 | Works of John Taylor the Water Poet not included in the folio volume of 1630 |  |
TAILORS TRAVELS, from LONDON, TO THE ISLE of WIGHT: With his Returne, and occasion of his Iourney.
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[This Pamphlet is not stuft with Triviall Bables]
This Pamphlet is not stuft with Triviall Bables,Or vaine prodigious undisgested fables:
This is no Mercury (with scoffs and jeeres)
To raise debate, and set us by the eares,
As if poore England had not yet endur'd
Sufficient plagues, but she must be assur'd,
By New, New, Newes, of New frights, and new foes,
And future mischiefes worse than present woes:
I bring no tidings of such consequence,
To breed Feares, Jealousies, or give offence,
Nor am I fraught with wonders, woundes, and scarres,
Or any thing relating to the Warres:
It is so writ that no man can accuse
Me of detraction, scandall, or abuse;
My lines are all from feare and horror free,
And here and there as true as true may be:
Yea much more true, I may be bound to sweare
Then many bookes have beene this twice foure yeare,
Or any Mercury writ heretofore,
Or old Currantoes, in the daies of Yore.
Then stroke your beards, or wipe your mouthes (at least)
And read, and heare what I have here exprest.
[The next succeeding month unto September]
The next succeeding month unto September,October was this yeare, (as I remember)
Without the charge of Proxey or Atturney,
My selfe in proper Person tooke this journey:
Two Gentlewomen (by two Maides attended)
Accompanied me till my travells ended.
We tooke one Coach, two Coach-men, and foure horses,
And merrily from London made our courses:
We wheel'd the top of th'heavy hill, call'd Holborne,
(Vp which hath been full many a sinfull soule borne:)
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Which place from Brainford, six (or neere) seven miles is.
To Stanes that night at five a clock we coasted,
Where (at the Bush) we had bak'd, boyl'd, and roasted.
Bright Sols illustrious Rayes, the day adorning,
We past Bagshot and Bawwaw, Friday morning;
That night we lodg'd at the White Hart at Alton,
And had good meate, a table with a salt on:
Next morne w'arose, with blushing cheek'd Aurora;
The wayes were faire but not so faire as Flora:
For
Flora was a beautifull Courtezan in Rome, who gat great treasure by the prostitution of her body, which Wealth she gave to the Common Treasury, for which they did esteeme her a Goddes, and the Goddes of Flowers, and built a Temple to her.
And (like the high wayes) was to all men Common:
Our Horses, with the Coach, which we went into,
Did hurry us amaine through thick and thine to
With fiery speede, the foaming bits they champt on,
And brought us to the Dolphin at Southampton.
There found I friendship more then I expected
Or did deserve, so much to be respected:
The Gentlewomen both their husbands met there;
The Moone was mounted, and the Sun was set there;
And after two houres time, or some such matter
We turn'd our Coach t'a boat, and swam by water;
My entertainement was good wine and welcome,
The cups most kindly unto me pell mell come;
Southamptons Governour, much love did show me,
He was my old acquaintance, and did know me:
He gave me's passe, to passe me to the Island
And I tooke boate, and left him on the dry Land;
It was as bright a moonshine night, I say
As ever man saw in a Summers day;
Thus with a fore winde, and faire Cintha's light,
In foure houres time we came to the Isle of Wight:
We past Cowes Castle, and into the Towne went,
Where some short time we wandring up and downe went;
Thus being favour'd by men, windes and weathers,
At Cowes I landed, and lodg'd at the Feathers:
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And on that Wight of Waight, I came to wait then.
Long live he blest internall, and externall.
And blest be England in his love paternall,
To guide and guard him, grace and power supernall,
Defend him from all trecherous traps infernall:
In imitation of him let us learne all
To live so heer that we may live eternall:
And thou, whose mercy nere can be exhausted,
In thy compassion thinke on England wasted:
The sword of wrath that's drawne is justly thine,
The Sinnes that made thee draw it forth are mine:
Jonas the storme did to himselfe apply;
Let each say so now, each man say tis I.
And now my story briefely Ile compose,
From harsh hard rugged rime, to smooth fac'd prose.
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[Then I with kicking set my heeles to horse]
Then I with kicking set my heeles to horse,
Advent'ring to ride through it force perforce:
My guides misguiding made me much the bolder,
The horse fell in, quite plung'd up to the shoulder.
I forward fell, and backward fell the Maid,
Man, Maide, and horse in curious pickle laid,
And never Eare did heare, or Eye did see
Such a pair-Royall faire Triplicity.
The danger past, we each on other gaping;
Not angry, or well pleas'd, we fell to scraping:
Sometimes we fretted, and our lips did bite,
And sometimes (at our selves) we laught out right.
I scrapt my selfe, the Maide, the Hostler drest,
The Horse lookt on, uncurried like a beast.
Thus we to Newport came in gay attire,
Embrodred over all with dirt and mire:
And thus from Cowes we tumbled in the slowes,
Man, Maide, and horse, moil'd like three beastly sowes:
'Twas my base guide that put me in this trim,
For which abuse Ile have a bout with him:
The Divell misleades us all, we plainely see,
And that same stinking Hostler misled me.
Advent'ring to ride through it force perforce:
My guides misguiding made me much the bolder,
The horse fell in, quite plung'd up to the shoulder.
I forward fell, and backward fell the Maid,
Man, Maide, and horse in curious pickle laid,
And never Eare did heare, or Eye did see
Such a pair-Royall faire Triplicity.
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Not angry, or well pleas'd, we fell to scraping:
Sometimes we fretted, and our lips did bite,
And sometimes (at our selves) we laught out right.
I scrapt my selfe, the Maide, the Hostler drest,
The Horse lookt on, uncurried like a beast.
Thus we to Newport came in gay attire,
Embrodred over all with dirt and mire:
And thus from Cowes we tumbled in the slowes,
Man, Maide, and horse, moil'd like three beastly sowes:
'Twas my base guide that put me in this trim,
For which abuse Ile have a bout with him:
The Divell misleades us all, we plainely see,
And that same stinking Hostler misled me.
For which:
First in a Knaves skinne I will wrap him hot,Which he shall alwaies weare until it rot:
My prayer for him shall be this execration,
Let him be nasty in his occupation:
Oh let his provender be ever musty,
His hay be most distastfull, foule, and dusty:
His Pease, and Beanes, and Oates most odious fusty,
And's curry combe (for want of use) be rusty:
Thus musty, dusty, fusty, rusty, crusty,
Shall plague the Knave that was to me untrusty.
In Vrine, and Beasts Ordure let him toile:
Soile be his trade, yet nere be Lord oth' soile.
Let boot haling be most part of his living:
Let Guests be sparing to him in their giving:
Vnder his Rack let him in tortures lye,
And (in his Manger) let him stinke and dye:
And let the preaching Cobler at Blackwall
Be 3 houres prating at his funerall:
Let him be grav'd in his owne Element:
Let litter, and horse dung be his monument.
8
To some more serious businesse in the Isle.
Thus having overpast this foule disaster,
I went to see my suffring Soveraigne Master:
Which sight to me was all my Earthly blisse,
He gave me straight his Royall hand to kisse,
Which grac'd me much in all the publique sights
Of Commons, Gentles, and brave Lords and Knights.
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[And therefore Reader understand and note]
And therefore Reader understand and note,Who ever sayes I lye, he lies in's throate.
[Blest Englands joy (the King) will come e're long.]
Blest Englands joy (the King) will come e're long.Praise God, make Bonefires, swing the Bells, ding dong.
And let him never beare a Christians name,
Whose trade and pleasure is in blood and flame
Of his deare Countrey, and rip, rend, and teare
His Mothers Womb, that such a brat did beare.
FINIS.
| Works of John Taylor the Water Poet not included in the folio volume of 1630 | |