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THE Kings-Bench SCUFFLE.

It is not of the force of Bulls,
Or of those Heroes break their Skulls
I'th' Bear-garden, nor else of Trulls,
as Phillis.
Chloris, the fairest Nymphs as may
Be pick't up in a Summers day,
By Gallants that adore an A-
marillis.
Nor do I sing of Butter-flies,
Or of the screeks, and horrid cryes
Of dying Pigs, or chatt'ring Pyes:
for know ye,
To hag my Muse at such a rate,
Would make me with my self debate;
For too too much is such a state
below me.

But mind my Tale ye Champions all,
For I am to relate a Brawl,
The like did never yet befall
in Kings-Bench.
It lately hapned th'other day,
That there began a horrid fray,
And 'twas about (as people say)
a thing's wench,
So mean a Rat, that you'd have swore,
His Jade must be a Common Whore,
Or she'd nere fancy such a Boar-
ish Fellow.
But say the Girl was Whore enough,
And strongly smelt of Kitchin-stuff,
Yet she had Vizard mask, and Muff
was yellow.
To set her person forth would be
A task of small felicity;
Nor need it, since they did agree
to love well.
Though some would call the Lady Punk,
Some hold their Nose as if she stunk,
Yet these two Lovers would be drunk
above well.

One time unhappily it chanc't,
That some upon her Credit danc't,
At which her brisk Gallant he pranc't
profoundly;
VVith Pots, and Pipes, he made retreat,
VVith all his force to do the feat;
He flung, and did another beat
most soundly.
The Flaggons flew about amain,
Much blood was spilt, but no man slain;
So that the Scuffle was in vain,
as seemeth.
But one more stout than all beside,
Look't round about, and then he spy'd
One sleeping, but with honour cry'd,
He dreameth.
From whence the world may understand
There's those are stout, but can command
Their passions with the best o'th' Land:
for know it,
If any he dare be so fell,
Rashly to fight in hopes to quell,
Fame's Trumpet won't the story tell,
nor blow it.

Nor is't my place to issue forth
The Actions of an unknown Birth,
Though all his Deeds they may be worth
Rehearsal.
Then let us sing those praises due,
Which from his Valour did accrue;
'Tis pity but they should be U-
niversal.
He that has Rambled through the Halls
O'th' City, slept upon its Stalls,
Behold! 'tis he, the stony Walls
environ;
As if they did design their Jarrs
Should be more cruel than our Wars,
Who call to their assistance Bars
of Iron.
And well they might with reason too,
If my Intelligence be true,
For all (God knows) had much ado
to hold him.
How then shall I describe this Man,
VVhose Deeds a Volume cannot span?
And in my thoughts, there's no man can
unfold him.

In short, some stories flew about,
(For in the end the truth will out)
And those did make his Mistriss pout,
and frown too;
VVith indignation then she swore,
She'd be reveng'd of Rogue; or VVhore,
Counted her sins, and made the score
abound too.
VVith Prince, or Peasant, Lord, or Earl,
I venture dare or Gold or Pearl,
They never met with such a Girl
for Valour:
A Girl, and thereby hangs a tail,
Although perhaps 'twas somewhat stale,
Her tongue I'm sure could all out-rail.
And taller
This our Girl was; yet i'de be loth
For her to lye, or use an Oath,
For Nature did her part by both,
so be it.
This Age produces those as bold,
Majestick, strong, or those can scold,
As former Ages did of old,
we see it.

The man with silence had incag'd
His soul, but now he was enrag'd,
And valiantly he would have wag'd
his tatling:
That whereas some her Honour smutcht,
(For such like words he alwayes grutcht
To hear) that none of them had toucht
her Twatling.
One that Pot valiant was, stood by,
And without musing, gave the Lye:
VVhat after hapned, by and by
will follow.
The woman reacht a neighb'ring Kan,
And flung't at's head; her loving man
To buffets fell, and all began
to hollow.
The woman, as in Duty bound,
Seeing him tumbled to the ground,
The other Heroe she did sound-
ly scratch him.
The humble man cry'd two to one
VVas odds, and so lay still to groan;
And to say truth, her self alone
would match him.

But since 'tis past, so much for that,
Now let's some other subject chat,
Not of some Chit, or little Brat,
but Tall-man.
But Reader, this observe, take heed
How you with Gyant deal your speed;
For it may chance to cost indeed
a fall man.
Have you not heard of Warwick's Guy,
That slew a world when none were by,
And can ye then forbear to cry
'tis pity?
But why do we discourse of one,
As if he merited alone?
The Greeks it was that made to groan
a City.
The splendid Troy was made forlorn,
Like Sampson's Foxes in the Corn,
Each merry Greek exalted horn,
to burn 'em.
By merry Greeks the learned mean
Fat Usurers, that are obscene,
And say they'll make their Debtors lean,
to turn 'em.

Thus as advis'd by Hudibras,
One line for Rime must this time pass,
For sense the other: for alas
you know well,
We erring Mortals sometime speak
Or Non-sense Latin, or pure Greek,
And Trees too have a silent squeek,
sayes Howell.
But why do we digress so wide?
Hark how they roar o'th' Common
For to be poor is all their pride
and merry.
And who more blith than they are there,
They drink and sing to banish care,
For they are mad because they spare
the Sherry.
And well they may, for when they get it,
Their stomacks are so sharply whetted,
The VVine would surely be befretted
at thee Boyes;
For I have heard'em make their moan,
When Ale would give 'em leave to groan,
Such Liquor sure was made alone
for we Boyes.

The Cellar you may note is dark,
And each ones eye doth seem to spark-
Cle; ev'ry minute ecchoes, Hark,
a Taper.
The light's come in to ease their thrall,
Commanded by the chief of all,
Whom we in vulgar terms do call
Ale-draper.
When brought and on the Table sat,
A Ceremony they begat
In Complements; but note each Hat
was pawned.
But Jack let's drink, a fart for Foe,
We'll drench the Cellar, then we'll go;
Faith come, a match, cry all, and so
they yawned.
Sayes one, Let's scorn to think of wealth;
A second drinks his Sov'raigns health,
And that goes round, for none by stealth,
forsake it.
Drink round, cryes one, Boy drink agen,
The Act will pay our Debts; for when
We're quite undone, we'll jointly then
go take it.

A League is made, and all are Friends,
With promises to make amends;
For no man there hath private ends,
they scorn it.
Their Liquor that is sound and strong,
And when there's one that doth prolong
The drinking, this is all their Song,
Come born it.
Up with't, another cryes, Nay, pish
Man, pull away, and give's the Dish;
For such delayes will catch no Fish:
Drink clear Boy.
If I had stowage like a VVhale,
Oh I could tell thee such a Tale,
I'd live on only Smoke and Ale,
and Beer Boy.
Then on the Cup he layes his fang,
And doth it to his Neighbour bang,
VVith—Let our Creditors go hang
I say men.
They all their Contribution pay,
And kill with Curses every way;
And in conclusion each doth say
to't Amen.

Their Coyn and Credit being crack't,
They all conclude it is no Fact
To swear according to the Act,
a stout Book.
To that 'tis time to list an ear,
Their Oaths by Rote they will forbear,
For they too long were us'd to swear
without-book.
Nor are they there so void of bliss,
But they can eat, and eating piss;
For nothing there can come amiss
to many.
Sometimes no Knife they have perhaps,
However there are bones and scraps
Are ready carv'd to fit the chaps
of any.
VVhen Din'd, they to the Cellar run;
Sayes one, Come Brother, charge your Gun;
Here's Smoke, there's none beneath the Sun
can mend it.
His Pipe he fills, and all the rest,
Not one did seem with grief opprest,
And each did like a welcome Guest
attend it.

There's no man's Soul but's large and wide,
They're free, though freedom is deni'd;
From thence 'tis call'd the Common Side:
for all things
In common lie, and are dispers-
Ed so, I cannot well rehearse
It in the compass of a Verse:
Nor small things
Are there so much as thought upon;
Their Creditors though hard as stone,
Whil'st these are singing, sigh and groan,
No matter.
They're fools that think a Prison payes;
And while they keep their strict delayes,
They do themselves (instead of praise)
bespatter.
They're mad-men wont be Pris'ners there,
For each ones life is void of care;
Of food they have enough to spare
their Debtors.
Their Charities are grown so large,
Though Rowers some in Boat, or Barge,
They'll stay themselves, but they'll discharge
Abettors.

But now a mischief draweth nigh;
Tobacco here is, one doth cry,
But it will surely make us dye
the quicker,
If thus we eat, and smoke without
Some moisture: Hogs that feed on Grout,
And are but Swine, yet they no doubt
have Liquor.
One being drunk, could not collogue,
But plainly gave his gen'rous vogue,
Pox on 'em all that sent this Rogue
among us;
These cursed tricks he'll never lin,
Till he payes dearly for his sin;
'Stead of Virginia, he brings in
Mundungus.
I have two half-pence, sayes the next;
Another much with passion vext,
But yet a man was hugely dext-
rous frothing,
Cry'd, I've been cutting Pegs all day,
VVhil'st others at the Grate did pray,
And as it seemeth by my fay
for nothing.

Come, since we are all bare of Chink,
This Moveable shall purchase Drink,
Here's a Crevat, my honest Skink-
er draw some:
But let it be the best, for know,
VVe mean to pay before we go;
Let not your Drink, dear honest Jo,
be nausome.
Two pots of Beer were straitway brought,
And drank they were, as soon as caught;
That had you seen 'em, you'd have thought
'em Monsters.
However each one did abhor
To be at least behind-hand, or
Dirty; for know, they car'd not for
misconsters.
My Hat (cryes one) will yield Two pots,
To which agree the other Sots;
For they most freely take their lots
as can be.
The last man drank the bottom up;
VVith that, sayes one, I'll have a sup
(Out of a far more chearful Cup)
of Brandy.

To purchase half a Pint of that,
His Coat was lodg'd with th'others Hat;
The Brandy came, and laid 'em flat
as Flounders.
But by and by they rose again,
And with one voyce they all complain,
That they must be (or Tapster slain)
compounders.
You Rogue, sayes one, with Carrots sandy,
You brought us damn'd confounded Brandy;
Another call'd him Jack-a-dandy;
A third man
Swore at him, call'd him something too,
And said, he'd beat him black and blew:
He scornfully replying, You,
A Turd man.
VVith that a Scuffle did begin,
Nor was there one that car'd a pin
For broken Pate, or maimed Shin,
which you know
Is common in such Feuds as these;
'Tis better (than to fight) t'appease,
And far more wholesom for ones ease,
by Juno.

A pewter flagon, not of Lead,
VVas straitway flung at Tapsters head;
But mist, or else he had been dead
o'th' sudden.
The Tapsters courage now was stung,
And searching all the food among,
VVith might and main he stoutly flung
a Pudden.
'Twas little less than scalding hot,
One that by order he had got
For some that greas'd the Porridge-pot.
when able.
And truly I my self did wish
For that, above the butter'd fish,
As being held the better Dish
o'th' Table.
But all were good, for they were drest
Not as a dinner, but a feast,
VVhen each man is a welcome Guest
on High-dayes.
Nor is my zeal so nicely fresh,
To raise disputes 'tween Leg and Leash,
For I can eat, or fish, or flesh,
on Fridayes.

Another flung with all his might
An Artichoke, but aim'd not right;
For missing Tapster, smote the sight
of woman,
Or wife to one among the Crew,
Although the Company all knew
Her well, and that she would be true
to no man.
However she with batter'd face
VVhen wip't, began to open case:
People, quoth she, if this disgrace
ye suffer,
No woman shall henceforth appear,
To give her friend a Cup of Beer;
But ev'ry Rascal that is here
will cuff her.
That blunt detracting word did gall
Not only one, but joyntly all,
That on the woman they befall
with ill words:
As you're a VVhore, a common Cheat,
Your tongue out of your head we'll beat.
One silent was, for he was eat-
ing Phill-berds.

But at the last this mighty Hub
Bub concluded in virtuous Bub,
As good as ever came from Tub,
or Barrel.
And Reader, if thou hadst been there,
Thou needst must have an equal share
Of courage, that must boldly dare
to quarrel.
For to say true, I cannot tell,
But it may be the Muses well,
Of which 'tis sung, it doth excell
all others.
For they're of such a jovial func-
Tion, that they'd drink until they stunk,
And swear they'd live and dye as Drunk-
en Brothers.
I oftentimes my self have sipt
Until my Legs each other tript,
And sober Vermine call'd me tipt-
led Spend-thrift.
Among the rest a smooth-fac't La-
Dy, call'd Sempstress, did by my fay
Rebuke me, and I answer'd, Ma-
dam Mend-shift.

Tom Segar he more bold indeed,
Faster than I my self made speed
All to be-whore her, till her Need-
le prickt her.
At which we did compassion take,
And only laught to see her quake;
For were it not for her bloods sake,
We'd kickt her.
But were it not for Drink, the Smoke
Might very well the stoutest choke;
And I observ'd it did provoke
to squtter.
For some stept forth, with faces blew,
To spit perhaps, or else to spew,
Returning with a smoothing hew
as Butter.
But let me not mistake, for sure
The Muses never did inure
Themselves to Smoke, or could endure
Tobacco.
But here the Parallel may hold,
Our Cellar's fill'd with Beer that's old;
But they would fuddle out their Gold
in Sack though.

The next in view, is man of Pegs;
If he can stand, will stretch his Legs,
Till reeling he has broke of Eggs
a flasket.
For there is good relief he knows,
Not in his Creditors, or Foes,
But in the scraps which overflows
the basket.
With these his eager paunch he fills,
Forgets his grace, and then he kills,
Not on his Trencher, those are ills
beneath him.
But was it either Louse or Flea,
Or both perhaps, as that may be,
It matters not, then thinketh he,
bequeath him
Unto his rest I think it fit:
Then having eat the other bit,
He takes his Knife, and wipeth it
most cleanly,
But 'twas upon his Shooes or Hose,
Sometimes the inside of his cloaths;
For Basket-victuals all men knows
is leanly.

Howere the Fish was wondrous good,
Swimming all in a Butter-flood;
Nor could a mortal wish for food
much better.
But as 'twould vex a Dog to see
A Pudding creep, or go, or flee;
So you may judge it vexed me
the greater.
The names of this same Butter'd-fish
Were Cods, and Maids, both in a Dish,
Most neatly laid, as heart could wish
they should do.
By this same Dish another stood,
Esteem'd by all almost as good,
And any one might eat that woo'd,
and could too.
This was no Counter-supper fight,
Not courage that was shew'd at Night,
But such as did by Day invite
those sinners
That came to make their mirth sometimes
VVith Notes loud as St. George's Chimes,
And knew the punctual hours and climes
for Dinners.

Now Mars inspire my busie Muse,
While I discourse of Cuff and Bruise,
Such as this Age doth seldom use
to hear on.
The Table was bedeckt with Kan,
With Pots, and Dishes; but one man
No sooner sate, but he began
to jeer on,
Reflecting on the Tapsters face,
Anon bemoans the womans case;
Both taking it for a disgrace,
like Thunder
The Dishes flie all at his head,
Who though a Captain as 'twas sed,
Fill'd all the people (not b'ing dead)
with wonder:
One takes the Captains part with Mug
In hand, another with a Jug
Meets him, and they with Cornish hug
do greet each.
But first about each others Pate
They broke their Pots, then in the state
Of wrestling, they at any rate
do beat each.

Their number was some Twenty-six,
No one forbore to shew his Tricks,
But each does like a Mastiff fix
on other.
The Room by this time swam with Drink,
With Fish, and Butter, not with Chink;
Whil'st each with might did striving think
to Smother,
Stifle, or Drown his furious Foe;
For there 'tis known they made no moe
Of slipping when they could not go
i'th' Liquor.
That being Drunk before they were
So dasht against the Butts of Beer,
Some cryed out, Oh I shall ne're
be sicker.
Some that best scap't, got up again,
Scratching their heads to ease their pain,
VVhil'st some do tipple up the main
so Aley,
That down they tumble in their fits,
Forsake the thoughts of eating bits;
For now alas their tender wits
cry Vale.

To study Plots is no designe
Of theirs, if they get Ale or VVine;
For they adore the Tub and Vine
so highly,
They tipple till their heads do ake,
And then their head and heels they shake;
Publick Devotions too they make
not slily.
VVhen any friend to visit comes,
And sends for VVine to whet their hums,
Their voyces sound as loud as Drums
to Bacchus.
May that great God be blest, cry they,
That thus provides such pleasant VVhey,
Oh that his Vines for ever may
be-sack us.
A London Citizen was wont
To quarrel with a silly—
Ryman, and he was daring blunt
as Ellis:
Of whom in ancient Story we
Read how the Counter-Rats agree;
That he most stoutly oft would flee
their Bellies.

The Countreyman howere was stout,
They boxt and boxt a second bout,
Nor could all art make him give out
for won day.
It was acknowledg'd 'fore 'em all,
That there was neither great nor small,
Like him could wrest, or kick the Ball
on Sunday.
The flying Fish now marcht about,
Begreas'd and smote the Rabble-Rout;
The Tapster had his eyes put out,
to thinking.
But when retreating from his ground,
He searcht with care the butter'd wound:
All people there then plainly found
him winking.
But yet the Fish did soundly palt,
And which was worse, the Butter salt
Stole in his eyes by (as some call't)
a Bye-blow.
In wrath a piece of Beef just hot,
He reach't as taken from the Pot;
The Beef besides alas had got
a Flie-blow.

The Dinner ended, ere it did
Begin; for men and meat were hid:
Some slept, as drunk; and some were fid-
dle fooling.
But not in wrath; for now the fray
Began each spirit to allay,
And those most hot were stept away
for cooling.
But some more wise than all the rest,
Though thinking to have spoke in jest,
Cry out, My friends, but where's the feast
so pleasant?
With that each doth his corner search;
One that above the rest was arch,
Produces a most lovely Pearch
and Pheasant.
Another cryes, See here you Thief,
Here's that will give us all relief;
It was indeed a piece of Beef
with Mustard.
Still as they searcht, they something found,
Enough to make fresh healths go round;
One finds be-batter'd on the ground
a Custard.

One finds a Fish all black as Sut,
Another finds an Eel whose Gut
Was trod to nought, and all the But-
ter vanisht.
Well, now they left their humours mad,
They all shook hands, and none were sad;
But drank and fed, as if they had
been famisht.
The Lady that began the fight,
They hug'd, and kist, to do her right;
And she as pleased with delight,
was bonny.
What afterwards they to her did,
When strangers that came in were slid,
Since it is fit it should be hid,
pray Con ye.
Unto their Beds they all like friends,
Promis'd there should be kind amends;
Each one unto his sleep had ends
to shuffle.
Thus Reader, you have heard the things
That did befall; for News hath wings:
And so concludes the dreadful Kings-
Bench Scuffle.
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