University of Virginia Library

The Sun in the Morning disclosed his light,
With complexion as ruddy as mine over night;
And o'er th' Eastern Mountains peeping up's head,
The Casement being open, espi'd me in bed;
With his Rays he so tickled my lids that I wak'd,
And was half asham'd, for I found my self nak'd;
But up I soon start, and was dress'd in a trice,
And call'd for a draught of Ale, Sugar, and Spice;
Which having turn'd off, I then call to pay,
And packing my Nawls, whip'd to Horse, and away:
A Guide I had got, who demanded great vails,
For conducting me over the Mountains of Wales;
Twenty good shillings, which sure very large is;
Yet that would not serve, but I must bare his Charges;
And yet for all that, rode astride on a Beast,
The worst that e'er went on three Legs, I protest;
It certainly was the most ugly of Jades,
His hips and his rump made a right Ace of Spades;
His sides were two Ladders, well spur-gall'd withall;
His neck was a Helve, and his head was a Mall;
For his colour, my pains and your trouble I'll spare,
For the Creature was wholly denuded of hair,
And, except for two things, as bare as my nail,
A tuft of a Mane, and a sprig of a Tail;
And by these the true colour one can no more know,
Than by Mouse-skins above stairs the Merkin below:
Now such as the Beast was, even such was the Rider,
With a head like a Nutmeg, and legs like a Spider;
A voice like a Cricket, a look like a Rat,
The brains of a Goose, and the heart of a Cat;
Even such was my Guide, and his Beast, let them pass,
The one for a Horse, and the other an Ass.
But now with our Horses, what sound and what rotten,
Down to the Shoar, you must know, we were gotten;
And there we were told, it concern'd us to ride,
Unless we did mean to encounter the Tide;
And then my Guide lab'ring with heels and with hands,
With two up and one down, hopp'd over the Sands,
Till his Horse, finding th' labour for three Legs too sore,
Fol'd out a new leg, and then he had four:
And now by plain dint of hard spurring and whipping,
Dry-shod we came where Folks sometimes take Shipping;
And where the Salt-Sea, as the Devil were in't,
Came roaring, t'have hinder'd our Journey to Flint;
But were, by good luck, before him got thither,
He else would have carried us no man knows whither.

And now Her in Wales is, Saint Taph be her speed,
Gotts plutter her taste, some Welch-Ale her had need;
For her ride in great haste, and was like shit her Breeches,
For fear of her being catcht up by the Fishes;
But the Lord of Flint Castle's no Lord worth a Louse,
For he keeps ne'er a drop of good drink in his House;
But in a small House near unto't there was store
Of such Ale, as (thank God) I ne'er tasted before;
And surely the Welch are not wise of their Fuddle,
For this had the taste and complexion of puddle.
From thence then we march'd, full as dry as we came;
My Guide before prancing, his steed no more lame,
O'er Hills, and o'er Valleys uncouth and uneven,
Untill 'twixt the hours of twelve and eleven,
More hungry and thirsty than tongue can well tell,
We happily came to St. Winnifred's Well;
I thought it the Pool of Bethesda had been
By the Cripples lay there, but I went to my Inn
To speak for some Meat, for so Stomach did motion,
Before I did farther proceed in Devotion;
I went into th' Kitchin, where Vict'als I saw,
Both Beef, Veal, and Mutton, but all on't was raw;
And some on't alive, but it soon went to slaughter,
For four Chickens were slain by my Dame and her Daughter;
Of which to Saint Win: e'er my vows I had paid,
They said I should find a rare Frigassey made;
I thank'd them, and streight to the Well did repair,
Where some I found cursing, and others at Pray'r;
Some dressing, some stripping, some out and some in,
Some naked, where Botches and Boiles might be seen:
Of which some were Fevors of Venus I'm sure,
And therefore unfit for the Virgin to cure:
But the Fountain, in truth, is well worth the sight,
The beautifull Virgin's own tears not more bright;
Nay, none but she ever shed such a tear,
Her Conscience, her Name, nor her self were more clear:
In the bottom there lie certain stones that look white,
But streak'd with pure red, as the Morning with light,
Which they say is her bloud, and so it may be,
But for that, let who shed it look to it for me.
Over the Fountain a Chapel there stands,
Which I wonder has scap'd Master Oliver's hands;
The floor's not ill pav'd, and the Margent o'th' Spring,
Is enclos'd with a certain Octagonal Ring;
From each Angle of which a Pillar does rise,
Of strength and of thickness enough to suffice
To support and uphold from falling to ground
A Cupolo wherewith the Virgin is crown'd.
Now 'twixt the two Angels, that fork to the North,
And where the cold Nymph does her Bason pour forth,
Under ground is a place, where they bathe, as 'tis said,
And 'tis true, for I heard Folks Teeth hack in their head;
For you are to know, that the Rogues and the Whores
Are not let to pollute the Spring-head with their sores.
But one thing I chiefly admir'd in the place,
That a Saint, and a Virgin, endu'd with such Grace,
Should yet be so wonderfull kind a well-willer,
To that whoring and filching Trade of a Miller,
As within a few paces to furnish the Wheels,
Of I cannot tell how many Water-mills:
I've studi'd that point much, you cannot guess why,
But the Virgin was, doubtless, more righteous than I:
And now for my wellcome, four, five, or six Lasses,
With as many Chrystalline liberal Glasses,
Did all importune me to drink of the Water
Of Saint Winnefreda, good Thewith's fair Daughter:
A while I was doubtfull, and stood in a Muse,
Not knowing, amidst all that choice, where to chuse,
Till a pair of black eyes, darting full in my sight,
From the rest o'th' fair Maidens did carry me quite;
I took the Glass from her, and, whip, off it went,
I half doubt I fansi'd a health to the Saint;
But he was a great Villain committed the slaughter,
For St. Winnefred made most delicate water.
I slip'd a hard Shilling into her soft hand,
Which had like to have made me the place have profan'd,
And giving two more to the Poor that were there,
Did, sharp as a Hawk, to my quarters repair.

My Dinner was ready, and to it I fell,
I never ate better meat that I can tell;
When having half din'd, there comes in my Host,
A Catholick, good, and a rare drunken Tost;
This man, by his drinking, inflamed the Scot,
And told me strange stories, which I have forgot;
But this I remember, 'twas much on's own Life,
And one thing, that he had converted his Wife.

But now my Guide told me, it time was to go,
For that to our beds we must both ride and row;
Wherefore calling to pay, and having accounted,
I soon was down stairs, and as suddenly mounted:
On then we travell'd, our guide still before,
Sometimes on three Legs, and sometimes on four,
Coasting the Sea, and over Hills crawling,
Sometimes on all four, for fear we should fall in;
For underneath Neptune lay shalking to watch us,
And, had we but slip'd once, was ready to catch us:
Thus in places of danger taking more heed,
And in safer travelling mending our speed,
Redland-Castle and Abergoney we pass'd,
And o'er against Connaway came at the last:
Just over against a Castle there stood,
O'th' right hand the Town, and o'th' left hand a Wood;
'Twixt the Wood and the Castle they see at high water
The storm, the place makes it a dangerous matter;
And besides, upon such a steep Rock it is founded,
As would break a man's neck, should he scape being drowned:
Perhaps though in time one may make them to yield,
But 'tis pretty'st Cob-Castle e'er I beheld.

The Sun now was going t'unharness his Steeds,
When the Ferry-boat brasking her sides 'gainst the Weeds,
Came in as good time, as good time could be,
To give us a cast o'er an arme of the Sea;
And bestowing our Horses before and abaft,
O'er god Neptune's wide Cod-piece gave us a waft;
Where scurvily landing at foot of the Fort,
Within very few paces we enter'd the Port,
Where another King's head invited me down,
For indeed I have ever been true to the Crown.