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IN A TRANCE, 1597. 


OF 1683-4. 

tniTKD BY Il»V. ARD F. RIMBAri.T. ESQ. LI..U., F.S.A. 


^txit% of Satirical tlTracts, 



E. F. RIMBAULT, ESQ. Ph. D., F.S.A. 





Ci)e ierc^ J)oricti). 


THOMAS AMYOT, Esa F.R.S. Treas. S.A. 


WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq. F.S.A. Trcannnr. 







T. J. PETTIGREW, E.sq. F.R.S., F.S.A. 


E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq. F.S.A. Sccrdary. 





Samuel Rowlands, the author ol' the following 
tracts, was a prolific writer of the end of the 
sixteenth, and early part of the succeeding century. 
He appears to have commenced his literary career 
in 1598, by the publication of a collection of sacred 
poems, entitled " The Betraying of Christ, Judas 
in Despaire, The Seven Words of our Saviour on 
the Crosse," &c., but soon found that humorous 
pieces were more saleable, and these being, perhaps, 
more suited to the bent of his mind, he changed 
his style accordingly. Epigrams and satires were 
the most fashionable style of writing from about 
1595, to 1615, and Rowlands has left us many 
specimens of his talents in both. 

Excepting that he lived and wrote, nothing is 
now known of his history. It has been remarked 
that his muse is seldom found in good company. 
Her best characters are generally picked up by the 
way-side among the idle and vicious : sometimes 
on benches of tippling houses, and too often the 
precincts of Bridewell; or from the crowd that 


usually waited upon a delinquent wearing " Ty- 
bume-tifFany." The chief interest of Rowlands' 
books consists in their minute descrij^tion of place 
and character, which may be considered as a 
faithfid, if not a flattering, copy of the times in 
which he flourished. All his productions have 
now become exceedingly rare ; but perhaps none 
more so than the series of quaint satirical tracts 
reprinted in the following pages. 

The first, " The Knave of Clubbs, Tis merry when 
Knaves meete," upon its appearance, in 1600, gave 
such offence, on account of the severity of its 
satire, and the obviousness of its allusions, that an 
order was made that it should be burnt, first 
publicly, and afterwards in the Hall Kitchen 
of the Stationers' Company. The order bears 
date October 26, 1600, and is worded as follows: — 
** Yt is orderd that the next court-day two bookes 
lately printed, th' one called The Letting of Humors 
Blood in the Head Vayne ; th' other, A Mery 
Metinge, or 'tis Mery when Knaves mete ; shal be 
publiquely burnt, for that they conteyne matters 
unf^tt to be published : then to be bumd in the 
Hall Kytchen, with other popish bookes and thinges 
that were lately taken." The first tract mentioned 
in the order, as containing " matters unfytt to be 
published," was one of the most popular of our 
author's productions. It was originally printed 


under the title of " The Letting Humors Blood 
in the Head-vaine ; with a new Morissco daunced 
by Seven Satyres upon the bottorae of Diogenes 
Table ;" but upon its condemnation by the Sta- 
tioners' Company, the bookseller changed its title 
to " Humours Ordinaric, Avhere a man may be 
verie merrie and exceeding well used for his sixe- 
pence," and published an edition of it without date ; 
but after the feeling had subsided in 1611, it again 
appeared with its original title, although the printer 
thought it prudent not to put his name on the 

In accordance with a promise given at the end 
of " The Knave of Clubbs," Kowlands went on 
with his series of lOiaves, and in 1612 gave to the 
world, " The Knave of Harts, Haile Fellowe, 
well met." That this was the second of the series, 
we have sufficient evidence in the following lines 
from the address of " The Knave of Harts to his 
three Brethren Knaves": — 

" The Knave of Clubs hath first begunne, 
And I am next, now he hath done. 
His tale of Knaves hath thrice beene tolde, 
And he is printed, bought, and solde, 
Wiiich made me haste againe to presse, 
Lest Dimoud should my place possesse." 

The expression in the third line, that the 
Knave of Clubs hath thrice told his tale, alludes 


to the tract having passed through three editions; 
viz., the first in 1600, the second in 1609, and 
that from which our reprint is made, in 1611. 

Between the publication of the first and second 
tracts, an anonymous writer, without a particle 
of wit or drollery, endeavoured to take advan- 
tage of Rowlands' popularity, by imitating the 
title-page of one of the most successful of his 

The work alluded to is entitled " E-oome for a 
Messe of Knaves ; or a Selection, or a Detection, 
or a Demonstration, or a IManifestation of foure 
Slaves, &c. With a Narration, or a Declaration, 
or Relation, or an Explication of a strange (but 
true) battell fought in the little Isle (or worlde) 
of IMan, &c. London, printed hy N. F. 1610." 
Mr. Collier, who gives the above title in his 
" Catalogue of the Bridgewater Library," says, 
" No other copy of the ill-printed performance 
before us seems extant, and it may therefore be 
worth while to describe it. After the title, is 
inserted an address to the reader, followed by an 
unsubscribed dedication to Sir John Lebon, 
Knight. The body of the tract then commences, 
and proceeds without any order and with little 
meaning, until we come to an epistle, which being 
addressed to Morpheus, ' brother to Oberon, King 
of Fayrics,' seemcs to promise something, but it 


contains nothing ; and the piece ends with tAvo 
pages headed a ' Messe of Knaves,' equally dull 
and barren."" 

The last of the series of Rowlands' Knaves was 
" More Knaves yet ? The Knaves of Spades and 
Diamonds." It was printed without date ; but in 
all probability (from allusions to Ward and Dan- 
sikar, two famous pirates, whose story was then 
popular) about the same period as the preceding 

It now remains to notice an unique and unde- 
scribed tract by our author, the running title of 
which is "A Paire of Spy-Knaves." The copy 
is unfortunately without title-page, beginning, 
or ending ; but the fact of its being the produc- 
tion of Samuel Rowlands is substantiated by his 
initials at the end of the address to the Reader. 
The Address to the Reader follows one " To the 
World's Blinde Judgment, that wants a paire of 
Spectacles with a true sight," and is as follows : — 


This crystall sight is not for all mens eyes, 
But only serves for the judicious wise ; 
Fooles, they may gaze as long as ere they will, 
And be as blind as any beetle still : 
A purblinde Momus fleeringly will looke, 
And spie no knave but 's selfe in all the bookc. 
A sicophant that slaves himsclfe to all, 
Will his own knave-companions honest call, 

Aud will'ull vviuke, because he will not see, 
With divers sorts of buzzards else that be: 
But these we leave to their defective sight, 
With bats and owles that blinded are by light. 

S. R." 

This address is succeeded by a variety of sketches 
of character, in the same humorous and sarcastic 
style as those contained in the following tracts, 
followed by a variety of epigrams full of point 
and vivacity, and allusions to passing events. 

The following extracts have been selected, as 
among the best specimens contained in this hither- 
to undescribed tract. 


SiKRA, come hither, I must send you straight 
To divers places, about things of waight ; 
First to my barber, about his bason signe, 
Bid him be heere to morrow about nine ; 
Next to my taylor, and will him be heere 
About eleven, and his bill I'le cleere ; 
My shoemaker by twelve, haste bid him make 
About the russet bootes that I bespake. 
Stay, harke, I had forgot, at any hand, 
First to my laundresse for a yellow baud ; 
And point the feather-maker not to faile 
To plume my head with his best estridge tayle. 
Speake to the sadler ; no, let him alone, 
Hee'le looke for money, I can spare him none. 
Step to the cutler for my fighting l)lade, 
Aud know that if my riding sword be made ; 

Bid him trim up my walking rapier neat, 

My dancing rapier's pummell is too great; 

Stay, stay, forbeare, some other time wee'le borrow, 

I must take physicke and lye in to morrow. 

The doctor, I remember, will come hether, 

Aud hee'le both purge me and my purse together. 


A GIDDY gallant, that beyond the seas 

Sought fashions out, his idle pate to please. 

In travelling did meete upon the way 

A fellow that was suted richly gay ; 

No lesse then crimson velvet did him grace, 

All garded and re-garded with gold lace. 

His hat was feather'd like a ladies fan. 

Which made the gallant thinke him some great man. 

And vayl'd unto him with a meeke salute, 

In reverence of his gilded velvet sute. 

Sir (quoth his man) your worship doth not know 

What you have done, to wrong your credit so; 

This is the beivle in Dutch, in English plaine 

The raskall hangman, whom all men disdaine ; 

I saw him tother day, on Castell greene. 

Hang foure as proper men as ere were scene. 

At this his master, in a raging vaine. 

Swore he would call his kindnes back againe, 

And in great haste after the hangman goes, 

He and his man, so basting him with blowes, 

That never hangman was in worser case, 

For a dry-lieaten, battcr'd, fist-swolne face ; 

And then departing said, Thou rogue, take that. 
For wearing clothes made me put off my hat ; 
Rope-trader, keepe thyselfe to hempe and cord, 
And weare not sutes to counterfet a lord. 
Sir, quoth the hangman, doe not so disdaine me ; 
Such swaggerers as you doe thus maintaine me ; 
For 1 upon my hacke their kindness beare, 
And they about their necks my favours weare. 

The following sketch humorously depicts one 
of those riotous quarrelsome blades of the time, 
who abounded in London, and took pleasure in 
annoying its quieter inhabitants. 


Amongst the monsters of this present age, 
That in the world like fiends incarnate rage, 
Acting such villauies and horrid crimes 
(Unknowne to men in our forefathers times). 
The Divell hath (among his fashions new) 
Begotten children of the cursed crue, 
In whose ungraciousnesse he greatly joyes, 
And these by name are called his Roring Boyes ; 
Villaines that in all villauies abound, 
Which in the lives of reprobates are found ; 
Their dayes and nights are thus consum'd away. 
To live in sloth, and eate and drinke, and play. 
God's name is never in their mouthes or heartes, 
Unlesse by oathes, to teare him out in parts. 
Blasphemously abusing his dread name. 
And hating those that doe reprove the same. 
The choisest, loving, dearest friends they have. 
Is punkc and pander, thicl'e, and coozeuiug knave ; 

Sharke, shifter, cheater, cutpurse, highway stander, 

With these the broad wide way to hell they wander. 

Your Roring-Boy is come of such a straine. 

He is a villaine dyde in brimstone graine, 

And will hold out while endlesse flames endure 

(Such hardned hearts delight in sinne procure) 

If then to life, his picture you will have 

To know him, by description of a knave, 

Then thus : his outside carries all the wealth 

Coos'nage can compasse by fraud's secret stealth, 

And what our neat fantasticks newest hatch. 

That at the second hand hee's sure to catch. 

If it be feather time, he weares a feather, 

A golden hat-baud, or a silver either ; 

A beastly bushie head of lowsie haire, 

A horse-taile locke most nitty he doth weare. 

Wasted like to some dwarfe, or coated ape. 

As if of monsters misbegotten shape 

He were ingendred, and, rejecting nature, 

Were new cut out and stich'd, the taylor's creature ; 

An elbow cloake, because wide hose and garters 

May be apparent in the lower quarters. 

The pockey legges that beare his carrion corse, 

Are dayly booted, though he backe a horse 

Twice in a twelvemonth, or forsweare to ride 

Untill a cart to Tyborne be his guide. 

Yet still in russettings he will appeare, 

Although with shoomaker he never cleere ; 

His cabage ruffe, of the outrageouse size. 

Starched in colour to beholders eyes ; 

A box of infiders and heathen's drinke, 

Compos'd, as hell, of fire, smoke, and stinke. 

His whole estate is borrow, coozen, cheate : 

This is a Roring-Boyes true picture neate. 


Instructions given to a countrf.y clowne, 
to take tobacco when iif, comes to towne. 

A CHEATER meeting with a simple clowiie, 

Would give him wine because he knew the town 

Where goodman Boore his countryman did dwell, 

And all his neighbours he knew passing well. 

Entring the taverne, and the wine bespoke, 

Quoth cheater, bring me here a pipe of smoke, 

To purge my rhume, by spitting to forsake it, 

Gentleman (quoth the clowne) would I could take it. 

Sayes he, I'le teach tliee (doe observe me heere) 

To take tobacco like a cavaleere. 

Thus draw the vapour thorow your nose, and say 

Puffe, it is gone, fuming the smoke away. 

The gull, that would be a tobaconist. 

Had cup, or pipe, continuall in his fist, 

Untill with puffe, 'tis yone, his sences shrunke, 

And he was got by practice, claret drunke. 

The cheater tooke his time, and did pretend 

To goe fast by, and call a speciall friend 

To drink with them, and so convayes the cup. 

And lets him sit, who takes his pipefull up 

And smokes it off, with jnffe ^tis (/one, oh brave, 

The very whiffe most dainty now I have. 

At length the drawer look'd into the roome 

And said, my friend, where is the cup become ? 

He with his pipe the old tune playes upon, 

Oh brave tobacco, gallant, puffe ^tis gone ; 

Gone ? quoth the vintner, and by ray faith and 't be, 

You are the man is like to answere me. 

Where is the friend was with you even now, 

Wee'le have our cup before you goe I vow ; 


He noses it, and holds llie pipe to t' other. 
And sayes, hey, puff'e, His (/one most bravely hrolher. 
Is't gone, quoth he? then friend, thus much i'le say, 
You have the reck'ning-, and a cup to pay : 
Your 2}uffe, 'tis gone, is like to cost your purse ; 
The reck'ning's something, but the goblet's worse ; 
When all's discharged that doth as yet remaine. 
Then welcome puffe our cup is come againe. 

Rowlands' numerous publications are, for the 
most part, of the same rambling and satirical cha- 
racter as the above. They may be termed poet- 
ical jest books ; the titles frequently giving very 
little indication of the contents. 

One of his best pieces is a tract (which it is the 
intention of the Editor shortly to present to the 
Members of the Percy Society), originally })rinted 
in 1608, and entitled " Diogenes' Lanthorne." 

" In Athens T seeke for honest men, 
But I shall find them God knowes when : 
I'le search the city, where if I can see 
One honest man, he shall goe with me." 

Athens here, as in Lodge's tract " Catharos, 
Diogenes in his Singularity," is, of course, London; 
and the cynic is represented walking about and 
remarking upon all he sees. This production was 
once very popular, and was reprinted in 1617, 
1628, 1631, and 1634. 

In conclusion, the Editor begs to return his 

thanks to Mr. Collier ibr the loan of the unique 
copy from which the above extracts have been 
made : to Mr. W. Chappell, for various valuable 
suggestions ; and to Mr. F. W. Fairholt, a zealous 
]\Iember of the Percy Society, for the explanatory 
notes relative to costume. 




Tis merry when Knaves meete. 

Printed at London by E. A. dwelling nere Christ-Churcb- 


FusTis, tlie humours of a knave 

To thee I dedicate, 

Which hath bin christned Knave of Clubbs, 

By gentle-men of late. 

For thy notorious swaggering life, 

Thou liv'st about the towne. 

And Fleet-street fraies, when prentices 

With clubbs did knocke thee downe : 

Thy tricks, and feates thou hast at cardes, 

To cut upon a knave. 

That let a man drawe where he will, 

Thy picture he shall have. 

Thy haunting of the dicing-house, 

To cheate a living there, 

The pander's profit out of whores, 

For whome thou 't fight and sweare. 

Thy bould and brasen fac'd exploit, 

In want some coine to get, 

At Bedlam bowling-alley late, 

Wliere cittizens did bet, 

And threw their money on the ground, 

To Avhicli thou didst incline, 



And taking up an angell, swore, 

By God, this game is mine. 

While they upon each other looke, 

Not knowing what to say, 

Clubs calls (come sirha) to his man, 

And goes with coine away. 

These, and a thousand villanies. 

Which now I will omit. 

Hath got thee placed captaine heere, 

Because thou merrits it. 

March in the forefront of my booke, 

And say I use thee kinde : 

A crew of mad-men, knaves, and fooles, 

Thy fellowes, come behinde. 

S. R. 



An ancient wooer matcht himselfe for gold, 
Unto a widdow foure-score winters old, 
Whose wholsome mony did beget good will : 
She brought him bags, 4. husband[s] help'd to fill, 
As arrant misers as the earth containes, 
Which with their moyling care and pessant paines, 
Had scraped thousands : yet even such they were 
As Isis asse, which loads of gold did beare, 
And was himselfe an abject, toy ling beast, 
Burdned with that which he injoyed least. 
This golden grandham lov'd a cup of sack. 
Which her kind husband would not see her lack : 
But willingly a nights would make her drunke, 
Because indeed he kept a servant puncke, 
Who, when the mistres had it in the lied, 
Would come and creepe into her maisters bed. 
This held out long, untill one night, kind Jone 
Hearing her maister cough and mistris grone. 
Prepared her selfe (the cough was still his call) : 
To tell the naked truth, she stript off all, 


And comming like a wench of willing sprite. 
To doe her maisters busines in the night, 
Such tumbling in the bed (belike) did keepe, 
She wak'd her quiet mistris out of sleepe, 
Wlio was by this recovered in the braine, 
And gotten sober by her sleepe againe. 
Perceiving plainely how the matter went, 
And why the kindnes of the sack was ment, 
Starts up, and cries, ah, whore, am I your bawd ? 
Out wicked knave, and with her nailes beclawd 
Them cruelly, that wench and maister bled ; 
Then with her feete she spurn'd them out of bed. 
The violence of that same furious fall. 
Threw them both downe, with chamber pot and all. 
So that the scratching, wash'd with filthy smell, 
Did kill the itch, like whipping in Bride-well. 


A COUNTRY blew-coate serving man. 

In tearme-time sent to towne, 

Would range the cittie for some newes 

To carry with him downe. 

At length he got into Moore-fields, 

Viewing the Avalkes and trees : 

And thence to garden-alley goes, 

Wliere at a dore he sees 

A puncke prepar'd for passengers, 

Set out for bawdy sale, 


Who smiling, said, Kinde gentle-man, 

Bestowe some bottle-ale 

Upon me, if you love a wench, 

Wliome you shall ready finde 

To counter vaile your curtesie, 

In what you will, most kinde. 

Some bottle-ale (quoth he) where ist ? 

Hast any nere at hand ? 

Yes, sir (said she) I pray' come in. 

Thus she was serving-mand. 

He sits him downe into a chayre. 

And to his liquor falles ; 

While she unto her maides for cakes, 

Stew'd prunes, and pippins calles. 

Which being brought them, downe she sits. 

And as they both imbrace, 

A swaggering rogue breaks open dore, 

And 's rapier did uncase. 

Villaine (quoth he) and damned whore, 

Before the Lord you dye, 

For this deflowring of my wife ! 

What hast thou to reply ? 

Sir, said the clowne, you doe me wrong. 

Upon me thus to raile. 

As I came by she cald' me in, 

To drinke some bottle-ale ; 

And by this bread I touch'd no more 

But onely hand and lip : 

No ; (said the ruffian) speake ! you whore, 

And looke thou doost not trip, 


Else, had you thousand lives, you die. 

She falling downe with speede, 

Cri'de out, Deere husband, pardon me, 

We have bin nought indeede. 

Sirrah, what say you now ? (quoth he) 

She hath confest it plaine : 

Villaine, thou diest ! Oh, holde (saies he) 

Heare me one worde againe ; 

Five pounds is all the coyne I have, 

That will I freely give : 

Heere, take it, sir, with all my heart, 

So you will let me live. 

Five pounds ! (quoth he) dost thinke He sell 

My reputation so ? 

Five hundred will not satisfie : 

My wife was chast (I know) 

Before thou broughtst her unto this. 

Speake, didst offend before ? 

Never, kinde husband (quoth the whore) 

Nor nere will wrong you more, 

"Well, huswife, well, your teares prevaile 

Joyn'd with a faithfull vow ; 

Give me five pound, and for this time 

He pocket all up now. 

You seeme an honest simple man, 

Refraine to tempt mens wives ; 

The onely cause I let you live 

Is to amend your lives. 


Two hungry sharkes did travaile Pauls, 

Untill their guts cride out, 

And knew not hoAV with both their wits 

To bring one meale about. 

Sayes one to tother what quoine hast ? 

My famisht entrails groanes : 

I finde but hungry dyet here. 

Amongst these rotten bones. 

He did reply, Faith not a crosse 

To blesse me in this case ; 

I must goe seeke to mend my selfe. 

In some more wholsome place. 

And I but one poore peny have. 

In all the world is mine, 

(Quoth tother) but He trie my wits, 

How that can make me dine. 

So towards Smith-field he departs, 

Unto a cookes thereby. 

And calleth for a can of beere ; 

The boy comes presently. 

And brings it him. Sir, said the youth 

Wil't please you eate a bit ? 

lie fetch a daintie slice of beefe 

Is hot upon the spit. 

Sirra (quoth he) why doe and fwooty 

Which nimble Jacks did bring : 

And he as nimbly eat it up. 

Yet still his guts did wring. 


Jacke sees all gone, sales, Gentleman, 

Wil't please you tast good cheese ? 

I, boy, and thvoot (quoth he againe). 

Thought Sharke, this well agrees 

"With my most wofull stomackes state, 

So Jacke with cheese comes in, 

And that was soon devowred up, 

Even as the beefe had bin. 

Being thus dispatcht, he layes downe Jacke 

A peny for the shot : 

Sir, what shall this doe, said the boy ? 

Why, rogue, discharge my pot : 

So much I cald for, but the rest 

By me shall nere be paid, 

For victualls thou didst offer me, 

Doe and thou tvoot, I said. 

Jacke seeing he no more would pay, 

Unto his maister went, 

And told him there was one within 

That had much victualls spent, 

And would not see the house dischargd : 

The cooke unto him goes. 

Requesting him of curtesie. 

To pay the debt he owes. 

Sir, said the swaggerer, I protest, 

I cald but for a can, 

According to the coyne I had. 

As I am gentle-man ; 

My hunger was exceding great, 

Your boy did oifer beefe. 


And bread, and cheese, which when I heard, 

Unto my stomackes griefe, 

Quoth I, why bring it, boy, and fwoot, 

Leaving it to his will ; 

Which he did bring, as if he meant 

My hungry corps to fill. 

I could not chuse but feede thereon, 

(This is the truth, mine hoast) 

Yet score it up, when God sends coyne 

I will discharge your poast. 

The cooke sees nothing to be had, 

Lets him depart away : 

Who after meetes his fellowe sharke, 

Li Paules againe next day. 

And told him how exceeding well 

He for his penny sped, 

On roasted beefe, good bread and cheese, 

Onely for that he fed, 

Pretliy (quoth he) but tell me where ; 

That hoast shall sure be mine. 

Marry (sales he) in such a place, 

A cooke at such a signe. 

Goe there and call but for a can, 

And ther 's a dapper knave. 

Comes, Gentleman, what dainty bit 

For diet will you have ? 

A stately peece of roasted beefe, 

Fine cheese, what wiU you eat ? 

Then say you. Sirrah, / and C wool ; 

You neede not pay for 's meat. 


Oh excellent (quoth he) I'le goe 

Such simple fooles to gull, 

And spend a pot with all my heart, 

To fiU my belly fuU. 

Away he walkes unto the house, 

To feed him on the jest, 

Sirrah (sales he) a can of beere, 

And looke you bring the best. 

The boy, according to his use, 

Returnes with nimble speede. 

Saying, Gentleman, is 't your desire 

On fine roast beefe to feede ? 

Fine beefe (quoth he) /, hoy^ and H wool. 

The boy runs downe amaine : 

Cries, Mr. come, bring Tom and George, 

Heere 's / and '< woot againe. 

His maister brings up both his men, 

In all the hast might bee : 

And 1 and V woot he basted so, 

He had no eyes to see. 

They larded and begreas'd his bones, 

Untill his shoulders sweat : 

And gave him sower sawce good store 

Unto his fellowes meat. 


Amongst free-booters by the hye way side, 
Such as mens pursses wofuUy misguide. 


Unto some inne the owner never ment, 

To be beyond a lord-ships lowance spent ; 

A gentleman that could dispend by yeare 

Five hundred pounds (when purchase came in cleere) ; 

Whose living onely made him to repine 

Because the hangman was to have a fine ; 

At Burstow-causie, Gads-hill, and Coome-parke 

Had taken up about some hundred-marke, 

With which to London he was forc'd to flye, 

And get him cleere of fearefuU hue hue and crye : 

Meeting with one just of his owne dispose, 

With him he plotted to escape his foes. 

And tould him in what tearmes his case did stand, 

What extreame danger eminent at hand. 

But (saith he) if thou wilt afforde consent, 

My policy their purpose shall prevent. 

I'le frame a bill that I am in thy debt, 

And to the same an ante-date will set ; 

Thou shalt arrest me, I'le to prison goe, 

And they may search untill their hearts ake so ; 

No man will looke for me in that same place, 

'Twill be my castle for some three monthes space, 

While they search tauerne, rifle victuling house, 

There I secure will drinke a healths carouse. 

This was agreed unto, the bill was made, 

Purse-taker was arrested, there he staide, 

Untill no further danger did appeare, 

Then with his creditor the debt did cleere, 

And being discharg'd, they to a taverne went, 

Quoth plotter, heer 's an angel to be spent, 


Onely in kindnes pretliy back restore 
Wliat I have paid in jest, six angels more. 
The other wisht God might his soule confound, 
If he paid backe a penny of that three pound. 
I sav'd thy life (quoth he) and will be paide, 
Although the plot thereof by thee was laide, 
Th' effecting it by me thou didst obtaine, 
Nay, I have ventured hanging for my paine ; 
And dost thou thinke ten shillings spent in wine 
Sufficient pay for this good turne of mine ? 
My staying here in towne to pleasure thee. 
Is many a purse out of the way to me 
Had bin mine owne, as sure as this is plate : 
Drinke ! no more words, a penny He not bate. 
Quoth tother, Wilt not ? and his poinard drew, 
Stabs at him, saying, Villaine, thou shalt rue 
This cheating of a better man then thou. 
Saies t'other, Th' art an arrant theefe, I vow. 
Drawing his dagger, wounding him againe. 
"With that house-guests prest in amaine, 
And understanding how their quarrel grew, 
The robbery and plot that did ensew, 
The falling out for challenging three pound, 
They present were for New-gate voyage bound ; 
From thence up Holborne-hill they were convaid. 
And so to Tiberne all their quarrell staid. 



A SHIFTING knave about the towne, 

Did challenge wondrous skill 

To tell mens fortunes and good haps, 

He had the starrs at will. 

What day was best to travaile on, 

Which fit to chuse a wife ; 

If violent or naturall 

A man should end his life. 

Successe of any sute in law, 

Wliich parties cause prevailes : 

When it is good to pick ones teeth, 

And iU to pare his nailes. 

So cunningly he plaid the knave. 

That he deluded many 

With shifting, base, and cousening tricks, 

For skill he had not any. 

Amongst a crew of simple guls, 

That plide him to their cost, 

A butcher comes and craves his help. 

That had some cattle lost. 

Ten groates he gave him for his fee, 

And he to conjure goes, 

With characters, and vocables, 

And divers antique showes. 

The butchei', in a beastly feare. 

Expected spirits still. 

And wished himselfe within his shop. 

Some sheepe or calfe to kill. 


His colour changed red and pale, 

The sweat ran downe his face, 

And by the smell a man might judge 

His hose in filthy case. 

At length, out of an old blinde hole, 

Behinde a painted cloth, 

A devill comes with roaring voyce. 

Seeming exceeding wroth. 

With squibs and crackers round about 

Wilde-fier he did send. 

Which swaggring Ball, the butchers dog, 

So highly did offend, 

That he upon the devill flies. 

And shakes his homes so sore. 

Even like an oxe, most terrible, 

He made hobgoblin roare. 

The cunning man cries, For Gods love, help, 

Unto youre mastiffe call. 

Fight dog, fight devill, butcher said. 

And claps his hands at Bali, 

The dog most cruelly tore his flesh. 

The devill went to wracke. 

And looked like a tattered rogue, 

With ne're a rag on 's backe. 

Give me my mony back againe. 

Thou slave, the butcher said, 

Or I will see your devills heart, 

Before he can be laid : 

He gets not back againe to hell, 

Ere I my mony have, 


And I will have some intrest too, 

Besides mine owne I gave. 

Deliver first mine owne ten groats, 

And then a crowne to boote : 

I smell your devils knavery out, 

He wants a cloven foote. 

The conjurer with all his heart 

The mony backe repaies, 

And gives five shillings of his owne : 

To whome the butcher sales. 

Farewell, most scurvy conjurei", 

Thinke on my valiant deed. 

Which have done more then English George, 

That made the dragon bleed ; 

He and his horse, the story tells. 

Did but a serpent slay : 

I and my dog the devill spoild. 

We two have got the day. 


Two rayling creatures fell at strife, 

And such a clamour made. 

That people passing by stood still 

To hearken what they saide. 

Amongst the rest a woman comes, 

Demanding of the route : 

I pray, quoth she, what is the cause 

Of all this falling out ? 



One presently made answere thus, 
You are a whore, quoth he. 
Thou art an arrant scurvy knave, 
And rascall rogue, said she. 
Why thus, quoth he, these two fell out 
The quarrell that they have 
Began at first as we doe now. 
With callins; whore and knave. 


A NEEDY poet of a poore complexion, 
Whose purse was sicke of very long infection, 
That writ (as beggers crave an almes) for need, 
Oft wanting meat when he would gladly feed, 
(Who when he travaild to Pernassus hill. 
Was much behoulding to tobacco still. 
For how so'ere his chimny wanted fire, 
His nose was smoking to his hearts desire,) 
Comes to a taverne, where he understood 
A dinner was prepar'd exceeding good. 
For divers gentlemen, of which kinde crewe 
Some halfe a dosen very friends he knewe : 
So bouldly did intrude into the place, 
With hungry stomack, and a brasen face ; 
They welcome him, and kindly doe intreat 
To doe as they doe, sit him downe and eat. 
Which wholesome wordes no repetition needes, 
For like a starveling he falles to and feedes : 


Little discourse long time he could aiford, 

But answeres True, sir, unto every word : 

Tis right forsooth, and so againe cramuies in, 

As if a fortnight he had fasting bin : 

Plying his victuals thus an hower at least, 

Like unto Woolner, that same ravening beast, 

His pudding house at length began to swell. 

And he tooke leisure some strange lies to tell ; 

And those he sweares unto by cups of wine, 

(For now to liquor he doth whole incline.) 

Well, growing late, they for a reckning call. 

And vintners boy brings up a bill of all ; 

So every man doth cast his mony downe. 

Ten groats, three shillings, other some a croAvne : 

Which all upon a trencher was convaid 

To poet pennilesse, and him they praid 

To make the shot. Nay, gentlemen (quoth he), 

I doe entreat you all to pardon me, 

I'le spend my crowne, and put his hand in's hose. 

Where not a penny could be found, God knowes ; 

While they still sweare that he shall make the shot, 

At last the mony in his hands he got, 

And rising, to the fidlers turnes about, 

Come on (quoth he), what new thing is come out ? 

Sure, gentleman (said they), we have not any. 

Then sing me, Icouldfancie lovely Nanni/, 

(And here is for you, I'le but goe and leake ; 

Call for a pot, ther 's not a rogue will speake.) 

So takes his cloake, and downe the staires away. 

With all the mony was laid downe to pay. 

c 2 


The gentlemen, suspecting no such thing, 

Discourse together, and the fidlers sing, 

Vntill they misse their poet over long. 

Who tooke his leave most kindly with a song ; 

They knock, and call, and send to seeke below. 

But what 's become of him there 's none doth know. 

Hee 's gone to walke, his dinner to disgest, 

Of all the mony they laid downe possest, 

Some fifty shillings he had gotten cleare. 

In curtesie for all the great good clieare. 

Now every man must to his purse againe, 

In vintners debt and fidlers they remaine. 

Some sweare, some swagger, others laugh thereat, 

Wishing the reckning would make thin-gut fat. 

A pox upon this poet, one did curse. 

He hath not left a penny in my purse : 

Five shillings, not a farthing more, I had, 

And tlius be-guld, doth make me almost mad, 

With all my heart I'le spend a crowne or twaine 

To meete the rascall in my dish againe : 

I would be-stab his skin like double cuts, 

And garter up his stockins with his guts ; 

Then downe the staires the villaine should be tost, 

Like to a foot-ball in a winters frost. 

Gentlemen, saies another, silence now, 

'Tis but a folly to protest and vow, 

Although plaine-dealing be a Jewell, still 

We must use double-dealing gainst our will, 

And pay our shot againe was paid before, 

For yet you see we stand upon the score : 


We are well serv'd, if this be rightly scand, 
To put our reckning into Make-shifts hand, 
But laugh it out, least we be laught to scorne : 
Good wits are worthy to liave charges borne. 

One wittily describ'd a gull, 

In different sort and kinde, 

And to the life doth paint a fop, 

For eyes that are not blinde. 

His first gull feares a silken wench, 

Her velvet gowne doth scare him, 

Another weares a silver hilt. 

Yet every boy will dare him. 

Next commeth fashions Jack-an-apes, 

A gull compos'd of pride, 

That hath his goodness in good cloathcs. 

And nothing good beside. 

And lastly he 's a gul of guls 

That makes an outward seeming, 

Yet hath not one poore ounce of wit 

That 's worth wise men's esteeming. 

But unto these let 's ad a gull 

That 's very late found out. 

Will spend his living, land, and wealth, 

To finde conclusions out. 

Hee'l make you bread of pompion seeds 

Shall far excell all wheat. 

And Avith a kinde of burning glasse 

In sunnc roast any meat ; 


Hee'le teach an ape to speake good French, 

Jack -daw to write and read, 

And has a trick to use a cat 

That she shall ferrets breed, 

Yet these are all inferiour things 

To tliose his wit hath found, 

Such secrets never were disclos'd 

Upon this earthly ground ; 

For shortly he intends to flie, 

One wing is almost made ; 

To put downe simple Dedalus 

He doth himselfe perswade. 

But see how wise ingenious men 

Doe often overslip : 

A craftier knave than he of late 

Had got him on the hip, 

Which sould him a familiar flie, 

A devill in a box, 

An artificiall flie of silke, 

(A devill with a pox) 

For this my gull gives twenty pound ; 

"Would I might sell him flies ! 

But he should learne besides, forsooth, 

To make a devill rise. 

This was allowed to the match. 

And he must fall to charme. 

So both against the poynted day 

Themselves for spirits arme. 

The gull gets on a surplis, 

With a crossc upon his brest. 


Lik(; Allen playing Faustus, 

In that manner was he drest ; 

And having all his furniture, 

He steps into the ring. 

Sales his instructer, Stir not out, 

I must goe fetch a thing 

I left below I needs must have ; 

So out of doores he hies, 

Unto an officer hard by, 

Saying, Sir, in any wise 

Come with all expedition. 

And I will bring you to a place 

"Where a most wicked creature is, 

A wretch that wanteth grace, 

Raising of devils, which you know 

The law doth straight forbid ; 

The action is so horrible, 

I durst not keepe it hid. 

The officer in all the hast 

Unto the. house repaires, 

And his director wils him goe 

Directly up the staires : 

Meane while himselfe slips cleane away. 

The constable comes in. 

And in the kings name chargeth him 

To cease his hellish sin. 

Art thou a raising devils heere, 

I charge thee to obay me. 

Quoth gull. If I should stir a foote 

Ten thousand spirits would slay mc ; 


Keepe out of my circle, come not iieere, 

Say you faire warning have ; 

Depart before the devill come, 

Least hell be made thy grave. 

rie raise the ghost of Hercules 

Shall braine thee with his club ; 

Doest thou not see a smoake appeare ? 

Why now comes Belzebub ; 

I conjure thee begone I say. 

Depart by Fee^ Fa, Fum ; 

Now Rago, Crago, is at hand ; 

Looke where his homes doe come ! 

The officer imagining 

He saw some thing arise, 

Ran downe the staires halfe mad with feare, 

And Heli3, clubs, halberds, cries. 

So apprehended him presently, 

And carries him away 

Unto a justice, where the foole 

Had not a word to say, 

But onely that he ment no harme. 

And would a devill see. 

Why, quoth the magistrate, thou shalt, 

I'le send thee where they be : 

Incarnate devils, such as doe 

Assume a humaine shape : 

To Newgate with him presently. 

For playing Plutoes ape. 

Where when he came, he found the knave 

That taught him conjuration : 


Villaine, quoth he, base rogue and slave, 

Is this your charming fashion, 

To coussen me of twenty pounds, 

And bring me heere to hell ? 

Kinde gentleman, quoth he, forbeare, 

rie recompence you well ; 

Of purpose I have met you heere. 

Because you shall see art ; 

To morrow, by a spirits help, 

We both from hence will part, 

And all things I have promis'd you 

Shall be perform'd at full, 

So next day got himselfe releas'd, 

And there leaves goodman Gull. 


A ciTTY wanton, full of pride and lust. 

Of Venus straine and disposition just, 

(That could her husband on the fore-head strike, 

And make his brow to swell, Acteon like, 

Yet he, poore seely man, ne're felt the smart. 

But tooke all kinde that came from his sweet hart), 

Had two choyse friends to sport herselfe with all. 

Two cousens you may cuckold-makers call : 

The one, a captaine and a martiall wight. 

Was champion in his mistris cause to fight. 

And for the service that he did by day 

She did reward him with a nightly i)ay. 


The other was a courtier, gallant, brave. 

That great content to her sweete person gave : 

Her deere Adonis, quick and pleasant witted ; 

With these the vertuous cittizen was fitted. 

To them she gave kinde entertainment still, 

Having a maid sorted unto her will, 

Which for her service she did much applaude. 

Being her mistris crafty, cunning baude, 

A trusty messenger from one to other. 

Who for her paines got mony, and the tother 

They call good turne : which Bettris would not leese, 

Because her service did deserve such fees. 

The courtier having one time understood. 

By cuckolds absence, how the time was good 

To goe a grafting, hies him to the place 

Where he might give loves mistris loves embrace. 

While he was in his courtly complements, 

The maid comes in, and heavy newes presents, 

Saying the captaine was a coming in. 

Which to the courtier ever foe had bin. 

For they beare hatred of a jealous spite, 

And each had vow'd where e're they met to fight. 

Oh, love, quoth she, creepe underneath the bed ; 

This is no fighting place ; sweete, hide thy head ; 

For love of Christ, keepe you unseene asunder. 

Well, for this time, quoth he, I will creepe under, 

Because thy name in question shall not bee, 

Else would I die on him for love of thee. 

So up comes captaine, and he fals to court, 

With speach befitting Mars and Venus sport, 


Kinde love, quoth lie, now Vulcane is not lieere, 
I'le claime the rights befitting love, my deere. 
Had I the courtier here lov'd thee before, 
While we were busie, he should keepe the dore, 
Or I would make incission in his guts, 
And carve his carcasse full of wounds and cuts. 
With that the maide againe comes up the staires. 
Crying, Deere mistris, now begins our cares ; 
My maister's comming, what shift will you make ? 
Now hould out, wit, tis for our credits sake : 
Captaine, quoth she, to rid all doubt and feare, 
Unto my counsaile lend a willing eare ; 
Put but in practise what I shall devise, 
And on my life no prejudice will rise. 
Drawe out your w^eapon, and goe swearing downe ; 
Looke terrible (I neede not teach you frowne) 
And vow you'le be reveng'd some other time, 
And then leave me to make the reason rime. 
I will, sales he, so downe the staires he goes, 
With rapier drawne, such feareful looks he showes, 
The cuckold trembles to behould the sight. 
And up he comes, as he had met some spright. 
Ah, wife, said he, what creature did I meete ? 
Hath he done any harme to thee, my sweete ? 
A verier ruffian I did never see ; 
The sight of him hath almost distracted me. 
My loving husband, as I heere sate sowing, 
Thinking no harme, or any evill knowing, 
A gentleman comes up the staires amaine. 
Crying, Oh, helpe me, or I shall be slaine : 


I of compassion, husband (life is deere) 

Undei' your bed in pitty hid him heere ; 

His foe sought for him with his rapier drawne, 

While I with teares did wash this peece of lawne. 

But when he saw he could not finde him out 

(After he tossed all my things about), 

He went downe swaggering even as you met him, 

My saving the poore man so much did fret him. 

A blessed deede, quoth he ; it prooves thee wise : 

Alas ! the gentleman uneasie lies ; 

Wife, call him forth ; I hope all danger 's past ; 

Good Bettris, looke that all the doores be fast. 

Sir, you are welcome to my house, I vow, 

I joy it is your sanctuary now, 

And count myself most happy in the thing. 

That such good fortune did you hither bring. 

Sir, said the courtier, hearty thankes I give, 

I will requite your kindnes, if I live. 

But know not how to gratifie your wife, 

For this great favour, saving of my life ; 

Yet, gentlewoman, this assurance take, 

Some satisfaction I in part will make, 

If not in whole ; accept a willing mind, 

That vowes to honour all your sex and kinde ; 

More loving far in heart then men you be, 

Extending your affections bounteous, free, 

Most affable and pittifull by nature, 

The worlds even supreame all excelling creature. 

Fond men unjustly doe abuse your names, 

With slandrous speeches, and most false defames, 


They lye, and raile, and envies i)oyson spit, 
But those are mad-men that doe offer it. 
They that injoy their wit and perfect sence, 
Wil hate the hart should breed a thoughts offence, 
Accounting it a woman's greater honor, 
To have a senceles foole exclaime upon her. 
Farewell, my life's protector, health attend thee, 
With what I have I ever will befi'iend thee. 


As on the way I Itenerated, 
A Rurall person I Obviated, 
Interrogating times Transitatiou, 
And of the passage Demonstration. 
My apprehension did Ingenious scan, 
That he was meerely a Simplitian, 
So when I saw he was Extravagant, 
Unto the obscure vulgar Consonant, 
I bad him vanish most Promiscuously, 
And not contaminate my company. 


A greedy minded grippled clearke, 
Had gathered store of gould, 


And studied for a place secure, 

His hoorded heape to hould. 

At length into an antient tombe, 

He put an yron cheste, 

Cram'd full of coyne, and wrote thereon, 

These words, Hie Detis est. 

A subtill sexton seing it, 

And greedy of the prey, 

Came very secret in the night. 

And tooke the gould away. 

Then blotting out these Latine words. 

The priest had writ thereon, 

Wrote Resurrexit, non est hie, 

Your God is risen and ffon. 

A coward's bolde challenge, that was beaten 


Whereas of late thou did'st provoke mine ire. 
To burne in choler like mount ^tnas fire, 
Rowsing my courage forth of valours den. 
To fight with monsters and to combat men, 
Know I am for thee, from the cannon shot 
Unto the smallest bodkin can be got. 
Name any weapon what-so-e're thou wilt. 
May-pole, or ship-mast, for to run a tilt, 
On horse, or foote, in armor, or in shirt. 
Thou shalt finde me true valorous, expert ; 


Pike-staffe and pistoll, musket, two-liand sword, 

Or any weapon Europe can afford. 

Let falchion, polax, launce, or halbert try, 

With Flemings-knives either to steake or snye, 

I'le meete thee naked to the very skin, 

And stab with pen -knives Caesars wounds therein. 

At length, this Gull that seem'd of tongue so tall, 

Was with his adversarie met withall. 

Whose blowes the champions fury did allay, 

And with a stick, his rapier tooke away. 


Who dares dispraise Tobacco 

While the smoke is in my nose ? 

Or say but fogh, my pipe doth smell ? 

I would I knew but those 

Durst offer such indignity 

To that which I prefer, 

For all the brood of black-a-moores 

Will sweare I doe not er 

In taking this most worthy whiffe, 

What valiant cavaleire 

That will not make his nostrils smoke. 

At cups of wine and beere ? 

When as my purse cannot afford 

My stomack flesh or fish, 

I sup with smoke, and feedc as well 

And fat as one can wish. 


Come into any company, 

Though not a crosse you have, 

Yet offer them Tobacco, 

And their liquor you shall have. 

They say olde Hospitalitie 

Kept chimneies smoaking still, 

Now what your chimnies want of that. 

Our smoaking noses will. 

Much victuals serve for gluttony, 

To fatten men like swine, 

But he's a frugall man indeed 

That with a leafe can dine ; 

And needs no napkin for his hands, 

His fingers ends to wipe, 

But keeps his kitchin in a box, 

And roast meat in a pipe. 

This is the way to help deare yeares, 

A meale a day's enough, 

Take out Tobacco for the rest, 

By pipe, or else by snuife, 

And you shall finde it phisicall, 

A corpulent fat man 

Within a yeare will shrinke so small, 

That one his guts might span ; 

'Tis full of phisick — rare eifects 

It worketh sundry waies, 

The leafe greene, drie, steept, burned, the dust 

Have each their speciall praise : 

It makes some sober that are drunke, 

Some drunke of sober sence, 


And all the moysture hurts the braine, 

It fetcheth smoaking thence. 

All the foure elements unite, 

When you Tobacco take, 

For earth and water, aire and fire, 

Doe a conjunction make. 

Your pipe is earth, the fire's therein, 

The ayre your breathing smoke, 

Good liquor must be present too, 

For feare you chance to choke. 

Heere, gentlemen, health t'ye all, 

'Tis passing good and strong, 

1 would speake more, but from the pipe 

I cannot stay so long. 

At Gads-hill late (where men are theevish-crost,) 

An honest friend his purse with ten pounds lost, 

And as the villaines were new gone away. 

Three horsemen came, to whome the man did say : — 

Oh gentlemen ! most happy all you be. 

To scape two theeves, even now have robbed me ; 

'Twas great good fortune that 'till now you staid. 

Nay friend, (qd. they), thou art deceived, they said. 

The theeves were happy as the matter stands, 

For, by our stay, they have escaped our hands. 

Hipocrisie (thou lying knave) well met, 
I have thee rascall in my paper net, 


Thou that wilt sell salv^ation for a shilling, 
And entertains thine owne damnation willing, 
Thou goest about with many a lie and fable, 
To get thy diet at another's table. 
Yet lovest no man, be he small or great, 
Thy love extends no farther then his meat : 
But villaine, take this guerdon for thy hyer, 
Be first of all approov'd a common Iyer, 
Then for each time thy cursed tongue hath tript, 
Be thou from great men's houses soundly whipt. 
And last of all, when God and men detest thee, 
A hempen halter with a nooze molest thee. 


A smug of Vulcan's forging trade, 

Besmoak'd with sea-cole-fire, 

The rarest man to helpe a horse, 

That carmen could desire. 

For any jade, he phisick had, 

That ever load did drawe ; 

The appoplexy, falling evil], 

The head-ache, crampe or haw, 

Poll evill, canker in the eye. 

Or ulcer in the nose. 

The jampasse, creste-fall, withers griefe. 

The navill-gall, all those, 

AYith diverse tedious to rehearse, 

Crowne-scab, and quitter-bone. 


Srangulion, glanders, yellow es, wormes, 

Smug would give ground to none. 

Yet this rare smith to cure one plague 

That vext him was too young ; 

(Wliich made him weary of his life), 

It was his wive's curst tongue. 

If to the ale-house he had gon. 

To take or give a pot, 

Being of a dry complexion, 

(For a smith you know is hot,) 

His wife was present at his heeles, 

And rong him out this peale : 

Rogue, rascall, villaine, theefe and slave, 

(Her almes thus would she deale,) 

Come home thou drunkard to thy worke. 

Each knave hath thee at beck, 

A pox take such a husband. 

And the devill breake his neck. 

Thou sittest at the ale house heere, 

While I at home doe spare. 

Not caring, (so thy guts be full) 

How thy poore wife doth fare. 

Thy servants doe even what they list, 

Thy children they may starve. 

Hanging's to good for such a rogue, 

Farre worse thou doest deserve. 

Out, filthy beast, I loath thy lookes. 

And hate thee like a toad ; 

Drunke ev'ry day, ungodly wretch. 

And when thou hast thy load, 



Call for tobacco, that thou art 

As blacke within as soote. 

Before the Lord, wer't not for shame, 

I'de stamp thee under-foote. 

Get thee to worke ; out, villaine, out, 

Thou drinkst not one drop more : 

I would these whores that trust such knaves, 

JNIight ne're be paid their score. 

They never knew what sorrow meant, 

But griefes to others give, 

A mischeife light on hostesses, 

That doe by drunkards live. 

This was her daily kindest phrase, 

From morning untill night, 

That Smug would tremble like a leafe. 

When she appear'd in sight. 

At length more wearied with her tongue 

Then travaile tires a jade, 

Unto himselfe, most resolute, 

A cruell vow he made. 

Which was, when she did scould againe, 

(Which sure would be next morrow) 

To knock her downe most valiantly. 

And make an end of sorrow. 

This being decreed, his wife next day 

Begins a fresh allarme. 

With rogue, and theefe. Smug takes a barre 

Of yron — breakes her arme. 

The neighbours all admire at this, 

To heare the patient smith 


Had broke an arme of his curst wife, 

To tame her tongue therewith. 

Well, there's a surgeon fetcht in hast, 

To take the queane in cure ; 

Who, for the space of many months, 

Did extreame paine indure ; 

For of all flesh, a shrowes they say, 

Is very hard to heale : 

Therefore no wise man willingly 

Will have therewith to deale. 

But cur'd at length, (though long before, 

And like to cost her life), 

The smith did aske the surgeon, 

In the heai-ing of his wife. 

What would content him for his paines ? 

Who of an honest minde, 

Did answer thus : I see y'are poore, 

Therefore I'le use you kinde. 

I'le take but forty shillings, friend, 

With that I'le be content. 

Why then, qd. Smug, hould, beer's foure pound ; 

AVhich paiment thus is meant : 

One arme I pay for hath beene broke ; 

And tother forty hould 

Against I breake the other arme, 

The next time she doth scould. 

His wife sees tliis, and sees him pay 

Before hand for a cure. 

Doth live most gently, quiet, meeke. 

Guiding her tongue so sure, 


That Smug became a happy smith, 
Unto his heart's desire, 
And had her ever at command, 
In all he could require. 

The Knave of Clubhs his part hath plaid, 

But now wee want Hart, Diamond, Spado, 

To shew themselves, like in true shape, 

The reason why they doe escape 

Is this : of late they fell at jarre ; 

Disperst asunder very farre, 

Harts in the country, at new-cut, 

And Spades in New-gate safe is shut, 

And Diamonds, he is gon to seas 

Sick of the scurvy : which disease 

K he escape, and get on shore. 

We will present you with all foure, 

And make them march unto the presse. 

To utter all their roguishnes, 

So till they be together drawne. 

Pray keepe the Knave of Clubs in pawne. 



Of Harts. 

Haile Fellow, well met. 

L O ND ON : 

Printed for Jolm r»:iclie, and an^ to l)c soldo at liis slioj) at 
the entrinii' in of the Ivoyall Exchange. \i\\?>. 



Wee knaves (whom all men knaves doe call ) 
That serve knaves turnes to play witliall, 
Imploid for precious time's abuse, 
And turned to eveiy cheater's use, 
That in the ale-house, day and night, 
Cause drunken knaves to brawlc and fight : 
Make swearing knaves let damn'd othes flye : 
And idle knaves prove beggers by : 
And carelesse knaves to spend their thrift : 
And roaguish knaves to sharke and shift : 
And cheating knaves to goe most brave : 
And foolish knaves lose all they have : 
And greedy knaves to use false play : 
And needy knaves wrong whom they may : 
And new-cut knaves show cut-throat trickes : 
And coos'ning knaves false cai'ds to mixe. 
Wee friends (in tearmes of knaves rewards) 
Are singled forth a paire of cardes. 
By one that w^e must yeeld unto. 
Whose office hath with knaves to doe : 


For he that here their humours Avrites 

Is kept from sleepe by knaves a nights. 

Night-walkers such as sleepe by day : 

And in the night hunt out for pray : 

That imitate the Bat and Owle, 

Night-Raven, and such Cat-eyed Fowle. 

One childe of darknesse seekes his puncke ; 

Another, at his liquor drunke, 

By statute claimes his due, (the stockes :) 

Another closely jDicking lockes, 

Never regarding hang-man's feare, 

Till Tyburne-tiiFany he weare : 

Others to quarrels them apply, 

To get some cloake or hat thereby. 

And some for their advantage looking, 

At open windowes to be hooking, 

Free purchase that way to attaine : 

But leave these to another vaine. 

It is the knave of Spades his taske 

Their deedes of darknesse to unmaske : 

The knave of Clubs hath first begunne, 

And I am next, now he hath done. 

His tale of knaves hath thrice beene tolde, 

And he is printed, bought and solde, 

Which made me haste againe to Presse, 

Least Dimond should my place possesse : 

For he is come with newes like these. 

And brought much knaverie home from seas. 

Yet since that Clubs did promise make, 

That I next him my place should take : 


Thei'efore that credit He not leese, 

How ever Club and Spade agrees, 

In colour blacke, and I all red ; 

And we alike all foure be bred : 

I am the heartiest knave of all, 

(Stout-hearted knaves are counted tall) 

To take a purse, or make a fray, 

Tis we that swagger it away. 

Then, hollow-hearted knaves there be. 

Whose inside no man's eyes can see : 

Such as will fawne, and speake most kindc. 

While wholesome profit they doe finde. 

Hard-hearted knaves there likewise are, 

That to undoe men never care, 

And gripe them with their divels clawes. 

In all extreames of strictest lawes. 

False-hearted knaves that lies embrace. 

And sweare blacke 's white unto your face : 

That to deceive in what they sell. 

For twelve-pence venter soule to hell. 

Of these and all Hearts gracelesse bad. 

Such plentie there is to be had. 

That London hath no lane nor streets 

In which knaves doe not hourely meete ; 

They pace in Paules, as gallants doe, 

They keep Exchange like marchants to : 

At Westminster they walke the Hall : 

In tavernes they doe knocke and call : 

In trades-mens shops they daily be : 

With punckes, at playes, you shall them see : 


And (as I am true knave of Harts) 
Some drawne about in leather carts : 
With such a kinde of lazie pride 
About the citie streetes they ride 
As though they were diseas'd and lame, 
Or else that London were the same 
Like Ninivie to travell in, 
That three dayes journey would have bin : 
Such carting ne'er was seene before, 
A coach must carry to church doore 
An asse that 's with four horses drawne ; 
Yea, Mistresse Easie, to the pawne 
Must passe upon two paire of wheeles, 
As though the poxe were in her heeles : 
Shee fearing t'tread upon the ground : 
Such idle pride the divell hath found. 
For drawing up and downe the streete. 
That God might make them without feete. 
Because they passe about the towne 
Like cripples, carryed up and downe. 
But leave this luggage, borne about 
Unto the scurvy and the gout. 
And come to gamsters now a while. 
At whom the knave of Harts doth smile, 
To see what shifting trickes be us'd ; 
To see what poore guls there are abus'd, 
That follow play unto their cost. 
Till all they get, and earne, be lost ; 
And then they borrow, sharke, and shift, 
In hope of Fortune's better gift, 


For to recover their lost part, 
Striving against the cheater's art. 
Poore fooles that cards and ale-house ply, 
Till all they get consumes thereby : 
The vitlers poasts all chalk'd with scores, 
And they turn'd beggers out of doores. 
Their kinde wives that have well deserv'd, 
Beate and misus'd : their children starved : 
Fie rascals, villaines, drunken knaves, 
Base minded, brutish, roguish slaves : 
It grieves my hart exceeding much, 
When they a payre of cardes doe touch . 
For harmelesse sport we first were made, 
And men for recreation plaid : 
Now each false hand and theevish fist 
Shufiie and cut us as they list : 
And many a rogue with coos'ning trickes. 
From onely cardes his living pickes. 


We are abused in a great degree, 

Fcg:- there's no knaves so wronged as are we 

By those that chiefely should be our part-takers : 

And thus it is my maisters, you card-makers. 

All other knaves are at their owne free-will, 

To brave it out, and follow fashion still 


In any cut, according to the time, 

But we poore knaves (I know not for what crime), 

Are kept in pie-bald suites, which we have worne 

Hundred of yeares, this hardly can be borne. 

The idle-headed French devis'd us first, 

Who of all fashion-mongers is the worst : 

For he doth change farre oftner than the moone ; 

Dislikes his morning suite in th' after-noone. 

The English is his imitating ape, 

In every toy the tailers-sheares can shape, 

Comes dropping after, as the divell entices, 

And putteth on the French-man's cast devises ; 

Yet wee (with whom thus long they both have plaid) 

Must weare the suites in which we first were made. 

It is no marvell every base consort, 

When he hath lost his money, will report 

All ill of us, and giveth these rewards, 

A poxe upon these scurvy, lowsie cardes 2 

How can we choose but have the itching gift. 

Kept in one kinde of cloaths, and never shift ? 

Or to be scurvy how can we forbeare, 

That never yet had shirt or band to weare ? 

How bad I and my fellow Diamond goes, 

We never yet had garter to our hose. 

Nor any shooe to put upon our feete, 

With such base cloaths, 'tis e'en a shame to see't ; 

My sleeves are like some Morris-dauncing fellow, 

My stockings ideot-like, red, greene, and yeallow : 

My breeches like a paire of lute-pins be, 

Scarse buttocke-roome, as every man may see. 


Like three-penie watch-men three of us doe stand, 
Each with a rustic browne-bill in liis hand : 
And Chibs he hokls an arrow, like a clownc, 
The head-end upward, and the feathers downe. 
Thus we are wrong'd, and thus we are agriev'd, 
And thus long time we have beene unreliev'd, 
But, card-makers, of you Harts reason craves, 
Wliy we should be restraind, above all knaves, 
To weax'e such patched and disguis'd attire ? 
Answere but this, of kindnesse, we require : 
Shew us (I pray) some reason how it haps, 
That we are ever bound to weare flat-caps, 
As though we had unto a citie's trade 
Bin prentises, and so were free-men made. 
Had we blacke gownes, upon my life I sweare, 
Many would say that we foure Serjeants were : 
And that would bring card-play in small request 
With gallants that were fearefull of arrest : 
For melancholy they would ever be 
A Serjeants picture in their hands to see : 
Others that Clubs and Spades apparrell notes, 
Because they both are in side-garded coates. 
To arme them two usurers, villanous rich, 
To whom the divell is beholden much. 
And loves their trades of getting gold so well, 
They shall be welcome to his flames in hell. 
Others say, if we had white aprons on, 
We would be like unto A non, A non, 
What is it gentlemen you please to drinke ? 
And some, because we have no beards, doe thinke 


We are foure panders, with our lowsie lockes, 

Whose naked chinnes are shaven with the poxe : 

Divers opinions there be other showes, 

Because we walke in jerkins and in hose ; 

Withoute an upper garment, cloake, or gowne. 

We must be tapsters running up and downe 

With Cannes of beere, (malt sod in fishes broth) 

And those they say are fil'd with nick and froth. 

Other avouch w'are of the smoky crew, 

A trade that stinckes, although it be but new, 

Such fellowes as sit all the day in smother. 

And drinke, like divels, fire to each other. 

Thus are we plaid upon by each base groome. 

Nay, let a paire of cards lye in a roome 

Where any idle fellow commeth in, 

The knaves hee'll single out, and thus begin ; 

Here are foure millers, for their honest dealing : 

Or tailers, for the gift they have in stealing : 

Or brokers, for their buying things are stole : 

Or bakers, for their looking throw a hole : 

Or colliers, for not filling of their sackes : 

Thus we are plaid upon by sawcy Jackes. 

And therefore, if perswasions may but winne you, 

Good card-makers, (if there be any goodnes in you) 

Apparrell us with more respected care. 

Put us in hats, our caps are worne thread-bare, 

Let us have standing collers, in the fashion ; 

(All are become a stiffe-necke generation) 

Rose hat-bands, with the shagged-ragged-rufFe : 

Great cabbage-shooestrings, (pray you bigge enough) 


French dublet, and the Spanish hose to breecli it ; 
Short cloakes, old Mandilions (we beseech it) 
Exchange our swords, and take away our bils, 
Let us have rapiers, (knaves love fight that kils) 
Put us in bootes, and make us leather legs. 
This Harts most humbly, and his fellowes begs. 



What makes this foole think all's by him out-fac'd ? 
Is he in rancke with men of worship plac'd ? 
Or, doth some wit laid hidden in his braine, 
Bi'eake out, and worke a loftie sprited vaine ? 
Or, doth his wealth encrease, because we finde 
Mony makes fooles most divellish proud in mind ? 
None of all this, your judgement wanders wide, 
One sute of cloaths is cause of all his pride ; 
A fashion that was hatcht some weeke agoe, 
By Lucifer in Plutoes court below, 
And sent from that same prince of darknes there, 
As livery for his sonnes on earth to weare. 
From others for to know his proud ones by, 
This is the cause that makes him looke so hie. 
An asse that knowes not all the cloaths we weare 
Against our parents' fall doe witness beare. 
And we that had gone naked, weare the same 
For punishment of sinne, to cover shame : 
Foole, thou art like a pardoned theefe, allow'd 
To weare an halter, and of tliat bee's proud. 



Hee that dotli want an office come to me, 

lie raise Lis fortunes to a knight's degree ; 

Advance his state, and make him rich in gohl, 

To checke inferiours ; living uncontroul'd. 

He shall make choice of places, please himselfe, 

Yet I disdaine to doe this good for pelfe, 

I take delight to doe the best I can. 

To grace my friend, and pleasure any man : 

Ouely the meanes by others must be wrought, 

Which in respect are trifles, things of nought : 

As, in plaine tearmes, thus much I needs must say. 

There must be gifts to make an office way : 

Gratuitie, that will be noted downe. 

Some piece of velvet for a ladyes gowne, 

A thing of nothing ; oi\ a geldings gift 

Unto a gentleman, must help to lift 

The waight of businesse, that it may aspire. 

A suite, or so, here's all that we require : 

Thus fingring money to preferre the case. 

The office proves not worth the hangman's place. 


Silence a while, if you will wonders heare. 

Here 's tongue will tickle any itching eare : 

A Linguist that discourseth passing well, 

So full of newes, his braines and browes do swell : 


He will your admiration entertaine 

With secret things, from Rome, from France and 

Barbary, Turkey, Indies East and "West : 
He hath all kingdomes businesse in his brest. 
Wliat 's done above ground he doth certain know it, 
And on his friends most franckly will bestow it : 
For, at your hands, he looks to be no winner. 
Except some breakfast, if you please, or dinner. 
Or, lend him fortie shillings for a weeke, 
(With travellers, monie may be to seeke) 
If you can spare him such a trifling summe. 
You shall have newes in pawne, til payment come, 
And rare inventions that were never found, 
Shall yeeld the author many a thousand pound : 
This trade the divell did for 's sonnes devise. 
To picke a living out of damned lyes. 


This gentleman, with ores hath past the river, 
And very pockey newes he can deliver : 
From Lambeth -Marsh he newly is ti'ansported, 
Where he hath beene most filthily consorted. 
With such hot spirited fiery feminine, 
That heate him more then underneath the line. 
Burnt wine, stew'd prunes, a puncke to solace him, 
Serv'd thus, he cares not who doth sincke or swim, 
Onely his businesse is at comming backe. 
To seeke a surgeon, pui'ging he doth lacke, 

E 2 


Feeling liis body something out of quiet, 

He must goe sweat upon't and take the dyet : 

But, to his griefe, this wofull speech he heares, 

He is be-pepei*'d over head and eares : 

And howsoever it may seeme disgrace, 

The pox will pull away his beard from 's face : 

Nay, after that his chinne hath lost his pride, 

'TwiU put him to a periwigge beside : 

But now he vowes whores' bargaines very bare, 

For he hath try'd and found it to a haire. 


Ile shew you good, the best in towne, assure you, 
Better (in truth) mony cannot procure you : 
Indeed and verily, were you my brother, 
Take it upon my word before another . 
Beleeve me, it is for your turne, in sadnesse ; 
I have solde dearer hath beene worse in badnesse ; 
By yea and nay, this is no faulte you finde : 
Verely sir, 'twill weare, to please your minde. 
Now certainly this is my lowest price ; 
Indeed, indeed, I sell not one thing twice : 
Now as I live, I cannot sell it so. 
Surely you will not match it, if you goe : 
Take it, and pay as you doe finde it prove, 
Nay, at a word, I needes must have above. 
If that I lose not twelve-pence in it, than 
Assuredly, I am no honest man. 
Beleeve him now, though aU the rest be lyes, 
For, after that the party's gone that buyes. 


He comes to's partner, sits him laughing downe, 
And sayes, by this hard foole I got a crowne. 


This villaine turnes an out-side sad for sinne, 
And bids his heart be carelesse, glad within : 
His prayers at church have fained sighs between, 
And stiU he sits where he may best be seene : 
When he doth give an almes in Jesus' name. 
He lookes about to see who sees the same 
For prayer, or deedes of Christian charitie 
He alwayes seekes to have some witnesse by, 
Belike he hath some doubt in minde proceedes, 
Lest God denie that he hath done good deedes : 
He more abhorres not to uncover 's head, 
Hearing the name of Jesus uttered. 
Then sweare by God and take his name in vaine : 
Yea, sight of surplesse he doth more disdaine, 
Than to be taken in his neighbour's bed. 
He like a bull-rush can hang down his head. 
And sighing, say, his youth his God offended, 
When, never worse, most cause now to be mended. 
To make faire outward show, ther 's no man boulder. 
Yet all he doth meere cousens the beholder. 


Boy y 'are a villaine, didst thou fill this sacke ? 
'Tis flat you rascall, thou hast plaid the Jacke : 


Bring in a quart of maligo, right true ; 

And looke, you rogue, that it be pee and kevv. 

Some good Tobacco, quickly, and a light : 

Sirrah, this same was mingled yester-night. 

What pipes are these ? now take them broken up. 

Another bowle, I doe not Hke this cup. 

You slave, what linnen hast thou brought us here ? 

Fill me a beaker, looke it be good beere. 

What claret 's this ? the very worst in towne : 

Your taverne-bush deserves a pulling downe. 

Boy, bring good wine, when men of judgement cals, 

Or lie send pots and cups against the wals ; 

Five qualities to wine there doth belong, 

Coole, dauncing, fragrant, beautifull, and strong. 

Thus lie be serv'd, neate, briske, without a dash, 

Or, lie not pay a penny for your trash. 

By this his braines coole fragrant beauty feeles. 

And strong, and dauncing, trips up both his heeles. 


What God commands tliis wretched creature lothes. 
And never names his maker but by othes : 
And weares a tongue of such a damned fashion, 
That swearing is liis onely recreation : 
In morning, even as soon as he doth rise. 
He sweares the sleepe is scarcely out his eyes : 
Then makes him ready, swearing all the while 
The di'owsie weather did him much beguile. 


Got ready, he to dice or tables goes, 
Swearing by God at every cast lie tlirowes. 
To dinner next, and then (in stead of grace) 
He sweares his stomacke is in hungry case. 
No sooner din'd but cals. Come, take away. 
And sweares tis late, hee must goe see a play : 
There sits and sweares to all he heares and sees. 
That speech is good, — that action disagrees. 
So takes his ores, and sweares he must make hast, 
His houre of supper-time is almost past. 
You never have his tongue from sweai'ing free, 
Unlesse in 's mouth tobacco-pipe there be. 


This gentleman hath neither house nor land, 
Nor any trade of life but bidding stand. 
Stay quarter-day he never can abide, 
But takes up rent upon the highway-side. 
Deliver him your purse, or else you dye : 
His fearefull enemie is Hue and Cry ; 
Which at the heeles so hants his frighted ghost. 
That he at last, in foot-man's Inne must host. 
Some castle dolorous compos'd of stone, 
Like (let me see) Newgate is such a one. 
There he denies, forsweares, with execration. 
Renouncing heaven, and wishing for damnation. 
If ever he entended such a deede, 
Or in his heart, so base a thought could breede ; 


But when his actions once are truly try'd, 

And justice comes the matter to decide, 

He is committed to the hang-man's hand, 

Who charmes his tongue for ever bidding s^tand. 

In Tiburne-text his epitaph then be ; 

/, others rob'd; the hang-man rifled mee. 


I, WRETCH, in want and woe doe pine, and lacke : 

A suite of ragges and tatters on my backe, 

Wherein the itching vermine doe abound. 

Is all my wealth, and yet my limbes be sound : 

No sicknesse nor defect in any part, 

But I detest all labour with my heart : 

With worke and taking paines I will not deale, 

lie rather begge, yea, play the theefe and steale, 

Before I'le put roy body in a sweate. 

And make my hands the earners of my meate. 

I make my account, food is of nature's giving, 

And that the world is bound to finde me living : 

And therefore till that death doe intercept. 

Now we are borne, we must and will be kepi. 

Doth not experience teach in these our dayes, 

A man must be beholding many wayes 

To wealthy churles, that licke the kingdoms fat ? 

And begge for worke ? friends I will none of that ; 

I never was so farre in love with moyling ; 

To begge or steale cuts off much pains and toiling 



To entermeddle with another's state 

And set good friends and neighbours at debate ; 

To carry tales and false untrnths about, 

Whereby contentions grow, and fallings out ; 

To sooth a man, to heare how hee's inclin'd, 

And then acquaint another with his minde ; 

To finde out faults by every one he knowes, 

And any secret falsely to disclose ; 

That is the taske this rascall takes in hand, 

Affaires of other men to understand ; 

His owne particular hee doth neglect, 

And that concernes him not doth most respect. 

With he, and she, and that, and this man's dealing, 

He alwayes hath some matter in revealing. 

Knowes how his neighbours and their wives agree, 

Can tell how rich unto a groat tliey be. 

What gains they have by that they deale withall. 

And how their states in wealth doe rise or fall, 

But that this villaine shall be hang'd in hell 

He never boasts, although he knowes it well. 


Sir, save your labour, spend no breath in vaine, 
Keepe your instructions, they smell puritane : 
If that your nicenesse can abide no jest. 
You may refraine, we hold your absence best. 


You must not teach good-fellowes what to doe, 

We can serve God, and yet be merry too : 

Here's better men by ods, then yon, in place, 

Can dine and suppe without your saying grace. 

My father was foure-score before he dide, 

Faire gamester, and a good consort beside ; 

Belov'd amongst his neighbours (where he dwelt) 

Yet of the puritane he never smelt. 

When he had guests with stomacks to their meat, 

His grace was this ; Welcome, my master, eate ; 

I pray fall too ; and let few words suffice ; 

And never taught his children otherwise : 

So (for my part) I follow that rule still. 

Give me good victuals, and say grace who will ; 

It causeth hunger in my guts a-breeding. 

And keepes them fasting, that would faiue be feeding. 


Brave house,bravecloaths, brave cheere,braveprodigall, 

Brave foole, brave ev'ry thing, brave whores, and all. 

Are for this gallant ; all his care is growne, 

HoAV he may spend his mony, to be knowne. 

Along the streetes as he doth jetting passe. 

His out-side showes him for an inward asse. 

In a tobacco-shop (resembling hell, — 

Fire, stincke, and smoake, must be where divels dwell). 

He sits, you cannot see his face for vapour, 

OfFring to Pluto with a tallow taper : 


In tavernes, with his drunken fellow sinners, 
He paies the bill of all their Bacehus dinners. 
And there in bowles of wine he onely joyes, 
Consorted thus, whores, fidlers, roring-boyes. 
But note him now, and leave him at the best ; 
Best, said I ? then the divell's an honest guest. 
Past the Meridian now his sunne declines, 
And in the stead of French and Spanish wines. 
Betakes himselfe to English beere and ale, 
Sels all his land, dies in some dolefull jayle. 


Extend thy love in all humilitie. 

Let bountie joyne with liberalitie : 

Lend, give, forgive, spend, and consume thy state ; 

Nay, if thy life, this wretch will be ingrate : 

Though thou in nothing he demands denie him. 

He thinks all's debt, and thou art bound to pay him. 

Thy house, thy goods, thy purse, thy bond, thy bill, 

Ligratitude remaines a monster still. 

But doe not wonder at this beast so much, 

That towards men he ever proveth such, 

Who are but earthly mortals, even as he : 

For to the God of heaven, thus hee'll be. 

All gifts and blessings the Almighty gives : 

Directly like the swinish hogge he lives 

That feeds on fruit which from the tree doth fall, 

But upwards, whence it comes, ne'er lookcs at all ; 


Receives his meat even like the horse and mule, 
The oxe, and asse, that have not reason's rule. 
Heaven hates this wretch, on earth good men abhor 

Hell and damnation is prepared for him. 


This sonne of Mammon, monyes cursed slave, 

Wil part with nothing, and would aU things have. 

House, land, lease, shipping, cattell, field and wood, 

By any meanes, his conscience is so good. 

Tell him of heaven and celestiall things ; 

Of hell, that horror, woe and torment brings ; 

Of judgement, where all sinners must appeare; 

Of death, that gives nor day, nor hour, nor yeer ; 

He looks as though he understood you not, 

And sayes, there's little mony to be got : 

'Tis a dead world, no stirring, he hath crosses, 

Rehearseth up a bead rowle of his losses : 

And sighes, as thogh his hart would break within. 

And swearing says ; Wliat villaine I have bin 

To credit knaves that have deceiv'd me so ! 

But from this houre He ne'er trust friend nor foe . 

Come father, brother, uncle, coosen, friend. 

He sweare I made a vow, I will not lend 

To any breathes alive, nor wiU be drawne. 

To lend a penny, but on two-pence pawne. 



Thou that upon my picture here dost looke, 

I grieve thou hast a groate to buy this booke : 

If any jest be here to make thee smile, 

I raging rave with fury all the while. 

I hate the printer if he have done well, 

And stationers that doth these humours sell : 

In briefe, I am in love with none alive : 

And might I have my wishes, none should thrive. 

On others' miseries and woes I feede, 

I never smile but at some wicked deede. 

Losses on land and casualties at seas, 

My recreation doth consist in these : 

I can show passion, with an outward voyce, 

For villanies which make my heart rejoyce : 

I feede on evils, they ai'e my nutriment. 

My neighbours welfare is my discontent ; 

At that I pine, in a consumption still ; 

I would have no man prosper, by my will : 

My carkasse leane, dry, wither'd, pale and wanne, 

A very divell in the shape of man. 


Oh what a gallant punck have I knowne Grace ! 
(Thogh gracious deed she never would embrace) 
Her customes great, her ornaments excelling, 
A famous baudy-house her antient dwelling, 


Her fashions rare, and of the divel's best, 
His own choise whore could goe no braver drest. 
Her trappings from the toe unto the top, 
Might furnish out an exchange-naercers shop : 
A leather cart to jowlt and shake her in, 
(Having with carting well acquainted bin) 
Her swagg'ring gallants that, through cupid's itch. 
Have haunted her as dogs doe haunt a bitch. 
Yet all is chang'd : there is great alteration, 
Shee is as stale as breech with cod-pise fashion, 
Whereof no tailor can avouch the troth, 
Without he prove it with old painted cloth. 
This ruffling Grace (or rather, gracelesse ruffler,) 
Is now from cutting turn'd a needy shuffler : 
Yea, this same silken, golden, cyvit whore. 
Is roguish, ragged, and most pockey poore. 


Sirrah, thou knowst me, dost thou not ? 
Thou most iiiferiour to a sot : 
At such a time, in such a place. 
Thy breath my person did disgrace ; 
And Mars hath crost me in my vow, 
Till by good hap, I ceaze thee now. 
Draw, if thou hast a heart to draw ; 
With Rapier points wee'll goe to law. 
T'other turn'd up his hat before. 
And, laying hand on's weapon, swore 


His choler was extrearaely lieate, 

His hart swolne wondi'ous big and great, 

His fury even Orlando-like, 

More bold then Hercules to strike : 

But (quoth he) if thou think'st it good, 

Wee'll reason in the coole of blood : 

We have been friends ; God knowes how long ; 

I can put up a greater wrong 

Then this comes to. Faith, so can I, 

The other swagg'rer did reply : 

Thinke but on Peter Lambert's swing, 

And killing men's a scurvy thing. 

A rich plain clowne, having a knight to's son. 
That into some arrerages was runne, 
Intreates his father for his knighthood's sake. 
Some mony-means to help him he would make : 
For povertie so neare him did approach, 
He must goe sell his horses, pawne his coach. 
Nay, God forbid, qd. good-man Grunt, his father, 
De zell the close behind my barne (zonne) rather : 
I hope (my childe) a wiser knight thou art, 
Then zell away my daughter madames cart. 
Come, come, my zonne, He zell a piece of land : 
So to the sale when he should set his hand, 
His Sonne sayes, father, you yourself must write 
A gentleman ; because your Sonne's a knight. 


Well zon (quoth he) lie write as you would have, 
But when my mony for this ground I gave 
I was a yeoman, zo the writings zay : 
Now gentleman, I zell the same away. 
If gentlemen zeU land and yeomen buy, 
Zonne knight, a yeoman let me live and die. 


A morning's draught one was enjoyn'd 

For to allow his wife, 
Condition'd in her widdow-hood ; 

And he t' avoide all strife 
Kept covenant : unwilling tho, 

For, every day a cup 
Must be prepared of Muscadine, 

Against her rising up. 
And that she emptied aU alone, 

(Her husband had no share,) 
Telling him, she great reason had 

To see the bottome bare 
Because there was a crucifixe 

Graven within the bowle : 
And to behold that image, was 

A comfort to her soule. 
He, hearing this, taketh the cuppe, 

And to a gold-smith goes, 
Willing him race that picture out, 

And in the stead, bestowes 


The doing of a divel's face, 

With homes most largely fraught, 
Conveying it in place againe, 

To serve the morning's draught. 
His wife next day doth take the same, 

According to her use ; 
And filling out the wine therein, 

Perceiving the abuse, 
Smiles to her selfe, then drinkes it oif, 

And fils it out againe, 
And that she turneth likewise downe, 

In a carowsing vaine. 
Hold wife (quoth he), you drinke too deepe. 

Your lowance you exceed : 
You see no Saviour's picture now, 

And therefore pray take heed. 
I know it very well (said she), 

My husband, thinke not strange ; 
My cup hath alter 'd fashion now, 

And that doth make me change. 
In place of Christ, I doe behold 

A divell Sterne and grim, 
Which makes me drinke a double draught. 

Even in despight of him. 
Sure, wife (quoth he) I like not this : 

The picture shall be mended : 
For if you spite the divell thus. 
My purse will be offended. 



When Archidamus did behold, with wonder, 

Man's imitation of Jove's di-eadfull thunder : 

The fire first, presenting lightning's flame, 

A fearfuU sound to overtake the same : 

The swarthy vapor like to Phlegethon, 

Or stincking sulphur out of Acheron : 

The roring cannon, from whose lips of brasse. 

The fatall messenger of death did passe : 

An iron ball, wrapt round about with fire : 

He thus concludes his censure with admire. 

O Hercules, man's valour and his might, 

Prowesse and strength, are all extinguish'd quite I 

Here is destruction's-monster, sent from hell, 

(The divels engine) manly force, farewell. 


Two lusty wrastlers did contend by strength, 

To winne a wager, and the one at length 

Caught t'other by the necke, and held him so. 

That to the ground he was at poynt to goe : 

With that he put his teeth in t'others side, 

And bit so grievously, that out he cried. 

Dost play the dogge, thou villaine ? shame requite 

No slave (quoth he) I, like a lyon, bite thee. 



A WORTHY captaine, foe to coward kinde, 
Most resolute in action, lirme in minde, 
That by the sword was carved full of scarres, 
And by the bullet lost a legge in warres, 
Retiring from the field to cure his paine, 
Would with a wooden legge, goe fight againe. 
His friends perswasions would his mind reclaime, 
Objecting he was impotent and lame, 
Unfit for fight, seing his state was such. 
But he reply'd you are deceived much : 
I shall be sure to stand my ground and stay, 
When they that have their legges may run away. 
My nimble heeles will never take their flight, 
But beare my body, while the hands doe fight : 
This wooden legge will hold me to it sound, 
It is a souldier's praise to keepe his ground. 


Thou lately great, with thy great Lord in grace. 
That couldst prefer the mean, advance the base ; 
Doe good to him whose goodnes thou didst feele, 
In fortune's favour, turning fortune's-wheele ; 
Must now thy selfe from former height dismount, 
And be witli all men in no more account 


Then figures which arithmeticians make ; 

To which they adde, and from the which they take ; 

That which was twentie thousand even now, 

Is present counted noughts, and so art thou. 


"When Englands fifth King Henry of that name 
At Agincourt did winne immortall fame : 
And Fortune with her smiles auspicious, 
Grac'd English with the day victorious ; 
A funerall oration one did make. 
And of dead French-mens valours highly spake : 
Which a blunt souldier hearing, serv'd our king : 
Pray, sir, (quoth he) let me demand one thing. 
You doe extoll them wondrously are slaine. 
And said their honour endlesse shall remaine ; 
The they are dead, you say, their fame doth live, 
And yeeld them all good words as tongue can give : 
But if they merit this, being dead, pray then 
Wliat deserve we, have slaine those valiant men ? 


A WRETCH that neither hop'd for heaven, 

Nor stood in feare of hell : 
Whose onely love was in his chest. 

Where bagges of gold did dwell : 


Had shar'd so oft in widdowes wealths, 

Had got the goods of five, 
And went a wooing to the sixt 

(Which sixt he meant to wive) 
Could numbei* husbands to his wives, 

Having as oft beene wed. 
These rotten carrions both agree 

To make one stincking bed ; 
And being marryed, each of other 

Had a full jealous doubt, 
Which might be luckie for to live 

And weare the other out. 
I feare (quoth mother Mumsimus) 

The drudge will bury me : 
I dread (quoth her Curmudgion) 

This trot mine end will see : 
Me thinkes shee is far lustier now 

Then long agoe she was : 
I have had lucke to bury five 

And turne them out to grasse. 
And it would grieve my heart and soule 

To give the old queane ground, 
My leases, plate, my pawnes, my bonds. 

And many a thousand pound. 
All this to stop her mouth withall, 

(For I no kindred have). 
Would make some countesse of my wife, 

If I wei*e once in grave. 
I'le see her hang'd : take better hold. 

Old John, and never doubt. 


A poxe upon the doctors ! 

K they could but cui-e the gowte, 
Set in new teeth, and mend mine eares, 

And help me with some sight : 
Provide a medicine for my backe, 

To make me goe upright : 
Cure this same colique and the stone, 

And make these armes but strong : 
Why, I should be a lusty youth, 

And live, God knowes how long. 
She, on the other side, conferres 

And with her selfe debates. 
Oh what a lustie wench were I 

To have the sixe estates 
Of monstrous misers joyn'd in one, 

And I a widdow free ! 
He should not be a little lord, 

That next should marry me. 
No, I would have some mighty man, 

Or I would never match, 
If death would use this husband, like 

The five he did dispatch. 
I finde my heart exceeding sound, 

And subject to no paine, 
'Twould weare another body out. 

Were I a girle againe. 
Onely my flesh is not so plumpe 

As it tofore hath bin : 
Beauty is gone ; why farewell it ; 
A faces-breadth of skinne : 


If I could get a medicine for 

The rhume offends mine eyes, 
And help for the sciathica 

That so torments my thighes : 
The cough that nightly breakes my sleepe, 

The crampe that makes me tumble : 
The winde within my pudding-house. 

That makes my guts to rumble. 
The aches that are in my backe, 

And bid me still good-morrow : 
And shake the shaking-palsie off, 

I would shake off all sorrow. 
Thus wish these wretches hopeless things, 

And cure where hope is past : 
He longing to outlive his wife, 

She trusting to dye last. 
Till death takes order with them both, 

Whom long they did incense. 
Gives each a stab to dye withall. 

And takes them both from hence. 
Unto their beUies and their backes 

Each dide an extreame debter : 
The world did wrangle for their wealth. 

And lawyers far'd the better. 


Shift and his fellow, mot with Sharke their friend, 
Whom many a day they had not scene before, 


And complement most large they did extend ; 

No man but Sharke must taste tlieir wine, they swore. 

To give and take lie gave them his consent, 

So to the taverne these three rascals went. 

Being set, thy set upon him with the wine, 
And in full cups of sacke his braines so steepe, 
That Shai'ke became as drunke as any swine, 
And like a beast, layes him along to sleepe. 
While these two shifters thus devise a plot, 
To make their fellow drunkard pay the shot. 

They call for tables, and beginne to play, 
And presently they put the candle out ; 
Then waking him, in swaggering thus did say, — 
Pray j udge this cast that we contend about. 
A cast (quoth he) why, sure you have no light, 
Or, in God's judgement, I have lost my sight. 

Art drunke still, foole? (quoth one) and throwes the dice. 
Then names liis chance ; and sayes. This man ile binde: 
Ah, sirs (quoth he) cease, cease your wicked vice ; 
For drunkenesse, I wretch am strucken blind. 
Give over play, and call some body in. 
Oh strange (quoth they) the like hath never bin ! 

Sit still, wee'll fetch some in to see this wonder : 
So out of doores they speedy passage tooke, 
And severall wayes disperst themselves asunder. 
At length the ikawer in the roome did looke. 


Missing the candle, went and fetch'd a light, 
Thankes be to God (quoth Sharke) I have my sight. 

Your sight (said he) why, where's your friends become ? 

Here is sixe shillings for your selfe to pay, 

I must have feeling of a French-crowne summe. 

Before from hence you shall depart away. 

Well rogues (quoth he) the hang-man quite your kindnes, 

For this sixe shillings, which I pay for blindnesse. 

y'are deceiv'd in me, sir. 

A booted swagg'rer sharking up and downe, 

Met in his walke a silly horse-man clowne. 

That nodding rid upon a curtall-jade : 

To whom Sir Shagge, in scoffing fashing, said 

What shall I give thee (fellow) for a foote 

Of thy horse-taile ? the clowne that listned too't. 

Drew backe, and got the stumpe into his hand. 

Saying, pray sir, what is't you doe demand ? 

Marry (quoth he) I aske what thou will take 

For thy horse-taile, and price by foote to make. 

The country-fellow holding up the stumpe, 

Sayes ; sir, a match ; and if you please, wee'U jumpe : 

Because we two did never buy and sell, 

Come into the shope here, and He use you well. 



A lab'ring man of honest painefull life, 

That had (as many have) a lazie wife, 

From head to foote just of the sluttish size, 

Came home at noone his hunger to suffice, 

Looking what dyet his kinde wife did keepe : 

Just where he left her, found her fast a sleepe : 

So he entreates her rise and give him meate. 

Husband (quoth she) my drowsiness is great : 

But pree thee man, goe down and get a fire ; 

Reach me my stockings, and my other tire : 

I will come straight, and heate a messe of broth, 

So yownes, and stretches ; then arises sloth. 

Comes downe, hangs on the pot, which being heat, 

Mew, cries the cat, (being in a porredge sweat) : 

She takes her out, strokes off the spoone-meate cleere. 

And sayes, poore pusse, alas, how cam'st thou here ? 

Come husband, take a spoone, and eate, I pray : 

Twere pitty cast a drop of this away. 

What a rare cat (sweet hart) have we two got, 

That seekes for mise even in the porredge-pot. 

Nay, wife, (quoth he) thou maist be wonder'd at. 

For making porredge of a perboild cat. 


Tuou roguish slave, where hast thou staid so long ? 
To brine; no answere home till candle-light : 


In sadnesse, wife, you doe your husband wrong, 
For I have made the greatest hast I might. 
Rascall, thou lyest, what hast thou beene about ? 
Tell me the truth, or I will beate it out. 

"Wife, hold your hand, and doe but heare me speake ; 

You sent me to tlie doctor's with your pisse. 

And by the way the urinell did breake. 

So ever since I have beene buying this : 

And here's another, pray you leake againe. 

And He to morrow, take some further paine. 

Out filthy villaine, hast thou served me so ? 
Shall I want doctor's physicke when I send ? 
My inward griefe (base gull) thou dost not know. 
Pray wife, have patience, if I did offend : 
I have beene at the tailor's for your gowne ; 
Your hat cannot be alter'd in the crowne. 

Rascall dost flappe me in the mouth with tailer : 
And teU'st thou me of haberdasher's ware ? 
I will not stand to be esteem'd a railer : 
Defend your pate, your coxcombe. He not spare : 
As I to day want physicke to my sorrow, 
Goe seeke a surgeon for thyself to morrow. 


They say, The better day the better deede : 
Sellman sayc? no, who with the divell decreed, 


Upon the day of Christ's Nativitie, 

In the Kings chappell, to commit fellonie. 

Oh daring wretch ! so spent of heavenly grace, 

To steale at such a time, in such a place : 

Too true thy name and deedes alike have bin. 

Thou wast a sell-man of thy selfe to sinne. 


When this picke-pocket suffer'd vitall losse, 
Betweene the court-gate hang'd, and Charing-crosse 
One of his fellowes (for the diving trickes) 
At th' execution place a pocket pickes : 
One in the Church, where God is honour'd chiefe ; 
Another at the Gallowes playes the thiefe. 
What can divert such wretches from their evill, 
That feare not God, the hang-man, nor the divell. 


Bladud (a Brittisli king) would play the foole, 
And flye (like Dedalus) without controule : 
But while he thought Jove's princely bird to checke, 
His feathers gave him leave to breake his necke. 
A German (called Peter Stumpe) by charme 
Of an enchanted girdle, did much harme, 
Transform'd himselfe into a wolfeish shape, 
And in a wood did many yeeres escape 


The hand of justice, till the hang-man met him, 

And for a wolfe, did with an halter fet him : 

Thus counterfaiting shapes have had ill lucke, 

Witnesse Acteon when he plaid the bucke. 

And now of late, but bad successe I heare 

Befell an unfortunate two legged beare ; 

Who though indeede he did deserve no ill. 

Some butchers (playing dogs) did well-nye kill : 

Belike they did revenge upon him take, 

For Hunckes and Stone, and Paris-garden's sake. 

With all the kindred of their friend old Harry ; 

But should the Fortune-beare, by death misse-carry, 

I cannot see, but (by the lawes consent) 

The butchers would at Tyburne keepe their lent. 


Thus Hart to Diamond yeelds his place, 
Who is the next must show his face, 
With water-newes of speciall note, 
From Argosie to Sculler's-boate ? 
He hath much matter to relate 
Of pirates and sea-rovers state ; 
What villanies are wrought by knaves, 
Upon God Neptune's swelling waves. 
Of ev'ry nation he knowes some 
Will play the theeves, untill they come 
To such an end as my last line 
Concludes withall, the Hempen -twine. 


For, though pyrates exempted be 

From fatall Tyburne's wither'd tree, 

They have an harbour to arrive, 

Call'd Wapping, where as ill they thrive 

As those that ride up Holbourne-hill 

And at the gallowes make their will. 

Farewell, farewell, in hast adue. 

The cardes wants Harts to make them true. 

More Knaves yet ? 

The Knaues of Spades 

and Diamonds 

7. o N I) o X : 

Printed for Jo/u/ Tap, (Iwclliiifr iit Saint Magnus. 



For custome sake, and for no other cause, 

Seing ensample imitation di-awes, 

I am content to use a dedication, 

Which shall be framed of a new found fashion, 

Not unto this, or that great mighty lord, 

To flatter what his bounty will aflPourd, 

Nor unto such a rare and worthy knight, 

To praise him farre beyond his worship's right. 

Nor to this Maddam, nor to tother lady, 

My free-borne muse is no such servile baby, 

I wiU not fawne with Matchles, valorous. 

Rarely renown'd, divine, ingenious. 

Admired wonder, map of clemency, 

Applauded, lauded magnanimity, 

The Mercury of perfect eloquence. 

True spheai'e of bounty and magnificence, 

The fierce and crew ell warre God at the sharpe, 

Appollo's better on the lute and harpe, 



Olde Hector's over-match at pike and launce, 

Disgrace to Juno for a stately daunce, 

The very Nonesuch of true courtesie, 

And treasurer to liberallity : 

No, I will call men by their owne names thus : 

To the prophane, and graceles impious, 

To careles creatures brutishly inclynd, 

To humane shape, possest with devils minde, 

To wretched worldling either hee or shee : 

To fooles, and mad-men, such as most men bee, 

To them that ne'er will thanke me for my paine ; 

And such of whorae I doe expect no gaine. 

S. R. 


Our fellow Hartes did late petition frame, 

To cardmakers some better sutes to clayme. 

And, for us all, did speake of all our wronges : 

Yet they, to whom redresse herein belongs 

Amend it not, and little hope appeares. 

I thinke before the conquest many yeares, 

We wore the fashion which we still retainer 

But seeing that our sute is spent in vaine, 

Weele mend our selves as meanes in time doth grow, 

Accepting what some other friends bestowe. 

As now the honest printer hath bin kinde, 

Bootes and stockins to our legs doth finde, 

Garters, polonia heeles and rose shooe-strings, 

Which, somewhat, us two knaves in fashion brings ; 

From the knee downeward, legs are well amended, 

And we acknowledge that we are befrended. 

And will requite him for it as we can : 

A knave some time may serve an honest man. 

To do him pleasure, such a chaunce may fall, 

Although indeed no trust in knaves at all. 


He that must use them, take this rule from mee, 

Still trust a knave no further then you see. 

Well, other friends I hope wee shall beseech 

For the great large abhominable breech, 

Like brewers hop-sackes ; yet, since new they be. 

Each knave will have them, and why should not wee ? 

Some laundresse we also will entreate, 

For bannes and ruffes, which kindnes to be great 

We will confesse, yea and requite it too, 

In any service that poore knaves can doe ; 

Scarffes we doe want to liange oui' weapons by, 

If any punck will deale so courteously 

As in the way of favour to bestoAv them, 

Rare cheating tricks we will protest to owe them. 

Or any pander with a ring in 's eare, 

That is a gentleman (as he doth sweare) 

And will afford us hats of newest blocke, 

A payre of cardes shall be his trade and stocke, 

To get his lyving by, for lack of lands. 

Because he scornes to overworke his handes. 

And thus ere long we trust we shall be fitted. 

Those knaves that cannot shift, are shallow witted. 


The Knave of Diamonds promised before, 
That he would be for sea, and Spado for shore . 

Neptune's owne knavery. 

The Ocean Monarch Neptune, in whose pallace 
Thetis, with all her mermaids made abode : 
Mounted with the crooked dolphin for his solace, 
And from his court unto the shore he rode ; 
When he encountered, with his lustful! eyes, 
A richer beauty, then was Paris' prize ; 

Coeneus, sweetest faire Thessalian mayd, 
Her did his lust with ravishment defile : 
As Tarquin delt with Lucrese, so he play'd ; 
The dolphin was his pander : all the while, 
To Jupiter she did lament the rape : 
And he transform'd her into manly shape. 


My dwelling is upon the raging waves, 
My house by stormes is tost and carried still ; 
My servants are a crew of theevish knaves, 
To Neptune's rage I tennant am at will. 
My neighbours are the monsters of the seas. 
The great Leviathan, and worse then these. 


My life is spent in all outragious evils, 
Vertue abhors the place of my abode, 
My ship is man'd even with incarnate devils. 
My heart (with David's foole) denies a God. 
And those same lawes (they say) he gave to men, 
My lawlesse nature keepes not one of ten. 

When for a time I have run on my race. 
As former pirates, my ungratious fellowes ; 
I must expect a fatall dying place. 
And make account to anker at the gallowes ; 
There like a swan, to sing my dying hower. 
That liv'd a raven, onely to devoure. 


Thou wicked lumpe, of onely sin and shame, 

(Renouncing Christian faith and Christian name) 

A villaine, worse then he that Christ betray'd. 

His maister, for God's son, he ne'er denay'd, 

But did confesse him just and innocent. 

When, with his bribe, backe to the priests he went. 

Thou art worse than devils, they confes't 

Christ was the son of God, thou hellish beast, 

That hast liv'd cursed theife upon the seas. 

And now a Turke, on shore dost take thine ease, 

Like a devouring monster in a den, 

All that thou hast being spoyles of other men. 


Thou that doth serve both Turke and Devill so wel, 
Thou seek'st to draw (as they doe) soules to hell, 
Having a garment ready in thy hall, 
For him that next from Christian Faith doth fall. 
Receive this warning from thy native land ; 
God's fearefuU judgements (villaine) are at hand, 
Devils attend. Hell fier is prepar'd : 
Perpetuall flames is reprobates rewarde. 


Strange is the strife where Sathan is devided. 
Two theeves would have a true man's cause decided 
Between them twaine, for taking him at seas. 
Or else they swore each other to displease. 
One would have all the ready coyne was found 
For boarding first, were it ten thousand pound. 
And then the other goods equall divide : 
Quoth tother, first lie sincke, even by thy side. 
So too't they goe with fierce and cruell fight, 
Untill the one of them was sonke downe right, 
And tother had his men even almost slaine : 
And those sore wounded did alive remaine, 
With that the prisoners being in the prize, 
For their recovery with themselves devise, 
And, of a manly resolution, fall 
Upon the pirats, and subdue them all : 
Recovering that sea-losse they had before. 
So brought them kindly to be hang'd a shore ; 


And the old ancient proverbe true did make, 
Some fox is taken, when he comes to take. 


Sea theife and land theife met by accident. 

Upon the way : and, so consorted, went 

Unto a towne, where they together Inne ; 

There talke in what great dangers they have bin : 

And, in their cups, comparisons did make, 

Which of them did most danger undertake. 

1 (quoth purse-taker) that doe live a land, 

Prepare my foes to fight in bidding stand, 

Drawing my weapon like a martiall man. 

Having no wooden wals to hide me than, 

And creepe into a cabbin from a shot : 

Quoth tother, slave, my goods are manlier got 

A thousand times, then such night-crowes and owles. 

That lurke in bushes, like hedge-creeping fowles, 

And cowardly upon a man will set : 

Through fire and water I my living get. 

By thundering shot, and stormy raging seas, 

When thou wilt picke a pocket at thine ease. 

Pocket (quoth he) and stabs him sodainly : 

Tother again with ponyard did reply, 

Each charging th' other for an arrant theife : 

So constable came in, and, to be briefe, 

Wapping and Tyburne chaunced to be their ends : 

And so the hangman made them quiet friends. 


Captaine, 'tis we do make things clieape or deare, 

As by our peny-worths it doth appeare. 

A yard with us is just in length a pike : 

To buy silkes so, what man is't will dislike, 

Or say we use our customers amisse ? 

Your London measure (friends) comes short of this. 

Bee't three pile velvets, sattin, taflfaty, 

A soldier's pike 's the ell we measure by. 

Thus much for mercers : next for grocers' trade, 

Our weight is like unto our measure made. 

Our pound's a cannon bullet, good downe waight, 

In spice, or suger, this is no deceit. 

Then for our wines, (the squeaking vintner's art) 

We can aifoord them for a penny a quarte ; 

Yea fill yon pintes even by the bucket full. 

But how can this bee, saith some simple gull, 

That never travail'd out of Bow-bell sound : 

Marry Sim- Simple, heare and stand thy ground. 

That which we have we steale from friends and foes, 

It comes good cheape, and so good cheape it goes. 


When theeves fall out, it hath been often knuwn, 
True men by their contention get their own. 
A sharing sorte extreamely did fall out 
For true mens goods, they long had bin about 


At seas, (a theeving :) and being come a shore, 
Some had too much and others claimed more. 
So 'mongst them all there was extreame adoe. 
For that which none of them had right unto. 
To law they durst not goe about their claime, 
Fearing 'twould out, how they had got the same. 
So, in a furie, even as hot as fier, 
To fight it out in field they had desire. 
And being met in strange tumultuous sort. 
Great companies to see them did resort. 
Who (after many wounds) do part the fray : 
And carry those that doe the hurt away. 
They that were wounded made account to dye. 
And therefore told the truth most willingly 
Of this contention ; how the quarrell grew ; 
So true men got their owne and theeves their due. 

all's fish that comes to net. 

These damned dice I (thinke) if truth were known, 
Are made of devils home, or Dives bone. 
About a hundred pound I lost last night. 
But woe to them that next appeare in sight : 
For whome they are, or whence so e'er they bee, 
My money double and their deaths He see. 
Bring me a canne of wine, boy, quickly, lad, 
Put in gun-powder, for Be di'inke me mad : 
Get cordes and stickes to turne about their braines, 
They'le ne're confesse, unlesse a man take paines 


And wring it out of them even in despight, 

Or burne their finger ends with candle light. 

Whei'e they have hid their money they'le denie : 

What mercy to such villaines, that will lie 

To gentlemen like wee, that vent'rous winne, 

And have no other trade of comming in ? 

I make as much account to kill a flea, 

As rob my father, if we met at sea. 

Be who it will, a stranger or my brother ; 

Conscience is one thing, stealing is another. 

As Constables forget their friends in watch, 

So wee'le know no man, when his goods we catch. 


Two wicked villaines of the cursed crue, 
Did vow to be unto each other true : 
In all they got upon the high-way side, 
What ere it was, most equall to divide. 
Remaining sharers thus, too well they sped, 
Till one of them fell sicke and kept his bed. 
The partner theife, then tooke the trade alone, 
And desp'rately did venter, fearing none. 
As phrase is us'd, without both feare or wit, 
Many bold robberies he did commit. 
And scapt them all, but yet with many a wound : 
Meane time the other was recovered sound : 
And comes to question with his fellow theefe. 
Acquainting him with wants and money griefe : 


Demanding of liim by their league and vow, 

The halfe that he had gotten to allow. 

For, fellow, (saith he) we are bound by oath, 

To share all purchase equall twixt us both. 

Tis true (quoth tother) lie not be forsworne, 

To breake my promise with thee I do scorne. 

So drawes a bag of mony, and his sword. 

And sayes. Behold, I raeane to keep my worde, 

There's halfe the mony for thee thou dost crave, 

And come and take thee halfe the wounds I have. 

We will be halfes as well in th' one as th' other. 

He bate you not a scar, good theefe, sworne brother, 

When he had heard his resolution thus, 

Pray Judas (quoth he) keepe the bagge for us : 

Share wounds I like not, thou maist sheath thy blade 

Weele have a Scrivener when next match is made. 


In cruell stormes at sea, and great distresse, 
The rage of Neptune seeming mercilesse, 
Ship-wracke expected, each man full of greife, 
A desp'rate fellow fell to eate salt beefe : 
Feeding so greedy that the rest admir'd. 
And what might move him thereunto requir'd ? 
Marry (quoth he) you see we must be drown'd. 
And I do feed upon salt meate, thus sound, 
As the best victuals to cause thirst, I thinke ; 
For we in sea shall have but too much drinke- 


One put a jest on 's wife (whose name I show not) 

To try her wit, a patience Avhich I know not. 

Walking together, they a wench did meete, 

A proper one, of beauty passing sweete, 

Of whome unto his wife. My love, he said, 

Beholde and note well yonder dainty maid ; 

She was my mistris ere I met with thee, 

A kinder creature I did never see. 

So affiible and gentle in her loving, 

That of her like I never had the pi'oving. 

But she hath one exceeding imperfection, 

Neglecting even her credit's chiefs protection : 

For what we wantons ever did amisse 

She told her mother, even to a kisse. 

Husband, quoth she, that proves your wench a foole ; 

My selfe am better taught in Venus' schoole, 

For ere I met with you I lov'd young-men. 

And we had meetings too, like cocke and hen : 

But I was never such a seely asse 

To tell my mother what good sport did passe. 

Troth, wife, quoth he, I hope you do but jest. 

Husband, said she, because plaine dealing 's best, 

If you mean earnest, or your selfe belye, 

Just in tlie humour you are, so am 1. 



Two serving men, or rather two men servers, 

(For unto God they were but ill deservers), 

Confer'd together kindly, knave with knave, 

Wliat fitting maisters for their turnes they have. 

Mine, quoth the one, is of a bountious sprite, 

And in the taverne will be drunke all night. 

Spending most lavishly he knowes not what : 

But I have wit to make good use of that. 

Mine, quoth tother, loves to drinke carowse, 

And is for taverne and for bawdy house ; 

For if he meet a whoore that 's to his minde, 

No mony parts them, oh hee's pockey kinde. 

He hath some humors very strange and odde : 

As every day at church, and ne're serve God 

With secret liidden vertues other wayes, 

As often on his knees, yet never prayes. 

Quoth tother, how do'st prove this obscm'e talke ? 

Why, man, he haunts the church, that's Paule's, to walk ; 

And for his being often on the knee, 

'Tis drinking healths, as drunken humours be. 

It 's passing good (I doe protest) quoth tother, 

I think thy maister be my maister's brothei". 

For sure in qualities they may be kiune : 

Those very humours he is daily in. 

For drinking healths, and being churched so. 

They cheeke by jowle may with each other goe. 

But pre-thee let us two in love goe drinke. 

And on these matters for our profit thinke. 


To handle such two maisters turne us loose : 
Sheare thou the sheepe and I will pluck the goose. 


Th' art old and grave, and only fit for grave, 
And hast all griefes that aged gray ones have : 
Deafe eares, blind eyes, the palsie, goute, and niur, 
And cold would kill thee, but for fire and fur. 
Yet thou do'st hate to heare of old and weake, 
And of thy ende wilt neither thinke or speake, 
Nor measure life by length of David's span, 
But wilt be held a strong and lusty man. 
Well, since thy age of youth doth love to lye, 
rie say th'art young (in grace) to learn to dye. 


Stand back, you figure flingers, and give place, 
Here's goodman Gosling will you all disgrace. 
You that with heavens 12 houses deale so hie, 
You oft want chambers for yourselves to lie. 
Wise Gosling did but heare the scrich-owle crie, 
But told his wife, and straight a pigge did die. 
Another time, (after that scurvie owle) 
When Ball his dog at twelve a clocke did hoAvle, 
He jogd his wife, and Bl lucke, Madge, did say. 
And fox by morning stole a goose away. 


Besides he knowes foule weather, raine or haile, 
Even by the wagging of his dun cowes taile. 
When any theeves his hens and duckes pursew, 
He knows it by the candles burning blew. 
Or if a raven cry just o're his head, 
Some in the towne have lost their maiden head. 
For losse of cattell and for fugitives, 
Heele find out with a sive and rustic knives. 
His good daies are when's chaffer is well sold. 
And bad daies when his wife doth braule and scold. 


Thou best of all men, for thy outside praise, 
Yet worst of all men as thy inside sales ; 
That like a tradesman's ware upon his stall, 
Sets out the good to utter bad withall. 
Thou doest abhor all swearing (and dost well). 
Yet for thy gaine a lie wilt smoothly tell. 
Thou hat'st a drunkard's vice, (which hate is good). 
Yet wilt deceive, pretending brother-hood. 
Thou doest condemne the prodigals expence, 
Yet wilt embrace the usurer's offence ; 
And, in a word, thou think'st it may suffice. 
If thou canst maske thy sins from humane eies, 
Consorting with the vertuous and most civill, 
Like Job's audacious, bold, and saucie devill : 
Who, compassing the earth (soules to molest) 
Amongst the sons of God, stood with the best. 


However tliou dost thinke thy faults obscure, 
And mak'st account to be esteemed pure, 
There is an eye, that no man can dekide, 
Such hypocrites from mercie will exclude. 


Wife 'tis the onely yeare since we were borne, 
To make us rich by hording up our corne : 
I heare rare newes, the markets rise apace, 
The world will mend if this hold out a space. 
Within my barne is that must bring in gold, 
Wheat, rie, and barley, will be bravely sold. 
Let these same hungry, needy rats and myce 
Famish, I care not, I will have my price. 
And let spice-conscience fellows taike their fill. 
Mine owne's mine owne, to use it as I will. 
Shall I be taught to buie and sell by any ? 
No, He make profit to the utmost penny. 
Let our Sir Dominie preach peace and plenty, 
And let me sell my wheat by bushell at twenty ; 
For all his prating I care not a fig, 
I know he will not loose a tything pig ; 
Nor will I let the advantage slip away. 
If this yeare (wife) prove not as I doe say, 
He take a halter and go hang me then. 
Let all that hate a villaine say, Amen, 



A QUIET man (to wrath and anger slow) 

Matcli'd with a queane (a most she-devill shrow) 

1'hat kept him in obedience with her fist 

To doe, or leave undone, even what she list, 

Upon a time (clioller growne very hot, 

Against the haire) a broken pate he got ; 

But patiently wore night-cap sickeman like. 

And vow'd a woman he would never strike : 

Being content to pocket that abuse 

And keepe true manhood for a better use. 

A friend met with him, and demanded why 

He wore a linnen cap so pensively ? 

Alas (quoth he) sorrow doth much offend, 

My wife's so iU I feare she ne're will mend : 

No Doctor that will undertake her cure. 

For greife whereof great head-ache I endure : 

And had besides a flux of blood of late 

To thinke upon her desperate estate. 

Shee 's sencelesse growne, and will no reason heare. 

And so will lie long on my hand I feai-e. 

When the fit comes she is outragious mad, 

Oh 'tis an old disease her mother had. 

Runs through the blood, because 'twas bred i' the bone. 

But here's my comfort, I am not alone. 

Divers my neighbours I doe understand 

Have wives with Kke diseases on their hand, 

Whose fits they must endure as I doe mine, 

Which makes me beare my crosse with lesse repine. 


A doctor that did view her urine late 
Hath thus describ'd her desperate estate : 
She hath a female frenzie in the braine. 
Her tongue the curelesse palsie doth containe, 
In speach growne sencelesse, reason doth abhor it, 
Her heart is heart-burn'd, ther's no cooling for it : 
Her stomacke full of choUer, corrupt gall, 
Her fingers, fists, and nailes, rank venim all : 
No potion, nor no pill, can do her good, 
Sweet gentle doctor Death, come, let her blood. 


A FLEMING late that kild one with a knife. 
Carried by cart, to end his wretched life, 
Toward Tiburne ; riding, did tobacco take 
(Ta purge his head against his heeles did shake) 
But I durst lay ten pounds to twenty shilling. 
To take his purge no wise-man will be willing. 
Though Englishmen are apt for imitation. 
Yet maisters, let the Dutchman keepe his fashion : 
For howsoe're it with his liking stood, 
The smoaking did his choaking little good. 


Great Jupiter being at a solemne feast 
With all the Gods, Vuk'an, that sootic beast, 

H 2 


A pipe of his tobacco fell to drinke : 

Venus displeas'd, said Fye, sweete love, you stinke, 

And I am sure that Juno you offend, 

Neither will Pallas hold you for her friend, 

Ceres will say the fume will blast her corne. 

And Flora's flowers such lothsome smell doe scorne. 

Put up your pipe, smoke here no more you must : 

The very steeme makes Mars his armor rust, 

And cloudes Apolloe's glorious sun-bright face, 

Saturne, you see, spits at it in disgrace ; 

What rhume's in Bacchus's eyes ? how red they looke : 

How long ist, love, since you tobacco tooke ? 

Marry (quoth he) late sitting on my trough, 

(With that he whift till all the Gods cry'd fough) 

Came a young devill of th' infernall nation. 

And brought me that with Plutoes commendation : 

And said, to drinke with me he had desire. 

Because I traded like to him with fire. 

Now they drinke neither wine, nor ale, nor beare. 

But fire, and stinke, and smoke, as this is here. 

When Jove heard this, well Vulcan, (quoth he) well, 

For shame let us distinguish heaven from heU. 

Cast hence your rowle and your tobacco ball, 

Or else with thunder He destroy it all : 

My lightning shall consume it from your nose. 

With that from heaven Mercury it throwes. 

And downe amongst the Blackamores it lightes : 

Whom Joves wing'd herald did suppose were sprites : 

So by that error they tobacco got, 

And feU to smoke it very burning hot ; 


As common and frequent with every Moore 
As with th' infernall furies t' was befoi-e. 
Not long fire drinking was at their dispose, 
But that the smell came to the Spaniard's nose. 
And he would teach his braine some smother too ; 
French, Dutch, Italian, they the like would doe ; 
But th' English to disgrace them all did strive. 
His nose should smoke with any nose alive. 
Thus like an ill weede that growes fast, 'tis come 
To stinke in nostrils throughout Christendome, 
So that of most it may be truely spoke. 
Their tongues yeeld idle breath, their noses smoke. 


Goose late sude goose for goodman Gander's land, 
And Fox the lawyer tooke the cause in hand : 
Whose long demurs, and new delaies together. 
Left both of them in th' end not worth a feather. 
Then being brought as poore, as poore might be, 
Fooles they fell out, and beggers thus agree. 
Each tooke a man, to end their idle brawle. 
Who made them friends, when Fox had finger'd all. 


It saves thy head from many a bloudy knocke 
To play the hen and let thy wife turne cocke : 


Thou dar'st not chide, thy wife hath tongue at will, 
Thou dar'st not fight, thy wife hath fencer's skill : 
Thou dar'st not speake if she dislike thy speech, 
Thou dar'st do nothing, she hath won the breech. 


The wicked wretch whom inward guilt doth sting. 

Most trembling hearted, fearing every thing. 

He feareth God, for God's his enemy, 

Sathan he feares to be tormented by, 

He feares all creatures 'gainst him will assemble. 

He feares himselfe, himselfe doth make him tremble. 


To thee that art impos'd of villainie, 

The Devils states-man for all trecherie : 

That art of that religion beares most sway, 

A Papist now, a Protestant next day. 

Or any thing with any man for gaine : 

That canst all humors flatt'ring entertaine 

To please the world, that it may pleasure thee : 

Just fashon'd as incarnate devils bee. 

With gluttons. Dives : murderers, a Caine : 

With theeves, an Achan, and with Judas' traine, 

A false and bloody vile Iscariot, 

That wilt be brib'd to any damned plot. 


With Corah's crew, murmuring malecontent, 
Grrudging at majestrate and government : 
To thee that in thy life deny'st salvation, 
A wilfuU worker of thine owne damnation, 
Know that thy howers doe hasten on to death. 
And that a Devill, at thy parting breath, 
Will find that soule which thou deny'st to have, 
And aU thy life thou did'st neglect to save. 


That riches swell the heart, it seemes by thee 
For th' art as bold with God as Avretch may be, 
AVho in more fearefull case hath ever bin 
Then he that stoutly dares dispute a sin ? 
God's law endures no change nor alteration. 
It is not formed after humane fashion : 
That which he once decrees remaineth still : 
He that hath said thou shalt not steale nor kill, 
Blaspheme his name, commit adultery. 
That dreadfull God prohibites usuiy. 
There is no place in all his sacred booke, 
Doth toUerate that int'rest may be tooke : 
Yet thou dost hold it a good Christian trade. 
And very honest gaines thereby is made : 
Tis but gratuitie that men do give, 
And were it not, there's thousands could not live. 
Well then i'th hunch-ed th' ast a friend in hell, 
'Tis thought he got his mony ev'n as well. 


For 'tis not said he liv'd upon his land. 
Or got his wealth by any tradesman's hand. 
Or that he was a marchant : none of these, 
But he was onely rich and tooke his ease. 
And who more easie gathers riches then 
The churle that gaines by sweat of other men ? 
Yet to the poore, that pyning mourn'd and wep't, 
He was more dogged then the dogs he kept, 
For they lickt sores when he deny'd his cromes. 
But when the euder of all mortalls comes, 
Pale Death, and bringes the DeviU for his due, 
To carry thee unto the howling crew, 
Then shalt thou cry with horrors fearefull sound. 
Oh wearie waies on earth I wretch have found. 
The Sun of righteousnes yeelds me no grace. 
Come, hils, and hide me from the Judges face. 
Whose heavie wrath and just incensed ire. 
Hath sentenc'd me to everlasting; fire. 


A smooth-tongu'd fellow of our citty fashion, 
That with What lack you ? gives his salutation, 
And fleering fawnes, and fawning flatters all, 
Claim'd quaintance of a country-man at's stall, 
Demaunding how his friends and neighbours fare, 
And if he wanted any of his ware ? 
The country fellow by the fist did take him. 
And in plaine rusticke manner did beshake him. 


He leaves the hand, and gives him the embi-ace 

Above the knees, the thighs and pissing place. 

Sir, sales the clowne, forbeare, it is enough, 

You once deceiv'd me in a piece of stuffe. 

Which makes me thinke the world is wondrous grown 

In outward trickes, to that which I have knowne. 

The time hath beene on tearmes men did not stand, 

But bargaines held with shaking by the hand : 

'Now in the armes we doe embrace each other. 

And in the heart false knavery doe smother. 

Well, citizen, friend tradesman, and so forth, 

Your kindnes is scarce God a mercy worth ; 

I like a handfull of old love and true, 

Better then these whole armefuls of your new. 


Of late when Boreas' blustring blasts had blowne 
Down mighty trees, and chimnies tops orethrown, 
In th' interim of this liei'ce combustions weather, 
A tyler and a surgion met together : 
Whose congees past, and salutations don. 
The tyler's further speach he thus begun : 
This wind he saith blowes profit still to mee, 
In liew whereof, two pots He give to thee. 
The motion 's lik'd, and so they passe the street. 
Till with a painted lattis they doe meet. 
The sounding well they like, so in they went, 
And budge not till the tylei''s pots were spent. 


When comming forth with sage and sober gate, 
Downe drops a tyle upon the tyler's pate, 
Who, seeing the bloud run downe liis cheekes amaine, 
Amaz'd he crjed that he was almost slaine. 
The surgion having 's box of plasters there, 
Straight stancht the blood to put him out of feare. 
And saith withaU, twas more then he did know 
The selfe same wind to him should profit blow : 
But, seeing I was beholding to the aire. 
In liquid substance you shall have a share : 
So in againe they goe, and twixt them twaine. 
They drank out part of what they hope to gaine. 


Like to the body of some carion beast. 
Whereon the ravens and the crowes doe feast, 
So i'st with churlish misers when they die. 
To share their goods with friends and kinsfolks hye. 
Who rifle chests and ransacke bags of gold, 
When they, with Dives, are in Devils' hould. 


What trust of future praise in sencelesse stones. 

Containing rotten and worm-eaten bones ? 

What doe the gazers-on report, but this ? 

Faire monument, wherein fowle carcase is. 

Vertue dies not, her fame her selfe will raise : 

Let them trust tombs that have out-liv'd their praise. 



A WICKED majestrate is like to those 

That shoot at birds, in pieces and stone-bowes. 

As with one eye their levell they attaine, 

So tother wincke at faults and shoote at gaine. 

For if a bribe doe entertainment find, 

Justice must feele, because her eyes be bhnd. 


Thou boasts of scutchions, amies, and high descent. 

That on fooles legges even from thy cradle went. 

What credite to an idiot will arise 

To heare him say, he had a father wise ? 

What honour can from ancestor proceed, 

To foole his son, that ne're did vertuous deed ? 


A BEDLAM looke, shag haire, and staring eyes, 
Horse-courser's tongue for oths and damned lyes, 
A pickt-hatch pair of pockey limping legs, 
And goes like one that fees in shackles begs, 
A nose that smoketh with tobacco still, 
Stinking as lothsome as doth Hecla hill : 
His fist with hang-man's fire-worke closely lil'd. 
His itching backe, with Bridewell medicine kill'd. 


His rapier pawn'd ; that borrowed which he weares. 
And dares not see a sergeant for his eares. 
His richest Avare-house is a greasie pocket, 
And two pence in tobacco still doth stocke it. 
His bootes that keepe his legs from nakednesse, 
(Holding a paire of stockins but excesse) 
Came to him from a friend that late did dye. 
Being indeed a Tyburne legacie. 
For there they cap'red to their owner's paine, 
And there he meanes to bring them backe againe. 
Wliicli showes some conscience in the cursed crew. 
That will not cheate the hanjjman of his due. 


How can a man refraine but he must laugh. 

To se old birdes deceiv'd, and caught with chafFe ? 

This age hath beene by such experience taught, 

A man would thinke no conie could be caught. 

Who will be di-awne at dice and cards to play, 

With one he meetes as stranger on the way, 

And be fetch'd in for all that's in his purse, 

Except some franticke madman, foole, or worse ? 

I pitty not such asses, I have knowne 

To borrow mony when th'ave lost their owne, 

To feed a cheater in his rogish play, 

Yea from their backs have pawn'd their cloaks away. 

Such rather ought with shame to be derided, 

That of their wits have been so ill provided. 


Nor such as will in secret (like closes foxes) 

Be guld with these same gold and counter boxes, 

Made both as like in fashion and in show, 

As those are like to fooles, are cousned so. 

For when they thinke they have good gold in pawne, 

On which some twentie pounds away is drawne. 

Viewing the lyning of the box within, 

They find but copper counters, leade, or tinne. 

But roome for one that thinkes his art far better, 

The Devils Secretarie, with his letter, 

And tels you he is sent from such a friend. 

For certaine mony he entreats you lend, 

And for assurance, shews the parties hand. 

Whereby his meaning you may understand. 

Or with acquittance else to you he 's sent 

From such a lord, or lady, for some rent. 

Having their hands so cunning countei-fait, 

Many ai-e wronged with most false deceit. 

But Plutoe's pen-man you did late mistake, 

The Devil's errand, for your maisters sake, 

To bring a letter in a maltmans name 

Unto a brewer, twenty pounds to clayme. 

Such customers they never will abide. 

The Devil's malt is filthy over-dride : 

It stincks of brimstone, bad for beere and ale. 

As you by this time stincke in Newgate jayle. 

Wliere we will leave you till the cart do call. 

To ride up Holborne to the hangman's liall, 

To be made free, after some howers swing. 

To cheate, to cosen, to doe anything. 


One like to Wolner for a monstrous eater, 

Or rather of a glutton somewhat greater, 

Invited was unto a gentleman, 

"Who long'd to see the same hungarian, 

And note his feeding : being set to dinner, 

A leg of mutton was the first beginner. 

Next he devoured up a loyue of veale, 

Upon foui'e capons then his teeth did deale. 

And sent them downe into his pudding house, 

So tooke the cup, and drinking a carowse, 

Fell to his rabets, and dispatching foure, 

Some wisht him choakt that he might eat no more, 

After aU this he tooke bake't-meats in hand, 

And spared nothing did before him stand. 

The gentleman then tooke a bowle of wine, 

And drinking to his guest (the filthy swine) 

Said You are welcome sir, I pray you eate, 

Methinks your stomacke doth not like my meate, 

I thanke you sir, (quoth he) for your good will. 

But all last night I have been very ill, 

And that's the cause my stomacke is but small, 

When I am well lie make amendes for all. 

If this be thy sicke feeding, shame requite thee, 

"When thou art well the Devill shall invite thee. 


Two friends that met would give each othei* wine 

And made their entrance at next bush and signe, 

Calling for clarret, which they did agree, 

(The season hot) shoukl qualified bee 

With water and sugar : so the same being brought, 

By a new boy, in vintner's trickes untaught. 

They bad him quickely bring faire water in, 

Who lookt as strange as he amaz'd had bin. 

Why dost not stirre (quoth they) with nimble feete ? 

'Cause, gentlemen, (said he) it is not meet 

To put in too much water in your drinke, 

For there's enough alreadie, sure I thiuke : 

Richard, the drawer, by my troth I vow, 

Put in great store of water even now. 


When conqu'ring William had subdu'd this land, 
Save onely Kent, which opposite did stand. 
On tearmes of antient priviledge they held : 
The Norman prince, with all his troops in field, 
In great amazement on a suddaine stood. 
To see (as seem'd to him) a walking wood : 
For Kentish-men came marching all with bowes, 
To offer peace, if he their sute allowes, 
If not, to fight it out with manly blowes. 
Before their priviledges they would lose. 


Like wandring wood, as did that time appeare, 
May now be met withall in every Sb -ire, 
"Women are up in armes on every side, 
About a priviledge they claime in pride. 
Braving it out with woods upon their backes, 
Except the husband his poore tenant rackes. 
And deales extreamely in the hardest manner. 
There is no peace, but with the bloudy banner, 
They sound defiance and domesticke warre, 
Such peacocke-tailes, proud foolish women are. 


When men amazed at their busines stood, 
A speech was used ; Faith I am in a wood : 
To make an end of that same wooden phrase. 
There's order taken for it now a daies, 
To cut downe wood with all the speed they can, 
Transforming trees, to maintaine maske and fan, 
So that the former speech being errour tryed, 
A new way turn'd it must be verified. 
My ladies worship even from head to foot, 
Is in a wood, (nay scarse two woods will doo't.) 
To such a height Lucifer's sinne is growne. 
The Devill, pride, and Maddam, are all one. 
Rents raisd, woods sold, house-keeping laid aside, 
In aU things sparing for to spend on pride. 
The poore complaining country thus doth say : 
Our fathers lopt the boughs of trees away : 


We that more skill of greedy gaine have found, 
Cut dowiiP the bodies levill with the ground : 
The age that after our date sliall succeede, 
Will dig up rootes and all to serve their neede. 


A controversie there did happen late, 
Where strangers met about a hot debate. 
Which I hope (reader) ne're shall trouble us : 
A sweating thing, called Morbus Gallicus. 
The Frenchman swore they did his nation wrong, 
That said the pox did unto them belong. 
Giving it nick-names by the tearme of French, 
As though no other had the fault to wench. 
For he would prove to the Italian's face, 
That it was borrow'd from their stocke and race. 
Th' Italian look'd upon him sterne and grim. 
And said the Spaniard had it before him, 
Threat'ning the Frenchman for his lying sin : 
The pox, or he, would pull the beard from 's chin. 
The Spaniard vow'd he manifest could show, 
He fetch'd it from the Indies long ago. 
When first they went for gold and silver thether, 
They brought home mettaU and the pox together. 
At length came certaine English, Scots, and Dutch, 
Who hearing their contention grow so much. 
Would take upon them an arbitterment. 
To make all friends : so unto cups they went, 



Powring in wine, taking tobacco so, 
Upon them all the Frenchman did bestow, 
His pockey kindnes, which doth so appeai'e, 
That none can boasting say his nation's cleare. 


In old wives dales, that in old time did live, 
(To whose odde tales much credit men did give) 
Great store of goblins, fairies, bugs, night-mares. 
Urchins, and elves, to mauy a house repaires. 
Yea far more sprites did haunt in divers places, 
Then there be women now weare devils faces. 
Amongst the rest, was a good fellow devill, 
So cal'd in kinds, cause he did no evill, 
Knowne by the name of Robin (as we heare) 
And that his eyes as broad as sawcers were : 
Who came a nights, and would make kitchins cleane. 
And in the bed bepinch a lazie queane. 
Was much in mils about the grinding meale, 
(And sure, I take it, taught the miller steale) 
Amongst the creame-bowles, and milke-pans would be. 
And with the country wenches, who but he. 
To wash their dishes for some fresh-cheese hire, 
Or set their pots and kettles 'bout the fire. 
'Twas a mad Robin, that did divers pranckes, 
For which with some good chearc they gave him 


And that was all the kindnes he expected ; 

With gainc (it seemes) he was not much infected. 

But as that time is past, that Robin's gone, 

He and his night-mates are to us unknowne, 

And in the steed of such good-fellow sprites, 

We meet with Eobin-bad-fellow a nights, 

That enters houses secret in the darke, 

And only comes to pilfer, steale, and sharke. 

And as the one made dishes cleane (they say) 

The other takes them quite and cleane away. 

What ere it be that is within his reach. 

The filching tricke he doth his fingers teach. 

But as good-feUow-Robin had reward 

With milke and creame, that friends for him prepar'd 

For being busie all the night in vaine : 

(Though in the morning all things safe remaine) 

Robin-bad-fellow, wanting such a supper, 

Shall have his breakfast with a rope and butter. 

To which let all his fellowes be invited. 

That with such deeds of darknesse are delighted. 


1 Thus rides to hell the seaven deadly sin's. 
The Devill leades, and Pride the way begins. 
Mounted upon a lyon, sterne of face. 
Of surley carriage, and as proud a pace : 



Ambitious, hauty, of vaine-glorious mincle, 
To vaunting and presumtuous thoughts inclin'd, 
Boasting of beauty, riches, kindred, friends : 
Which, like a bubble, in a moment ends. 

2 Lust on a goat, after her sister Pride, 

The selfe same journey doth, consorted, ride. 
Rich in attire, all outward lures to sin : 
Full of diseases, and the pox within. 
Seducing fooles by her bewitching charmes : 
To buy destruction with soule's endlesse harmes. 
Which sorrow out of season oft bewailes. 
When uni-epentant sin of mercie failes. 

3 Wrath on a bore, (incens'd by furious mood) 
With case of rapiers drawne, and dyed in blood. 
All cholericke, not caring what he speakes, 

Nor whome he hurts, nor how the peace he breakes : 
Upbraiding all men of a divelish hate. 
Still quarrelling, and wilfull obstinate. 
And ever of a damned resolution, 
To put his cruell rage in execution. 

4. CovETEOusNES doth backe an elephant, 
He of his wealth and mony still doth vaunt. 
And counts his poore (though honest) neighbour 

(Although farre richer then himselfe in grace) 
God he neglected for the love of gold. 
His soule for money every day is sold, 


To scrape anJ get, his care is, night and day. 
And in a moment Death takes all away. 

5 Gluttonie mounted on a greedie beare, 
To belly-cheere and banquets lends his care. 
Though by excesse he findes diseases breeding, 
Yet his insatiate gut is ever feeding. 

With abstinence he never can agree : 

And shuns the dinner where no gluttons bee. 

An epicure, inhumane, brutish beast : 

That pampers flesh, and of his soule thinkes least. 

6 Envy upon a woolfe ; his inside gall : 
And never smiles except at some man's fall, 
Hates equalls, scornes superiours, loveth none, 
Ne're wisheth good but to himselfe alone. 

7 Sloath on an asse, with heavie pace behind, 
Of lumpish body and as drowsie minde, 
Inclin'd to onely ease and idlenesse. 

Makes up the seaventh for the Devil's messe. 

The knaves are delt, the game is plaid. 
And with this wish concludeth Spade : 
I would all Knaves who ere they bee. 
Were knowne by sight as well as wee. 


To Fustis, Knave of Cluhhs, 1. 19, — " At Bedlam howling- 
alley.'''''} " Expeld ? (quoth you) : that hath been pretily per- 
formed, to the no small profit of the howling-ally es in Bedlam 
and other places, that were wont in the afteruoones to be left 
empty, by the recourse of good fellowes unto that unprofitable 
recreation of stage-playing." — Kind-Hart's Dreame, 1592. 
(Percy Society's reprint, p. 35.) 

P. 6, 1. 22,—" Moore-fields:'} The " pleasant walkes of 
Moore-fields" formed a general promenade for the citizens of 
London during the summer months. The ground was left 
to the city by Mary and Catherine, daughters of Sir William 
Fines, a Knight of Rhodes, in the reign of Edward the Con- 
fessor. Richard Johnson, a well-known poetaster of the 
sixteenth century, published, in 1607, The Pleasant 'Walkes 
of Moore-fields. Being the Guift of two Sisters, noic heau- 
tified, to the continuing fame of this worthy Citty, 4to. black- 

P. 9, 1. 1, — Two hungry sharkes did travaile Pauls.''''] 
Thomas Powel, the author of a curious tract entitled " Where- 
soever you see mee, truste unto yourselfe ; Or the Mysterie of 
Lending and Borrozving, 1623, includes this fashionable 
lounge among the " noted places of refuge and retirement" 
for persons wishing to avoid bailifl's and creditors. The an- 

J 20 NOTES. 

thor, probably from experience, dwells on tlie conveniences 
of Ram Alley, in Fleet Street ; Fulvvood's Rents ; Gray's 
Inn Lane ; Milford Lane, in the Strand ; the Savoy ; Duke- 
Humphrey ; Moutiigue Close; Ely Rents; Cold Harbour; 
Black, Whitefriars, also called Alsatia ; and St. Bartholomew's. 

P. 13, 1. 7,—" Gads-hill.'"] As early as 1 558 a ballad entitled 
" The Robbery at Gadshill" was entered on the books of the 
Stationers' Company ; and this place is noticed as dangerous 
in Dekker and Webster's play of Westward Hoe, published 
in 1606. 

In 1590 a gang of robbers appears to have infested Gads- 
hill and its neighbourhood with more than common daring, 
and like the robbers in Shakespeare's -Ffrs^ Part of Henry IV, 
were mounted, and wore visors. The particulars of them 
are to be found in a narrative preserved among the Lansdowne 
MSS. in the British Museum, in the handwriting of Sir 
Roger Mauwood, at that time Chief Baron of the Exchequer, 
and endorsed with the date of 3rd July, 1590. 

P. 13, 1. 7, — " Coome-parke,''^'] i. e. Combe Park. Lands 
so called in the parish of Kingston-upon-Thames. See 
Manning and Bray's Hist, of Surrey, vol. i. p. 401. In 
Middleton's Blacke Booke, 1604 (Reprinted in the last 
volume of Dyce's Middleton), Lucifer makes " a high thief 
on horseback" the '■ keeper of Combe Park." 

P. 15, 1. 1. — " A Couseniiij Knave."] In a tract entitled. 
The Pleasant Conceites of Old Hobson the merry Londoner, 
1607, we find the following prose version of this story : 


" Not farre from Maister lEobson's house there dwelled 
one of the cunning men, otherwise called fortune-tellers, such 

NOTES. 121 

cossening companions as at this day (by their crafts) make 
simple women beleeve how they can tell what husbands they 
shall have, how many children, how many sweetharts, and 
such like : if goods bee stole, who hath them, with promise to 
helpe them to their losses againe: with many other like 
deceittfull elusions. To this wise man (as some termes him) 
goes Maister Hobson, not to reap any benefit by his crafty 
cunning, but to make a jest and tryall of his experience; so 
causing one of his servants to lead a mastif dog after him, 
staying at the cunning man's doore with the dog in his hand, 
up goes maister Hobson to the wise man, requesting his skil, 
for he had lost ten pound lately taken from him by theeves, 
but when and how he knew not well : the cunning man, 
knowing maister Hobson to be one of his neighbors and a 
man of a good reputation, fell (as he made showe) to conjuring 
and casting of figures, and after a few words of incantation, 
as his common use was, he tooke a very large foire looking- 
glasse, and bade maister Hobson to looke in the same, but 
not to cast his eyes backward in any case •, the which hee did 
and therein saw the picture of a huge and large oxe, witii two 
broad homes on his head, the which was no otherwise but (as 
hee had often deceitfully shewd to others) a cossoning fellow 
like the cunning man himselfe, clothed in an oxe hide, which 
fellow he maintained as his servant, to blinde the peoples 
eyes withall, and to make them beleeve he could shew them 
the Divell at his pleasure in a glasse : this vision maister 
Hobson perceiving, and guessing at the knavery thereof, 
gave a whistle for his dog, which then stayed below at the 
doore in his man's keeping, which whistle being no sooner 
heard but the dog ran up stayers to his maister as he had 
beene mad, and presently fastned upon the poore follow in the 
oxe hide, and so tore him as it was pittifull to sec : the 
cunning man cried For the passion of God take olf your dog : 

122 NOTES. 

No (quoth Maister Hobson) let the Divill and the dogge fight : 
venture thou thy Devill, and I will venture my dog. To 
conclude, the oxe-hide was torne from the fellow's backe, and 
so their knaveries were discovered, and their cunning shifts 
layd open to the world." 

P. 19, 1. 6. — " Like unto Woolner.'''''} Woolner, or VVolner, 
is frequently mentioned by our old writers as a notorious 
gorraandiser. In The Life of Long Meg of Westminster, 
1582, the seventh chapter relates, "how she used Woolner 
the singing man of Windsor, that was the great eater, and 
how she made him pay for his breakefast ;" and Dekker, in 
allusion to his profession, calls him that " cannon of glut- 
tony." — The Owles Almanacke, 1618, p. 53. He is again 
alluded to by Rowlands in More Knaves yet? The Knaves 
of Spades and Diamonds (p. 110 of our reprint) ; and also in 
the same author's Looke to it, for Tie stabbe you, 1604. 

The exploits of this glutton and the manner of his death 
are mentioned by Dr. Moffet, who wrote in Queen Elizabeth's 
tirne. See his Treatise, entitled Health's Lnprovement : or 
Rules comprizing and discovering the Nature, Method, and 
Manner of preparing all sorts of Foods used in this Nation, 
republished by Oldys and Dr. James, 12mo. 1746. He is 
also mentioned by Taylor, the water poet, in his account of 
The Great Eater of Kent, p. 145, " Milo the Crotian could 
hardly be his equall : and Woolner of Windsor was not 
worthy to be his footman." In the books of the Stationers' 
Company, in the year 1567, is the following entry : " Rec. of 
Henry Denham, for his lycense for pryntinge of a booke 
intituled Pleasaunte Tales of the Lyf of Rychard Wolner," 

P. 23, 1. 1 , — " Like Allen jdaying Faustus,'''''] i. e. in 

NOTES. 12o 

Mallow's Tragedy of that name. The Trat)u-al Histori/ of the 
Life mid Death of Doctor Faustus, was printed in 1604, but 
Mr. Collier conjectures that it was written soon after Tam- 
burlaine the Great, which we know was acted in 1587. In 
1 588 " a ballad of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus," 
(which in the language of that time might mean either the 
play or a metrical composition founded upon its chief 
incidents), was licensed to be printed. See Collier's Hist, of 
Dram. Poet. Vol. iii. p. 125. 

The passage in the text is (we believe) the only evidence of 
Edward Alleyn's having been the original personator of 
Faustus. The description of the costume which he adopted 
" a surplis with a crosse upon his brest," is a valuable addition 
to the few scanty notices that are left us of the dresses worn 
by the performers in our early dramas. 

P. 25, 1. 15, — "J. Cuckold.'"'] This story is taken from 

P. 31, 1. 12, — " Who dares dispraise Tobacco."] Sam. 
Rowlands takes frequent occasion in his satirical publi- 
cations, to censure the practice of smoking tobacco. About 
the latter end of the sixteenth century it was in great vogue 
in London, among wits and "gallants," as the dandies of 
that age were called. To wear a pair of velvet breeches, 
with panes or slashes of silk, an enormous starched ruif, a 
gilt-handled sword, and a Spanish dagger; to play at cards 
or dice in the chambers of the groom-porter, and to smoke to- 
bacco in the tilt-yard, or at the playhouse, were then the grand 
characteristics of a man of fashion. 

Barnaby Rich, a contemporary of Rowlands, has left us a 
curious account of the progress tobacco was making in liOndon, 
at the beginning of seventeenth century. 

124 NOTES. 

" But among the trades that are newly taken up, this trade 
of tobacco doth exceede : and the money that is spent in 
smoake is unknowne, and (I thinke) unthought on, and of 
such a smoake as is more vaine then the smoake of fayre 
words, for that (they say) will serve to feede fooles, but this 
smoake maketh fooles of wise men. Mee thinkes experience 
were enough to teach the most simple-witted, that before 
tobacco was ever known in England, we lived in as perfect 
health, and as free from sicknesse, as we have done sithens ; 
and looke uppon those (whereof there are a number at this 
present houre) that never did take tobacco in their lives, and 
if they do not live as healthsome in bodie, and as free from 
all manner of diseases as those who do take it the fastest. 
They say it is good for a cold, for a pose, for rewms, for aches, 
for dropsies, and for all manner of diseases proceeding of 
moyst humours : but I cannot see but that those that do take 
it fastest, are as much (or more) subject to all these infirmities 
(yea and to the poxe itself) as those that have nothing at all 
to doe with it : then what a wouderfull expence might very 
well be spared, that is spent and consumed in this needlesse 

" There is not so base a groome that commes into an ale- 
house to call for his pot, but he must have his pipe of tobacco, 
for it is a commoditie that is nowe as vendible in every taveme, 
inne, and ale house, as ey ther wine, ale, or beare ; and for 
apothicaries' shops, grosers' shops, chaundlers' shops, they are 
(almost) never without company, that from morning till night 
are still taking of tobacco. What a number are there besides 
that doe keepe houses, set open shoppes, that have no other 
trade to live by, but by the selling of tobacco. 

" I have heard it tolde that now very lately there hath bin 
a cathalogue of all those new errected houses that have set 
uppe that trade of selling tobacco in London, and necre about 

NOTES. 125 

London ; and if a man may beleev^e what is confidently re- 
ported, there are found to be upward of 7000 houses that doth 
live by that trade. I cannot say whether they number apo- 
thicaries' shoppes, grosers' shops, and chaundlers' shops in the 
computation, but let it be that these were thrust in to make 
uppe the number : let us now looke a little into the vidimus 
of the matter, and let us cast uppe but a sleight account what 
the expence might be that is consumed in smoakie vapoure," 

" If it be true that there be 7000 shops in and about Lon- 
don that doth vent tobacco, as it is credibly reported that 
there be over and above that number, it may well be supposed 
to be but an ill-customed shoppe that taketh not five shillings 
a day, one day with another, throughout the whole yeare ; or 
if one doth take lesse, two other may take more : but let us 
make our account but after 2 shillings sixe pence a day, 
for he that taketh lesse then that would be ill able to pay his 
rent, or to keepe open his shop windowes ; neither would 
tobacco houses make such a muster as they doe, and that 
almost in every lane, and in every by-corner round about 

'• Let us then recken thus : 7000 halfe crownes a day, 
amounteth just to three hundred ninetine thousand, three 
hundred seventie-five poundes a yeare, summa totalis, all 
spent in smoake." — The Honestie of this Age. Prooving 
by good circumstance that the World was never honest till 
now, 1614, pp. 25, 26. 

P. 43, 1. 26, — " They keep Exchange like marchants to."'] 
The royal Exchange was as much frequented, in our author's 
time, by idle loungers, as the " walks in Paules." Haynian, 
in his Quodlibets, 1628, p. 6, has the following epigram to 
Sir Pierce Pennilesse : 

" Though httle coin thy pur,seh?s.s pockets hne, 
Yet with great company thou 'it taken up ; 

126 NOTES. 

For often with Duke Hiimfray thou dost dine, 
And often with Sir Thomas Gresliani sup." 

P. 46, 1. 9, — " The English is his imitating rt;;c."] The 
fondness of the English for imitating foreign fashions is thus 
ridiculed by our author in The Letting of Humours Blood 
in the head-vaine, 1611. Epigram 26. 

" Behokl a most accomplish'd cavaleere, 
That the world's ape of fashions doth appeare ; 
Walking the streetes his humors to disclose, 
In the French douhlet and the German hose ; 
The niuffes, cloake, Spanish hat, ToUedo blade, 
Italian ruflfe, a shoe right Flemish made. 
Like Lord of Misrule, where he comes he'le revel. 
And lye for wagers with the lying' st divell." 

P. 46, 1. 24, — " We never yet had garters to our /jose."] At 
this period garters were worn outside the hose, immediately 
beneath the knee ; and were generally in the form of a full 
sash, tied in a bow at the outside of the leg, the garter itself 
being of silk, and the pendant ends richly decorated with 
point-lace. In Cornu-copicB ; Pasquil's Night-cap, or Antidot 
for the headache, 1612, mention is made of — 

" a swaggering cavalier. 

Which hath his garters bravely fring'd with gold." 

P. 46, 1. 27, — " 3Ti/ sleeves are like some morris-dauncing 
fellow."} The wide sleeves that became generally fashionable 
during the reign of Heni*y the Eighth, were separate articles 
of costume, and are constantly met with as such in the in- 
ventories of ancient wardrobes. " Paires of sleeves," of dif- 
ferent colours to the doublet, were very common, and they 
were generally very capacious. The sleeves of the morris 
dancers were always wide, and gathered in puffs with the 
ribbons that encircled them. In modern times tlae full shirt 

NOTES. 127 

sleeves of the dancers were thus decorated. In the curious 
old tract entitled Old Meg of Herefordshire for a Mayd 
Marian, and Hereford Tmnie for a Morris dance, 1609, 
which gives an account of such a dance there performed, 
by twelve aged persons, whose united ages numbered 
twelve hundred years ; a description is given of their dresses, 
thus : " The twelve dancers had long coats of the old fashion, 
high sleeves, gathered at the elbows, and hanging sleeves 

P. 46, 1. 29, — "My breeches like a paire of lute-pins be, 
scarse biittocke-roome."'\ The breeches here alluded to were of 
French origin, and may be seen worn by Henry the Third in 
Montfaucon's Monarchie Frangaise. They were consequently 
an old fashion at the time when Rowlands' pamphlets were 
published. They fitted the thigh very closely, and were 
generally terminated at the knee by one or more pufis, which 
surrounded it, and which were termed " Canions." Stubbes, 
in his Anatomie of Abuses, 1583, describes them as having 
" neither length, breadth, norsidenesse [i.e. width], being not 
past a quarter of a yarde side, whereof some be paned, cut, 
and drawen out with costly ornamentes, with Canions annexed, 
reachyng doune beneath their knees." 

P. 47, 1. 12,— " Flat-caps.'"] Another allusion added to the 
many made by writers of the Elizabethan period, to the caps 
which were so commonly worn by the citizens at that time, 
and which obtained the name of " City flat-caps" in con- 
sequence. They may be seen worn by Sir Thomas Gresham in 
nearly all his portraits, and the wood-cuts to the original 
edition of Fox's Acts and Monuments afford abundant 
examples. They were also known as " Statute caps," and 
are alluded to by Shakespeare as such ; this term was applied 

128 NOTES. 

from the circumstance of their being strictly enjoined as an 
article of apparel by 13 Eliz. cap. 19 : " If any person above 
6 yeares of age (except maidens, ladies, gentlewomen, nobles, 
knights, gentlemen of 20 markes by yeare in landes, and their 
heyres, and such as have borne office of worshyp), have not 
worne uppon the Sunday and holyday (except it bee in the 
time of his travell out of the Citie, Toune, or Hamlet, where 
he dwelleth) upon his head one cap of wooll, knit, thicked, 
and dressed, in England, and onely dressed and finished by 
some of the trade of cappers, shall be fined 3s. 4d. for each 
day." — Lambard's Eirenarcha, 1599. 

P. 47, 1. 22, — " Side-garded coatesr~\ The various articles 
comprising a gentleman's wardrobe at this period were 
" garded" or overlaid at the seams and edges " with velvette 
" gardes, or els laced with costly lace, either of golde, silver, or 
at the least of silke, three or lower fingers broade doune the 
backe, about the skirtes, and every where els." — Stubbes. 

P. 47, 1. 28, — " Anon, Anon."'] The general reply of the 
drawers, or waiters, when called. See Shakespeare's First 
Part of Henry IV, Act ii. sc. 4. 

P. 47, 1. 30, — " Because we have no beai-ds."'] An attention 
to the form of the beard was not only requisite in a gentleman 
of the day, but frequently notified the place he held in Society. 
Thus a broad beard trimmed square obtained the name of a 
Cathedral beard, because it had become usual for the Clergy to 
appear in them, while the Stiletto beard and the Spade beard 
denoted the gentlemen of the military profession. 

P. 48, 1. 26, — " Put us in hats."] The following curious 
passage is from a rare little tract, entitled A Pleasant Dialogue 
or Disputation betweene the Cap and the Head, 1565. The 

NOTES. 129 

Cap is made to say, "Who is able to beaie such injurye at 
thy hande ? Thou art never contented to weare me after one 
fashion ; but one while thou wearest me like a garlande ; by 
and by lyke a steeple ; another whyle lyke a barber's bason ; 
anone after lyke a boll whelmed upsyde dowue ; sometyme lyke 
a royster; sometime like a souldiour; and sometime like an 
antique ; sometyme plited, and anone after unplited ; and 
not being contented with that, thou byndest mee wyth garishe 
bandes, one while of one colour, and another while of an 
other, and sometyme with many coloures at once, as if I were 
mad : howe is it possible to suffer so many chaunges ?" The 
Cap farther complains that he is sometimes ridiculously 
" stuck with ostrige, cranes, parrots, bittons, cockes and capons 
feathers," signifying nothing but the lightness of the brain of 
the wearer. Stubbes, speaking of the hats worn by the gen- 
tlemen of 1580, says, " sometjnues thei use them sharpe on 
the croune, pearking up like the spere or shaft of a steeple, 
standying a quarter of a yarde above the croune of their heades, 
some more, some lesse, as please the phantasies of their 
inconstant mindes. Othersome be flat and broad in the 
croune like the battlementes of a house. An other sorte have 
round crouncs sometymes with one kindeof baude, sometymes 
with an other, now blacke, now white, now russet, now red, 
now grene, now yellowe, now this, now that, never content 
with one colour or fashion, two daics to an cnde. And as the 
fashions be rare and straunge, so is the stufi'e whereof their 
hattes be made divers also ; for some are of silke, some of 
velvet, some of taffetie, some of sarcenet, some of wooll, and 
whiche is more curious, some of a certaine kinde of fine haire ; 
these thei call bever hattes of xx., xxx., or xl shillinges 
price fetched from beyonde the seas, from whence a greate 
sorte of other vanities doe come besides." This is the earliest 
mention of an article which has grown up to be a considera1)lc 
source of manufacture in the country, and which eventually 



furnished nearly every individual with a beaver hat. They 
were however worn only by the nobility and gentry in the time 
of James the first, when their shape had little elegance to 
recommend them; some of the earliest portraits of that 
sovereign displaying him in hats of much ugliness. Feathers 
were frequently worn in them by the dandies of Stubbes' time, 
and he declares they " are content with no kind of hat, withoute 
a greate bunche of feathers of divers and sundrie colours 
peakyng on top of their heades, not unlike (I dare not sale) 
cockescombes, but as sternes of pride, and ensignes of vanitie, 
and these flutteringe sailes and feathered flagges of defiaunce 
to vertue, (for so thei are) are so aduanced in Ailgna [^Anglia] 
that every child hath them in his hatte or cappe. Many get 
good livinge by dying and sellyng of them, and not a few 
prove themselves more then fooles, in wearyng of them." 
The hatband in the time of James the first was frequently 
richly jewelled, and diamond hat-bands are mentioned as 
being worn by his favorite, the Duke of Buckingham. In a 
letter written to Prince Charles in 1623, the king says, " I 
send you for youre wearing, the three bretheren that ye knowe 
full well, but newlie sette, and the mirroure of Fraunce, the 
fellow of the Portugall dyamant whiche I wolde wishe you to 
weare alone in your hat with a little blacke feather." Single 
pearls were also frequently hung at the sides when the brim 
was turned up, or groups of stones set in gold like a modern 
brooch were placed in the centre of the hat, or else confined 
the stems of its group of feathers. 

P. 48, 1. 29,—" Rose hat-bands.''] A band of silk tied into 
a knot of the shape of a large bow, or rosette. 

P. 48, 1. 29, " Shaijiicd-ra(j(jcd-ruffe."'] This may allude 
to the richly ornamented point-lace ruff", which has a very 
uneven look at the edges, being generally of a zig-zag form. 
Such lace edging became so common during the reign of 

NOTES. 131 

CLtii'les the First, and is so frequently seen in Vandyke's 
portraits, that the name of that great painter has been popu- 
larly applied to this kind of edging ever since. 

P. 48, 1. 30, — " Great cahhage-skooe str'mcfs."'] Shoe strings 
were frequently formed of materials as expensive as garters. 
Taylor, the watetpoet speaks of those who 

" Weare a fame in slioe-stringes edged with gold. 
And spangled garters worth a copy-hold." 

These shoe strings were generally gathered in a large bow, 
and thus obtained from Rowlands, and others, the name of 
cabbage shoe-strings, from a fancied resemblance to that plant ; 
the wearers generally terming them " shoe-roses." 

P. 49, 1. 1,— "French Dublet."'] These doublets fitted the 
body closely to the waist, having rows of slashes down the 
front, and being generally laced or garded between each row. 
In the Jetvel for Gentrie, 1614, is a wood-cut of James the 
first and his attendants hawking, all of whom wear such 

P. 49, 1. 1,—" Spanish hose to breech it."'] The Spanish 
hose were as inordinately wide, as the French hose (already 
alluded to) were narrow, and were stuS"ed or " bombasted" to 
an extravagant degree. The cut alluded to in the previous 
note, displays these portions of dress, which became exceedingly 

P. 49, 1. 2,—'^ Mandilions."'] Mandiglione, a jacket, a 
Mapdilion? Florio's iVta<; World of Words, ci\. IGll. Stubbes 
{Apud Strutt dress and habits, Vol. ii, p.'.2G7) says that it 
covered the whole body down to the thighs ; and Randle 
Holme describes it as " a loose hanging garment, much like 
to our jacket or jumps, but without sleeves, only having holes 
to put the arms through •, yet some were made with sleeves, 
but for no other use than to hang on the back." 

132 NOTES. 

P. 49, 1. 4, — " Let us have rapiers.'^] These weapons were 
introduced in England during Elizabeth's reign, by a 
desperado named Rowland Yorke, and their lightness and 
convenience soon gave them a permanent footing in place 
of the heavy swords previously worn. Porter in his Comedy 
of The Tivo Angry Women of Abingdon, makes one of his 
characters declare that " Sword and buckler fight begins to 
grow out of use ; I am sorry for it ; if it be once gone, this 
poking fight of rapier and dagger will come up, then a good 
tall sword and buckler man will be spitted like a cat or a 

P. 49, 1. 5, — " Put us in bootes, and make us leather legs"'\ 
An allusion to the fashion of high leather boots that reached 
to the knee, and were frequently ornamented round the top 
with rich lace. They became very common with the wealthy^ 
and are frequently depicted in the portraits of the period. 

P. 63, 1. 11, — Peter Lambert's swing'] Peter Lambert was 
executed at Tyburn, for the murder of Thomas Hamden, in 
the year 1610. In the same year a small 4to. tract was 
printed, entitled The Success nf Swaggering, Swearing, Dicing ^ 
Drunkenness, and Whoring, described in the Life and Down- 
fall of Peter Lambert, who for the Killing of 3faister Thomas 
Hamden luas executed at Tiburne. 

P. 74, 1. 1, — " The jricture of a cleanhj Cooke.'''''] Sam Row- 
lands again alludes to this Story in a tract entitled Diogenes 
Lanthorne ; At London, jwinted for 7". P. (no date). Speaking 
of a lazy man he says, " hee is fitted with a wife even pat of 
his owne humor, for tother day heating broth for her husband's 
breakfast, the cat cri'd mew in the porridge pot : wife (said 
he) takeout poore pusse, alas how came shee there? With 
that shee tooke out the cat by the eare, and stroking off the 
porredge from her into the pot, they two went lovingly to 
breakfast with it." Siff. B. 4. 

NOTES. 133 

P. 76, 1. 2, — " In the kings chapjyell to commit fellonie."] 
This and the following epigram relates to an event then fresh 
in the minds of the people. The tract recording it is entitled, 
The Arraignment of John Selman^ ivho was executed neere 
Charing-Crosse, the 7th January 1612, for a Fellony bij him 
committed, in the King^s Chappell, at White-Hall, upon 
Christmas day last, in presence of the King and divers of the 
Nobility. London, printed by W. H. for Thomas Archer, 
and are to be sold at his shop in Popes-head Pallace, 1612. 
The title-page contains a curious portrait of the delinquent. 
It is noticed by Granger, vol. ii. p. 62, ed. 1804. 

P. 77, 1. 10, — " For Hunches and Stoned] Names of cele- 
brated bears. The first, together with " old Harry," (mentioned 
in the following line), and " Sacarson," the bear immortalized 
by Shakespeare, are noticed in one of Sir John Davies' epi- 
grams. A Student of the law is censured for 

" Leaving old rioydou, Dier, and Brooke alone, 
To see old Harry, Hunks, and Sacarson." 

P. 83, 1. 17, — " We acknowledge that we are befrendedy} 
This passage refers to the wood-cut in the title-page, where 
the Knave of Spades displays large roses at the knees, and to 
the shoes; and the Knave of Diamonds struts in boots, spurs 
with large rowels, and embroidered seams to his galligaskins. 

P. 84, 1.4, — '•'■the great large ahho)ninable breech."] This 
alludes to the ridiculous fashion of trunk hose, as the pre- 
posterous, round, swelling breeches then in fashion were called. 
Wright, in his Passiom of the Minde, 1601, says, "This 
absurde, clownish, and unseemly attire only by custome now 
is not misliked, but rather approved." 

In the Middle Temple, an order was made in the 4th and 
5th of Philip and Mary, that none of that society should 
wear great breeches in their hose, after the Dutch, Spanish, 

134 NOTES. 

or Almain fashion, or lawn upon their caps, or cut doublets, 
on pain of forfeiting 3s. 4d. ; and for the second offence the 
oifender to be expelled. 

P. 85, 1. 15,—" The Picture of a Piratri This and the 
following epigram relate to the notorious pirates. Ward and 
Dansikar, whose story was then popular. Robert Daborne 
had written a play on the subject, entitled, A Christian 
ttirti'd Turke, or the tragicall Lives and Deaths of the two 
famous Pyrates, Ward and Dansiker, 1612. 

P. 95,1. 17, — "You that ivith heavens \2 houses dealeso Ate."] 
" The numerous astrological tracts, particularly called Prog- 
nostications, published in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, are a 
proof how strongly the people were infatuated with this sort 
of divination. One of the most remarkable was a treatise 
written in the year 1582, by Richard Harvey, brother to 
Gabriel Harvey, a learned Astrologer of Cambridge, predicting 
the portentous conj unction of the primary planets, Saturn and 
Jupiter, which was to happen the next year. It had the 
immediate effect of throwing the whole kingdom into a most 
violent consternation. When the fears of the people were 
over, Nash in his Pierce Penniless gave a droll account of 
their opinions and apprehensions while this formidable phe- 
nomenon was impending ; and Elderton, a ballad maker and 
Tarleton, the comedian, joined in the laugh. This was the 
best way of confuting the impertinences of the Science of the 
Stars. True knowledge must have been beginning to dawn 
when these profound fooleries became the objects of wit and 

P. 104, 1. 21, — " What lack you ?"] The constant address 
of shopkeepers to customers. In 1628, Alexander Gill was 
brought before the Council for saying, among other things, 
that the king was only fit to stand in a shop and cry What do 
you lack P 

NOTES. 1 85 

P. 109, 1. 2, — '■'' Be guld with these same gold and counter 
hoxesy'] Dekkcr thus describes the cheating practice above 
alluded to by Rowlands : " This Jacke in a boxe, or this 
divell in man's shape, wearing (like a player on a stage, good 
cloathes on his backe) comes to a goldsmith's stall, to a 
drapers, a habberdashers, or into any other shoppe, where he 
knowes good store of silver faces are to be seene. And there 
drawing foorth a faire new boxe, hammered all out of silver 
plate, he opens it, and powres forth twenty or forty twenty- 
shillings pieces in new gold. To which heape of worldly 
temptation thus much bee addes in words, that either he 
himselfe, or such a gentleman (to whom he belongs) hath an 
occasion for foure or five dayes to use forty pound. But 
because he is very shortly (nay he knowes not how suddenly) 
to travaile to Venice, to Jerusalem or so, and would not 
willingly bee disfurnished of gold, he doth therefore request 
the citizen to lend (upon those forty twenty-shilling pieces) so 
much in white money (but for foure, or five, or sixe dayes at 
the most), and for his good will he shall receive any reasonable 
satisfaction. The citizen, (knowing the pawne to be better 
then a bond) powreth downe forty pound in silver ; the other 
drawes it, and leaving so much gold in hostage, marchcth 
away with bag and baggage. Five dayes being expired, 
Jacke in a boxe (according to his bargaine), l)eeing a man of 
his word, comes againe to the shop or stall, (at which he 
angles for fresh fish), and there casting out his line with a 
silver hooke, that is to say, powring out the forty pound which 
he borrowed. The citizen sends in, or steppes himselfe for 
the boxe with the golden devill in it : it is opened, and the 
army of angels being mustered together, they are all found to 
be there. The boxe is shut againe and set on the stall whilest 
the citizen is telling of his money : but whilest the musicke is 
sounding, Jacke in a boxe actes his part in a dunilie shew 
thus; he shifts out of his fingers another boxe of the same 
mettall, and makinnthatthc former beares, which second boxe is 

136 NOTES. 

filled only with shillings, and, being poized in the hand, shall 
seeme to carry the weight of the former, and is clap'd downe 
in place of the first. The citizen in the meanetime (whilest 
this pitfall is made for him) telling the forty pounds, misseth 
thirty or forty shillings in the whole summe, at which the 
Jacke in a boxe starting backe (as if it were a matter strange 
unto him), at last (making a gathering within himselfe for his 
wits) he remembers, he sayes, that he layd by so much money 
as is wanting (of the forty pounds) to dispatch some businesse 
or other, and forgot to put it into the bag againe ; notwith- 
standing, he intreats the citizen to keepe his gold still, he will 
take the white money home to fetch the rest, and make up the 
summe, his absence shall not bee above an houre or two: before 
which time bee shall bee sure to heare of him, and with this the 
little devil vanisheth, carrying that away with him which in the 
end will send him to the gallowes, (that is to say, his owne gold) 
and forty pound besides of the shop-keepers which he borrowed, 
the other being glad to take forty shillings for the whole debt, 
and yet is soundly hoxt for his labour." — English ViUanies, 
1632. Sig. H. 

P. Ill, 1. 16,—" To Madame Masks or Francis Fan."] The 
fondness of the ladies, at this period, for masks, fans, and other 
fashionable extravagances, is the frequent subject of ridicule by 
our Satirists. Sam Rowlands in his Letting of Humours 
Blood in the Headvaine, 1611, thus exclaims: 

" Pride is the first, and he began with Eve, 
Whose cognisance stil's wome on womans sleeve ; 
He tits the humours of them in their kinde 
With every moneth new liveries to their minde ; 
A buske, a maske, a fanne, a monstrous rufle, 
A boulster for tlieir buttockes and such stuffe ; 
More light and toyish then the wind blown cliafTe, 
As though they meant to make the divell laugh." 









[Hi:ruiN"r!:D from the copy in the British museum.] 


Cfte Percy Society* 


THOMAS AMYOT, Esq. F.R.S. Treas. S.A. 


WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq. F.S.A. Treasurer. 







T. J. PETTIGREW, Esq. F.R.S., F.S.A. 


E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq. F.S.A. Secretary. 





The following poem, commemorative of Congreve, 
is here reprinted for the first time since its publi- 
cation in 1729, and is here for the first time attri- 
buted to Thomson. It has escaped the lynx-like 
research of Mr. Bolton Oorney, the accurate 
annotator of Murdoch's life, and was pointed out to 
its present Editor by the Rev. H. F. Gary, the 
translator of Dante, who assigned it to Thomson 
from the characteristic impress which it bears to 
the acknowledged productions of that delightful 

Mr. Gary has a right to be heard upon a poet- 
ical question, and his word will carry weight ;* 

* Southey preferred reprintiug the first, and not the second 
or revised edition of Cowper's Homer. " The Editor," ho 
says, " has been confirmed in this opinion by the concurrence 
of every person with whom he has communicated on the 
subject. Among others, he taLe^ the Uberty of mentioning 
Mr. Gary, whose authority upon such a question is of especial 
weight, the Translator of Dante being the only one of oui 

but there is other evidence that will bring it 
home to Thomson beyond internal testimony. 

Millan was at this time Thomson's publisher ; 
Winter and Summer, the poem to the Memory 
of Sir Isaac Newton, and Britannia, were all, like 
this on Congreve, " printed for J. Millan at his 
shop near the Horse Guards." Nay more, these 
several poems by Thomson are advertised among 
Millan's books, and at the head of his list at the 
end of this very publication. These are facts of 
importance in assigning the authorship of this 
poem to Thomson : separately indeed they are of 
little value, collectively, as I think, conclusive.* 

Many perhaps will exclaim, What ! a new and 
unknown poem by Thomson, printed in his own 
day as a separate publication, and now, more than 
a century since it first appeared, reprinted in our 
own as a new discovery. Impossible ! But the 
fact of a poem of Thomson lying as it were 
unread and unknown for more than a century, 

countiymen who has ever executed a translation of equal 
magnitude and not less difficulty with the same perfect fidelity 
and admirable skill." — Southey^s Cowper, vol. xi. p. xxxiv. 

* T. Park has written in his copy of the first Edition of 
" Spring", now in Mr. Bolton Corney's possession: — '■'■John 
Efjerton told me that he [Thomson] lived some time with Mil- 
lan," i.e. John Egeiton, the bookseller, one of Millan's succes- 
sors at Whitehall. 

is not so wonderful as the single fact, put for- 
ward of late by Mr. Bolton Corney, and proved 
beyond cavil or question, that every edition of 
The Seasons, from 1746 to 1841, exhibited a mu- 
tilated text — a text different from the author's 
own copy of his poem. 

But Mr. Bolton Corney's discovery was not 
quite new; and, curious enough, the very differ- 
ences pointed out by that gentleman in 1841,* 
were first pointed out in 1836 to the present 
Editor, as among the curiosities of literature, by 
Mr. Bolton Corney's Mr. D'lsraeli. 

Let me here express a wish that Mr. Corney 
would extend his labours beyond the text of The 
Seasons and the Life by Murdoch. The Castle of 
Indolence calls for his revising care : the text in 
the Aldine Edition is most inaccurate, and that 
in Tilt's illustrated edition but little better.t In 
the latter indeed there is an attempt to collate 

* Gentleman's Magazine for February 1841. 

f The Seasons and The Castle of Indolence^ by James 
Thomson. With a Biographical and Critical Introduction 
by Allan Cunningham ; and Forty-eight Illustratiotis drawn 
and engraved by Samuel Williams. London., Tilt and Bogue. 

My father had nothing to do with the text or the illustra- 
tions. His portion of the work was the Life, by far the most 
accurate and complete memoir of the poet that has yet ap- 

the text with the first and only edition which 
appeared in Thomson's life-time, and two omitted 
stanzas are restored to the Second Canto. But 
upon what good grounds many of the so-thought 
emendations are made, and the two stanzas in- 
troduced, I am quite at a loss to discover. The 
reading of the received text is in many places 
better than Thomson's own edition. The poet 
was a great corrector of his own writings, and 
may have left a corrected copy of the poem, from 
which the several alterations were made. Mr. 
Corney's public letter of complaint about the text 
of The Seasons, was WTitten when he was unac- 
quainted with the letter from Murdoch to Millar,* 
wherein the little, round, fat, oily man admits 
that he had removed the passage in question on 
his own authority. Mr. Corney, without this 
letter, would not have dared to restore the read- 
ing of the 1746 edition ; for the poem, as a poem, 
is all the better without the lines in question. 
The passage indeed is characteristic of Thomson 
and his muse ; but The Seasons have more than 
enough of political allusions, — too many passages 
of personal and political compliment to the 
enemies of Walpole and his administration, — too 
much of Liberty and Britannia, to make us think 

* Wooll's Warton, 4to. 1806, p. 252. 

that Murdoch was very far wrong in point of 
taste. I could wish moreover that Mr. Bolton 
Corney would extend his editorial care to the 
minor poems of Thomson, of which he says cor- 
rectly that the most ample collection is contained 
in the Aldine edition, by Sir Harris Nicolas. 
There are many errors, however, let me add, in 
the text of that edition, — a sad heap of rubbish, 
and a sad want of notes by way of illustration. 
Thus, for instance, in that sweetly plaintive poem 
to the memory of Mr. Aikman, 

" Dragg'd lingering on from partial death to death, 
And dying, all he can resign is breath." 

l^ill is the word in Murdoch, and what Thomson 
wrote unquestionably. 

Again, why have we, in vol. ii. p. 267, a long 
poem to Mr. De la Cour in Ireland, on his Pros- 
pect of Poetry, after Thomson's own declaration 
that it was not his, printed in his own lifetime, 
and in the pages of so popular a miscellany as 
The Gentleman's Magazine." 

* N.B. The poem in blank verse, intitled To Mr. James 
Dalacourt on his Prospect of Poetry, sign'd J. Thomson, is 
come to hand, but we not only find it publish'd already in a 
Monthly Collection for November 1734, but are assur'd from 
Mr. Thomson, that tho' it has some lines i'rom his Seasons, he 
knew nothing of the piece till he saw it in the Daily Joimial. 
— Gcnt.'s May. for Auyust 17.'J6, p. 484. 

In a new edition of Thomson Mr. Corney might 
then find place for the following sweet poem, which 
Hone has printed in one of his publications from 
the MS. of (7/ia2«cerOgle,who assigns it to Thomson, 
and indeed it carries the mint-mark of the poet 
with it : 


Sweet tyrant Love, but hear me now ! 

And cure while young this pleasing smart, 
Or rather aid my trembling vow. 

And teach me to reveal my heart. 

Tell her, whose goodness is my bane, 
Whose looks have smil'd my peace away. 

Oh! whisper how she gives me pain. 
Whilst undesigning, frank, and gay. 

'Tis not for common chaiins I sigh, 

For what the vulgar beauty call ; 
'Tis not a cheek, a lip, an eye, 

But 'tis the soul that lights them all. 

For that I drop the tender tear. 

For that I make this artless moan ; 
Oh ! sigh it. Love, into her ear. 

And make the bashful lover known. 

I do not think that in giving general circulation 
to a poem like this, and the followmg Commemo- 
ration of Oongreve, I am adding only to the bulk 
of Thomson's writings— oppressing with weight, 


and with weight only, the neat pyramid of white 
marble he had erected for himself. I could swell 
this publication with other poems by Thomson 
equally genuine, but they would rather detract 
from than add to his well-earned and high repu- 
tation — supplying quantity rather than quality. 

Among the more curious minutiae of the poefs 
life, well enough known in his own day, but lost 
in our own, is the curious circumstance connected 
with our stage history, that part of the Prologue 
to " Agamemnon" was not allowed by the licenser 
to be spoken. This circumstance is at once both 
new and curious. Every copy of " Agamemnon" 
has the forbidden passage printed in inverted 
commas, but no one has explained or assigned 
the reason. The London Daily Post^ April 24, 
1738, affords the necessary explanation : 

" Tomorrow morning, at nine o'clock, will be published, 
price Is. OtZ., Agamemnon, a Tragedy, as it is now acting 
with great applause, &c. 

" N.B. The lines in the Prologue, not allowed by the 
licenser to be spoken, are printed and distinguished by in- 
verted commas."* 

* " As such our fair attempt, we hope to see 

" Our judges, — here at least, — from influence free; 
" One place, — luibiass'd yet by party-rage, — 
" Where only honour votes, — the British stage. 
" We ask for justice, for indulgence sue : 
" Our last, best license must proceed from you." 


This was prior to the refusal of a license for 
Edward and Eleonora. 

Mr. Bolton Corney is so conscientious a lover 
of truth, and fights for facts with so commend- 
able a pertinacity of purpose, that if I part from 
him in this Preface, questioning the accuracy 
of his conclusions in one small point, he will 
readily forgive it in one who respects his studies, 
admires his research, envies his accuracy, and 
one moreover who is thankful to him for all he 
has done and is doing in behalf of polite and 
antiquarian literature. 

" It is commonly said," writes Murdoch, that 
the life of a good writer is best read in " his 
works." Upon which Johnson observes : " The 
biographer of Thomson has remarked, that an 
author's life is best read in his works : his ob- 
servation was not well timed. Savage, who lived 
much with Thomson, once told me, he heard a 
lady remarking that she could gather from his 
works three parts of his character, that he was a 
'great lover, a great swimmer, and rigorously 
abstinent :' but, said Savage, he knows not any 
love but that of the sex ; he was perhaps never 
in cold water in his life ; and he indulges himself 
in all the luxury that comes within his reach. Yet 
Savage always spoke with the most eager praise 
of his social qualities, his warmth and constancy 

of friendship, and his adherence to his first ac- 
quaintance when the advancement of his reputa- 
tion iiad left them behind him." While in justifi- 
cation of Murdoch Mr. Corney remarks (note 1), 
" Johnson, relying on the testimony of Savage, 
censures this observation, as not loell timed. I 
shall prove in a future note the incompetency of 
his witness." " I have now," he adds in note 88, 
" to encounter Johnson and Savage. — Johnson, 
relying on the statements of Savage, hints that 
the poet and the man were very dissimilar beings : 
the former, a great lover, a great swimmer, and 
rigorously abstinent ; the latter, — insensible to 
passion, never in cold water, and extremely luxu- 
rious. Now I affirm, as to the first accusation, 
that Thomson was desperately in love with the 
Amanda whom he celebrates in verse ; the second 
accusation is beneath discussion ; but as to the 
third, I am prepared to admit that he yielded 
more frequently to the allurements of festive 
pleasure, than might become a true votary of 
serene philosophy . It was one of the prominent 
vices of the times." 

There is nothing here to convince the reader 
that Savage was an incompetent witness ; nor do 
I think it in Mr. Corney's power to make good 
his promise. The note leaves the matter very 
much where it stood ; but we have something to 

add in favour of Savage, and of course against 
Mr. Corney.* 

From 1726 to 1743, the year in which Savage 
died, the two poets were friends, and much with 
one another. One of Thomson's first London 
acquaintances was the wretched Savage ; for a 
young man in London, in the year 1 726, with a 
turn for literature, and whose first want was a 
pair of shoes, was sure of meeting Savage. Se- 
veral references to the two poets occur in a curious 
little volume of letters, quite overlooked by Sir 
Harris Nicolas, (the writer of the Aldine Life of 
Thomson,) and equally so by Mr. Corney. The 
title of the volume is, " A Collection of Letters, 
never before printed : written by Alexander Pope, 
Esq. and other ingenious Grentlemen, to the late 
Aaron Hill, Esq. 1751," 12mo. pp. 88. Among 
the letters of the other ingenious gentlemen, are 
fourteen from Thomson to Hill. 

In these letters the name of Savage is of com- 
mon occurrence. Thomson would appear to have 
met Savage in the company of Aaron Hill, on the 

* When Spence remarked to Pope of the tragic Rowe, " I 
thought Rowe had been too grave to write such things ;" 
Pope replied, "He! why he would laugh all day long! he 
would do nothing else but laugh." — Spence by Singer, p. 284. 
Spence had read Rowe in his works. Pope had read both 
the man and his works. 


26th April, 1726. He mentions having seen him 
ajsain, in a letter to HilL dated 20th of October 
in the same year, A gap occurs in the corres- 
pondence after 1726; but in a letter dated ten 
years later (May 11, 1736) ho expresses a wish 
that Hill would come and see him in Kew Lane, 
and he would ask Pope and Savage to meet him : 
" but how to find Savage," he adds, " requires 
more intelligence than is allotted to mortals." 

The poem by Savage, " On Public Spirit with 
regard to Public Works," was written at Rich- 
mond, whither he had retired for some time, that 
he might prosecute his design in full tranquillity. 
The subject has been described as — 

" Worthy a Thomson's muse, a Frederick's ear ;" 

and the poem was published in June 1737. In 
1737 he was therefore a near neighbour of Thom- 

From the following letter he would appear to 
have been in September 1738 still a resident at 
Richmond, in frequent intercourse with Thomson, 
his next door neighbour, it may be said, and what 
is more — his friend. 

To Dr. Birch. 

[Birch MSS. 4318. art. 46.] 

Sept. 1st, 17.38. 
Dear Sir, 

I had done my self y'^ Honour of calling on you to 

day, but am very much in a Hurrey — I take this oppurtunily 

of letting you know y' I am struck out (and am ye only Person 
struck out), of ye late Queen's List of Pensions. 

Mr. Mendes and his Lady intend to call on you in a coach 
on Wednesday next between 8 and nine in y® morning, to 
desire ye Favour of you to accompany us to Chiswick, to see 
ye Earl of Burlington's House and Gardens ; I having taken 
care to reserve a Place in my Ticket on purpose for you ; so yt 
I beg you will not dissappoint us. Dr. Annstrong and Mr. 
Thomson and my self will be of the party. Pray expect Mr. 
Mendes, who desired me earnestly not to fail writing to you on 
this occasion. I am now going to Richmond, and shall scarce 
be at Clapton till after our seeing the Gardens, Mr. Thomson 
and I proposing to meet ye rest of ye comjiany at Turnham 

Be so good only as to write Mr. Mendes word you will meet 
Him and also a direction to your Lodging yt He may know 
where to take you up, and direct to Him at his House over 
against ye Pond at Clapton, near Hackney. 
I am Dr. Sir, 

Yrs. most affectionately, 

R: Savage. 

P.S. Pray put your Letter to Mr. Mendes in ye Penny 
Post by Eight a Clock on Monday Morning. — But above all 
do not dissappoint us on any account of your Company. — We 
all being exceeding desirous of it — I hope you have not forgot 
lending Miss Carter y'^ Author to be Let. 

The writer of this letter was no incompetent 
witness ; he knew Thomson well, he knew his 
friends, and he was no common observer. The 
world of letters is infinitely obliged to Johnson 
for preserving a remark like this, so curiously 

illustrative of the personal character of a great 
poet, whose greatest praise is : 

" Not one immoral, one corrupted thought, 
One line, which dying he could wish to blot." 

not the exaggerated praise he has bestowed upon 

" For though not sweeter his own Homer sings. 
Yet is his life the more endearing song." 

If he had frailties and failings, he had many 
noble qualities, possessing, in the gratefid lan- 
guage in which Smollett speaks of him, " the 
most benevolent heart that ever warmed the 
human breast.'"* 

P. 0. 

* Hist, of Em/, vol. xiii. p. 4.33. 


To the Memory of 


Inscribed to her Grace, 


Dutchefs of Marlborough. 

L N D ON: 

Printed for J. Millan, and Sold at his Shop near 
the Horfe-Guards, 1729. 

{Price Sixpence.) 


The author of the following Poem, not having had 
the happiness of a pei'sonal acquaintance with Mr. 
CoNGREVE, is sensible that he has drawn his private 
character very impex'fectly. This all his friends will 
readily discover : and therefore, if any one of them had 
thought fit to do j ustice to those amiable qualifications, 
which made him the love and admiration of all who 
knew him, these verses had never seen the light. 

P E M 

TO the Memory of 


Inscribed * to her Grace, 


Dutchess of Marlborough. ' 

Oft has the Muse, with mean attempt, employ'd 

Her heaven-born voice to flatter prosperous guilt, 

Or trivial greatness : often stoop'd her song 

To sooth Ambition in his frantic rage, 

The dire destroyer, while a bleeding world 

Wept o'er his crimes. Of this pernicious skill 

Unknowing I, these voluntary lays 

To genuine worth devote ; to worth, by all 

Confess'd and mourn'd ; to Congreve now no more. 

First of the fairer kind ! by heaven adorn'd 
With every nobler praise ; whose smile can lift 
The Muse unknown to fame, indulgent now 
Permit Her strain, ennobled by a name. 
To all the better few, and chief to thee, 
Bright Marlbro', ever sacred, e\ cr dear. 


Lamented Shade ! in him the Comic Muse, 

Parent of gay instruction, lost her lov'd, 

Her last remaining hope ; and pensive now 

Resigns to Folly, and his mimic rout, 

Her throne usurp'd : presage of darker times, 

And deeper woes to come ! with taste declin'd 

Fallen Virtue droops ; and o'er th' ill-omen'd age, 

Unseen, unfear'd, impend the thousand ills 

That wait on ignorance : no Congreve now 

To scourge our crimes, or laugh to scorn our fools, 

A new and nameless herd. Nature was his, 

Bold, sprightly, various : and superior Art, 

Curious to choose each better grace, unseen 

Of vulgar eyes ; wild delicacy free ; 

Tho' labour'd, happy ; and tho' strong, refin'd. 

Judgment, severely cool, o'erlook'd his toil. 

And patient finish'd all : each fair design. 

With freedom regular, correctly great, 

A Master's skilful daring. Closely wrought 

His meaning Fable, with deep art perplex'd. 

With striking ease unravel'd : no thin plot 

Seen thro' at once and scorn'd ; or ill conceal'd 

By borrow'd aids of mimickry and farce. 

His Characters strong-featur'd, equal, just, 

From finer nature drawn : and all the Mind 

Thro' all her mazes trac'd ; each darker vice. 

And darling folly, under each disguise, 

By either sex assum'd, of study'd ease, 

False friendship, loose severity, vain wit, 

Dull briskness, shallow depth, or coward rage. 


Of the whole Muse possess'd, his piei'cing eye 

Discern'd each richer vein of genuine mirth, 

Humour or wit ; where differing, where agreed ; 

How counterfeited, or by folly's grin, 

Or affectation's air : and what their force 

To please, to move, to shake the ravish'd scene 

With laughter unreprov'd. To him the Soul, 

In all her higher workings, too, was known : 

What passions tumult there ; whence their prompt 

Their sudden flood of rage, and gradual fall ; 
Infinite motion ! source supreme of bliss. 
Or love to man ; our heaven, or hell, below ! 

Such was his public name ; nor less allow'd 

His private worth : by nature made for praise. 

A pleasing form ; a soul sincere and clear, 

Where all the human graces mix'd their charms. 

Pure candour, easy goodness, open truth. 

Spontaneous all : where strength and beauty join'd 

With wit indulgent ; humble in the height 

Of envy'd honours : and, but rarely found, 

Th' unjealous friend of every rival worth. 

Adorn'd for social life : each talent his 

To win each heart ; the charm of happy ease, 

Free mirth, gay learning, ever-smiling wit, 

To all endear'd, a pleasure without pain : 

What Halifax^ approv'd, and Marlbro' mourns. 

Not so th' illiberal mind, where knowledge dwells^, 


Uncouth and harsh, with her attendant, Pride, 

Imj^atient of attention, prone to blame. 

Disdaining to be pleased ; condemning all. 

By all condemn'd ; for social joys unfit, 

In solitude self-curst, the child of spleen ; 

Oblig'd, ungrateful ; unoblig'd, a foe ; 

Poor, vitious, old ; such fierce-ey'd Asper was. — ■ 

Now meaner Cenus,'' trivial with design, 

Courts poor applause by levity of face. 

And scorn of serious thought ; to mischief prompt, 

Tho' impotent to wound ; profuse of wealth. 

Yet friendless and unlov'd ; vain, fluttering, false : 

A vacant head, and an ungenerous heart. 

But slighting these ignobler names, the Muse 
Pursues her favourite Son, and sees him now, 
From this dim spot enlarg'd, triumphant soar 
Beyond the walk of Time to better worlds. 
Where all is new, all wondrous, and all blest ! 
What art thou. Death ! by mankind poorly fear'd, 
Yet period of their ills. On thy near shore, 
Trembling they stand, and see thro' dreaded mists, 
Th' eternal port, irresolute to leave 
This various misery, these air-fed dreams 
Which men call life, and fame. Mistaken minds ! 
'Tis reason's prime aspiring, greatly just ; 
'Tis happiness supreme, to venture forth 
In quest of nobler worlds ; to try the deeps 
Of dark futui-ity, with Heaven our guide, 
Th' unerring Hand that led us safe thro' time : 


That planted in the soul this powerful hope, 
This infinite ambition of new life, 
And endless joys, still rising, ever new. 

These Congkeve tastes, safe on th' ethereal coast, 
Join'd to the numberless, immortal quire 
Of spirits blest. High-seated among these. 
He sees the public Fathers of mankind,^ 
The greatly Good, those universal Minds, 
Who drew the sword, or plann'd the holy scheme, 
For liberty and right : to check the rage 
Of blood-stain'd tyranny, and save a world. 
Such, high-born Marlbro', be thy Sire divine 
With wonder nam'd ; fair Fi-eedom's champion he. 
By heaven approv'd, a conqueror without guilt. 
And such, on earth his friend, and join'd on high 
By deathless love, Godolphin's ® patriot worth. 
Just to his country's fame, yet of her wealth 
With honour frugal ; above interest great. 
Hail men immortal ! social Virtues hail ! 
First heirs of praise ! — But T, with weak essay, 
Wrong the superior theme : while heavenly quires. 
In strains high-warbled to celestial harps. 
Resound your names ; and Congreve's added voice 
In heaven exalts what he admired below. 

With these he mixes, now no more to swerve 
From reason's purest law ; no more to please, 
Borne by the torrent down a sensual age. 
Pardon, lov'd shade, that I with friendly blame 


Slight-note thy error ; not to wrong thy wortli, 

Or shade thy memory (far from my soul 

Be that base aim) but haply to deter, 

From flattering the gross vulgar, future pens, 

Powerful like thine in every grace, and skill'd 

To win the listening soul with virtuous charms. 

If manly thought and wit refin'd may hope 

To please an age, in aimless folly sunk. 

And sliding swift into the depth of vice ;^ 

Consuming Pleasure leads the gay and young 

Thro' their vain round ; and venal Faith the old, 

Or Avarice, mean of soul : instructive arts 

Pursu'd no more : the general taste extinct, 

Or all-debas'd : even sacred liberty. 

The great man's jest, and Britain's welfare, — nam'd, 

By her degenerate sons, the Poet's dream, — 

Or Fancy's air-built vision, gaily vain. 

Such the lost age : yet still the Muse can And 

Supei'ior and apart, a sacred band. 

Heroic Virtues who ne'er bow'd the knee 

To sordid Interest : who dare greatly claim 

The Privilege of men, unfearing truth. 

And freedom, heaven's first gift ; th' ennobling bliss 

That renders life of price, and cheaply sav'd 

At life's expense ; our sum of happiness. 

On these the drooping Muses fix their eyes ; 

From these expect their ancient fame restor'd — 

Nor will the hope be vain ; tlie public weal 

With theirs fast-link'd : a generous truth conceal'd 

From narrow -thoughted power, and known alone 
To souls of highest rank. With these, the Fair 
Be join'd in just applause ; the brighter few, 
Who raised above gay folly, and the whirl 
Of fond amusements, emulate thy praise, 
Illustrious Marlbro' ; pleas'd, like thee, to shine 
Propitious on the Muse ; whose charms inspii'e 
Her noblest raptures, and whose goodness crowns. 



Note 1. 
Thomson was very lavish of his Dedications and Inscriptions ; 
but not more lavish than Dr. Yoinig, in his own age ; than 
Dryden, in a preceding ; or than Chapman before his Homer ; 
or Spenser, before " The Faiiy Queen. " 

The biographers of Thomson do not tell us, but we know, 
on the unimpeacha])le testimony of Smollett, that it was 
Thomson's intention, had he lived, to have withdrawn the 
whole of his Dedications in verse and prose, and to have 
stigmatized by name his unworthy patrons in his will. — (See 
the Dedicatinn to Ferdinand Count Fathom.) 

Note 2. 
Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough, eldest daughter of John, 
the great Duke of Marlborough, and the inheritor of his title. 
Congreve had sat frequently at her table, — been much in her 
society, and enjoyed, it is said, a share in her affections. His 
wit and character were perhaps his only recommendations, — 
for though his person had been handsome, he was, when most 
intimate with the Duchess, in the decline of life, a cripple from 
the gout, and otherwise diseased. In his desire to be thought 
the gentleman, not the author (the latter character he rejected 
before Voltaire), he left a legacy of ten thousand poixnds to 
the Duchess, " the accumvdation of attenti\'e parsimony, which 

30 NOTES. 

though to her superfluous and useless, might have given great 
assistance to the ancient famil)^ from which he was descended." 
Johnsons Lives. 

Congreve died on the 19th of January, 1729, at his house 
in Surrey Street in the Strand, aged 60. On the the 26th his 
body lay in state in the Jerusalem chamber at Westminster, 
and on the night of Sunday the 29th, was buried in the 
south transept of the Abbey. He was buried near Godolphin's 
monument. The pall-bearers were the Duke of Bridgewater, 
the Earl of Godolphin (the Duchess's husband). Lord Cob- 
ham, the Earl of Wilmington, Mr. George Berkeley, and 
General Churchill. 

There are two short letters in the Suffolk Papers, written 
before Congreve's burial, by the Duchess of Marlborough, to 
Mr. George Berkeley, which testify a proper feeling for the 

Tn the Hon. George Berkeley. 

Jan. 22, 1728-9 

I must desire you to be one of the six next Sunday 
upon this very melancholy occasion. I always used to think 
you had a respect for him, and I would not have any there that 

had not. 

I am, &c. 

To the same. 


Jan. 28, 1728-9. 

The last letter I writ to you was upon always having 
thought that you had a respect, and a kind one, for INIr. Con- 
greve. I dare say you believe I could sooner think of doing 
the most monstrous thing in the world, than sending anything 

NOTES. 31 

that was his, where I was not persuaded it would be vahied. 
The number of them I think so of, are a mighty few indeed ; 
therefore I must alwuys be, in a particidar manner, 
Yours &c. 


Bird made the medallion monument to Congreve in the 
south aisle of Westminster Abbey, and the Duchess wrote the 
inscription, which I transcribe from Neale and Brayley's 
Westminster Abbey, Vol. ii. p. 2.3.3. 

Mr. William Congreve, Di/ed Januari/ ?/« \9th, 1728, Aged 
56 ,-f and was buried near this place : to whose most Valuable 
Memory this Monument is Sett up bij Henrietta, Duchess of 
Marlborough, as a mark how dearly She remembers the happi- 
ness and Honour She enjoyed in the Sincere Friendshipp of so 
worthy and Honest a Man, whose Virtue, Candour, and Witt 
gained him the Love and Esteem of the present Age, and whose 
Writings will be the Admiration of the Future. 

Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough, was married to the son 
of her father's friend, Lord Godolphin ; and dying in 17.38, 
childless, the issue of her next sister. Lady Sunderland, suc- 
ceeded to the Duchy of MarllKU'ough. 

Note 3. 
Charles Montague, Earl of Halifax, was the great friend 
and patron of Congreve, and, notwithstanding the sneer of 
Swift, is thought to have done enough for the great dramatic 
poet. The " one poor office" of Swift, swells in fact to three 
orfoiu" offices. How else did Congreve make his money? — not 
by his plays, siu'ely ! 

* Suflolk Tapers, \'ol. i. p. 330. 
+ This is a mistake, " William, the xonne of Air. William Congreve 
of Bardsey Grange, irasbaplifed, Fehru. lOlh, 16C9." Regi.stor of the 
parish of Bardsey, or Bardsa, in the M'est Uidiiig of York. Maloiic's 
Life of Drijden, p. 22.5. 

32 NOTES. 

Notf 4. 
Asper was perhaps Dennis. I have failed in identifying 

Note 5. 
In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ 'd, 
The kings and awful Fathers of Mankind : 
And some, with whom compar'd yoiu- Insect Tribes 
Are but the beings of a summer's day. 


Note 6. 
Sidney Godolphin, Earl of Godolphin, the bosom friend 
and political associate of Marlborough. His son, the second 
Earl of Godolphin, was married to Henrietta Churchill — the 
Duchess of JMarlborough, to whom this poem is inscribed. 
He died in 1712, and is described on his monument as chief 
minister to Queen Anne " during the first nine glorious years 
of her reign." 

Note 7. 
These three lines perhaps belong to the preceding para- 
graph. They are certainly out of place where they at present 








A.D. 1607 






€\)t ^3err|) ^ocietp* 


THOMAS AMYOT, Esq. F.R.S. Treas. S.A. 


WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq. F.S.A. rmismrr. 







T. J. PETTIGREW, Esq. F.R.S., F.S.A. 


E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq. F.S.A. Secretim/. 





Almost every one is familiar with an old sayin^i; 
" Hobson's choice, this or none," applied in cases 
where no choice whatever is afforded, which is 
said to have originated with one Hobson, who 
was formerly a carrier and livery-stable keeper at 
Cambridge, and compelled every person who 
wanted a horse, to have that next the stable door, 
as the one which had taken the most rest. This 
personage has been immortalised by Milton, and 
we constantly hear of him in the jest books of the 
seventeenth century. 

But it is necessary to warn the reader from 
falling into Malone's very natural error of con- 
fusing Hobson, the Cambridge carrier, with 
William Hobson, haberdasher of London, who 
lived some time before the other, and whose 
marvellously merry conceits were collected by 
Johnson, the well known writer of the " Seven 
Champions,'''' and published in the rare tract now 
reprinted. According to Johnson, this Hobson 

was a " haberdasher of smale wares," dwelling in 
the Poultry, " in the beginning of Queene Eliza- 
beths most happy raigne.*" We learn from Stowe 
that he died in 1581, and was buried in the 
church of St. Mildred in the Poultry. 

It is unnecessary to enter into the question of 
the authenticity of anecdotes of this kind, the 
more especially as several instances are pointed 
out in the notes where some of the tales can be 
traced to a much earlier period than the age of 
" old Hobson." Nothing is more uncertain than 
the attribution of "jests" to persons who have 
made themselves famous as wits, and we are 
occasionally favoured in the public prints with 
anecdotes concerning men of our own time, that 
have long been familiar to us in slightly different 
forms in jest books of the sixteenth and seven- 
teenth centuries. 

J. O. H. 

June 2). St 1813. 





Printed at London for lohn Wright, and are to bee sold at liis 
shoppc nccre Christ-Church gate. 





Your friendly disposition (Right worshippfull) giving 
grace to well meaning minds, hath imboldned me 
amoungst others, to testifie that good will in outward 
shew, which my heart of long time hath secrettly 
bore to your worship, and now taking oportunity, I 
present to your favorable censure this small booke, 
contayning many quick flashes of the witty iests of old 
Hobson the merry Londoner, lately a cittyzen of good 
estimation, and I thinke not alltogether forgotten of 
your worship ; receave this little treatise (I beseeche 
you) with favour answerable to my good will, and as 
your leasure shall serve, bestow now and then a little 
reading therefore, which if it please you to doe, I doubt 
not but you will like well of the labour, and besides 
the honest recreation which it aflfbrdeth, apply what 


your worship maketh cboyce of unto your private 
pleasure, and thus wishing your prosperity, acceptance 
of this my guift, and a good opinion of the giver, I 
conclude, hoping that my honest wish 

shall not be voyd of a 

happy successe. 

Your Worships most humble to command. 

Richard Iohnson. 



In the beginning of Queene p]lizabeths most happy 
raigne, our late deceased Soveraigne, under whose 
peaceful! goverment long florished this our country of 
England, there lived in the citty of London a nierry 
cittizen named old Ilobson, a haberdasher of smale 
wares, dwelling at the lower end of Cheapside, in the 
Poultry : as well knowne thorough tliis part of Eng- 
land, as a sargeant knows the counter-gate. He was a 
homely plaine man, most commonly wearing a buttond 
cap close to his eares, a short gowne girt hard about 
his midle, and a paire of slippers upon his feete of an 
ancient fashion ; as for his wealth, it was answerable to 
the better sort of our cittizens, but of so mery a dispo- 
sition that his equal therein is hardly to be found ; 
hereat let the pleasant disposed people laugh, and the 
more graver in carriage take no exceptions, for here 


are merriments without hurt, and humorous iests 
savoring upon wisdome : read willingly, but scofFe not 
spitefully, for old Hobson spent his dayes merrily. 


Not many yeares since there was Sir lohn Baynes, 
(by the common voyce of the citty) chosen Shriefe of 
London, which man in former times had beene Master 
Hobsons prentice, and ridinge alonge the streete with 
other aldermen about the citty businesse, was saluted 
by Master Hobson in this maner, Bones a God man, 
what a cock-horse knave, and thy master a foote, heres 
the world turnd upside downe ; Sir lohn Baines 
hearing this his masters merry salutation, passed along 
with a pleasant smyle, makinge no answere at all. Upon 
slight regard, Master Hobson tooke occasion to say as 
folio weth : heres pride rydes on horse -backe, whilste 
humilitye goes a foote ; in speakinge these words, came 
foure other alldermen rydinge after Master Shreife, 
whose names were these : AUderman Ramsey, Allder- 
man Bond, AUderman Beecher, and AUderman Cooper, 
at whose passage by, he made this pleasant rime. 

f 3. E 

I 4. a? 

2. Bond the stout ( 4. and Cooper the loute. 

This pleasant rime so sodaynely spoken by Master 
Hobson, is to this day accounted for his proverbe in 



Master Hobson being a haberdasher of small wares 
(as I sayd before) and his shoppe on a time full of 
customers, his negligent prentises carelessly creditted 
a Kentish pedler with ten pounds of commodities, 
neither knowing his name nor his dwelling place, which 
oversight, when maister Hobson understood, and noting 
the simplicity of his servantes, and their forgetfulnes, 
demanded what ajiparrell the pedler had on ? Mary, 
sir (quoth one of the prentises) he had on a tauny cote. 
Tlien (quoth Maister Hobson) put downe lohn Tauny- 
cote, and so was the pedler, by the name of lohn 
Tauny cote, entred to the booke. About a month after, 
the same pedler came againe to London to buy ware, 
and comming to Maister Hobson in a russet cote, willed 
him to turne over his booke for ten poundes that one 
lohn Rowlands owed him. Ten pounds (quoth Mais- 
ter Hobson) that lohn Rowlands owetli me, I remem- 
ber no such man, bones of God, knave, thou owest mee 
none ; but I doe, saith the pedler : whereupon the booke 
was serched, but no lohn Rowlands was to be found. I 
thinke thou art mad, quoth Hobson, for thou owest me 
nothing ; but I doe, quoth the pedler, and Vv^ill pay it. 
Being in this strife a long time, one of his servants 
said that hee had found in the booke such a debte by 
one lohn Tawny-cote ; that is myselfe, replyed the Ped- 
ler, I was then lohn Tawny-cote, though I am now 
lohn Russet-cote ; so paid hee the ten pounds by the 
same name to Maister Hobson, and received twenty 


more upon his owne word and name of lohn Rowland, 
the which twenty pound hee shortly after paid for 
suertyshippe, and so by this his over kind heart, paying 
other mens debtes, hee grew so poore, and into such 
necessity, that he was forced to maintaine his living 
by hedging and ditching, and other such like country 
labours. Within a while after this, Maister Hobson 
comming into Kent, to seeke up some desperate debts, 
came to Dartford, where finding this poore man ditch- 
ing for a groat a day, in pitty of him said, how now lohn 
Tawny cote, bones a God man, thou canst never pay me 
with this poore labour ; come home knave, come home, 
I will trust thee with twenty pound more, follow thy 
old trade of pedling again, and one day thou maiest pay 
me all. Thus the pedler had a new credit of Maister 
Hobson, by which good meanes he grew rich, that in 
time he bought his freedome of London, and therein 
grew so welthy a Cittisen, that he became one of the 
maisters of the Hospitall, and when he died, he proved 
a good benefactor to the same house. 


Upon a time Maister Hobson invited very solemnly 
the whol livery of his company to a light banquet, and 
for the same provided the greatest taverne in all Lon- 
don in a redines : the appoynted houre being come, 
the cittizens repaired thether, richly atired, the better 
to grace Maister Hobsons banquet : but expecting 


great cheare, and good intertaincmcnt, they were all 
utterly disapoynted, for what found they there, thinke 
you ? nothing, on my Avord, but each one a cup of wine 
and a manchet of bread on his trencher, and some five 
hundred candles lighted about the roome, which in my 
mind was a very light banquet, both for the belly and 
for the eye. By this merry jest, hee gained such love 
of his companie, that hee borowed gratis out of the 
hall a hundred and fiftie pound for two yeares. 


Evermore when Maister Ilobson had any buisines 
abroad, his prentises wold ether bee at the taverne, 
filling there heads with wine, or at the Dagger in 
Cheapeside, cramming their bellies with minced pyes, 
but above al other times, it was their common costome 
(as London prentises use, to follow their maisters upon 
Sundays to the Church dore) and then to leave them, 
and hie unto the taverne ; which Maister Hobson on a 
time perceving one of his men so to doe, demanded at 
his comming home, whot the preachers text was : Sir 
(quoth the fellow) I was not at the beginning ; what 
was in the midle (quoth Maister Hobson) : Sir (quoth 
the fellow) then was I asleepe : (said Maister Hobson 
againe) what was then the conclusion ? then replyed 
his servant, I was come. Sir, away before the end : l>y 
which meanes he knew well he was not there, but 


ratlier in some tipling house, offending Gods maiesty 
and the lawes of the land. Tlierefore the next Sunday 
morning after, Maister Hobson caUed all, his servants 
together, and in the sight of many of his neiglibors and 
their prentises, tooke a peece of chauke, and chaukd 
them all the way along to the Church derectly, which 
proved a great shame to his owne servants, but a good 
example to all others of like condition : after this was 
there never the like misdemenour used among them. 


In the beginning of Queene Elizabeaths raigne, 
when the order of hanging out lanterne and candle 
light first of all was brought up, the bedell of the 
warde where Maister Hobson dwelt, in a darke evening 
crieng up and downe, hang out your lantornes, hang 
out your lantornes, using no other words : whereupon 
Maister Hobson tooke an empty lantorne, and accord- 
ing to the beadles call, hung it out. This flout by the 
Lord Maior was taken in ill part, and for the same 
offence was sent to the Counter : but being released the 
next night following, the beadle thinking to amend 
his call, cried with a loud voice, hang out your lantorne 
and candle. Maister Hobson hereupon hung out a 
lantorne and candle unlighted, as the beadle againe com- 
manded, whereupon he was sent again to the Counter ; 
but the next night the beadle being better advised, 
cryed, hang out your lantorne and candle light, hang 


out your lantonie and candleliglit; wliicli Maister Hob- 
son at last did to his great commendations, which cry 
of lanthorne and candlelight is in i-ight manner used 
to this day. 


Not farre from Maister Hobsons house, there dwelled 
one of the cunning men, otherwise called fortune tellers, 
such cossoning companions, as at this day (by their 
crafts) make simple women beleevc, how they can tell 
what husbands they shall have, how many children, 
how many sweetharts, and such like : if goods bee stole, 
who hath them, with promise to helpe them to their 
losses againe : with many other like deceiptfull elusions. 
To this wise man (as some termes him) goes Maister 
Hobson, not to reap any benefit by his crafty cunning, 
but to make a jest and tryall of his experience; so 
causing one of his servants to lead a masty dog after 
him, staying at the cuning mans doore with the dog 
in his hand, up goes Maister Hobson to the wise man, 
requesting his skil, for he had lost ten pound lately 
taken from him by thceves, but when and how he knew 
not well : the cunning man knowing Maister Hobson 
to be one of his neighbors, and a man of a good repu- 
tation, fell (as he made showe) to coniuring and casting 
of figures, and after a few words of incantation, as his 
common use was, he tooke a very large faire looking 
glasse, and bad Maister Hobson to looke in tlie same, 


but not to cast his eyes backward in any case ; the 
which hee did, and therein saw the picture of a huge 
and large oxe with two broad homes on his head, the 
which was no otherwise, (but as hee had often deceit- 
fully shewd to others, a cossoning fellow like the cun- 
ning man himselfe, clothed in an oxe hide, which fellow 
he maintained as his servant to blinde the peoples eyes 
withall, and to make them beleeve hee could shew 
them the Divill at his pleasure in a glass :) this vision 
Maister Hobson perceving, and gessing at the knavery 
thereof, gave a whistle for his dog which then stayed 
below at the doore in his mans keeping, which whistle 
being no sooner hard, but the dog ran up stayers to his 
maister as he had beene mad, and presently fastned 
upon the poore fellow in the oxe hide, and so tore him as 
it was pittifull to see : the cunning man cried for the 
passion of God, take oif your dog : no (quoth Maister 
Hobson) let the Divill and the dogge fight, venture 
thou thy dcvill and I will venture my dog. To con- 
clude, the oxe hide was torne from the fellows backe, 
and so their knaveryes were discovered, and their cun- 
ning shifts layd open to the world. 


As Mai. Hobson increased in riches, so increased 
his wife in pride, in such sort that she would seldom 
goe out of doores without her man before her. Upon a 
time having buissnes to Cheapside market amoungst 


many other of her neighbors, the more to shew her 
haughty stomack, desired of her husband that she might 
have her man to attend her, who seeing her disposition, 
willingly consented thereunto : and thereupon called 
two of his lustiest men, put them in armor with two 
browne-bills on their necks, placing one of them before 
her, the other after, and so proferred to send her forth 
to market. She in a nicenes, tooke such displeasure 
hereatt, that for a mounth after she lay sicke in her 
bed, and would eate nothing but caudles made of mus- 


There was a very rich cittyzen (dwelling not fjir 
from London bridge) whom in his life time was never 
knowne to doe any deed Avortliy of memorie : wlxo 
dying, left Maister Hobson his onely executor to dis- 
pose of his goods, as also to lay upon his grave a faii*e 
marble stone ; and as upon marble stones there bee 
commonly ingraven certaine verses in the maner of an 
epitaph of the mans conversation thereunder buried, 
so Maister Hobson considered what epitaph he would 
set upon his friends grave, knowing the few good deeds 
he did in his life time, caused these two verses follow- 
ing to be ingraven upon the marble stone. 


IIo was bef^ottcn, boinie, and cryod, 
lie livf'd long time, fell sicke, and died. 



Maister Hobson having ocasion to ride into the 
wild of Kent, where in that age scollers were very 
scarce, during the time of his taring there, there hap- 
ned to be buried one lohn Medcaufe, a very sufficient 
farmer, upon whose grave was written these verses 
following, in faire Romaine letters. 

I desire yee in the Lords behalfe, 

To pray for the soule of poore lohn Caufe. 

Maister Hobson, noting the simplicity of the verses, 
writ underneath as foUoweth. 

O thou, Death, more suttell then a foxe, 
Thou mightst a let this caufe lived to be an oxe, 
To have eat grasse, hay and corne, 
And like his sire to have wore a home. 


Maister Hobson having in France a factor which 
dealt for him in marchandise, and lacking divers sorts 
of wares to furnish his chapmen for Bristowe faire, 
sent to his aforesaid factor (being a mery conceited 
youth) for certaine matches of such commodities as 
were then most in request : he mistaking his maisters 
meaning, sent him al the matches used for gun-pouder 
that could be bought in France, to the valew of two 
thousand poundes worth ; Maister Hobson receaving 
them, and seing himselfe matcht with a commodyty of 


matches, thought all was not well in Fi-ance, and that 
his man necklected his busines there. To know the 
truth thereof, the next morning very early, not reveal- 
ing it to his wife, in a night gowne, a buttoned cap, 
and in a payre of slippers, tooke shipping at Billinsgate, 
and so passed over into France, when after some inquiry 
made of his mans life and conversation, he found him 
in a lewd house, reveling with a most gallant French 
eurtezan, whome Maister Hobson after a smile or two 
saluted in this manner. What now, knave? what, a 
wenching, knave ? at rack and manger, knave ? bones 
of me, cannot a snatch and a way serve your turne, 
knave? is this the French wares you deale withall, 
knave ? His man seeing himselfe so taken napping, for 
a time stood amazed, not knowing what to say, but 
recovering his sences, he gave his maister this plea- 
sant answere ; though, sir, this ware is a broken com- 
modity, yet may wee deale with them, being dealers 
with all wares, or rather haberdashers of small wares, 
which is seldome lik'd of French gentlewomen : Mais- 
ter Hobson at this pleasant answere could not choose 
but pardon him, and so came they both over into Eng- 
land, where now this rack and a manger is growne to 
a proverbe. 


The commodity of matches which his factor sent 
him from France, being slow of sailc, considering the 


little use for them being a time of pease, like a witty 
cittizen Maister Hobson hies himselfe to court to the 
Queene Elizabeth, for then she raigned, and having a 
pattent ready made for the sale of the aforesaid matches, 
where so soone as hee came into the Queenes presence, 
hee kneeled downe, and desired her grace to give an 
asignement to liis pattent, declaring what it was, and 
the great losse he was like to sustaine by that com- 
modity ; the Queene perceaving for what intent he 
came, and considering the great benefit that would 
come by such a grant, and meaning to give it to some 
gentleman nere unto hir, as a recompence for his ser- 
vice, said unto Maister Hobson, My friend (sayd the 
Queene) bee content, for thou shalt not have thy pattent 
sealed, nor will I give thee thy request. Maister Hobson 
heai-ing the Queenes denial, said, I most hartely thanke 
your maiesty ; both I and all mine, are bound to thanke, 
and pray for your highnes ; and so making lowe obey- 
sance, went his way ; at these his words the Queene 
much marvailed, and when he had gone a litle from 
her, she caused him to be sent for backe againe, whome 
when he was returned, the Queene asked, if he did 
well understand what answer her grace did give him. 
Yes truely, saide Maister Hobson. What said I (quoth 
the Queene ?) Marry your grace bad me be content, for 
T should not have my desire, nor my pattent sealed. 
Why did youe then (qd. the Queene) give me such great 
thanks? Because (said Maister Hobson) your grace 
gave mee so soone an answere, withoute either longer 
sute or losse of time, the which woiUd have beene to 
my very much harme and great hinderance, foi- I have 


at home a mighty charge of househould, to wliie.h I am 
bound in duety to looke diligently, and to maintaine 
carefully. The Queene marking well the wisdom and 
discreet answer of Maister Hobson, and now conceav- 
ing a new favour towards him, sayd, now shall you give 
me twice thanks, for you shall have your pattent sealed, 
and your desiers performed that you sue for. So casting 
her eyes upon the Lord Chauncelour, commaunded the 
same by him to be done, which was accomplished with 
all speede, whereby in short time, hee had quicke saile 
of his commodity of matches to his hearts content, and 
his welthes great encrease. 

master hobsons lest of ringing of bells upon the 
queene's day. 

Upon Satint Hewes day, being the seventeenth of 
November, upon which day the tryumph was holden 
for Queene Elizabeths hapy goverment, as bonfiers, 
ringing of bells and such like, but in the parish where 
Maister Hobson dwelled, he being Churchwarden, was 
no ringing at all, by reason the steeple was a mending 
and the bells downe, and being asked by a servant of 
the Queenes house why they ringed not ? hee answered 
because they had no bels in their steeple. Then qd. the 
Queens man, may you very wel sel away your steeple. 
Why so, qd. Maister Hobson. Because, quoth the other, 
it standet emty and vacant. To whom Maister Hobson 
replyed againe, we may better sell awaye our piilpi-t, 



for these twelve mounths was there never a sermon in 
the same, and it rather stands empty and vacant. After 
this the parson of the church preached every Sonday 


A PooRE begger man, that was foule, blacke and 
loathsome to behould, came on a time to Maister Hob- 
son as he walked in Moore feelds, and asked something 
of him for an almes : to whom Maister Hobson said, I 
prethee good fellow get thee from me, for thou lookst 
as thou camst lately out of hell. The poore begger man 
perceving hee would give him nothing, answered ; 
forsooth. Sir, you say true, for I came lately out of Hell 
indeed. Why didst not thou tai'xy there still, quoth 
Maister Hobson. Nay Sir, quoth the begger, there is 
no roome for such begerr men as I am, for aU is kept 
for such gentlemen cittizens as you be: this wity 
answere caused Maister Hobson to give the poore man 
a teaster. 


Maister Hobson had a daughter which was a very 
faire and young woman, the Avhich for her husband 
that laye a dying, made great sorrow and lamentation, 
and would not bee comforted by any perswasions, where- 


fore her father came to her and sayd, Daughter, leave 
of your mourning, for if God take away your hushand, 
I will speedily provide you another of as great a welth 
and credit as he is now of, and farre more young and 
lusty. But yet for all this would shee not leave mourn- 
ing, and grew greatly displeased that her father made 
any motion of another husband, protesting that she 
would never mai-ry more. But now marke the variable 
minds of women ; her husband was no sooner dead and 
buried, the charges of his buriall paid for, and shee 
with her friends set at supper to comfort her, betweene 
sobbing and weeping, she whispered her father in the 
eare and said, Father, where is the same man, that ye 
said should bee my husband ? Thus may you see (quoth 
Maister Hobson) the nature of women kind, and how 
long they mourne for their husbandes after they bee 
dead : these words made the yong woman never after 
to aske her father for a husband. 


Maister Hobson having one of his Prentices new 
come out of his time, and being made a free man of 
London, desired to set up for himself, so taking a 
house not far from saint Laurence lane, furnislied it 
with store of ware and set the signe of the Mayden- 
head ; hard by was a very rich man of the same trade, 
had the same signe, and reported in every place where 



he came, that the yong man had set up the same 
signe that he had, onely to get away his customers, 
and dayly vexed the yong man there withall ; who, 
being greved in mind, made it knowne to Maister 
Hobson, his late maister, who comming to the rich man, 
said, I marvell. Sir (quoth Maister Hobson) Avhy you 
wrong my man so much as to say he seketh to get 
away your customers ; mary, so he doth (quoth the 
other) for he hath set up a signe called the maiden- 
head as mine is ; that is not so (replied Maister Hob- 
son) for his is the widdoes head, and no mayden-head, 
therfore yovi do him great wrong : the rich man here- 
upon seeing himself requited with mocks, rested satis- 
fied, and never after that envied Maister Hobsons 
man, but let him live quietly. 


Upon a time Maister Hobson going to my Lord 
Maiors to dinner amongst the livery of his company, 
and being waited on by one of his prentices, the said 
prentise spied a louse creeping upon the side of his 
gowne and tooke it oflP: Maister Hobson espying him 
to doe some thing in secret, asked him what it was ? 
the fellow being ashamed, was loath to tell him, but 
being importuned by his maister said it was a louse ; 
oh (qd. Maister Hobson) this is good lucke, for it 
sheweth me to be a man, for this kind of vermine 
chiefly breedeth on mankind, and thereupon gave five 


shillings to his man for his labour : another of his 
prentises, being a pickthanke knave, and having hard 
that his fellow had live shilings given him for taking 
a louse from of his maister, having his gowne likewise 
on, and made as though he tooke a flea from the same, 
and convayed it privily away, but when maister Hob- 
son constrayned him to tell what it was, with much 
dissembling shamefastnes he said it was a flea : Maister 
Hobson perceving his disimulation, said to him, what 
dost thou make mee a dogge ? for fleas be most com- 
monly bread upon dogs. And so the five shillinges he 
lookd for he had given fiveteene stripes ; for quoth 
Maister Hobson, there is great difference betweene 
one that dotli a thing with a good mind, and him that 
doth a thing by disimulation. 


Maister Hobson had a servant that hee had long 
before made a freeman, and was still at Maister Hob- 
sons commandment, and did him much good service ; 
wherefore upon a time hee came unto his maister and 
said. Sir, I have done your service long time iust and 
truly, wherefore I pray you bestowe some thing upon 
mee to begin the world withall. Fellow, quoth Mais- 
ter Hobson, thou sayst true, and hereon have I thought 
many times to doe a good turne ; now will I tell thee 
what thou shalt doe. T must shortly ride to Bristowe 


faire, and if thou wilt beare my charges thether, I will 
give thee such a thing as shall be worth to thee a hun- 
dred pounds : I am content (quoth the fellowe). So all 
the way as hee road his man bore his charges, and 
paid for all things dewly, till they came to their last 
lodging, and there after supper he came to his maister 
and said, Sir, I have borne your charges as you com- 
manded me ; now I pray you let me know what the 
thing is that will be worth to me a hundred poundes ? 
Did I promise thee such a thing (quoth his maister) ; 
you did (quoth the fellow) shew it me in wrighting 
(quoth his maister) ; I have none (qd. the fellow) ; then 
thou art like to have nothing (quoth his maister) and 
learne this of me, when so ever thou makest a bargaine 
with any man, looke that thou take a wrighting for 
thy security, and be wel advised how thou givest thy 
bond to any man ; this thing had benefitted me in my 
time a hundred pounds, and so may it likewise do thee. 
Thus when the poore fellow saw there was no remedy, 
he held himselfe content, and all that night pondred 
in his mind how to grow quittance with his maister ; 
so on the morrow when his maister had dispatched his 
buissines in the towne, and was set forward back again 
towards London, he taried a litle behind to recon 
with the hostes where he lay, and of her he borrowed 
as much mony on his maistei's cloke as came to all 
the charges that they spent by the way. Maister 
Hobson had not riden past two miles but that it 
begon to raine, wherupon he called for his cloke of 
another servant that rod by, who said that it was be- 


hind with his fellow who had it with him : .so they 
tooke shellter undei' a tree till he ovei'tooke theia. 
When he was come, maister Hobson most angerly sayd : 
thou knave, why comst not thou away with my cloke ? 
Sir and please you (quoth the poore fellow) I have 
layd it to pawne for your charges all the way. Why 
knave, quoth maister Hobson, didest not thou promisse 
to beare my charges to Bristowe : did I, quoth the 
fellow ? yes (quoth Maister Hobson) that thou didest. 
Shew me a wrighting then therefore (said the fellow). 
Whereunto Maister Hobson (seeing himselfe so cun- 
ningly overreached) answered but litle. 


Maister Hobson on a time in company of one of his 
neighbors roade from London towards Sturbrige faire ; 
so the first night of there iorny they lodged at Ware 
in an Inne where great store of company was, and in 
the morning, when every man made him ready to ride, 
and some were on horsbacke setting forward, the citti- 
zen his neighbour found him sitting at the Inne gate 
booted and spurd in a browne studdy, to whome hee 
saide, for shame, Maister Hobson, why sitte you heare ? 
why doe you not make yourselfe redy to horsebacke 
that we may set forward with company ? Maister Hob- 
son replyed in this manner. I tarry (quoth he) for a 
good cause. For wliat cause, quoth his neighbour. 
Mary, quoth Master Hobson, here be so many horses, 


that I cannot tell which is mine owne, and I know 
well, when every man is ridden and gone, the horse 
that remaneth behind must needs be mine. 


There was a certaine farmer that lost forty pounds 
betwixt Cambridg and London, and being so great a 
summe, he made proclamation in all market townes 
thereabouts, that whosoever had found forty and five 
pounds, should have the five pounds for his labour for 
finding it, and therefore he put in the five pound more 
then was lost. It was Maister Hobsons fortune to find 
the same some of forty pounds, and brought the same 
to the Baylife of Ware, and required the five pounds 
for his paines, as it was proclaymed. When the country 
farmer understood this, and that he must needs pay 
five pounds for the finding, he sayd that there was in 
the purse five and forty pounds, and so would hee have 
his own mony and five pounds over : so long they 
strove that the matter was brought before a justice 
of peace, which was then one Maister Fleetwood, who 
after was Recorder of London: but when Maister Fleete- 
wood understood by the bayleife that the proclamation 
was made for a purse of five and forty pound, he de- 
manded where it was ; here, quoth the baylie, and gave 
it him ; is it just forty pound, said Maister Fleetewood ? 
yes truly (quoth the bayleife) : here Maister Hobson, 
sayd Ma. Fleetwood, take you this mony, for it is your 


owne, and if you chance to find a purse of five and 
forty pound, bring it to this honest farmer; tliat is 
mine, quoth the farmer, for I lost iust forty pound ; 
You speake to late (quoth Maister Fleetewood); thus 
the farmer lost the mony, and maister Hobson had it 
accordina; to iustice. 


There dwelled not farre from Maister Hobson two 
very ancient women ; the youngest of them both was 
above thi'ee-score yeares of age ; and uppon a time sit- 
ting at the taverne together, they grew at varience 
which of them should be the youngest, (as women 
indeede desier to bee accoumpted younger then they 
be) ; in such manner that they layd a good supper, of 
the valew of twenty shillings, for the truth thereof, 
and Maister Hobson they agreed upon to bee their 
j udge of the difierence : so after Maister Hobson had 
knowledge thereof, the one came to him, and as a 
present, gave him a very faire pidgion pye, wortli some 
five shillings, desiering him to pass the vardet of her 
side: within a while after the other came, and gave 
Maister Hobson a very faire grayhound, which kind 
of dogges he much delighted in, praying him likewise 
to be favourable on her side ; wherefore hee gave iudg- 
ment that the woman that gave liim the grayhound 
was the yonger, and so she woun the supper of twenty 
shillings, which she perceiving, came to him and sayd, 


Sir, I gave you a pitlgion pie, and you promised the 
verdit should goe on my side. To whom Maister 
Hobson said, of a truth, good woman, there came a 
grayhound into my house, and eate up the pidgion pye, 
and so by that meanes I quite forgot thee. 


Maister Hobsons wife carrying something a stately 
mind, and delighting in brave apparell, upon a time 
walking abroad with other women her neighboui-s, 
they espied a payi'e of silke stoekins upon her legges, 
and desiring the like, never let their husbands to live 
in quiet after, til they had silke stoekins of the same 
fashion : so within a weeke or two following, their hus- 
bandes came complayning to Maister Hobson, and said, 
Sii- (quoth one of them) the sufferance of your wives 
pride hath spoyled all ours, for since she hath worne silke 
stockings, our wives have growne so importunate, that 
they must needs have the like, and you are the cheifest 
cause in suffering her to weare the same. Oh my good 
neighbours, (qd. M. Hobson) I have great cause in 
doing so, and it bringes me much quietnes ; as how (qd. 
one of them) ; mary thus (neighboui'es) for seeing I 
cannot please her above the knee, I most needs please 
her belowe the knee, and the only thing to please a 
woman is to let her have her will. 



Upon a new yeares day Maister Hobson sitting at 
dinner in a poets company, or one as you may tearme 
him a writer of histories, there came a poore man and 
presented him a cople of orringes, which hee kindly 
tooke as a new yeares guift, and gave the poore man 
for the same an angell of gould, and thereupon gave 
it his wife to hiy it up among other Jewells, consider- 
ing that it had likewise cost him an angel ; the which 
he did, the Poet siting by and marking the bounty of 
Ma. Hobson for so small a matter, he went home and 
devised a booke contayning forty sheets of paper, which 
was halfe a yeare in writing, and came and gave it to 
Maister Hobson in dedication, and thought in his mind 
that he in recompencing the poore man so much for 
an orringe would yeeld far more recompence for his 
booke, being so long in studying. Maister Hobson 
tooke the poets booke thankfully, and perseving he 
did it onely for his bounty shewed for the orring 
given him, willed his wife to fetch the said oringe, 
which he gave to the poet, being then almost rotten, 
saying, here is a Jewell which cost me a thousand 
times the worth in gould, therefore I think thou art 
well satisfied for thy bookes dedication : the poet seing 
this, went his way all ashamed. 



Maister Hobson beeing still very good to poore and 
most bountyfull to aged peojile, there came to him 
usually twice or thrice a weeke a silly poore ould 
blinde man to sing under his window, for the which 
he continually gave him twelve pence a time. Mais- 
ter Hobson having one of his servants so chorlish and 
withall so covitous that he would suffer the blind man 
to come no more unles he shard halfe his benefit : the 
which the blind singing man was forst to give, rather 
then to loose all ; after twice or thrice parting shares, 
Maister Hobson had thereof intelligence, who con- 
sulting with the blind man, served his servant in this 
maner ; still he looked for halfe whatsoever he got, 
so this at last was Maister Hobsons guift, who gave 
commandement that the blind man should have for 
his singing three-score jeerkes with a good wippe, 
and to be equally parted as the other guifts were ; the 
which were presently given ; the blinde mans were but 
easie, but Maister Hobsons mans were very sound 
ones, so that every jerke drewe bloud ; after this he 
never sought to deminish his masters bounty. 


In Christmas holy-day es when Ma. Hobsons wife 
had many pyes in the oven, one of his servants had 


stole one of them out, and at the taverne had merrilie 
eaten it. It fortund that same day some of his friends 
dined with him, and one of the best pyes were missing, 
the stealer whereof, at after dinner he found out in this 
maner : he caled all his servants in friendly sort toge- 
ther into the hall, and caused each of them to drinke 
one to another both wine, ale and beare, till they were 
al drunke ; then caused hee a table to be furnished with 
very good cheare, whereat hee likewise pleased them. 
Being set all together, he said, why sit you not downe 
fellowes ? "We be set all redy, quoth they. Nay quoth 
Maister Hobson, he that stole the pye is not set yet. 
Yes that I doe (quoth he that stole it) : by which meanes 
he knew what was become of the pye, for the poore 
fellow being drunke could not keepe his owne secretts. 


Upon a time when Maister Hobson lay sicke and in 
very great payne, there came unto him a Doctor of 
Phisicke, that tould him he could not escape but must 
needs die of that sicknes. Maister Hobson a while after, 
not by the Doctors helpe but by the will of God, 
recovered, and was whole of his disease, yet he Avas 
very lowe, and bare brought, and as he walked lortli 
on a day, he met the said Doctor, which, doubting 
whether it ware the sicke man or no, sayd, are not you, 
Sir, the man called Maister Hobson ? Yes trewly (quoth 
he) are you alive or dead, sayd tlie Doctor ; T am dead, 


quoth Maister Hobson ; what doe you here then, sayde 
the Doctor ; I am here, quoth Maister Hobson, because 
I have experience in manye earthly things, and God 
hath sent me to the world againe with a commandement 
to take up all phisitions that I can get, and send them 
thether to him ; which saying made Maister Doctor as 
pale as ashes for feare ; maister Hobson seing this, sayd 
unto him, feare not, Maister Doctor, though I said all 
phisitions ; for you are none, and there is no man that 
hath witte will take you for one ; therfore you are not 
in my charge ; farewell. 


In the rainge of Queene Mary, when this land was 
blinded with superstition, there was a Popish frier 
that made an oration in the Charter-house yard, where 
many formes were placed full of people to hear the 
same oration, amoungst which number sat Maister 
Hobson, which fryer, much extolling him that was 
then Pope of Rome, comparing him to Saint Petei', for 
in degree he names him above all the holy Fathers in 
time past, as Doctors, Marters, Prophets, yea and 
above more then prophets, lohn Baptist, then in Avhat 
high place, sayd the frier, shall we place this good man ; 
what place I say is fit for him or where shall he sit ? 
Maister Hobson hearing him speake so prophanly and 
sitting amongst the audience, start up and sayd. If thou 
canst find no other, then set him here in my place, for 
I am weary, and so went his way. 



Upon a time Maister Hobson lying in Saint Albones, 
there came certaine musitions to play at his chamber 
dori'e, to the intent as they filled his ears with their 
musicke, he should fil their purses with mony : where 
upon he had one of the servants of the innc (that 
waited upon him) to goe and tell them, that hee could 
not then indure to heare their musicke, for he mourn- 
ed for the death of his mother. So the musitians 
disapoynted of their purpose went sadly all away. 
The fellow that heard himi speake of movu'ning, asked 
him how long agoe it is since he buried his mother ; 
Truely (quoth Maister Hobson) it is now very ncare 
forty yeares agoe ; the fellow, understanding his subtil- 
ty, and how wittily he sent away the musitians, laughed 
very hartely. 


Maister Hobson had a servant so covetous, and 
withall so simple witted, tliat all the money he could 
gather together he hid in the ground, of the wliich 
Maister Hobson having some inteligence fell a coniur- 
ing for it in this maner ; with a good wand he so 
l>elabored my yong man, that he presently revealed 
where it lay, the which summe of money Maister Hob- 
son tooke quite away, all saving a smale summe, tlie 
which the poore fellow ])ut to so good a use, in buying 


and selling, that in short time he greatly increased it ; 
when Maister Hobson understood what he had done, 
and what good use he put his money too, sayd, Sirra, 
you can teU how to use money, and learne to make 
profit thereof, I will restore to thee all againe ; and 
so he did, which made the fellow ever after a good 


Upon a time, when Master Hobson had sore eyes, there 
came a certaine phisition to him, thinking to have 
some recompence for his councell, warning him that 
he should in any case forbeare drinking, or eUs by the 
same loose his eyes, to whom Master Hobson sayde, it 
is much more pleasure for me to loose my eyes with 
drinking, then to keepe them for worms to eate them 
out. Another time a phisition came to Maister Hobson 
and said, Sir, you looke well, and greeve at nothing and 
have a healthfuU countenance ; true (quoth Maister 
Hobson) for I have not to doe with any phisitions, nor 
with phisicke : to whom he replied, Sir, said he, you 
have no cause to blame the physition, for his phisicke 
never did you hurt ; thou saist true, quoth Maister 
Hobson, for if I had proved phisicke, I had not beene 
now heare alive ; another phisition came to him on a 
time and said. Sir, you be a very ould man ; very trew, 
quoth Maister Hobson, for thou wert never my phi- 


sition : such maner of checkes and floutes would he stil 
give to them that spoke to him of pliisicke, for in all 
his life hee never tooke any. 


Maister Hohson and another of his neighbours on a 
time walking to Southwarke faire, by chance driuike 
in a house which had the signe of Sa. Christopher, of 
the which signe the good man of the house gave this 
commendation, Saint Christopher (quoth he) when hee 
lived upon the earth bore the greatest burden that ever 
was, which was this, he bore Christ over a river ; nay 
there Avas one (quoth Maister Hobson) that bore a 
greater burden ; who was that (quoth the inkeeper) 
Mary, quoth Maister Hobson, the asse that bore both 
him and his mother : so was the Inne-keeper called asse 
by craft. After this talking merely together, the afor- 
said Inne-keeper being a litle whitled with drinke, and 
his head so giddy that he fell into the fire, people 
standing by ran sodainely and tooke him up ; oh, let 
him alone (quoth Maist. Hobson) a man may doe 
what he will in his owne house, and lie wheresoever 
he listeth ; the man having little hurt, with this sight 
grew immediately sober, and after foxed Maister Hob- 
son and his neighbour so niightely, that comming over 
London bridge being very late ranne against one of the 
cheane posts, at which Maister Hobson thinking it to 



bee some man that had iustled him, drew out his dod- 
gion dagger and thrust it up into the very hillts into 
the hollow post, where-upon verely hee had thought 
he had kil'd some man ; so runing away was taken by 
the watch, and so all the jest was discovered. 


Upon a time Ma. Hobson had arested one of my L. 
Maiors kinsmen for a certaine det owing him, and 
being in the counter, my Lord Maior sent one of his 
officers for to intreat Maister Hobson to be favorable 
to his kinsman, telling a long tale, and to little purpose, 
whome Maister Hobson answered in this manner, my 
friend (quoth he) what thou saydst in the beginning I 
doe not like ofj and what was in the middle I doe not 
well remember, and for thy conclution, I understand it 
not ; and this was all the favour Maister Hobson shewed 
to my Lord Maiors kinsman. 


This Maister Hobson on a time had a servant that 
was over full of words, and toe much talkative ; being 
offended therewith, gave him still in charge to say 
nothing, and to answer to that hee was demaunded and 
no more : so upon a day Maister Hobson made a great 
diner, and sent his said servant some two dayes before 


to invite an Alderman of London there-unto, so upon 
the day when diner time came, all the guestes stayd 
for the said AUdermans comming till two of the clocke, 
and so at last Maister Hobson sayd unto his servant, 
didst thou bid Maister Alderman to diner ? yes truly 
(said he) why cometh he not then? (quoth Maister 
Hobson) mary (quoth the fellow) he said hee could 
not : why touldst thou not me so, quoth Maister Hob- 
son ? because quoth the fellow, you did not aske me ? 
here-upon (though long first) they went all to diner, 
and being mery together drinking of wine, tliere came 
in a certaine rutfen and stole one of the fairest sillver 
cupps away, the which the fellow seing, said never a 
word, but let him goe, which Avhen JNIaister Hobson 
missed, he demanded of his servant where it was ; Sir, 
(quoth the fellow) a theefe came in and stole it away : 
why didst not thou stay him (qd. Maister Hobson ?) 
mary, sir, (quoth he) because he asked no question of 
me : after this, Maister Hobson noting the simplenes of 
his servant, let him have his toung at free liberty. 


In the raing of (^ueene Mary, when great superstition 
was used in England, as creeping to the crosse, wor- 
shipping of images and such like, it was IMaister Hob- 
sons chaunce amongst other people to be in the Church, 
and kneeling to an image to pray, as it was then used, 


the same image by some mishapp fell downe upon 
Maister Hobson and broke bis bead, upon wbicb occa- 
tion be came not tbetber in balfe an yeare after, but at 
length by the procurement of his neighbours he came 
to the Church againe, and because he saw his neigh- 
bours kneele before the same image, he kneeled downe 
likewise, and said thus, wel I may cap, and kneele to 
thee, but thou shalt never have my heart againe so 
long as I live : meaning for the broken head it had 
iliven him. 


On a time Master Hobson upon some ocation came 
to Master Fleetewoods house to speake with him, being 
then new chosen the recorder of London, and asked 
one of his men if he were within, and he said he was 
not at home, but Maister Hobson perceving that his 
maister bad him say so, and that he was within, not 
being willing (at that time) to be spoken withall, for that 
time desembling the matter he went his way ; within 
a few dayes after it was Maister Fleetwoods chaunse 
to come to Maister Hobsons, and knocking at the dore, 
asked if he were within ? Maister Hobson hearing and 
knowing liow he was denyed Maister Fleetwoods speach 
before time, speake himselfe aloud, and said bee was 
not at home ; then sayd Maister Fleetwood, what Mas- 
ter Hobson, thinke you that I knowe not your voyce ? 
whereunto Maister Hobson answered and said, now 


Maister Fleetewood am I quit with you, tor wlieu 1 
came to speake with you, I beleeved your man that 
said your were not at home, and now you will not 
beleeve mine owne selfe and this Avas the mery confer- 
ence betwixt these two merry gentlemen. 

Colected together by 

R. loHNSON. 


P. 1, 1, 9, — Printed.] Mii,j)r'mted ptin fed in the original. 

P. 5, 1. 12, — In the Poultry^ According to Stow's Survai/, 
4to, Lond. 1618, p. 474, William Hobson, haberdasher, died 
in 1581, and was buried in the church of St. Mildred, in the 

P. 9, 1. 4, — A maiichet.'] A small loaf of fine bread. Min- 
sheu says, " panis exigui species." 

P. 11, 1. 15, — Wise man.'] Misprinted "wise men" in the 

P. 11, 1. lS,—Ma.sti/.] That is, mastiff. 

P. 14, 1. 13. — A let.] That is, have let. There is an early 
copy of this tale in MS. Ash. 38, p. 187, where it is attributed 
to " Tarlton the Jester." 

P. 15,1. 11, — At rack and manger.] A proverbial expression, 
meaning to let eveiy thing go to rack or ruin. " To leave all 
at rack and manger, laisser tout a I'abandon." — Miege''s Great 
French Dictionary, 1688. 

P. 16, 1. 19, Words.] Misprinted wods in the original. 

P. 17, 1. 15, — Satint Hewes day.] That is, St. Hugh's day, 
the 17th of November, on which day, in 1558, Elizabeth as- 
cended the throne. The anniversary of the accession of Queen 
Elizabeth was first publicly celebrated about the year 1570. 
See Nicolas's "Chronology of History," ed. 1838, p. 168. 

P. 18, 1. 19, — Teastcr.] That is, sixpence. 

P. 21, 1. 11, — And so the.] Perhaps we should read, "and 
so for the." 

P. 23, 1. 10, — Shetv me a wrighting then.] Incidents of this 
kind are usual in old stories, and one somewhat similar was 
recently introduced in the second act of a comedy culled 
" London Assurance." 

40 NOTES. 

P. 23, 1. 13, — Sturhripcfaire.'] A lainous fair held near Cain- 
bridge. Books of this period contain frequent alhisions to it. 

P. 24, 1. 20, — Maister Fleetwood^ A celebrated lawyer, 
who, acccording to Wood, was " of a marvellous merry and 
pleasant conceit." This tale is much more ancient that Fleet- 
wood's time, being found in some middle-age collections. 
Many examples of Fleetwood's "merry conceits" will be found 
in his letters printed in Wright's " Queen Elizabeth and her 

P. 25, 1. 9,— There dtvelled.'] A tale similar to this may bo 
seen in Wright's " Latin Stories," p. 73, De balivo et uxore 
stia, and in " Jack of Dover," p. 20. 

P. 25. 1. 2\,— Vardet.-] That is, verdict. 

P. 25, 1. 28, — Which she perceivini).'} That is, the one who 
lost the supper. 

P. 26, 1. 7, — Maister Hohsons ivife?^ A tale similar to this 
may be seen in " Jacke of Dover," p. 6. 

P. 28, 1. 3, — Maister Hobson beeiric;.'] This is a very popular 
story. See Wright's " Latin Stories," p 122, De janitore im- 
peratnris Frederici, and the note, p. 241. 

P. 29, 1. ■2,—Forttmd.'] That is, happened. 

P. 32, 1. 7, — Husband.'] That is, an economist. 

P. 33, 1. \8, — Whitled.] Drank to excess. " Whittled, or 
cup-shot, qui a beu dans I'exces." — Miege's Great Dictionary, 

P. 33, 1. 24, — Foxed.'] That is, made tipsy. Miege has, 
" to fox, or fuddle." See his Great Dictionary, 1 688. 

P. 36. 1. 14, — New chosen the recorder.] Fleetwood was 
chosen recorder of London in 1569. It may be mentioned 
here that Markham published a work called " Hobson's 
Horse-load of Letters," 4to. Loud. 1613. 












CI)e i3rrr|) ,:^orirt)L). 


THOMAS AMYOT, Esq. F.R.S. Treas. S.A. 









T. J. PETTIGREW, Esq. F.R.S., F.S.A. 


E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq. F.S.A. Secrclary. 





The various accomplishments and exploits of 
" Bankes' horso" are alluded to by almost every 
writer towards the close of the sixteenth, and first 
half of the succeeding, century. At what period the 
horse was first exhibited in London must now be 
a matter of conjecture ; but we are led to conclude, 
from various circumstances, that it was not before 
the year 1590. The horse was named Marocco, 
and was the property of a person named Bankes, 
who, according to the author of the " Life of 
Moll Cutpurse," 1 662, was " a vintner in Cheap- 
side, who taught his horse to dance, and shooed 
him with silver/" 

The earliest notice that we find of Marocco's 
popularity occurs in a MS. copy of one of Dr. 
Donne's Satires, dated 1593, and preserved in the 
British Museum (Harl. MSS. No. 5110) ; but he 
must have acquired an immense share of public 
favour prior to the year 1595, when the present 
tract was first printed. In 1600, the horse 
attracted considerable notice bv ascending; to the 
top of St. Paul's Cathedral, a feat which, accord- 
ng to Dokker's " Owles Almanackc," highly 


delighted " a number of asses'"' who " stood bray- 
ing below." This exploit was celebrated by Mid- 
dleton in his " Blacke Booke," 1604 ; by Rowley 
in his " Search for Money," 1609 ; and by nu- 
merous other contemporary writers. 

In 1601, Bankes and his horse visited Paris, a 
fact which we learn from the notes to a French 
translation of Apuleius's " Golden Ass," by Jean 
de Monteyard, Sieur de Melleray, counsellor to 
the Prince of Conde. The work was first printed 
in 1602, and several times afterwards. The au- 
thor himself had seen the horse, whose master he 
calls a Scotishman, at Paris, where he exhibited 
in 1601, at the Golden Lion, Rue Saint Jaques. 
He is described as a " middle-sized bay English 
gelding, about fourteen years old." We also learn 
from the same French work, that the magistrates, 
conceiving that the wonderful tricks performed 
by this horse could not be done without the aid of 
magic, had sometime before imprisoned the mas- 
ter, and put the horse under sequestration ; but 
having since discovered that every thing was 
effected by mere art, and the making of signs, 
they had liberated them and permitted an exhi- 

Bishop Morton, in his answer to Theophilus 
Higgins, quoted by Boswell (Shakespeare, iv. 300) 
thus speaks of this wonderful horse : "Which 
bringeth into my remembrance a storie which 

Rankes told mo at Frankeford, from his own ex- 
perience in France among the Capuchins, by whom 
he was brought into suspition of magicke, because 
of the strange feates which his horse Morocco 
plaied (as I take it) at Orleance ; where he to 
redeem his credit promised to manifest to the 
world that his horse was nothing lesse than a 
divell. To this end he commanded his horse to 
seeke out one in the preasse of people, mIio had 
a crucifixe on his hat ; which done, he bad him 
kneele downe unto it ; and not this only, but also 
to rise up againe and to kisse it. And now, gen- 
tlemen, quoth he, I think my horse hath acquitted 
both me and himself; and so his adversaries 
rested satisfied, conceiving, as it might seeme, that 
the divell had no jiower to come neare the crosse." 
Eankes and his horse were of sufficient celebrity 
to be introduced by Sir Walter Raleigh into his 
" History of the World" (bk. i. ch. 2), and he 
ventures to prognosticate the fate that afterwards 
befel them. Speaking of '•'• the divers kindes of 
unlawful magicke," he says, " and certainly if 
Bankes had lived in elder times he would have 
shamed all the inchanters of the world : for who- 
soever was most famous among them could never 
master or instruct any beast as he did his horse." 
After travelling through various countries, ex- 
hibiting his wonderful beast, Eankes was induced 
to visit Home, and there, according to the evidence 


of the author of " Don Zara del Fogo," p. 114, 
both man and horse were burnt by order of the 
pope, for wizards. This work was printed in 
1656, but is believed to have been written many 
years earlier. In a little book entitled " Le 
Diable bossu," printed at Nancy in 1708, there is 
an obscure allusion to an English horse, whose 
master had taught him to know the cards, and 
which was burned alive at Lisbon in 1707. This 
circumstance has frequently been confounded with 
the fate of poor Bankes and Marocco, and led to 
the assertion that they lost their lives in Spain or 
Portugal. Mr. Granger, in his *■' Biographical 
History of England," vol. iii. p. 164, edit. 1779, 
has informed us that, within his remembrance, a 
horse which had been taught to perform several 
tricks, was with its owner put into the inquisition. 
In 1595 (the same year in which the following 
tract was published) we find an entry on the 
Stationers' books of "A Ballad shewing the 
strange qualities ofayoungNagg called Marocco;" 
and in the Pepysian Collection we remember 
having seen a ballad entitled " Bankes his bill of 












Printed for Ciitlibort Riirby. 


Gentle Readers, or gentlemen readers, which you 
will, though it past manners in us to stand like a couple 
of eaves-dropping knaves, and steale awaie a discourse 
betwixt Banks and his bay horse, from Belsavage, 
without Ludgate, which in our conscience we must 
confesse is a kinde of coosning, and in a maner such a 
matter as if we should have gone into a cooks shop in 
Fleet lane, and with the smell of roast meat filled our 
bellies, not emptying our purses, a flat robberie, and 
by a figure such a peece of filching is as punishable 
with ribroast among the turncspits at Pie Corner, 
where, a man of an ill minde may breake his fast with 
the sent of a peece of beefe puld piping hot out of the 
furnace. Yet considering the case as it concernes the 
commonwealth, and the nature of the subject handled 
betwixt this horse and his master, which not anie in 
the world, I promise yee, heard or understoode but 
ourselves that came hether upon other busines, wee 
could not choose but doo as wee have done : verie pure 
love to our contrie leading us to lay our wits together, 
and present the worlde with this pamphlet, which if it 
bee not mistaken, may as well serve to drive away 



pastime and good companie, as the finest philosophical 
discourse you can light upon. IS it hang not wel 
together, thinke the fault is ours that carryed it not 
well awaie, for truly there was never horse in this 
world aunswered man with more reason, nor never 
man in this world reasond more sensibly with a horse 
than this man and this horse in this matter, as for 
example, and so committing you, (not to prison) no, — 
but to the reading of this dialogue, we end our Epistle 
to the Reader. 



Bankes and his Horse. 

Bcmkes. Holla, Marocco, whose mare is dead, that you 
are thus melancoly? up I sale, and let you and me 
conferre a little uppon the cause, wherby matters and 
dealings may seeme to be so ; you know my meaning. 

Horse. Whereby matters and dealinges may seeme 
for to be ? Verie good sir, spoke like a wholesome 
haberdasher, and as wisely, by Lady, master, as he that 
was sworne to his wives friends, not to credit out his 
wares to anie man for the first fifteene yeeres he was 

Bankes. And therewith mee thinkes I see him hang 
the hat upon the pin againe. Wast not so, Marocco ? 
I am glad, sir, to heare you so pleasant in the thres- 
hold of my discourse, for I am come in purpose to 
debate a while and dialogue with you, and therefore 
have at you after your watering ; laie out your lips 
and sweep your manger cleane, and summon your 
wits together, for I meane (by mine host leave), to 
recreate my selfe awhile with your horsemanship. 


Horse. And I am as like, master, to shew you some 
liorse plaie as ere a nag in this parish ; for tis a jade 
can neither whinie nor wag his taile, and you have 
brought me up to both, I thanke you, and made me 
an understanding horse, and a horse of service, mas- 
ter, and that you know. 

Bankes. I, Marocco, I know it, and acknowledge it ; 
and so must thou, if thou have so much ingenuitie, 
confesse mykindnes, thou art not onely but also bound to 
honest Bankes, for teaching thee so many odde prankes. 
I have brought thee up right tenderly, as a baker's 
daughter would bring up a cosset by hand, and allow 
it bread and milke by the eie. 

Horse. Majus peccatum habes ; master, you have the 
more to answere, God help you ; for I warrant you 
(though I saie it that should not sale it), I eat more 
provender in foure and twentie houres, than two of the 
best geldings that Robin Snibor keeps, that a hires for 
two shillings a daie a peece. 

Bankes. Two shillings, Marocco, nay, what saist 
thou by halfe a crowne and ten groats ? 

Horse. Marie, I say, three dales hire is worth four 
such horses, saddles and all ; for a buyes them for ten 
pence a saddle at S. Giles, one with another, and those 
accoutrements are sutable to his steeds. 

Bankes. Me thinkes such steedes should stand a man 
in small stead, by that he had ridde some five miles 
out of towne. 

Horse. Yea, be sure, or halfe five miles either. And 
commonly the saddle fals asunder and splits in two 


peeces at the towns end, and one side takes his jour- 
ney towards Uxbridge, and the other towards Stanes, 
to stop mine hosts cushions of the George. 

Bankes. Why thats Stmm cuique, boye, for the 
waine-men of the West countrie and the carryers of 
Gloucestershire commonlye barter awaye their broken 
ware with the hostlers for pease and horsebread, and 
they retiunie them a horsebacke to Peter Pympe the 
patch pannel. Marocco, thou knowest where I am 

Horse. Not I, truely, master, unlesse you meane 
that shrewde sadler that served you so ill the last 
tearme, and as I trowe his name was not Peter, his 
name was John Indifferent, for a wrought, me thought, 
as if a had not cared whether a had earned your money 
or no. 

Bankes. Beshrew him, Marocco, a deceived my hope, 
in a good part, of jiui'ple velvet hose that I purposde 
should have made mee a seemely saddle. 

Horse. O maister, you are to purpose and he to dispose 
of those hose, then were your breeches in his hands, 
and sweetely he handled them as you know ; here mee 
thinkes had you supde up but a quarter of sacke, a 
quart of sacke I should have said ; see how my minde 
was. Master Patinis, upon the bagge of otes, &c., or 
had you come in but reasonably loded from the taverne, 
or taken some of the excellent muscadine at the 
Home ; why what an occupation might you apprehend 
to rayle horribly against the mechanicall fellowes of 
the Towne, that so they have it, care not howe they 


come by it. Twas but a venei'iall siiine in this sadler 
to nycoll you, or nicke you ratliei- of an old peece of 
velvet hose. But what thinke you by him that had 
the conscience to aske fourteen yeardes of satten for 
a sute of apparell, and not to put in nine of them. 

Banckes. Yea, Marocco, as well as of him that sold 
it for eighteene shillings a yearde, being not worth ten. 

Horse. O he gave time, master, and then take heed 
of that while you live. In space growes grace, and in 
prosperitie of the satten, will swell wonderfully. 

Banckes. I am full as fast in a cunning stealers 

Horse. A hard harte hath hee that hath such a hande 
to cut such large thonges of another mans lether, and 
lappe him selfe in a gentleman's livery. 

Bancks. Tush, this is a pettye matter to stand upon. 
And yet, Marocco, I dare sale it, and sweare it to thee, 
because thou art no talker ; this petty matter hath 
pyncht neerer than every man weenes for. I am un- 
done nowe, young gentleman. Well, Motos ■prcEStat 
CO mponere fiuctus. 

Horse. Why, maister, of whom should you bee 
afraide? I am able to justifye as much as you say. 
Indeed those be the young men that never sawe the 
lyons. Young maisters and gentlemen of the care- 
lesse cut, such as care not how they bee cut, or of 
what cut they bee like, so they may have to follow al 
fashions ; and then they are cut indeed ; no force, so 
they fall into a fashion, and walke but twentie-foure 
turnes in Panics, let if packe the next daye for the 


third peny. Maister M. Xeino ceditur nisi a seipso. 
Byrcli and greene holly, and thou be beaten, boy, 
thank thine owne follie ; he that will thrust his necke 
into the yoke, is worthy to be used like a jade. He 
that hath been a gentleman of faire demeanes, and 
will so demeane him selfe to let landes and lordshippes 
flie for a little bravery, Luat pcenas et in pistrino, let 
him crye, and let him lye, yea, and dye to, for any 
pittie he is like to have at my hands. 

Ba. W\\y how now, Marocco ? O ye are too sowre. 
Dare you tell me of my splene agaynst the sadler ? 
and be so bitter against the young gallantes of our 
age ; what man, nay horse rather, nay asse as thou 
art, to become odious to the flower of Englande with 
thy foule manners. It is as naturell for young men to 
be brave and amorous, as for olde men to be grave and 
serious. Why, colte, then youle take uppon you, I see ? 
Doo you not heare what they sale that scarse vouch- 
safe you an answ ere?— Pair es (eguum esse censent nos 
jam a pueris illico nasci senes, neque illarum ajfines 
esse rerum quas fert adolescentia. 

Horse. Maister, you mistake me, I am no such severe 
horse nor sullen asse, but I can allowe a yong gentleman 
his madde trickes, yea, and his merrie tricks too for a 
need. But master, this Latine I learned when I gam- 
bolde at Oxford, Est modus in rebus, sunt certi denique 
fines. This is it urgeth me thus farre, and I speake it 
in passion too, and wyth the action of my heade and 
heeles, that a mercadore, naye a mechauicall I'ellowe 
shall go so farre out of himselfe and all a has, tliat ibr 


one or two tearmes arraie, a shall for his lives tearme 
and tearme of life, become beggeries, bondmen, and 
usuries vassaU, O tempora, mores, poetarum 
Jlores, — you shaU find in an old tracte printed by 
Winkin de Woorde, this olde sayde sawe : Whats a 
gentleman but his pleasure, O pleasure, what a trea- 
sure it is to take pleasure with measure. 

Bankes. Measure, Marocco, nay, nay, they that take 
up commodities make no difference for measure be- 
tweene a Flemishe ell and an English yard. 

Horse. I knowe an eU Flemish cost English Anthonie 
halfe a yard of the best ware he had. 

Bankes. That ware shall never see ware againe, in 
so good sorte as it hath done, nor sit in a shower of 
raine on the top of Amwell hiU. 

Horse. Go to, master, hum drum is sauce for a 
cunnie ; you and I wiU doo verie ill to speake in pri- 
vate, we are so plaine. 

Bankes. Plaine, Marocco, nay and I were as plaine 
as I will bee, I should crie out-right, for in this I 
agree with thee, and with thee the world agrees ; and 
besides teares and commiseration on the state of 
gentlemen that have ungentlefied, why I might sale, 
dishonored themselves by buying and selling. 

Horse. Have they so, master ? Why would hee bee 
a buyer then ? why would hee bee a seller ? 

This buying and selling, 

By all mens telling, 

Is gaine without swelling 

To him that sells his dwelling, 

Nor his bonds cancelling. 


Bankes. IIo, ho, good Marocco, I see now a dozen 
of bread does as much with you, as three pipes of 
tobacco taken in an odde alehouse, to a weake braine. 

Horse. I am not dronke, master, after my watering, 
that you need to challenge me thus : I know what I 
sale, and sale what I knowe. 

To buy this measure, 
And this momentarie pleasure, 
With so much treasure 
To sell seate and seizure, 
And repent at leasure. 

Go to, master, he is a bad waster, that consumes his 
daies and houres, and reapes pour un plaisurc, nulle, 
Cambridge and Oxford can record : and the foule 
dolorous fortune of many a faire boorde, what it is ? 

What is it to come into the douches, 

For aglets or brouches. 
Of these pure appearing asses, 
That like simple glasses, 
Seeme what they are not, 
Let them storm, I care not : 

Unpittied might he bee 

That imbases his degree 

With this indignitie. 

I tell you, master, for a truth I tell you too, I knowe 
a man tliat in this towne had a bible lying on his 
shoppe-boorde and solde but three yardes of satten 
unto a gentleman, and forswore himself at leaste three 
times in the coping, and yet the booke laie open before 
him, and hee came newe from reading of Solomon's 


Bankes. That had beene somewhat grosse in him if he 
had beene reading the twentith of Exodus. 

Horse. No, no, his minde was on the twentith daie 
of the moneth following, when his money was due. 

Bankes. Tis good to have an eie to the maine ; 
house-keeping is chargeable, and rent must bee paide, 
the landlord will have his due : caveat emptor, let the 
tenant looke to it. 

Horse. The landlord will leade to the divell, and the 
tenant will follow after. 

Bankes. "What else ? they be relatives : landlord 
and tenant are as Pater and Filius. 

Horse. O master, I could relate to you of these 
relatives, if it became me to speake like a common- 
wealths man, what an abuse is ingendered twixte the 
landlord and tenant. 

Bankes. Occasion of what, Marocco. 

Horse. Of more amisse, by gis, than easily amended 
is, of bauderie, and beggerie, and such lyke matters, 
master. Ambubaiariim collegia, pharmacopolce, men- 
did, mimi, balatrones, hoc genus omne crie out 
and complaine for the loss of this good landlordes 
worship, God rest his soule, sayes J. B. wee could 
have had no wrong while hee lived. So hee had had his 
rent at the daie, the devill and John of Comber should 
not have fetcht Kate L. to Bridewell, no nor all the 
court whipt C. F. at the cart, lie tell you master, 
come what complaint coulde have come against Petti- 
coate-laue, Smocke-alley, Shordich, or Rotton-rowe, 
there were champions and spokesmen for this crue, 


other manner of felowes I wis, than you thinke for, 
such as sit in their sattens and riche furres, and wyth 
a dash of a penne in a counting house, coulde doo more 
than the proudest plaintiefe that commeneth anie 
matter or sute against this sisterhoode, yea and scale 
up his letter and their lyps both at once, that murmure 
anie thing against the inhabitantes of this holy corner. 
Master I coulde have shewed you the coppie of a letter 
that was lost in this yarde by chaunce, written by a 
man of some account, so favourably to the treasurer 
of Bridewell, in the behalfe of an honest tenaunt of 
his, such a tenant, master, as had her name a tenendo, 
and would holde so fast betweene the thigh, that shame 
it was for him that had anie shame, to be so shamelesse 
to use anie meanes to keep her from open shame. 

Bankes. Thou speakest of mallice against some or 
other, Marocco, and perhappes thou meanest that 
drabbe that the last daie when shee sawe thee heere 
doe thy trickes, sayd thou wert a devill, and I a 

Horse. Against her, master, noof min^honestie! she 
is but apoore whoore, to her I meane. Tush, she that 
I talke of can entertaine you Avith a duzen of tiffite 
taffetie girles in a morning, I, and the worst of them, 
when she is at the worst, shall have a wrought wast- 
coate on her backe, and a bockram smocke worth 
three pence, as well rent behind as before, I warrant 

Bankes. Those rents, by your leave Marocco, helpe 
to paie the landlords rent at the quarter's end. 


Horse. I, master, and the landlorde by your leave 
helpes to rent some of them betweene the quarters 

Bankes. Thats but a tricke of youth, lad, omnis homo 
menda, everie man may amend. 

Horse. True master, Et ut hora sic vita, a loves a 
whoore as his life. For hee will forbeare as long as 
shee will beare, and thats ka mee and ka thee, knave 
he and queene she. 

Bankes. Had neede bee of exceeding patience, 
Marocco, to forbeare as long as sheele beare, for a 
better bearing beast is not in all Shordich, nor Hounds- 
dich neither than this beastly beast that I thinke thou 
meanest. But speake not so loude, for and if her 
landlord heard you, he would annsvvere for her. 

Horse. I thinke so, has answered so long for her 
that a can scarce answere for himselfe ; and I speake 
net so loude that I feare him Male audit ubique, master, 
a heares verie badlye everie where : and worse a will 
heare, and a holde on, yea master, and loose hearing 
and seeing to, and a vie it and see it, as a has done 
these duzen yeres. 

Bankes. Well, whats that to the purpose ? these 
wrongs are private, and touch himself, and wrack not 
the commonwealth, as thou exclaymest. 

Horse. O master, then you know nothing : for 
understand you as of nownes, some be substantives, 
some be adjectives : so of landlords, some of them bee 
covetous, and some bee lecherous, and hee is both. 

Bankes, Sayestmeso. Well then, Marocco, whether 


does more harme in the commonwealth, the covetous, 
or the lecherous landlord. 

Horse. Tush, master, that question is no question. — 
For though it bee a question, betweene the covetous 
and the prodigall, yet it is no question betwixt the 
covetous and the lecherous. The lecherous landlord 
hath his wench at his commandment, and is content to 
take ware for his money, his private scutcherie wounds 
not the commonwealth farther than that his whoore 
shall have a house rent free, when his honest neigh- 
bour's wife and children shall neither have a peece of 
a house or household loafe for him. Let him passe 
for a farting churle, and weare his mistres favors, viz. 
rubies and precious stones on his nose, &c. And this 
et cetera, shall, if you will, bee the perfectest poxe 
that ever grewe in Shordich or Southwarke. 

Bankes. And these have been bigge inflamations, 
and more unquenchable than the great fire that burnt 
so much blew threed on the toppe of Fish-street Hill. 

Horse. But the covetous landlord is the caterpiller 
of the commonwealth ; hee neither feares God nor 
the divell, nor so hee may racke it out, cares not 
what tenant he receives : he is no wencher (praie 
God he be no bencher) hee sits warme at home, and 
sets downe his accounts, and sales to himselfe, my 
houses goe nowe but for twentie poundes for the 
yeare, He make them all baudie houses, and they 
will yeeld me twice as much. Uppon the Exchange 
comes to him one or two honest men to take them at 
his hands, the poore artificer or his lyke, of what trade 


soever, offers him the rent it hath gone for, and sure- 
ties perhaps. Yea, saie so, good securitie, and foure 
pounds a yere for a house : comes Pierce Pandor, and 
baudie Bettrice his wife, two that I warrant you were 
knowen well enough what they were ; I, two that had 
beene as weU carted and whipt, and covered with dust 
over head and eares, and they forsooth will begin the 
world anue again, having a fresh wench or two that 
came but from the carryers that morning, though shee 
had tapt many a canne in Long-lane, at Barthelmew 
tide. With this stocke of wenches will this trustie 
Roger and his Bettrice set up forsooth with their 
pamplilet pots, and stewed prunes, nine for a tester, 
in a sinfuU saucer, and they will offer this covetous 
and wretched landlorde five poundes by the yere, yea, 
sixe pounds to have his house and his countenance 
wythal. But hee that will go to the divill for money, 
will admit them with favour, and so let them have 
his house, with promise of anie thing, so there bee 
anie meane to do it, and hee to be sure of his rent. 
God is his judge hee does it for no fleshy respect, 
but even of a mere worldly motion, to beare sinne 
out with sinne, and lecherie with covetousnesse. Let 
the parish complaine, why (sayes hee) what should I 
doo ? I have my rent paid at my day, I must make 
money of my lande, and so let them doo their heartes 
out, thinkes hee, I shall have my rent the readier. 
This cormorant is hee that cares not how he get it, so 
hee have it. This stymphalist is hee, that with five 
or sixe tenements, and the retinue thereunto belonging, 


infectes the aire with stench, and poisons that parish, 
yea, and twentie parishes off with the contagion of 
such carrion as lies there in their bumble baths, and 
stinke at bothe ends like filthie greene elder pipes. 
For him and them, master, such landlordes and such 
tenants, good master, wish as I wish. 

Bankes. What's thy wish, Marocco ? 

Horse, That at the quarter dale, the parish would 
of their owne devotion to the common wealth, bestow 
a banket upon them of ale and cakes in the cage, and 
a hundred or two of good faggots to consume the 
bodies and bones of them all and everie mother's 
child, such landlords and such tenants as so much 
against conscience receive and deceive, and dale by 
dale and house by house, cheat, coosen, catch, and 
devour in pillage from gentlemen, prentises, and the 
good fellowes, ab usque ad mille, even from the outside 
to the inside, from the cloak to the shirt, leaving 
Nichol Neverthrive never a wench in the chamber, 
or penie in the purse. 

Bankes. Marocco, praie thy wish take effect, I wish 
for everie parish so pestered with such tenants and 
tenements, God put into their mindes to be but at cost 
and charges for the faggots, for ale and cakes I were 
mearst if it cost five markes. But how does this 
landlord fall into this PrcBmiinire ? "Why is thy malice 
so great against them, when tis the baude and the 
whoore that make all this stirre ? 

Horse. O master, miserable landlords are cause of 
all this mischiefe. Tis he that because he will have 



an unreasonable rent, will upholde anie villanie in his 
tenant : a slave to monie, a pandor to the baud, a piller, 
nay a pillow and a bolster to all the roguerie commited 
in his houses. And yet will this filthie felow sit at 
his doore on a Sonday in the High street, and my 
mistres his wife by him, and then forsooth talke so 
saint-like of the sermon that day, and what a good 
peece of worke the young man made, and what a 
goodly gift of utterance he had, but not the value of a 
pound of beefe wil a give him were his gift of utter- 
ance comparable to S. Augustines, or Chrisostomes 
eloquence. Sweare a will and forsweare ujjon the 
worke day, as well as anie. And if percase a sit in 
place of authoritie, O howe severe will he be in all his 
proceedings against a yong or good fellow in anie 
trifling matter. Then a takes upon him not a little. 
Sir (sayes hee) what did you in such an house ? where- 
fore came you thether ? And laie the lawe and the 
Prophetes too, and so rate a gentleman well descended, 
meerely priviledged with a furd gowne and a nightcap ; 
when indeede his bringing up hath beene in beggerie 
and slaverie illiberally, having spent his time in con- 
ference with the water tankard at the conduit, lying 
miserably, and for sparing of wood, loding his gowne 
sleeve with fuell from the haberdashers, and wearing 
his handes in a frostie morning by the fugitive flames 
of a few wast papers, a natural enemie to all learning 
and liberalitie. master, such a churle as you and I 
sawe heere last dale talke with two souldiers in the 


yard and put his hand in his pouch and gave them 
nere a penny. 

Ban. Didst thou see that, Marocco ? well, there be 
too many such as he, yet there is a choice number of 
sober citizens that have golden mindes, and golden 
purses withall. 

Hor. That I know well, master, and to them that 
have such golden mindes, I wish golden mines : mas- 
tei", I protest to you I speake it not to flatter, but in 
reproach of those money-mongers, those lease-mongers, 
those canibals, that dishonour the citie wherein they 
dwell, but uprightly I speeke it, that you may not 
thinke I raile upon mallice against any private man, 
for anie private quarrel : there are many that beautifie 
London for their good parts, who being civily, and 
well brought up, are afable to straungers, charitable 
to the poore, liberal to schollers, and, such as citizens 
should be, duitiful to their prince, and devout to their 
citie. But as cockle is ever among corne, and drosse 
among gold, so wil those foule churles cumber the best 
corners, and march cheek by joul among the better 
many, with as great shew of devotion and charitie as 
the best. From such dissembling holynesse, such 
double wickednesse, good Lord delyver us. 

Banks. 'Tis almost supper time, Marocco; I heare 
mine host call : you have done pretily well for two 
pointes, referre the rest till another time. 

Horse. As you please, master, and let this be our 
first lecture of the Anatomy of the world. If the 
trance holde me but till the next tearme, where now I 


have but with a drie foote overleapt these matters, I 
may chance of these and more leave a deeper print; 
and having handled a case of commodities, will sale 
somewhat further of their discommodities and differ- 
ences, even as the bit of reason shall leade mee. And 
so I commit you to your supper, and myselfe to my 
litter ; for I promise you I am not a little weary with 
gambolling this afternoone. 


So Marocco dyd lye liim downe, and Laurence 
Holden cald in his guest nnto a shoulder of mutton of 
the best in the market, piping hot from the spit. We 
like two lazie fellowes laie trembling in the hay loft, 
and heard this that we have set down verbatim as wel 
as we could ; and will watch narrowly but we wil 
seize the rest to our use, gentle Reader, whensoever it 
comes upon them. For Maroccoi's conclusion, this 
dialog shoulde seeme but an Induction to another dis- 
course, which, how unpleasant so ever it prove to a 
great many, we kiaow, that have beene wrong on the 
withers, and strong with the marchants booke, it will 
be reasonably friendly and welcome. 

Finis, quoth John Dando, and Harry Runt. 


P. 6, 1. 9, — " thou art not onely but also bound to honest 
Bankes."'\ Something appears to have dropt out after 
the word onelj/ : probably it was the word indebted, or 
something to that effect. 

P. 6, 1. 18, — " Robin .S?w6or."] i.e. Robin Robins ; the proper 
name of some well-known chai-acter of the day reversed. 

P. 10, 1. 11, — " I knows an ell Flemish cost English Anthonie" 
&c.] This is evidently an allusion to some event in the 
varied life of Anthony Mnnday. See a notice of his 
life prefixed to " The Downfall of Robert Earl of Hunt- 
ingdon," Collier's Supplement to Dodsleifs Old Plai/s. 

P. 12, 1. 18, — " bi/ gis.'"'\ This expression is used by Shake- 
speare. The reader will remember the fragment sung 
by Ophelia: 

" By Gis, and by Saint Charity." 

P. 17, 1. 29, — " O master, miserable landlords are cause of all 
this mischiefe.'"^ The practices of the landlords of this 
day called forth the castigation of more than one writer. 
See Chettle's Kind-Hearths Dream, Percy Society's re- 
print, p. 40. 

24 NOTES. 

The authors, fS'C. 1. 12, '■'■ wrong on the nnthers."'\ i.e. wrung 
on the withers. Shakespeare has used a similar expres- 
sion in the well-known passage : 

" Let the gall'd jade -n-ince, 
Our withers are uuwrung." 

RiciiARns, 100, ST. maktin's lane. 






Jpair on t|)e Mibtx ©j^ames. 






€\)t ^p^rrp ^ocieti). 


THOMAS AMYOT, Esq. F.R.S. Treas. S.A. 


WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq. F.S.A. Treasurer. 







T. J. PETTIGREW, Esq. F.R.S., F.S.A. 


E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq. LL D., F.S.A. Secnlary. 





At the present season of the year, it may 
not be deemed inappropiate to present the 
Members of the Percy Society with a Frostie 
Garland in the shape of a collection of bal- 
lads, illustrating the great frost of 1683-4, 
and the fair held on the river Thames. 

My attention was first called to the subject 
by the scattered notices contained in the 
" Chronicles of London Bridge," — a work 
aboundino; in curious information and re- 
search, and to the anonymous author of 
which I have to express my obligations for 
the assistance it has given me in drawing 
up the accompanying sketch. 

The originals of the follo^\'ing ballads are 
chiefly preserved in the Ashmolean and 
British Museums, and are all I have been en- 
abled to discover connected with the British 


Carnival of 1683-4. To Mr. Fillmliam and 
Mr. Upcott I must express my thanks for 
their kindness in allowing me to consult 
their unrivalled collections of rarities, and 
for the liberal permission to transcribe any- 
thing that suited my purpose. 

E. F. K. 

Grosvenor Cottage, 

Park Village, Regent'' s Park, 
January 29. 


One of the earliest instances on record of a severe 
frost, by which the river Thames was frozen over, 
occurred in the year 1092, the sixth of the reign 
of William Rufus. WilHam of Malmesbury, and 
Roger de Hovedon, both notice this event ; and 
the latter informs us* that "the grtsat streams were 
congealed in such a manner, that they could draw 
two hundred horsemen and carriages over them ; 
whilst, at their thawing, many bridges both of 
wood and stone, were borne down, and divers 
water-mills were broken up and carried away." 

The river was again frozen in 1281, and Stow 
tells ust that "from Christmas till the Purification 
of Our Lady, there was such a frost and snow, as 
no man living could remember the like. Where- 
through five arches of London-bridge, and all 
Rochester-bridge, were borne downe, and carried 

* Amudes, printed iu the " iScriptores post Bedam," p. 464. 
i Annals, edited by Howet., Loud. KkU, I'ulio, p. 201. 

away with the streame; and the like hapned to 
many bridges in England. And not long after, 
men passed over the Thames betweene Westmin- 
ster and Lambeth, and likewise over the river of 
Medway, betweene Stroude and Rochester, dry 

The year 1564 was remarkable for its severity; 
and the Thames was frozen from London to West- 
minster-bridge. Stow, in his " Annals," and 
Hollinshed, in his " Chronicle," both mention it, 
and give some interesting particulars. The latter 
states that the frost continued to such an extre- 
mity, that on New Year's eve, " people went over 
and alongst the Thames on the ise, from London 
bridge to Westminster. Some plaied at the foot- 
ball as boldlie there, as if it had beene on the 
drie land ; divers of the court being then at West- 
minster, shot dailieatprickes set upon the Thames ; 
and the people, both men and women, went on the 
Thames in greater numbers than in anie street of 
the citie of London. On the third daie of Jan- 
uary, at night, it began to thaw, and on the fift 
there was no ise to be scene betweene London- 
bridge and Lambeth, which sudden thaw caused 
great floods, and high waters, that bare downe 
bridges and houses, and drowned manie people in 
England, especiallie in Yorkshire. Owes-bridge 
was borne awaie, with others." 

The next important frost was that of the year 
1608, when a variety of booths were erected on 
the Thames, and the frozen river assumed all the 
appearance of a regular fair. Edmond Howes* 
has given us the following curious account : — 
" The 8th of December began a hard frost, and con- 
tinued untill the 15th of the same, and then thawed ; 
the 22nd of December it began againe to freeze 
violently, so as divers persons went halfe way over 
the Thames upon the ice : and the SOtli of De- 
cember, at every ebbe, many people went quite 
over the Thames in divers places, and so continued 
from that day untill the Srd of January ; the 
people passed daily betweene London and the 
Bankside at every halfe ebbe, for the floud re- 
moved the ice, and forced the people daily to tread 
new paths, except onely betweene Lambeth and 
the ferry at Westminster, the which, by incessant 
treading, became very firm, and free passage, un- 
till the great thaw : and from Sunday, the tenth 
of January, untill the fifteenth of the same, the 
frost grew so extreme, as the ice became firme, 
and removed not, and then all sorts of men, women, 
and children, went boldly upon the ice in most 
parts ; some shot at prickes, others bowled and 
danced, with other variable pastimes ; by reason 

* "Continuation of tlie Abridgement of Stow's English 
Chronicle," U)ll,p. 4)S1. 

of which concourse of people there were many 
that set up boothes and standings upon the ice, as 
fruit-sellers, victuallers, that sold beere and wine, 
shoemakers, and a barber's tent, &c." He adds, 
that all these had fires ; that the frost killed all 
the artichokes in the gardens about London ; and 
that the ice lasted until the afternoon of the 2nd 
of February, when " it was quite dissolved, and 
clean gon." There is a very rare tract, contain- 
ing an account of this frost, among the books 
bequeathed by Gough to the Bodleian Library, 
which has a wood-cut representation of it, with 
London Bridge in the distance, and is entitled, 
" Cold Doings in London, except it be at the Lot- 
tery, with Newes out of the Country. A famil- 
liar talk between a Countryman and a Citizen, 
touching this terrible Frost, and the Great Lot- 
tery, and the effect of them." London, 1608, 

The famous frost, to which the following bal- 
lads relate, overspread the Thames from the 
beginning of December 1683, until the 5th of 
February 1684. " It congealed the river Thames," 
says Maitland,* "to that degree, that another 
city, as it were, was erected thereon ; where, by 
the great number of streets and shops, with their 
rich furniture, it represented a great fair, with a 

* " History of London," vol. i. p. 484. 

variety of carriages, and diversions of all sorts ; 
and near Whitehall a whole ox was roasted on 
the ice." Evelyn, however, who was an eye-wit- 
ness of this scene, furnishes the most extraordinary 
account of it in his Diary* where, on January 
the 24th, 1684, he observes, that " the frost con- 
tinuing more and more severe, the Thames, before 
London, was still planted with boothes in formal 
streetes, all sorts of trades and shops furnish'd, 
and full of commodities, even to a printing-presse, 
where the people and ladyes tooke a fancy to have 
their names printed, and the day and yeare set 
down when printed on the Thames : this humour 
tooke so universally, that 'twas estimated the 
printer gainM £h a day, for printing a line onely, 
at sixpence a name, besides what he got by bal- 
lads, &c. Coaches plied from Westminster to the 
Temple, and from several other staires, to and fro, 
as in the streetes ; sleds, sliding with skeetes, a 
bull-baiting, horse and coach races, puppet-plays, 
and interludes, cookes, tipling, and other lewd 
places, so that it seem'd to be a bacchanalian 
triumph, or carnival on the water." This traffic 
and festivity were continued until February the 
oth, when he states that " it began to thaw, 
but froze again. My coach crossed from Lam- 
beth to the horse-ferry, at Mil I bank, West- 

* Vol. i. p. 568. 


minster. The boothes were almost all taken 
downe, but there was first a map, or landskip, cut 
in copper, representing all the manner of the camp, 
and the several actions, sports, and pastimes 
thereon, in memory of so signal a frost." 

The principal scene of Blanket Fair — for so it 
was denominated — was opposite to the Temple 
stairs ; for few or none of the festivities ap- 
proached very near to London Bridge, as we are 
informed by the many rude but curious memorials 
of it which are yet in existence. One of the 
most interesting of these, is an original and spi- 
rited sketch, on stout and coarse paper, in pencil, 
slightly shaded with Indian ink ; which was the 
well-known style of an artist of the seventeenth 
century, peculiarly eminent for his views, namely, 
Thomas Wyck, — usually called Old Wyck, to dis- 
tinguish him from his son John, — who spent the 
greater part of his life in England. This sketch 
is preserved in the eighth volume of Mr. Crowle's 
illustrated Pennant, in the British Museum. The 
time when the view was taken, was the day pre- 
vious to the first thaw, as the original is dated in 
a contemporaneous hand, at the top, in the right- 
hand corner, "Munday, February the 4th, 1683-4." 
The drawing consists of a view down the river, 
from Temple-stairs to London-bridge, the build- 
ings of which are faintly seen in the background. 

In front appear various groups of figures, and a 
side prospect of the double line of tents which 
extended across the centre of the river, called at 
the time Temple-street, consisting of taverns, toy- 
shops, &c. which were generally distinguished by 
some title or sign ; as the Duke of York's Coffee- 
house, the Tory-booth, " the booth with a phenix 
on it, and insured to last as long as the foundation 
stands," the Half-way house, the Bear Garden- 
shire booth, the Roast-beef booth, the Music booth, 
the Printing booth, the Lottery booth, and the 
Horn Tavern booth, which is indicated about the 
centre of the view by the antlers of a stag raised 
above it. The gardens of the Temple are seen 
filled with spectators witnessing the various sports 
on the ice, and the view takes in the whole line of 
the Bankside to St. Saviour's Church, with the 
Tower, the Monument, finished in 1677, the Wind- 
mill near Queenhythe, the new Bow Church, and 
some others of the new churches, and the vacant 
site and ruins of Bridewell Palace. The " map 
orlandskip" mentioned by Evelyn is entitled "An 
exact and lively Mapp or Representation of 
Boothes, and all the Varieties of Showes and 
Humours upon the Ice, on the River of Thames by 
London, during that memorable Frost in the 35th 
yeare of the Reigne of his Sacred Majesty King 

Charles the Second. Anno Dni. mdclxxxiii. 
With an Alphabetical Explanation of the most 
remarkable figures." It consists of a whole-sheet 
copper-plate engraving, with a view extending 
from the Temple-stairs and Bankside to Lon- 
don-bridge. In an oval cartouche at the top 
within the frame of the print, is the title ; and 
below the frame are the alphabetical references, 
with the words, " Printed and sold by Wil- 
liam Warter, Stationer, at the signe of the 
Talbott, under the Mitre Tavern in Fleete- 
street, London." In the foreground of this re- 
presentation of Frost Fair appear extensive 
circles of spectators surrounding a bull-baiting, 
and the rapid revolution of a whirling-chair or 
car, drawn by several men, by a long rope fastened 
to a stake fixed in the ice. Large boats, covered 
with tilts, capable of containing a considerable 
number of passengers, and decorated with flags 
and streamers, are represented as being used 
for sledges, some being drawn by horses, and 
others by watermen, lacking their usual em- 
ployment. Another sort of boat was mounted 
on wheels ; and one vessel, called " the drum- 
boat," was distinguished by a drummer placed at 
the prow. The pastimes of throwing at a cock, 
sliding and skating, roasting an ox, football, skit- 


ties, pigeon-holes, cups and balls, &c. are repre- 
sented as being carried on in various parts of the 
river; whilst a sliding -hutch, propelled by a stick ; 
a chariot, moved by a screw; and stately coaches 
filled with visitors, appear to be rapidly moving 
in various directions ; and sledges with coals and 
wood are passing between the London and South- 
wark shores. An impression of this plate will be 
found in the Royal Collection of Topographical 
Prints and Drawings, given by King George the 
Fourth to the British Museum, vol, xxvii. art. 89. 
There is also a variation of the same engraving 
in the City Library at Guildhall, divided with 
common ink into compartments, as if intended to 
be used as cards, and numbered in the margin, 
in type with Roman numerals, in three sets of ten 
each, with two extra. 

The diversions on the ice attracted the at- 
tention of the nobility, and King Charles the 
Second is said to have taken part in them more 
than once. Mr. Upcott is in possession of one 
of the very papers on which the king and his 
royal companions had their names printed. This 
interesting document, formerly in the collection 
of the celebrated John Evelyn, consists of a quar- 
ter sheet of coarse Dutch papei', on which,, within 
a type border, measuring 3 j inches by 4, are the 
names of 



^.,^l[|i<ijl|!j.<;j|l(i fa,[l|i|;^-j]^^^^ 

Charles, Kino. 
James, Duke. 

Katherine, Queen. 
Mary, Dutchess. 

Ann, Princesse. 

George, Prince. 
Hans in Kelder. 

London : Printed by G. Croom, on the ICE, on 
the lliver Tliames, January 31, 1684. 

Hero, then, wo have King Charles the Second ; 
his brother James, Duke of York, afterwards 
James the Second ; Queen Catherine, Infanta of 
Portugal ; Mary D'Este, sister of Francis, Duke 
of Modena, James's second duchess ; the Princess 
Anne, second daughter of the Duke of York, 
afterwards Queen Anne ; and her husband, Prince 
George of Denmark : and the last name, which is 
supposed to be a touch of the king's humour, sig- 
nifies "Jack in the Cellar," alluding to the preg- 
nant situation of Anne of Denmark. 

The same collection boasts a similar paper, con- 
taining the names of " Henry, Earl of Clarendon," 
son of the Chancellor ; " Flora, Countess of Cla- 

rendon," and " Edward, Lord Cornbury." The 
date of this is February 2nd. 

The following is a list of other publications 
illustrative of this frost. 

A large copper-plate, entitled, " A Map of the River Thames, 
meiTily call'd Blanket Fair, as it was frozen in the 
memorable year 1683-4, describing the booths, footpaths, 
coaches, sledges, bull-baiting, and other remarks upon 
that famous river." Dedicated to Sir Henry Hulse, 
Knt. and Lord Mayor, by James Moxon, the engraver. 

" A wonderful! Fair, or a Fair of Wonders ; being a new and 
true illustration and description of the several things 
acted and done on the river of Thames in the time of the 
terrible frost, which began about the beginning of Dec. 
1683, and continued till Feb. 4, and held on with such 
violence, that men and beasts, coaches and sledges, went 
common thereon. There was also a street of booths 
from the Temple to Southwark, where was sold all sorts 
of goods ; likewise bull-baiting and an ox roasted whole, 
and many other things, as the map and description do 
plainly show." Engraved and printed on a sheet, 1684. 

A small copper-plate representation of Frost Fair, with the 
figure of Erra Pater in the foreground. At the top, are the 
words, "Erra Pater's Prophesy, or Frost Faire in 1683," 
and underneath, the following lines : 

" Old Erra Pater, or his rambling ghost, 
Prognosticating of this long strong frost, 
Some ages past, said yt y*^ icebound Thames, 
Shou'd prove a theatre for sport.s and games ; 
Her watry green he turn'd into a bare, 
For men a citty seem, for booths a faire ; 



And now the stragling sprite is once more com 
To visit mortalls and t'orelel tlieir doom. 
When maids grow modest, ye dissenting crew 
Become all loyal, the falsehearted true. 
Then you may probably, and not till then, 
Expect in England such a frost agen." 

Printed for James Norris, at the King^s Armes without 'lem- 
ple Barr. 

The Thames was again frozen over at intervals, 
in the year 1709, and persons are said to have 
crossed it on the ice ; yet the frost was neither so 
intense, nor so permanent, as to cause anotherfair; 
though, in the Illustrated Pennant in the British 
Museum, there is an impression of a coarse bill, 
within a woodcut border of rural subjects, con- 
taining the words, " Mr. John Heaton, Printed on 
the Thames, at Westminster, Jan. the 7th, 1709. 
The Arte and Mystery of Printing, first invent- 
ed by John Guttemberg, in Harlem, in 1440, and 
brought into England by John Islip." 

About the end of November, 1715, however, a 
very severe frost commenced, which continued 
until the 9th of the following February, when the 
sports of 1683 were all renewed. In the Illustrated 
Pennant, before alluded to, are several curious 
memorials, of which the following is a list. 

A copper-plate, representing a view of London from the op- 
posite shore, with London Bridge on the right hand, and 
a line of tents on the left, leading from Temple Stairs. 


In front, another line of tents, marked " Thames Street," 
and the various sports, (^c. before them : below the print 
are alphabetical references, with the words " Printed on 
the Thames, 1715-16" ; and above it, " Frost Fair on the 
River Thames." 

A copper-plate of much larger dimensions, representing Lon- 
don at St. Paul's, with the tents, &c. and with alphabet- 
ical references ; " Printed and sold by John Bowles, at the 
Black Horse, in Cornhill." In the right-hand corner 
above, the arms and supporters of the city ; and on the 
left a cartouche, with the words " Frost Fayre, being a 
True Prospect of the Great Varietie of Shops and 
Booths for Tradesmen, with other Curiosities and Hu- 
mors, on the Frozen River of Thames, as it appeared 
before the City of London, in that memorable Frost in 
ye year of the Reigne of Our Sovereigne Lord King- 
George, Anno Domini 1716." 

" An exact and lively View of the Booths, and all the variety 
of Shows, &c. on the ice, with an alphal)ctical explana- 
tion of the most remarkable figures, 1716." A copper- 

" Frost Fair ; or a View of the Booths on the Frozen Thames 
in the 2nd year of King George, 1716." A wood-cut. 

On Wednesday, the26tli of December, 1739-40, 
commenced another frost, the most severe which 
had occurred since 171G. The Thames, as we are 
told in the "Gentleman's Magazine" of 1740, 
floated with rocks and shoals of ice ; and when 
they fixed, represented a snowy field, everywhere 


rising in maBses and hills of ice and snow. Of 
this scene several artists made sketches ; whilst 
tents and printing-presses were erected, and a 
complete Frost Fair was again held upon the river, 
over which multitudes walked, though some lost 
their lives by their rashness. In Woodfall's 
" General Advertiser" for Monday, December the 
31st, 1739, we are informed that "all the water- 
men above the bridge have hauled their boats on 
shore, the Thames being very nigh frozen over ;" 
and in the same paper for Wednesday, January 
2nd, 1739-40, it is observed that " several vint- 
ners in the Strand bought a large ox in Smithfield 
on Monday last, which is to be roasted whole on 
the ice on the river of Thames, if the frost con- 
tinues. Mr. Hodgeson, a butcher in St. James*'s 
Market, claims the privilege of selling or knock- 
ing down the beast, as a right inherent in his 
family, his father having knocked down the ox 
roasted on the river in the great frost, 1684, as 
himself did that roasted in 1715, near Hungerford 
Stairs. The beast is to be fixt to a stake in the 
open market, and Mr. Hodgeson comes dress'd in 
a rich lac'd cambric apron, a silver steel, and a 
hat and feathers, to perform the office." 

The " Daily Post" of Tuesday, January the 
22nd, 1740, thus notices the first breaking-up of 
this famous frost : " yesterday morning the inha- 


bitants of the west prospect of the bridge wore 
presented with a very odd scene, for on the open- 
ing of their windows, there appear'd underneath, 
on the river, a parcel of booths, shops, and huts, 
of different forms, and without any inhabitants, 
which, it seems, by the swell of the waters, and 
the ice separating, had been brought down from 
above. As no lives w^ere lost, it might be view'd 
without horror. Here stood a booth with trinkets, 
there a hut with a dram of old gold ; in ano- 
ther place a skittle-frame and pins, and in a 
fourth ' The Noble Art and Mystery of Printing, 
by a servant to one of the greatest trading com- 
panies in Europe.' With much difficulty, last 
night, they had removed the most valuable effects." 
A few of the most interesting memorials of this 
fair are as follows : — 

A copper-plate, representing a View of the Tliames at West- 
minster, with the tents, sports, (Sec. and alphabetical re- 
ferences, entitled " Ice Fair." Printed on y^ River 
Thames, now frozen over. Jan. 31, 1739-40. 

" Amidst y^ arts y' on ye Thames appear, 
To tell ye wonders of this frozen year, 
Sculpture claims prior place, since yt alone 
Preserves j'S image when ye prospect's gone." 

A coarse copper-plate, entitled " The view of Frost Fair," — 
scene taken from York-buildings Water Works ; twelve 
verses beneath. 

A small copper-plate, representing an altar-piece with the ttn 


commandTnents, engraven between the figures of Moses 
and Aaron ; and beneath, on a cartouche, " Printed on 
the Ice, on the River of Thames, Jan"? 15, 1739." 

A small copper-plate, representing an ornamental border with 
a female head, crowned, at the top ; and below two de- 
signs of the letter press and rolling press. In the centre, 
in type, " Upon the Frost in the year 1739-40 ;" six 
verses, and then, " Mr. John Cross, aged (3. Printed 
on the ice upon the Thames, at Queen-Hithe, January/ the 
29th, 1739-40." 

" Behold the liquid Thames now frozen o'er. 
That lately ships of mighty hurden hore ; 
Here you may print your name, 'tho cannot write, 
'Cause numb'd with cold ; 'tis done with great delight 
And lay it by, that ages yet to come, 
May see what things upon the ice were done." 

A coarse copper-plate engraving, looking down the river, 
entitled " Frost Fair," with eight lines of verse beneath ; 
and above. " Printed upon the River Thames when 
frozen, Janu. the 28, 1739-40, ' 

" An Exact Draught of Frost Fair on the River Thames, as 
it appears from White Hall Stairs, in the year 1740," 
with twelve lines of verse underneath. " Printed and 
sold by Geo^ Foster, Printseller, in St. PauVs Church- 
yard, London. 

" The English Chronicle, or Frosty Kalender ;" a broadside 
containing a memorial of the principal frosts, with a 
view of the fair from the Southwark side of the river, 
opposite St. Paul's. " Printed on the Thames, 1739-40." 

Severe frosts occurred in the years 1768 and 
1 785, and the Thames was partially frozen, but it 


does not appear that any particular festivities 
took place. The year 1789, however, again af- 
forded the public an opportunity of beguiling its 
severity by a renewal of their favourite sports 
upon the frozen river. The " Public Advertiser" 
of Friday, January 9th, 1789, states, that on the 
day preceding " several purl-booths were erected, 
and many thousands of persons crossed upon the 
ice from Tower-wharf to the opposite shore." 
" No sooner," says the " London Chronicle" from 
Saturday, January 10th, to Tuesday, January 
13th, p. 48, " had the Thames acquired a sufficient 
consistency, than booths, turn-abouts, &c. &c. 
were erected ; the puppet-shows, wild beasts, &c., 
were transported from every adjacent village; 
whilst the watermen, that they might draw their 
usual resources from the water, broke in the ice 
close to the shore, and erected bridges, with toll- 
bars, to make every passenger pay a halfpenny for 
getting to the ice. One of the suttling booths 
has for its sign ' Beere, Wine, and Spirituous 
Liquors without a License !' A man who sells 
hot gingerbread, has a board on which is written 
' no shop tax, nor window duty.*" All the adven- 
turers contend in these short sentences for the 
preference of the company, and the Thames is in 
general crowded." The " Public Advertiser" of 
Thursday, January loth, has the following piece 


of drollery, in the shape of an inscription on a 
temporary building on the Thames : " This Booth 
to Let. The present possessor of the Premises 
is Mr. Frost. His affairs, however, not being on 
a permanent footing, a dissolution, or l)ankruptcy 
may soon be expected, and the final settlement of 
the whole entrusted to Mr. Thaw." On Wed- 
nesday, January 7th, a large pig was roasted on 
one of the principal roads ; and on Monday, the 
12th, a young bear was hunted on the ice, near 
Rotherhithe. As usual, too, a printing-press was 
erected near the same spot, of which there is a 
curious memorial preserved in Mr. Crowle's " Illus- 
trated Pennant," consisting of a bill, having a 
border of type flowers, containing the following 
verses ; afterwards altered and adapted in the 
frost of 1814 :— 

" The silver Thames was frozen o'er, 
No diff'rence tvvixt the stream aud shore ; 
The like no man hath seen before, 
Except he liv'd in days of yore. 

On the Ice, at the Thames Printing-Office, opposite 
St. Catherine''s Stairs, in the severe Frost, January, 
1789. Printed hj me, William Bailey.^'' The 
same collection also contains a stippled engraving, 
entitled, " A View of the Thames from Eother- 
hithe Stairs, during the frost in 1789. Painted 


by G. Samuel, and engraved by W. Birch, enamel- 

" Perhaps," says the " London Chronicle," 
January 15th, " the breaking up of the fair upon 
the Thames last Tuesday night below bridge, ex- 
ceeded every idea that could be formed of it, as 
it was not until after the dusk of the evening that 
the busy crowd was persuaded of the approach of 
a thaw. This, however, with the cracking of 
some ice about eight o'clock, made the whole a 
scene of the most perfect confusion ; as men, 
beasts, booths, turn-abouts, puppet-shows, &c. &c. 
were all in motion, and pouring towards the shore 
on each side. The confluence here was so sudden 
and impetuous, that the watermen who had formed 
the toll-bars over the sides of the river, where 
they had broken the ice for that purpose, not 
being able to maintain their standard from the 
crowd, &c., pulled up the boards, by which a num- 
ber of persons who could not leap, or were borne 
down by the press, were soused up to the middle." 

The succeeding number of this paper mentions 
that on Thursday, January 15th, the ice was so 
powerful as to cut the cables of two vessels lying 
at the Old Rose Chain, and drive them through 
the great arch of London-bridge ; when their 
masts becoming entangled with the balustrades, 
both were broken, and many persons hurt. The 


Thames continued to be partly frozen for some 
time after this. 

The last fair held on the river Thames, was in 
the beginning of the year 1814. The frost com- 
menced on the 27th of December previous, and 
was followed by heavier falls of snow than any 
within the memory of man. During nearly four 
weeks frost, the wind blew, with little intermission, 
from the north and north-east, and the cold was 
intense. On Sunday, January SOth, some persons 
ventured to walk over the Thames at different 
parts ; and on Tuesday, February I st, the usual 
entries were formed by the unemployed watermen, 
particularly between Blackfriars-bridge and Three 
Cranes Wharf, notices being written against the 
streets leading to them, announcing a safe footing 
over the river, by the toll, on which many of them 
received six pounds per day. " The standing 
amusements of an English Frost Fair," remarks 
the writer of the " Chronicles of London Bridge," 
now commenced, and many cheerfully paid to see 
and partake of that upon the frozen Thames, 
which, at any other time, they would not have 
deigned to look upon. Besides the roughly-formed 
paths paved with ashes, leading from shore to 
shore, there was a street of tents called the " City 
Road," in which gay flags, inviting signs, music, 
and dancing, evinced what excellent entertainment 


was to be found there. That ancient wonder peculiar 
to the place, the roasting of a small sheep over a 
fire, was exhibited to many a sixpenny audience, 
whilst the provision itself, under the name of 
" Lapland Mutton," sold for one shilling a slice ! 
The erection of printing-presses was of course not 
forgotten, and numerous were the scraps of " old 
verse and new prose" distributed upon the occa- 

As we have given specimens of the ancient 
Thames printing, let us not pass over this last 
great frost, without gleaning some of its memorials. 

" You that walk here, and do design to tell 
Your children's children what this year befell, 
Come buy this print, and then it will be seen 
That such a year as this hath seldom been." 

One of the handbills ran thus : — 

" Friends ! now is your time to support the freedom of the 
press ! Can the press have greater liberty ? Here you 
find it working in the middle of the Thames ; and if you 
encourage us by buying our impressions, we will keep it 

* going, in the true spirit of liberty, during the frost." 

Another hand-bill (probably one of the last 
printed on the river), was as follows : — 

"To Madam Tabitha Thaw. 
" Dear dissolving Dame, 
" Father Fhost and Sister Snow have bonyed my borders, 
formd an idol of ice on my bosom, and all the Lads of 


London come to make merry : now, as you love mischief, 
treat the multitude with a few cracks by a sudden visit, 
and obtain the prayers of the poor npon both banks. 
Given at my own press, the 5th Feb. 1814. 

" Thomas Thames." 

On the evenino^ of Saturday, February 5th, 
the fair was visited by rain and a sudden thaw, 
when the ice cracked and floated in several places. 
On the following day, about 2 o'clock, the. tide 
began to flow with great rapidity, the immense 
masses of ice were broken up in all directions, and 
the river was covered with wrecks. Thus in a very 
short space of time, the returning industry of man, 
and the rushing current, removed every vestige of 
the last Frost-Fair. 


1. Great Britain's Wonder, or London's Admiration . 1 

2. AtruedescriptionofBlanketFairiipon the River Thames 5 

3. Blanket Fair, or the History of Temple Street . 9 

4. Freezland Fair, or the Icy Bear Garden . .12 

5. The Whigs hard heart for the cause of the hard frost . IT) 

6. Thamasis's Advace to the Painter from her frigid zone . 18 

7. A Winter Wonder, or the Thames Frozen over . 21 

8. News from the Thames, or the Frozen Thames in tears 23 

9. Wonders on the Deep . , . . .20 

10. Behold the Wonders of Almighty God . . . 28 

11. The Thames Uncased, or the Waterman's Song upon 

the Thaw . . . . . .30 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 


Being a true Representation of a prodigious Frost, which began 
about the beginaing of December 1633, and continued till the 
fourth day of February foUomng, and held on with such violence, 
that men and beasts, coaches and carts, went as frequently thereon, 
as boats were wont to pass before. There was also a street of 
booths built from the Temple to Southwark, where were sold all 
sorts of goods imaginable, namely, cloaths, plate, earthenware, 
meat, drink, brandy, tobacco, and a hundred sorts of other com- 
modities not here inserted: it being the wonder of this present 
age, aud a great consternation to all the spectators. 

[From a broadside in the British Museum.] 

Behold the wonder of this present age, 
A famous river now become a stage. 
Question not what I now declare to you, 
The Thames is now both fair and market too ; 
And many thousands dayly do resort, 
There to behokl the pastime and the sport, 
Early and late, used by young and old, 
Who valu'd not the fierceness of the cold ; 
And did not think of that Almighty liand 
Who made the waters bare, like to the land. 

2 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

Thousands and thousands to the river flocks, 

Wliere mighty flakes of ice do lye like rocks. 

There may you see the coaches swiftly run, 

As if beneath the ice were waters none ; 

And sholes of people every where there be. 

Just like to herrings in the brackish sea ; 

And there the quaking water-men will stand ye. 

Kind master, drink you beer, or ale, or brandy ? 

Walk in, kind sir, this booth it is the chief, 

We'l entertain you with a slice of beef. 

And what you please to eat or drink, 'tis here, 

No booth, like mine, affords such dainty cheer. 

Another crys. Here master, they but scoff ye, 

Here is a dish of famous new-made coffee. 

And some do say a giddy senseless ass 

May on the Thames be furnished with a lass ; 

But, to be short, such wonders there are seen, 

That in this age before hath never been. 

Before the Temple there a street is made. 

And there is one almost of every trade : 

There may you also this hard frosty winter, 

See on the rocky ice a working printer, 

"Who hopes by his own art to reap some gain, 

Which he jierchance does think he may obtain. 

Here is also a lottery, and musick too. 

Yea, a cheating, drunken, lend, and debauch'd crew. 

Hot codlins, pancakes, duck, goose, and sack, 

Rabit, capon, hen, turkey, and a wooden jack. 

In this same street before the Temple made, 

There seems to be a brisk and lively trade : 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 3 

Where ev'ry booth hath such a cunning sign, 
As seldome hath been seen in former time ; 
The Flying Piss-pot is one of the same, 
The Whip and Egg-shell, and the Broom by name : 
And there, if you have money for to spend, 
Each cunning snap will seem to be your friend. 
There may you see small vessels under sail. 
All's one to them, with or against the gale, 
And as they pass they little guns do fire, 
Which feedeth some, and puffs them with desire 
To sail therein, and when their money's gone, 
'Tis right, they cry, the Thames to come upon. 
There on a sign you may most plainly see't. 
Here's the first tavern built in Freezeland-street : 
There is bull-baiting and bear-baiting too, 
That no man living yet e're found so true ; 
And foot-ball play is there so common grown, 
That on the Thames before was never known ; 
Coals being dear, are carry'd on men's backs. 
And some on sledges these are drawn in sacks ; 
Men do on horse-back ride from shore to shore. 
Which formerly in boats were wafted o're : 
Poor j^eople hard shifts make for livelihoods, 
And happy are if they can sell their goods ; 
What you can buy for three-pence on the shore. 
Will cost you four-pence on the Thames or more. 
Now let me come to things more strange, yet true, 
And question not what I declare to you ; 
There roasted was a great and well-fed oxe. 
And there, with dogs, hunted the cunning fox ; 

R 2 

4 FROST FAIR IN 168o-4. 

Dancing o'th' ropes, and puppit-plays likewise. 

The like before ne'er seen beneath the skies ; 

All stand admir'd, and very well they may, 

To see such pastimes, and such sort of play. 

Besides the things I nam'd to you before, 

There other toys and baubles are great store ; 

There you may feast your wandring eyes enough, 

There you may buy a box to hold your snuif. 

No fair nor market underneath the skies 

That can afford you more varieties ; 

There you may see some hundreds slide in skeets, 

And beaten paths like to the city streets. 

There were Dutch whimsies turned swiftly round 

Faster then horses run on level ground. 

The like to this I now to you do tell 

No former age could ever parallel ; 

There's all that can supply most curious minds, 

With such vai'ieties of cunning signs 

That I do think no man doth understand; 

Such merry fancies ne'r were on the land ; 

There is such whimsies on the frozen ice. 

Make some believe the Thames a Paridice. 

And though these sights be to our admiration 

Yet our sins, our sins, do call for lamentation. 

Though such unusual frosts to us are strange, 

Perhaps it may predict some greater change ; 

And some do fear may a fore-runner be 

Of an approaching sad mortality : 

But why should we to such belief incline ? 

There's none that knows but the blest Pow'r divine 

FROST FAIR IN l()83-4. 5 

And Avhatsoe're is from Jehovali sent, 

Pool' sinners ouglit therewith to be content ; 

If dreadful, then to fall upon the knee. 

And beg remission of the Deity ; 

But if beyond our thoughts he sends us store, 

With all our hearts let's thankful be therefore. * 

Now let us all in great Jehovah trust 

Who doth preserve the righteous and the j ust ; 

And eke conclude sin is the cause of all 

The heavy judgments that on us do fall: 

And call to mind, fond man, thy time mispent, 

Fall on thy knees, and heartily repent ; 

Then will thy Saviour pity take on thee, 

And thou slialt live to all eternity. 

Printed by M. Ilaly and J. Miller, and sold by Robert Wal- 
ter, at the Globe, on the north side of St. Taul's Church, near 
that end towards Ludgate, where you may have all sorts and 
sizes of maps, coppy-books, and prints, not only English, but 
Italian, French, and Dutch ; and by John Seller, on the west 
side of the Royal Exchange. 1684. 

[From a broadside in the British Museum.] 

How am I fill'd with wonder for to see 
A flooding river now a road to be. 

6 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

Where ships and barges used to frequent. 

Now may you see a booth of fudling tent ; 

And those that us'd to ask where shall I land ye. 

Now cry, what lack ye, sir, beer, ale, or brandy ? 

Here, here, walk in, and you shall surely find 

Your entertainment good, my usage kind. 

Booths they increased dayly, more and more, 

People by thousands flocking from the shore ; 

And in such heaps they thither did repair, 

As if they had been hasting to a fair. 

And such a fair I never yet came near, 

Where shop-i-ents were so cheap, and goods so dear. 

Then might you have all kind of earthenware, 

You can scarce name a thing but what was there. 

There was to sell both French and Spanish wine. 

And yet, perhaps, a dishclout for a signe ; 

In short, the like was never seen before. 

Where coaches run as if upon the shore ; 

And men on horseback too and fro did ride, 

Not minding either current, or the tide : 

It was exceeding strange at first to see. 

Both men and women so advent'rous be ; 

And yet at last it grew so very common, 

'Twas not admir'd, it seemed strange to no man. 

Then from the Temple there was built a street, 

Made old and young, and all admire that see't ; 

Which street to Southwark reached. There might you see 

Wonders ! if you did love variety, 

There was rost beef, and ganiou to be sold, 

But at so dear a rate, I dare be bold 

FROST FAIR IN 1 683-4. 

To say, 'twas never sold so on the shore, 
Nor on the Thames, in hast, be any more. 
There were Dutch whimsies turning swiftly round, 
By which the owners cleared many a pound; 
And coles and corn was there in sledges draw'd. 
As if the Thames would never have been thaw'd. 
All kind of trades did to this market come. 
Hoping to get more profit than at home : 
And some whose purses were a little swel'd, 
Would not have car'd how long the frost had held. 
In several places there was nine -pins plaid, 
And pidgeon holes for to beget a trade. 
Dancing and fidling too there was great store. 
As if they had not been from off the shore ; 
The art of printing there was to be seen. 
Which in no former age had ever been ; 
And goldsmiths' shops were furnished with plate. 
But they must dearly pay for't that would hav't. 
And coifee-houses in great numbers were, 
Scattered about in this cold freezing fair, 
There might you sit down by a char-cole fire. 
And for your money have your heart's desire, 
A dish of coffee, chocalet, or tea, 
Could man desire more furnished to be ? 
No, no, if you the world should wander through. 
No fair like this could pleasant seem to you. 
There was the baiting of the ugly bear. 
Which sport to see hundreds did repair. 
And I believe since the world's first creation. 
The like was never seen in this our nation: 

8 FKOST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

And football playing there was day by day, 

Some broke their legs, and some their arms they say ; 

All striving to get ci-edit, but some paid 

Most dearly for it, I am half afraid. 

Bull-baiting likewise there was known to be. 

Which on the Thames before none ever see, 

And never was poor dogs more bravely tost 

Then they were, in this strange prodigious frost ; 

Th' inraged bull perceiv'd his enemies, 

And how to guard himself could not devise. 

But with his horns did toss them too and fro. 

As if their angry meaning he did know ; 

Besides all this a thing more strange and rare 

Than all the things were seen in Freezland fair, 

An ox was roasted whole, which thousands saw. 

For 'twas not many dayes before the thaw ; 

The like by no man in this present age. 

Was ever seen upon this icy stage. 

And this hard frost it did so long indure. 

It pinch'd, and almost famish'd many poor. 

But one thing more I needs to you must tell. 

The truth of which thousands do know full well. 

There was fox-hunting on this frozen river, 

"Which may a memorandum be for ever. 

For I do think since Adam drew his breath, 

No fox was hunted on the ice to death. 

Thus have you heard what wonders there were seen. 

How heaven and earth the people walk'd between. 

And since the world at first had its creation, 

The like was never seen in this our nation. 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. ! 

Yet was it hard and grievous to the poor, 
Who many hungry bellies did endure : 
Sad spectacles enough you might behold, 
Who felt th' effect of this prodigious cold ; 
But God who is most righteous, good, and just. 
Will them preserve who in him put their trust ; 
And when their dangers greatest seem to be, 
Blest be his name, he then doth sit them free. 
Then let us all, while we have time and breath, 
Be still prepar'd to meet with pale-f\xc'd death, 
That when he comes we need not be afraid. 
Nor at his dart be frighted or dismaid ; 
If we on Jesus Christ wholly depend, 
He'l prove to us an everlasting friend. 

London : Printed by H. Brugis, in Green Arbor, Little Old 
Bayly. 16S4. 



Being a Relation of the merry Pranks play'd on the River 
of Thames during the great Frost. 

Tune — " Packingtori s Pound." 

[From a broadside in the Ashmokan Collection.] 

Come listen a while (tho' the weather be cold). 

In your pockets and plackets your hands you may hold ; 

I'll tell you a story as true as 'tis rare, 

Of a river turn'd into a Bartholomew fair. 

10 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

Since old Christmas last, 

There has been such a frost, 
That the Thames has by half the whole nation been crost; 
Oh, scullers, I pity your fate of extreames, 
Each land-man is now become free of the Thames. 

'Tis some Lapland acquaintance of conjurer Gates, 
That has ty'd up your hands and imprisoned your boats ; 
You know he was ever a friend to the crew. 
Of all those that to Admiral James have been true : 

Where sculls did once row 

Men walk to and fro. 
But e're four months are ended, 'twill hardly be so ; 
Should your hopes of a thaw by this weather be crost. 
Your fortune will soon be as hard as the fi'ost. 

In roast-beef and brandy much money is spent, 
And booths made of blankets, that pay no ground-rent ; 
With old fashion'd chimneys the rooms are secur'd, 
And the houses from danger of fire are insur'd. 

The chief place you meet, 

Is call'd Temple-street, 
If you do not believe me, then you may go and see't ; 
From the Temple the students do thither resort, 
Who were always great patrons of revels and sport. 

The citizen comes with his daughter and wife. 
And swears he ne're saw such a sight in his life ; 
The prentices starv'd, at home, for want of coals, 
To catch them a heat do flock thither in shoals : 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 11 

While the country squire 

Does stand and admire, 
At the wondrous conjunction of water and fire ; 
Straight comes an arch wag, a young son of a whore, 
And lays the squire's head where his heels were before. 

The Rotterdam Dutchman with fleet-cutting scates, 
To pleasure the crowd, shows his tricks and his feats ; 
Who, like a rope-dancer (for his sharp steels). 
His brains and activity lies in his heels ; 

Here all things like fate, 

Are in slippery state. 
From the soal of the foot, to the crown of the pate ; 
While the rabble in sledges run giddily round. 
And nought but a circle of folly is found. 

Here damsels are handled, like nymphs in the bath, 
By gentlemen-ushers, with legs like a lath ; 
They slide to a tune, and cry give me your hand. 
When the tottering fops are scarce able to stand. 

Then with fear and with care 

They arrive at the fair. 
Where wenches sell glasses and crackt earthen-ware ; 
To show that the world and the pleasures it brings, 
Are made up of brittle and slippery things. 

Printed for Charles Corbet, at the Oxford Arms, in Warwick 
Lane. 1684. 

12 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 


The Tune of " Packington's Pound." 
[From a broadside in the Ashmolean Collection.] 

I'll tell ye a tale (though before 'twas in print), 
If you make nothing on't, then the devil is in't ; 
'Tis no tale of a tub, nor the plotting of treason, 
Butof very strange things have been done this cold season. 

You know there's a book, 

No, no, T mistook, 
For I could not find it, though long I did look ; 
Yet I do not question, for all the odd freaks, 
We shall find it again when e're the frost breaks. 

If you do believe what was told us by Gates, 
Ye never again will have use of your boats ; 
Without you do now imploy the Wheelers to do't. 
Ye ne'r will be able to bring all about. 

He talkt of a plot. 

Believe it, or not. 
To blow up the Thames, and to do't on the spot ; 
Then either the doctor must now be believ'd. 
Or else the doctor and we are deceiv'd. 

No water I see, which does fairly incline 
To make me believe he has sprung now his mine ; 
Though that did not do what the doctor intended. 
Yet he may for one thing be said to be commended. 


lie said that the pope, 

(Pray mind, 'tis a trope) 
Would send us his bulls by the way of the Hope ; 
And tho' for the sign we have all along been waiting, 
I t'other day saw on the ice a bull baiting. 

I hope you'll believe me, 'twas a fine sight, 
As ever I saw on Queen Besses night ; 
Though I must confess I saw no such dogs there, 
As us'd to attend the infallible chair. 

Yet there was some men, 

Whom I knew again, 
Who bawl'd as they did, when they chose aldermen ; 
And saith it had been a most excellent shew. 
Had there been some crackers and serpents to throw. 

Another thing pleased me, as I hope for life, 
I saw of a man that had gotten a wife. 
To see the rare whimsies the woman was sick, 
So never suspected a slippery trick ; 

But when she came there 

The ice would not bear. 
But whether 'twas his fault or hers, I can't swear ; 
Yet thus far is true, had he lost his wife. 
He then might have pray'd for a frost all his life. 

There's very fine tricks, and new subject for laughter, 
For there you may take a coach and go by water ; 
So get a tarpawling too, as you are jogging, 
Tho' a nymph t'other day for it got a good flogging. 


There was an old toast 

Of beef had a roast, 
Which fell into the cellar, and fairly was lost ; 
O see in old pi'overbs sometimes there is truth, 
A man is not sure of his meat till'ts in's mouth. 

But I had forgot my chief bus'ness, I swear, 
To give an account of new Temple-street fair ; 
Where most of the students do daily resort, 
To shew the great love they had always for sport, 

Who oft give a token, 

I hope't may be spoken. 
To maid in a mask, who squeaks like a pig a poke in, 
To see such crack't vessels sail is a new matter. 
Who have been so shatter'd between wind and water. 

Like Babel this fair's not built with brick or stone, 
Though here I believe is as great confusion. 
Now blanckets are forc'd a double duty to pay, 
On beds all the night, and for houses all day ; 

But there's something more, 

Some people deplore. 
Their carelessly leaving open sellar door, 
Which puts me in mind of Jack Presbyters trick. 
Who from pulpit descends the like way to old Nick. 

There's many more tricks, but too long to be told, 
Wliich are not all new, tho' there's none of 'em old, 
There's the fellow that printeth the Old-Baily tryal. 
Who to all the dull printers does give a denyal ; 

FROST FAIR IN 1688-4. 15 

He'l print for a sice, 

(For that is his price), 
Your name (that you may bi"ag 'twas done) on the ice. 
And faith I do think it a very fine thing, 
So my tail's at an end, but first, God save the king. 

Printed for Charles Corbet, at the Oxford Arms, in Warwick 
Lane. 1684. 


Tune — " Packington s Pound." 
[From a broadside in a Private Collection.] 

Ye Whigs and Dissenters, I charge you attend ; 
Here is a sad story as ever was told. 
The River of Thames, that once was your friend. 
Is frozen quite over with ice very cold, 

And fish which abounded, 

Though they can't be drownded, 
For lack of their liquor, I fear, are confounded. 
Then leave your rebellious and damn'd presbytering, 
Or you may be glad of poor-jack and red-herring. 

Now, had it been frozen with brimstone and fire, 
The wonder had been much deeper at bottom ; 
Tho' some do believe your sins do require 
A punishment great as e'er fell upon Sodom : 

1 6 FROST FAIR IN 1 683-4. 

But then the poor fish 

Had been dress'd to your dish, 
And, 'stead of a plague, you had then had your wish; 
Pikes, flounders, together with gudgeons and roaches. 
Had served for the luxury of these debauches. 

But, alas ! to distrust ye this frost is now sent, 
As if it would shew ye your consciences harden'd ; 
And if each mother's child make not hast to repent. 
How the devil d'ye think ye shall ever be pardon'd ? 

'Tis a very hard case 

As ever yet was 
That the river should suffer for every ass ! 
Poor Thames ! thou may'st curse the foul lake of Geneva, 
For whose faults thou dost penance, sans hope of re- 

This Thames, ye whigs ! brought you plenty and 

So ye harden'd your hearts with your silver and gold; 
But if ever ye hope to redeem time or tide 
Hot must your repentance, your zeal must be cold ; 
Your damn'd hungry zeal 
For rank commonweal 
"Will hurry ye headlong all down to the Deel ; 
Then melt your hard hearts, and your tears spread 

As ever ye hope that your Thames shall be thaw'd. 

Make hast, and be soon rcconcil'd to the truth. 
Or you may lament it l:)()th old men and young; 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 17 

For suppose ev'ry shop should be turn'd to a booth, 
Oh, were it not sad to be told with a tongue ? 

Should Cheapside advance 

Up to Petty France, 
And London's Guild-hall up to "Westminster dance ; 
O what would become of your wealthy brave chamber, 
If it were forc'd so far westward to clamber ? 

Cooks' shops with roast victuals, and taverns with wine, 
Already are seen on the river with plenty, 
Which are fill'd ev'iy morning before you can dine, 
By two's and by three's, I may truly say twenty ; 

Jack, Tom, Will, and Harry, 

Nan, Sue, Doll, and Mary, 
Come there to devour plum-cakes and canary ; 
And if with their dancing and wine they be tir'd 
For a tester a piece there's a coach to be hir'd. 

There's ginger-bread, small-cole, and hot pudding-pies, 
With bread and cheese, brandy and good ale and beer : 
Besides the plum-cakes, too, there's large cakes of ice. 
Enough to invite him that will come there ; 

All which does betide 

To punish your pride ; 
Y'are plagu'd now with ice, 'cause you love to back-slide; 
Methinks it should warn you to alter your station. 
For y' have hitherto built on a slippery foundation. 

Ye merchants, to Greenland now leave off your sailing, 
And for your train oyl yourselves never solicite; 


18 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

For there is no fear of your merchandise failing, 
Since the whales, I'm afraid, mean to give us a visit : 

Tlie great leviathan 

May sail to England, 
To see a worse monster, the Presbyterian. 
Was ever a vengeance so wonderful shown, 
That a I'iver so great should be turned to a town ? 

Sold at the Entrance into the Old Spi-ing Garden, near 
Charing-cross, 1684. 


[From the original baUad in the Ashmolean Museum ] 

Fam'd Thamasis with shiv'ring winter dresses, 

With isicles, and other borrow'd tresses, 

And on her head a periwig of snow. 

And freezed mantle fring'd with ice below. 

Out of her watry bed, amaz'd appears, 

And thus the current of her language stears : 

Spread a large canvas, painter, to contain 

The strange surprising sights, the numerous train, 

That all about my back do walk or sit. 

Of all degrees, some sage, some wanting wit ; 

For crowds of people hither do retire, 

As to Moorfields, after the dreadful fire, 

Threatning the city to depopulate. 

As once before it was unfortunate. 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 19 

Then draw the king, who on his leads doth stay 

To see the throng, as on a Lord Mayor's day. 

And thus unto his nobles pleas'd to say : 

With these men on this ice, I'de undertake 

To cause the Turk all Europe to forsake ; 

An army of these men, arm'd and compleat. 

Would soon the Turk in Christendom defeat. 

Then draw me Temple-Blanket-street, where all 

The water-men do loudly cry and bawl, 

Louder than lawyers in Western-hall ; 

Instead of standing at the stairs to ply, 

They say. What is't you lack ? what is't you buy ? 

And whilst the rooks do tell an heavy tale, 

And curse the frost, they cry, Good beer and ale. 

Coffee, or mum, or wine, the heart to chear. 

Roast beef, or mutton boil'd, or brandy clear. 

There mighty ice-cakes and plumb-cakes are found ; 

There all variety of things abound. 

Only green pease and cherries, they are rare 

As guineys in a poet's pocket are. 

Here you may buy a diamond ring for nought. 

Such as from India ne'er was brought ; 

(The cuts were diamond, the substance ice, 

Which in men's pockets vanish'd in a trice : 

But for his cheat the man will pay full dear. 

Condemned by my lord to whipping chear.) 

Then, painter, let us to the print-house go. 

Where men the art of printing soon do know ; 

Where, for a teaster, you may have your name 

Printed, hereafter for to show the same ; 

c 2 

20 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

And sure in former ages ne'er was found 
A press to print, where men so oft were dround. 
Next, notice of the various motions take ; 
Some bold as Hector, some for fear do quake : 
One slides, one slips, and one downright doth fall 
Into an hole, the skuUer then doth bawl. 
What, will you rob my cellar of its di'ink, 
When he, alas ! poor man, no harm doth think. 
There chariots fly, there coaches run on wheels, 
And men (out-tipling of the fishes) reels, 
And often up doth go the woman's heels. 
And something, to remember what she saw, she feels. 
The water-men as busie are as bees. 
Or as some Welchmen cramming toasted cheese ; 
Instead of waves that us'd to beat the shore. 
There bears and bull loudly now do roar. 
There boats do slide, where boats were wont to row; 
Wliere ships did sail, the water-men them tow; 
All things do move upon this element, 
As if on terra ferma their feet went. 
Hard times the good and righteous G-od hath sent, 
For our more hardned hearts as punishment ; 
From heav'n this scourge is sent us for our pride ; 
We're plagu'd with ice, because we do backslide. 
The only way these things for to redress. 
Is that each one his sins to God confess ; 
Let every one sweep clean and neat his door, 
And let our hearts be softened to the poor ; 
Honour the king, and all your neighbours love, 
And then the heav'ns these judgments will remove. 
London: Printed by G. Croom, on the River of Thames. 

FROST FAIR IN 1 683-4. 21 


[From the Ashmolean Museum,] 

"When Neptune saw a wondrous bridge built o're 
His silver Thames, that reach'd from shore to shore, 
He shook his trident and with aweful frown, 
Swore 'twas presumption in the haughty town, 
Now laughs to see it standing useless o're, 
Whilst ice has made it one continued shore. 
Under whose spreading roof he silent glides 
And ebbs, and hews, unheard, unseen, his tides. 
Greenland, Muscovy, sure their cold have lent, 
And all their frigid blasts have hither sent ; 
"Whilst Boreas with his keenest breath has blown. 
To make our winter cold as is their own : 
That if my inke was not congeal'd as it, 
I'de on the subject shew a poet's wit. 
The fish lye closely in their watry bed. 
And find an icy ceiling o're their head. 
They fear no anglers that do lye in wait, 
Nor are deceived by the alluring bait. 
The watermen with folded arms doe stand. 
And grieve to see the water firm as land. 
Their boats hal'd up, their oars laid useless by. 
Nor oars, nor skuller, master, do they cry, 
Wishing kind Zephyrus with a warmer gale 
Would once more launch their boat and fill their t>uil; 

22 FROST FAIR IN 1 683-4. 

Or that the sun would with his gentle flames 
Again set free their best of friends, the Thames. 
The shoars no longer sound with Westward hoe, 
Nor need men boats where they can firmly goe. 
See how the noble river in a ti'ice 
Is turned as it were one spacious street of ice. 
And who'ld believe to see revived there, 
In January, Bartholomew fair. 
Where all the mobile in crowds resort, 
As on firm land, to walk, and trade, and sport ; 
Now booths do stand where boats did lately row, 
And on its surface up and down men go. 
And Thames becomes a kind of raree-show. 
Its upper rooms are let to mortal dweller. 
And underneath it is god Neptune's cellar ; 
Now Vulcan makes his fires on Neptune's bed, 
And sawcy cooks roast beef upon his head. 
As many tuns of ale and brandy flow 
Above the ice, as waters do below; 
And folk do tipple, without fear to sink. 
More liquors then the fish beneath do drink. 
Here you may see a crowd of people flock. 
One's heels fly up, and down he's on his dock ; 
Another steps, 'tis strange but true, no matter, 
And in he flounces up to th' neck in water ; 
A third more sure his slipp'ry footsteps guides. 
And safely o'er the ice away he slides ; 
Another upon skeats does swiftly pass. 
Cutting the ice like diamonds upon glass. 
Women, beware you come not here at all. 
You are most like to slip and catch a fall, 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 23 

This you may do, tho' in your gallant's hand, 

And if you fall, he has no power to stand ; 

'Tis ten to one you tumble in a trice, 

For you are apt to fall where there's no ice. 

Oft on your back, but seldome on your face. 

How can you stand then on such a slippery place ? 

Yet you will venture briskly to a booth, 

To take a glass or two with youngster Smooth, 

Then back again as briskly to the shore. 

As wise and honest as you were before. 

Here (like the great) on slip'ry place you stand. 

They can nor fate, nor you your feet, command. 

My muse to scribble further has no maw, 

But for your good doe wish a speedy thaw. 

And let it ne'r be said 'twixt you and I, 

The winter's cold, but move your charity. 

Then let the poor meanwhile your bounty find, 

And heav'n to you, as you to them prove kind. 

London, Printed for J. Shad, 1684. 


[From the Ashuioloan Museum.] 

Whence is this chance O heavens ! that ye be 
So much afiiictive unto piteous me ? 
"What makes the air and blustring winds combine 
Within a rockey coffin to confine 

24 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

Me, and my family, who for ages gone 

With Boreas held a constant union ? 

Not by transgression have I giv'n the cause 

For men to say I've wrong'd my sov'raign's laws. 

Pity my case, and in your wonted mode. 

Dissolve those shackels that do now me load. 

Come Auster, with thy more auspicious breath. 

And save us all from thraldom, and from death. 

For those great hoasts that always lodged with me, " 

And had their dainties at my table free, 

Look like dry'd skeletens. The great supplies, 

(Which from the city come, and did suffice 

Them aU), since here we have imprison'd been. 

Are now with-held, and can't be longer seen. 

Yea, to enhance my grief, the greater fish o'ei'power 

The lesser ones, and daily them devour, 

Thus scince there is no other food to find, 

Unkindly they do feed on their own kind ; 

Great sholes of fry besides for want are spread, 

Some here, some there, some sick, the most are dead. 

Darkness surrounds this watry region so. 

The stoutest ones from melancholick grow, 

Nor doth bright Titan with his wonted light, 

By day afibrd occasion for delight. 

Up ore the ceiling we great thunder hear, 

Which strikes the very sturgeon into fear. 

Both carts and coaches with their ratling wheels. 

Great noise of men's and horses trampling heels, 

Cause such a quaking as the earth doth make, 

When of proud winds her caves a surfeat take, 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 25 

Worse than Egyptian plagues do us pursue, 

Yet were we ne'er unkind to Israel's crew. 

Over our heads a colony is come, 

That dispossesses us both of house and home, 

Who cross to Nature's laws, have left the hind, 

And on my liquid surface firmly stand. 

Where Peter walking once began to sink, 

These ruffians now do swagger, wench and drink. 

Oh strange ! more strange then Israel's wonder was, 

When dry-shod ore the Red Sea they did pass, 

(The flouds well cui'b'd) they did on sand advance ; 

These on the floods themselves both frisk and dance. 

With me, ye citizens ! lament and moan, 

I've been your antient friend, and faithful one. 

Under your roofs your wealth I've safely brought. 

Which with great cares quite round the world ye sought. 

There's scarce a soul within your wall that I 

Did not with dayly aid at first supply. 

And you brisk watermen, above the rest, 

Who've suckt your living from my pregnant breast, 

Bedew your lean cheeks with repented tears, 

Till heav'n do sympathize, and quel your fears. 

For tho that now you're brandy mei'diants grown, 

Turne watermen again, ye'r oerthrown. 

London, Printed by T. Snowden, January 30, 1C84. 

26 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 


Being an exact Representation of the River Thames, as it ap- 
peared during the memorable Frost, which began about the 
middle of December, and ended on the 28th of February, 
anno 1683-4. 

[The following verses are under a rude wood-cut representation 
of Frost Fair, in a private Collection.] 

The various sports behold here in this piece, 
Which for six weeks were seen upon the ice; 
Upon the Thames tlie great variety 
Of plays and booths is here brought to your eye. 
Here coaches, as in Cheapside, run on wheels, 
Here men (out-tipling of the fishes) reels : 
Instead of waves that us'd to beat the shore, 
Here bulls they bait, till loudly they do roar ; 
Here boats do slide, where boats were wont to row. 
Where ships did sail, the sailors do them tow ; 
And passengers in boats the river crost. 
For the same price as 'twas before the frost. 
There is the printing booth of wonderous fame, 
Because that each man there did print his name ; 
And sure, in former ages, ne're was found, 
A press to print, where men so oft were drown'd. 
In blanket booths, that sit at no ground rent. 
Much coin in beef and brandy there is spent. 
The Dutchmen here in nimble cutting scates. 
To please the crowd do shew their tricks and feats ; 
The rabble here in chariots run around. 
Coffee, and tea, and mum, doth here abound. 

FROST FAIR l.V 1683-4. 27 

The tinkers here doth march at sound of kettle, 
And all men know that they are men of mettle : 
Here roasted was an ox before the court, 
Which to much folks afforded meat and sport ; 
At nine-pins here they play, as in Moorfields, 
This place the pass-time us of foot-ball yields : 
The common hunt here makes another show. 
As he to hunt an hare is wont to go ; 
But though no woods are here or hares so fleet, 
Yet men do often foxes catch and meet ; 
Into a hole here one by chance doth fall, 
At which the watermen began to bawl, 
What, will you rob our cellar of its drink ? 
When he, alas! poor man, no harm did think. 
Here men well mounted do on horses ride 
Here they do throw at cocks as at Shrovetide ; 
A chariot here so cunningly was made. 
That it did move itself without the aid 
Of horse or rope, by virtue of a spring 
That Vulcan did contrive, who Avrought therein. 
The rocks at nine-holes here do flock together 
As they are wont to do in summer weather. 
Thi-ee ha'perth for a penny, here they cry, 
Of gingerbread, come, who will of it buy ? 
This is the booth where men did money take, i 
For crape and ribbons that they there did make ; 
But in six hours, this great and rary show 
Of booths and pastimes all away did go. 

Prmtcd in the year 1684. 

28 FROST FAIR IN 1 683-4. 

[From a MS. in a private Collection.] 

Behold the wonders of almighty God, 

Whose looks dry up, or chain the swelling flood : 

See how his breath lock'd up the waving Thames, 

And under rocks of ice confin'd her streams, 

In spight of Phoebus' heat contracted beams ; 

Whilst restless Neptune, murmuring underneath 

His strange captivity, durst scarcely breathe. 

A trading mart the harden'd waves become, 

And marble-like the wat'ry world intomb ; 

Whilst on its glass gilt face strange buildings stand. 

In spite of throbbing waves, as on the land ; 

Furnisht with trades, that there most things are sold. 

As vessels of silver, copper, wood, brass, gold ; 

Pewter, tinn, glass, and what could trade create, 

Wine, beer, ale, brandy, chockelet ; 

Yea, toys, confections, roast-meat, gingerbread. 

Were there produc'd, on which some thousands fed : 

These were not all, books and varieties, 

Strange to be seen, were there to please men's eyes : 

Ne're known before, street crowded upon street, 

Signs upon signs, men's admiration meet. 

Printing, an art before ne're public shown. 

Upon the frozen-flood, to thousands known ; 

Bulls and bears baited, pleasant monkey-shows. 

Fine eating, swallowing knives, trod iron that glows, 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 29 

Walk'd on with naked feet, Dutch flying boats, 
Coaches, swift running ; ships as if afloat 
Drove on wheels ; Dutch whirling, whimsic chair. 
Turning more swift than unrestrained air ; 
A Freezeland chariot, a self moving coach, 
Whose swiftness rais'd men's admiration much. 
Nine-pins were play'd at, and cock fighting found. 
Sliding on scates, fox hunting, as tho' o'th ground. 
Ox roasted whole, horse-racing, pigin-holes. 
Great football matches, and a game at bowls : 
Whilst scatter'd on strong ice there every where. 
Blanketed, boarded, matted booths appear ; 
And from the Temple to the barge-house o'er 
A wonderous street, the ice long floating, bore, 
Making throughout but one continued shore, 
Shrove Tuesday with cock-throwing nsher'd in, 
Was on the flood made hard by cold wind, seen ; 
Corn, coles, and wood, o're it daily convey'd, 
And on the starlings kept the brandy trade ; 
Through bridge, men walk'd whilst the strong ice below, 
As that above, could numerous buildings show. 
Not ships, but sail-cloath mansions tent-wise fram'd. 
In which great fires, with roast meat at them flam'd ; 
And some their pamper'd steeds durst proudly prance, 
Whilst music play'd, drums beat, and men did dance : 
Streamers wav'd with the wind, and all was bent 
To give the kind spectators due content : 
Who came in crowds to sec that wond'rous sight. 
Where people on the Thames dwelt day and night ; 

30 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

Whilst strong north winds with unrelenting cold, 
Imprison'd nature did in fetters hold. 
But heaven was kind at last, the south Avind blew, 
And weeping clouds o're earth's hard bosom threw, 
Resolving aU things with a subtile dew. 

Finis. A.D. 1684. 


To the Tune of " Hey, boys, up go we." 
[Fi'oni a broadside in the Ashmolean Collection.] 

Come, ye merry men all, 

Of Waterman's-Hall, 
Let's hoist out our boats and careen ; 

The Thames it does melt, 

And the cold is scarce felt, 
Not an isicle's now to be seen. 

Let's pull down each scull, 

That hung up in hall. 
Like weapon so rusty, and row ; 

Let's cheerly fall to't. 

If we've not forgot. 
For the frost is over now. 

Let's set up our masts, 
That stood like posts, 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 31 

As props to our tents on the Thames ; 

Or signe-posts made, 

With an antient displai'd, 
While our oars were the great cross-beams, 

Let's hoist up our sail 

That was a side vail, 
To hide Doll when with brandy she'd glow ; 

Or a roof compos'd, 

You might else have been froz'd, 
Though the frost be over now. 

We'll no longer stand 

With a tapster's hand. 
With a spigot in hand for an oar, 

Crying out, our trade is cold. 

Here's four gallons in hold, 
I have drawn out but half my store. 

Prithee lads, stand to't. 

And help pump it out, 
That the vessel once more may flow : 

Then come again 

With a thirsty train, 
But the frost is over now. 

Let's tune our throats 

To our usual notes, 
Of Twitnam, Richmond, hey ; 

Sir, skuller, sir? oars, sir? 

Loudly roar, sir ? 
Here's Dick, sir, you won't pass him by ? 

32 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

Instead of good ale, 
And brandy-wine stale, 

Let's cry out, "Westward hoe ! 
Shall we Moreclack make, 
Or for Branford tack, 

For the frost is over now. 

"We'll take no boat, 

That once did float, 
And service good had done ; 

And on his keel. 

Clap sledge for heel, 
And inforce him like tray tor to run 

So to make him appear 

Like a China carr, 
"With a tawdry painted prow, 

And a tire or more, 

Of Potguns four: 
For the frost is over now. 

Let's call in our men, 

Lest forty to ten. 
From such a long vacation, 

And converse oft 

With the loose and soft 
Landlopers of the nation, 

They resty prove, 

Or fall in love 
"With Jenny's cole-black brow ; 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4^.- 33 

And then no more 
On the seas will roar ; 
Though the frost be over now. 

For some were led 

Odde paths to tread, 
And bear the waters on 

Their brawny backs, 

Who with flying jacks 
Have triumph'd thereupon ; 

Or to get chink. 

To carry link, 
Though 'twas out of their element, O ; 

And in the night 

Cry, Have a light, 
Though the frost is over now. 

Others there were 

On icy sphere, 
Wheel'd mortals in a round, 

That us'd to tack, 

And angles make, 
That port it might be found : 

Or on the main 

A voyage gain 
By equinoctial bow, 

And haven got, 

Drink off their pot ; 
But the frost is over now. 

34 • FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

Tliey us'd to stare 

On noi'thern bear ; 
But now on earthly bull 

They turn their looks 

Quite oif the hooks, 
And on the cause look dull, 

Us'd to survey 

The dog-star, they 
No other whelps allow 

To bark and ball 

Within ken o' th' Hall ; 
But the frost is over now. 

Had Thames been thaw'd, 

And whale had tow'd 
Himself up by his fin, 

They all had then, 

E'en as one man. 
Have hoop'd and hoop'd agen. 

Their anchors shook, 

And spread with hook. 
And made him stoop full low ; 

T'other rural sport 

They care not for't ; 
But the frost is over now. 

The Dutch that in great 
Large shoals used to meet. 
And clapt their crook'd scates on their foot, 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 35 

Now no more dare appear 

To make folken stare 
While on the smooth surface they float. 

They betaken each man 

To their butter and kan, 
And by their side have their froe ; 

Their cabbadge they boil, 

And eat herring with oil, 
For the frost is over now. 

The sledge's load 

Shall no more defraud 
The boat of its cargo large ; 

From Southwark-strand, 

"We again may land 
Coals, so may the western barge 

Shall we that have gone 

To Newcastle each one. 
Let the carmen over us crow ? 

No, no, my boys. 

We'll renew our joys. 
For the frost is over now. 

Nor shall hackney-coach, 

Where whores do debauch. 
Upon our Thames now run ; 

They have plow'd her face, 

And nigh spoil'd her grace. 
Where the frost-nail'd horse has gone. 

36 FROST FAIR IN J 683-4. 

Nor shall they bawl, 

To Westminster-hall 
Will your gowned worship go ? 

We wept in despite 

While the rogues went tight ; 
But the frost is over now. 

The town too's gone 
That they waited on, 

And the people flock'd to see : 
It fled in one night 
Quite out of our sight, 

As the castles enchanted that be ; 
While country squire 
Whom journey might tire. 

With watry eyes cannot view 
The street a long way 
That he came to survey ; 

For the frost is over now. 

Not a horn can he buy. 
Nor an earthenware-toy, 

His wife or his children to cheer : 
Since Isis does turn 
Her watry urn. 

All the pitchers are march'd oif here. 
Nay, on the Thames wide 
There remains not a slide 

On which he may whisk to and fro : 

FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 37 

He returns as he came 
To his country dame, 
For the frost is over now. 

We're freed now each mate, 

From the care and debate. 
That attended us all so long ; 

To determine affairs 

Betwixt the two stairs, 
Down which all the people throng. 

If you come once again, 

Take some other men, 
For the weight of it makes us to bow ; 

E'en determine't your selves. 

For your're quarrelsome elves, 
And the frost is over now. 

What, a plague, made you meet, 

To come here to cheat 
We watermen of our gain ? 

Had ye kept in your furs. 

We had voided these stirs. 
And you of cold the pain. 

But to get your coin, 

You'd up to the loin, 
Though your arse should never thaw. 

Go, get to your homes, 

And make whole your bums. 
Since the frost is over now. 

38 FROST FAIR IN 1683-4. 

Mean time, if ought 

Of honour you've got, 
Let the printers have their due, 

Who printed your names, 

On the river Thames, 
While their hands with the cold look'd blue. 

There's mine, there's thine, 

Will for ages shine. 
Now the Thames aloft does flow. 

Then let's gang hence, 

To our boats commence. 
For the frost is over now. 

London : Printed for the author, and sold by J. Norris, at the 
King's Arms, without Temple Bar, 1684. 


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