Calls true hearts.

Braue Prince, thy name, thy fame, thy selfe and all,
With loue and seruice all true hearts doth call:
So royally indude with Princely parts,
Thy Reall vertues alwaies, calls true hearts.

To Anna Queene of Great Brittaine.

Loues labyrinth, with the description of the seuen Planets.

May humane mischiefes be compar'd with mine? Eccho. mine.
Thine, babbling Eccho, would thy tongue told true: Eccho. true.
I rue, that I alone must weepe and pine: Eccho. pine.
I pine for her, from whom my cares ensue, Eccho. sue.
I sue, I serue a marble-hearted faire, Eccho. ayre.
And ayre is all the fruit of fruitlesse loue: Eccho. loue.
Lou's hope is past, then welcom black despaire Eccho. despair.
Shall there despaire my causeles curse remoue? Eccho. moue.
Oh whither shall I moue, to ioy or paine? Eccho. paine.
Must paine be my reward for paine for aye? Eccho. aye.
Aye must my torment feed her scornfull vain? Eccho. vaine.
To ease me griefe, wil she say yea or nay? Eccho. nay.
Nay, then from loue and all his lawes I fly. Eccho. fly.
I fly, I search, I seeke the way to die. Eccho. die.
Thus brabbling 'gainst all things he heares or sees,
Impatient at his froward fortunes wrongs:
No sensu'all obiect with his sence agrees.
All pleasures his dispeasure more prolongs:
At length he carues vpon the thick-bark'd trees
These vnder written sad lamenting songs.
And as my weake inuention vnderstood,
His farewell thus, was grau'd vpon the wood.

Sonnet.

Plutoes Proclamation concerning his Infernall pleasure for the Propagation of Tobacco.

Giuen at our Palace at Gehenna, &c.

This Proclamation was no sooner doon,
But thousand furies to and fro did runne,
T' accomplish what their Master Pluto spoke,
And fully fill the world with stinke and smoake:
And now the man that's e'ne of feeling reft,
By reason of his age, whose teeth haue left
The vasty Cauerne of his mumping cud,
Must haue Tobacco to reuiue his blood:
The glistring Gallant, or the Gallant Gull,
The icering Pander, and the hackney Trull,
The Roysting Rascall, and the swearing Slaue,
The Hostler, Tapster, all in generall craue
To be a foggy, misty, smoaky Iury
Vpon this vpstart newfound Indian fury.
Great Captaine Gracelesse stormes, protests, and sweares,
He'le haue the rascall Poet by the eares,
And beate him, as a man would beate a dog,
That dares once speake against this precious fogge.
It is the iewel that hee most respects,
It is the gemme of ioy his heart affects:
It is the thing his soule doth most adore,
To liue and loue Tobacco, and a whore:
Hee'le cram his braines with fumes of Indian grasse,
And grow as fat with't as an English Asse.
Some say Tobacco will mens daies prolong.
To whom I answer, they are in the wrong.
And sure my conscience giues me not the lie,
I thinke 'twill make men rotten ere they die.
Old Adam liu'd nine hundred thirty yeere,
Yet ne'r dranke none, as I could read or heare
And some men now liue ninety yeeres and past,
Who neuer dranke Tobacco first nor last.
Then since at first it came from faithlesse Moores,
(And since tis now more common far then whores)
I see no reason any Christian Nation
Should follow them in diuellish imitation:
So farewell pipe, and pudding, snuffe and smoake,
My Muse thinks fit to leaue, before she choake.

To the Right Honourable, Lord, William Earle of Pembroke, William Herbert.

Anagramma. My heart will beare.

To the Right honourable John Lord Viscount Haddington, Earle of Holdernes, Iohn Ramsey.

Anagramma I ayme Honors.

Thrice worthy Lord, whose vertues do proclaime,
How Honors noble marke is still thy Ayme,
T'attaine the which, thou holdst thy hand so steady,
That thy deserts haue wonne the prize already.

To the Honourable Knight Sir Thomas Bludder.

Anagramma Arm'd, Thus bold.

God is my Captaine, my defence and hold,
Through faith in him, I am thus arm'd, thus bold.

Upon the Powder-Treason the fifth of Nouember 1605.

This day old Dæmon, and the damned Crue,
Our King and Kingdome in the ayre had tost:
But that our God their diuellish practice crost,
And on their treacherous heads the mischiefe threw:
No Pagan, Tartar, Turke or faithlesse Iew,
Or hels blacke Monarch with his hatefull host,
Since first amongst them Treason was ingrost,
No plot like that from their inuention flew.
But when they thought a powder blast, a breath
Should all this Iland into totters teare:
Th' Almighties mercy freed vs from that feare,
And paid the Traitors with infamous death.
For which, let King, and all true Subiects sing
Continuall praise vnto Heau'ns gracious King.

To the Right Honourable Iohn Moray, Lord Viscount Annan, Earle of Annandale, Gentleman of his Maiesties Honourable Bed-chamber.

Anagramma I ayme Honour.

Industrious Loyalty doth dayly tell,
You Ayme at honour, and you leuell well,
And with your trusty seruice shoot so right,
That in the end you sure will hit the white.

Twelue Sonnets vpon the Sonnes entring into the twelue Cœlestiall Signes.

[Diurnall Titans all reuiuing Carre]

The 10. of March, the Sunne enters into Aries, or the signe of the Ram.

Diurnall Titans all reuiuing Carre,
Through all the heauens his progresse now he takes:
And now his glistering Raies he doth vnbarre:
And what his absence mard, his presence makes:
Now he begins dame Tellus face to parch,
With blustring Boreas & with Eurus breth,
Thicke clouds of dust in March, through ayre doth march,
And Plants dead seeming Re-reuiues from death.
Now at the heauy-headed horned Ram,
Æolus, Æthon, Phlegon, and Pyrois,
On sweet Ambrosya sweetly feede and cram,
And drinking Nectars gods carowsing iuice,
Thus yeerely, one and thirty daies at least,
In Aries Titan daines to be a guest.

To the Right Honourable Christopher Villers, Earle of Anglesey.

Anagramma, Christ is our helper.

To me and mine, our onely comfort's this,
In all good Actions, Christ our helper is.

[Hiperion now's remou'd vnto the Bull]

The 11. of Aprill he comes into Taurus, or the Signe of the Bull.

Hiperion now's remou'd vnto the Bull,
And seemes all hid in Mists and watry bowres:
Till wollsacke seeming cloudes are bursting full,
And then he glides the Aire with golden showres.
He shines, he hides, he smiles, and then he lowres,
Now glorious glowing, and straight darkned dim:
He's now obscur'd, and now his beames out powres,
As skies are cleare, or thicke twixt vs and him.
Thus all the Aprill, at bo-peepe he plaies,
Incircling daily the Rotundious spheare.
And at the Bull he hides his glistring raies,
Till ayre is purgde of cloudes, and skies are cleare.
Then he the head-strong Taurus soone forsakes,
And to his Summer progresse haste he makes.

To the Right Honorable the Earle of Manchester, Lord priuy Seale to the Kings Maiestie, Henry Montagve.

Anagramma Gouerneth many.

Amongst a Million, there is hardly Any,
That (like your selfe) so well doth gouerne Many.

[Now bright fac'd Sminthus, with faire Flora meets]

The 12. of May the Sunne enters into Gemini, or the Twinnes.

Now bright fac'd Sminthus, with faire Flora meets,
Adorning her with Natures best attire:
Trees, plants, hearbs, flowres, & odoriferous sweets,
With Birds all chaunting in their feathered quire.
Now countrie Tom and Tyb haue their desire,
And rowle and tumble freely on the grasse,
The Milke-maide gets a greene gowne for her hire,
And all in sport the time away doe passe,
The bird, the beast, the lusty lad, the lasse:
Doe sing, doe friske, doe clip, doe coll, doe kisse,
Not thinking how the time must be, or was,
But making pleasant vse of time as tis,
Till Sminthus leaues his lodging at the twinnes,
And to a hotter race his course beginnes.

To my approued good friend, Mr Robert Branthwayte.

Anagramma. You beare a heart true bent.

Let fortune smile, or frowne, you are content,
At all Assaies you beare a heart true bent.

[Of all the Innes where Sol doth vse to lie]

The 12. of Iune the Sunne enters into Cancer or the Crabbe.

Of all the Innes where Sol doth vse to lie,
With crabbed Cancer none may make cōpare:
It is the highest in the loftie skie,
All other signes to it inferiour are.
When Sol is once ascended and come there:
He scalds and scorches with his heauenly heate:
Makes fields of grasse, and flowrie medowes bare,
And though the idle worke not, yet they sweate,
Thus like an all-commanding Lord he swaies,
High mounted in his chiefe Solstician pride:
For when the Cancer hee immures his raies,
Vnto the height his glorie's amplifide.
And when he goes from thence, he doth beginne
By shorter Iourneyes to attaine his Inne.

[The worlds eye daz'ler in his fiery race]

The thirteenth of Iuly the Sunne enters into Leo, or the Lion.

The worlds eye daz'ler in his fiery race,
Doth at the Lyon lodge his vntam'd Steeds:
And now the ripening yeere begins apace
To shew Dame Tellus, procreatiue seeds.
For as from man, mans generation breeds,
So by manuring of our Grandam Earth,
Are brought forth fruits, & flowres, and hearbs, and weeds,
To shield ingratefull man from pining dearth.
The dogged dog daies now with heat doe swelt,
And now's the season, of th'vnseasn'd aire:
When burning feauers make the patient melt,
Whose heat the Doctors hardly can repaire:
For why, these currish daies are fatall still,
And where they chance to bite, they vse to kill.

[Vnhappy Phaetons Splendidious Sire]

The foureteenth of August, the Sunne enters into Virgo, Or the Virgin.

Vnhappy Phaetons Splendidious Sire,
Left amorous bussing beauteous Climens lips,
And all inspir'd with Loues cœlestiall fire:
His Globe surrounding Steed amaine he whips:
And to the Virgin Virgo downe doth glide,
Where for she entertain'd him to his pleasure,
He his exchequer coffers opens wide,
And fils the world with haruests wisht for treasure,
Now country Hindes vnto their tooles betake.
The forke, the rake, the sithe, the hooke, the cart,
And all a generall expedition make,
Till Nature be left naked by their art.
At last the Virgin, when these things are don,
Till that time twelue-month leaues her Loue the sun.

[The Great all-seeing burning eye of day]

The thirteenth of September, the Sunne enters into Libra, Or the Ballance.

The Great all-seeing burning eye of day,
In Libraes Ballance restlesse comes to rest,
Where equally his way he seemes to wey:
And day and night with equall houres are drest:
By these iust scales, true iustice is exprest,
Which doth to times and places render right,
Where wealth insults not, nor the poore opprest,
But all's eu'n poyzed, like the day and night.
And now this lampe of light doth here alight,
Making this Signe, his Equinoctiall Inne,
Whilst fruitfull trees are ouer-laden quite:
(Too great a gracious guerdon for mans sinne)
And as in March he 'gan to doe vs grace,
So to th' Antipodes he now 'gins shew his face.

[Illustrious Phœbus now declines amaine]

The foureteenth of October, the Sunne enters into Scorpio.

Illustrious Phœbus now declines amaine,
His golden head within the Scorpion dwells.
Now boystrous blasts of wind, and showres of rain,
Of raging winters nigh approach foretells,
From trees sharpe Autumne, all the leaues expells,
For Phœbus now hath left his pleasant Innes,
Now Marchants Bacchus blood both buy and sell,
And Michaels Terme, lawes haruest now begins,
Where many losers are, and few that wins:
For law may well be cal'd contentions whip,
When for a scratch, a cuffe, for pointes or pins,
Will witlesse gets his neighbour on the hip.
Then tone the rother vnto law will vrge,
And vp they come to giue their purse a purge.

[Thus Luna's brother lower doth descend]

The eleuenth of Nouember, the Sunne enters into Sagitarius, Or the Archer.

Thus Luna's brother lower doth descend,
And at the Archer rests his radient Waine,
Now winters bitter blasting stormes contend,
T'assault our hemespheare, with might and maine,
The fields and trees disrobed all againe,
Starke naked strip'd of hearbs, of flowres, of fruits,
And now the Lord, the Lowne, the Sir, the Swaine,
Against the freeze, of Freeze make winter suites.
Now chirping birds are all turn'd tounglesse mutes;
And Shepheards swaines to sheephouse driue their sheep.
Not controuersies now are in disputes
At Westminster, where such a coyle they keepe;
Where man doth man within the Law betosse,
Till some go croslesse home by Woodcocks Crosse.

[Apollo hath attain'd his lowest seat]

The eleuenth of December, the Sunne enters into Capricorne, Or the Goat.

Apollo hath attain'd his lowest seat,
And now the shortnesse of his race is such,
That though his Glory for a time be great,
He giues his Sister Cynthia twice as much.
Now is the welcom'st time of all the yeere,
Now dye the oxen, and the fatted hogs:
Now merry Christmas fils the world with cheere,
And chimnies smoake with burning logge on logs.
He that's a mizer all the yeere beside,
Will reuell now, and for no cost will spare,
A poxe hang sorrow, let the world go slide,
Let's eate and drinke, and cast away all care.
Thus when Apollo's at the horned Goate,
He makes all Christendome with mirth to floate.

[The Glorious Great Extinguisher of Night]

The tenth of Ianuary, the Sunne enters into Aquarius, Or the signe of the Waterbearer.

The Glorious Great Extinguisher of Night,
Immures his bright translucent golden head,
And from his radiant teeme he doth alight,
To rest his Steeds in cold Aquarius bed.
Now hory frost hath Tellus face o'rspred,
And chilling numnesse whets the shauing ayre,
All vegitable creatures now seeme dead.
Like curelesse cures, past and repast repaire:
Frigidious Ianus two-fold frozen face,
Turnes moyst Aquarius into congeal'd yce:
Though by the fires warme side the pot haue place,
Of winters wrath it needs must know the price.
At last, daies burning toarch, againe takes horse,
And into wetter weather makes his course.

[Now snow, and rain, and haile & flauering sleet]

The ninth of February, the Sunne enters into Pisces, Or the signe of the two fishes.

Now snow, and rain, and haile & flauering sleet,
(The Delphean god hath suckt from sea and land,
With exhalations) now the earth they greet:
Powr'd downe by Iris liberall hand,
If foulefac'd February keepe true touch,
He makes the toyling Plowmans prouerbe right;
By night, by day, by little and by much,
It fills the ditch, with either blacke or white:
And as the hard cornuted butting Ram,
At setting forth was Tytans daintiest dish:
So to conclude his race, right glad I am,
To leaue him feasting with a messe of fish.
And long in Pisces he doth not remaine,
But leaues the fish, and falls to flesh againe.

To the Right Honourable Thomas Lord Ridgewaye, Treasurer.

Thomas Ridgewaye.

Anagramma. God Armes thy way. Againe, Age is made worthy.

Though sinne and hell worke mortals to betray,
Yet 'gainst their malice still, God Armes ths way.
When life and lands, and all away must fade,
By Noble actions, Age is worthy made.

Certaine Sonnets made in the forme of Æquiuoques; on the destruction of Troy.

[VVhen Hellen was for Priams sonne a mate]

VVhen Hellen was for Priams sonne a mate,
From Greece bereft by Paris & his Band:
Which caus'd the Greekes, the Troian minds amate,
Som curs'd the boy; and other some they band:
The strum pet Queene which brought the burning brand,
That Illion fir'd, & wrack'd old Priams Race:
And on their Names long liuing shame did brand,
(For head-strong lust runnes an vnbounded Race.)
This beauteous peece, whose feature radiant blaze,
Made Menelaus horne-mad warre to wage:
And set all Troy in a combustious blaze,
Whose ten yeeres triumphs scarce was worth their wage,
For all their conquests, and their battring Rams,
Their leaders most return'd, with heads like Rams.

To the Right Honourable, the Lord Viscount Grandison.

Anagramma. Harts Ioyne in loue.

Thy loyall seruice to thy King, doth proue,
That to thy Countrey, thy Hart Ioyns in loue.

[VVith raging madnesse and with fury fell]

VVith raging madnesse and with fury fell,
Great Diomed, and Aiax 'eft their Tents,
And in the throat of death, to blowes they fell,
To make more worke for plaisters, and for tents.
With blood imbruing all the Phrygian Clime,
Whilst men like Autumne leaues drop dying downe:
Where som th'row blood, & woūds to honor clime,
And some their mangled lims bestrows the downe:
Whilst Paris with his Hellen in his Armes
Imbraces her about the wastfull wast:
Saw many a Gallant Knight in burnisht Armes,
Who from their Tents made haste to make more waste:
Who to their Tents did ne'r returne again.
Thus warres makes gaine a losse, and losse a gaine.

[Had Priams Queene in Cradle slaine her Sonne]

Had Priams Queene in Cradle slaine her Sonne,
The lustfull Paris (haplesse boy) I meane:
Then Illions Towers might still haue brau'd the Sun:
His death to saue their liues had beene the meane.
Vnlucky lucke, when Iuno, Venus, Pallas
Did craue his censure vpon Ida Mount:
Whence sprung the cause that Troy & Priams Palace
Were burnt, which erst the skyes did seem to moūt.
Had he been drown'd or strangled with a cord,
He had not rob'd Oenon of her heart:
Or had he dy'd, ere Hellen did accord
With him, to head her husband like a Hart.
But Troy, it is thy fate, this knaue and Baggage
Confounds thy state, and fire thy bag & baggage.

[Troyes fruitfull Queene did many children beare]

Troyes fruitfull Queene did many children beare,
So braue, heroicke, and so stout a Crue:
Who all in noble actions did accrue,
When age had made their Parents bald and bare,
They made their daintlesse courage to appeare,
Amidst the throngs of danger and debate:
Where wars remorselesse stroke kil'd many a Peer,
Whil'st swords, not words, their coūsels did debate:
But bloud on bloud, their fury could not sate,
For fierce Achilles did braue Hector gore:
To guerdon which, the Grecian in his gore,
Did wallow, whilest the Troians laughing sate.
Thus did Achilles bid the world adiew
For Hectors death, Reuenge did claime a due.

[Ten wearie yeers these bloudy broyles did last]

Ten wearie yeers these bloudy broyles did last,
Vntill the Greeks had form'd a woodden Steed:
Which they on Priam would bestow at last,
(When force preuailes not, falshood stands in stead.)
False Sinon (who so well could forge a lye,
Whose traitrous eyes shed many a trech'rous teare)
Knew well that in the horses wombe did lye,
The wolues that Troy did all in pieces teare.
Polyxena, Achilles deare-bought deare,
Was hew'd in gobbets on her louers graue,
King, Queene, and Troy, for Hellen paid too deare,
All felt the Grecian rage, both young and graue.
To Kings and Commons, death's alike, all one,
Except Æneas, who escap'd alone.

[Lo thus the burden of Adultrous guilt]

Lo thus the burden of Adultrous guilt,
I showring vengeance, Troy and Troianes saw:
No age, no sexe, no beauty, Gold or guilt,
Withstood foretold Cassandraes sacred saw.
She often said false Hellens beautious blast
Should be the cause the mighty Grecian pow'r,
Their names, and fames, with infamy should blast,
And how the gods on thē would vengeance powre.
But poore Cassandra prophesied in vaine,
She clam'rous cries (as 'twere) to sencelesse Rocks.
The youths of Troy, in merry scornefull veine,
Securelesse slept, whil'st lust the cradle rocks:
Till bloudy burning Indignation came,
And all their mirth with mourning ouercame.

Certaine Sonnets: variously composed vpon diuers subiects.

Sonnet. 1 True Nobility.

Great is the glory of the Noble minde,
Where life and death are equall in respect:
If fates be good or bad, vnkinde or kinde,
Not proud in freedome, nor in thrall deiect;
With courage scorning fortunes worst effect,
And spitting in foule Enuies cankred face.
True honour thus doth baser thoughts subiect,
Esteeming life a slaue, that serues disgrace.
Foule abiect thoughts, become the mind that's base,
That deemes there is no better life then this,
Or after death doth feare a worser place,
Where guilt is paid the guerdon of Amisse.
But let swolne enuy swell vntill shee burst,
The Noble minde defies her to her worst.

Sonnet. 2. Enuy and Honour.

Could Enuy dye, if Honour were deceast?
She could not liue, for Honour's Enuie's food:
She liues by sucking of the Noble blood,
And scales the loftie top of Fames high Crest.
Base thoughts compacted in the abiect brest,
The Meager Monster doth nor harme, nor good:
But like the wane, or waxe, of ebbe or flood,
She shunnes as what her gorge doth most detest,
Where heau'n-bred honour in the Noble minde,
From out the Cauerns of the brest proceeds:
There hell-borne Enuy shewes her hellish kind,
And Vulturlike vpon their actions feeds.
But here's the ods, that Honour's tree shall grow,
When Enuie's rotten stump shall burne in woe.

Sonnet. 3. Beauties luster.

Dew drinking Phœbus hid his golden head,
Balm-breathing Zephyrus lay close immur'd:
The silly Lambs and Kyds lay all as dead,
Skies, earth, and seas, all solace had abiur'd.
Poore men and beasts, to toylesome tasks inur'd,
In dropping manner spent the drowzy day:
All but the Owle, whose safety night assur'd,
She gladly cuts the ayre with whooting lay.
When lo, the blossome of my blooming May,
From out her Coach maiestickly doth rise:
Then Tytan doth his radiant beames display,
And clouds are vanisht from the vaulty skies.
Sweet Zephryis gales reuiueth beasts and men,
Madge-Howlet scuds vnto her nest agen.

Sonnet. 4. Hope and Despaire.

Domestick broyles my tortur'd heart inuades
Twixt wau'ring Hope, and desp'rate black Despaire:
To prosecute my sute the one perswades,
The other frustrates all my hopes with cares.
Hope sets me on, infer's shee's fayrest faire,
How dire disdaine doth dwell in foulest Cels,
And fell despaire calls beauty Enuies heire:
Which torments me more then ten thousand hels.
Loe, thus my former hope despaire expels:
Mid'st which extremes whats best for me to doe:
In open armes, despaire 'gainst me rebels,
Hope traytor-like giues free consent thereto.
And till these traytors twaine consume my citty,
I restlesse rest, to rest vpon her pitty.

Sonnet. 5. Three blinde Commanders.

Blinde fortune, sightlesse loue, and eyelesse death,
Like Great Triumue'rs swayes this earthly roome,
Mans actions, affections, and very breath:
Are in subiection to their fatall doome.
Ther's nothing past, or presen, or to come,
That in their purblinde power is not comprizde:
From Crowne, to cart, from cradle to the toome,
All are by them defamde, or eternizde:
Why should we then esteeme this doating life
(Thats in the guideance of such blind-fold rule)
Whose chiefest peace, is a continuall strife,
Whose gawdy pompes the pack, and man the Mule,
Which liues long day, he beares, as he is able,
Til deaths blacke night, doth make the graue his stable?

Sonnet. 6. In the praise of musicke.

Twas Musick fetch'd Euridice from hell,
And rap'd grim Pluto with harmonious straines:
Renowned Orpheus did with Musick quell
The fiends, and ease the tortur'd of their paines.
The Dolphin did account it wondrous gaines,
To heare Arion play as hee did ride:
Gods, fiends, fish, fowles, & shepheards on the plains
Melodious Musicke still hath magnifide:
And ancient records plainely doe decide,
How braue Orlando, Palatine of France,
When he was raging mad for Meadors bride,
Sweet Musicke cur'd his crazed wits mischance.
For Musick's only fit for heau'ns high quire,
Which though men cannot praise enough, admire.

Sonnet. 7. The Map of misery.

Like to the stone thats cast in deepest waue,
That rests not till the bottome it hath found,
So I (a wretch) inthrald in sorrowes caue,
With woe and desperations fetters bound:
The captiue slaue imprison'd vnder ground
Doom'd, thereby fates t' expire his wofull daies,
With care o'rwhelmd, with grief & sorrow drownd
Makes mournfull moanings and lamenting layes,
Accusing, and accursing fortunes playes,
Whose wither'd Autumne leauelesse leaues his tree,
And banning death for his too long delayes,
Remaines the onely poore despised hee.
If such a one as this, the world confine,
His mischiefes are his his sport compar'd with mine.

Sonnet. 8. Another in prayse of musicke.

No Poet crownd with euerliuing bayes
(Tho art like floods should frō his knowledge flow)
He could not write enough in Musicks praise:
To which, both man and Angels loue doe owe,
If my bare knowledge ten times more did know,
And had ingrost all arte from Pernas hill:
If all the Muses should their skils bestow
On me, to amplifie my barren skill:
I might attempt in shew of my good will,
In Musicks praise, some idle lines to write:
But wanting iudgement, and my accent ill,
I still should be vnworthy to indite,
And run my wit on ground like ship on shelfe:
For musicks praise consisteth in it selfe.

A Cataplasmicall Satyre, composed and compacted of sundry simples, as salt, vineger, wormewood, and a little gall, very profitable to cure the impostumes of vice.

A sauage rough-hair'd Satyre needs no guide,
Wher's no way, from the way he cannot slide:
Then haue amōgst you, through the brakes & briers,
From those who to the Cedars top aspires,
Vnto the lowest shrub, or branch of broome,
That hath his breeding from earths teeming womb.
And now I talke of broome, of shrubs and Cedars,
Me thinks a world of trees are now my leaders:
To prosecute this trauell of my penne,
And make comparison twixt trees and men,
The Cedars and the high cloud kissing Pynes:
Fecundious Oliues, and the crooked Vines:
The Elme, the Ash, the Oake, the Masty Beeche,
The Peare, the Apple, and the rug-gownd Peache,
And many more, for it would tedious be,
To name each fruitfull and vnfruitfull tree.
But to proceed, to show how men, and trees
In birth, in breed, in life, and death agrees:
In their beginnings they haue all one birth,
Both haue their nat'rall being from the earth,
And heauens high hand, (where he doth please to blesse,
Makes trees, or men, or fruitful, or fruitlesse.
In sundry vses trees do serue mans turne,
To build, t' adorne, to feed, or else to burne.
Thus is mans state in all degrees like theirs,
Some are got vp to th' top of honours stayres,
Securely sleeping on opinions pillow,
Yet as vnfruitfull, as the fruitlesse willow,
And fill vp roomes, (like worthlesse trees in woods)
Whose goodnesse all consists in ill got goods:
He like the Cedar makes a goodly show,
But no good fruite will from his greatnesse grow,
Vntill he die, and from his goods depart,
And then giues all away, despight his heart.
Then must his friends with mourning cloth be clad,
With insides merry, and with outsides sad.
What though by daily grinding of the poore
By bribry and extortion got his store:
Yet at his death he gownes some foure-score men,
And tis no doubt he was a good man then?
Though in his life he thousands hath vndone,
To make wealth to his cursed coffers run:
If at his buriall groats a piece bee giuen,
Ile warrant you, his soule's in hell, or heauen:
And for this doale perhaps the beggers striues,
That in the throng seuenteene doe lose their liues:
Let no man tax me here, with writing lies:
For what is writ, I saw with mine owne eyes:
Thus men like barren trees are feld and lopt,
And in the fire to burne are quickly popt:
Some man perhaps whilst he on earth doth liue,
Part of his vaine superfluous wealth will giue:
To build of Almshouses some twelue or ten,
Or more or lesse, to harbour aged men:
Yet this may nothing be to that proportion,
Of wealth which he hath gotten by extortion.
What ist for man (his greedy minde to serue)
To be the cause that thousands die and sterue:
And in the end, like a vaine-glorious theefe,
Will giue some ten or twelue a poore reliefe?
Like robbers on the way, that take a purse,
And giue the poore a mite to scape Gods curse.
But know this thou, whose goods are badly gotten,
When thou art in thy graue consum'd and rotten,
Thine heire (perhaps) wil feast with his sweet punk,
And Dice; and Drabb, and eu'ry day be drunk,
Carowsing Indian Trinidado smoake,
Whilst thou with Sulph'rous flames art like to choake.
See, see yond gallant in the Cloke-bag breech,
Hee's nothing but a Trunke cram'd full of speech:
He'l sweare as if 'gainst heau'n he wars would wage,
And meant to plucke downe Phœbus in his rage:
When let a man but try him, hee's all oathes,
And odious lies, wrapt in vnpaid for cloathes.
And this Lad is a Roaring boy forsooth,
An exlent morsell for the hangmans tooth.
He carelesly consumes his golden pelfe,
In getting which his Father damn'd himselfe:
Whose soule (perhaps) in quēchlesse fire doth broile,
Whilst on the earth his sonne keepes leuell coile.
Tis strange to Church what numbers daily flock,
To drinke the Spring of the eternall Rocke:
The great soule-sauing, Satan slaying Word,
Gainst sin, death, hell, th' alconquering sacred sword,
Where high Iehouahs Trumpeters sound forth
From East to West, from South vnto the North:
(For through all lands their Embasseyes are borne,
And neuer doe againe in vaine returne:)
Which either is of life to life the sauor,
Or death to death, exilde from Gods sweet fauour:
Which blisse or bane there's many daily heares,
Who leaue their hearts at home, & bring their eares,
And lest their reckelesse heads, the Word should smother,
As soon as't enters t'one, it's out at tother.
For let a Preacher preach vntill he sweats,
Denouncing heau'ns great wrath in thundring threats
Gainst sin and sinners, 'gainst high hearted pride,
Gainst murder which hath oft for vengeance cride,
Or enuie, Lechery, Auarice, or Swearing,
Or any other vice, theyle giue the hearing,
And say the Preacher wondrous paines did take,
And did a very learned Sermon make:
But what good Reformation hence proceeds,
Are Mountaine words, and little Mole-hill deeds.
Tell Vs'rers they are banisht from Gods hill,
Yet they'le continue in extortion still,
Tell the proud Courtier, that he is but earth,
He'le o're the poore insult and bragge of birth.
Expostulate the great Almighties Ire,
And tell the murdrer, hell shall be his hire,
Yet e're he'll pocket vp the least disgrace,
His en'mies guts shall be his Rapiers case.
Tell daily drunkards hell shall be their lot,
Thei'l knocke and call to haue the tother pot.
Tell Panders, Bawds, knaues, and adultrous whores,
How they in hell must pay their cursed scores:
Tell Mizer chuffes who charitie doe banish,
How they from heau'n, eternally must vanish:
Tell all in generall of their liues amisse,
And tell them that hels bottomelesse abysse,
Must be their portions if they not repent,
Till true repentance heau'ns iust wrath preuent:
Yet when the Preacher all he can hath told,
Soules vnto sinne are daily bought and sold.
The Mizer with his lecherie of Chinke,
On earth will giue his dropsie soule to drinke,
And though the Word beat on his Anuile heart,
From Vs'ry and extortion he'l not part,
The piebald Gallant to the Church will come
To heare his soules saluations totall summe:
Yet his high pride is in such hauty dotage,
Forgets he's sprung from a poore country Cotage.
The murdrer heares how reprobated Caine
Was curst of God, that had his brother slaine,
Yet when hee's from the Church, forgets it all,
And stabs a man for taking of the wall.
Should I through all mens seu'rall actions runne,
I know my businesse neuer would be done.
The rich man hates the poore man, and the poore
Doth enuie gainst the rich man for his store.
Thus is the blest soules euerliuing Bread,
In bounteous measure all the earth or'espread:
Some on the high way falls and takes no roote,
But is of no esteeme, trod vnder foote:
Some falles on stones, and some alights on thornes,
Deuour'd with fowles, or choak'd with scoffs or scornes.
Some little portion fals in fruitfull ground,
Th'encrease of which is to be seldome found.
For let men waigh their good deeds with their bad,
For thousand ils, one good will scarce be had.
And yet no doubt but God in store doth keepe
His neere deare children, his best flocke of sheepe.
For though vnto the world they are not knowne,
Yet tis sufficient God doth know his owne.
For though Elias thought himselfe was all
That had not offered sacrifice to Ball:
Iehouah answer'd him, seuen thousand more,
In Israel did this Idol not adore.
But who so much in this vile life are hated,
As those which to saluation are created?
For let a man refraine to drab or dice,
Out fie vpon him then, he's too precise.
Let him forbeare to lie, to sweare, or banne,
O bang him rascall, he's a Puritan.
And sure I think the Deuill by that false name
Hath added thousands soules vnto his flame.
Some man ere hee'l be cal'd a Puritan,
Will turne a damned Machiauilian,
A Libertine, Papist, or else what not?
To keepe his name from so impure a blot.
I speake not this regarding their estate,
Who from our Church themselues doe separate,
For good indifferent Ceremonious rites,
And 'gainst our Churches gouernment backbites.
Nor doe I praise the louing Sisters loue,
Who often makes the Brethren's spirits moue,
And if 'twere lawfull (they would gladly kno)
To dresse their meate the Sabbath day or no.
And wherefore now the Churchmen of these daies,
Ride to and fro, to preach so many waies,
When Christ to his Apostles gaue in charge,
That they should seek and teach all nations large,
The way, that in his Lawes they might abide,
Christ bade them goe, he bade them not to ride,
These idle questionists, these schismatickes,
I, hold no bettter then ranke heretickes:
But this I thinke not well, when honest hearts
Shall haue this impure name without desarts,
How then can my comparing be gainestood?
For men are like to trees, some bad, some good.
But tarry, Satyre, thou too fast dost trot,
There's one thing more I had almost forgot,
And this is it, of Ale-houses, and Innes,
Wine-Marchants, Vintners, Brewers, who much wins
By others losing, I say more or lesse
Whose sale of hufcap liquor doe professe,
Should neuer bee to any office cald,
Or in no place of Iustice be instal'd:
The reason is, they gaine by mens excesse
Of diuellish quaffing, and damn'd drunkennesse.
For why, should men be moderate in their drinke,
Much Beere, and bottle-Ale should stand and stinke:
And Mounsieur Claret, and sweet Signior Sacke,
Would lowre and turne vnto the Marchants wrack;
The Vintners then within their cellers deepe,
Such coniuring at midnight would not keepe.
This swynish sinne hath man of sense bereauen,
To bandy balles of blasphemy 'gainst heauen,
It is the way, the dore, the porch, the gate,
All other vices enter in thereat.
A drunken man in rage will stabbe his brother,
Hee'l Cuckold his owne father, whore his mother,
Reuile and curse, sweare & speak dangerous treason,
And when he's sober, hangs for 't by th' weason.
How then should men a reformation giue,
To mend those crimes, that by those crimes do liue?
The Patriarke Noah did first plant the Vine,
And first did feele the powerfull force of wine,
And righteous Lot, by wine depriu'd of wit,
Foule Incest with his daughters did commit.
And Holophernes drunken lay in bed,
Whilst strong-faith'd, weake-arm'd Iudith cut offs head.
Great Alexander out his Fauchion drewe,
And being drunke, his best friend Clitus slew.
If euery haire vpon the heads of men
Were quils, and euery quill were made a pen:
Were Earth to paper turn'd, and Seas to inke,
And all the world were writers, yet I thinke,
They could not write the mischiefs done by drink.
And such a custome men haue tane therein,
That to be drunke, is scarce accounted sinne,
But honest recreatiue merriment
The time is term'd that is in tippling spent.
A Marchants ship is richly fraught, ariues,
And for thanksgiuing that so well he thriues,
He makes a feast, and store of money spends,
Inuites his kinsfolke, creditors, and friends:
Where stormes, and Rocks and Pirats are forgot,
And triumphs made to Bacchus and the Pot.
A rich mans wife's deliuered of of a boy,
And all the houshold must be drunk for ioy.
The prisoner that's condemn'd to die and hang,
And by reprieue hath scap'd that bitter pang,
Will presently his old acquaintance call,
And ere he giues God thanks, to drinking fall.
Why drunkards common are, as lies, or stealing,
And sober men are scarce, like honest dealing.
When men doe meet, the second word that's spoke,
Is, Where's good liquour, and a pipe of smoake?
The labouring man that for his hire doth serue,
Let Landlord tarry, wife and children sterue,
With not a bit of bread within the house,
Yet hee'l sit on the Ale-bench and carowse.
Thus like an Inundation drink doth drowne
The Rich, the Poore, the Courtier and the Clowne.
Since then to be a drunkard, is to be
The sincke of Incest, and Sodomitry,
Of Treason, swearing, fighting, beg'ry, murder,
And diuers more, I then will goe no furder:
But here my Satyrs stinging whip I'le waste
In lashing dropsie drunkards out of taste.
How then can it be possible that such,
Who sell Wine, Beere, or Ale, doe gaine so much,
Should punish drunkards, as the Law commands,
In whose vaine spending, their most gaining stands?
It were all one as if a Mercer did
To weare Silke, Veluet, Cloth of Gold forbid.
And Victlers may as wisely punish those,
From whom their daily drinks, great gettings growes.
I would haue all old drunkards to consent
To put a Bill vp to the Parlament:
That those by quaffing that haue spent their wealth,
Consum'd their times, their memory, their health,
And by excessiue spending now are bare,
That Merchants, Brewers, Vintners, should prepare
Some Hospitals to keepe them in their age,
And cloath, and feed them, from fierce famines rage:
For euery one whose hard vnlucky lots,
Haue beene to be vndone by empting pots,
I hold it fit that those the pots that filde,
Should contribute those Almes houses to build.
Yet one obiection would this bill debarre,
Too many drunkards there already are;
And rather then this law would bate their store,
I feare 'twould make them twise as many more.
For why, to drink most men would be too bold,
Because they would haue pensions being old.
And men (of purpose to this vice would fall,
To be true beads-men to this hospitall.
Then let it be as it already is.
But yet I hold it not to be amisse)
Those Drinke-sellers, from office to exclude.
And so for that my Satyr doth conclude,
I could rippe vp a Catalogue of things,
Which thousand thousands to damnation flings,
But all my paines at last would be but idle.
It is not man can mens Affections bridle.
Sinne cannot be put downe with inke and paper,
No more then Sol is lightned with a Taper.

To Mistresse Rose.

Anagramma. Sore.

Sound Rose, though Sore thy Anagram doth meane,
Mistake it not, it meanes no sore vncleane:
But it alludes vnto the lofty skie,
To which thy vertue shall both Sore and flye.

To my approued good friend Mr. Robarte Cvddner.

Anagramma. Record and be true.

My thoughts Record, and their account is true,
I scarce haue better friends aliue then you.

A nest of Epigrams.

Fortune. 1.

Tis Fortunes glory to keepe Poets poore,
And cram weake witted Idiots with her store:
And tis concluded in the wisest schooles,
The blinded drab shall euer fauour fooles.

Epigram 2. Loue.

Loue is a dying life, a liuing death,
A vapor, shadow, bubble, and a breath:
An idle bable, and a paltry toy,
Whose greatest Patron is a blinded boy:
But pardon loue, my iudgement is vniust,
For what I spake of loue, I meant of lust.

Epigram 3. Death.

Those that scape fortune, & th'extremes of loue,
Vnto their longest homes, by death are droue:
Where Cæsars, Kæsars, Subiects, Abiects must
Be all alike, consum'd to durt and dust:
Death endeth all our cares or cares encrease,
It sends vs vnto lasting paine, or peace.

Epigram 4. Fame.

VVhen Fortune, Loue and Death their tasks haue doon,
Fame makes our liues through many ages run:
For be our liuing actions good or ill,
Fame keepes a record of our doings still:
By Fame Great Iulius Cæsar euer liues;
And Fame, infamous life to Nero giues.

Epigram 5. Time.

All making, marring, neuer turning Time
To all that is, is period, and is prime:
Time weares out Fortune, Loue, and Death & Fame,
And makes the world forget her proper name.
Ther's nothing that so long on earth can last,
But in conclusion, Time will lay it wast.

Epigram 6. Kamee, kathee.

My Muse hath vow'd, reuenge shall haue her swindge
To catch a Parrat in the Woodcocks sprindge.

Epigram 7. Solus.

The land yeelds many Poets, were I gone,
The water sure (I durst besworne) had none.

Epigram 8. Selfe-conceit.

Some Poets are, whose high pitcht lofty straines
Are past the reach of euery vulgar wight:
To vnderstand which, twill amaze weake braines.
So mysticall, sophisticall they write:
No maruell others vnderstand them not,
For they scarce vnderstand themselues, I wot.

Epigram 9. A couple.

One read my booke, and said it wanted wit,
I wonder if he meant himselfe, or it:
Or both: if both, two fooles were met I troe,
That wanted wit, and euery foole doth so.

Epigram 10. Bacchus and Apollo.

The thigh-borne bastard of the thundring Ioue,
(Whē mens inuentiōs are of wit most hollow)
He with his spitefull iuice their sprites doth mooue,
Vnto th' harmonious musicke of Apollo:
And in a word, I would haue all men know it,
He must drinke wine, that means to be a Poet.

Epigram 11. Of translation.

I vnderstand or knowe no forraigne tongue,
But their translations I doe much admire:
Much art, much paines, much study doth belong,
And (at the least) regard should be their hyre.
But yet I would the French had held together,
And kept their pox, and not translate them hether.

Epigram 12. Natures counterfeite.

When Adam was in Paradise first plac'd,
An dwth the rule of mortal things was grac'd,
Then roses, pinkes and fragrant gilliflowres,
Adornd & deckd forth Edens blessed bowres:
But now each Gill weares flowres, each Punk hath pinks,
And roses garnish Gallants shooes, me thinks:
When rugged Winter, robs fairy Floraes treasure,
Puncks can haue pinks and roses at their pleasure.

Epigram 13. The deuill take bribery.

A man attach't for murdering of a man,
Vnto the for-man of his Iury sent
Two score angels, begging what he can,
He would his conscience straine, law to preuent:
That his offences Iudge, might iudge no further,
But make manslaughter of his wilfull murther:
The verdict was manslaughter to the Iudge.
The Iudge demanded how it could be so?
The for-man said his conscience much did grudge:
But forty angels did perswade him no.
Well (quoth the Iudge) this case shall murther be,
If halfe those angels not appeare to me.
Thus when the law men to confusion driues,
The godlesse angels will preserue their liues.

Epigram 14. The deuill is a knaue.

Isbell dislikes the surplusse and the cope,
And calls them idle vestments of the Pope:
And mistresse Maude would goe to Church full faine,
But that the corner cap makes her refraine:
And Madam Idle is offended deepe,
The Preacher speakes so lowde, she cannot sleepe:
Lo, thus the deuill fowes contentious seed,
Whence sects, & schismes, and heresics do breed.

Epigram 15. Kissing goes by fauour.

Bembus the Burgomaster liues in paine,
With the Sciatica, and the Cathar.
Rich Grundo of the dropsie doth complaine,
And with the Gowt these mizers troubled are.
If Tinkers, Coblers, Botchers, be infected
With Bembus Lamenesse or with Grundoes Gowt:
Like pocky fellowes they must bee reiected,
And as infectious rascals bee kept out,
And not come neere where wholesome people flocks:
Thus rich mens sicknesses, are poore mens pocks.

Epigram 16. Deere no Venison.

Precilla alwaies calls her husband Deere,
Belike shee bought him at too deare a rate,
Or else to make the case more plaine appeare,
Like to a Deere she hath adorn'd his pate:
If it be so, god Vulcan send her lucke;
That she may liue to make her Deere a Bucke.

Epigram 17. Euery thing is prettie when it is little.

There is a saying old, (but not so wittie)
That when a thing is little, it is prettie:
This doating age of ours it finely fits;
Where many men thought wise, haue pretty wits.

Epigram 18. I meane somewhat.

One ask'd mee what my Melancholy meanes?
I answer'd, 'Twas because I wanted meanes.
He ask'd what I did by my answer meane?
I told him still, my meanes were too too meane.
He offer'd me to lend me pounds a score.
I answer'd him, I was too much in score.
He finding me in this crosse answ'ring veine,
Left me in want to wish for wealth in vaine.

Epigram 19. Faith without workes.

Amongst the pure reformed Amsterdammers,
(Those faithfull Friday feasting capon crāmers)
Only in them (they say) true faith doth lurke:
But 'tis a lazy faith, 'twill doe no worke.
O should it worke, ther's many thousand feares,
'Twould set the world together by the eares.

Epigram 20. Partiality.

Strato the Gallant reeles alongst the street,
His addle head's too heauy for his feete:
What though he sweare and swagger, spurn & kick,
Yet men will say the Gentleman is sick?
And that 'twere good to learn where he doth dwell,
And helpe him home, because he is not well.
Strait staggers by a Porter, or a Carman,
As bumsie as a fox'd flapdragon German:
And though the Gentlemans disease and theirs,
Are parted onely with a paire of sheares:
Yet they are Drunken knaues, and must to th' stocks,
And there endure a world of flouts and mocks.
Thus whē braue Strato's wits with wine are shrunk,
The same disease will make a begger drunke.

Epigram 21. A keeper of honesty.

Epigram 22. All's one, but one's not all.

To wonder and admire, is all one thing,
If as Synonimies the words be tooke:
But if a double meaning from them spring,
For double sence your Iudgement then must looke.
As once a man all soild with durt and mire,
Fell downe, and wonder'd not, but did admire.

Epigram 23. Mistresse fine bones.

Fine Parnell wonderfully likes her choyce,
In hauing got a husband so compleate,
Whose shape and mind doth wholy her reioyce:
At bed, board, and abroad, he's alwaies neate:
Neate can he talke, and feed, and neatly tread,
Neate are his feete, but most neate is his head.

Epigram 34. A supposed Construction.

Mary and Mare, Anagrammatiz'd,
The one is Army, and the other Arme,
In both their names is danger Moraliz'd,
And both alike, doe sometimes good or harme,
Mare's the sea, and Mare's Arme's a riuer,
And Mary's Armie's all for whatl' yee giue her.

Epigram 25. Death is a Iuggler.

A rich man sicke, would needs go make his will,
And in the same, he doth command and will
One hundred pound vnto his man call'd Will,
Because hee alwaies seru'd him with good will:
But all these wills did proue to Will but vaine,
His master liues and hath his health againe.

Epigram 26. Mistresse Grace onely by name.

Grace gracelesse, why art thou vngracious Grace?
Why dost thou run so lewdly in the race?
The cause wherefore thy goodnesse is so scant,
Is cause, what most thou hast, thou most dost want.

Epigram 27. Prudence.

Tis strange that Prudence should be wilde and rude,
Whose very name doth Modesty include:
The reason is, for ought that I can see,
Her name and nature doe not well agree.

Epigram 28. Mercy.

My Mercy hates me, what's the cause I pray,
Tis'cause I haue no money, shee doth say.
O cruell Mercy, now I plainly see,
Without a fee no mercie comes from thee.
Yet in conclusion, euery idle gull
Perceiues thy Mercy is vnmercifull.

Epigram 29. Faith.

O faith, thou alwaies vnbeleeuing art,
Faith in thy name, and faithlesse in thy heart.
Thou credidst all, but what is true and good,
In vertue rude, in vice well vnderstood.

Epigram 30. Vpon my selfé.

My selfe I like to an vntun'd Viall,
For like a Viall I am in a Case:
And whoso of my fortunes makes a triall,
Shall (like to me) be strung and tuned base.
And Trebles Troubles he shall neuer want:
But heeres the Period of my mischiefes All,
Though Base and Trebles, fortune did me grant,
And Meanes, but yet alas, they are too small.
Yet to make vp the Musicke, I must looke
The Tenor in the cursed Counter booke.

Epigram 31. A Rope for Parrat.

VVhy doth the Parrat cry a Rope, a Rope?
Because hee's cag'd in prison out of hope.
Why doth the Parrat call a Boate, a Boate?
It is the humour of his idle note.
O pretty Pall, take heed, beware the Cat.
(Let Watermen alone, no more of that)
Since I so idlely heard the Parrat talke,
In his owne language, I say, Walke, knaue, walke.

Epigram 32. Constants.

Inconstant Constants all-bewitching feature,
Hath made faire Constance an inconstant Creature,
Her Godmother was very much to blame,
To giue Inconstancy a constant name.
But 'twas a woman nam'd her so contrary,
And womens tongues and hearts doe euer vary.

Epigram 33. Vpon the burning of the Globe.

Aspiring Phaeton with pride inspir'd,
Misguiding Phœbus Carre, the world he fir'd:
But Ouid did with fiction serue his turne,
And I in action sawe the Globe to burne.

Epigram 34. Late Repentance.

A greedy wretch did on the Scriptures looke,
And found recorded in that Sacred booke,
How such a man with God should sure preuaile,
Who clad the naked, and visit those in Iaile,
And then he found how he had long mistak'd,
And oftentimes had made the cloathed nak'd:
In stead of visiting th'opprest in mones,
He had consum'd them to the very bones.
Yet one day he at leasure would repent,
But sudden death Repentance did preuent.

Epigram 35. Not so strange as true.

The stately Stag when he his hornes hath shed,
In sullen sadnesse he deplores his losse:
But when a wife cornutes her husbands head,
His gaines in hornes he holds an extreme Crosse:
The Stag by losing doth his losse complaine,
The man by gaining doth lament his gaine.
Thus whether hornes be either lost or found,
They both the loser and the winner wound.

Epigram 36. A Wordmonger.

Mans vnderstanding's so obnubilate,
That when thereon I doe excogitate,
Intrinsicall and querimonious paines
Doe puluerise the concaue of my braines,
That I could wish man were vnfabricate,
His faults he doth so much exaggerate.

Epigram 37. Plaine dunstable.

Your words passe my capatchity good zur,
But ich to proue need neuer to goe vur:
Cha knowne men liue in honest exclamation,
Who now God wot liue in a worser fashion.
The poore man grumbles at the rich mans store,
And rich men daily doe expresse the poore.

Epigram 38. Reason.

Knowest thou a Traitor plotting damned Treason?
Reveale him, tis both loialty and Reason.
Knowest thou a thiefe will steale at any season?
To shun his company thou hast good reason.
Seest thou a villaine hang vp by the weason?
Hee hangs by reason that he wanted reason.
Good men are scarce, and honest men are geason.
To loue them therfore, tis both right and reason,
More I could say, but all's not worth two peason:
And therefore to conclude, I hold it reason.

Epigram 39. Out of the pan into the fire.

Tom senselesse to the death doth hate a play:
But yet he' play the drunkard euery day.
He railes at plaies, and yet doth ten times worse,
He'l dice, he'l bowle, he'l whore, he'l swear, he'l curs,
When for one two pence (if his humor please)
He might go see a play, and scape all these,
But tis mans vse in these pestiferous times;
To hate the least, and loue the greatest crimes.

Epigram 40. A Poets similitude.

A poet rightly may be termed fit
An abstract, or Epitome of wit:
Or like a Lute that others pleasures breed,
Is fret and strung, their curious eares to feed,
That scornfully distaste it, yet tis knowne,
It makes the hearers sport, but it selfe none.
A Poet's like a taper, burnt by night,
That wastes it selfe, in giuing others light.
A Poet's the most foole beneath the skies,
He spends his wits in making Idiots wise,
Who when they should their thankfulnesse returne,
They pay him with disdaine, contempt and scorne.
A Puritane is like a Poets purse,
For both do hate the crosse (what crosse is worse?)

Epigram 41. Mecanas Epitaph.

This line is the same backward, as it is forward, and I will giue any man fiue shillings apiece for as many as they can make in English.

Lewd did I liue, & euil did I dwel.

An Apologie for Water-men: Dedicated to Nowell, and Robert Clarke Esquires, Masters of his Maiesties Barges; and to the rest of the Masters, the Assistants of the Company of Watermen.

Svch imputations, and such daily wrongs,
Are laid on Watermen, by enuious toūgs.
To cleare the which, if I should silent be,
'Twere basenesse, and stupidity in me.
Nor doe I purpose now with inke and pen,
To write of them, as they are Watermen:
But this I speake, defending their vocation,
From slanders false, and idle imputation.
Yet should I onely of the men but speake,
I could the top of Enuies Coxcombe breake.
For I would haue all men to vnderstand,
A Waterman's a man by Sea or Land,
And on the land and sea, can seruice do,
To serue his King, as well as other too:
He'll guard his Country both on seas and shore,
And what (a Gods name) can a man doe more?
Like double men they well can play indeed
The Soldiers, and the Saylers for a need.
If they did yeerely vse to scowre the Maine,
As erst they did, in wars twixt vs and Spaine,
I then to speake, would boldly seeme to dare,
One Sailer with two Soldiers should compare.
But now sweet peace their skill at Sea so duls,
That many are more fit to vse their sculs,
Then for the sea, for why? the want of vse,
Is Arts confusion, and best skils abuse.
And not to be too partiall in my words,
I think no Company more knaues affords:
And this must be the reason, because farre
Aboue all Companies their numbers are:
And where the multitude of men most is,
By consequence there must be most amisse.
And sure of honest men it hath as many,
As any other Company hath any.
Though not of wealth they haue superfluous store:
Content's a Kingdome, and they seek no more.
Of Mercers, Grocers, Drapers, men shall finde,
Men that to loose behauiour are inclinde.
Of Goldsmiths, Silkmen, Clothworkers, and Skinners,
When they are at the best, they all are sinners.
And drunken rascalls are of euery Trade,
Should I name all, I o'r the bootes should wade?
If Watermen be onely knaues alone,
Let all that's faultlesse cast at them a stone.
Some may reply to my Apology:
How they in plying are vnmannerly,
And one from tother, hale, and pull, and teare,
And raile, and brawle, and curse, and ban, & sweare.
In this I'l not defend them with excuses,
I alwaies did, and doe hate those abuses.
The honest vse of this true trade I sing,
And not th' abuses that from thence doe spring.
And sure no Company hath Lawes more strict,
Then Watermen, which weekely they inflict
Vpon offenders, who are made pay duely
Their fines, or prison'd, 'cause they plide vnruly.
They keepe no shops, nor sell deceitfull wares,
But like to Pilgrims, trauell for their fares,
And they must aske the question where they goe,
If men will goe by water yea or no?
Which being spoke aright, the fault's not such,
But any Tradesman (sure) will doe as much.
The Mercer, as you passe along the way,
Will aske you what d'e lacke? come neer I pray.
The Draper, whose warme ware doth clad the back,
Will be so bold as aske ye, What d'e lack?
The Goldsmith with his siluer and his gold,
To aske you, What d'e lack? he will be bold.
This being granted as none can deny,
Most Trades aswell as Watermen doe ply:
If in their plying they doe chance to iarre,
They doe but like the Lawyers at the Barre,
Who plead as if they meant by th'eares to fall,
And when the Court doth rise, to friendship fall.
So Watermen, that for a fare contends,
The fare once gone, the Watermen are friends.
And this I know, and therefore dare maintaine,
That he that truely labours and takes paine,
May with a better Conscience sleepe in bed,
Then he that is with ill got thousands sped.
So well I like it, and such loue I owe
Vnto it, that I'll fall againe to Rowe:
'Twill keepe my health from falling to decay,
Get money, and chase Idlenesse away.
I'm sure it for Antiquity hath stood,
Since the worlds drowning vniuersall Flood,
And howsoeuer now it rise or fall,
The Boate in Noah, Deluge carried all.
And though our wits be like our purses, bare,
With any Company wee'll make compare
To write a Verse, prouided that they be
No better skild in Schollership then wee.
And then come one, come thousands, nay, come all,
And for a wager wee'll to Versing fall.

Epilogue to those that know what they haue read, and how to censure.

To you whose eares and eyes haue heard & seene
This little pamphlet, and can iudge betweene
That which is good, or tol'rable, or ill,
If I with Artlesse Nature wanting skill,
Haue writ but ought, that may your thoughts content,
My Muse hath then accomplisht her intent.
Your fauors can preserue me, but your frownes
My poore inuentions in obliuion drownes.
With tolerable friendship let me craue
You will not seeke to spill, what you may saue.
But for the wrymouth'd Critick that hath read,
That mewes, & puh's, and shakes his brainlesse head,
And saies my education or my state;
Doth make my verse esteem'd at lower rate,
To such a one this answer I doe send,
And bid him mend, before he discommend.
His Enuy vnto me, will fauours prooue,
The hatred of a foole breeds wise-mens loue.
My Muse is iocund that her labours merits
To be malign'd and scornd by Enuious spirits:
Thus humbly I craue pardon of the best,
Which being gaind, Sir reuerence for the rest.

A MEMORIALL OF ALL THE ENGLISH MONARCHS, being in number 151. from Brute to King Charles.

TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE, Lionel Lord Viscount Cranefield, Earle of Middlesex, &c.

My humble Muse, in lofty manner sings
A Catalogue of Englands mighty Kings:
At first I do begin with Troian brvte,
And following Chronicles I do dispute,
Proceeding briefely with their Raignes and Names,
Till these blest dayes of our best Monarch Iames,
Tis but an Argument thats written here,
That in such time such and such Princes were:
But he that meanes their Actions more to know,
May read Boetius, Hollinshed, or Stow,
Or our true labouring Moderne Master How,
Which Authors, Learned Iudgement do allow:
Or if youle see how former times doe runne,
Reade the laborious paines of Middleton.
We haue had Kings since Brute of royall Blood,
One hundred forty sixe, some bad, some good,
Foure Queenes in all, this time did only Raigne,
Whose Memories in Histories remaine.
So in two thousand and seuen hundred yeeres,
We had thrice 50 Princes it appeares.
This Kingdome here was fiue times won and lost,
And Kings (as God decreed) oft chang'd and tost.
Sometimes one swaid the Scepter, sometime twaine,
And sometime seuen at once did rule and raigne,
Till sixe (by bloudy warres) lost life and throne,
And valiant Egbert ioyn'd them all in one.
But since (through Heauens high prouidence) I see,
Tis growne more great, and greater like to be.
Long may He liue, by whom in one 'tis guided,
And may they sinke that wish't againe diuided.
Then (Noble Lord) with good acceptance take
This Poem, for the Royall Subiects, sake,
And though it be not compleate as it should,
Beare with it, and accept of what I could,
The matter's worthy, though the manner's poore,
VVhich makes me heere your Patronage implore,
And may you be externall and internall,
Blest and aduanc'd to happinesse eternall.

I. [The first part.]

BRVTE, THE FIRST KING OF BRITTAINE, began his Reigne,

I. Brvte. Anno mundi, 2858. Before Christ, 1108.

Æneas from subuerted Troy exilde,
In Tuscan wedded King Latinus childe:
By whom the Realme of Italy he gain'd,
And after he had 3 yeeres fully raign'd
He died, and left Ascanius in his stead:
To whom Siluius Posthumus did succeed.
From which Posthumus Royall loynes did spring,
Great Brutus, Brittaines first commanding King:
The people then were (here) all voyd of pride,
Borne Naked, Naked liu'd, and Naked dy'd.
Three Sonnes Brute left, Locrinus was his Heire
To England, Cambria (Wales) was Cambers share,
To Albanact (the youngest) 'twas his lot,
To sway the Scepter of the valiant Scot.
Thus 'mongst his Sonnes this Ile he did diuide,
And after twenty foure yeeres Reigne he dy'd.

Locrine, 20. yeeres, 1084.

Locrinus , Eldest of old Brutus Sonnes,
By Valour vanquisht the inuading Hunnes:
He chas'd them, & their power did quite confound,
And their King Humber was in Humber drown'd:
This Locrine had a Queene, faire Guendolin,
Yet folly led him to the Paphæan sinne,
Besotted sence, and blood with lust inflam'd,
He lou'd a beautie, Beautious Estrild nam'd,
By whom he had a Daughter, Sabrin hight,
In whome the King had whole and sole delight,
For which the Queene made war vpon her Lord:
And in the Fight she put him to the Sword;
And after a reuengefull bloody slaughter,
Queene Guendoline tooke Estrild and her daughter,
And drownd them both (to quēch her ielous flame)
And so from Sabrine, Seauerne got the name.

Q. Guendoline, 1064.

About this time Saul was King of Israel.

VVhen 15. yeeres this Queen had wisely raign'd,
She dy'd, & then her Son the kingdome gain'd.

Madan, 1009.

VVhen forty yeers this King had rul'd this Ile,
(As Stories say) he died a death most vile:
The wide-mouth'd Wolfe, and keene-tusk'd brutish Bore,
Did eate his Kingly flesh, & drinke his gore.

Mempricius raigned 20. yeeres, 991.

Mempricius base, his brother Manlius slew,
And got thē Crowne, by murder, not as due:
Maids, wiues, and widdowes, he by force deflowr'd:
He liu'd a Beast, and dy'd, by a Beast, deuour'd.

Ebranke, 989.

King Dauid reigned ouer Israel.

At Edinburgh the Castle he did found,
Alcluid & York, he built new from the ground:
He builded Bambrough, and reigned sixty yeeres,
Belou'd, as it in Chronicles appeares.

Brute the second, 929.

If any noble act Brute Greeneeshield did,
Hee's wrong'd, because from Histories th'are hid:
Twelue yeeres he rul'd, that's all I of him read,
And how at Yorke, hee lyeth buried.

Leil. 917.

Leil Carleile built, and raign'd yeeres twenty fiue,
And as Fame still keepes dead mens acts aliue:
So Leil (though dead) shall euer liue by Fame,
He lyes at Carleile, which himselfe did frame.

Rudhudibrasse, 892.

This King built Canterbury, Winchester,
And Shaftbury, he from the ground did reare:
And after twenty nine yeeres reigne was past,
At Winchester sore sicke, he breath'd his last.

Bladud reign'd 20. 863.

Baathe was by Bladud to perfection brought,
By Necromanticke Arts, to flye hee sought:
As from a Towre he thought to scale the Sky,
He brake his necke, because he soar'd too high.

Leire, 844.

Leeire (as the Story saies) three daughters had,
The youngest good, the other two too bad:
Yet the old King lou'd thē that wrong'd him most,
She that lou'd him, he banisht from his Coast.
False Gonorel and Ragan, he betweene
Them gaue the Kingdome, making each a Queene.
But young Cordeilla wedded was by chance,
To Aganippus, King of fertile France:
The eldest Daughters did reiect their Sire,
For succour to the young'st hee did retire,
By whose iust aide the Crowne againe he gain'd;
And dyed when he full forty yeeres had reign'd.

Yeeres before Christ. Qu. Cordeilla, 805.

Mad Morgan, an vnmanner'd Cunedagne,
Their Aūt Cordeilla with fierce war did plague
They vanquish'd her, and her in Prison threw.
And hauing reign'd fiue yeeres, her selfe she slew.

Morgan Cunedagus, 800.

Then Morgan did 'gainst Cunedague contend,
And at Glamorgan, Morgan had his end,
Then Cunedagus sole King did abide,
Full three and thirty yeeres, and then he dyed.

Riuallo, before Christ, 766.

Three daies it rain'd blood, when Riuallo reign'd.
And great mortalitie the Land sustain'd;
Hee forty six yeeres rul'd in Kingly State,
And then surrendred to all humane Fate.

Gurgustus, 721. Scicillius, 684.

A common Drunkard was this wicked King,
Which vice did many other vices bring,
Yeeres thirty eight, the Diadem he wore,
Scicillius next raignd nine and forty more.

Iago, 636. Kimmacus, 612.

Of these two Kings, small mention I doe finde,
They left bare Names (for memorie) behinde;
One twentie fiue yeeres: th'other fifty foure,
Had in this Land Commanding Regall power.

Gorbodug, 559.

Gorbodug next did in the Throne succeed,
Was sixty three yeeres King, and last decreed,
'Twixt his two Sonnes this Kingdome to diuide,
At Yorke hee's buried, where in peace hee dy'd.

Ferex, and Porex, 496.

Porex , in Fight his brother Ferex kil'd,
For which their mother, Porex heart blud spil'd:
These murthers mercilesse, did quite deface,
These Princes, last of Royall Brutus Race.

Mulmutius Donwallo, 441.

The Land vnguided, Kinglesse did remaine,
Till great Mulmutius did the Wreathe obtaine.
He builded Temples, made Lawes, Ploughs, highwaies,
And 40. yeeres he liu'd in fame and praise.

Bellinus and Brennus reigned 26. yeeres. 401.

These brethren did diuide the Realme in twaine,
But Kings can brooke no partnership in reigne;
They fell at oddes, and Brennus fled, subdude
With slaughter of his warlike multitude.
To France he scap'd, and was receiu'd in State,
In London, Belline builded Bellinsgate,
Braue Brennus conquer'd Italy and Rome,
Bellinus lies heere in an honour'd Tombe.

Gurguintus, 373.

Gvrguintus was Belinus first-borne sonne,
Victoriously he Denmarke ouer-runne:
He the vnpeopled Ireland did supply,
Reign'd nineteene yeeres a King, and then did dye.

Guinthelinus, 456.

He married Mercia a renowned Dame,
From whom the iust, wife, Mercian Statutes came:
He sixe and twenty yeeres the Scepter swaide,
And then with honour in his Tombe was laide.

Cecilius, 330. Kimarus, 223.

Seuen yeeres Cecilius kept the Regall Chaire,
Three yeeres Kimarus rul'd as his sole Heire;
The Syre with loue did well and iustly reigne,
His sonne Kimarus was a hunting slaine.

Elanius, 321.

Elanius (as most Histories agree)
Was King of Brittaine yeeres iust three times three:
What Acts he did, or what Lawes he decreed,
They are vnwrit, and therefore are vnread.

Morindus reigned 8 yeeres, 311.

This King Morindus, valiant more then wise,
A rau'ning Monster from the Sea did rise:
Which many people to destruction brought,
Who kil'd this braue King as he brauely fought.

Gorbomanus 303.

This King eleuen yeers wore the Brittain crown,
He founded Cambridge, & built Grantham Town;
His subiects peace, past Kingdomes he prefer'd,
Lou'd and bewail'd, at London was inter'd.

Archigalo, and Elidurus. 392.

These brothers were not Kings both at one time,
But for extortion (an vnkingly crime,
The Eldest hauing gaind his Subiects hate)
Depos'd, and Elidurus got the State.
But he (not greedy after worldly reigne)
To Archigalo gaue it vp againe.
Rul'd tenne yeeres more: thus twenty yeeres in all,
His State Maiesticke, did twice rise and fall.

Elidurus, 272. Vigenius, Peredurus, 270.

Lud reigned II. yeeres, 66.

A long time after Troynouant was fram'd,
It was by Lud, Kair-Lud, or Lud-stone nam'd.
He made it strong with Battlements and Towres,
Defensiue against foes inuasiue pow'rs.
Of free Stone for Free-men Ludgate hee founded,
Where freemen (wanting freedom) are confounded.
He dy'd and left two Sonnes, too young for reigne,
Wherefore his brother did the Crowne obtaine.

Cassibelan, 17. yeeres. 58.

Lvd dead, the Nobles crown'd Cassibelan,
In whose reigne here the Romanes conquest wan,
Great Iulius Cæsar sailed out of France,
And in this Land his Eagle did aduance.
But Britaines bold scorn'd base at first to stoope,
Twice Cæsar fled, before their warlike troope.
The Ciuill warres, this Kingdome ouer-runnes,
Betwixt Cassibelan, and Luds two Sonnes,
Whilst they (vnnaturall) sought each others fall,
The Romanes tooke aduantage, conquer'd all:
Where Cæsar, by his high Imperiall doome,
Made Britaine Tributary vnto Rome.

Theomantius, 37.

Then Theomantius (of the royall blood)
The sole Sonne liuing of his Father Lud:
Reign'd three and twenty yeeres, a King in State,
Whose Picture stands on Luds vnlucky gate.

Cimbilinus.

In this Kings reigne, (the glorious King of Kings
In person came, and mans saluation brings)
When through the world all bloody wars did cease,
(For our soules peace) then came the Prince of peace.

Guiderius, anno Christi, 21.

This King and Subiects, brauely, nobly ioyne,
To hold from Rome the tributary Coyne:
But Claudius Cæsar with an Army came,
The Britaines bold rebellious hearts to tame;
One Hamon there (a Romane) did deuise,
Him selfe like to a Britaine to disguise,
Guiderius brauely chasde his foes amaine,
Was by disguised Hamon falsely slaine.

Aruiragus, 44.

Stout Aruiragus being in the fight,
The Kings death added fury to his might:
Perceiu'd the Britaine Host, almost dismaide,
In's brothers Armour hee himselfe array'd,
The Souldiers thought the King againe suruiu'd,
With courage new through euery veine deriu'd,
Braue Aruiragus, like a Tempest goes,
And pell mell topsieturuy throwes his foes.
Great Cæsar with his Romane army fled,
The King tooke Hamon, and cut off his head,
And more, with sharp reuenge his wrath t'appease,
Hew'd him piece-meale, and cast him in the Seas,
The place long time, this name did then allow,
Of Hamors hauen, or Southampton now.
The Emperour would quite the tribute free,
If Brittaines King his Sonne in law would be.
Then Aruarigue did faire Genisse marry,
And Claudius Cæsar heere a while did tarry,
He builded Gloster, whil'st he heere remain'd:
The King dyed hauing twenty eight yeeres reign'd.

Marius, 73.

In this Kings reigne the lawlesse proling Pict,
(A Nation strange) did the North part afflict:
But Marius, in a battell slew their King,
And all their power did to subiection bring.
The Picts from Scythia, into Scotland came,
Rude, barbarous, ingratefull, hard to tame:
For by the Scotsh Kings fauour hauing got
Possession, they oft warr'd vpon the Scot.
And more and more that Kingdome they annoy'd,
Till Kennith Scotlands King, them all destroy'd:
Yeeres fifty three reign'd Marius iust and wise,
Dyed: and at Carleile his Corps royall lies.

Coylus, 124.

In Rome this King was fostred all his youth,
He lou'd Peace, Iustice, Fortiude and Truth:
He builded Colchester, and did suruiue,
Till he had reign'd a Kings yeeres, fifty fiue.

Lucius, 179.

The first of Kings that was a Christian nam'd,
Was Lucius (with the spirit of God inflam'd)
The Bread of life he did receiue with ioy,
The Pagan Idols hee did all destroy,
The Flamines and Archflamines he downe cast,
And Bishops and Archbishops here he plac'd,
He lou'd and fear'd th'eternall Three in one,
And dyed when he had 12. yeeres kept the Throne.

Seuerus, 194.

This was a Romane Emperour, and was slaine
At York the eighteenth yeere of his proud reigne:
Hee was an Alien and a stranger heere,
And therefore bought his vsurpation deare.

Bassianus, 212.

Seuerus here did wed a Brittish Dame,
By whom this King (their Son) the Crowne did claime.
But after sixe yeeres time, he left this Land,
And had the Romane Empire at's command.

Carausius, 290. Alectus, 292.

This King (of meane birth) did the Crown attain
After seuen yeeres, was by Alectus slaine:
Three yeeres Alectus did in state recide,
Our Protomartyr then Saint Alban dyde.

Asclepiodatus, 299.

Asclepiodatus, (in a mortall Fight)
Subdude the Romane Generall Gallus might;
Kil'd him, and cast him head-long in a Brooke,
Whence Gallus or Wallbrooke, for name it tooke,
And as Alectus did Cardusius kill,
So did this King Alectus life bloud spill,
And after two yeeres reigne in mortall strife,
Asclepiodatus slaine lost Crowne and life.

Coil raigned 14. yeeres. 301.

Colchesters Duke Coil in the Throne inuested,
Was by Constantius Cæsar much molested:
Till Coil gaue's Daughter to him for his Bride,
And paid Romes tribute, that was long deuide.
The Lady was of beauty most diuine,
Faire Hellen, Mother to great Constantine.
The King at Colchester, dead, laide in's Tombe,
His Sonne Constantius did supply his roome.

Constantius, 305.

Spaine , Italy, France, Britaines Emperor,
Foure yeeres he raign'd heere, with Maiesticke power,
True Honour was the ayme at which he shot,
Iust, Valiant, these reports his Actions got.

Constantine, 306.

Great Emp'ror Constantine, surnam'd the Great:
In all respects a worthy Prince compleate,
The glorious Gospell, he ador'd, and fear'd,
Constantinople famously he rear'd,
Maxentius, Romes great Tyrant, (most abhor'd)
He made him flie from his Imperiall sword.
Belou'd, bewail'd, high honor'd and admir'd,
In grace with God and men, his dayes expir'd.

84. Constantinus, 337. 85. Constans, 340.

These two were Brothers of the Royall line,
And Sonnes vnto the Emperour Constantine:
Ambition and debate for Kingly Raigne,
Was the vnnaturall cause they both were slaine.

86. Octauius, 345. 87. Traherus, 349.

Octauius Duke of Windsore tooke the Crowne,
Traherus came from Rome and put him downe:
The Land was full with hurly-burlies fild,
Traherus by Octauius last was kild.

88. Constantius the third. 353.

The Romane Empire he did closely sway,
And as a King this Land did him obay:
Th'Apostate Iulian was the Emp'rour next,
By whom the Christians all were slaine, or vext.

89 Maximinianus. 375.

Next Iulian, raigned Valentinian,
And after him, succeeded Gratian:
Maximianus was of life depriu'd,
'Cause he with Gratian for the Empire striu'd.

90. Gratian. 376.

Then Gratian claim'd this Kingdome as his right:
But hauing gain'd it, he was slaine in fight:
Fierce warres the Romane Empire did deuide,
And Cæsars and their Viceroyes fought and dyde.
Honorius Romes Tribunall did obtaine,
Next after him did Theodosius raigne,
Then did the Scot ioyne with the barbarous Pict,
This headlesse, Kinglesse Kingdome to afflict.
The Romane Scepter we had long obayd,
Foure hundred eighty three yeeres Tribute payd;
And now this land shook off their wrongd cōmand
When Ciuill discord had neer spoyl'd this Land.

91 Vortiger. 447.

This King through murder did the Throne ascend,
And had a troublous Raigne, and murdrous end:
Constance (Constantines) lawfull Heyre and Sonne,
By Vortigers false meanes to death was done.
For which (to keepe the Crowne vniustly gain'd)
The Saxons for his ayde he entertain'd.
Then Hengist, with his Brother Horsus crue,
In Britaines best bloud did their blades embrew.
King Vortiger with doting loue inthral'd,
Match't Hengists daughter, beauteous Rowan cal'd:
But Saxons troopes, on troopes came in so fast,
That Britaines did depriue the King at last.

92. Vortimer. 454.

Then Vortimer, the Sonne of Vortiger,
Vpon the Saxons made succesfull warre:
Till he by Rowan was by craft o'r-tane,
From whose false hands, he dy'd by poys'nous bane.
Deposed Vortiger (his Sonne once slaine)
His ill gain'd, ill kept Crowne he gain'd againe:
Hengistus with his Saxon fresh supplies,
The Plaines of Salisbury did all surprize.
The King tooke counsell of his Brittaine Lords,
And all in generall to a Peace accords.
The Saxons and the Brittaines did agree,
That at this meeting all vnarm'd should be:
But traitrous Hengist did a watch-word speake,
Which did the Law of Armes, and Honour breake,
The Saxons vnsuspected drew forth Kniues,
Foure hundred, threescore Lords, all lost their liues,
All Brittaine Nobles, then the Saxons there,
Surpris'd the King, constraining him through feare
To giue Kent, Sussex, Suffolke, Norfolke, and
That Hengist, King should in those Lands command,
But after nineteene yeeres were quit expir'd,
Reuenging Fire, the King in's Castle fir'd.
And thus the Saxons, and Great Hengists Heyres,
Won Shire to Shire, till Brittaine all was theirs.

93. Aurelius Ambrose. 466.

In honour of the Nobles basely slaine,
This King set vp the Stones on Sarum plaine:
The Gospell with great zeale he dignifi'd,
Raign'd thirty two yeeres, and by poyson dy'd.

94. Vter Pendragon raigned 18 yeeres. 498.

This King (by Merlins meanes, a skilfull man)
Igrene, the Duke of Cornewals Dutchesse wan:
On her he got, (though illegittimate)
The Christian Worthy, Arthur, stilde the Great.

Yeeres after Christ. 95. Arthur. 516.

Of the nine Worthies was this Worthy one,
Denmarke, and Norway, did obey his Throne:
In twelue set Battels he the Saxons beat,
Great, and to make his Victories more great,
The Faithlesse Sarazons he ouercame,
And made them honour high Iehouah's Name.
The Noble order of the Table round,
At Winchester, his first inuention found.
Whilst he beyond Sea fought to win Renowne,
His Nephew Mordred did vsurpe his Crowne,
But he return'd, and Mordred did confound,
And in the fight great Arthur got a wound,
That prou'd so mortall, that immortally
It made him liue, although it made him dye.
Full sixteene yeeres the Diadem he wore,
And euery day gaind Honour more and more.

96 Constantine, the fourth. 542. 97 Aurelius Conanus. 545.

Constantine was by King Aurelius kil'd:
Aurelius (Brittaine) thirty three yeeres held,
Seuen Kingdomes heere at once the Saxons held,
And slaughter launc'd, when proud ambition sweld.

98 Uortiporus. 578. 99 Malgo. 581.

This Uortipore from good Kings did decline,
Kept his wiues Daughter as his Concubine:
And Malgo put his Wife to bloudy slaughter,
To liue in Incest with his brothers Daughter.

100. Careticus. 586.

Gvrmundus hither out of Ireland came,
And with the Saxons ioyn'd with sword and flame:
The King to Wales did flye, his life to saue,
Whereas he chang'd his Kingdome for a Graue.

Cadwane. 613.

This Cadwane did the Saxon force withstand,
Of Ethelfridus of Northumberland:
And made him to entreate and sue for peace:
Raign'd two and twenty yeeres, then did decease.

102. Cadwallin. 635.

Cadwallin slew King Edwin, Egfrids Sonne,
He Penda Mercias King did ouer-runne:
He neuer fought but Conquest home did bring,
And eight and forty yeeres did raigne a King.

103. Cadwallader. 685.

This King renowned was both neere and farre,
The last of Brittaines Kings, Cadwallader,
The name of Brittaine was quite alterd then,
The Kings of England, subiects, Englishmen.
Then in this Land, of Kings there raign'd so many,
That Subiects knew not to obey all, or any:
Their names and times of raigne I meane to tell,
Should I write more, my Book too big would swell.

These Kings following were of the West Saxons.

104. Athelstane reigned 15. yeeres. 905.

This King did tame the Welsh, the Danes subdu'd,
He conquered Scotland and the Marches rude:
The Danish Gyant Colebrand in Hyde-meads,
By Guy the Earle of Warwick was struck dead.

105. Edmund. 940. 106. Eldred. 640

Edmund , reign'd next his brother Athelstane,
And after fiue yeeres was vntimely slaine:
Nine yeeres was Eldred Englands King instil'd,
Th'insulting Danes, he from this Realme exilde.

107. Edwin. 955. 108. Edgar. 959.

Then Edwin (as his right) obtain'd the Crowne,
For Rape, and brutish Lust he was put downe.
His brother Edgar a man iust and wise,
By Edwins fall, vnto the Throne did rise.
The Church and Commoweale (long time deform'd)
He by his Iustice and good Lawes reform'd.
Raign'd sixteen yeeres, and then by death assail'd,
As he had liu'd belou'd, he dy'd bewail'd.

109 Edward. 975. 110 Etheldred. 978.

Edward was slain by his accurst Stepmother,
Ayded by Etheldred his cruell brother.
This Etheldred caus'd all the Danes be slaine:
And dyed the thirty eightth yeere of his raigne.

111 Edmond Ironside. 1016.

The Danes came to reuenge with sword and fire,
Both Kings to Combat single did desire:
On equall termes, their valours both were tride,
In loue the Realme betwixt them they deuide.

112 Canutus. 1018.

This mighty Danish King foure Kingdomes hold,
Danes, Norway, England, Scotland he compeld,
Taxes and toles he rais'd in England here,
And dyed when he had gouern'd twenty yeere.

113 Harold. 1038. 114 Hardicanutus. 1041.

Harold from England did exile his Mother,
And kild Allured his King and his Brother:
Hardianutus then the Crowne obtain'd,
Who quaffing died, when he 3. yeeres had raign'd.

115. Saint Edward. 1043. 116. Harold the second. 1066.

Saint Edward from the Danes this Kingdom freed,
And for he had no Heyre, he heere decreed,
That William Duke of Normandy should be
Next King, but Harold seeming to agree,
Assoone as Edward was laid in his Toombe,
This hasty Harold mounted in his roome,
But William came from Normandy amaine,
By whom King Harold was vnking'd and slaine.

2. The second part.

William Conquerour. An. Dom. 1066.

VVhen Britains, Romanes, Saxons, Danes had done,
The Normans (fiftly) Englands glory won,
New Lords brought in new Lawes incontinent,
And all were Conquer'd but the County Kent.
King William (after he had all surpriz'd)
Insulted, domineer'd, and tyranniz'd,
All Englishmen (like slaues) their doores must lock,
On paine of death, each night at eight of clocke.
The English from all Office were disgrac'd,
And in their places the proud French were plac'd.
Stil beating down the right, with wrong on wrong,
Disdaining men should speake the English tongue.
And so to bring our memory to naught,
The Grammar and the Lawes in French were taught.
King Swanus Sonnes, with Danes a mighty band,
Arriu'd in Humber to inuade the Land,
Then Yorke was burnt, the wealth away was borne,
And Danes on Composition home did turne.
A dearth in England was so great, that heere
Cats, Dogs, and mans flesh, was our wofull cheere.
The Mercians and Northumbers they rebel'd,
Strong warres the Scots within our Country held:
The Ile of Fly did the King surprize,
He caus'd the Rebels lose hands, feet, and eyes.
The Normans did rebell and were subdu'd,
Danes came and fled, with all their multitude.
The Kings sonne (Robert) by the French Kings ayd,
Did diuers parts of Normandy inuade.
The Scots spoild England, with all might and maine,
And Durhams Bishop in a broyle was slaine,
Heere euery Acre of mens Lands were measur'd.
And by a heauy taxe the King was treasur'd:
Slaine by a Deere the Kings sonne lost his life,
And Glassenbury Monkes were kill'd in strife.
The English Nobles almost were decay'd,
And euery place of rule the Normans swai'd.
And all mens goods and lands, and coyn were rated
Through England, and vnto the King related.
The French mens pride did England ouerwhelme,
And grieuous tributes did oppresse the Realme.
Churches and Chappels were throwne down with speed,
To make New Forrest as the King decreed:
Who hauing rul'd in trouble, toyle and care,
And tryannously pol'd this Kingdome bare,
Neere twenty one yeeres, death was then his bane:
He lyes in Normandy, enterr'd at Caue.

William Rufus. An. Dom. 1087.

William the cruell Conquerours second Sonne,
With ease, got what his Fathers paines had won,
Oppressed England he opprest and prest,
And great Exactions wrongfully did wrest.
For Symony, and base corrupting gold,
The King most Churches and Church-liuings sold,
And more, (his Subiects vilely to abuse)
Against them he in armes did arme the Iewes,
And swore if they the victory did gaine,
That he their faithlesse faith would entertaine.
Vpon his eldest brother hee raysd warres,
His youngest brother troubled him with iarres.
At London, such a furious winde did blow,
Which did sixe hundred houses ouerthrow.
The City Gloster was by Welshmen sack'd.
Northumberland was by King William wrack'd:
William de Oue, and William de Aluery.
In cruell torments dyed at Salisbury.
Duke Robert laid all Normandy to gage
Vnto the King, warres with the Turkes to wage.
Westminster Hall was built, the Danes came in,
And th'Orchades, and the Ile of Man did win,
But as the King was hunting in Hampshire,
Sir Walter Tirrill shooting at a Deere,
The Arrow glauncing 'gainst a Tree by chance,
Th'vnhappy King kild, by the haplesse Glaunce.
A Colliers Cart to Winchester did bring
The Corps, where vnbemoand they laid the King.

Henry the first. An. Dom. 1100.

This Henry (for his wisedome Beuclarke nam'd)
Th'vnlawfull Lawes and measures he reclaim'd.
The Norman Duke, eld'st Brother to the King,
To claime the Crowne a mighty Hoast did bring.
Saint Bartholomewes was founded and Saint Gyles,
And Henry stop'd Duke Roberts mouth with wiles.
Then peace was made; but after, warres did rise,
The King tooke's brother, and put out his eyes.
Here Windsor Church and Castle were erected,
And Wales (rebeld) most sharpely was corrected.
All the King's Sonnes and eight score persons more,
Were drown'd by tempest neere the Norman shore.
Thus all his Ioy in Childrens losse bereft,
Saue onely Maud, the Widdow Empresse left,
Whom Geffrey Anioy's Earle to wife did get,
From whom did spring the name Plantagenet.
The King proclaim'd his Daughter, or her seede,
After his death should in the Realme succeede,
And after thirty fiue yeeres time was past,
King Henry by a surfet breath'd his last.
Much trouble in his dayes this Kingdome wearied,
He dyed, and dead, at Redding he lies buried.
Thus God that lifts the low, casts downe the high,
Caus'd all the Conquerors sonnes vntimely dye.

King Stephen. An. Dom. 1135.

Stephen Earle of Boloign, (th'Earle of Bloys his son)
From th'Empresse Maud this famous Kingdome won.
Domesticke, forraigne, dangerous discords,
'Twixt factions factions, of the King and's Lords,
Wars 'twixt the King and th'Empresse for the crown,
Both tasted Fortunes fauours, and her frowne,
Now vp, now downe, like balles at Tennis tost,
Till Stephen gain'd the goale, and th'Empresse lost.
And after eighteene yeeres were come and gone,
The King not hauing any lawfull Sonne,
He dyed, and chang'd his Kingdome & his strength,
For a small Sepulcher of sixe foote length.

Henry the second. An Dom. 1154.

This King vnto the Empresse Maud was Heyre,
And lawfully obtain'd the Regall Chayre,
He was couragious, and yet most vnchaste,
Which Vice, his other Vertues all defac'd.
He lou'd faire Rosamond, the worlds faire Rose,
For which his wife and children turn'd his foes.
He made his sonne Copartner in his Crowne,
Who rais'd strong warres to put his Father downe.
Faire Rosamond at Woodstock by the Queene
Was poyson'd, in reuengefull iealous spleene.
In toyle, and trouble, with his Sonnes and Peeres,
The King raign'd almost fiue and thirty yeeres.
Hee neere his death did curse his day of birth,
Hee curst his Sonnes, and sadly left the earth,
Hee at Founteuerard in his Tombe was laid,
And his Son Richard next the Scepter swaid.

Richard Cordelion. An. Dom. 1189.

This braue victorious Lyon-hearted Prince,
The foes of Christ, in Iury did conuince:
Whilst at Ierusalem he wan Renowne,
His Brother Iohn at home vsurp'd his Crowne.
And as he home return'd, (his owne to gaine)
By Austria's Duke, the King was Prisoner tane.
His ransome was an hundred thousand pound,
Which paid, in England he againe was crown'd.
Yet after nine full yeeres, and 9. months raigne,
Hee with a Shot was kild in Aquitane,
His buriall at Founteuerard was thought meet,
At his dead Fathers, second Henries feet.

King Iohn. An. Dom. 1199.

John Earle of Morton tooke the regall Seate,
His state, his toyle, his pompe, his cares, all great:
The French, the Welsh, the Scotsh, all prou'd his foes,
The Pope King Iohn did from his Crowne depose.
His Lords rebel'd, from France the Dolphin came,
And wasted England much with sword and flame.
And after seuenteene yeeres were full expir'd,
King Iohn being poysoned, to his graue retir'd.

Henry the third. An. Dom. 1216.

Wars, bloody wars, the French in England made,
Strong holds, Towns, Towres & Castles they inuade.
But afterwards it was K. Henries chance,
By force perforce to force them backe to France.
Great discord 'twixt the King and Barons were,
And factions did the Realme in pieces teare.
A world of mischiefes did this Land abide,
And fifty sixe yeeres raign'd the King and dy'd.

Edward Long-shanks. An. Dom. 1272.

This was a hardy, wise, Victorious King,
The Welshmen he did to subiection bring:
He Scotland wan, and brought from thence (by fate)
Their Crowne, their Scepter, Chaire, and Cloth of state,
That Kingdome with oppression sore he brusde,
Much tyranny and bloodshed there he vsde.
When thirty fiue yeeres he the Crowne had kept,
At Westminster, he with his Father slept.

Edward of Carnaruan. An. Dom. 1307.

The hard mis-haps that did this King attend,
The wretched life, and lamentable end,
Which he endur'd the like hath ne'r bin seene,
Depos'd, and poyson'd by his cruell Queene.
Which when the poyson had no force to kill,
Another way she wrought her wicked will.
Into his Fundament a red hot Spit
Was thrust, which made his Royall heart to split.

Edward the third. An. Dom. 1326.

In Peace, and warre, this King was right, & good,
He did reuenge his murdred Fathers blood:
Hee, and the blacke Prince, his most valiant Sonne,
The Field at Cressie, and at Poytiers wonne,
At first and last in his victorious raigne,
Of French and Scots, were six score thousand slaine.
And more, (his glory further to aduance)
He tooke the Kings of Scotland and of France.
The noble order of the Garter, he
At Windsor, instituted caus'd to be.
When fifty yeeres this Land had him obaid,
At Westminster he in his tombe was laid.

Richard the second. An. Dom. 1377.

Yong King, rash coūsell, lawes & right neglected,
The good put downe, the bad in State erected:
The Court with knaues & flat'rers here did swarm,
The Kingdome, (like a Farme) was let to Farme.
The Commons rose in Armies, Routes, and throngs,
And by foule treason, would redresse foule wrongs.
In this Kings raigne, began the Ciuill warre,
(Vnnaturally) 'twixt Yorke and Lancaster.
Oppression on oppression, breedes Confusion,
Bad Prologue, bad Proceeding, bad Conclusion:
King Richard, twenty two yeeres raign'd, misse-led,
Deposed and at Pomfret knock'd ith'head.

Henry the fourth. An. Dom. 1399.

The Crown wrong got frō the wrong doing king,
More griefe then ioy did to King Henry bring:
France, England, Scotland, Wales, arose in Armes,
And menac'd Henry, with most fierce Alarmes:
Hot Percy, Dowglas, Mortimer, Glendowre,
At Shrewsbury, the King orethrew their power,
He fourteene yeeres did raigne, and then did dye,
At Canterbury buried, he doth lye.

Henry the fift. An. Dom. 1412.

This was a King Renowned neere and farre,
A Mars of men, a Thunderbolt of warre:
At Agencourt the French were ouerthrowne,
And Henry heyre proclaim'd vnto that Crowne.
In nine yeeres raigne this valiant Prince wan more,
Then all the Kings did after or before.
Intomb'd at Westminster his Carkas lyes,
His soule did (like his Acts) ascend the skies.

Henry the sixt. An. Dom. 1422.

This Infant Prince scarce being nine moneths old,
The Realmes of France and England he did hold:
But he vncapable through want of yeeres,
Was ouer-gouern'd by mis-gouern'd Peeres.
Now Yorke and Lancaster, with bloudy wars,
Both wound this kingdome, with deep deadly scars.
Whilst this good King by Yorke oppos'd, depos'd,
Expos'd to dangers, is captiu'd, inclos'd,
His Queene exilde, his sonne and many friends,
Fled, murdred, slaughtred; lastly, Fate contends
To crowne him once againe, who then at last
Was murdred, thirty nine yeeres being past.

Edward the fourth. An. Dom. 1460.

Edward , the 4. the house of Yorks great heire,
By bloudy wars attain'd the Regall Chaire,
The poore King Henry into Scotland fled,
And foure yeeres there was royally cloath'd and fed,
Still good successe with him was in the wane,
He by King Edwards power at last was tane.
But yet before the tenth yeere of his reigne,
Hence Edward fled, and Henry crown'd againe.
By Warwicks meanes sixe moneths he held the same:
Till Edward backe in armes to England came,
And fighting stoutly, made this kingdome yeeld,
And slew great Warwicks Earle at Barnet field.
Thus Ciuill wars on wars, and broyles on broyles,
And England against England spils and spoyles,
Now Yorke, then Lancaster, then Yorke againe,
Quels Lancaster; thus ioy, griefe, pleasure, paine,
Doth like inconstant waters ebbe and flow:
Ones rising is the others ouerthrow.
King Edward, twenty two yeeres rul'd this Land,
And lies at Windsor where his Tombe doth stand.

Edward the fifth. An. Dom. 1483.

High birth, blood, state, and innocent in yeeres,
Eclips'd, and murdred by insulting Peeres:
This King was neuer crown'd, short was his raigne:
For to be short, hee in short space was slaine.

Richard the third. An. Dom. 1483.

By Treason, mischiefe, murder and debate.
Vsurping Richard wonne the royall state:
Vnnaturally the children of his brother
The King, and Duke of Yorke he caus'd to smother.
For Sir Iames Tirrell, Dichton and Blacke Will,
Did in the Tower these harmlesse Princes kill,
Buckinghams Duke did raise King Richard high,
And for reward he lost his head thereby.
A fellow to this King I scarce can finde,
His shape deform'd, and crooked like his minde.
Most cruell, tyrannous, inconstant, stout,
Couragious, hardy, t'abide all dangers out,
Yet when his sinnes were mellow, ripe and full,
Th'Almighties Iustice then his plumes did pull:
By bloudy meanes he did the kingdome gaine,
And lost it so, at Bosworth being slaine.

Henry the seuenth. An. Dom. 1485.

VVhen Ciuill wars, full fourescore yeers & more,
Had made this kingdome welter in her Gore:
When eightie of the royall blood were kild,
That Yorke and Lancasters crosse faction held,
Then God in mercy, looking on this Land,
Brought in this Prince, with a triumphant band,
The onely Heire of the Lancastrian line,
Who graciously consented to combine,
To ease poore England of a world of mone,
And make the red Rose and the white but one,
By Marriage with Elizabeth the faire,
Fourth Edwards daughter, and Yorks onely heire.
But Margret Burgunds dutches storm'd & frown'd,
That th'heire of Lancaster in state was crown'd.
A counterfeit, one Lambert she suborn'd,
(Being with Princely ornaments adorn'd)
To claime the State in name of Clarence sonne,
Who in the Tower before to death was done.
Wars 'gainst the French King Henry did maintaine,
And Edward braue Lord Wooduile there was slaine.
Northumberlands great Earle (for the Kings right)
Was slaine by Northerne rebels in sharpe fight.
The King besiedged Boloigne, but a Peace
The French King sought, and so the siedge did cease.
Still Burgunds Dutchesse, (with inueterate hate)
Did seeke to ruine Henries Royall state:
She caus'd one Perkin Warbecke, to put on
The name of Richard, Edwards murdred sonne,
Which Richard, was the youngest of the twaine
Of Edwards sonnes that in the Tower was slaine.
The King at last these traitors did confound,
And Perkin for a counterfeit was found.
Sir William Stanley, (once the Kings best friend)
At Tower hill, on a Scaffold had his end.
On Blacke Heath Coruish rebels were o'rthrowne,
A Shoomaker did claime King Henries Crowne.
The Earle of Warwicke lost his haplesse head,
And Lady Katherine did Prince Arthur wed.
But ere sixe moneths were fully gone and past,
In Ludlow Castle, Arthur breath'd his last.
King Henry built his Chappell from the ground,
At Westminster, whose like can scarce be found.
Faire Margret eldest daughter to our King,
King Iames the fourth of Scotland home did bring,
Where those two Princes, with great pompe and cheare,
In State at Edenborough married were.
But as all Mortall things are transitory,
So to an end came Henries earthly glory.
Twenty three yeeres, and 8. months here he swaid,
And then at Westminster, in's Tombe was laid.
He all his Life had variable share,
Of Peace, Warre, Ioy, Griefe, Royaltie and Care.

Henry the eight. An. Dom. 1509.

From both the Lines, and both the Ioynes (did spring)
Of York & Lancaster, this mighty King:
Katherine that was his brothers wife of late,
He tooke to wife, and crown'd her Queene in state.
Empson and Dudley lost their heads at Tower,
For racking the poore Commons by their power.
Warres, dreadfull wars, arose 'twixt vs and France,
Lord Edward Howard, drowned by mis-chance
At Brest, he was high Admirall in fight,
Cast ouerboord, dy'd like a valiant Knight.
In England Suffolks Duke did lose his head,
The King to Turwin did an army lead,
Turney he wonne with his victorious blade,
King Iames of Scotland, England did inuade:
But Surries Earle, the Scotsh King ouercame,
Who lost life there, but wonne immortall fame.
Now Cardinall Wolsey, in the Kings high Grace,
Was rais'd to honours, from great place to place,
Lordship on Lordship laid vpon his backe,
Vntill the burthen was the bearers wracke.
The Duke of Buckingham, his head did lose,
And Luther stoutly did the Pope oppose,
Blinde ignorance that long had look'd awry,
Began to see Truth with a clearer eye,
And then the King (inspir'd with feruent Zeale)
Reformed both the Church and Common weale,
Iehouah with his power Omnipotent,
Did make this King his gracious Instrument,
T'vnmaske his Truth from Antichristian fables,
And purge this wofull Land from Babels bables.
This King at Boloigne was victorious;
In peace and warre, Magnifique, Glorious;
In his rage bounty he did oft expresse,
His Liberality to bee excesse,
In Reuels, Iusts, and Turnies he spent more,
Then fiue of his Fore-fathers did before,
His Auarice was all for Noble fame,
Amongst the Worthies to inrole his Name,
A valiant Champion for the Faiths defence,
Was the great Title of this mightie Prince.
Sixe wiues he had, 3 Kates, 2. Annes, one Iaue,
Two were diuorc'd, two at the blocke were slaine:
One sonne and two faire daughters he did leaue,
Who each from other did the Crowne receiue:
The first was Edward; Mary next, whose death
Left State, and Realme, to Queene Elizabeth.
He thirty eight yeeres kept this Royall Roome,
At Windsor hee's enter'd without a Tombe.

Edward the sixt. An. Dom. 1546.

Had this Kings reigne bin long, as it was good,
Religion in a peaceable state had stood,
What might haue his age bin, when his blest youth,
So valiantly aduanc'd Gods sacred truth?
At nine yeeres age, the Crowne on him hee tooke,
And ere sixteene, he Crowne and life forsooke.
Too good for earth, th'Almighty tooke his spirit,
And Westminster his Carkas doth inherit.

Queene Mary. An. Dom. 1553.

After a while this Queene had worne the Crown,
Idolatry was rais'd, and Truth put downe,
The Masse, the Images, the Beades and Altars,
By tyrannie, by fire, and sword and Halters,
Th'vngodly bloudy Antichristian sway,
Men were force, perforce forced to obey.
Now burning Bonner, Londons Bishop, he
Was from the Marshal-sea againe set free:
Iohn Dudley, great Duke of Northumberland,
And Sir Iohn Gates dyed by the Headsmans hand,
With them Sir Thomas Palmer likewise dy'd,
Hoping for heau'n, through Iesus Crucified.
In Latine Seruice must be sung and said,
Because men should not know for what they prai'd.
The Emp'rors sonne, great Philip King of Spaine
A marriage with Queene Mary did obtaine:
Against which match, Sir Thomas Wyat rose,
With powers of Kent the Spaniards to oppose.
But Wyat was or'throwne, his armie fled,
And on the Tower hill after lost his head.
Lord Gray the Duke of Suffolke also dy'd,
An Axe his Corps did from his head diuide,
A little after, the Lord Thomas Gray,
The Dukes owne brother went that headlesse way.
A Millers sonne assum'd King Edwards name,
And falsely in that name the Crowne did claime,
But he was tane and iustly whip'd and tortur'd,
And claiming it once more, was hang'd & quarterd.
King Philip won Saint Quintins with great cost.
But after to our shame was Callice lost,
Callice was lost, which threescore yeeres and ten,
Had beene a Garrison for Englishmen.
Thus by Gods mercy Englands Queene did dye,
And England gain'd much ease and rest thereby.
Fiue yeeres and 4. months was her bloudy reigne,
And all her glory doth one graue contame.
Though of her selfe this Queene was well inclin'd,
Bad-minded counsell altred much her minde.

Queene Elizabeth. An. Dom. 1558.

A Debora, a Iudith, a Susanna,
A Virgin, a Virago, a Diana:
Couragious, Zealous, Learned, Wise and Chaste,
With heauenly, earthly gifts, adorn'd and grac'd,
Victorious, glorious, bountious, gracious, good,
And one, whose vertues dignifi'd her bloud,
That Muses, Graces, Armes, and liberall Arts,
Amongst all Queens, proclaim'd her Queen of hearts,
She did repurifie this Land once more,
From the infection of the Romish whore.
Now Abbies, Abbots, Fri'rs, Monks, Nuns & Stews,
Masses, and Masse-priests, that mens soules abuse,
Were all cast downe, Lamps, Tapers, Relikes, Beads,
And Superstitions that mans soule misse-leads,
All Popish pardons, Buls, Confessions,
With Crossings, Cristening bels, Saints, Intercessions,
The Altars, Idols, Images downe cast,
All Pilgrimage, and Superstitious Fast,
Th'acknowledging the Pope for supreme head,
The holy water, and the god of bread,
The mumbling Mattins, and the pickpurse Masse,
These bables this good Queene did turne to grasse.
She caus'd Gods seruice to be said and sung,
In our owne vnderstanding English tongue.
In Scotland and in France, fierce warres she held,
The Irish she subdu'd when they rebeld,
The Netherlands her name doe still admire,
And Spaine her like againe doth not desire.
When forty foure yeers reigne was past and gone,
She chang'd her earthly for a heauenly Throne,
At Greenwich she was borne, at Richmond dy'd,
At Westminster she buried doth abide;
And as the fame of this Imperiall Maide,
Is through the world, (by the foure winds) displaid,
So shall her memory for euer grace
Her famous birth, her death, and buriall place.

King Iames. An. Dom. 1602.

VVhen as Elizaes wofull death was acted:
When this lamenting land was halfe distracted:
Whē tears each loyall heart with grief had drownd,
Then came this King and made our ioyes abound,
Ordain'd for vs by heauenly power diuine,
Then from the North this glorious starre did shine,
The Roall Image of the Prince of Peace,
The blest Concorder that made warres to cease;
By Name a Stevvard, and by Nature one,
Appointed from Iehouahs sacred Throne,
And by th'almighties hand supported euer,
That Treason or the Diuell should hurt him neuer:
And as his Zeale vnto his God was great,
Gods blessings on him were each way compleat,
Rich in his Subiects loue (a Kings best treasure)
Rich in content, (a Riches aboue measure)
Rich in his Princely Issue, and in them,
Rich in his hopefull Branches of his stemme;
Rich in Munition, and a Nauy Royall,
And richer then all Kings in seruants Loyall.
When Hell and Rome together did conspire,
To blow him and his kingdome vp with fire,
Then did the King of Kings preserue our King,
And all the Traytors to confusion bring.
And who so reckons vp from first to last,
The many hel-hatch'd dangers he hath past
Through all his daies, he will beleeue (no doubt)
That he with heauenly pow'rs was wall'd about.
All Christian Princes held his friendship deare,
Was fear'd for loue, and not belou'd for feare:
And Pagan Monarchs were in League combin'd
With him, as farre as is the Easterne Iude.
And like a flame amidst a Riuer fix'd,
So was his Iustice with his mercy mix'd:
He striu'd to imitate his Maker still,
And clemency preseru'd where Law would kill.
He hath cur'd England, and heal'd Scotlands wounds,
And made them both great (anciēt) Britains bounds:
All bloudy deadly feuds he caus'd surcease,
And canker'd hate he turn'd to Christian peace,
The mouth of warre he muzzled mute and dum,
He still'd the roaring Cannon and the Drum:
Secure in peace, his people sup and dine,
With their owne fig-trees shaded and their vine,
Whilst in an vprore most of Christendome,
One Nation doth another ouercome.
Vnto the King of Kings let's praises sing.
For giuing vs this happy peacefull King.
None know so well how they should peace prefer,
As those that know the miseries of warre:
Tis true (though old) and must not be forgot,
The warres are sweet to such as know them not.
Peace (happy peace) doth spread tranquillity,
Through all the bounds of Britaines Monarchy;
And may we all actions still addresse,
For peace with God, and warre 'gainst wickednesse.
Vnto which peace of God this King's ascended,
To reigne in glory that shall ne'r be ended.
His mortall part at Westminster enter'd,
His soule and Fame immortally prefer'd.

King Charles.

Two Williams, Henries 8. 1. Steuen, 1. Iohn,
Sixe Edwards, Richards 3. and 1. Queene Mary:
Elizabeth, and Iames, all dead and gone,
Our gracious Charles doth now the Scepter carry;
And may they liue and dye of God accurst,
Who wish the preiudice of Charles the first.

A BRIEFE REMEMBRANCE OF ALL THE ENGLISH MONARCHS, from the Normans Conquest, vntill this present.

TO THE HONOVRABLE AND TRVLY Noble, Sir Robert Carr, Knight, one of the Gentlemen of his Maiesties Royall Bed-chamber, &c.

Tis not in expectation of reward,
That I this booke vnto your hands doe tender;
But in my humble dutie, in regard
That I am bound my daily thanks to render.
And though my stile be harsh, my learning slender,
My Uerse defectiue, and my Accent rude;
Yet if your Patronage be my Defender,
J am defended 'gainst a multitude.
Thus (to auoyd Hell-hatch'd ingratitude,
My dutious Loue) my Lines, and Life shall be,
To you deuoted euer to conclude,
May you and your most vertuous Ladie see
Long happie dayes, in Honour still encreasing;
And after death, true Glorie neuer ceasing.

WILLIAM THE FIRST, Surnamed the Conqverovr; KING OF England, And DVKE OF NORMANDY.

By bloody Battels, Conquest, and by Fate,
Faire Englands Crown & Kingdome I surpris'd:
I topsie-turuy turn'd the English State,
And Lawes and Customes new and strange deuis'd.
And where I vanquisht, there I tyranniz'd,
In stead of peoples loue inforcing feare:
Extorting Tolls I daily exercis'd,
And Tributes, greater then the Land could beare,
Besides, (the Normans fame the more to reare)
The English I forbad the English tongue,
French Schooles of Grammer I ordayned here,
And 'gainst this Nation added wrong to wrong.
At last my Crown, Sword, Scepter, Cōquest braue
I left, I lost, scarce found an earthly Graue.

WILLIAM THE IJ, Surnamed Rvfvs, KING OF England, And DVKE OF NORMANDY.

VVhat my triumphant Father wan, I held,
I pill'd & poll'd this Kingdom more then he,
Great Tributes from my people I compeld:
No place in Church or Common-wealth was free,
But alwaies those that would giue most to me,
Obtain'd their purpose being wrong or right.
The Clergy I enforced to agree,
To sell Church-plate and Chalices out-right.
Vntill at last (by the Almighties might)
My Kingly power and force was forcelesse made,
My glorious pompe that seem'd t'eclips mens sight,
Did vanish by a glance, by chance, and fade:
For hunting in new-forrest (voyd of feare)
A Subiect slew me shooting at a Deere.

HENRY THE FIRST, Surnamed Beavclarke, KING OF England And DVKE OF NORMANDY.

My Father and my Brother Kings, both gone,
With acclamations Royall I was crown'd:
And hauing gain'd the Scepter and the Throne,
I with the name of Beauclarke was renown'd:
The English Lawes long lost, I did refound,
False waights and measures I corrected true,
The power of Wales in fight I did confound,
And Normandy my valour did subdue.
Yet I vnmindfull whence these glories grew,
My eldest Brother Robert did surprise,
Detain'd him, and vsurp'd his Royall due,
And most vnnat'rally pluckt out his eyes,
Kings liue like Gods, but yet like men they dye,
All must pay Natures due, and so did I.

STEPHEN, KING OF England, And DVKE OF NORMANDY

By wrested Titles and vsurping claime,
Thrugh storms & tempests of tumultuous wars,
The Crowne (my fairest marke and foulest ayme)
I wonne and wore, beleaguerd round with iars.
The English, Scots and Normæns all prepares
Their powers, exposing to oppose my powers,
Whilst this Land laden and o'rwhelm'd with cares,
Endures, whilst war, wo, want and death deuoures.
But as yeers, months, weeks, days decline by houres,
Houres into minutes, minutes into nought:
My painfull pompe decai'd like fading flowres,
And vnto nought was my Ambition brought.
Thus is the state of transitory things:
Ther's nothing can be permanent with Kings.

HENRY THE SECOND, KING OF England, DVKE OF NORMANDY, Guyen and Aquitaine, &c.

To th'Empresse Maud I was vndoubted Heyre,
And in her Right, my Title being iust,
By iustice I obtain'd the Regall Chayre.
Fayre Rosamond I soyled with foule lust,
For which Heauens Iustice (hating deeds vniust)
Stir'd vp my Wife and Sonnes to be my foes:
Who sought to lay my Glory in the dust,
And hem'd me round with cruell warres and woes.
They poys'ned my sweete beautious tainted Rose,
By Isabels deuice my furious Queene:
My very bowels 'gainst me did oppose:
Such fruit hath lust, such force hath iealous spleene.
My cursed crosses made me curse my birth,
With her I liu'd, raign'd, died, and turn'd to earth.

RICHARD THE FIRST, Surnamed Cver De Lyon, KING OF ENGLAND, DVKE OF NORMANDY, Guyen and Aquitaine, &c.

Through my Creators mercy and his might,
Ierusalem I conquer'd and set free,
False mis-beleeuing Iewes, and Turkish spight,
From Iury force perforce I forc'd to flee.
The Realme of Cypresse was subdude by me.
Sicilia trembled at my prowesse bold.
King Tancred bought his peace, and did agree,
And paid me threescore ounces of fine gold:
Whilst I abroad won Honour manifold,
Aspiring Iohn (my brother) vext my Realme.
In Austria I was tane, and laid in hold:
Thus floods of griefe each way me ouer-whelme.
At last I home return'd, my ransome paid,
My earthly glory in a Graue was laid.

IOHN, KING OF ENGLAND, DVKE OF NORMANDY, Guyen and Aquitaine, LORD OF IRELAND, &c.

Romes mighty miter'd Metropolitan
I did oppose, and was by him depos'd:
He turn'd his cursed blessings to his ban,
And caus'd me round to be with cares inclos'd,
The English and the Normans me oppos'd,
And Lewis of France my Kingdome did molest,
Whilst I to all these miseries expos'd,
Consum'd my Kingly dayes in restlesse rest.
At last the Pope was pleas'd, and I reblest:
Peace was obtain'd, proclaim'd, I re-inthroan'd.
Thus was my raigne with woes opprest and prest,
Blest, curst, friends, foes, diuided and aton'd.
And after seuenteene yeeres were gone and past,
At Swinsted poys'ned, there I dranke my last.

HENRY THE THIRD, KING OF ENGLAND, Lord Of Jreland, DVKE OF NORMANDY, Guyen and Aquitaine, &c.

In toyle and trouble midst contentions broyles,
I seiz'd the Scepter of this famous Land,
Then being greatly wasted with the spoyles
Which Lewis had made with his French furious band:
But I with Peeres and people brauely mand,
Repeld, repulst, expulst insulting foes.
My Barons did my Soueraignty withstand,
And wrapt themselues and me in warres and woes:
But in each Battell none but I did lose,
I lost my Subiects liues on euery side:
(From Ciuill warres no better gaining growes)
Friends, foes, my people all, that fought or died.
My gaines was losse, my pleasure was my paine,
These were the triumphs of my troublous raigne.

EDVVARD THE FIRST, KING OF ENGLAND, Lord Of Ireland, DVKE OF AQVITAINE, &c.

My Victories, my Valour, and my strength,
My actions, and my neuer-conquer'd name,
Were spred throughout the world in bredth & lēgth
By mortall deeds, I want immortall Fame.
Rebellious Wales I finally did tame,
And made them Vassalls to my princely Sonne:
I entred Scotland fierce with Sword and Flame,
And almost all that Kingdome ouer-run.
Still where I fought, triumphantly I won,
Through Blood and Death my glory I obtain'd:
But in the end, when all my Acts were done,
A Sepulcher was all the gaine I gain'd.
For though great Kings contend for earthly sway,
Death binds them to the peace and parts the fray.

EDWARD THE IJ, KING OF ENGLAND, Lord Of Ireland, DVKE OF AQVITAINE, &c.

Soone after was my fathers corps inter'd,
Whilst Fate and Fortune did on me attend:
And to the Royall Throne I was prefer'd,
With Aue Ceaser, euery knee did bend,
But all these fickle ioyes did fading end,
Peirce Gaueston to thee my loue combind:
My friendship to thee scarce left me a friend,
But made my Queene, Peeres, People, all vnkind,
I tortur'd, both in body and in mind,
Was vanquisht by the Scots at Bannocks Bourne,
And I enforc'd by flight some safety find,
Yet taken by my Wife at my returne,
A red-hot Spit my Bowels through did gore,
Such misery, no slaue endured more.

EDWARD THE IIJ, KING OF ENGLAND, And FRANCE, Lord Of Ireland

In Peace and War, my Stars auspicious stood,
False Fortune stedfast held her wauering wheele;
I did reuenge my Fathers butcher'd blood,
I forced France my furious force to feele:
I warr'd on Scotland with triumphing Steele,
Afflicting them with slaughtering Sword and Fire:
That Kingdome then diuided needs must reele:
Betwixt the Bruces and the Balliols ire:
Thus daily still my glory mounted higher,
With black Prince Edward my victorious Sonne,
Vnto the top of honour wee aspire,
By manly Princely, worthy actions done.
But all my Triumphs, fortunes, strength and force,
Age brought to death, & death turn'd to a Coarse.

RICHARD THE IJ, KING OF ENGLAND, And France, LORD OF IRELAND, &c.

A Sunshine Morne, precedes a showry day,
A Calme at Sea ofttimes foreruns a storme:
All is not gold that seemes so glistring gay;
Foule Vice is fairest features Canker-worme,
So I that was of blood, descent and forme,
The perfect jmage of a Royall Stock,
Vnseason'd young aduice did me deforme,
Split all my hopes against despaires blacke rock,
My Regall name and power was made a mock,
My Subiects madly in rebellion rose,
Mischiefe on mischiefe all in troopes did flock,
Oppos'd, depos'd, expos'd, inclos'd in woes,
With wauering fortunes troublously I raign'd,
Slaine by foule murther, peace and rest I gain'd.

HENRY THE IV, KING OF England, And FRANCE, LORD OF IRELAND, &c.

From right (wrong-doing) Richard I did wrest
His Crowne mis-guided, but on me mis-plac'd:
Vnciuill Ciuill warres my Realme molest,
And English men did England spoyle and wast,
The Sire, the Son, the Son the Father chas'd,
Vndutifull, vnkind, vnnaturall,
Both Yorke and Lancaster were rais'd and rac'd,
As Conquest did to either Faction fall.
But still I grip'd the Scepter and the Ball,
And what by wrong I won, by might I wore:
For Prince of Wales I did my Son install,
But as my Martiall Fame grew more and more,
By fatall Fate my vitall threed was cut:
And all my Greatnesse in a graue was put.

HENRY THE FIFTH, KING OF ENGLAND, And France, LORD OF IRELAND.

From my Lancastrian Sire successiuely,
I Englands glorious golden Garland got:
I temper'd Iustice with mild clemency,
Much blood I shed, yet blood-shed loued not,
Time my Sepulchre and my bones may rot,
But Time can neuer end my endlesse fame.
Obliuion cannot my braue acts out blot,
Or make Forgetfulnesse forget my name.
I plaid all France at Tennise such a game,
With roaring Rackets, bandied Balls and Foyles:
And what I plaid for, still I won the same,
Triumphantly transporting home the spoyles.
But in the end grim death my life assail'd,
And as I liu'd, I dy'd, belou'd, bewail'd.

HENRY THE VI, KING OF ENGLAND, And France, Lord Of Jreland.

Great England Mars (my Father being dead)
I, not of yeares, or yeare; but eight months old:
The Diadem was plac't vpon my head,
In Royall Robes the Scepter I did hold:
But as th'Almighties workes are manifold,
Too high for mans conceit to comprehend:
In his eternall Register enrold
My Birth, my troublous Life, and tragicke End.
'Gainst me the house of Yorke their force did bend,
And Peeres and People weltred in their gore:
My Crown and Kingdome they from me did rend,
Which I, my Sire, and Grandsire kept and wore.
Twice was I crown'd vncrown'd, oft blest, oft crost,
And lastly, murdred, life and Kingdome lost.

EDWARD THE IIIJ, KING OF ENGLAND, And France, LORD OF IRELAND, &c.

I Yorkes great heire (by fell domesticke Warre)
Inthroaned was, vn-King'd, and re-inthroan'd:
Subiecting quite the house of Lancaster,
Whilst wofull England ouer-burthen'd, groan'd:
Old Sonlesse Sires, and Childlesse Mothers moan'd,
These bloody broyles had lasted threescore years,
And till the time we were in peace attoan'd,
It wasted fourescore of the Royall Peeres:
But age and time all earthly things out-weares,
Through terrours, horrors, mischiefe and debate,
By trust, by treason, by hopes doubts and feares,
I got, I kept, I left and lost the State.
Thus as disposing heauens doe smile or frowne,
So Cares or Comforts wait vpon a Crowne.

EDWARD THE V, KING OF England, And France, LORD OF IRELAND.

If birth, if beauty, innocence and youth,
Could make a Tyrant feele one sparke of grace,
My crooked Vncle had beene mou'd to ruth,
Beholding of my pitty-pleading face.
But what auailes to spring from royall Race?
What snerty is in beauty, strength, or wit?
What is command, might, eminence and place,
When Treason lurkes where Maiesty doth sit?
My haplesse selfe had true false proofe of it:
Nipt in my bud, and blasted in my bloome:
Depriu'd of life by murther, most vnfit,
And for three Kingdoms could not haue one tombe:
Thus Treason all my glory ouer-topt,
And ere the Fruit could spring, the Tree was lop't.

RICHARD THE IIJ, KING OF ENGLAND, And France, LORD OF IRELAND, &c.

Ambition's like vnto a quenchlesse thirst:
Ambition Angels threw from Heauen to Hell,
Ambition (that infernall Hag) accurst,
Ambitiously made me aspire, rebell:
Ambition, that damned Necromanticke Spell,
Made me clime proud, with shame to tumble down.
By bloody murther I did all expell,
Whose right, or might, debard me from the Crown.
My smiles, my gifts, my fauours, or my frowne,
Were fain'd, corrupt, vile flattry, death and spite.
By cruell Tyranny I gat renowne,
Till Heau'ns iust Iudge me iustly did requite.
By blood I won, by blood I lost the throne.
Detested liu'd; dy'd; lou'd, bewail'd of none.

HENRY THE VIJ, KING OF ENGLAND, And FRANCE, Lord Of Ireland.

I was the man (by Gods high grace assign'd)
That for this restlesse Kingdome purchas'd rest:
I York and Lancaster in one combin'd,
That sundred had each other long opprest,
My strength and policy th'Almighty blest.
With good successe from first vnto the last:
And high Iehouah turned to the best,
A world of perills which my youth o're past.
The white and red Rose I conioyned fast,
In sacred Marriages coniugall band:
I Traytors tam'd, and treason stood agast
At me; strong guarded by my Makers hand.
In glory and magnificence I raign'd,
And fame, loue, and a tombe was all I gain'd.

HENRY THE VIIJ, KING OF England, And France, LORD OF IRELAND.

To both the Royall Houses I was Heyre;
I made but one, of long contending, twaine:
This Realme diuided drooping in despaire,
I did rebind in my auspicious Raigne.
I banisht Romish Vsurpation vaine.
In France I Bullen, Turwin, Turney wan:
The Stile of Faiths Defender I did gaine.
Sixe wiues I had, three An's, two Kates, one Iane.
In my expences Royall, beyond measure,
Striuing in Noble Actions to exceede;
Accounting Honour as my greatest Treasure:
Yet various fancies did my frailty feede,
I made and marr'd, I did, and I vndid,
Till all my Greatnesse in a Graue was hid.

EDWARD THE VI, KING OF England, FRANCE and IRELAND, Defender of the Faith, &c.

I seem'd in wisedome aged in my youth,
A Princly patterne; I reform'd the time:
With zeale and courage I maintain'd Gods truth,
And Christian faith 'gainst Antichristian crime.
My Father did begin; I, in my prime,
Both Baal and Beliall from this Kingdome droue,
With concords true harmonious heauenly chime,
I caus'd be said and sung Gods truth and loue.
From vertue vnto vertue still I stroue,
I liu'd beloued both of God and men:
My soule vnto her Maker soar'd aboue,
My earthly part return'd to earth agen.
Thus Death, my faire proceedings did preuent,
And Peeres and People did my losse lament.

MARY, QUEENE OF England, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c.

No sooner I possest the Royall Throne,
But true Religion straight was dispossest:
Bad Councell caus'd Rome, Spaine and I, as one,
To persecute, to martyr, and molest
All that the vnstain'd truth of God profest:
All such as dar'd oppugne the pow'rfull Pope,
With grieuous tortures were opprest and prest,
With Axes, Fire, and Faggot, and the Rope.
Scarce any Land beneath the Heau'nly Cope,
Afflicted was, as I caus'd this to bee:
And when my Fortunes were in highest hope,
Death at the fiue yeeres end arrested mee.
No Bale would serue, I could command no ayd,
But I in prison in my graue was laid.

ELIZABETH, QVEENE OF England, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c.

The griefes, the feares, the terrors and the toiles,
The sleights, tricks, snares, that for my life were laid
Popes, prisons, poysons, pistols, bloody broyles,
All these incompast me (poore harmelesse Mayd)
But I still trusting in my Makers ayde,
Was still defended by his power diuine:
My glory and my greatnesse was displai'd
As farre as Sunne and Moone did euer shine.
Gods mingled Seruice I did re-refine,
From Romish rubbish, and from humane drosse.
I yearely made the pride of Spaine decline:
France and all Belgia I sau'd from losse:
I was Arts patterne, t'Armes I was a Patron;
I liu'd and dyed a Queene, a Maid, a Matron.

IAMES, Of that Name The First, And I. Monarch of the whole Iland of Great Britaine, &c.

VVere all the flatt'ry of the world in me,
Great King of hearts & Arts, great Britaines King
Yet all that flattery could not flatter thee:
Or adde to thy renowne the smallest thing.
My Muse (with truth and freedome) dares to sing,
Thou wert a Monarch lou'd of God and Men.
Two famous Kingdomes thou to one didst bring,
And gau'st lost Britaines name her name agen.
Thou causedst Doctors with their learned pen,
The sacred Bible newly to translate.
Thy wisdome found the damned powder'd Den,
That hell had hatcht to ouerthrow thy state.
And all the world thy Motto must allow,
The peace makers are blest; and so art thou.

CHARLES, Of that Name The First, And II. Monarch of the whole Iland of GREAT BRITAINE. KING of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, Gods immediate VICEGERENT, Supreame Head, &c.

A LIVING SADNES IN DVTY CONSECRATED TO THE IMMORTALL memory of our late Deceased all-beloued Soueraigne Lord, the Peerelesse Paragon of Princes, Iames, King of great Britaine, France and Ireland; who departed this Life at his Manour of Theobalds, on Sunday the 27. of March 1625.

TO THE MOST HIGH AND PVISSENT Prince Charles by the Grace of God, the first of that name, and second Monarch of the whole Iland of Great Britaine.

HIS VNDOVBTED ROYALTIES BEING VNITED VNDER one and the same his most glorious Crowne, the Kingdomes of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland; Gods Immediate Vice-Gerent; Supreme head of all Persons, and Defender of the true, ancient Christian Faith, in these his Empires and Dominions.

Most Mighty Monarch of this mourning Land,
Vpon the knees of my submissiue mind:
I begge acceptance at your Royall hand,
That my lamenting Muse may fauour finde.
My Gracious Master was so good, so kinde,
So iust, so much beloued neere and farre:
Which generally did Loue, and Duty binde
From all, and from me in particular.
But as your Maiesty vndoubted are,
The Heire vnto his Vertues and his Crowne:
I pray, that whether Heauen send Peace or Warre,
You likewise may inherit his Renowne.
And as Death strucke his Earthly Glory downe,
Left you in Maiesty, and mourning Chiefe:
Yet through the World apparantly 'tis knowne,
Your Sorrow is an vniuersall Griefe.
Let this recomfort then your Princely heart,
That in this Duty all men beares a part.

A Funerall Elegie vpon King Iames.

To all that haue Read this Poeme.

I boast not, but his Maiesty that's dead
Was many times well pleas'd my lines to read:
And euery line, word, syllable and letter,
Were (by his reading) graced and made better;
And howsoeuer they were good, or ill,
His bounty shew'd, he did accept them still:
He was so good and gracious vnto me,
That I the vilest wretch on earth should be,
If, for his sake, I had not writ this Verse,
My last poore dutie, to his Royall Hearse.
Two causes made me this sad Poeme write,
The first my humble dutie did inuite,
The last, to shunne that vice which doth include
All other vices, foule Ingratitude.

FOR The sacred memoriall of the great, Noble, and ancient Example of Vertue and Honor, the Illustrious and welbeloued Lord, Charles Howard, Earle of Nottingham, Iustice in Eyre of all his Maiesties Forrests, Parks, and Chases on this side Trent; Knight of the Honourable Order of the Garter, and one of the Lords of his Maiesties most Honourable Priuie Councell;

VVho departed this Life at his Mannour of Haleing in Surrey, on Thurseday the 14. of December, 1624. and was buried at Rigate, amongst his Honourable Ancestors, the 20. of December last, 1624.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, Right Worshipfull, of both Sexes, who had either alliance by Marriage, Consanguinity by Birth, or bore loue to the Right Noble and truly vertuous deceased.

I humbly craue your Worthinesse t'excuse
This boldnesse of my poore vnlearned Muse,
That hath presum'd so high a pitch to flye,
In praise of Vertue and Nobility.
I know this taske most fit for Learned men,
For Homer, Ouid, or for Vigils pen:
But for I with him haue both seru'd and sail'd,
My gratefull duty hath so farre preuail'd,
Boldly to write true Honours late decease,
Whilst better Muse, please to hold their peace.
And thus much to the world my Verse proclaimes,
That neither gaine nor flattery are my aimes:
But loue and duty to the Noble dead,
Hath caus'd me cause these Lines be published.
And therefore I entreat your gen'rous Hearts,
T' accept my duty, pardon my deserts,
Beare with my weakenesse, winke at my defects:
Good purposes doe merit good effects;
Poore earthen Vessels may hold precious Wine,
And I presume that in this booke of mine,
In many places you shall something finde,
To please each Noble well-affected minde.
And for excuse my Muse doth humbly plead,
That you'l forbeare to iudge before you read.

[And happy was this happy Anagram]

Charles Howard, Earle of Nottinghame Anagramma: O Heauen cals, and hath true Glorie for me.

And happy was this happy Anagram,
Heauen calls Charles Howard Earle of Nottingham:
And he obeyd the call, and gain'd true glory,
For change of earthly Titles transitory.

For the sacred Memoriall of the Great, Noble and Ancient example of Vertue and Honour, the Illustrious and welbeloued Lord, Charles Howard, Earle of Nottingham, Iustice in Eyre of all his Maiesties Forrests, Parks and Chases on this side Trent; Knight of the Honorable Order of the Garter, and one of the Lords of his Maiesties most Honorable priuy Councell.

A FVNERALL ELEGIE, IN THE SACRED MEMORY OF THE Right Reuerend, Right Honourable and Learned Father in GOD, Lancelot, Lord Bishop of VVinchester, Deane of his Maiesties Chappell, Prelate of the Right Honourable Order of the Garter, and one of the Lords of his Maiesties most Honourable Priuie Covncell:

Who departed this life at his house in Southwarke, on Munday the 25th. of September last, 1626, and was Honourably Interred in Saint Sauiours Church in Southwarke, the XI. of Nouember.

A silly Taper, or a Candles light,
Are vaine additious to make Sol more bright:
Nor can one little water-drop augment
The mighty bounds of Neptunes continent:
The raging Winds that threaten sea and shore,
For one mans breath is not increas'd the more,
Nor can a handfull of vnstable sand,
Rayse mounts of earth, or amplifie the land.
So I, that am (the meanest man of men)
Meane wanting learning, meaner for the pen,
With glimering taper, or a drop of raine,
Cannot increase the light, inlarge the maine,
Or any way in fitting tearmes set forth,
Right Reuerend Winchester, Admired worth:
For all the learned Poets of these dayes
Might write, and speake in his deserued prayse,
And spend their inke and paper, and their spirits,
Yet adde no fame or honour, to his merits.
But as pure snow shewes whiter to the eye,
When cole-black Crowes, or swarty Rauens are by:
Or as the darknesse makes light seeme more cleare,
So will his Vertues in my lines appeare.
To speake his passage in this vale of strife,
In London he had being first and life:
Whose Parents (as became their reputation)
Did bring him vp in worthy education,
As Pembrooke-Hall in Cambridge witnesse will,
Whereas his noble memory liues still.
So passing on in this his mortall race,
Aduanc'd by grace, from higher place to place,
First to the Deanery of Westminster,
Next to the Bishopricke of Chichester:
King Iames did next to Elye him preferre,
Which learned Prince made him his Almoner,
Till (by Gods prouidence) not his desire,
He was to Winchester translated higher;
Deane of the Royall Chappell, and beside,
The Garters Prelate he was dignifide.
Then gracious Iames, did in his wisedome see,
This worthy Lords vpright integrity:
In whom all loyall vertues were innate,
Made him a priuy Councellour of State.
And as his honours still did higher grow,
His minde in meeke humility was low;
Thus like a blessed Samuel, was he
Ordayned from his infancy, to be
A valiant souldier of Christs faithfull Campe,
And in Gods Church a learn'd illustrious Lamp.
And as the Lord to Abraham did say,
Goe from thy Country, and thy Kin away;
And from thy Fathers house I charge thee goe,
Vnto the Land that I to thee will showe:
So this right reuerend Lord, was from his youth
Cal'd from the world, to Gods eternall truth,
And being one in Heau'ns high businesse sent,
Though in the world, yet from the world he went.
For though the world is, as 'tis vnderstood,
Mans natiue Country, as he's flesh and blood;
Yet is his worldly part a prison foule,
Wherein in bondage lyes his purer soule,
Which soule is heauenly, & makes heauen her aime,
And here she's in the World, not of the same.
So this deceased Subiect of my muse,
He liu'd and grieu'd to see the worlds abuse;
And like a Ieremy, with sad laments
He sigh'd and grieu'd, bewayling the euents
Which haue, and doe, and daily still are like,
Vpon this woefull age of ours to strike.
He saw and grieu'd at what all men should grieue,
How goodnesse small respect, could here achieue;
And how the chiefest good that men doe craue,
Is pompe and wealth, and rich apparell braue:
How man will for his body haue good food,
Good fire, good cloathes, good house, and lodging good,
And all the care's how these goods may be had,
And few men cared though their soules be bad:
Thus the fraile World, & impious times transgression,
Strooke in his Christian heart, griefes deepe impression,
That all that worldly was, he quite forgot,
And vs'd the World, as if hee vs'd it not:
Hee (by the Spirit of God) perceiued plaine,
That all earthes pompe and glory is but vayne:
And therefore with a lowly minde and meeke,
He did Christs righteousnesse Kingdome seeke:
For which, (euen as our Sauiours word is past)
His earthly treasures were vppon him cast:
For still the word of God confirm'd shall be,
I'le honour them (saith he) that honour me.
His heart was free from an ambitious thought,
No popular applause of men he sought;
His pride was godly, a true Christian pride,
To know Christ, and to know him crucifide;
And though fraile men are with vaine toyes intis'd,
Hee wish'd to be disolu'd to be with Christ.
His charity was not in out-ward show,
No Pharisey-like Trumpet ere did blow,
To make the World applause with speech or pen,
When he in pitty pelp'd the wants of men.
Two Schollers in th'Vniuersities,
He (priuate) gaue most bountifull supplies:
To Prisoners he sent many a secret summe,
And the receiuers nere knew whence it come:
God gaue to him, and for his sake agen
He gaue it backe to helpe distressed men:
Yet close and priuate, should his almes still be,
That God might hane the glory, and not he.
Where ere hee lodg'd, or where his house hee kept,
His piety and charity nere slept:
Where still his gifts hath close and secret beene,
And (to the view of men) but seldome seene.
When late our sins did Gods high wrath incence,
That he destroy'd vs with the Pestilence;
And that the poore did pine, the rich were fled,
And Charity seem'd buried with the dead;
Then this true godly, honorable man,
Did with a zeale and loue most Christian;
Knowing Saint Sauiours Parish to be large,
Opprest with poore, and at excessiue charge;
Meanes small, necessity exceeding great
Many to feede, and little foode to eate:
In this extreamity, this worthy Peere,
Did in his charitie so good appeare,
That by his bounty many soules were cherish'd,
Which (but for him) vndoubtedly had perish'd.
The like he did in succouring the destresse,
Of many places in his Diocesse.
He well remembred God had rais'd him high,
In state of eminence and dignity;
But yet his memory deseru'd more prayse,
Remembring to what end God did him rayse;
For men all of Degrees, estates, and rankes,
Will giue to God some superficiall thankes,
Confessing he hath in their state them set;
But yet the end wherefore, they quite forget,
Therefore he well and wisely vnderstood,
That he had great promotions to be good;
And that he was endued with earthly pelfe,
To giue, and haue least ioy of it himselfe;
And as a steward iust, what he possest,
Hee still distributed to the opprest.
And though mans merrits challenge nothing can,
Yet God so loues a iust and righteous man;
That here hee liues with his protection guarded,
And after with eternall life rewarded.
His learning was approoued to be such,
As scarcely any one man had so much:
Yet though in Scholler-ship he did excell,
His chiefest honour was, he vs'd it well.
When Romes chiefe champion famous Bellarmine,
Imploy'd his studies and his best ingine,
To proue the Papall dignity had power
O're Councells, Fathers, King or Emperour,
Or Church, or sacred text Cannonicall,
Or any thing which we may mortall call;
And that these errours printed were in Rome,
And scattred, and divulg'd through Christendome:
Then Winchester, did for the Gospells right
So learn'd, so grauely and profoundly write,
His Booke that was Tortus Tortorum call'd,
Which made the Roman Clergy all apal'd.
He shew'd them there how vainly they did vaunt,
How far from truth they were disconsonant:
And how the Pope was prou'd the man of sinne,
Maugre his mighty Bulwarke Bellarmine.
Thus he (defending our Religion)
Shooke Antichristian Romish Babilon,
Proouing our faith to be true Catholike,
And in antiquity Apostolike.
Indeede his learning so transcendant was,
And did so farre my silly praise surpasse,
That I my wit and studies may confound,
And in an Ocean bottomelesse be drown'd.
Ile therefore cease to touch that lofty straine,
So farre aboue the Circuite of my braine;
His chiefest learning was, Gods Law he learn'd,
Whereby to liue and dye hee well discern'd,
As Malachy of Priests did Prophecy,
His lips preserued knowledge plentiously,
That sauing knowledge, which Iohn Baptist brought
Saluation, and remitting sinnes he taught;
Yea all his knowledge were to these intents,
To know God, and keepe his Commandements.
A single life he liu'd, but his desert,
And vertue, was in singlnesse of heart:
Well he knew Marriage or Virginity,
Were (of themselues) no perfect sanctity;
For mis-beleeuing Infidels doe eyther,
Yet haue no perfect holinesse by neither:
But where the gift of continence is giuen
With single life, it is the grace of Heauen;
And this blest gift was still in him so ample,
That he both liu'd and dy'd a rare example.
Thus liu'd he 70 yeeres, iust Dauids span,
(Times circuite, for the Pilgrimage of man)
And in a good age, Dauid-like deveast,
With Honour, Daies and Riches fully blest.
And for more honour of his hoary haires,
Yeeres grac'd his person, vertue grac'd his yeeres:
His port and places were of eminence,
But 'twas his goodnesse was their excellence:
So that although his honour was compleat,
He grac'd it more in being good then great.
His seruants of a Master are depriu'd,
Who shewed himselfe to them whilst he suruiu'd,
Not as an Austere Master, but still rather,
A louing, and a wel-beloued father:
His loue to them was in his gifts and cares,
And theirs for him, is in their sighes and teares.
Foure brothers, and two sisters they were late,
But three haue finish'd their suruiuing date;
Lancelot (the chiefe) Nicholas and Thomas, they
Haue left this transitory house of clay;
And as from but one father they did spring,
So in one house they had their finishing.
But Roger, Mary, Martha, you are left,
And though you of your brethren are bereft,
They are but gone, that you may come to them
To Glory, to the new Ierusalem.
Yet God's your father, as hee's theirs (in blisse)
And Iesus Christ to you a brother is.
But note the prudence, and the prouidence,
Of this good man whom God hath taken hence.
He well fore-saw his bodies dissolution,
And therefore for his goods iust distribution,
Hee for his sole Executor elected
A man (that like himselfe) the world respected:
For as my Lord all earthly pompe did hate,
And did esteeme this world at little rate:
As he did vertue loue, and vice abhor,
So (without doubt) doth his Executor:
And therefore he committed this great trust,
To one he knew was honest, plaine and iust.
Now for conclusion, for a finall end,
Long time this Reuerend Father did attend,
He knew that he to Nature was a debter,
And therefore long'd to change this life for better.
His heart was open still to welcome Death,
His great desire was to expire his breath,
He knew it is a passage must be past;
A journey that all flesh must goe at last:
A port of rest, a ceasing here to sinne,
An end, where endlesse glory doth beginne.
For though conuulsions, sighs, and sickly groanes,
Our parents, friends, & kindreds teares and moanes,
The bells sad toling, and the mourning weede,
Makes Death more dreadfull then it is indeede,
Yet wise men all in generall agree,
Tis naturall to dye, as borne to be,
And as man cannot here auoyd his birth,
So shunne hee cannot his returne to earth.
The Pilgrimage, the race, the glasse is runne,
The threed is spun, the victory is wonne;
And Honourable Winchester is gone
Vnto the Lambe, that sits vpon the Throne:
For as I well haue scan'd vpon his name,
And of it made a double Anagram:
(And Anagrams oft-times include a fate)
And 'tis no doubt but they explaine his State,
For hauing past with troubles, griefes and cares,
This transitory life, this vale of teares;
Yet Lancelot Andrewes name, doth this portend,
All sure, All due content, Crownes all attend.

[A Funerall Elegie vpon the death of the Duke of Richmond and Linox.]

A Funerall Elegie.

GREAT BRITAINE ALL IN BLACKE.

OR, A short Elegie written in the manner of Æquiuoques, in a sad and dutifull remembrance of the Royall Prince Henry.

THE MVSES MOVRNING:

OR, FVNERALL SONNETS ON THE Death of Iohn Moray Esquire.

Sonnet. 1.

[VVhen King Corbredus wore the Scottish Crowne]

VVhen King Corbredus wore the Scottish Crowne,
The Romanes did the Britaine Land afflict:
But Corbred ioyn'd confederate with the Pict,
By whom Queen Woadaes foes were ouerthrowne.
The Morayes then, to haue their valour knowne,
Did first the Romane forces contradict:
And made them render vp their liues so strict,
That horse and foot, and all were beaten downe.
Loe thus began the Morayes honour'd Race,
Of memorable Ancient worthy fame:
And since the fiue and fiftieth yeere of Grace,
In Scotland hath suruiu'd that noble name.
To whom aliue, and to my dead friends hearse,
In duty heere I consecrate this verse.

Sonnet. 2.

[Weepe euerlastingly, you Nymphs diuine]

Weepe euerlastingly, you Nymphs diuine,
Your very Quintessence is waste and spent:
Sigh, grone and weepe, with wofull languishment,
Dead is the life that made your Glories shine.
The heau'nly numbers of your Sacred nine,
He tun'd as an Aetheriall Instrument,
So sweet, as if the Gods did all consent
In him their Consort holy to combine.
Weepe, Muses, euerlasting lament,
Eclipsed is your Sire Apollo's shrine:
Grim Death, the life hath from your Champion rent,
And therefore sigh, grone, weepe, lament and pine:
And let the Lawrell rot, consume and wither,
Dye, Muses, and be Tomb'd with him together.

Sonnets. 3.

[From two strong Iailes thy corps & soul's acquitted]

From two strong Iailes thy corps & soul's acquitted,
The one compact of flesh, and bloud and bone:
The other vnrelenting sencelesse stone,
By God to one, by man to one committed.
I euer did expect a happy time,
When thou shouldst shake thy bondage from thy backe:
I euer hop'd that thy vnwilling crime
Would be forgot, and thou secur'd from wracke.
For this I wish'd and prai'd both day and night:
I onely aym'd to haue thy body freed,
But heau'n, (beyond my reason) had decreed,
Soule, body, both at once to free thee quite.
Thou in thy life hast past a world of trouble,
But death from double Iailes hath freed thee double.

Sonnet. 4.

[Corruption, Incorruption hath put on]

Corruption, Incorruption hath put on,
Immortall, weake mortality is made:
Earths wo hath gain'd a happy heauenly throne,
By death, life dyes, by life deaths force doth fade
Though death kill life, yet life doth conquer death,
Death but puts off our Rags of shame and sinne:
When for a moment's an eternall breath,
Life (passing through the dore of death) doth win.
This thou well knowst (my much beloued friend)
And therefore thou didst dare death to his worst,
But he (much busied) could not thee attend,
Or durst not, till thy cares thy heart had burst.
And then the slaue came stealing like a thiefe,
And 'gainst his will, did giue thy woes reliefe.

Sonnet. 5.

[Thou fortunes foot-ball, whom she vs'd to tosse]

Thou fortunes foot-ball, whom she vs'd to tosse,
From wrong to wrong, from wo to wo againe:
From griefe rebounding backe to pinching paine,
As't please the blind-fold Dame to blesse or crosse:
But thou, vnmou'd with either gaine or losse,
Nor ioy, nor care, could vexe thy constant braine:
Thou smil'dst at all her buffets with disdaine,
And all her fauours thou esteem'dst as drosse:
Her and her Fauorites thou still didst deeme
Iust as they are, not as they seeme to be:
Her Minions all as fooles thou didst esteeme,
And that's the cause she would not fauour thee:
Then since such reck'ning she of fooles doth make:
Would thou hadst beene one, for her fauours sake.

Sonnet. 6.

[Tis written in the euerliuing Word]

Tis written in the euerliuing Word,
(The Rule and Square that men should liue thereby)
Afflictions are the tuch-stones of the Lord.
By which he onely doth his seruants try.
Then Noble Moray, thou hadst many a tuch,
And still thy patience good and currant prou'd,
Thy manly carriage in thy griefs were such,
Which made thee (more then much) admir'd and lou'd.
What yeer, what month, week, day or fading houre,
Wherein some mischiefe did thee not befall?
Yet had Affliction ouer thee no power
To conquer thee, but thou didst conquer all.
Vnnumbred times thou wast both toucht and tri'd,
And in thy Makers feare and fauour dy'd.

Sonnet. 7.

[VVeep heart, weepe eyes, weep my vnable pen]

VVeep heart, weepe eyes, weep my vnable pen,
In teares of blood, of water, and Inke:
With bread of sorrow, and afflictions drinke
I liue, for I haue lost a man of men.
Yet heart, eyes, pen, dry vp your teares agen,
He is not lost, he's rather new found:
Enfranchis'd from a dolefull theeuish den,
And with a rich Immortall Crowne is crownd,
Then hart, eies pen no more with teares be drownd
Weepe not for him that doth reioyce for euer:
Yet this againe my comfort doth confound,
Hee's lost to mee, and I shall find him neuer.
Then weep Muse, heart, eies, pen, lament and weep:
My ioyes are buried in eternall sleepe.

Sonnet. 8.

[Sleepe, gentle, spirit, in Eternall rest.]

Sleepe, gentle, spirit, in Eternall rest.
Free from all heart-tormenting sorrow sleepe:
Whilst I doe vent from my care-crazed brest,
Hart-wondring sighs that there their mansion keep:
And let my grones from out that Cauerne deepe,
With lamentations and cloud-cracking thunder,
And let mine eyes an Inundation weepe,
Let sighs, grones, teares, make all the world to wonder,
I meane my little Microcosmo world,
Sigh stormes, grone thunder, weep a floud of teares:
Through eu'ry part of me, let griefe be hurld,
That whosoeuer my lamenting heares,
May mone (with me) the cause of this my Ditty,
Or if not mone with me, vouchsafe to pitty.

Sonnet. 9.

[Since cursed fates haue fatally decreed]

Since cursed fates haue fatally decreed
To tosse and tumble harmelesse Innocence:
And all the crue of hels abortiue breed
Haue glutted Enuies maw, by lawes defence:
Yet God whose knowledge knows the least offence,
Who all things sees, with his all-searching eye.
Doth with his glorious great omnipotence,
Right wronged wrongs, & heares his seruants cry.
His mercie's not immur'd within the sky,
But freely he doth powre it downe on earth:
He with afflictions scourge his sonnes doth try,
And when he pleases, turnes their mone to mirth,
And though man liues in care, and dies in sorrow,
A heauy euening brings a ioyfull morrow.

Sonnet. 10.

[Well hast thou runne in this thy weary race]

Well hast thou runne in this thy weary race,
Well hast thou fought with Satan hand to hād:
Th'ast won the Goale, and gain'd the blessed Land,
That's neither limitted with time or place.
There thou attendest on the throne of Grace,
There Angels, and Archangels sweetly sing:
Eternall praises to th'eternall King,
And see the glorious brightnesse of his face.
All this I (doubt not) but thou well hast done,
Not of thy selfe (with shamefull sinne polluted)
But thy Redeemer hath the conquest wonne,
And vnto thee the victorie's imputed.
He paid the score, and cancell'd all thy bands,
And gaue thee to his blessed Fathers hands.

Sonnet. 11.

[Now may you theeuing Poets filch and steale]

Now may you theeuing Poets filch and steale,
Without controlement breaking Priscians pate:
For he that whilom could your theft reueale,
Your Criticke, and your Hypercriticke late,
Now may you cog and lye and sweare and prate,
And make your idle verses lame and halt:
For by the pow'r of euiternall Fate,
Hee's gone that could and would correct each fault.
But you haue greatest cause to moane his want.
You sacred heau'nly Sisters (three times thrice)
He from your Gardens, could all weeds supplant,
And replant fruites and flowres of peerelesse price;
He kept (vnbroke) your Numbers, Tipes & Tropes:
But now hee's dead, dead are your onely hopes.

Sonnet. 12.

[As Solon, to rich haplesse Crœsus said]

As Solon, to rich haplesse Crœsus said,
No man, is happy till his life doth end:
The proofe in thee so plainly is displaid,
As if he thy Natiuity had kend.
What mortall miseries could mischiefe send,
But thou therein hast had a treble share:
As if Calamities their powers should bend,
To make thy Corps a treasure-house of care?
Yet fell Aduersity thou didst out-dare,
And valiantly 'gainst stormes of woe resisted:
Loue of the world thy minde could not insnare,
Thou knewst wherein the best of best consisted.
And as old Solon said, so I agree,
Death makes men happy, as it hath done thee.

Sonnet. 13.

[No Monumentall Trophee Vertue needes]

No Monumentall Trophee Vertue needes,
And good report a marble Tombe out-weares:
Fame plaies the Herald, & proclaimes mens deeds,
Her Trumps shrill sound the spacious world heares.
And such an vniuersall Tombe hast thou,
Borne on the tops of thousand thousand tongs:
Thy liuing merit doth thy name allow
A Monument for euer, which belongs
To none but such as whilom was thy selfe,
Who vs'd the world as if they vs'd it not:
And did acknowledge misbegotten pelfe,
Must (like the getters of it) rust and rot.
And such a liuing Tombe thy Corps inherit,
A good report, according to thy merit.

Sonnet. 14.

[Had I the skill of Homer, Maro, Naso]

Had I the skill of Homer, Maro, Naso,
Or had I that Admir'd ornated stile
Of Petrark, or the braue Italian Tasso,
I could not ouermuch thy praise compile.
But as I am (alas and woe the while)
A poore vnlearned silly simple swaine:
At whose attempt the world with scorn will smile,
And flout th'vnshapen issue of my braine.
But duty bids me inch into this Maine,
Though my performance be but weake of store,
Yet worthy mindes this goodnesse doe retaine,
Not to despise the seruice of the poore.
I lou'd him liuing, and my loue to show,
My least and last poore loue I heere bestow.

A FVNERALL ELEGY: DEPLORING THE DEATH OF THE TRVE Patterne, Patrone, and mirrour of Honour, the Right Honorable Lord, Iohn Ramsey, Lord Viscount Hadington, Earle of Holdernesse,

Who departed this life on Tuesday the 24 of Ianuary last, and was buried in the Abby-Church of Westminster on Tuesday the last of February following.

[An arme and hand (well Arm'd with Heav'nly might)]

TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE and vertuous Lady, the Lady Martha, Countesse of Holdernesse.

Right Honoured Madame, to your noble view,
These lines of greife, with griefe I dedicate:
Not that I would your cares a fresh renew,
Or any way your sorrowes aggraunte.
If you but please to reade what I relate,
My hope is, that your grieued heart shall finde
Some things that may your woe extenuate,
And adde some comfort to your care-craz'd minde,
And as you still haue nobly beene inclin'd,
To beare with Christian patience euery crosse:
So be that Vertue still to you combinde,
Supporting you, to vndergoe this losse.
Thus crauing pardon, I the heau'ns implore,
To make your sorrowers lesse, your comforts more.

A Sonnet of true and notable obseruations, vpon seuen seuerall Teuesdayes.

Vpon a Tuesday hee his Birth beganne.
Vpon a Tuesday he his baptisme had,
Vpon a Tuesday hee his Honour wanne,
Vpon the Gowries, (whose intents were bad.)
Vpon a Tuesday hee at first did wed
The Noble Sussex daughter, who deceast:
Vpon a Tuesday then hee married
Sir William Cockains, Childe, by heau'ns behest.
Vpon a Tuesday hee did taste Deaths Cup,
And to his blest Redeemer gaue his spirit.
Vpon a Tuesday hee was closed vp
Within his Tombe, which doth his Corps inherit.
Thus vpon Tuesdaies 'twas his lot to haue,
Birth, Baptisme, Honor, two Wiues, Death & Graue.

A FVNERALL ELEGY.

You Poets all, where is your Art become?
Are you all tong-ti'd? ar your Muses dum?
Or are your sorrows in your brests so shut
That you your pens to paper cannot put?
Can neither duty, or your loue expresse,
The lamentable losse of Holdernesse?
Alas! I know, that you doe know, his Worth
Was farre beyond your skils to blazon forth,
And that when you had done what could be done,
It had beene as a Taper to the Sunne.
He was an Ocean, for whose sake I know,
A dry inuention may with plenty flowe:
He was a well manured fertile field,
Which to a barren wit would haruest yeeld:
He was a Subiect of transcendent size,
Beyond each vulgar pen to Poetize:
And though I know my selfe vnworthy farre,
With my poore Glow-worme Muse, t'attend this Starre:
Yea, though I cannot as I would endite,
As tribute here I offer vp my mite,
Which in his Noble Treasury I throw,
My latest Duty that I can bestow.
And well I hope these lines of mine shall last,
When as his Tombe by Time shall be defac'd,
Yea, though I had no hope to liue so long,
To write his Epicedium, or Deaths song:
Yet since God so decrees, this Elegie
My duty, loue, and thankes, shall testifie.
How can the World but be in Honour poore,
Since it in losing him, hath lost such store?
Or how can Vertue hope to liue and thriue,
Hee's dead, whose life preserued her aliue,
Religion was his Tutresse, and his Matron,
And vnto her he was a zealous Patron;
True Charity belou'd with him did liue,
And (to the poore) his Glory was to giue.
Yet was his bounty from the world so hid;
His right hand knew not what his left hand did;
So that his carriage, and his Noble parts,
Iustly deseru'd, and firmely kept mens hearts,
That his true praise great Britaines Bounds did fill,
And no man e're had cause to wish him ill.
His merits (through Heau'ns fauour) did afford,
That Holdernesse had euery mans good word,
For though the world doth vndergoe this curse,
That euery day it waxeth worse and worse:
He had a Noble and a Christian way,
Whereby his life was better'd euery day.
For to his end, eu'n from his dayes of youth,
His time did fade, but goodnesse still had growth,
So as his life did weare, his Vertue grew,
And Grace did daily still more Grace renew.
Hee was no diuing Politician,
Or proiect-seeking Monopolitan.
Hee ne'r prouok'd the silly orphants cryes,
Nor fill'd with teares the woefull widdowes eyes,
But as his Princes fauour he did merit,
Hee vs'd it with such modesty of Spirit,
That though he might almost haue what he would,
Yet in such bounds he his demaunds did hold,
Which Honour and his Conscience did restraine,
That Prince or people neuer could complaine.
So as his life was all good mens content,
His death doth generally make all lament;
Much like a fruitfull piece of land well till'd,
Or as a Box with precious oyntment fill'd,
Eu'n so his Actions and his Conuersation
Pleasd, pleasur'd and much honour'd all our Nation.
And though that Honours doe change manners much,
Yet sure in him th'effects were neuer such:
Though merit, and the Kings benignity,
Did raise him vnto Noble dignity,
Though he in Titles was promoted high,
Yet still his minde retain'd Humility,
That though desert had made his honours more,
His minde was rais'd no higher then before.
Promotion with humility combind
A lofty Title, and a lowly minde.
These Vertues are exceeding great and rare,
And not by many men possessed are,
And yet in him these gifts were so apparent,
As if they had beene naturall inherent.
For had he beene with loue of Pride endowd,
He had the means that might haue made him proud.
Hee ne'r esteem'd Court complementing bubbles,
Nor car'd hee for the flattring Knee that doubles:
Hee knew it was Ambitions onely end,
To mount vp higher when it seemes to bend,
And therefore he these frothy toyes did shunne:
(Not fit for men, but Monkeyes to be done)
And in his actions shew'd himselfe to be
Full of plaine, honest, true integrity:
He euery way himselfe did so demeane,
That from his haruest good and bad might gleane
Instructions to direct, and good directions
How to instruct their follies fond affections
No doubt but God did him preordinate,
To be a speciall blessing to the State,
By constellation and Heau'ns Influence,
Mark'd for remarked seruice for his Prince:
For all his youth almost to manly age,
He was to Royall Iames a trusty Page,
When as his conuersation and behauiour,
Gain'd and retain'd his Soueraignes speciall fauour.
In our Redemptions sixteenth hundred yeare,
Then did his seruice happily appeare
Then did he proue himselfe Heau'ns instrument,
His Gracious Masters murther to preuent,
Vpon that day of famous memory,
Of Gowries wracke, and blacke Conspiracy.
That day of note (which ne'r shall be forgot)
That fift of August, 'twas his lucky lot
To kill a brace of Traytors, at the time
When as they were in action of the crime.
For when the younger brother of the twaine,
In murd'rous manner would the King haue slaine:
When nothing could his treachery diuert,
But that he vowd to stabbe his Soueraignes heart,
The whilst the King and hee with eager will
Were striuing, one to saue, and one to kill,
So long that bustling both 'twixt life and death,
They both were tyr'd and almost out of breath,
The King, (like Daniel in the Lyons Den)
As 'twere by miracle preserued then,
Then Noble Ramsey was by God appointed,
To saue his Soueraigne, and the Lords Anointed;
For he (by Gods direction) found a way,
Where they were scuffling, and without delay,
He strait made Alexander Rewthen feele
The force and fury of reuenging steele.
For with three stabs he did the Traytor wound,
And cast him downe the staires (an Act renown'd)
When strait Earle Gowry found his brother slaine,
With two drawn swords ran vp the staires amaine,
Well-knowing of his lifes approaching date,
Infus'd with rage and madnesse desperate,
Laying about him like a demy-Diuell,
With purpose to conclude his last act euill:
With many a furious stroke and ill-meant thrust,
He madly did his best to doe his worst,
Whilst this deceased Lord a Bulwarke stood,
And wounded Nobly spent his Noble blood,
And with a thrust most fortunate and fierce,
He with his sword the Earles heart through did pierce.
This happy seruice of most high esteeme,
Was but his duty, as himselfe did deeme,
Yea, though it was an action meritorious,
Yet selfe-opinion made him not vaine-glorious,
To arme or sword did he no praise impute,
Nor to his courage stoute and resolute.
But thanking God that had him so directed,
Whereby this worthy seruice was effected,
Attributing all praise and Maiestie
To God that made him meanes of victorie.
Thus he like one of Dauids Worthies then,
Gain'd at one time the loue of God and men:
Of God, for his humility of heart,
Of men, for his good seruice and desert.
Consider you these mournefull lines that read,
Thinke but how much true Noblenesse is dead,
Which hauing pondred well, who can forbeare,
But for his losse to spend a sigh or teare?
For all that lou'd King Iames, must likewise loue
Him, whose good seruice did so faithfull proue,
Who lou'd his Master so, that men might see
That from him long he could not sundred be;
And as he truely on him here attended,
So knowing him to higher state ascended,
To make his loyalty the more appeare,
He left this world, to wait vpon him there.
Each honest Britaine in his losse hath share,
The griefe is vniuersall, and the care
Hath tane possession of both high and low,
Eu'n from the Royall Throne vnto the Plough.
The King hath lost a seruant true and iust,
In whom he might repose especiall trust,
And his companions Peeres haue lost a friend,
Whose vertues very few men could transcend:
His honourable Countesse she hath lost
The comfort where her ioy consisted most:
His Nobles father' in lawes are full of griefe,
And are (in sorrowes) equall with the chiefe:
His worthy honour'd brethren are possest,
With each of them a sad and grieued brest:
And from his seruants, death a Lord hath tane,
Whose like they haue no hope to finde againe.
His kindred all are fill'd with sad laments,
His friends are fraught with woe and discontents,
His friends (say I) alas, he had no foes,
And therefore all are partners in these woes.
I, in particular am now depriu'd
Of him who formerly when he suruiu'd,
Did cause King Iames of his especiall grace,
On me (desertlesse) to bestow a place,
Which makes me in these poore sad lines expresse
My loue, my duty, and my thankefulnesse:
Thus as the waues each other hath in chase,
So is our life in this our mortall race:
Through many changes from natiuity,
We gaine our manhood or maturitie:
And this deare Lord before his Winters age,
At mid-time was abridg'd his Pilgrimage,
Yet to the world it very plaine appeares,
His age was more in goodnesse then in yeeres.
Thus euery one may for his losse complaine,
All losers, onely Heau'n and he did gaine.
His mortall race hee heere so well did runne,
That good report and loue his life hath wonne.
The glorious hoast of Heau'n hath gain'd a spirit,
(Through his firme faith in his Redeemers merit)
And he an earthly Earledome hath forgone,
For true content, and an immortall Throne.
He liu'd the life of Grace whilst he was heere,
And therefore hath the life of Glory there.
He through th'assistance of his Makers might,
Hath fought a good, a valiant, Christian fight,
And now inshrin'd in euerlasting blisse,
He from his house of Clay aduanced is,
His course he ranne so in this vale of strife,
That he hath wonne, and weares a Crowne of life;
Of true eternall happinesse possest,
Whilst we with cares and sorrowes are opprest.

IOHN RAMSEYE Anagramma. HONER'S I AYME, MY HONER'S AYE.

To Vertve, and to Honovr once in Rome,
Two stately Temples there erected was,
Where none might vnto Honours Temple come,
But first through Vertves Temple they must passe.
Which was an Emblem, and a Document,
That men by vertue must true honour winne,
And that, that Honovr shall be permanent,
Which onely did from Vertue first beginne.
Thus was this Noble Lords high Honour wonne,
Through Vertue, and by Vertue it increas'd:
And though his mortall Pilgrimage be done,
Yet shall his Honour neuer bee deceast.
And as for him, his Anagrams doe say.
Honer's I Ayme; Therefore My Honer's Aye.

THE VVATER-CORMORANT.

[My Cormorant against these doth inuey]

My Cormorant against these doth inuey,
And proues himselfe much better farre then they.

A Jesuite.

A Separatist.

A Trust-breaker.

A Drunkard.

A prodigall Country Gallant, and his new made Maddam.

An Extortioner and a Broaker.

A Basket-Iustice.

A Cutpurse.

A Good and a bad Constable.

A London Serieant and Jaylor.

A Symonicall Patron, and his penny Clarke.

A Country Yeoman.

A Figure-flinger, or a couz'ning Cunning-man.

A Corrupted Lawyer, and a knauish Vndershriue.

Epilogve.

Now Reader, tell me (if thou well canst judge)
If any honest man haue cause to grudge
At these my Satyres, being plaine and true,
Giuing the world and the Diuell their due.
I haue but bluntly call'd a spade a spade,
And hee that wincheth shewes himselfe a iade.
Be quiet, see thy faults, and learne t'amend,
Thou shewest thy guiltinesse if thou contend.

TAYLORS WATER-WORKE:

OR, THE SCVLLERS TRAVELS, FROM TYBER TO THAMES: VVITH his Boat laden with a Hotch-potch, or Gallimawfrey of Sonnets, Satyres, and Epigrams.

With an Inkhorne Disputation betwixt a Lawyer and a Poet: and a Quarterne of new-catcht Epigrams, caught the last Fishingtide: together with an addition of Pastorall Equinocques, or the complaint of a Shepheard.

To the Right Worshipfull and my euer respected Mr. Iohn Moray Esquire.

Of all the wonders this vile world includes,
I muse how flatterie such high fauours gaine.
How adulation cunningly deludes,
Both high and low from Scepter to the swaine;
But if thou by flatterie couldst obtaine
More then the most that is possest by men,
Thou canst not tune thy tongue to falshoods straine,
Yet with the best canst vse both tongue and pen.
Thy sacred learning can both scan and ken
The hidden things of Nature and of Art,
'Tis thou hast rais'd me from obliuions den,
And made my Muse from obscure sleepe to start.
Vnto thy wisdomes censure I commit,
This first borne issue of my worthlesse wit.

To my deere respected friend, Maister Beniamin Johnson.

Thou canst not dye for though the stroake of death
Depriues the world of thy worst earthly part:
Yet when thy corps hath banished thy breath,
Thy liuing Muse shall still declare thy Art.
The fatall Sisters and the blessed Graces,
Were all thy friends at thy Natiuitie:
And in thy mind the Muses tooke their places,
Adoring thee with rare capacitie.
And all the Worthies of this worthy Land,
Admires thy wondrous all-admired worth,
Then how should I that cannot vnderstand
Thy worth, thy worthy worthinesse set forth?
Yet beare the boldnesse of the honest Sculler,
Whose worthlesse praise can fill thy praise no fuller.

To my louing Friend Iohn Taylor.

Could my vnpractis'd pen aduance thy name,
Thou shouldst be seated on the wings of Fame.
For from thy toylesome Oare I wonder I,
How thy inuention flowes so iooondly?
Not hauing dream'd on faire Pernassus Hill,
With fruitfull numbers to enrich thy Quill.
Nor hauing washt in that Pegassion Fount,
Which lends the wits such nimblenesse to mount
With tickling rapture on Poetique straines,
On Thames the Muses floate that fils thy braines.
Thy happy wit produc'd thy happy rimes,
Which shall commend thee vnto after times.
And worthily enroll thy name 'mongst those,
Whose Temples are begirt, with Lawrell bowes.
For (sooth to say) a worke I saw not yet,
Lesse helpt with learning, rnd more grac'd with wit:
Then spight of enuie and detractions scorne,
Though Art thou want'st, thou art a Poet borne:
And as a friend for names-sake I'le say thus,
Nec scombros metuentia, Carmina nec thus,

To the one and onely water-Poet and my Friend, Iohn Taylor.

Fresh-water Souldiers saile in shallow streames,
And Mile end Captaines venture not their liues,
A braine distempred brings forth idle dreames,
And gelded Sheathes haue seldome golden Kniues,
And painted faces none but fooles bewitch:
Thy Muse is plaine: but witty, faire: and rich.
When thou didst first to Aganippe float,
Without thy knowledge (as I surely thinke)
The Nayades did swim about thy boat,
And brought thee brauely to the Muses brinke,
Where Grace and Nature filling vp thy Fountaine,
Thy Muse came flowing from Pernassus Mountaine.
So long may flow as is to thee most fit,
The boundlesse Ocean of a Poets wit.

In laudem Authoris.

Wit, Reason, Grace, Religion, Nature, Zeale,
Wrought all together in thy working braine
And to thy worke did set this certaine seale;
Pure is the colour that will take no staine.
What need I praise? the worke it selfe doth praise:
In words, in worth, in forme and matter to,
A world of wits are working many wayes,
But 'few haue done, what thou dost truly doe:
Was neuer Tailor shapt so fit a Coat,
Vnto the Corps of any earthly creature,
As thou hast made for that foule Romish Goat,
In true description of his diuellish nature.
Besides such matter of judicious wit,
With quaint conceits so fitting euery fancie;
As well may proue, who scornes and spights at it
Shall either shew their folly or their franzie,
Then let the Popes Buls roare, Bell, Booke & Candle.
In all the Diuels circuit sound thy curse:
Whilst thou with ttuth dost euerie tryall handle.
God blesse thy worke, and thou art ne're the worse.
And while hels friends their hateful so do proue thee,
The Saints on earth, & God in heauen will loue thee.

[VVhen Tybers siluer waues their Channel leaue]

VVhen Tybers siluer waues their Channel leaue,
And louely Thames, her wonted course forsake,
Then foule obliuion shall thy name bereaue,
Drenching thy glory in her hell bred lake,
But till that time this scourge of Popery,
Shall crowne thy fame with immortality.

To my louing Friend Iohn Taylor.

Ferris gaue cause of vulgar wonderment,
When vnto Bristow in a boat he went;
Another with his Sculler ventured more,
That row'd to Flushing from our English shoare.
Another did deuise a woodden Whale,
Which vnto Callice did from Douer saile,
Another with his Oares and slender Wherry,
From London vnto Antwerpe o're did Ferry.
Another maugre fickle fortunes teeth,
Rowed hence to Scotland and arriu'd at Leeth.
But thou hast made all these but triuiall things,
That from the Tower thy watry Sculler brings
To Hellicon: most sacred in account,
And so arriued at Pernassus Mount:
And backe return'd Laden with Poets wit,
With all the Muses hands to witnesse it;
Who on their Sculler doth this praise bestow,
Not such another on the Thames doth row.

To my Friend both by Water and Land, Iohn Taylor.

Oft hast thou trauail'd for me at thy Oare,
But neuer in this kind didst toyle before.
To turne a Poet in this peeuish time,
Is held as rare as J should write in rime,
For one of thy profession, yet thy Art,
Surpasseth mine, this serues to paint that part,
J meane thy Poetry which in thee lurks,
And not thy sweating skill in water-works.
I cannot but commend thy Booke, and say
Thou merit'st more then common Scullers pay:
Then whistle off thy Muse, and giue her scope,
That she may soundly cease vpon the Pope:
For well J see that he and many more,
Are dar'd by her (which scarce was done before.)
Proceed (good Iohn) and when th'ast done this worke,
Feare not to venter trassing of the Turke.
I like thy vaine, J loue thee for those guifts
Of Nature in thee, farre aboue the shifts
That others seeke, plodding for what thy pen,
Wit workes in thee learning in other men.
Thou Natiue Language we haue done thee wrong
To say th'art not compleat, wanting the tongue
Call'd Latine, for heere's one shall end the strife,
That neuer learned Latine word in's life.
Then to conclude, J truly must confesse,
Many haue more beene taught, but learned lesse.

To my louing Friend Iohn Taylor.

Some say kind Iacke thou art a Poet borne,
And none by Art; which thou maist justly scorne;
For if without thy name they had but seene
Thy lines, thy lines had artificiall beene,
Opinion carries with it such a curse,
Although thy name makes not the verse the worse.
If then this worke, variety affords
Of Trophes, of Figures, Epethites, and Words.
With no harsh accent and with iudgement too.
I pray what more can Art or Nature doe?
So that in thee thy Genius doth impart,
To Artificiall Nature, Naturall Art.

Prologue to the Reader.

Good gentle Reader, if I doe transgresse,
I know you know, that I did ne're professe,
Vntill this time in Print to be a Poet:
And now to exercise my wits I show it.
View but the intrals of this little booke,
And thou wilt say that I some paines haue tooke:
Paines mixt with pleasure, pleasure ioyn'd with pain
Produc'd this issue of my laboring braine.
But now me thinkes I heare some enuious throat,
Say I should deale no further then my Boat:
And ply my Fare, and leaue my Epigram,
Minding, ne Sutor vltra crepidam.
To such I answere, Fortune giue her guifts.
Some downe she throwes, and some to honour lifts:
'Mongst whom from me she hath with-held her store
And giues me leaue to sweat it at my Oare.
And though with labour I my liuing purse,
Yet doe I thinke my lines no iot the worse,
For Gold is gold though buried vnder mosse,
And drosse in golden vessels is but drosse.

To Tom Coriat.

VVhat matters for the place I first came from
I am no Duncecomb, Coxecomb, Odcomb Tom
Nor am I like a wool-pack, crām'd wth Greek,
Uenus in Uenice minded to goe seeke;
And at my backe returne to write a Volume,
In memory of my wits Gargantua Colume.
The choysest wits would neuer so adore me;
Nor like so many Lackies run before me,
But honest Tom, I enuy not thy state,
There's nothing in thee worthy of my hate;
Yet I confesse thou hast an excellent wit:
But that an idle braine doth harbour it.
Foole thou it at the Court, I on the Thames,
So farewell Odcomb Tom, God blesse King James.

The Author in his awne defence.

There is a crew of euer carping spirits,
Who merit nothing good, yet hate good merits:
One wrings his lawes a wry, and then cryes mew,
And that I stole my lines, hee'l plainely shew.
Thou addle-headed Asse, thy braines are muddy,
Thy witlesse wit, vncapable of study,
Deem'st each inuention barren, like to thine,
And what thou canst not mend thou wilt repine.
Loe thus to wauering Censures torturing Racke,
With truth and confidence my Muse doth packe.
Let Zoylus and let Momus doe their worst,
Let Enuie and Detraction swell and burst;
In spight of spight and rankerous disdaine,
In scorne of any carping Criticks braine,
Like to a Post I'le runne through thicke and thin,
To scourge Iniquity and spurgall sinne.
You worthy fauourites of wisedomes lore,
Onely your fauours doth my Muse implore:
If your good stomackes these harsh lines disgest,
I carelesse bid a rush for all the rest.
My lines first parents (be they good or ill)
Was my vnlearned braine, and barren quill.

THE SCVLLER.

To the whole kennell of Anti-Christs hounds, Priests, Friers, Monkes, and Jesuites, Mastiffes, Mongrels, Islands, Spanniels, Blood-hounds, Bobtaile-tike, or Foysting-hound: The Scvller sends greeting.

Epigram 1.

[Cvrse, exorcise, with Beads, with Booke and Bell]

Cvrse, exorcise, with Beads, with Booke and Bell
Polluted shauelings: rage and doe your worst:
Vse coniurations till your bellies burst,
With many a N gromanticke mumbling spell,
I feare you not, nor all your friends that fell
With Lucifer: yee damned dogs that durst
Deuise that thundring Treason most accurst,
Whose like before was neuer hatcht in Hell,
Halfe men, halfe diuels, who neuer dream'd of good,
To you from faire and sweetly sliding Thames,
A popomasticke Sculler warre proclaimes,
As to the suckers of Imperiall bloud,
An Anti-Iesuite Sculler with his pen,
Defies your Babell beast, and all his Den.

Epigram 2.

[Rome, now approaches thy confusion]

Rome , now approaches thy confusion,
Thy Antichristiā Kingdome down must tumble
The Nimrods proud cloud-piercing Babylon,
Like hell-hatch'd pride, despight thy hart must humble,
In scorne of damn'd equiuosation,
My lines like thunder through thy Regions rumble,
Downe in the dust must lye thy painted glory,
For now I row and write thy tragicke story.

Epigram. 3.

[Whē God had all things out of nothing fram'd]

Whē God had all things out of nothing fram'd,
And man had named all things ye are nam'd;
God shewed to man the way he should behaue him,
What ill would dam him, or what good would saue him,
All creatures that the world did then containe,
Were all made subiects to mans Lordly raigne.
Faire Paradise was Princely Adams walke,
Where God himselfe did often with him talke;
At which the Angels, enuious and proud,
Striu'd to ascend aboue the highest cloud:
And with the mighty God to make compare,
And of his glory to haue greatest share:
Because they saw Gods loue to man so great,
They striu'd to throw their Maker from his seat.
But he, whose power is All-sufficient,
Did headlong hurle them from Heauens battlement:
And for which enuious pride they so did swell,
They lost heauens glory for the paines of Hell.
In all this time, man liuing at his ease,
His wife nor he not knowing to displease
Their glorious maker, till the Sonne of night
Full fraught with rage, and poyson bursting spight,
Finding alone our ancient grandam Eve,
With false perswasions makes her to beleeue
If she would eate the fruit she was forbidden,
She should Gods secrets know, were from her hidden
Supposing all was true the Serpent told,
They both to Adam straightway did vnfold,
This treacherous horrid vile soule-killing treason,
And he ambitious, past the bounds of reason,
(To his posterities sole detriment)
Doth to the Woman and the Fiend consent.
Yet Adam neuer had the diuell obeyed,
Had he not had the woman for his ayde.
Lo thus the sexe that God made man to cherish,
Was by the Diuell intic'd to cause him perish.
Sathan supposing he had wonne the field
(In making man to his obedience yeeld)
Poore Adam now in corps and mind deiected,
From head to foot with shamefull sinne infected:
Is now a slaue to sinne, the Diuell and Death,
Dreading the danger of th'Almighties wrath.
From Eden banisht, from Gods presence thrust,
And all the earth being for his crime accurst,
Opprest with griefe and selfe-consuming care,
Being at the brimme of bottomlesse dispaire.
Yet God in mercy thinking of his frailtie,
Though sinfull man to him had broken fealtie,
Did promise he would send his onely Sonne,
To satisfie for faults by man misdone.
At last he came, in his appointed time,
And on his faultlesse shoulders tooke our crime,
And like a malefactor death he suffered,
And once for all, himselfe himselfe hath offered.
And yet the Diuell will not be satisfi'd,
(Although the Sonne of God for sinners dy'd)
But dayly hellish damned enterprises,
His Ministers and he 'gainst man deuises,
Vnder the shelter of Religions cloake,
Seditiously he doth the world prouoke,
'Gainst God in trayterous manner to rebell,
To amplifie his euerlasting hell,
Attempting mankind still by fraud or force,
His soule from his Redeemer to diuorce,
And yet not man alone must feele his sting,
But he dares venter on our heauenly King,
Whose power though Satan knowes is euerlasting,
Yet after fortie dayes and nights long fasting,
Thinking him weake, attempts now to inuade him:
And with illusions seeking to perswade him:
Carries our Sauiour vp vnto a Hill,
And told him if he would obey his will.
In adoration to fall downe before him,
He of the worlds great glory would so store him
That he should Lord and Master be of all,
If he in reuerence would before him fall.
Christ knowing him to be the root of euill,
With God-like power commands, auoid thou diuell.
'Tis writ, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God,
But serue and feare the fury of his rod,
Sathan perceiuing all his labour lost,
Runnes through the world, more swifter then a post:
Proclaimes large Kingdomes, and a tryple Crowne,
To him that in his Reuerence would fall downe.
Ambitious thirst of fickle fading fame,
Did quickly mindes of wordly men inflame:
Making them dreame on pleasures transitorie,
And to esteeme earths pompe aboue heauens glory.
This made the Pope, with poysonous pride infus'd,
T'accept those honours Christ before refus'd:
Now hath he wonne great fame, on this condition:
That fore the diuell he fall in base submission:
So hauing wonne this great magnificence,
To countermaund the earths circumference:
The Idiot world he proudly ouer-swayes,
Vnder the name of Heauens immortall kayes,
O're all the Globe he raignes as Lord and King,
And to Hels Goat fold aye doth millions bring,
Of soules, seduc'd with buzard blinded zeale,
From men besotted he doth honour steale.
And yet with his effrontit shamelesse face,
Seemes to command the diuell that gaue him place.
A haynous fault in my dull vnderstanding,
The Seruant o're his Lord should be commanding:
But yet I thinke 'tis but for policy,
More to increase th'infernall Monarchy:
He seemes to hate the Diuell he most doth serue,
Else would the world from Romes obedience swerue,
And leaue the Pope and Papists in the lurch:
And then might Sathan whistle for a Church,
The Isle of Brittaine hath perceiu'd their tricks,
And in Rebellion 'gainst the Pope she kickes:
For whom they haue inuented hell-hatcht plots,
Quite to extirpe the English and the Scots.
I wot not which of Rome or hell roar'd lowder,
But they had like t'haue pepper'd vs with powder.
Yea all estates, from Scepter to the Crowne,
Should topsie turuie all be tumbled downe.
Without respect of person, sexe, or age,
All had their doome, t'abide the Romane rage.
But he that by his sacred selfe had sworne,
To guard his Church, did laugh them all to scorne:
For when those vassals of eternall night,
Thought all secure, then God brought all to light,
Casting their painted glory in the dust,
That any power besides his power doth trust:
Leauing their Corps a prey for Crowes and Kites,
That brauely so for Signior Satan fights.
But in this matter I'le no further trauaile,
Least want or water make my Ship to grauell:
Knowing there's many wits of farre more worth,
That to the life hath limbd this Treason forth;
But Ile conclude as I began before,
Because that Christ would not the diuell adore,
Christ lost this glorious worldly pompous raigne,
Which happy losse, the haplesse Pope did gaine.

Epigram 4.

[How weakly is that weake Religion grounded]

How weakly is that weake Religion grounded,
That thinks ye Church on Peters corps is foūded?
The Spouse of Christ is built on Faiths firme Rocke,
Which not the fury of Hels direfull shocke,
Though all the fiends in troupes doe her assaile.
Yet 'gainst Gods power their force cannot preuaile.
Peters confessing Christ Gods true begotten,
Is sure the Churches ground, but Peter's rotten.
Or else if Peter neuer had had life,
Through want of him Christ neuer had had wife.
For 'tis an Article of Faith profound,
To know S. Peter for the Churches ground.
And who denyes it shall haue fire and rope,
Beleeue me Reader, or goe aske the Pope.
But yet I muse in what place of the earth,
Gods Church did stand before S. Peters birth?

Epigram 5.

[VVhen as our Sauiour to the Temple went]

VVhen as our Sauiour to the Temple went,
To tell the message that his Father sent:
And finding there a rude vnruly rout,
That bought and sold, he angry beat them out,
And ouerthrew their Tressels and their Tables,
And made them packe away with all their bables:
And further said (what all true hearts beleeues)
This house was made for Prayer, no den for theeues.
Those Marchants thus whipt from their market place
Practis'd reuenge 'gainst Christ for this disgrace.
And more to strēgth their power, joyn'd wth ye Pope:
Who by his lawlesse Law hath giuen them scope,
That in the Church they still should buy and sell
Both God, and Diuell, Heauen, Purgatory, Hell.
Now here's the oddes, Christ out the Pedlers thrust,
And stayd himselfe there, preaching what was iust.
And for reuenge the haughty Romane Priest.
Hath tane the Pedlers in, and thrust out Christ.

Epigram 6.

[It is a question farre beyond my Logicke]

It is a question farre beyond my Logicke,
How those ye haue ye Popedome won by Magicke,
Can be Lieutenants vnto Christ our Sauiour,
Being knowne for hell-hounds of most damn'd behauiour:
Then since the diuell hath the Pope created,
His Vicar must he be, that there him seated:
'Twould make a wiser head then mine to muse,
That God should like the man the Diuell doth chuse.

Epigram 7.

[A prouerbe old, where had the Diuell the Fryer?]

A prouerbe old, where had the Diuell the Fryer?
Where had the Diuell the Fryer but were he was?
The Diuell with the Fryer sits in the Quire,
The Fryer with the Diuell sayes and sings Masse?
The diuell and the Frier are ne're asunder,
The Fryer to hate the Diuell is more then wonder.

Epigram 8.

[Conferring with a Romish]

Conferring with a Romish Pharisee,
Who void of grace maintain'd this heresie,
That he the Law of God had neuer broken,
Nor neuer ill had done, nor ill had spoken.
I gaue his Antichristian faith the lye.
And told him that for him Christ did not dye.
For be did suffer onely for their sinne,
Who were insnared in the diuels ginne.
And as for him that neuer had transgrest,
Twere good to hang him now he's at the best.

Epigram 9.

[It is an Art beyond the worke of Nature]

It is an Art beyond the worke of Nature,
The Pope should be Creator, and a Creature:
Betwixt the Pope and God there's one thing odde,
For though God all things made, ye Pope makes God.

Epigram 10.

[Religions scatter'd into diuers sects]

Religions scatter'd into diuers sects,
One likes one way for many sound respects.
Others like that way; others like another,
And what likes th'one, is loathed by the other.
Yet each man deemes his owne opinion's right,
And each 'gainst other beares inated spight.
Amongst the rest the Romane Catholike,
Who scornes that his Religion saile should strike
To any, since from it two vertues springs,
That they may eate their God, and kill their Kings;
By which maine Maximes they do strongly hope
To the worlds Period to vphold the Pope.

Epigram 11.

[It is no wonder though Romes regall sway]

It is no wonder though Romes regall sway,
Is by a Sheapheard rul'd with Lordly same;
For ancient Records truly doth display;
How Romulus the Shepheard built the same:
And how his brother Remus and himselfe,
In Tybers restlesse waues ydrencht and duckt,
When infant miserie was all their pelfe,
A rauening wolfe, most motherly they suckt:
From whom doth spring as from a flowing gulfe,
Romes Priest and Prince, a Shepheard and a Wolfe.

Epigram 12.

[Tvmultuous thoughts within my brest doth struggle]

Tvmultuous thoughts within my brest doth struggle,
To thinke how finely popish Priests can iuggle:
And make the world beleeue a a wafer Cake,
Is that Creator that did all things make
Or that the sinne-polluted bald-crownd Priest,
With coniurations, can create his Christ,
When our beliefe doth plainly testifie,
He sits at Gods right hand in Maiestie,
From whence in humaine forme he will not come,
Till quicke and dead shall all abide his doome.
What Fooles are they then thinks the Priest & Baker,
With impious hands makes their immortall maker.

Epigram 13.

[Not all the sophistrie of Aristotle]

Not all the sophistrie of Aristotle,
Cannot perswade me but the Pope did erre,
When he and's sonne mistooke the poysned bottle.
'Twas 'error sure, what euer they inferre.
O't had beene good then, both for him and's heyte,
He had beene haltered fast in Peters Chayre.

Epigram 14.

[The warlike Emperours before Christ come]

The warlike Emperours before Christ come,
Subdu'd the world, both Sea and Land to Rome.
Then afterwards the Heauens their Bishops wonne.
By preaching truly Gods immortall Sonne.
Heauen, Earth, and Sea, being taken in the prime,
What rests now for the Popes this latter time?
Since of the heauens and earth they loose their part,
They will haue hell, despight the diuels hart.

Epigram 15.

[Christs Church in no wayes is the]

Christs Church in no wayes is the Church of Rome
For Paul sayes, in the latter time should come,
Apostates, that the truth should quite forsake,
That lyes and fables should Religion make:
Affirming meates and Matrimony euill,
Which Paul doth call the doctrine of the deuill.
Then since the Pope and all his shaueling rout,
What Christ commands they wilfully thrust out.
I with my betters must conclude this doome,
The Deuils deere drab must be the Church of Rome.

Epigram 16.

[O yes, if any man would know a place]

O yes, if any man would know a place,
Where God himselfe hath neither power nor might,
Where as th'Almighty neuer shew'd his face.
Where words, not swords, can neither talke nor fight.
O such a placelesse place is, Purgatory,
Created by the Pope without Gods leaue,
To amplifie his Antichristian glory,
And all the world with cunning to deceiue,
Where as the Pope hangs, drawes, condemnes, and iudges
Commits, acquits, sets free, or casts in thrall,
Whether he thousands sends, on heapes like drudges,
For in this no place, hee is all in all,
And like a mighty three-crownd Priestly Prince,
With threats and bans he so the world bewitches:
In sending thither, and recalling thence,
He gaines himselfe the Diuell and all for riches.

Epigram 17.

[The ]

The Pope hath charge of heauens immortall keyes,
And triple-headed Cerberus obeyes,
His triple Crowne, and who so e're he please,
He sends to Hell for payne, or Heauen for ease.
He can command the Angels and the Fiends,
What pleases them for him or for his friends,
Like as a Dog doth feare a flitch of Bacon,
So his great name, Heauen, Earth, & Hell hath shaken.

Epigram 18.

[VVho dares affirme the Popes of Rome are Proud]

VVho dares affirme the Popes of Rome are Proud,
Amongst the Heretickes himselfe must shroud:
Or who dares say they'r giuen to Auarice,
In selling Heauen and Hell for summes of price?
Or who dares speake such words of treachery,
To say the Pope is giuen to Letchery?
Or who is he, dares be so impious,
To say his Holinesse is Enuious?
Or who, for feare of euerlasting scath,
Dares once accuse his Holinesse of Wrath?
Or who is he that dares once verisie,
The Pope doth vse excessiue Gluttony?
Or who dares say, that like a drone or moath,
Like an vnpreaching Priest, he liues by Sloath?
He that against him this dares justifie,
Is a plaine Protestant, and such am I.

Epigram 19.

[May it be call'd intollerable Pride]

May it be call'd intollerable Pride,
For man to sit in the Almighties seate,
Or on mens shoulders pompously to ride,
To terrifie the world with thundering threat?
To weare a three pilde Crowne vpon his head?
To haue both Kings and Princes at his becke?
Whose Horse by mighty Potentates is led,
Who proudly footes vpon the Emperours necke:
If trickes like these, for pride may be allow'd,
Then I conclude, the Pope must needs be proud.

Epigram 20.

[If it be couetous for gripple gaine]

If it be couetous for gripple gaine,
To sell the Heauens, the Earth, yea God himselfe,
To dispossesse Kings from their lawfull raigne,
To cramme his coffers with vnlawfull pelfe.
To pardon sinnes for money, more then pitty:
Nay more, to pardon sinnes that are to come:
To maintaine Whores, and Stewes in Towne and City:
Who yerely payes the Pope a countlesse sum,
Who takes great interest, puts great summes to vse,
'Tis Couetousnesse I thinke without excuse.

Epigram 21.

[Is it not bruitish sensuall]

Is it not bruitish sensuall appetite,
The Sire to make a strumpet of his child,
Or is not Letcherie an Epethite,
For him that hath his Fathers bed defilde?
For him that hath deflour'd Virginitie?
That hath defilde the Damozell and the Damme,
Without respect of Consanguinitie?
That like a wolfe hath spoyld both Ewe and Lambe?
This may be tearm'd incestuous Luxury,
And yet his Holinesse not wrongd thereby.

Epigram 22.

[He like a God that gouernes in the world]

He like a God that gouernes in the world,
That Envies each mans honour but his owne:
He that sedition through the earth hath hurld,
Whose Enuie hath great Kingdomes ouer-throwne.
He that vngraues his foe, that's once intomb'd,
For Enuie that he wrong'd him whilst he liu'd,
And after death is Enuiously doom'd.
To be of liuelesse sencelesse limbs depriu'd.
If this be true none will deny I hope,
That Enuie is ingrafted in the Pope.

Epigram 23.

[He whose fierce]

He whose fierce Wrath with bloudy rage doth swell,
That takes delight in slaughtering Gods elect:
He that is sworne the Champion of Hell.
That Wrath and Murther onely doth effect:
He whose combustious all-deuouring ire,
Depopulates and layes whole Empires waste,
Whose Wrath like a consuming quenchlesse fire,
Hath blessed peace from Christendome displac't.
If I should need one, skild in Wrath and Murther,
His Holinesse commands me goe no further.

Epigram 24.

[VVho dares for]

VVho dares for Glutony the Pope accuse,
Or 'gainst voluptuous dyet make complaints?
His Holinesse so many Fasts doth vse,
As Lents, and Fasting-dayes, and Eeues of Saints,
Yet where Pride, Lust, and Auarice are found,
Heart gnawing Enuie, and fell murthering Wrath,
There rauenous Gluttony must needs abound,
Else other vices will be out of breath.
For Papists Fasts are generally more deare,
Then Feasts of Protestants with all their cheare.

Epigram 25.

[Those ]

Those liberall Sciences in number seauen,
Began with Pride, & ends with drowsie Sloath,
Yet Christs command vnto the Apostles giuen
Was, feed my sheepe that faith in them haue growth.
Now I suppose, the feeding of Christs flocke,
Is truly Preaching of his sacred word,
Which word's the Key that opes the heauenly locke,
Which Sword and Word his Holinesse doth hoord.
Which drawne, cuts his throat and the Diuels both,
For feare of which he lets it sleepe in sloath.

Epigram 26. The beliefe of a Romane Catholike.

[I doe beleeue the holy Pope of Rome]

I doe beleeue the holy Pope of Rome,
Is Lord of Scriptures, Fathers, Church and all:
Of Councels of the world, whose dreadfull doome,
Can at his pleasure make all rise, or fall.
I doe beleeue, though God forbids the same,
That I should worship Images, and Saints:
I hope by mine owne workes I heauen may claime.
In tongues vnknown, I must make praiers & plaints.
I doe beleeue Christs bodie made of bread.
And may be eaten by Dogs, Cats, or Mice,
Yet is a sacrifice for quicke and dead,
And may be bought and sold for rated price.
I further doe beleeue the Pope our Lord,
Can at his pleasure all my sinnes forgiue.
I doe beleeue at his commanding word,
Subiects must Kings of liues and land depriue.
Like as the Church beleues, so I beleeue:
By which I hope the Heauens I shall atchieue.

Epigram 27.

[Like as the Vipers birth's his mothers bane]

Like as the Vipers birth's his mothers bane,
So the Popes full, hath been the Emperors wane:
The Empires Autumne, was the Popish Spring,
And Kings subiection made the Pope a King.
Then did his Holinesse become a God,
When Princes children-like, gan feare his rod.
Whil'st earthly Potentates their owne did hold,
The Popes then Shepheard-like did keepe their fold.
And fore the sacred truth should be o'ercome,
They willingly would suffer Martyrdome.
But farewell Martyrs now, and welcome Myters,
For painefull Preachers now, contentious fighters,
With bloud or gold, ascends the Papall Chayre,
Vnder the title of Saint Peters heyre.
I thinke if truth were brought vnto the tryall,
The Pope is heyre to Peter in denyall.
But want of penitence proclaimes him base,
A Bastard not of Peters blessed race,
Vnlesse when Christ did call th'Apostle diuell,
He's Bastard to the good, and heyre to th'euill.

Epigram 28.

[Me thinkes I heare as warme of Romanists]

Me thinkes I heare as warme of Romanists,
Reuile and curse, with Candle, Booke & Bell:
Yea all the polteshorne crew of Antichrists,
Condemnes me all without remorse to Hell:
But I with resolution so doe arme me,
Their blessings doe no good, nor cursings harme me.

Epigram 29.

[I that haue rowed from Tyber vnto Thames]

I that haue rowed from Tyber vnto Thames,
Not with a Sculler, but with Scull and braines,
If none will pay my Fare, the more's their shames,
I am not first vnpaid that hath tane paines.
Yet Ile bee bold if payment be delay'd.
To say and sweare your Sculler is not pay'd.

To his approued good friend, Master Robert Branthwayt.

Deere friend, to thee I owe a countlesse debt,
Which though I euer pay will ne're be pay'd:
Tis not base coyne, subiect to cankers fret,
If so, in time my debt would be defray'd,
But this my debt, I would haue all men know,
Is loue, the more I pay, the more I owe.

To his well esteemed friend, Master Maximilian Waad.

VVit, Learning, Honesty, and all good parts,
Hath so possest thy body and thy minde,
That couetously thou steal'st away mens hearts,
Yet 'gainst thy theft, there's neuer none repin'd.
My heart, that is my greatest worldly pelfe,
Shall euer be for thee as for my selfe.

To my friend Master William Sherman.

Thou that in idle adulating words
Canst neuer please the humours of these dayes,
That greatest workes with smallest speech affords,
Whose wit the rules of Wisedomes lore obeyes.
In few words then, I wish that thou maist be,
As well belou'd of all men, as of me.

Epigram 1.

[All you that stedfastly doe fixe your eye]

All you that stedfastly doe fixe your eye,
Vpon this idle issue of my braine,
Who void of any intricate disguise,
Describes my meaning rusticall and plaine.
My Muse like Sisiphus with toylesome trade,
Is euer working, yet hath neuer done,
Though from the Romish Sea she well gan wade,
Yet is her labour as 'twere new begun.
For hauing at the Papists had a fling.
Great Britaines vice, or vertues now I sing.

Epigram 2.

[Then cause I will not hug my selfe in sinne]

Then cause I will not hug my selfe in sinne,
First with my selfe, I meane for to begin.
Confessing that in me there's nothing good:
My vaines are full of sinne-polluted bloud,
Which all my corps infects with hell-borne crimes,
Which make my actions lawlesse like these times,
That had I power according to my will,
My faults would make compare with any ill.
But yet I muse at Poets now adayes,
That each mans vice so sharpely will dispraise:
Like as the Kite doth o're the carrion houer,
So their owne faults, with other mens they couer.
Cause you shall deeme my judgement to be just,
Amongst the guilty, I cry guiltie first.

Epigram 3.

[Glacus that selfe conceited criticke foole]

Glacus that selfe conceited criticke foole,
Vpon my Epigrams doth looke a scaunt,
And bids me put my barren wit to Schoole,
And I in anger bid the Asse auaunt.
For till some better thing by him is pend,
I bid him fault not that he cannot mend.

Epigram 4.

[A skilfull Painter such rare pictures drew.]

A skilfull Painter such rare pictures drew.
That every man his workemanship admir'd:
So neere the life, in beautie, forme, and hew,
As if dead Art, 'gainst Nature had conspir'd.
Painter sayes one, thy wife's a pretty woman,
I muse such ill-shape Children thou hast got,
Yet makest such pictures as their like makes no man,
I prethee tell the cause of this thy lot?
Quoth he, I paint by day when it is light,
And get my Children in the darke at night.

Epigram 5.

[Vnlearned Azo, store of Bookes hath bought]

Vnlearned Azo, store of Bookes hath bought,
Because a learned Scholler hee'l be thought:
I counsell'd him that had of Bookes such store,
To buy Pipes, Lutes, the Violl and Bandore,
And then his Musicke and his learning share,
Being both alike, with either might compare.

Epigram 6.

[Faire Betrice tuckes her coats vp somewhat hie]

Faire Betrice tuckes her coats vp somewhat hie,
Her pretty leg and foot cause men should spie:
Sayes one you haue a handsome Leg sweet ducke,
I haue two (quoth she) or else I had hard lucke:
There's two indeed, I thinke th'are twinnes (qd, he)
They are, and are not, honest friend (quoth she)
Their birth was both at once, I dare be sworne,
But yet betweene them both a man was borne.

Epigram 7.

[The way to make a Welch-man thirst for blisse]

The way to make a Welch-man thirst for blisse,
And say his prayers dayly on his knees:
Is to perswade him, that most certaine 'tis,
The Moone is made of nothing but greene Cheese.
And hee'l desire of God no greater boone,
But place in heauen to feed vpon the Moone.

Epigram 8.

[A gallant Lasse from out her window saw]

A gallant Lasse from out her window saw,
A Gentleman, whose nose in length exceeded.
Her boundlesse will, not limited by Law,
Imagin'd he had what she greatly needed.
To speake with him, she kindly doth entreat,
Desiring him to cleare her darke suppose:
Supposing euery thing was made compleat,
And correspondent equall to his nose.
But finding short where she expected long,
She sigh'd and said, O nose thou didst me wrong.

Epigram 9.

[Young Sr. John Puckefoist, and his new made Madam]

Young Sr. John Puckefoist, and his new made Madam:
Forgets they were the off-spring of old Adam.
I'm sure 'tis not for wit, nor manlike fight,
His worthlesse worship late was dub'd a Knight.
Some are made great for wealth, and some for wit,
And some for valour doe attaine to it:
And some for neither valour, wit nor wealth,
But stolne opinion, purchase it by stealth.

Epigram 10.

[One told me flattery was exil'd the state]

One told me flattery was exil'd the state,
And pride and lust at Court were out of date,
How vertue did from thence all vice pursue,
'Tis newes (quoth I) too good for to be true.

Epigram 11.

[He that doth beate his braines, and trie his wit]

He that doth beate his braines, and trie his wit,
In hope thereby to please the multitude,
As soone may ride a Horse without a bit,
Aboue the Moone or Sunnes high altitude.
Then neither flatterie, nor the hope of pelfe,
Hath made me write, but for to please my selfe.

Epigram 12.

[A rusticke swaine was cleauing of a blocke]

A rusticke swaine was cleauing of a blocke,
And hum he cryes at euery pond'rous knocke,
His wife sayes, Husband, wherefore hum you so?
Quoth he, it makes the wedge in further goe.
When day was done, and drowsie night was come,
Being both in bed at play, she bids him hum.
Good wise (quoth he) entreat me hum no more,
For when I hum I cleaue, but now I bore.

Epigram 13.

[VVhen Caualero Hot shot goes with Oares]

VVhen Caualero Hot shot goes with Oares,
Zoun's row ye Rogues, ye lazy knaues make hast,
A noyse of Fidlers and a brace of Whores,
At Lambeth stayes for me to breake their fast;
He that's so hot for's wench ere he come nie her,
Being at her once, I doubt hee'l be on fire.

Epigram 14.

[It was my chance once in my furious mood]

It was my chance once in my furious mood,
To call my neighbours wife an arrant whore,
But she most stifly on her credit stood,
Swearing that sorry I should be therefore.
Her Husband vnderstanding of the case.
Protested he would sue me for a slander,
When straight I prou'd it to his forked face,
He was a Knaue, a Cuckold and a Pander.
O to (quoth he) good neighbour say no mo,
I know my wife lets out her buggle bo.

Epigram 15.

[The Law hangs Theeues for their vnlawfull stealing]

The Law hangs Theeues for their vnlawfull stealing,
The Law carts Bawds, for keeping of the dore,
The Law doth punish Rogues, for roguish dealing.
The Law whips both the Pander and the Whore,
But yet I muse from whence this Law is growne,
Whores must not steale nor yet must vse their owne.

Epigram 15.

[Old Fabian by Extortion and by stealth]

Old Fabian by Extortion and by stealth,
Hath got a huge Masse of ill gotten wealth,
For which he giues God daily thankes and praise,
When 'twas the Diuell that did his fortunes rayse.
Then since the getting of thy goods were euill,
Th'hast reason to bee thankfull to the deuill,
Who very largely hath increast thy mucke,
And sent the Miser Midaes golden lucke.
Then thanke not God, for he hath helpt thee least,
But thanke the Diuell that hath thy pelfe increast.

Epigram 17.

[What matter ist, how men their dayes doe spend]

What matter ist, how men their dayes doe spend,
So good report do on their deaths attend,
Though in thy former life thou ne're didst good,
But mad'st Religion for thy faults a hood,
And all blacke sinnes were harbour'd in thy brest,
And tooke thy Conscience for their natiue nest:
Yet at thy buriall for a noble price,
Shalt haue a Sermon made, shall hide thy Vice,
A thread bare Parson shall thy praise out-poure
And in the Expiration of an houre
Will make the world thy honesty applaud,
And to thy passed life become a Bawd.
Our Christian Brother here lyes dead (quoth he)
Who was the patterne of true Charitie.
No Drunkard, Whoremonger, nor no vile swearer,
No greedy Vsurer, nor no Rent rearer.
O deare beloued, this example take,
And thus an end at his time doe I make.
Thus Mr. Parson nobly spends his breath,
To make a Villaine honest after death.
And for one Noble, freely he affords,
Much more then twenty shillings-worth of words.

Epigram 18.

[Lord who would take him for a pippin Squire]

Lord who would take him for a pippin Squire,
That's so bedaub'd with lace and rich attire?
Can the dam'd windfals of base baudery,
Maintaine the slaue in this embrodery?
No maruaile Vertue's at so low a price,
When men knowes better how to thriue by Vice.

Epigram 19.

[All Bradoes oathes are new sound eloquence]

All Bradoes oathes are new sound eloquence,
As though they sprung from learned Sapience:
He sweares by swift-pac'd Titans fiery Car,
By Marses Launce, the fearfull God of war,
By Cupids Bow, Mercuries charming Rod,
By Bacchus Diety, that drunken God.
By grim fac'd Pluto, and Auernus Caues,
By Eolus blasts, and Neptunes raging Waues,
By his sweet Mistris bright translucent eyes,
All other Oathes his humour doth despise.

Epigram 20.

[Signeor Serano to and fro doth range]

Signeor Serano to and fro doth range
And at high Noone he visits the Exchange:
With stately gate the peopled Burse he stalkes,
Prying for some acquaintance in those walkes;
Which if he spye, note but his strange salute,
Marke how he'l spread to shew his broaking sute,
When he perhaps that ow'd that cast apparell,
Not a fortnight since at Tyborne fought a quarrell.

Epigram 21.

[Old Grubsons Sonne a stripling of good age]

Old Grubsons Sonne a stripling of good age,
Twill make one laugh to see him and his Page,
Like to a garded Vrchin walkes the streets,
Looking for reuerence of each one he meets:
Eagles must honour Owles, and Lyons Apes,
And wise men worship fooles for farre fetcht shapes;

Epigram 22.

[Great Captaine Sharke doth wonderfully muse]

Great Captaine Sharke doth wonderfully muse,
How he shall spend the day that next ensues:
There's no Play to be playd, but he hath seene,
At all the Theaters he oft hath beene:
And seene the rise of Clownes, and fall of Kings,
Which to his humour no contentment brings.
And for he scornes to see a Play past twice:
Hee'l spend a time with his sweet Cockatrice.

Epigram 23.

[A compleat Gallant that hath gone as farre]

A compleat Gallant that hath gone as farre,
That with his hands from skyes hath pluckt a star:
And saw bright Phœbus whē he did take Coach:
And Luna when her throne she did approach:
And talkt with Iupiter and Mercury,
With Vulcan and the Queene of Lechery.
And saw the net the stumpfoot Black-smith made,
Wherein fell Mars and Venus was betrayd,
With thousand other sights he saw in skyes,
Who dares affirme it that this gallant lyes?
I counsell all that either hate or loue him.
Rather beleeue him, then goe to disproue him.

Epigram 24.

[Drusus his portion gallantly hath spent]

Drusus his portion gallantly hath spent,
What though? He did it to a good intent.
Vnto a wise man it seemes neuer strange,
That men should put their mouey to Exchange.
Nay then I saw he was a subtile Fox,
What had he for't I pray, sweet Sir the Poxe.
I doe not like his bargaine: why, wherefore?
His mony still wan'd lesse, his poxe waxe more.
He need not now feare wasting of his stocks.
Spend what he can, he nere shall want the Poxe.

Epigram 25.

[Neate Master Scape-thrift, railes against all ryet]

Neate Master Scape-thrift, railes against all ryet,
Commending much a temperate sparing dyet:
What though he hath beene prodigall and wilde,
Those idle fancies now he hath exilde:
What though he hath beene frequent with excesse
Of Dice, of Drabs, and drowsie Drunkennesse,
Yet now he's chang'd Sir, he is not the man,
The case is alter'd now from what 'twas than:
The Prologue of his wealth did teach him spend,
And 'tis the Epilogue that makes him mend.

Epigram 26.

[A greedie Chuffe once being warn'd in poste]

A greedie Chuffe once being warn'd in poste
To make appearance at the Court of Hell:
Where grisly Pluto hotly rules the roste.
And being summon'd by the passing Bell.
With heapes of gold he would haue bribed Death,
But he disdaining bribes depriu'd his breath.

Epigram 27.

[Doctor Donzago one of wondrous learning]

Doctor Donzago one of wondrous learning,
And in Astronomy exceeding cunning:
Of things thats past and cōming he's discerning,
His mind on Prophesies is euer running,
Of Comets, Meteors, Apparitions,
Of Prodigies, and exhalations,
Of Planets, natures, and conditions,
And of the spheares great calculations,
Yet want of one skill all his cunning smothers,
Who lyes most with his wife himselfe or others.

Epigram 28.

[Braue Bragadocia whom the world doth threaten]

Braue Bragadocia whom the world doth threaten,
Was lately with a Faggot. sticke fore beaten:
Wherefore in kindnesse now my Muse must weepe,
Because his resolution was asleepe.

Epigram 29.

[Walking along the streets the other day]

Walking along the streets the other day,
A ragged Souldier crost me on the way;
And though my purses lyning was but scant,
Yet somewhat I bestow'd to ease his want.
For which he kindly thankt me with his heart,
And tooke his leaue, and friendly we did part.
When straight mine eyes a Horse & Footcloth spy'd,
Vpon whose backe in pompous state did ride,
One, whom I thought was deputie to Ioue,
Yet not this Souldiers wants could pitty moue,
But with disdainefull lookes and tearmes of scorne,
Commands him trauaile whether he was borne.
'Twill almost make a Puritan to sweare,
To see an Asses Horse a cloake to weare.
When Christians must goe naked bare and thin,
Wanting apparell t'hide their mangled skin.
Vaine world vnto thy Chaos turne agen,
Since brutish beasts are more esteem'd then men.

Epigram 30.

[Lieutenant Puffe from Cleaueland is return'd]

Lieutenant Puffe from Cleaueland is return'd,
Where entring of a breach was sorely burn'd:
And from reuenge hee'l neuer be perswaded,
Till the low Countries he hath quite inuaded.
When his hot wrath makes Neatherlands to smoke,
He's bound for Deepe in France with irefull stroke.
But haue a care in these hot warres of France,
Least in a Pockie heat you spoyle your Lance.

Epigram 31.

[A loue-sicke Wooer would a Sonnet write]

Epigram 32.

[Looke how yon Lechers legs are worne away]

Looke how yon Lechers legs are worne away,
With haunting of the Whore-hose euery day:
He knowes more greasie Panders, Bawds, and Drabs,
And eates more Lobsters, Artichockes, and Crabs,
Blew roasted Egges, Potato's Muskadine,
Oysters, and pith that growes i'th Oxes Chine:
With many Drugs Compounds, and Simples store,
Which makes him haue a stomacke to a Whore.
But one day hee'l giue ore when 'tis too late,
When he stands begging through an Iron Grate.

Epigram 33.

[Light finger'd Francis begging in the Iayle]

Light finger'd Francis begging in the Iayle,
Did chance to see a friend of his passe by,
Thinking his lamentations would preuaile,
And that some coyne would from his bountie flye,
These ancient friends, one thrall, and th'other free,
One hungry, lowsie, ragged, and forlorne:
The other fat with prodigality,
Makes him this answer mixt with pride and scorne,
What Frænke (quoth he) art there for Ale & Cakes?
Why how the Diuell comes this lucklesse crosse?
Faith Sir (quoth Franke) your mastership mistakes.
For I am heere for stealing of a Horse,
Troth I mistooke indeed, and so didst thou,
For at this time I haue no money now.

Epigram 34.

[Mounsieur Luxuri hath beene with a Puncke]

Mounsieur Luxuri hath beene with a Puncke,
Wherby his worships purse is shrodely shrunk.
And now for penance of his former ryet,
With good Duke Humfrey he must take his diet.
Thus with a crosselesse purse and meatlesse maw,
I judge his case quite past the helpe of Law.

Epigram 35

[There chanst to meet together in an Inne]

There chanst to meet together in an Inne,
Foure men that thought that lying was no sinne,
The first an old man was in age well enter'd,
The next a trauailer that farre had venter'd,
The third a Poet, in prose and verse attir'd,
The fourth a Painter for his art admir'd:
These foure striued each other to excell.
Who should in lying beare away the Bell:
The old man said that when he was a boy,
To lift nine hundred waight was but a toy,
To iumpe in plaine ground thirtie foote at least:
Then was accounted but an idle jest.
The Trauailer reply'd that he had seene,
The King of Pigmies, and the Fairy Queene:
And beene where triple headed Cerberus,
Did guard the sulphrus gate of Erebus,
The Poet he had beene at Hellicon,
And rak'd from embers of obliuion
Old Saturnes downefall, and Ioues royall rising,
With thousand fictions of his wits deuising,
And for the Painter scornes to come behinde,
He paints a flying Horse, a Golden Hinde,
A Sagitary, and a grim wild man,
A two neckt Eagle, and a cole-blacke Swan.
Now reader tell me which of those foure Lyers,
Doth best deserue the whetstone for their hyers.

Epigram 36.

[Though Death doe Vsurers of life depriue]

Though Death doe Vsurers of life depriue,
Yet their extortions euer shall suruiue.

Epigram 37.

[Miraculous Monsters in the British clime]

Miraculous Monsters in the British clime;
Monsters of Nature sprung from putred slime.
Sampson hat pull'd the Gates of Gaza downe,
No Libian Hercules whose furious frowne,
Would maze strong Gyants, tame the Lyons rage,
Were not so strong as Gallants of this age:
Why you shall see an vpstart Corkebraind Iacke,
Will beare fiue hundred Akers on his backe,
And walke as stoutly as if it were no load,
And beare it to each place of his aboad,
Men of such strength I iudge it necessary.
That none but such should Porters burdens carry.

Epigram 38.

[For Gods loue tell what gallant Gullis that]

For Gods loue tell what gallant Gullis that,
With the great Feather, and the Beauer Hat?
O now I know, his name is Mounsieur Shift,
Great Cozen german to Sir Cuibert Theft,
All his reuenewes still he beares about him,
Whore-house nor ordinary neuer are without him.
False Dice, sharp Knife, and nimble nimming fingers,
Are his sworne subiects and his tribute bringers.
Thus doth he swagger, sharke, steale, filch & quarrell,
Vntill the Hangmans Wardrop hangs his parrell.

Epigram 39.

[A famous House in poasting hast is built]

A famous House in poasting hast is built,
A gallant Porch with Pillars all beguilt,
Braue loftie Chimnies pitty to defile them,
Pray make no fire, for the smoake will soyle them.

Epigram 40.

[A worthy Knight there is of ancient fame]

A worthy Knight there is of ancient fame,
And sweet Sir Reuerence men doe call his name:
By whose industrious policie and wit,
There's many things well tane were else vnfit:
If to a foule discourse thou hast pretence.
Before thy foule words, name Sir Reuerence,
Thy beastly tale most pleasantly will slip,
And gaine thee praise, when thou deseru'st the whip.
There's nothing vile that can be done or spoke,
But must be couered with Sir Reuerence Cloake,
His ancient pedigree who euer seekes,
Shall finde he's sprung from 'mongst the gallant Greekes,
Was Aiax Squire, great Champion to God Mars:
Pray God Sir Reuerence blesse your Worships (------)

Epigram 41.

[Hvnting is all this Gentlemans delight]

Hvnting is all this Gentlemans delight,
Yet out of Towne his worship neuer rides;
He hunts inuisible, and out of sight,
For in the Citie still his Game abides.
He hunts no Lyon, Tygre nor the Bore,
Not Buck, nor Stag, nor Hart, nor Hinde, nor Hound,
But all his sport's in hunting of a Whore,
And in the chase no trauaile he will spare.
He hath one Dog for hunting of the Cunny,
Worth a whole kēnell of your flap-mouth'd hounds,
He will not part with him for any money,
But yet the Curre will course beyond his bounds,
But I aduise him to respect his lot,
Least too much heating make him pockie hot,

Epigram 42.

[Falling a sleepe, and sleeping in a dreame]

Falling a sleepe, and sleeping in a dreame,
Down by the dale that flows with milk & cream,
I saw a Rat vpon an Essex cheese,
Dismounted by a Cambrian clad in Freeze.
To bid his worship eate I had no need,
For like a Serieant he began to feed.

Epigram 43.

[A french and English man at Dinner sate]

A french and English man at Dinner sate,
And neither vnderstanding others prate
The Frenchman sayes, mange proface Monsieur,
The Englishman begins to storme and sweare:
By all the Diuels, and the Diuels dams,
He was not mangie but ith wrists and hams.

Epigram 44.

[A dead dead bargaine is a quicke quicke wife]

A dead dead bargaine is a quicke quicke wife,
A quicke wife lyes ore long vpon ones hands,
But for a dead wife that hath lost her life
A man may sooner vtter then his Lands.
This Riddle greatly doth amaze my head,
That dead things should be quicke, and quicke things dead.
Loe then Ile make an outcrie, wondrous strange,
If death doe any wife of life depriue:
I giue her Husband coyne to boot, and change:
And for his dead wife one that is aliue:
Besides, Ile pay the buriall and the Feast,
And take my wife againe, when she's deceast.

Epigram 45.

[Momus fits mumming like an Anticke elfe]

Momus fits mumming like an Anticke elfe,
Hates others good, nor doth no good himselfe.

Epigram 46.

[Reader if any thing this Booke thee cost]

Reader if any thing this Booke thee cost,
Thou need'st not deeme thy coine and labor lost:
'Twill serue thee well Tobacco for to drie,
Or when thou talkst with mother Anthonie,
'Twill serue for Muckenders for want of better,
So farewell Reader, I remaine thy debter.

Satyre.

Thou that hast euer beene a rouing Thiefe,
A diuing Cutpurse, or a periur'd Slaue,
And in all villanie hast beene the chiefe,
And with a brazen brow canst Iustice braue,
That steal'st thy Pedegree from ancient houses,
And iet'st in broaking Sattin euery day:
That tak'st delight in stabbing and Carowses,
Not caring how thou letst thy loose life stray,
Thou that hast beene a Traytor to thy Prince,
A great Arch-villaine to thy Natiue soyle,
And wouldst by treacherie exile from thence,
The blessed peace hath beene procur'd with toyle.
Thou that hast beene a Machiuilian,
For damned sleights, conceits, and policie:
Thou that hast beene an Antichristian,
Or Schismaticke with blinded Heresie,
If any of these vile iniquities,
Haue beene the Axioms of thy passed life;
Then view the Roles of old antiquities,
And see goods got with falshood, lost with strife.
There shall you see how Iustice euermore,
Hath poyz'd the Ballance, and vpheld the Sword,
How Grauity inspir'd with Wisedomes lore,
Hath Vertue honour'd, and foule vice abhorr'd.
How Treason hath beene seuer'd lim from lim,
How Theft and Murther there haue pay'd their hire,
How those that earst in wordly Pompe did swim,
Haue soyld their fortunes in disgraces mire.
How Periurie hath forfeited his cares,
How Cheating's mounted on the Pillorie,
How gracelasse Impudents that nothing feares,
Doe end their dayes in loathed miserie.
How Vsurie is plagued with the Gout,
How Auarice complaineth of the Stone:
How guiltie Consciences are still in doubt,
How Enuie gnawes on honour to the bone,
How Letcherie is laden with the Poxe,
How Prodigalitie doth end with woe:
How Pandarisme is headed like an Oxe.
Because the Destinies appoint it so.
How Drunkennesse is with the Dropsie fraught,
And made his visage like a fiery Comet.
Who being full must haue the tother draught,
Till like a Swine he wallow in his vomit.
How dam'd Hypocrisie and painted zeale,
And outward shew of painted Holinesse:
(Doth like a Canker eate the publike weale)
All scornefull pride, yet seemes all lowlinesse.
To thee that read'st this, therefore be it knowne,
If any of these vices are immur'd
Within thy heart not to the world yet showne:
If by this reading thou mayest be allur'd,
To turne thy tide of life another way,
And to amendment all thy thoughts incline
And to thy rebell will no more obey,
But seeke by vertuous actions to combine
Fame to thy Friends, and terror to thy foe,
And say 'twas friendly counsell told thee so.

Satyre.

This childish Anticke, doating pie-bald world,
Thraugh which ye Diuel all black sins hath hurld
Hath beene so long by wickednesse prest downe.
From ye freeze-Plow-swaine to th'Imperiall crown.
We haue so long in vice accustom'd beene.
That nothing that is wicked lookes like sin.
The glistring Courtier in his gaudie tire,
Scornes with his heeles to know his russet Sire.
The pettifogging Lawyer crammes vp Crownes,
From hobnaild Boores, & sheep skin country clowns
The gaping greedie, griping, Vsurer,
The Sonne of Hell, and Sathans treasurer:
The base extorting black sould bribing Broaker,
The Bane of Mankind and his Countries choaker.
The helhoundwhelpes the shoulder-clapping Seriant,
That cares not to vndoe the world for Argent.
The Post Knight that will sweare away his soule,
Though for the same the Law his eares doe powle.
The smoakie black-lung puft Tobacconist:
Whose ioy doth in Tobacco sole consist.
The cholericke Gull that's tangled with a Drab,
And in her quarrell will his Father stab.
The baudie drie boand letcherous Baboone,
Would faine repent, but thinkes it is too soone.
The riming lygmonger would be a Poet,
But that the Rascall hath not wit to shew it.
The wrinckled baud, and dam'd vermelian whore
That buyes and sels the poxe to enrich their store.
The greasie eauesdropping dore-keeping Pander,
That with a Punke to any man will wander.
The conycatching shifter steales most briefe,
And when hee's hang'd hee'l cease to be a thiefe.
The drousie Drunkard will carouse and quaffe,
Till like a hog he tumble in his draffe.
Besides, there's diuers other Hell-borne sinnes,
As some great men are wrapt in Misers skinnes,
For feare of whose dislike, Ile hold me still,
And not bumbast them with my Ganders quill.
Consider with thy selfe Good Reader then,
That here thou liust amongst those wicked men,
Who on this earthly stage together keepe,
Like Maggots in a Putrified sheepe,
Whose damned dealings blacke confusion brings,
By the iust iudgement of the King of Kings.

Pastorall Equiuokes, or a Shepheards complaint.

Epitaph.

Heere lies ingrau'd, whose life fell death did sack,
Who to his graue was brought vpon a Beere:
For whom let all men euer mourne in Sacke,
Or else remember him in Ale or Beere.
He who in life, Loues blinded God did lead,
Now in his death lyes heere as cold as lead.

Sonnet. Jn trust lyes Treason.

The fowlest friends assume the fairest formes,
The fairest Fields doth feed the foulest toad:
The Sea at calm'st most subiect is to stormes,
In choysest fruit the canker makes aboad.
So in the shape of all belieuing trust,
Lyes toad-inuenom'd-treason coached close,
Till like a storme his trothlesse thoughts out burst
Who canker-like had laine in trusts repose.
For as the Fire within the Flint confinde,
In deepest Ocean still vnquencht remaines:
Euen so the false through truest seeming minde,
Despight of truth the treason still retaines,
Yet maugre treason, trust deserueth trust,
And trust suruiues, when treason dyes accurst.

Death with the foure Elements.

Two infant-twinnes a Sister and a Brother,
When out of dores was gone their carefull Sire,
And left hir babes in keeping with their Mother,
Who merrily sate singing by thē fire.
Who hauing fill'd a tub with water warme,
She bath'd her girle (O ruthlesse tayle to tell)
The whilst she thought the other safe from harme,
(Vnluckily) into the fire he fell:
Which she perceiuing, lets her Daughter drowne,
And rashly ran to saue her burning Sonne,
Which finding dead, she hastily casts downe,
And all agast, doth to the water runne:
Where seeing t'other was depriu'd of breath,
She 'gainst the earth falls down, & dasht her braines:
Her husband comes, and sees this worke of death,
And desperate hangs himselfe to ease his paines.
Thus Death with all the Elements conspire,
To reaue mans life, Earth, Water, Ayre, and Fire.

An Inkhorne Disputation, or Mungrell conference, betwixt a Lawyer and a Poet.

With a Quarterne of new catcht Epigrams, caught the last Fishing-tide: fit for heauie stomackes in Ember-weekes, Fridayes, and Fasting-euens.

Epigram 1. Vpon the word, Notwithstanding.

Tom swore to Kate, he neuer more would wooe her,
Kate wish't him hangd, when next he com's vnto her:
But Lou's great (litle) God the man cōmanding,
That Tom must needs goe to her Notwithstanding.
Kate rayld, and brawld and scoulded, curst, and band
And 'gainst Toms not withstanding did withstand.
At last the Not withstanding had forsooke,
And Kate affords her Tom a welcome looke.
Thus Notwithstanding did the warres increase
And Stiffe withstanding made the friendly peace.

Epigram 2.

[Hall and his wife into the water slipt]

Hall and his wife into the water slipt,
She quickly Hall fast by the Codpeece gript:
And reason good shee had to catch him there,
For hold she fast she need no drowning feare.
She oft had try'd and prou'd, and found it so,
That thing would neuer to the bottome goe.

Epigram 3.

[Good Besse forbeare, for beare thou canst full well]

Good Besse forbeare, for beare thou canst full well
For thou for bearing, bear'st away the bell.
Thy patience in thy bearing men admires,
That bearing many wrongs yet neuer tires.

Epigram 4.

[Tis onely womens manners, and their carriage]

Tis onely womens manners, and their carriage,
That maketh them vnfit, or fit for Marriage.
Then Madge thy carriage still so good hath bin
Thou getst the Diu'll and all by commings in.

Epigram 5.

[Mall doth commend Sims comlinesse of stature]

Mall doth commend Sims comlinesse of stature,
But most she likes his freenesse of his Nature.
For she will sweare indeed la, and in truth:
That Sim was euer a sweet natur'd youth.

Epigram 6.

[A messenger, (declaring of his mind)]

A messenger, (declaring of his mind)
In making curtesie, let a scape behind,
Hee looking backe, peace (Sirrha) peace (quoth he)
For if you talke, I sure will silent be.

Epigram 7.

[The Merchant (Drubo) hyer'd a seruant lasse]

The Merchant (Drubo) hyer'd a seruant lasse,
And for her wages he doth duly pay.
From Christmas quarter vnto Michaelmas,
She hath it payd her to a haire (they say)
Sometimes betwixt the quarters she doth take it,
For let it come when 'twill shee'le not forsake it.
And for her Master honest Drubo (hee)
He often payes her with a standing fee.

Epigram 8.

[Fie what an idle life man liues (quoth Dicke)]

Fie what an idle life man liues (quoth Dicke)
How idely they their liues away doe passe:
Whil'st painefull women wins both praise and p.
Induring as they were compos'd of Brasse.
I thinke mens idlenesse was neuer such,
And women ne're were occupi'd so much.

Epigram 9.

[It is no wonder wherefore little Nell]

It is no wonder wherefore little Nell,
So bigge below the waste begins to swell:
For being hungry (in the darke she stole,
A hastie Pudding and deuour'd it whole.

Epigram 10.

[As through the Citie I did lately passe]

As through the Citie I did lately passe,
At a Carts tayle, a Beadle whipt a lasse.
I stept vnto him, and I ask'd the cause,
Quoth he I whipt her, for she brake the Lawes:
In letting out her formost Roome for pelfe,
And (for her pleasure) backward lay her selfe.

Epigram 11.

[A little woman did a bigge man wed]

A little woman did a bigge man wed,
And he was loath to lye with her in bed,
For feare to hurt her: then she spyed a Mouse,
That play'd, and leapt, and skipt about the house.
O Husband would I had that Mouse quoth she,
Her skin would make a paire of gloues for me.
So wide (quoth he) I know twill neuer stretch,
Content your selfe (qd. she) young things will reach.

Epigram 12.

[A lustie wench as nimble as an Eele]

A lustie wench as nimble as an Eele,
Would giue a Gallant leaue to kisse and feele,
His itching humour straight-way was in hope,
To toy, to wanton, dally, busse and grope,
Hold Sir (quoth she) my word I will not faile,
For you shall feele my hand, and kisse my T.

Epigram 13. On Mistresse Charitie

In very deedla, and sinceritie,
There is much Charitie in Charitie.
She hath so kinde, so free a liberall heart,
That euery man of her shall haue a part.

Epigram 14.

[Two Sheepe (in Law) did lately long contend]

Two Sheepe (in Law) did lately long contend,
And Wolfe the Lawyer must the matter end.
Who with his fine fines, and his firking fees,
Drawes both their purses to the very lees,
The mony gone, the strife of Law did cease,
They fooles fell out, and beggers made the peace.

Epigram 15.

[Mad dapper Dicke, doth very often shift]

Mad dapper Dicke, doth very often shift,
And yet hee's lowzie through the want of shift.

Epigram 16. On Madam Temperance.

A man that went to trauaile swore to's wife,
He would loue Temp'rance as he lou'd his life,
Indeed he lou'd a faire and beauteous Dame,
(Although intemperate) Temp'rance was her name.
On whom he spent his loue, his lust, his store.
He might as well haue spent it on a whore.

Epigram 17.

[Doll held the Candle, Raph would faine be doing]

Doll held the Candle, Raph would faine be doing,
O when (qd. she) will you frō lewdnes turne ye,
I prethee Doll quoth Raph regard my woing,
In truth quoth Doll lea be, or else ile burne ye.
Raph puts the light out, sweares to haue about,
And yet Doll burn'd him though the fire was out.

Epigram 18.

[As at an Inne I lately did a-light]

As at an Inne I lately did a-light,
I to my Chamber lighted was with lights:
Where a light Curtezan (of manners light)
Make glad my heart, my Liuer, and my Lights.
Yet when the Candle light was me bereft,
For all those lights I was in darkenesse left.

Epigram 19. Light vanitie.

What is more light then vapor, cork, or feather
Or what more light then Vanity can be?
Compact, compose, compare light things together,
And nothing's lighter then a wanton she.
Yet heere's the Riddle, (past my wits to scan)
Her lightnesse weighes downe many a heauy man.

Epigram 20.

[Twas ne're so hard (since first the world began)]

Twas ne're so hard (since first the world began)
To finde an honest true right, handed man.
Hath man two left hands? no; I pray how then,
Are men nor right hand, or left handed men?
The left hand now, may well be call'd the left,
For true and honest dealing it hath left.
And for the right hand, 'tis the wrong hand sure,
It selfe to wrong, or wrong doth still inure.
So to conclude (I doubt) aboue the ground
A true right handed man, can scarce be found.

Epigram 21.

[My Lawyer said the case was plaine for mee]

My Lawyer said the case was plaine for mee,
The Angell told him so hee tooke for fee:
But yet my Angell and my Lawyer lyed,
For at my Iudgement I was damnifi'd.

Epigram 22.

[As Gold is better that's in fire tride]

As Gold is better that's in fire tride,
So is the Bankside Globe that late was burn'd:
For where before it had a thatched hide,
Now to a stately Theator 'tis turn'd.
Which is an Emblem, that great things are won,
By those that dare through greatest dangers run.

Epigram 23.

[Good companie's in such request with Jone]

Good companie's in such request with Jone,
Tis death to her to walke or lye alone.

Epigram 24.

[I scorne (quoth Alice) to be put downe by any]

I scorne (quoth Alice) to be put downe by any,
And yet 'tis knowne she's bin put downe by many.

Epigram 25.

[My Ladies foysting-hound (surnamed Muske)]

My Ladies foysting-hound (surnamed Muske)
Did chance to mute vpon my Ladies buske:
But ouer all the world, 'twixt Heauen and Hell,
I thinke no Muske had euer stronger smell.

Epilogve.

A BRAVE SEA-FIGHT in the Gulph of Persia.

A farewell and hearty well-wishing to the noble attempts of our English Sea and Land forces, with their Allies and Confederates.

You sons of Mars that furrow Neptunes brow,
And o're the dang'rous Deep (vndanted) plow;
You who esteeme your Countries honor more,
Than life or pelfe, (which Peasants doe adore)
Your noble Ancestours, whose memories
Are borne by Fame as farre as Titans Rise,
And vniversally diuulg'd from thence
The Circle of the worlds circumference,
Let their example be a spurre to you,
That you their worthy vertues may pursue:
They were but men, and you are each so much,
They were victorious, may you each be such;
They had good courage guided with good skill,
Which skill and Courage, Fortune, Grace and Will,
I doe implore th'Almighty to bestow,
On you in generall, All, both high and low.
Time doth record our Britaines matchlesse force
By Sea and Land, with valiant foot or horse,
Hath made France tremble and proud Spaine to quake,
And great Ierusalems foundations shake:
And as true valour did inspire their brests,
So Victory and Conquest crown'd their Crests.
O may your good intendments fall out right,
The God of Battels still your Battels fight;
That as your Fathers were, so you may be,
Rare Patternes vnto your posteritie:
That all our Foes with terrour now may know
They haue beene beaten, and they must be so,
True Honour, Fame, and Victory attend you:
And high Iehouah in your cause defend you:
That Immortality your fames may Crowne,
And GOD may haue the Glorie and Renowne.

TAYLORS PASTORALL, BEING BOTH HISTORICALL And Satyricall.

OR, The noble Antiquitie of Shepheards, with the profitable vse of Sheepe:

With a small touch of a scabbed Sheepe, and a Caueat against that Infection.

[All those that will not reade this plaine Epistle]

All those that will not reade this plaine Epistle,
Lay downe the Booke, on Gods name, and goe whistle.

TAYLORS PASTORALL, BEING BOTH HISTORICALL And Satyricall.

OR, The noble Antiquitie of Shepheards, with the profitable vse of Sheepe.

[Apollo (Father of the Sisters nine]

[Wise and Inscrutable, Omniscient]

A. E. I. O. V. two Anagrams of the fiue Vowels, the one serues for the glorious name of GOD, and the other in the Spanish tongue is a Sheepe, which name the Prophet Esay doth figuratiuely or mystically call our Creator Ieova, or Iehovah, Oveia, is a Sheepe.

Wherein may bee perceiued, that there is no Word, Name or Action, in or vnder Heauen, but hath one or more of the fiue Vowels, and that no word or Name hath them all without other Letters, but Ieova, and Oveia. Which doth admonish vs in the feare and reuerence of the Almightie, because in all our thoughts, words and actions, some part of his wonderfull Name is infinitely included. And withall that Oveia or a Sheepe is a most significant Emblem, or signe of our God and Sauiours innocencie and patient sufferings.

Sonnet.

[Now cheerefull Sol in his illustrious Carre]

[This was a Lambe, whose like was neuer any]

This was a Lambe, whose like was neuer any,
Whose loue and pitty fed and cloth'd so many:
And 'tis no doubt, but these good deeds of his,
Did helpe to lift his Soule to endlesse Blisse.

[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.

THE PRAISE OF HEMP-SEED. WITH The Uoyage of Mr. Roger Bird and the Writer hereof, in a Boat of browne-Paper, from London to Quanborough in Kent.

As also, a Farewell to the matchlesse deceased Mr. Thomas Coriat.

The Profits arising by Hemp-seed are Cloathing, Food, Fishing, Shipping, Pleasure, Profit, Iustice, Whipping.

A Preamble, Preatrot, Preagallop, Preavack, Preapace, or Preface; and Proface my Masters, if your stomackes serue.

THE PRAISE OF HEMP-SEED: WITH The Uoyage of Mr. Roger Bird and the Writer hereof, in a Boat of browne-Paper, from London to Quanborough in Kent.

Sweet sacred Muses, my inuention raise
Vnto the life, to write great Hempseeds praise.
This grain growes to a stalk, whose coat or skin
Good industry doth hatchell, twist, and spin,
And for mans best aduantage and auailes
It makes clothes, cordage, halters, ropes and sailes.
From this small Atome, mighty matters springs,
It is the Art of nauigations wings;
It spreads aloft, the lofty skie it scales,
Flies o're the great Leuiathan and Whales,
Diues to the boundlesse bottome of the deepe,
Wher Neptune doth mongst dreadful monsters keep.
From Pole to pole, it cuts both Seas and Skyes,
From th'orient to the occident it flyes.
Kings that are sandred farre, by Seas and Lands,
It makes them in a manner to shake hands.
It fils our Land with plenty wonderfull,
From th'Esterne Jndie, from the great Mogull,
From France, from Portingale, from Venice, Spaine,
From Denmarke, Norway, it scuds o're the maine,
Vnto this Kingdome it doth wealth acrue
From beyond China, farre beyond Peru.
From Belgia, Almaine, the West Jndies, and
From Guiny, Biny, Island, New found-land,
This little seed is the great instrument
To shew the power of God Omnipotent,
Whereby the glorious Gospell of his Sonne,
Millions misled soules hath from Sathan wonne.
Those that knew no God in the times of yore,
Now they their great Creator doe adore.
And many that did thinke they did doe well
To giue themselues a sacrifice to Hell,
And seru'd the Diuell with th'inhumane slaughters,
Of their vnhappy haplesse sonnes and daughters.
Now they the remnant of their liues doe frame
To praise their Makers and Redeemers name.
Witnesse Virginia, witnesse many moe,
Witnesse our selues few hundred yeares agoe,
When in Religion, and in barbarous natures,
We were poore wretched misbeleeuing creatures.
How had Gods Preechers saild to sundry coasts,
T'instruct men how to know the Lord of Hosts?
But for the Sayles which he with wind doth fill.
As Seruants to accomplish his great will.
But leauing this high supernaturall straine,
I'le talke of Hempseed in a lower vaine.
How should we haue gold, siluer, jems, or Iewels,
Wine, oyle, spice, rice, and diuers sorts of fewels:
Food for the belly, cloathing for the backe,
Silke, Sattin, Veluet, any thing we lacke,
To serue necessities? How should we get
Such sorts of plenteous fish, but with the net?
The Smelt, Roach, Salmon, Flounder and the Dace,
Would in fresh riuers keepe their dwelling place.
The Ling, Cod, Herring, Sturgeon, such as these
Would liue and dye in their owne natiue Seas.
Without this seed the Whale could not be caught,
Whereby our oyles are out of Greenland brought.
Nay wer't not for the net made of this seed,
Men could not catch a Sprat whereon to feed.
Besides, it liberally each where bestowes
A liuing vpon thousands where it growes;
As beaters, Spinners, Weauers, and a crue
Of haltermakers which could scarce liue true,
But for th'imployment which this little graine
Doth vse them in, and payes them for their paine.
The Rope makers, the Net makers, and all
Would be trade falne, for their trade would fall.
Besides, what multitudes of Fishers are
In euery Sea-towne, numbers past compare,
Whilest they their seruants, children and their wiues
From Hempseeed get their liuing all their liues.
The Fish mangers would quickly goe to wrack,
The lacke of this seed would be their great lack,
And being now rich, and in good reputation,
They would haue neither Hall nor Corporation.
And all that they could buy, or sell, or barter,
Would scarce be worth a Gubbin once a quarter.
The mounting Larke, that seemes so high to flye,
Vntill she seemes no greater then a Flie;
And to the flaming Sunne doth chirp and prate,
Doth in the net come to her ending date,
My neighbour Woodcocke, buzzard and the Gull,
And Philip Sparrow all most plentifull.
All sorts of faire fowle, or the foulest fowle
From the degree of the Eagle to the Owle,
Are with ingenuous jins, grins, nets and snares
For mans reliefe oft taken vnawares:
Deeres, Hares, and Conies would too much abound,
And ouer-run the beating breeding ground,
And Weezels, Polcats, Wildcats, Stoats and such
Like spoyling Vermin, would annoy men much,
But for toyles, hayes, for traps, for snares and grins,
Which brings vs food and profit by their skins.
No Plowman liues beneath the azure Cope,
But for his plough or cart must vse the rope:
No Hostler liues in ours, or other Lands,
But makes the halters Horses falling bands.
Bels would hang dead within the loftie steeple
And neuer call to Church forgetfull people,
Mute like a bagbite, that hath lost his bag,
Except the Bell ropes made the clappers wag.
It were an endlesse taske to goe about it,
To reckon those that cannot liue without it.
Alasse what would our silken Mercers be?
What could they doe (sweet Hempseed) but for thee?
Rash, Taffata, Paropa, and Nouato,
Shagge, Fillizetta, Damaske and Mockado,
No Veluets Piles, two Piles, pile and halfe Pile,
No Plush, or Grograines could adorne this Ile,
No cloth of siluer, Gold, or Tisue, here:
Philip and Cheiny neuer would appeare
Within our bounds, nor any Flanders-serge
Could euer come within our Kingdomes verge:
Should Mercers want these things with diuers more
Their trade were nothing or else very poore.
This seed doth helpe the Grocer euery season,
Or else his wisedome could not yeeld a reison;
He could not long be Currant in his state,
And (scarcely worth a fig) would end his Date.
For Cloues his credit would be clouen quick,
Nor from the loafe or lumpe, his lips could licke:
No Nutmegs, Liquoris, or biting graines
Or Almons for a Parrat, were his gaines,
Sans Ginger weakely he would run his Race,
And Powltry Mace, would put downe Indian Mace:
And he vnable (through his want of pelfe)
To pepper vs, or yet to prune himselfe.
The Draper of his wealth would much be shorted.
But that our cloathes and Kersies are transported,
Our cottons, penistones, frizadoes, baze,
Our sundry sorts of frizes, blackes and grayes.
And linnen Drapers but for transportation,
Could hardly Canuase out their occupation.
Hempseed doth yeeld or else it doth allow
Lawne, Cambricke, Holland, Canuase, Callico,
Normandy, Hambrough, strong poledauis, Lockram.
And to make vp the Rime (with reason) Buckram.
The Goldsmiths trade would totter and vnsettle,
And he could be a man of no good mettle,
Were't not for Sailes and Ropes that Ships doe rig,
That bring gold, siluer, many a Sow and Pig;
Which makes them by an admirable skill
To liue by that which many a Horse doth kill,
Which is the Fashions; for continually
They sell the fashion, but they seldome buy.
And braue wine Marchants, little were your gaine,
By Mallegoes, Canaries Sacke from Spaine,
Sweet Allegant, and the concocted Cute,
Hollock and Tent would be of small repute.
Your Bastards their owne Fathers would forget,
Nor they our Gossips lips no more would wet.
The wind no Muskadine could hither bandy,
Or sprightfull Malmesey out of fruitfull Candy.
Liatica or Corsica could not
From their owne bearing breeding bounds be got.
Peter-se-mea, or head strong Charnico,
Sherry, nor Rob-o-Dauy here could flow.
The French Frontinitcke, Claret, Red nor White,
Graues nor High-Country could ourhearts delight.
No Gascoygne, Orleance, or the Chrystall Sherrant
Nor Rhenish from the Rheine would be apparant.
Thus Hempseed, wth these wines, our land doth spread
Which if we want, wine Marchants trades were dead.
The Vintners trade were hardly worth a rush
Vnable to hang vp a signe, or bush;
And were't not for this small forgotten graine
Their coniuring at midnight would be vaine.
Anon, anon, would be forgotten soone,
And he might score a pudding in the Moone,
But not a pinte of Clarret in the Sunne,
Because the emptie hogshead could not runne.
His blushing lattice would looke pale and wan,
Nor could he long be a well liquord man:
No more could all his regiments of pots
Affright men daily, with scores, bills, and shots.
The Taylors trade would hardly get them bread
If Hempseed did not furnish them with thread;
And though it be a terror to most theeues
Yet it this occupation neuer greeues,
They loue it, black, brown, yellow greene, red, blew,
Which is a signe, that Taylers must be true:
The worthy Company, of warmelin'd Skinners
Would in short space be miserable sinners
It Hempseed did not oft supply their boxes
With Russian Sables, Miniuers and Foxes:
With Beares & Budges; and rare powdered Ermines,
And with the skins of diuers beasts and Vermines.
The Habberdasher of small ware, would be
In a small time, a man of small degree:
If Hempseed did not helpe him by the great,
Small would his gaines be, to buy cloathes or meat.
Then might his wares be rightly tearmed small
Which would be eyther few or none at all.
And Dyers though you doe no colours feare,
'Tis Hempseed that doth you to riches reare,
Woad, Madder, Indico, and Cutcheneale,
Brazil, and Logwood, and aboundant deale
Of drugs, which did they not your wants supply,
You could not liue, because you could not dye.
Apothecaries were not worth a pin,
If Hempseed did not bring their commings in;
Oyles, Vnguents, Sirrops, Minerals, and Baulmes,
(All Natures treasure, and th'Almighties almes,)
Emplasters, Simples, Compounds, sundry drugs
With Necromanticke names like fearefull Bugs,
Fumes, Vomits, purges, that both cures, and kils,
Extractions, conserues, preserues, potions, pils,
Ellixers simples, compounds, distillations,
Gums in abundance, brought from foraigne nations.
And all or most of these sorenamed things
Helpe, health, preseruatiues; and riches brings.
There's many a Gallant dallying with a Drab,
Hath got the Spanish pip, or Naples scab,
The Gallia Morbus or the Scottish fleas,
Or English Poxe, for all's but one disease.
And though they were perfum'd with Ciuet hot
Yet wanting these things they would stinke and rot,
With gowts, Consumptions, Palsies, Lethargies,
With apoplexies, quinzies, plurifies,
Cramps, cataracts, the teare-throat cough and tisick
From which, to health men are restor'd by Physicke,
Agues, quotidian, quartane, tertian, or
The leprosie, which all men doe abhor.
The stone, strangury, botches, biles, or blaines,
Head-aches, cankers, swimming of the braines,
Ruptures, Hernia aquosa, or Carnosa,
Or the Eolian hernia ventosa.
All Dropsies, Collicks, Iaundizes, or Scabs,
Gangrenaes, Vlcers, wounds, and mortall stabs.
Illiaca passioes, Megrims, Mumps, or Mange,
Contagious blouds, which throgh the veins do range
Scurfes, meazles, murraines, fluxes, all these griefes,
Transported medicines daily bring releefes,
Most seruiceable Hempseed but for thee,
These helpes for man could not thus scattered be.
Tobacoes fire would soone be quenched out,
Nor would it leade men by the nose about:
Nor could the Merchants of such Heathen Docks
From small beginnings purchase mighty stocks:
By follies daily dancing to their pipe
Their states from rotten stinking weeds grow ripe;
By which meanes they haue into Lordships run
The Clients being beggered and vndone:
Who hauing smoak'd their Land to fire and ayre
They whiffe and puffe themselues into dispaire.
Ouid 'mongst all his Metomorphosis
Ne're knew a transformation like to this,
Nor yet could Oedipus e're vnderstand,
How to turne Land to smoake, and smoake to Land.
For by the meanes of this bewitening smother,
One Element is turn'd into another,
As Land to fire, fire, into Ayrie matter,
From ayre (too late repenting) turnes to water.
By Hempseed thus fire water, aire, earth, all
Are chang'd by pudding, leafe, roule, pipe and ball.
Lip licking Comfit-makers, by whose trade,
Dainties come thou to me are quickly made;
Baboones, and hobby horses, and owles, and apes,
Swans, geese, dogs, woodcocks, & a world of shapes,
Castles for Ladies, and for Carpet Knights,
Vnmercifully spoyld at feasting fights,
Where hattering bullets are fine sugred plums,
No feare of roaring guns, or thundring drums:
There's no tantara, sa sa sa, or force,
Of man to man, or warlike horse to horse;
No mines, no countermines, no pallizadoes,
No parrapets, or secret ambuscadoes,
Of bloud and wounds, and dismall piercing lances
Men at this sight are free from such mischances.
For many gallants guilded swords doe weare,
Who fight these battels without wit or feare:
All striuing as they did for honour thirst,
All greedy which can giue the onset first;
Each one contending in this Candied coyle,
To take most prisoners, and put vp most spoyle.
Retiring neuer when they doe assaile,
But most aduenturously with tooth and nayle,
Raze, ruinate, demolish, and confound,
The sugred fabricke leuell with the ground.
And hauing layd the buildings thus along,
They swallow downe, and pocket vp the wrong.
That who so that way afterwards doe passe,
Can see no signe where such a Castle was:
For at these warres most commonly 'tis seene,
Away the victors carry all things cleane.
It fortunes in these battels now and then
Women are better Souldiers farre then men:
Such sweet mouth'd fights as these doe often fall
After a Christning, or a Funerall.
Thus Hempe the Comfit-makers doth supply,
From them that newly liue, and newly dye.
If the blacke Indians or Newcastle coales
Came not in Fleets, like fishes in the sholes.
The rich in gownes and rugs themselues might sold,
But thousands of the poore might statue with cold.
Smiths, Brewers, Diers, all estates that liues,
This little seed seruie or comfort giues.
For why, our Kingdome could not serue our turne,
For Londons vse, with wood seuen yeares to burne:
And which way then could coales supply our need,
But by th'Almighties bounty and this seed?
You braue Neptunians, you salt water crew,
Sea-plowing Marriners; I speake to you:
From Hemp you for your selues and others gaine
Your Sprit-sayle, fore-sayle, top-sayle, & your maine,
Top, and top-gallant, and your mizzen-abast,
Your coursers, bonnets, drablers, fore and aft,
The sheats, tacks, boliens, braces, halliars, tyes,
Shrowds, ratlings, lanyards, tackles, lifts, and guies,
Your martlines, ropeyarnes, gaskets, and your stayes,
These for your vse, small Hemp-seed vp doth raise:
The boirope, boatrope, guestrope, catrope, portrope
The bucket rope, the boat-rope, long or short rope,
The entering-rope, the top-rope (and the rest
Which you that are acquainted with know best:
The lines to sound in what depth you slide,
Cables and hausers, by which ships doe ride:
All these, and many moe then I can name,
From this small seed, good industry doth frame.
Ships, Barks, Hoyes, Drumlers, Craires, Boats, all would sink,
But for the Ocum caulk'd in euery chink.
Th'vnmatched Loadstone, and best figur'd Maps
Might shew where foraine Countries are (perhaps)
Thel Compasse (being rightly toucht) will show
The thirty two points where the winds do blow;
Men with the Iacobs staffe, and Astrolobe
May take the height and circuit of the Globe:
And sundry Art-like instruments looke cleare
In what Horizon, or what Hemisphere
Men sayle in through the raging ruthlesse deepe,
And to what coast, such and such course to keepe;
Guessing by th'Artike, or Antartike starre,
Climates and countries being ne're so farre.
But what can these things be of price or worth
To know degrees, heights, depths, East. W.S. North
What are all these but shadowes, and vaine hopes,
If ships doe eyther want their Sailes or Ropes?
And now ere I offend, I must confesse
A little from my theame I will digresse;
Striuing in verse to shew a liuely forme
Of an impetuous gust, or deadly storme.
Where vncontrouled Hyperborean blasts
Teares all to tatters, Tacklings, Sailes, and Masts;
Where boysterous puffes of Eurus breath did hiz
And mongst our shrouds and cordage wildely whiz;
Where thundering Joue amidst his lightning flashing
Seem'd ouerwhelm'd with Neptunes mountaine dashing
Where glorious Titan hath his burning light,
Turning his bright Meridian to blacke night:
Where blustring Eole blew confounding breath,
And thunders fearefull larum threatned death,
Where Skyes, and Seas, Haile, Wind, and slauering Sleet
As if they all at once had meant to meet
In fatall opposition, to expire
The world, and vnto Chaos backe retire.
Thus whilst the Winds and Seas contending gods,
In rough robustious fury are at ods,
The beaten ship tost like a forcelesse feather,
Now vp, now downe, & no man knowing whither:
The Topmast some time tilting at the Moone,
And being vp doth fall againe as soone,
With such precipitating low descent,
As if to hels blacke Kingdome downe she went,
Poore ship that rudder. or no steerage feeles,
Sober, yet worse then any Drunkard reeles,
Vnmanag'd, guidlesse, too and fro she wallowes,
Which (seemingly) the angry billowes swallowes.
Midst darkenesse, lightning, thunder, fleet, and raine,
Remorcelesse winds and, mercy-wanting Maine,
Amazement, horror, dread from each mans face
Had chas'd away liues bloud, and in the place
Was sad despaire, with haire heau'd vp vpright
With ashy visage, and with sad affright,
As if grim Death with his all murdering dart,
Had ayming beene at each mans bloudlesse heart,
Out cryes the Master, lower the top-saile, lower,
Then vp aloft runs scambling three or foure,
But yet for all their hurly burly hast,
E're they got vp, downe tumbles Saile and Mast.
Veere the maine sheat there, then the Master cride,
Let rise the fore tack, on the Larboord side:
Take in the fore-sayle, yare, good fellowes, yare,
Aluffe at helme there, ware no more, beware.
Steere South, South East there, I say ware, no more,
We are in danger of the Leeward shore,
Cleere your maine brace, let goe the bole in there,
Port, port, the helme hard, Romer come no neere.
Sound, sound, heaue, heaue the lead, what depth, what depth?
Fadom and a halfe, three all,
Then with a whiffe, the winds againe doe puffe,
And then the Master cries aluffe, aluffe,
Make ready th'anker, ready th'anker hoe,
Cleere, cleere the boighrope, steddy, well steer'd, so;
Hale vp the boat, in Sprit-sayle there afore,
Blow winde and burst, and then thou wilt giue o're,
Aluffe, clap helme a lee, yea, yea, done, done,
Downe, downe alow, into the hold, quicke runne.
There's a planck sprung, somthing in hold did break.
Pump bullies, Carpenters, quicke stop the leake.
Once heaue the lead againe, and sound abaffe,
A shafnet lesse, seuen all.
Let fall the Ancker there, let fall,
Man man the boat, a woat hale, vp hale,
Top yet maine yard, a port, yeere cable alow,
Ge way a head the boat there hoe, dee row,
Well pumpt my hearts of gold, who sayes amends
East and by South, West and by North she wends.
This was a weather with a witnesse here,
But now we see the skyes begin to cleare,
To dinner hey, and lets at ancker ride,
Till winds grow gentler, and a smoother tide.
The Shoe-maker and Cobler with their Ends
One alwayes makes, and t'other euer mends:
Take away Hemp, the sole and vpper leather
I know could neuer well be sow'd together.
And for the Cobler it appeareth plaine
That hee's the better workman of the twaine,
For though a Shoomaker in art excell,
And makes his shoes and boots neuer so well:
Yet euermore it is the Coblers trade
To mend the worke the Shoomaker hath made.
The Cobler (like a Iustice takes) delight
To set men that doe walke aside, vpright.
And though he looke blacke as he carried coles,
He daily mendeth desperate wicked soles:
Though Crownes and Angels may perhaps be scant,
Yet store of peeces he doth neuer want:
And let his worke be ended well or ill,
Here's his true honour, he is mending still.
And this his life and occupation is,
And thus he may thanke Hempseed for all this.
For Hempseed if men rightly vnderstand,
Is knowne the greatest Iustice in a Land:
How could men trauaile safely, here and there,
If Hempseed did not keepe a Theefe in feare;
No man within his house could liue or rest
For villaines, that would pilfer and molest,
And breake downe walls, and rifle chests and truncks
To maintaine drinking, dicing. Knaues and Punks:
That many a one that's wealthy ouer night,
Would e're the breake of day be begger'd quite:
Worth thousands lately, now not worth a groat,
And hardly scapes the cutting of his throat.
No doubt but many a man doth liue and thriue,
Which but (for Hemp-seed) would not be aliue;
And many a wife and Virgin doth escape
A rude deflouring, and a barbarous rape:
Because the halter in their minds doe run,
By whom these damned deeds would else be done.
It is a balwarke to defend a Prince.
It is a Subiects armour and defence:
No Poniard, Pistoll, Halbert, Pike, or Sword
Can such defensiue or sure guard afford.
There's many a Rascall that would rob, purloine,
Pick pockets, and cut purses, clip and coine,
Doe any thing, or all things that are ill,
If Hempseed did not curbe his wicked will.
'Tis not the breath or letter of the Law
That could keepe Theeues rebellious wils in awe;
For they (to saue their liues) can vse perswasions.
Tricks, sleights, repriues, and many strange euasions.
But tricke, repriue, or sleight nor any thing
Could euer goe beyond a Hempen string.
This is Lawes period, this at first was made
To be sharpe Iustice executing blade.
This string the Hangman monthly keepes in tune,
More then the Cuckoes song in May or June,
It doth his wardrobe, coine and stocke vpreare,
In euery moneth and quarter of the years.
Besides it is an easie thing to proue,
It is a soueraigne remedie for loue:
As thus, suppose your thoughts at hourely strife
Halfe mad, and almost weary of your life,
All for the loue of some faire female creature,
And that you are entangled with her feature,
That you are sad, and glad, and mad and tame,
Seeming to burne in frost, and freeze in flame,
In one breath, sighing, singing, laughing, weeping,
Dreame as you walke, and waking in your sleeping,
Accounting houres for yeares, and moneths for ages,
Till you enioy her, that your heart encages,
And she hath sent you answers long before
That her intent is not to be your whore:
And you (for your part) meane vpon your life
Ne're while you liue to take her for your wife.
To end this matter, thus much I assure you,
A Tiburne Hempen-caudell well will cure you.
It can cure Traytors, but I hold it fit
T'apply't ere they the treason doe commit:
Wherefore in Sparta it ycleped was,
Snickup, which is in English Gallow-grasse.
The Libians call'd it Reeua, which implies
It makes them dye like birds twixt earth and skyes,
The name of Choak-wort is to it assign'd,
Because it stops the venom of the mind.
Some call it Neek-weed, for it hath a tricke
To cure the necke that's troubled with the crick.
For my part all's one, call it what you please,
'Tis soueraigne 'gainst each Common-wealth disease,
And I doe wish that it may cure all those
That are my Soueraignes and my Countries foes.
And further, I would haue them search d and seene
With care and skill when as their wounds be green,
For if they doe to a Gangrena runne,
There's little good by Hempseed can be done;
For could I know mens hearts, I hold it reason
To hang a Traytor in his thought of treason:
For if his thought doe grow vnto an act
It helpes not much to hang him for the fact.
But that example may a terror strike
To others, that would else attempt the like.
To end this point of Hempseed, thus in briefe
It helps a trueman, and it hangs a Theefe.
Rates, Imposts, Customes of the Custome-house
Would at the best rate scarce be worth a Louse:
Goods in and out, which dayly ships doe fraight,
By guesse, by tale, by measure and by weight.
Which yearely to such mighty summes amount,
In number numberlesse: or past account:
Were't not for Hempseed, it doth plaine appeare
These profits would not be a groat a yeare.
Columbus, Cortois, Magellan, and Drake,
Did with this seed their great discoueries make.
Braue Hawkins, Baskeruile, Cauendish, Fennor, Best,
Smith, Sherley, Rawleigh, Newport, and the rest,
Web, Towerson, Willoughby, Sir Thomas Roe,
The Lord 'la Ware, Frobusher, many moe.
Nichols, and Malum, Rolph, and Midleton,
And Sir Iames Lancaster, and Wirbringhton.
And all the worthy things that these men did
Without this seed had bin vndone, and hid,
Fame ne're had trumpetted their noble fames
And quite forgotten were their acts and names.
The worlds seuen wonders, wer'e not for this grain
In poore remembrance, or forgot had laine,
The wals of Babel, sixty miles about,
Two hundred foote in height, thicke fifty foot:
Which Queene Samiramis in state did reare,
Imployed three hundred thousand men ten yeare.
Nor the great Image that at Rhodes was made
Whose mettall did nine hundred Camels lade.
The Pyramides of Ægypt, so renownd
At th'foot in compasse forty acres ground:
The which in making twenty yeares did then
Imploy at worke thirty sixe thousand men.
The Toomb of Mausoll, King of Carea
Built by his Queene, (kind Artimesia)
So wondrous made by art and workemanship
That skill of man could neuer it outstrip;
'Twas long in building, and it doth appeare
The charges of it full two millions were.
Dianaes Temple built at Ephesus
Had bin vnheard of, and vnknowne to vs,
Which was two hundred twenty yeares in building
With marble pillars and most sumptuous guilding.
The image of Olimpique Jupiter,
Had from Achaya not beene fam'd so farre,
Nor Pharoes Watch towre wch the world renownes
Which cost 400.fourescore thousand crownes.
Thus without Hemp-seed we had neuer knowne
These things, nor could they to the world be shown.
O famous Coriat, hadst thou come againe
Thou wouldst haue told vs newes, direct and plaine,
Of Tygers, Elephants, and Antelops
And thousand other things as thicke as hops,
Of men with long tailes, faced like to hounds,
Of oysters, one whose fish weigh'd forty pounds,
Of spiders greater then a walnut shell
Of the Rhinoceros thou wouldst vs tell,
Of horses tane with hawkes, of beares of buls,
Of men with eares a span long, and of guls,
As great as Swans, and of a bird call'd Ziz
Whose egge will drown'd some threescore villages,
Of cranes, and pigmies, lizzards, buzzards, owles,
Of swine with hornes, of thousand beasts and foules.
All these and more then I to minde can call
Thou wouldst haue told vs, and much more then all,
But that our expectations were preuented,
By death, which makes thy friends much discontented.
But farewell Thomas, neuer to returne
Rest thou in peace within thy forraigne Vrne,
Hempseed did beare thee o're the raging some
And O I wish that it had brought thee home,
For if thou hadst come backe, as I did hope,
Thy fellow had not beene beneath the Cope.
But we must loose that which we cannot saue.
And freely leaue thee whom we cannot haue.
Moreouer, Hempseed hath this vertue rare
In making bad ground good, good corne to beare,
It fats the earth, and makes it to excell
No dung, or marle or mucke can do't so well:
For in that Land which beares this happy seed
In three yeares after it no dung will need,
But sow that ground with barley, wheat, or rye
And still it will encrease aboundantly;
Besides, this much I of my knowledge know
That where Hemp growes, no stinking weed can grow,
No cockle, darnell, henbane, tare, or nettle
Neere where it is can prosper, spring, or settle,
For such antipathy is in this seed,
Against each fruitlesse vndeseruing weed,
That it with feare and terror strikes them dead,
Or makes them that they dare not shew their head.
And as in growing it all weeds doth kill
So being growne, it keepes it nature still,
For good mens vses serues, & still releiues
And yeelds good whips and ropes for rogues and theeues.
I could rehearse of trades a number more
Which but for Hempseed quickly would grow poore;
As Sadlers for their elks haire to stuffe their sadles,
And girses, and a thousand fidle fadles;
But that Ile put my Reader out of doubts,
What a rich thing it is being worne to clouts:
For now how it to Paper doth conuert
My poore vnable Muse shall next insert.
And therefore noble and ignoble men
Iudge gently of the progresse of my pen,
Jn forma pauperis, poore men may sue,
And I in forme of paper speake to you.
But paper now's the subiect of my booke,
And from whence paper its beginning tooke;
How that from little Hemp and flaxen seeds,
Ropes, halters, drapery, and our napery breeds,
And from these things by art and true endeauour,
All paper is deriued, whatsoeuer.
For when I thinke but how is paper made
Into Phylosophy I straightwayes wade:
How here, and there, and euery where lyes scatter'd,
Old ruin'd rotten rags, and ropes all tatter'd.
And some of these poore things perhaps hath beene
The linnen of some Countesse or some Queene,
Yet lyes now on the dunghill, bare and poore
Mix'd with the rags of some baud, theefe, of whore.
And as these things haue beene in better states
Adorning bodies of great Potentates,
And lyes cast off, despised, scorn'd, deiected,
Trod vnder foot, contemn'd and vnrespected,
By this our vnderstandings may haue seeing
That earthly honour hath no certaine beeing.
For who can tell from whence these tatters springs?
May not the torne shirt of a Lords or Kings
Be pasht and beaten in the Paper mill
And made Pot-paper by the workemans skill?
May not the linnen of a Tyburne slaue,
More honour then a mighty Monarch haue:
That though he dyed a Traitor most disloyall
His shirt may be transform'd to Paper-royall?
And may not dirty socks from of the feet
From thence be turn'd to a Crowne-paper sheet?
And dunghill rags, by fauour, and by hap,
May be aduanc'd aloft to sheets of cap?
As by desert, by fauour and by chance
Honour may fall, and begg'ry may aduance,
Thus are these tatters allegoricall
Tropes, types, and figures, of mans rise or fall.
Thus may the reliques of sincere Diuines
Be made the ground-worke of lasciuious lines,
And the cast smocke that chast Lucretia wore
Beare baudy lines betwixt a knaue and whore.
Thus may a Brownists zealous ruffe in print
Be turn'd to Paper, and a play writ in't.
Or verses of a May pole, or at last
Iniunctions for some stomacke hating Fast.
And truely 'twere prophane and great abuse,
To turne the brethrene linnen to such vse,
As to make Paper on't to beare a song,
Or Print the Superstitious Latine tongue,
Apocrypha, or Ember-weekes, or Lent,
No holy brother surely will consent
To such Idolatry, his spirit and zeale
Will rather trouble Church, and common-weale.
He hates the Fathers workes, and had much rather
To be a bastard, then to haue a Father.
His owne interpretation he'll affoord
According to the letter of the word,
Tropes, Allegories, Types, similitudes,
Or Figures, that some mysticke sense includes.
His humour can the meaning so vnfold,
In other fashions then the Fathers could:
For he (dogmatically) doth know more
Then all the learned Doctors knew before.
All reuerend Ceremonies he'l oppose,
He can make an Organ of his nose,
And spin his speech with such sincerity,
As if his bridge were falne in verity.
The Cope and Surplesse he cannot abide,
Against the corner-Cap he out hath cride,
And calls them weeds of Superstition,
And liueries of the whore of Babylon.
The Crosses blessing he esteemes a curse,
The Ring in marriage, out vpon't 'tis worse.
And for his kneeling at the Sacrament,
In sooth he'le rather suffer banishment,
And goe to Amsterdamd, and liue and dye
E're he'l commit so much Idolatry.
He takes it for an outward Seale or Signe,
A little consecrated bread and wine,
And though it from his blessed Sauiour come
His manners takes it sitting on his bum.
The Spirit still directs him how to pray,
Nor will he dresse his meat the Sabbath day,
Which doth a mighty mysterie vnfold,
His zeale is hot, although his meat be cold,
Suppose his Cat on Sunday kill a Rat,
She on the Munday must be hang'd for that.
His faith keepes a continuall Holy day,
Himselfe doth labour to keepe it at play:
For he is read and deeply vnderstood
That if his faith should worke 'twould doe no good,
A fine cleane fingerd faith must saue alone,
Good workes are needlesse, therefore he'l do none.
Yet patience doth his spirit so much inspire,
He'l not correct a Seruant in his ire,
But when the spirit his hot furie layes.
Hee congregates his folkes, and thus he sayes:
Attend good Nichodemus, and Tobias,
List to your reuerend Master Ananias,
And good Aminadab, I pray attend,
Here's my man Jsmael highly did offend;
He told a lye, I heard his tongue to trip,
For which most surely he shall tast the whip.
Then after some sententious learned speech,
The seruant humbly doth let fall his breech,
Mounts on his fellowes backe as on a Mule,
Whilst his pure Maister mounts his rod of rule.
The boy in lying with his tongue did faile,
And thus he answers for it with his taile.
O Vpright, Sincere, Holy execution,
Most patient, vnpolluted absolution.
Shall Paper made of linnen of these men,
Be stain'd with an vnsanctified pen?
In sooth who ere doth so, bee't he or she,
They little better then the wicked be,
Children of Sathan and abhomination,
The brood of Belials cursed congregation,
The bastard off spring of the purple whore,
Who doe the Babylonish Beast adore.
From the Creation to the generall Flood,
The name of Paper no man vnderstood:
But by tradition still from Sire to Son,
Men liuing knew the deeds by dead men done.
Yet many things were in the Deluge sau'd
In stony Pillars charactered and grau'd.
For the most part antiquity agrees,
Long since the floud men writ in barkes of trees:
Which was obseru'd late in America,
When Spanish Cortois conquered Mexica.
Then after in Fig-leaues and Sicamour,
Men did in Characters their minds explore.
Long after, as ingenuous spirits taught,
Rags and old Ropes were to perfection wrought
Into square formes yet how to giue a name
Vnto their workemanship they could not frame.

The Originall of Paper.

How it Propagates the Gospell.

How many liue by it being Paper.

All this and more is paper, and all this,
From fruitfull Hempseed still produced is.
Were't not for rags of this admired Lint,
Dead were the admirable Art of Print.
Nor could the Printers with their formes & proofes.
Worke for their owne and other mens behoofes.
Octauo, Quarto, Folio, or sixteene:
Twelues, nor yet sixty foure had e're beene seene,
Nor could their Pages be the meanes to feed
And cloth them and their families at need.
The Stationer that liues, and gaineth well,
And doth the word of God, both buy and sell,
I know not which way he could liue and eate,
If printed paper did not yeeld him meat.
Some foolish knaue (I thinke) at first began
The slander that three Taylers are one man:
When many a Taylers boy, I know hath beene,
Hath made tall men much fearefull to be seene,
The boy hath had no weapon, nor no skill,
But armed with a Taylers Paper-bill,
Which being edgd with Jtems, stiffnings facings,
With Bumbast, cottons, linenings, and with laceings,
The boy hath made a man his head to hide
And not the bare sight of the Bill abide.
When boyes with paper Bils frights men so sore,
'Tis doubtlesse but their Masters can doe more,
And many millions both of boyes and men,
Doe onely liue, and flourish with the pen:
Yet though the pen be through the world renown'd
'Twere nothing except paper were the ground.

A Uoyage in a Paper-boat from London to Quinborough.

I therefore to conclude this much will note
How I of Paper lately made a Boat,
And how informe of Paper I did row
From London vnto Quinborough Ile show.
I and a Vintner (Roger Bird by name)
(A man whom Fortune neuer yet could tame)
Tooke ship vpon the vigill of Saint Iames
And boldly ventur'd downe the Riuer Thames,
Lauing and cutting through each raging billow,
(In such a Boat which neuer had a fellow)
Hauing no kinde of mettall or no wood
To helpe vs eyther in our Ebbe or Flood:
For as our boat was paper so our Oares
Were Stock-fish, caught neere to the Island shores.
Thus being Oar'd and shipt away we went.
Driuing 'twixt Essex Calues, and sheepe of Kent:
Our Boat a female vessell gan to leake
Being as female vessels are, most weake,
Yet was shee able which did greeue me sore,
To drowne Hodge Bird and I and forty more.
The water to the Paper being got,
In one halfe houre our boat began to rot:
The Thames (most lib'rall) fild her to the halues,
Whilst Hodge and I sate liquor'd to the calues.
In which extremity I thought it fit
To put in vse a stratagem of wit,
Which was, eight Bullocks bladders we had bought
Puft stifly full with wind, bound fast and tought.
Which on our Boat within the Tide we ty'de,
Of each side foure, vpon the outward side.
The water still rose higher by degrees.
In three miles going, almost to our knees,
Our rotten bottome all to tatters sell,
And left our boat as bottomlesse as Hell.
And had not bladders borne vs stifly vp,
We there had tasted of deaths fatall cup.
And now (to make some sport) Ile make it knowne
By whose strong breath my bladders all were blown.
One by a cheuerell conscienc'd Vsurer,
Another by a drunken Bag piper,
The third a Whore, the fourth a Pander blew,
The fift a Cutpurse, of the Cursed crew,
The sixt, a post-knight that for fiue groats gaine
Would sweare & for foure groats forsweare't againe.
The seauenth was an Informer, one that can
By informations begger any man.
The eight was blowne vp by a swearing Royster,
That would cut throats as soone as eate an Oyster.
We being in our watry businesse bound,
And with these wicked winds encompass'd round,
For why such breaths as those it fortunes euer,
They end with hanging, but with drowning neuer;
And sure the bladders bore vs vp so tight,
As if they had said, Gallowes claime thy right.
This was the cause that made vs seeke about,
To finde these light Tiburnian vapours out.
We could haue had of honest men good store,
As Watermen, and Smiths, and many more,
But that we knew it must be hanging breath,
That must preserue vs from a drowning death.
Maze, Rubicon, Elue, Volga, Ems, Scamander,
Loyre, Moldoue, Tyber, Albia, Seyne, Meander,
Hidaspes, Jndus, Jnachus, Tanaies,
(Our Thames true praise is sarre beyond their praise)
Great Euphrates, Iordane, Nilus, Ganges, Poe,
Tagus and Tygris, Thames doth farre out-goe.
Danubia, Jster, Xanthus, Lisus, Rhrine,
Wey, Seuerne, Auon, Medway, Isis, Tine,
Dee, Ouze, Trent, Humber, Eske, Tweed, Annan, Tay,
Firth (that braue Demy-ocean) Clide, Dun, Spay,
All these are great in fames, and great in names,
But great'st in goodnesse is the riuer Thames,
From whose Diurnall and Nocturnall flood
Millions of soules haue fewell cloathes and food;
Which from twelue houres to twelue doth still succeed,
Hundreds, & thousands both to cloath & feed.
Of watermen, their seruants, children, wiues,
It doth maintaine neere twenty thousand liues.
I can as quickly number all the starres,
As reckon all things in particulars:
Which by the bounty of th'All-giuing giuer
Proceeds from this most matchlesse, famous Riuer.
And therefore 'tis great pirty, shelfe or sand
From the forgetfull and ingratefull land,
Should it's cleare chrystall entrailes vilefy,
Or soyle such purenesse with impurity.
What doth it doe, but serues our full contents,
Brings food, and for it takes our excrements,
Yeelds vs all plenty, worthy of regard
And dirt and mucke we giue it for reward?
Oh what a world of Poets that excell
In art, haue fabled riuers out of hell,
As Erebus, Cocitus, Acheron,
Stix, Orchus, Tartarus, and Phlegeton,
And all infernall Barathrums Damn'd Creekes,
With Charons Passengers, and fearefull shriekes,
Who writing drinking Lethe to their shames
Vnthankefully they haue forgot the Thames.
But noble Thames, whilest I can hold a pen
I will diuulge thy glory vnto men:
Thou in the morning when my coine is scant
Before the euening dost supply my want.
If like a Bee I seeke to liue and thriue,
Thou wilt yeeld hony freely to my hiue,
If like a dronc I will not worke for meate,
Thou in discretion giues me nought to eate
Thou the true rules of Iustice dost obserue,
To feed the lab'rer, let the idle sterue,
And I so many faithlesse men haue found
As any man that liues vpon the ground,
Who haue done me wrong and themselues no good,
And swore, and forswore in their damned mood:
Whilst I (fond I) haue lent and giuen away
To such as not so much as thankes will pay,
For shame and modesty I name them not;
But let their black soules beare the impure blot
Of falshood periury, and odious lyes
That diuels in shape of Mankind can deuise.
If these lines happen to their hands to come,
They'l pick their teeth, look downward and cry hum,
But goodnesse how should euer I expect,
From such who doe so true a friend neglect.
And therefore Thames, with thee I haue decreed
Because thoa neuer faild me in my need,
To thee, to thee againe I doe retire
And with thee Ile remaine till life expire,
Thou art my Mistresse, and oft times from thee
Thy liberalitie hath flow'd to me,
And for thou alwayes giuest me meanes to liue
My selfe (most thankefully my selfe doe giue.
Momus thou Sonne of Somnus, and of Nox,
Take not my lines all for a Paradox:
For most of them seeme true, and I doe rue
That many of them I doe know too true.
Sleepe Momus sleepe, in Murceas slothfull bed,
Let Morpheus locke thy tongue within thy head:
Or if thou needst wilt prate, prate to this end
To giue commends to that thou canst not mend.
'Tis not a guilded Gull made vp with oathes,
That sweares and dams himselfe into good cloathes,
That weares his cloake beneath his skirts and wast
Cause men may see how he is trust and brac'd:
Such a fantasticke asse, I care not for,
He flewts my lines, and I doe him abhor.
My poore inuention no way is supply'd,
With cutting large thongs from anothers hide:
I haue not stolne a syllable or letter
From any man, to make my booke seeme better.
But similies, comparisons, each line,
Indifferent, good or bad, they all are mine,
Yet I confesse I haue read many a booke
From whence I haue some obseruations tooke.
Which I make vse of, as occasions touch,
And any Poet (I thinke) will doe as much.
I will not brag, to all men bee it knoshne
(By learning) I haue nothing of mine owne,
But had I tongues and languages, like many
Sure I should filch and steale as much as any.
But like an Artlesse Poet, I say still,
I cm a Taylor, true against my will.
Thus ending (like to Iasons Golden-fleece)
This worke of Hempseed is my Master-peace.

TAYLORS TRAVELS To Hamburgh in Germanie.

[When Christians dare Gods Sabboth to abuse]

When Christians dare Gods Sabboth to abuse,
They make themselues a scorne to Turkes & Iewes:
You stealing Barabasses beastly race,
Rob God of Glory, and your selues of Grace.
Thinke on the supreame Iudge who all things tryes,
When Iewes against you shall in Iudgement rise.
Their feigned truth, with feruent Zeale they show,
The truth vnfeign'd you know, yet will not know.
Then at the Barre in new Ierusalem,
It shall he harder much for you then them.

TAYLORS TRAVELS TO Pragve IN Bohemia.

[A Pamphlet (Reader,) from the Presse is hurld]

Reader, take this in your way.

A Pamphlet (Reader,) from the Presse is hurld,
That hath not many fellowes in the world:
The manner's common, though the matter's shallow,
And 'tis all true, which makes it want a fellow.

[I come from Bohem, yet no newes I bring]

[This is a Tub of Tubs, Tub of Tubs hall]

This is a Tub of Tubs, Tub of Tubs hall,
Who ne're had fellow yet, nor euer shall;
O had but Diogenes but had this a ton,
He would had thought that he more roome had won,
Then Alexanders Conquests, or the bounds,
Of the vast Ocean and the solid grounds.
Or had Cornelius but this tub, to drench
His Clients that had practis'd too much French,
A thousand hogsheads then would haunt his firkin,
And Mistris Minks recouer her lost mirkin.
This mighty Caske great Bacchus vs'd to stride,
When he to drunkards hall did often ride.
And in this barrell he did keepe his Court,
Bathing himsefe in Rhenish for disport.
But now these eight yeares it hath dry beene kept;
In it the wine God hath not pist or wept;
That now the Chappell, and the Caske combine,
One hath no preaching, t'other hath no wine.
And now the vse they put it to is this,
'Tis shew'd for mony, as the Chappell is.

[There for a token I did thinke it meet]

There for a token I did thinke it meet,
To take the shooes from off this Prince his feet:
I doe not say I stole, but I did take,
And whil'st I liue, Ile keepe them for his sake:
Long may his Grace liue to be styl'd a man,
And then Ile steale his bootes too, if I can.
The shooes were vpright shooes, and so was he
That wore them, from all harme vpright and free:
He vs'd them for their vse, and not for pride,
He neuer wrong'd them, or e're trode aside.
Lambskin they were, as white as Innocence,
(True patternes for the footsteps of a Prince,)
And time will come (as I doe hope in God)
He that in childhood with these shooes was shod,
Shall with his manly feet once trample downe,
All Antichristian foes to his renowne.

[Prague is a famous, ancient, Kingly seate]

Prague is a famous, ancient, Kingly seate,
In scituation and in state compleate,
Rich in aboundance of the earths best treasure,
Proud and high minded beyond bounds or measure,
In Architecture stately; in Attire,
Beizonians Plebeians doe aspire,
To be apparell'd with the stately port
Of Worship, Honour, or the Royall Court;
Their Coaches, and Caroches are so rife,
They doe attend on euery trades-mans wife,
Whose Husbands are but in a meane regard,
And get their liuing by the Ell or Yard,
How euer their Estates may bee defended,
Their wiues like demy Ladies are attended:
I there a Chimney-sweepers wife haue seene,
Habilimented like the Diamond Queene,
Most gaudy garish, as a fine Maid-marrian,
With breath as sweet as any suger carrion,
With sattin cloak, lin'd through with budg or sable,
Or cunny furre, (or what her purse is able)
With veluet hood, with tiffanies, and purles,
Rebatoos frizlings, and with powdred curles,
And (lest her hue or sent should be attainted,)
She's antidoted, well perfum'd and painted,
She's fur'd she's fring'd, she's lac'd, and at her wast:
She's with a massie chaine of siluer brac'd,
She's yallow starch'd, and ruff'd, and cuff'd, and muff'd,
She's ring'd, she's braceleted, she's richly tuff'd,
Her petticote good silke as can be bought,
Her smock about the tale lac'd round and wrought,
Her gadding legges are finely Spanish booted,
The whilst her husband liked a slaue all sooted,
Lookes like a Courtier to infernall Pluto,
And knowes himselfe to be a base cornuto.
Then since a man that liues by Chimney sweepe,
His wife so gaudy richly clad doth keepe,
Thinke then but how a Merchants wife may goe,
Or how a Burgamasters wife doth show;
There by a kinde of topsie turuy vse,)
The women weare the bootes, the men the shooes.
I know not if't be profit or else pride,
But sure th'are oft'ner ridden then they ride:
These females seeme to be most valiant there,
Their painting shewes they doe no colours feare.
Most Art-like plastring Natures imperfections,
With sublimated, white and red complexions;
So much for Pride I haue obserued there,
Their other faults, are almost euery where.

[Sixe things vnto a Trauailer belongs]

Sixe things vnto a Trauailer belongs,
An Asses backe, t'abide and beare all wrongs:
A fishes tongue (mute) grudging speech forbearing.
A Harts quick eare, all dangers ouerhearing,
A dogs eyes, that must wake as they doe sleepe,
And by such watch his corpes from perill keepe.
A swines sweet homely tast that must digest
All Fish, Flesh, Rootes, Fowle, foule and beastly drest;
And last, he must haue euer at his call
A purse well lynde with coyne to pay for all.

[You that haue bought this, grieue not at the cost]

You that haue bought this, grieue not at the cost,
There's something worth your noting, all's not lost,
First halfe a Constable is well bumbasted,
If there were nothing else, your coynes not wasted,
Then I relate of hils, and dales, and downes,
Of Churches, Chappels Pallaces, and Townes,
And then to make amends (although but small)
I tell a tale of a great tub withall,
With many a Gallowes, Gybbet and a wheele,
Where murd'rers bones are broke from head to heele
How rich Bohemia, is in wealth and food,
Of all things which for man or beast is good.
How in the Court at Prague (a Princely place,
A gracious Queene vouchsafed me to grace,
How on the sixteenth day of August last,
King Fredericke to his royall Army past,
How fifty thousand were in armes araid,
Of the Kings force, beside th'Hungarian ayde,
And how Bohemia strongly can appose,
And cuffe and curry all their daring foes.
Then though no newes of state may heere be had,
I know here's something will make good men glad,
No bringer of strange tales I meane to be,
Nor Ile beleeue none that are told to me.

PRINCE CHARLES HIS VVELCOME FROM SPAINE:

VVho Landed at Portsmouth on Sunday the 5. of October, and came safely to London on Munday the 6. of the same, 1623. WITH The Triumphs of London for the same his happie Arriuall.

And the Relation of such Townes as are scituate in the wayes to take post-horse at, from the Citie of London to Douer: and from Callice through all Frænce and Spaine, to Madrid, to the Spanish-Court.

[The Bels proclaim'd aloud in euery Steeple]

The Bels proclaim'd aloud in euery Steeple,
The ioyfull acclamations of the people.
The Ordnance thundred with so high a straine,
As if great Mars they meant to entertaine.
The Bonfires blazing, infinite almost,
Gaue such a heat as if the world did roast.
True mirth and gladnesse was in euery face,
And healths ran brauely round in euery place:
That sure I thinke this sixt day of October,
Ten thousand men will goe to bed scarce (&c.)
This was a day all dedicate to Mirth,
As 'twere our Royall Charles his second birth.
And this day is a Iewell well return'd,
For whom this Kingdome yesterday so mourn'd.
God length his dayes who is the cause of this,
And make vs thankfull for so great a blisse.

[The Prince of Princes, and the King of Kings]

The Prince of Princes, and the King of Kings,
Whose Eye of Prouidence foresees all things,
To whom what euer was, or ere shall be,
Is present still before his Maiesty.
Who doth dispose of all things as he list,
And graspeth Time in his eternall fist;
He sees and knowes (for vs) what's bad or good.
And all things is by him well vnderstood,
Mens weake coniectures no way can areed,
What's in th'immortall Parlament decreed,
And what the Trinitie concludeth there,
We must expect it with obedience here.
Then let not any man presume so farre,
To search what the Almighties councels are,
But let our wils attend vpon his will,
And let his will be our direction still.
Let not Pleibeans be inquisitiue,
Or into any profound State-businesse diue.
We in fiue hundred and nere sixty yeare,
Since first the Norman did the Scepter beare,
Haue many hopefull royall Princes had,
Who as Heau'n pleas'd to blesse, were good or bad,
Beauclarke was first (who was first Henry crown'd)
For learning and for wisdome high renown'd)
Beyond the verge of Christendomes swift Fame,
Did make the world admire his noble name.
The blacke Prince Edward, all his life time ran
The race of an accomplisht Gentleman:
His valour and tryumphant victories,
Did fill the world and mount vnto the skyes.
The warlike Henry of that name the fist,
With his innated vertue vp did lift
His name and fame to such perspicuous grace,
Which time or no obliuion can deface,
Prince Arthur whom our Chronicles record,
To be a vertuous and a hopefull Lord:
His budding fortunes were by death preuented,
And as he liu'd belou'd, he dy'd lamented.
His brother Henry from his fall did spring,
First to be Prince of Wales, then Englands King
He was magnificent and fortunate,
According to the greatnesse of his state.
Next Edward his vndoubted heyre by birth,
Who (for the sins of men vpon the earth)
God tooke him hence as he began to bloome,
Whose worthy memory mens hearts intombe.
Prince Henry last, a Prince of as great hope
As ere was any yet beneath the Cope.
He liu'd and dy'd bewailed and renown'd,
And left this Land with teares of sorrow drown'd.
Then onely this illustrious branch remain'd,
Our gracious Charles, by Heauens high grace ordain'd,
To be our Ioy, whose vertues (as I gather)
Will length the life of his beloued Father.
True loue and honour made his Highnesse please,
Aduenturously to passe ore Lands and Seas.
With hazard of his royall person and
In that, the hope of all our happy Land.
But blessed be his Name, whose great protection
Preseru'd him still from change of ayres infection,
That gaue him health and strength mongst sundry Nations,
T'endure and like their dyets variations,
That though to others these things might be strange,
Yet did his Princely vigour neuer change,
But with a strong and able constitution,
He bore out all with manly resolution.
Loue sometimes made the Gods themselues disguise,
And muffle vp their mighty Dieties,
And vertuous Princes of the Gods haue ods,
When Princes goodnesse doe outgoe the Gods,
Then foolish man this is no worke of thine,
But operation of the power Diuine,
Let God alone with what he hath in hand,
'Tis sawcy, folly, madnesse, to withstand
What his eternall wisedome hath decreed,
Who better knowes then we doe, what we need.
To him lets pray for his most safe protection,
Him we implore for his most sure direction:
Let his assistance be Prince Charles his guide.
That in the end God may be glorifide,
Let vs amendment in our liues expresse,
And let our thankes be more, our sins be lesse.

Amongst the rest this is to bee remembred, that two Watermen at the Tower Wharfe burnt both their Boats in a Bonefire most merrily.

AN ENGLISH-MANS LOVE TO Bohemia.

AN ENGLISHMANS LOVE TO Bohemia.

With a friendly Farewell to all the noble Souldiers that goe from great Britaine to that honourable Expedition.

The most part of the Kings, Princes, Dukes, Marquisses, Earles, Bishops, and other friendly Confederates, that are combined with the Bohemian part.

[The peace of France, with the praise of Archy.

Honour Conceal'd; Strangely Reveal'd:

OR, The worthy Praise of the Vnknowne Merits of the Renowmed Archibald Armestrong, who for his vnexpected Peace-making in France, betwixt the King and the Rochellers, hath this Poem Dedicæted as a Trophee, to his matchlesse Vertues. This being done in the yeare of our Lord, 1623.

'Tis not the Warres of late I write vpon
In France, at the Iles of Rhea or Olleron:
These things were written in K. Iames his Raigne,
Then Read it not with a mistaking Braine.

THE PEACE OF FRANCE, With the Praise of Archy.

HEAVENS BLESSING, AND EARTHS IOY.

Or, A true relation, of the supposed sea-fights and Fire-workes, as were accomplished, before the Royall Celebration of the all-beloued Marriage, of the two peerelesse Paragons of Christendome, Fredericke and Elizabeth.

With Triumphall Encomiasticke Verses, consecrated to the Immortall memory of those happie and blessed Nuptials.

DEDICATED To the illustrous Lampe of true Worth, the noble, Ingenious, judicious, and vnderstanding Gentleman, Sir Iames Mvray Knight.

Vnto the prospect of your Wisedomes eyes,
I Consecrate these Epithalamies.
Not that I thinke them worthy of your view,
But for in Loue my thoughts are bound to you:
I doe confesse my selfe vnworthy farre
To write, in such high causes as these are,
Which, Homer, Virgil, nor the fluent Tully,
In fitting tearmes could scarce expresse them fully:
But since the Muses did their bounties show,
And on me did poore Poësie bestow;
I hold it best to play the thankefull man,
To spend their guifts the best wayes that I can,
And not like pedling Bastards of the Muses,
That like to Lawyers, liue on Times abuses.
Thus vnto you I giue it as it is,
Desiring pardon where there's ought amisse.

[Triumphall Verses.]

EPITHALAMIES.

Or, Encomiasticke Triumphall Verses, Consecrated to the Immortall memory, of the royall Nuptials of the two Parragons of Christendome Fredericke and Elizabeth.

A Sonnet to the Jmperious Maiestick mirrour of King Iames, great Britaines Monarch.

Great Phœbus spreads his Rayes on good & ill,
Dame Tellus feeds the Lyon and the Rat,
The smallest Sayles God Æols breath doth fill:
And Ttetis Harbors both the Whale and Sprat.
But as the Sunne doth quicken dying Plants,
So thy illustrious shine doth glad all hearts:
And as the Earth supplyes our needfull wants,
So doth thy bounty guerdon good desarts.
And like the ayrie Æols pleasant gales,
Thou filst with Ioy the Sailes of rich and pore,
And as the Sea doth harbour Sprats and Whales,
So thou to high and low yeelds harbour store.
Thus Sea, Ayre, Earth, and Titans fiery face,
Are Elementall Seruants to thy Grace.

To Life.

Since that on earth thou wondrous wandring gest,
Arithmeticians neuer number can
The seuerall Lodgings thou hast tane in man,
In Fish, in Fowle, in tame or bruitish beast:
Since all by thee from greatest to the least,
Are squar'd (and well compar'd) vnto a span,
Oh fleeting Life take this my counsell than,
Hold long possession in thy royall breast:
Dwell euer with the King, the Queene, the Prince,
The gracious Princesse, and her Princely Spouse,
In each of these thou hast a lasting house:
Which Fate, nor Death, nor Time, cannot conuince.
And when to change thy Lodging thou art driuen,
Thy selfe and they exalted be to Heauen.

To Death.

To thee, whose auaritious greedy mood,
Doth play at sweepe stake with all liuing things
And like a Hors leech Quaffes the seuerall blood,
Of Subiects, Abiects, Emperours and Kings:
That high and low, and all must feele thy stings,
The Lord, the Lowne, the Caitiffe and the Keasar,
A beggers death as much contentment brings
To thee, as did the fall of Julius Cæsær.
Then since the good and bad are all as one,
And Larkes to thee, no better are then Kites,
Take then the bad, and let the good alone,
Feed on base wretches, leaue the worthy wights,
With thee the wicked euermore will stay,
But from thee, Fæme will take the good away.

To Eternity.

Thou that beyond all things dost goe as farre,
That no Cosmographers could e're suruay.
Whose glory (brighter then great Phebus Carre)
Doth shine, where night doth ne're eclipse the day:
To thee I consecrate these Princes acts.
In thee alone let all their beings be:
Let all the measures of their famous tracts,
In thee begin, but neuer end like thee.
And when thy Seruant Time, giues Life to Death,
And Death surrenders all their liues to Fame:
Oh then inspire them with celestiall breath,
With Saints and Martyrs to applaud thy name.
Thus vnto thee, (as thine owne proper rights)

TAYLORS FAREVVELL, TO THE TOWER BOTTLES.

VERBVM SEMPITERNVM.

Most mightie Soveraigne, to your hands J giue
The summe of that, which makes Us euer liue:
J humbly craue acceptance at your hand,
And rest your Servant ever to Command,

To the Reader

Thou that this little Booke dost take in hand,
Before thou iudge, bee sure to vnderstand:
And as thy kindnesse thou extend'st to mee,
At any time Ile doe as much for thee.

Genesis.

Iehouah heere of nothing, all things makes,
And man before all things his God forsakes.
Yet by th'Almighties mercy 'twas decreed,
Heau'ns Heire should satisfie for mans misdeed.
Mans age is long, and all are great, not good,
And all (saue eight) are drowned in the Flood.
Old Noah, second Sire to worst and best,
Of Cham the curst, Iaphet and Sem the blest.
Of Abrahams starre-like numberlesse encrease,
Of of springs of springs, and his rest in peace.
Of Jsraels going into Ægypt, and
Of their abode and liuing in that Land.
Of Iosephs brethren, faithlesse, and vnkind,
Of his firme Faith, and euer constant mind.
He pardons them that did his death deuise,
He sees his Childrens children, and he dyes.

Exodus.

Th'increase of Iacobs stocke is growne past number,
And feare of them, the Ægyptian King doth cumber.
Who giuing credit to the Inchanters tales,
Commands to kill all Infant Hebrew Males.
But Moses is preserued in the Riuer,
To be a Captaine Israel to deliuer.
Sterne Pharaohs cruell Adamantine heart
Will not permit Gods people to depart.
Ten plagues frō heau'n are on th'Ægyptians powr'd
Bloud, frogs, lice, flyes, beasts, scabs, haile, thundring showr'd.
Grashoppers, darknesse, death of first borne men,
Those were the Ægyptian plagues in number ten.
The Isra'lites are freed, and Pharaohs Host,
In chasing them, are in the red Sea lost.
A cloud doth shrowd them from the burning day,
By night a fierie Piller leades the way.
The murmuring people fearing famine, railes.
God raines down Manna from the Heauen & quailes,
The Law is writ in stone (to Moses giuen)
By Gods owne hand, to guide men vnto Heauen,
The Ceremoniall Sacrifice is taught,
As types of whom our blest redemption's wrought.

Leuiticus.

Heere man is shew'd, it is the Almighties will,
To guard the good, and to correct the ill.
The truest Seruice of the highest stands,
In no mans fancie, but as he commands.
And cause men are so apt from Grace to swerue,
He shewes them here, their Maker how to serue.
The Leuites are appointed by the Lord
To preach vnto his chosen flocke the word.

Numbers.

Old Jacobs blessed off spring numbred are,
Their valiant Captaines and their men of Warre.
Curst Koræh with his kinsman desp'rate Dathan,
And bold Abiram (three sworne Sonnes of Sathan)
Rebell 'gainst Moses, with their tongues vnhallowed,
And by the earth by heau'ns just Vengeance swallowed.
The Israelites to fell confusion brings,
Great Og and Sihon misbeleeuing Kings.
Where Balaam thought to curse of force he blest.
And by his Asse was told how he transgrest.
Fiue Midian Monarchs, Judaes Host doth slay,
And all their spoyle diuided as a pray.
The Land of Canaan, measur'd is, and found,
That in it all things plenteous doe abound.

Deuteronomy.

This Booke againe the Law of God repeats,
With blessings, cursings, teachings, and with threats.
Meeke Moses dyes, lyes in an vnknowne toome,
And Nuns Son (Iosuah) doth supply his roome,

Ioshua.

Great Captaine Ioshua, great in faith and courage,
Through greatest dangers valiantly doth forrage.
He passeth Jordane with his mighty host,
And to the Tribes diuideth Coast from Coast.
The harlot (Rahab) doth preserue the Spyes,
She knowes the Lord that reignes aboue the skyes.
They all passe Jordan. which is parted dry,
Whilst they securely march inuasiuely.
The feare of Cananites doth much increase,
Jerichoes tane, and Manna here doth cease.
Vile Achan closely steales the cursed prey,
And Jsraels beaten from the Wals of Ai,
Fiue Kings are hang'd, and Phebus standeth still,
At Iosuah's prayer, whilst he his Foes did kill.
Iust one and thirty mighty Kings were slaine,
Ere Jsrael could in peace the Land attaine.
Which being done, the bloudy warres doe cease,
Their faithfull Captaine (Joshuah) dyes in peece.

Judges.

Juda is Captaine, Anaks Sonnes are flaine,
The Cananites as vassals doe remaine.
The Israelites rebell and serue strange Gods,
And are all plagu'd with heau'ns correcting rods.
The men of Midia, Isra'l much did greeue,
Stoue Gideon comes their sorrowes to releeue.
And as Gods Spirit doth his Seruant moue,
He ouerthrowes Baals Altar and his Groue.
A womans hand King Iabins Hoste doth quaile,
And kild his Captaine Sis'ra with a naile.
Abimelch (by wrong) the kingdome gaines,
A woman dasht out his ambitious braines.
Victorious Iphtah, rashly sweares (not good)
And ends his conquest in his Daughters blood.
Great Sampson's borne, whoseuer matchlesse strength
Orethrowes the Philistims in bredth and length.
Faire flattering Dalilah, her Lord deceiues,
He's tane himselfe, himselfe of life bereaues.
The Beniamites abus'd a Leuites wife,
For which all but sixe hundred lost their life.

Ruth.

(According to the flesh) this woman Ruth,
Was ancient Grandame to th'eternall Truth.
And though she from the Moabites doth come,
It shewes th'Almighty in all Lands hath some.

1. Samuel.

The Prophet Samuel's borne and Elies Sonnes
To sinne and flat confusion headlong runnes.
The Isralites are by the Lord forsaken,
And by the Philistins the Arke is taken.
The figur'd presence of this all in All,
Doth make the Diuels inuention Dagon fall.
God takes his people to his loue againe,
The Ark's brought backe, the Philistines are slaine.
The Sonnes of Samuel wrong their Fathers trust,
By partiall Iudgements and with bribes vniust.
Saul seeking straying Asses, findes a Crowne,
And is annointed King in Raman towne.
The fell Philistians Jsr'el doth oppresse,
King Saul doth proudly gainst the Lord transgresse,
God dids kill Agag, Saul will haue him spar'd,
His will more than his Gods, he doth regard.
Goliah armed leades an hoste from Gath,
Defies the Lord of Hosts, prouokes his wrath.
Yong Dauid comes, and in his hand a sling,
And with a stone the Gyant downe doth ding.
Old Ishays Sonne before the Kings preferr'd,
And Dauid hath Sauls Daughter for reward.
Th'ingratefull King, seekes Dauids causlesse death,
True hearted Jonathan preserues his breath.
Saul leaues his God, and to a Witch doth goe,
And so himselfe, himselfe doth ouerthrow.
The Philistines his childrens bloud doe spill,
And with his Sword King Saul, King Saul did kill;
Saul leaues his God, and to a Witch doth goe,
And so himselfe, himselfe doth ouerthrow.
The Philistines his childrens bloud did spill,
And with his Sword King Saul King Saul did kill.

2. Samuel.

King Dauids royall heart is fild with woe,
For Ionathan and Saul, his friend, and foe,
In Regall state he liues and flourisheth,
And loues Sauls Grandchild lame Mephibosheth.
Affection blinds him on Uriahs wife,
T'accomplish which, her husband lost his life.
The King's reprou'd by Nathan, and repents.
And by repenting, heau'ns high wrath preuents.
Incestuous Amnon, Absolon doth kill,
For forcing Tamar gainst her Virgin will.
He's reconcil'd vnto his louing Sire,
And proudly to the Kingdome doth aspire.
The old King flees, and ouer Jordane hies,
The Sonne pursuing, and the Father flyes,
Achitophel himselfe hangs in dispaire,
And Absolon dyes hanged by the haire,
The King for his rebellious Sonne doth mourne,
His people numbred are at his returne,
The Lord is wrath, the pestilence increast,
That seuenty thousand dye, and then it ceast.

1. Kings.

The Kingly Prophet (valiant Dæuid dyes,)
His throne is left to Salomon the wise,
False Adoniah, Ioab, Shimei kild,
By his command, as erst his Father wild.
With speed he sends for workmen from farre Coasts,
To build a Temple to the Lord of Hosts,
Before or after him was neuer such,
That had of wisedome or of wealth so much.
A thousand women, some wed, some vnwed,
This wise King to Idolatry misled.
He dyes and's buried by his fathers toome,
And Rehoboam doth succeed his roome.
Now Jsrael from Judah is diuided,
Both Kingdomes by bad Kings are badly guided,
Yet God to Iacobs seed doth promise keepe,
And raises faithfull Pastors for his sheepe,

2 Kings.

Eliah worketh wonders with his word,
By inspiration of the liuing Lord:
He's taken vp aliue, and his blest Spirit,
Doth doubly in Elishaes breast inherit.
Some Kings doe gouerne well, most gouerne ill,
And what the good reformes, the bad doth spill.
Till Isr'el, Iudah, King and Kingdome's lost,
To great Nebuchadnezzar and his host.

1. Chronicles.

Here euery Tribe is numbred to their names,
To their memorials, and immortall fames,
And Dauids acts t'instruct misguided men,
Are briefly here recorded all agen.

Ezra.

The Persian Monarch (Cyrus) granteth leaue,
The Jewes once more their freedome should receiue.
When at Ierusalem they make abode,
They all with zeale repaire the house of God.
Malicious men (with poysnous malice fild)
Makes Artaxerxes hinder those that build.
Yet God so workes, that Israels loue and zeale,
Resumes againe their ancient Church and weale.

Nehemiah.

The booke of Ezra doth concord with this,
Commanding good, forbidding what's amisse.
And godly Nehemiah here reform'd,
What sinne and Sathan had long time deform'd.

Esther.

Here he that dwels in heauen doth deride,
Queene Vshy's and ambitious Hamans pride,
The Iewes are sau'd by Esters suite from death,
And Haman and his Sons, hang'd, loose their breath.
Poore Mordecay is held in high account,
And to great greatnesse humbly he doth mount.
Thus God doth raise all those his Lawes doe seeke,
He layes the lofty low, exalts the meeke.

Iob

No losse of Sonnes and Daughters, goods and all,
Make not this man into impatience fall,
Assailing Sathan tempting wife, false friends,
With perfect patience he all woes defends,
I naked came (quoth he) into this world,
And naked hence againe I shall be hurld.
God giues and takes according to his word,
And blessed euer bee the liuing Lord.

Psalmes.

The blessed Kingly Prophet sweetly sings,
Eternall praises to the King of Kings.
Gods Power, Iustice, Mercy, Fauour, looke
For they are comprehended in this Booke.

Prouerbs.

The wisest man that euer man begot,
In heauenly Prouerbs, shewes what's good what's not.

Ecclesiastes.

Health, strength, wit, valour, wordly wisdome, pelfe,
All's nought, and worse then vanity it selfe.

Salomons song.

This Song may well be call'd, the Song of Songs,
It to the heauenly Bride, and Groome belongs.
It truely shewes Christs loue vnto his loue,
His Church, his Wife, his Virgin Spouse, his Doue.

Isaiah.

This worthy Prophet truely doth foretell,
How Christ shall come to conquer death and hell,
Rewards vnto the godly he repeats,
And to the godlesse he denounceth threats.

Jeremy.

This Man of God long time before foreshoes,
Ierusalems Captiuity and woes.

Lamentations.

He wishes here, his head a fountaine deepe,
That he might weepe, weepe, nothing else but weep.
That he might gush forth flowing streames of teares
For Iudah's thraldome, misery, and feares.

Ezechiel.

In Babylon this Prophet Captiue is,
And there he prophesies of bale and blisse.
How all must come to passe the Lord hath said,
How Iudgement surely comes, although delayd.

Daniel.

The Kings darke dreame, the Prophet doth expound,
For which, he's highly honour'd and renown'd.
Nabuchadnezzar doth an Image frame,
Commands all paine of death t'adore the same.
Three godly Iewes by no meanes will fall downe,
And for contempt are in the fornace throwne.
Where, midst the flames vnhurt they sweetly sing,
Which wonder doth conuert the tyrant King.
Here Daniel Prophesies of Christ to come,
Of Babel, Persia, Græcia, and Rome.

Hosea.

He tels misgouern'd Israel their sinnes,
And how the losse of grace, destruction winnes.

Joel.

This Prophet tels the stubborne-hearted Iewes,
How heau'ns consuming wrath apace ensues.
He therefore doth perswade them to contrition,
And by contrition they shall haue remission.

Amos.

Mans thanklesse heart, and Gods vnmeasur'd loue,
This Prophet doth to Isr'els faces proue.

Obadiah.

He comforts Judah (ouer-prest with woes,)
And prophesies destruction of their foes.

Jonah.

Here Jonah tels the Niniuites, except
Repentance wrath of Heauen doe intercept:
In forty dayes, high, low, rich, poore, great, small,
The Lords hot fury shall consume them all.
With hearts vnfaign'd, the sinfull Citie mournes,
The Lord grants mercy, Ionah backe returnes.

Micah.

He speakes of Isr'els and of Juda's crimes,
And tels them their confusion comes betimes.

Nahum.

The Niniuites againe forsake the Lord,
And are subdu'd by the Assirian sword.
This Prophet comforts those that are opprest,
And tels the godly, they shall be releast.

Habakkuk.

He doth bewaile th'oppression of the poore,
For mercy, humbly he doth God implore.
To keepe the Captiu'd Iewes from fell despaire,
He teaches them a heauenly forme of Prayer.

Zephaniah.

He fils the good with hope, the bad with feare,
And tels the Iewes their thraldome draweth neere.

Haggay.

He exhorteth them to patience in their paine,
And bids them build the Temple once againe.

Zachariah.

He tels the Iewes why they haue plagued beene,
He bids them shunne Idolatry, and sinne.

Malachi.

For sinne he doth reproue both Prince and Priest,
And shewes the comming both of John and Christ.
Which Christ shall be a Sauiour vnto all,
That with true faith obey his heauenly call.

Apocrypha.

These bookes doe all in generall intimate
The State of good men, and the reprobate.
In many places they doe seeme to vary,
And beare a sence from Scripture quite contrary.
In Tobit and Dame Iudith disagrees,
From Text, and Razes in the Machabees.
For which the Church hath euer held it fit,
To place them by themselues, from holy writ.

SALVATOR MVNDI.

A Prayer.

Good God Almighty, (in compassion tender,)
Preserue and keepe King Charles, thy Faiths defender,
Thy Glory, make his Honor still increase,
In Peace, in Warres, and in Eternall peace.

THE BOOKE OF MARTYRS.

1. [The First Part.]

2. The Second Part.

GODS MANIFOLD MERCIES IN THESE MIRACVLOVS DELIVERANCES of our Church of England, from the yeare 1565 vntill this present, 1630. particularly and briefly Described.