University of Virginia Library

CHARACTERS OF THE PILGRIMS.

The KNIGHT.

A Knight there was, whose early Youth had shown
His Love to Arms, and Passion for Renown.
Courteous and affable, of Honor nice,
A Friend to Truth, a Foe to ev'ry Vice.
In many brave Engagements had he been,
Known foreign Courts, and Men and Manners seen.
In Christendom much Fame he had acquir'd;
In Turkey he was dreaded and admir'd.
When Alexandria was besieg'd and won,
He pass'd the Trenches first, and scal'd the Town
Granada's Siege increas'd the Warrior's Fame,
And Algier trembled but to hear his Name;
In fifteen Battles deathless Wreaths he got,
Three single Combats with Success he fought.
Much Ground he Travell'd o'er, for he had Seen
Our Saviour's Sepulchre in Palestine.
The barb'rous Infidels had felt his Might,
Fierce in Engagement, gentle after Fight.
In Council and in Conduct, Wise and Stay'd;
In Conversation, modest as a Maid;
Plain and Sincere, observant of the Right.
In Mien and Manners, an accomplish'd Knight.
A goodly Horse he rode, well Shap'd and Strong,
No gaudy Saddle, nor no Trappings long.
The Arms he wore, were bright, and free from Stain,
His Habit serviceable, neat and plain:
With grateful Zeal, devoutly he was come
To thank the Saint, that brought him safely home.

THE SQUIRE.

With him his Son, a sprightly Squire, and gay;
Youthful and Blooming as the Month of May;
A fearless Lover, in a courtly Dress,
With curling Locks, just taken from the Press.
Of twenty Years he seem'd, well Shap'd and Tall,
Strong was his Make, his Port majestical.
The Army did his early Courage see
In Flanders, and in fertile Picardy.
He hop'd his Valour would all Forms remove,
And plead successfully its Master's Love.
His Vest with various Colours did abound,
Like flow'ry Meads, when Spring adorns the Ground.
Short was his Coat, the Sleeves were long and wide,
Well could he Sing, and Treats and Balls provide.
His fiery Steed he gracefully wou'd sit;
Love-Songs he made, not wholly void of Wit.
Some Skill in Painting too the Youth had shown,
Could draw a Mistress, or design a Town;
Love o'er his gentle Heart did so prevail,
He slept as little as the Nightingale.

THE SQUIRE's YEOMAN.

This Squire a Yeoman had, and only him,
Whose Truth and Diligence deserv'd Esteem;
Girt with a Belt, his Garment was of Green,
A Quiver stor'd with Arrows, bright and keen,
Hung cross his Shoulders in a silken String,
The Feathers borrow'd from the Peacock's Wing.
At his left Side a weighty Sword he wore,
And on his Arm, a well try'd Buckler bore:
A Dagger; short and broad, was ty'd below,
His strong right Hand sustain'd a mighty Bow,
A Christopher his Bosom did adorn,
In a fair Baldricke hung his Silver Horn.
His Sun-burnt Visage, and his Grass-green Hood,
Might prove him well a Ranger of the Wood.

THE PRIORESS.

There was with these a Nun, a Prioress,
A Lady of no ord'nary Address.
Her Smiles were harmless, and her Look was coy,
She never Swore an Oath, but by St. Loye;
Known by the Name of Lady Eglantine,
She sung the Office with a Grace Divine.
She spoke the French of Stratford-School, by Bow,
The French of Paris She did never know.
The French of Paris did to her appear
Strange, as our Law-French to a Frenchman's Ear.
At Meals she sat demure, carv'd neat, and well,
No Morsel from her Lips unseemly fell.
She never dipp'd her Finger in the Mess,
Nor with one Drop defil'd her holy Dress:
With a becoming Grace, and smiling Eye,
She gain'd Respect from all the Company;
Easy and free, still pleasant at her Meat,
And held it no small pain to Counterfeit.
She hated Stateliness, yet wisely knew
What fit Regard was to her Title due.
She pity'd ev'ry Creature in Distress,
Devout, and charitable to Excess;
Her tender Heart, with such Compassion fill'd,
She'd weep to see a poor Mouse caught and kill'd.
Her Lap-dogs still with her fair Hand she fed,
With Milk, and Roast-meat, mixt with Crumbs of read;
In her own Chamber, on her Bed they slept,
If any dy'd, most bitterly she wept.
Well set her Wimple, nicely pinch'd it was;
Her Nose was straight, her Eyes were grey as Glass.
Small was her Mouth, her Lips were red and soft;
A beauteous Forehead, always borne aloft;
Broad, smooth and shining Eye-brows, neat and small,
A slender Waist, inclining to be tall.
A curious Garment, wond'rous neat, she wore,
A Pair of Beads, with Green enamel'd o'er,
Of shining Coral, did her Arm infold,
Grac'd with an Ornament of beaten Gold.
Upon it was engrav'd; a circling Wreath,
And Amor vincit omnia writ beneath.
A Nun, who seldom from her Sight did stir,
Her Chaplain, and three Priests attended her.

THE MONK.

Next these a merry Monk appears in Place,
Who follow'd Hunting more than saying Mass.
As bravely Mounted, as a Lord from Court,
No well-fed Abbot bore a comelier Port.
And when in State he ambled, all might hear
The Jingling of his Bridle, loud and clear;
As far, almost, as any Chapel Bell.
This lordly Monk, once Keeper of a Cell,
Held good St. Bennet's Order too severe;
St. Maure to his nice Judgment did appear
Too strict and rigid, for old Dotards fit,
But scorn'd by Priests of Spirit and of Wit.
One Scripture-Text he blotted with his Pen,
That says, all Hunters are ungodly-Men.
What Shoals of Converts would this Doctrine raise!
Shall Monks in Study pass laborious Days?
Turn o'er dull Fathers, and worm-eaten Books,
With dazled Eyes, and melancholy Looks;
Toil with their Hands to make the Garden neat,
Turn Cooks, and baste the Roast with their own Sweat?
This Austin humbly did; Did he? (Saith he)
Austin may do the same again for me.
He lov'd the Chace, the Hound's melodious Cry,
Hounds that ran swiftly as the Swallows fly.
His Sleeves, I saw, with Furs all lin'd within,
From Russia brought, the finest Squirrels Skin;
(Hair Shirts, he said, provok'd the Blood to Sin.)
His Hood beneath, his double Chin to hold,
'Twas fasten'd with a curious Clasp of Gold.
A Love-knot at the greater End there was;
His Head close shav'd, and smooth as any Glass,
His strutting Paunch was seldom disappointed,
His broad full Face shone as it were anointed.
His Eyes were sleepy, rolling in his Head,
That steam'd like Furnaces of Molten Lead.
Supple his Boots, his Horse he proudly sate;
You'd take him for a Bishop by his State:
Fasts had not made him meagre like a Ghost,
But fat he was, and goodly as mine Host.
A fat plump Swan he lov'd, young, but full grown,
His Horse was sleek, and as the Berry brown.

THE FRYAR.

A Fryar next, to ev'ry Female dear,
All the four Orders never had his Peer.
Wanton, diverting still in Prose or Rhime,
He many Couples married in his Time;
Some young Ones at his own Expence he wed,
And to their Husbands Grief, soon brought to Bed.
A frank Companion, Secret, often try'd
To gentle Dames, a Confessor and Guide;
Licentiate of his Order once, and then,
For one the Curate had, he shrifted ten;
He with a Smile wou'd their Confession hear,
No Soul had Cause his Penances to fear.
His Absolutions pleasant, soft and mild;
He stroak'd 'em as a Parent does his Child.
To a poor Order, lib'ral Ladies fly,
With golden Presents easy Penance buy.
For Man is obstinate, and hard of Heart,
He keeps his Money, tho' he feels the Smart.
But to poor Fryars you must Silver give,
'Tis not with Pray'rs and Fasting they can live;
He stitch'd within his Tippet, pretty Knives,
With silver Pins, small Presents for kind Wives.
In chearful Company, he sung all Day,
To help his Voice, could on the Cittern play;
His Arms were brawny, few such Weights could fling,
Strong as a Champion for an English King.
All Inns and Taverns in the Town he knew,
But from the Poor, he prudently withdrew;
To rich and lib'ral Penitents inclin'd,
To those was meek, and of an humble Mind;
None in Appearance more devout could be,
The ablest Beggar of his House was he;
He farm'd that Income, and procur'd a Grant,
No holy Brother should disturb his Haunt.
Coarse was his Habit, when a begging Fryar,
In wanton Love-days, Gorgeous his Attire.
Of finest Cloth was then his Demi-Cope,
No Mendicant, but Stately as a Pope;
Something he humm'd betwixt a Lisp and Song,
To make his English Sweet upon his Tongue;
His little Pigs-Eyes gave unequal Light,
Like small Stars twinkling in a frosty Night.
The good Wives chuckled, wheresoe'er he came,
A useful Fry'r, and Hubert was his Name.

THE MERCHANT.

With these a Merchant in a motley Coat,
Well mounted too, and bearded like a Goat;
A Flander's Beaver on his Head he wore;
His Boots were neatly Buckled on before:
He prov'd with Reasons strong, and formal Face,
T'increase in Wealth was to increase in Grace;
Greedy of Gold, and popular Esteem,
He wish'd the Sea were shut to all but him.
Traffick in Money, he had study'd well,
Knew where th' Exchange would rise, and where it fell;
In Debt to none, in Bargains strict and nice;
Thought unprompt Payment was the greatest Vice.
What he with Pains had got, with Care he'd save,
Not Charitable, for he seldom gave.

THE Clerk or Scholar of Oxford.

THE MAN of LAW, &c.

A Serjeant of the Law, discreet, precise,
Well cou'd he plead at Bar, and well advise;
Wealthy he was, but frugal of Expence,
And his sage Look demanded Reverence.
Weighty his Arguments; his Words were wise;
Oft he had sat as Judge at an Assize:
There by Commission rais'd to high Degree,
Maturely weigh'd out Justice equally.
Robes for the Bench he had, and for the Bar;
No Serjeant was a greater Purchaser,
If safe the Title, moderate the Price,
A good Fee-simple never came amiss.
He for a very busie Man did pass,
And yet he seem'd much busier than he was.
Whole Shoals of Clients in the Term he had;
And Law enough to make those Clients mad.
All his Conveyances were legal, true,
No Flaw was found in any thing he drew.
The Statutes of the Land he had by Heart,
Turn'd all to Gold without the Chymist's Art:
In a plain motley Coat he rode, ty'd fast
With a strip'd Silken Sash about his Waist.

THE Franklin, or Country-Gentleman.

A Franklin was the Serjeant's chief Delight,
His Beard was long, and as the Daisie white:
Sanguine he was, and study'd Pleasure most,
His Morning's Draught, Sack with a Nut-brown Toast.
All Delicates, that Mony cou'd procure
He had; a nice luxurious Epicure.
With Fish and Fowl, with bak'd Meat and with roast,
His Table groan'd, he valu'd not the Cost.
All Rarities the Nation cou'd afford,
Were search'd, and bought to fill his ample Board.
In ev'ry Season, Delicates appear,
Diversify'd each Quarter of the Year.
Hare, Partridge, Pheasant ever were at Hand,
Carp, Tench, and Bream, as ready at Command.
With poignant Sauces proper for each Dish;
Woe to the Cook, were any thing amiss.
Spacious his Hall, and open was the Door,
Fragments and Marrow-bones bespread the Floor;
And, ready cover'd with all sorts of Food,
All the long Day a Table dormant stood.
This worthy Franklin bore a Purse of Silk,
Fixt to his Girdle, white as Morning-milk.
Knight of the Shire; first Justice at th' Assize,
To help the Poor, the Doubtful to advise.
In all Employments, gen'rous, just he prov'd,
Renown'd for Courtesy, by all belov'd.

THE Haberdasher; Weaver; Carpenter; Dyer; Tap'stry-Merchant.

An Haberdasher next, a portly Wight!
Sleek was his Beaver, as a Sherif's white;
A Weaver follow'd, dext'rous to command
The sliding Shuttle, thrown from Hand to Hand;
A Carpenter, that well cou'd play his Part
Thro' all the Weapons of the Plaining Art;
A Dyer, that ev'ry Color knew to stain,
Or change anew, tho' ne'er so deep in Grain;
A Tap'stry-Merchant last, whose Web might pass,
Less for the Work of London, than Aras:
All of a Livery, each for other made,
All solemn Brothers, diff'ring but in Trade;
One Stamp of Mind their very Forms express'd,
Same shap'd, like fac'd, like manner'd, and same drest.
Fresh were their Cloaths, nor bought at trivial Cost,
So fresh, no Part its Christmass Gloss had lost.
Worne only on the Hours to feast or pray,
And dormant ev'ry common-letter'd Day.
No vulgar Daggers, vamp'd with Brass, They wore,
But trim'd with Silver of the finest Ore.
With Silver stitcht, the Pouches by their Side,
The Belts, that gird their Loins, with Silver ty'd.
A fair and ample Burgess, One and All,
And fit to fill the Tables of Guild-Hall;
Or when they meet to traffic, or to feast:
For Each was siz'd an Alderman at Least.
Staunch stood their City-shops in good Repair,
And neat their Boxes built for Country Air;
Where still, to breathe, on Saturdays They went;
For large their Stock in Trade, as well as Rent.
Of which their Wives were not a little proud,
And push'd the Foremost in the Sunday Croud.
Nor wou'd we here their Worldly Wisdom blame,
Respect from All superior Riches claim;
And tho' an aukward, 'tis a pleasant Sight,
To see the Bustling Dame assert her Right;
Full of the Money, torne from the Distrest,
Conceit herself a Thing above the Rest.
Madam! My Lady! seems a glorious Sound!
When loftily She moves, to Vigils bound;
With Mantle borne before, and Train behind:
For Wealth gives Pow'r of Face, and Pride of Mind.

THE COOK.

By the same Hand.

With Them, a trav'ling Cook They jointly led,
(For thriving Cits are delicately fed)
Well skill'd in all the Culinary Toil,
The Chick, just cackling in the Shell, to boil;
The Cypress Root, to shread and press with Art;
To lay the Custard, and to raise the Tart;
To pouder Marchant, ev'ry Game to roast;
To melt the Marrow, and to brown the Toast;
To season and to lard; to grill and fry;
To pound the Mortrey, and to bake the Pie.
Great Harm it was, (for much it flack'd his Pace,)
A Mormal on his Shin had taken Place;
And sorely griev'd, the Blemish I descry'd;
But what his Legs refus'd, his Hands supply'd.
Of Palate, exquisite! Of Labor, free!
A Kitchen Doctor in the first Degree,
The Food to cater, or the Dish to fill;
Blanc-mange was held his Master-piece of Skill.

THE Shipman or Seaman, &c.

Then came a Dartmouth Seaman far from West,
A very aukward Rider at the Best.
A coarse Cloth Gown he wore, not long nor wide,
His Dagger in a Lace adorn'd his Side.
He knew those sultry Climates, where the Sun
Turn'd his Complexion to a dusky Brown.
To Company and Mirth he did incline,
Had swallow'd many a Draught of Bourdeaux Wine.
Kept an obedient Seaman's Conscience,
Held borrowing from his Owners no Offence.
If 'twas his Fate, to take a lucky Prize,
(For stoutly he wou'd fight) he was so Wise
To pick the best, which sent by Parcels home,
Little of Worth did to the Office come.
A perfect Master of the Compass, he
Cou'd shun each Rock and Shallow in the Sea.
Had weather'd Tempests, in Engagements been,
'Scap'd many Dangers, many Countries seen.
Knew ev'ry Creek and Harbour on the Main,
Of England, Scotland, and the Coast of Spain.
In many Fights his Frigate much was fam'd,
The Magdalene of England it was nam'd.

THE DOCTOR of PHYSICK.

The Doctor next; a Foe to all Excess,
Who travell'd more for Health than Holiness.
In nice Anatomy well skill'd was he,
And not a Stranger to Astronomy.
He knew to wire-draw a Distemper well,
And cures by Magic natural foretel.
A deep Astrologer, and could with Ease
Cast the Nativity of each Disease;
Show at what punctual Hour it shou'd expire,
In Terms which Knaves invent, and Fools admire.
The Cause of ev'ry Malady he knew,
Whether of Cold, Heat, Moist, or Dry it grew.
Told which of those engender'd the Disease,
'Twas but removing that, and you'd have Ease:
Th' Apothecary waited his Command,
Drugs and Electuaries were still at Hand.
Whatever one prescrib'd, the other made,
And each by Turns advanc'd the mutual Trade.
He'd tell the Wonders, wrought by Phœbus' Son,
What Fame the great Hippocrates had won:
Well read in Galen, Celsus, Avicene,
In Dioscorides and Damascene.
These Names, and many more, he had by rote,
Which to th' unlearn'd he never fail'd to quote.
No Bible on his Pagan Shelves had he,
It was prohibited the Layety.
In Diet singular, young tender Meat,
And easy of Digestion, he wou'd eat.
At a rich Patient's Table, bold and free;
But at his own, he prais'd Frugality;
Of Scarlet Persian Silk his Habit was,
And neatly lin'd with Taffety, or Gause.
Great were his Gains, but mod'rate his Expence;
He flourish'd in a Time of Pestilence.
Gold's the best Cordial; yet he lov'd to see
Coin'd Aurum, rather than potabile.

THE WIFE of BATH.

A merry Wife of Bath comes next in Place,
But somewhat deaf, with an autumnal Face;
By Trade a Weaver, one who scorn'd to grant
Her Work out-done at Ypres, or at Gaunt.
No Matron could with greater Zeal incline
To pay her Off'ring at the Martyr's Shrine.
She neither patient, nor devout could be,
If any rival'd her in Charity.
In her own Parish She would take the Wall,
Before the proudest Matron of 'em all.
Upon a Sunday ever trimly drest,
She flaunted forth, the Envy of the Rest;
Large were her Kerchiffs, yet more gorgeous made
With her own Work, and full three Pound they weigh'd.
Scarlet her Hose, her glossy Shoes were new;
Bold was her Face, and ruddy was its Hue;
Not one of her five Husbands could be found,
She lay'd 'em safe long since in holy Ground.
With these she made a Shift to pass her Youth;
Such was this good Wife's Constancy and Truth!
She travell'd far, pass'd many a rapid Stream;
Thrice saw the Reliques of Jerusalem.
Rome and the Catacombs she knew full well;
Strange Things of Cologne and its Kings could tell:
Spain she had travell'd o'er from End to End,
And good St. James was very much her Friend.
Of various Haps and Perils by the Way;
Much had she known, and yet much more wou'd say.
Upon an ambling Pad at Ease she sat,
Jingling the Bit, and slack'd her Pace to chat.
A Steeple Hat she wore upon her Head,
Whose ample Brims were like a Buckler spread;
O'er her large Hips, a Mantle fairly wrought
Before; her Kerchiff to a Point was brought;
Like a rank Rider, pointed Spurs she wore;
Of Jests she had an unexhausted Store;
Her Talk did notably Love's Art advance;
For she had practis'd long that old, new Dance.

THE PARSON.

THE PLOWMAN, &c.

A Plowman follow'd, who had still at hand
Loads of Manure t'enrich the grateful Land;
An able, strong, laborious Man was he,
Who liv'd with all in perfect Charity:
He serv'd God faithfully, nor hoarded Pelf,
But lov'd his Neighbour equal with himself,
Hard would he work, and freely would he give;
And oft, for God's Sake, did the Poor relieve;
In Dealing just, with Losses not dismay'd;
In ev'ry Kind his Tithes he duly paid;
In a short Coat he rode without a Sleeve.
There was beside, a Miller and a Reve,
A Sumner and a Pardon-monger too,
A Steward, and Myself, were all the Crew.

THE MILLER.

The Miller, hardy as his own Mill-stones,
With brawny Flesh, large Sinews and strong Bones.
His Strength to all the Town was known too well,
In Wrestling still he bore away the Bell.
Short Shoulder'd, knotty as a stubborn Oak,
Hard to be bent, and harder to be broke:
Not one, so far as he, cou'd pitch a Bar,
Or lift a Weight, or swing it in the Air.
He'd running force a Door, with his hard Head;
His Beard, like any Fox's Tail, was red,
But straight, and even as a Gard'ner's Spade.
Just at the End of his huge Nose he had
A large black Wart, on that a Tuft of Hairs,
Red, as the Bristles of an old Sow's Ears.
His Nostrils, like a Furnace, black and wide;
A Sword and Buckler hanging on his Side.
A Babbler, with a gormandizing Throat;
And leach'rous as a Monkey or a Goat.
Corn he cou'd steal, the same Corn thrice he toll'd;
And yet, they say, he had a Thumb of Gold.
His Coat was white, on Bagpipes he cou'd play,
And with that Musick brought us on our Way.

THE Manciple, or Temple-Treasurer.

A Steward of the Temple next must come,
A Pattern for all Caterers in Town.
The Price of ev'ry thing, each Market had,
He knew, and nicely pick'd the Good from Bad.
Sometimes he went on trust, and sometimes paid,
Yet none cou'd over-reach him in his Trade.
Some wonder much, how an unletter'd Man,
Of such low, sordid Education, can
(Who is but One to more than three times Ten)
O'er-reach so many Grave, Wise, Learned Men.
A practis'd Lawyer, all things understands
Th' Affairs of half the Nation pass their Hands.
We praise unjustly, partially condemn,
As they cheat others, others cozen them.
By various Methods all Professions live,
By their wise Management he learn'd to thrive.
In Life's long Course, such diff'rent Ways we run,
Some to undo, but most to be undone.

THE REVE, or STEWARD.

The Reve, a little, slender, chol'rick thing,
His Face shav'd close, and not a Hair on Chin.
His Locks above his Ears, an Inch at least,
And dock'd before like any Begging Priest.
His active Legs were very long and lean,
Streight as a Staff, no Calf was to be seen.
No Auditor e'er found him in the wrong,
A good Accomptant, tho' his Bills were long.
Well judg'd he by the Drought, and by the Rain,
The future Product of his Seed and Grain.
He kept due Tale of Oxen, Sheep and Swine,
His Lord's March Beer, and his more precious Wine.
All Rents receiv'd, for all things did engage,
And manag'd since his Master came to Age.
O'er ev'ry Under-Bailiff he had Spies,
Knew all their Cunning, all their Knaveries:
His House lay tight, and kept in good Repair,
Beside a Heath, and in a healthy Air;
Close in a Corner, couch'd behind a Row
Of spreading Trees; the Building snug and low.
The Man was warm, with Wealth in private stor'd,
And abler far to purchase than his Lord.
He knew his Honour's Humor to a Hair,
When it was fit to ask, or to forbear.
Whene'er his Lordship wanted a Supply,
He with a busy careful Face wou'd fly,
Run here and there, then bring the Luggage home,
And only help his Master to his own.
He (as those gen'rous Lords are us'd to do)
Not only thanks him, but rewards him too.
This Steward rode upon a sturdy Jade,
And on his Side he wore a rusty Blade.
A Wheelwright he had been, in Norfolk known,
In all the Villages near Baldswell Town.
Tuck'd round his Waist, like any Fry'r was he,
And still rode hindmost of the Company.

THE SUMNER, or APPARITOR.

This Sumner was not overstock'd with Grace,
He had a Bloated, Broad, Cherubic Face,
Of fiery Hue, with hollow Eyes and narrow,
Red as a Cock, and leach'rous as a Sparrow:
Black were his Eye-Brows, bristled was his Beard,
And much the Children his stern Visage fear'd.
His Nose with Carbuncles was overspread.
His Cheeks with white Welks on a Ground of red.
No inward Med'cine, he cou'd e'er procure,
Had Pow'r sufficient to effect their Cure.
Not new Quick-silver, with Ceruse too,
Brimstone, nor Oyl of Tartar, aught cou'd do.
Strong bloody Wine he lov'd, and well dress'd Fish,
And stunk of Garlick like a Spanish Dish.
When he was drunk, he'd talk a Man to Death,
And belch out Latin with unsav'ry Breath.
Two or three common Fragments he cou'd say;
No Wonder, for he heard it all the Day.
But if you press'd him farther, you might see
A sudden End of his Philosophy.
A leud young Fellow, for a Quart of Wine,
Might for a Twelvemonth have his Concubine.
He taught his loose Companions in their Sport,
T'evade the Censure of th' Archdeacon's Court.
But if a rich libid'nous Prize he found,
Him he inclos'd within his bawdy Pound.
This, as no vulgar Secret, he wou'd tell,
A large full Purse is the Archdeacon's Hell.
If rich Mens Souls, within their Purses lie,
'Tis just their Sins be punish'd there, say I.
To him all Wenches in the Bishop's See
Paid publick Tribute, or a private Fee.
Boldly he rode, a Garland on his Head,
Of all unmarry'd Men and Maids the Dread.

THE PARDONER.

A Pardon-Monger last brought up the Rear,
With Patriarchal face, and holy Leer.
His Hair was of the Hue of yellow Wax,
Strait and unequal as a Striek of Flax.
Yet long, and thin it grew from his large Head,
And all his brawny Shoulders overspread.
Divided into Parcels here and there,
No gaudy Hood conceal'd his golden Hair.
For that, with Care, was in his Wallet laid,
Where many Curiosities he had.
Except a little Cap, he rode all bare,
With glaring Eyes, like a new started Hare:
A holy Figure stitch'd upon his Cap,
His Wallet hung before him on his Lap,
Stuff'd and cramm'd full of Pardons, newly come,
For greedy Zealots, piping hot from Rome.
Shrill was his Voice, as any Mountain Goat;
Aloud he said his Orisons by rote.
A Beard he never had, nor e'er will have,
No Barber took the Pains, that Chin to shave.
He might have been a Gelding, or a Mare,
But never sure, from Berwick e'en to Ware,
Was Pard'ner furnish'd with such precious Geer:
For in his Male he had a Pillow-bier,
Which piously was thought our Lady's Veil;
He kept, beside, a Gobbet of the Sail
Which Peter had (and now this Pard'ner hath)
When Christ rebuked him for little Faith.
A Cross he show'd of Tin, set full of Stones,
And in a Glass, a Number of Pigs Bones.
With these, more Pardons daily he'd dispense,
In one poor Village wou'd collect more Pence,
(As by Record too plainly does appear)
Than a poor Parson lab'ring all the Year.
Then, with feign'd Flatteries and holy Tools,
He made the Parson and the People Fools.
Howe'er, to tell the Truth just as it stood,
He seem'd in Church Ecclesiastick good.
A Lesson he cou'd read, or tell a Story,
And roar the Psalter with no little Glory.
But best of all, an Offertory sung,
So loud, so chearful, that the Chapel rung.
This gain'd him Pence from the deluded Croud,
Therefore he sung so chearful, and so loud.