Chapter X (2)

George had a Daughter of the age of tenne yeeres, a Girle of a pretty forme, but of an excellent wit: and she had _George_ so tutored all night, that although himselfe was the Author of it, yet had hee beene transformed into his Daughters shape, he could not have done it with more conceit. _George_ at that time dwelt at the Banke Side from whence this she-sinnow,[F. 203] early in the morning, with her haire dichevalled, wringing her hands, and making such pittifull moane with shrikes and teares, and beating of her brest, that made the people in a maze: some stood wondring at the Childe; others plucked her to know the occasion; but none could stay her by any meanes, but on shee kept her journey, crying, O, her Father, her good Father, her deare Father, over the Bridge, thorow Cheapside, and so to the Old Bailey, where the Gentleman sojourned, there sitting her selfe downe, a hundred people gaping upon her, there she begins to cry out, Woe to that place, that her Father ever saw it: she was a Cast-away, her Mother was undone: till with the noise, one of the Gentlemans men comming downe, looked on her, and knew her to be _George Peeles_ Daughter: hee presently runnes up, and tels his Master, who commanded his man to bring her up. The Gentleman was in a cold sweat, fearing that George had, for the wrong that he did him the day before, some way undone himselfe. When the Girle came up, he demanded the cause why she so lamented, and called upon her Father? _George_ his flesh and blood, after a million of sighs, cried out upon him, he had made her Father, her good Father, drowne himselfe. Which words once uttered, she fell into a Counterfeit swoone, whom the Gentleman soon recovered. This newes went to his heart, and he, being a man of a very milde condition, cheered up the Girle, made his men to go buy her new cloathes from top to toe, said he would be a Father to her, gave her five pounds, bid her go home and carry it to her mother, and in the evening he would visit her. At this, by little and little she began to be quiet: desiring him to come and see her Mother. He tels her, he will not faile, bids her goe home quietly. So downe stayres goes she peartly,[F. 204] and the wondring people that staid at doore, to heare the manner of her griefe, had of her nought but knavish answers, and home went she directly. The Gentleman was so crossed in mind, and disturbed in thought at this unhappy accident, that his soule could not be in quiet, till he had beene with this wofull widdow, as hee thought, and presently went to Blacke Fryers, tooke a payre of Oares, and went directly to _George Peeles_ house, where hee found his wife plucking of Larkes, my crying Crocadile turning of the Spit, and _George_ pinn'd up in a blanket, at his translation. The Gentleman, more glad at the unlookt for life of _George_, than the losse of his money, tooke part in the good cheere _George_ had to dinner, wondred at the cunning of the Wench, and within some few daies after had an end of his Booke.

[Footnote 203: A woman very finely dressed. "Whereas she wont
in her feathered youthfulnesse to looke with amiable eye on
her gray breast, and her speckled side sayles, all _sinnowed_
with silver guilles."--_Pierce Penilesse his Supplication to
the Divell, by Thos. Nash._ 1592.]

[Footnote 204: Briskly, lively.]

[77.] There was a great huge man 3 yards in the Waste, at _S. Edmondsbury_ in _Suffolk_, that died but of late daies, (one _M. Blague_ by name) & a good kinde Justice too, carefull for the poore; this Justice met with _Tarlton_ in Norwich: _Tarlton_, said he, give me thy hand; But you, Sir, being richer, may give me a greater gift, give me your body! and imbracing him could not halfe compasse him: being merry in talke, said the Justice; _Tarlton_ tell me one thing, what is the difference betwixt a Flea and a Louse? Marry, Sir, said _Tarlton_, as much and like difference, as twixt you and me; I like a Flea (see else) can skip nimbly: But you, like a fat Louse creepe slowly, and you can go no faster, were a Butcher's axe over you, ready to knock you on the head. Thou art a knave, quoth the Justice. I, Sir, I knew that ere I came hither, else had I not been here now, for ever one knave (making a stop) seekes out another: the Justice understanding him, laughed heartily.

[17.] A Gentleman had a desire to hire two resolute Ruffians to do some exploit upon one that had abused him: A little after his man brings him two whose faces were slasht and cut: No, says he, I'll have none of you, but if you can bring me those men that gave you those wounds, they are for my turn.

[4.] A Sea Captain was invited to a Hunting Match, who when he came home related what sport he had after this manner: Our Horses, says he, being well Rigg'd, we man'd them; and the Wind being at West South West, (Fifteen of us in Company) away we stood over the Downs; in the time of half a Watch, we spied a Hare under full Sail, we Tackt, and stood after her, coming up close, she Tacks, and we Tackt, upon which Tack I had like to run aground; but getting clear off, I stood after her again; but as the Devil would have it, just as I was going to lay her aboard, bearing too much Wind, I and my Horse overset and came Heel[F. 205] upwards.

[Footnote 205: ? Keel.]

A _Leicester-shire_ Frolick;

_Or_, The Valiant Cook-Maid.

Being a merry composed Jest of Five Taylors that had been at work till their Wages came to 5 pounds, likewise a merry conceited Cook-maid that lived in the house, went to her Master, and desired him to lend her a horse, and she would venture her skill to take the 5 pounds from these five Taylors, without either Sword or Pistol, in a jesting way, to make her Master some sport and to show her valour: her Master loving mirth more than sadness, agreed to it; so a Horse was sadled, and other things to disguise herself, because she might not be known: away she went (it being in the Evening) and met them before they got home, with nothing in her hand but a black pudding, the faint hearted Taylors delivered her their Money very quietly, for fear they should a been shot through with a Black Pudding, and what followed after is expressed in the following Ditty.

Tune is Ragged & Torn.

With Allowance.

[F. 206]

I'le tell you a pretty fine jest, [107.]
if that you do please it to hear,
For the truth on't I do protest,
I'm sure that you need not to fear:
It is of a valiant Cook-maid,
that lived at a Nobleman's place
And five Taylors that once was afraid
when as they lookt her in the face.
_O this was a valiant Cook-maid,
without either Pistol or Gun,
But with a Black Pudding did fright,
five Taylors and put them to th' run._

This Noble-man upon a time,
had great store of work for to do,
But to bring every thing into rhyme,
'twill study my brains you must know;
Five Taylors that lived hard by,
that worked for fourpence a day,
For Beef and for Pudding at night,
they'd better do so than to play.
_O this &c._

These Taylors a great while did work,
two Masters, and their three men,
They laboured as hard as a Turk,
with Stitching both too and agen;
And when that their work it was done,
their money unto them was told,
Full five good pounds it is known,
Of Silver, but not of red Gold.
_O this &c_

And when as their money they'd got,
then who was so jocond as they,
Each Man of the best drank his pot,
and homewards they straight took their way;
A Cook-Maid there was in the house,
that us'd full merry to be,
Who went to her Master in haste,
and these words unto him did say.
_O this &c._

Master, if that you please,
some pastime I for you will make
But to lend me a horse then (quoth she)
and this money I from them will take;
Her Master, then hearing the jest,
would try what this Cook-maid could do,
Some mirth he did think it the best,
as Gentlemen will do, you know.
_O this &c._

A horse then was sadled with speed,
and boots and Spurs she put on,
And other materials most fit,
because she would not be known;
A horse-back she straight got astride,
with a Hogs-Pudding in her hand,
And meeting these Taylors in haste,
she presently bid them to stand.
_O this &c_

Deliver your Money (quoth she)
or else your manhoods now try,
Or by this same thing in my hand,
every man of you shall dye;
Then out her Black-Pudding she pull'd,
which sore did the Taylors affright,
They thought it had been a Pistol well charg'd,
because 'twas late in the night.
_O this &c._

They beg'd their lives she might save,
we are but poor Taylors (quoth they)
And truly no money we have,
for we work but for four pence a day;
You lye, like all Rogues (quoth she)
and do not my patience provoke,
For 5 pounds you have tane for your work,
so presant that word did them choak.
_O this &c._.

That money deliver with speed,
if that you think well on your lives,
Or by this same thing you shall bleed,
the which will go farther than knives;
Then out of their pockets their money they took,
with many a sorrowful tear,
And gave it into her hand,
here's all on't each Taylor did swear.
_O this &c._--

And when she their money had got,
she set Spurs and away she did run,
The Devil go with you (quoth they)
for i'me sure that we are undone;
But when that this Cook-maid came home,
strait unto her Master she told,
And show'd him his money again,
how passages went she did unfold.
_O this &c._

But here comes the cream of the jest,
those Taylors which was such Men,
After they'd stood pausing awhile,
then back they returned again;
They came with a pittiful tone,
their hair stood like men bewitcht,
To th' Gentleman they made their moan,
for their mony their fingers it itcht.
_O this &c._

The Gentleman laugh'd in conceit,
how many was there said he,
Sure you were all men sufficient
to a beaten above two or three;
Truly we saw but one man,
the which took our Money away,
But we feared he had partakers in store,
or else he should never a carried the day.
_O this &c._

He was well mounted upon a good steed,
and a Pistol that put us to studying,
You lye like all fools (quoth she)
it was but a black Hogs-Pudding;
Thus they the poor Taylors did jeer,
and the Cook-maid laugh'd in conceit,
That with nothing but a black Pudding,
and that five Taylors did beat.
_O this &c._.

Then straightway the Gentleman spoke,
what will you give then (said he)
To have all your money again,
and the face on't once more to see:
Quoth the Taylors we'l give the ton half,
and that's very fair you do know,
Altho' that we were such fools,
to part with our good silver so.
_O this &c._

Then straitways he call'd for the Cook,
then the Taylors did laugh in their sleeve,
And set her to conjuring strait,
which made the poor Taylors believe;
That she by her art had it found,
and show'd them the place where it lay,
Which made the poor Taylors to smile,
so merry and jocand was they.
_O this &c._

Here take half the money said they,
the which we did promise to you,
And for you we ever will pray,
for such Cook-Maids there is but a few;
I'le have none of your money she said,
as sure as i'me here alive,
One may know what Cowards you are,
to let a Hogs-Pudding to fright you all 5.
_O this &c._

And thus the old Proverb is true,
nine Taylors do make but one man,
And now it doth plainly appear,
let them all do what they can;
For had they been stout hearted Lads,
they need not called for aid,
Nor afraid to tast of a Pudding,
nor yet be'n out-brav'd by a Maid.
_O this &c._

FINIS.

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, at Pye-Corner, near West Smithfield.

[Footnote 206: This engraving is from another version, (C. 22
f. 2)/101]

_How_ Jacke _by playing of the Whiting got his dinner._

[105.] When the sicknesse was at Oxford, on a time _Scogin_ went out of Oxford, and did lye at S. Bartholemewes by Oxford, and hee had a poore scholler to dresse his meat: On a Friday he said to his scholler, _Jacke_, here is twopence, goe to the market and buy me three whitings, the which his scholler did; & when hee was come home, _Scogin_ said, _Jacke_, goe seeth me a whiting to my dinner: _Jacke_ heard him say so, and deferred the time, thinking hee should fare ill when that his master had but a whiting to dinner. At last _Scogin_ said, doth the fish play? _Jacke_ said, would you have one play without a fellow? _Scogin_ said, _Jacke_ thou saist truth, put another whiting into the pan. Then _Jacke_ prepared his fish to seeth them: then _Scogin_ said, _Jacke_ doth the fish play now? _Jacke_ said, I trow they be mad or else wood,[F. 207] for one doth fight with the other, that I have much adoe to keepe them in the pan. Then said _Scogin_, put the other whiting betwixt them to break the strife. _Jacke_ was then glad, thinking he should get somewhat to dinner, and sod[F. 208] the fish and had his part.

[Footnote 207: Or _wode_, mad or furious.]

[Footnote 208: Or _sodden_, boiled.]

[26.] One swore pretty largely too, That he knew a Hare, that after he was taken and garbaged,[F. 209] did give the Dogs a chase for five or six miles together; then they cry'd out all 'twas a loud lie. No, says he, it can't be a loud lie, for it seems you don't allow it. Yes, says they, we do allow it for a lie. But, says he, I do avow it for truth, and thus it was, for the Hare being tied to a Huntsman's Saddle in a string, it happened that the string slips, and the Hare in the string hung down between the Horses Legs upon the Ground, and the Horse being mettlesome, gallopt away with the Hare at his heels, and the Dogs marcht after; but the truth was, the Man could not hold the Horse in: Nay then, say they, this may be impossibly possible.

Another very sober Man told a story; That once he went a coursing alone with a Grey hound Bitch, that was great with Whelp; and, having started a Hare, it hapned the Hare went through a Muse[F. 210] in a Hedg where a Carpenter had hid his Axe, lying it seems with the edge upwards: and so the Hare being with young, in going through that Muse, cut her belly with the edge of the Axe; and then out started 8 young Hares, and began to run immediately; but the Grey hound Bitch suddenly following the Hare through the very same Muse, by Chance Cut her belly also, and out came Eight Whelps; which eight Whelps ran after the eight young Hares, and the Bitch after the Old Hare and Kill'd em all. Now, says he to them, Some nice people may take this for a lie, but I think 'tis as probable as any of the rest, because the wonder is greater: that there should be but just the number of Eight Whelps, and Eight young Hares, and if true _Probatum est_.

[Footnote 209: Disembowelled.]

[Footnote 210: Or _muset_, a hole in a hedge through which
game passes. _Ed. Topsell_ in his "_Histore of_ foure footed
beasts," Lond. 1607, says, "But the good and aproved hounds,
on the contrary, when they have found the hare, make shew
thereof to the hunter, by running more speedily, and with
gesture of head, eyes, ears, and taile winding to the hares
_muse_," etc.]

[82.] Seigneur _Valdrino_ (paymaster to the Campe of _Alphonsus_ King of _Aragon_) a man exquisite in Courtship and complement; as two or three were at strife laying Wagers what Countryman he was; a blunt bold Captaine asked what was the matter: why Captaine, said one, we are laying a wager what Countriman my Lord Treasurer _Valdrino_ is: Oh, said the Captaine, I can tell you that, I am sure he was borne in the land of _Promise_, for I have served the King in his wars, these seven yeers without pay, and ever when I petition to my Lord, he payes me with no coyne but promises, which makes me half assured that hee is that Countryman.

_Epitaph on a Scholler._

Forbeare, friend, t' unclaspe this booke [5.]
Onely in the fore front looke,
For in it have errours bin,
Which made th' authour call it in:
Yet know this 't shall have more worth,
At the second comming forth.

[17.] A Gardener being to be hang'd, his Wife came to give him his last kiss at the Gallows: Out, you Baggage, says he, we are like to thrive well at the years end; there can't be a meeting in all the Country but you'll be sure to make one--Go home and weed, home and weed.

There is a body without a heart, [91.]
That hath a tongue, and yet no head,
Buried it was, e're it was made;
And loude doth speake, and yet is dead.

_Resolution._ A Bell, which when it is cast, is founded in the ground.

[4.] Two young Oxford Scholars agreeing together to go into an Adjacent Warren to steal some Rabbets; one being to watch, and not to speak one word, and the other to Catch them. So they being come to the place, he that watch'd, cried out, _Ecce Cuniculi multi_; which noise frighted all the Rabbets into their Burrows, whereupon the other was very angry with him; _Why_, says he, _who thought the Rabbets had understood Latin?_

[94.] A Gentleman that bore a spleen to another, meets him in the street, and gives him a Box on the Ear: The other, not willing to strike again, puts it off with a jest, asking him whether it was in jest or earnest? The other answers, It was in earnest: I am glad of that, said he, for if it had been in jest, I should have been very angry, for I do not like such jesting, and so pass'd away from him.

[103.] A Gentleman making Addresses of Love to a young Lady, often swore by his Soul that he would be very faithful to her, in keeping all the promises he had made; but however failing in some small Matters, she was afraid to venture on to a Marriage, lest he should deceive her in greater, which he perceiving, said they would pawn her Soul upon it. Ay, Sir, replyed the Lady, you must find out a better Pattern, for that has been dipt so often, theres nothing more to be lent upon.

[17.] A Gentleman stammering much in his speech, laid down a winning Card; and then said to his partner, Ho, sa, ay you now, was not this Ca-ca-card pa-a-ssing we-we-well la-a-aid? Yes, says t'other, 'twas well laid, but it needs not half that Cackling.

My Wife will be my Master:

_or_, The Married-mans Complaint against his unruly Wife.

The Tune is, _A Taylor is a Man_.

As I was walking forth of late, [108.]
I heard a man complaining,
With that I drew me near to him,
to know the cause and meaning
Of this his sorrow, pain and grief,
which bred him such disaster;
Alas, quoth he, what shall I do,
my wife will be my master.
_But if ever I am a Widdower,
and another wife do marry,
I mean to keep her poor and bare,
and the purse I mean to carry._

If I should give her forty pound,
within her apron folding,
No longer then she's telling on't,
her tongue would ne'r leave scolding,
As _Esops_ Dog barkt at the Moon
thinking for to distast her,
So doth my wife scold without cause
and strives to be my master.
_But if ever &c._

Were I so strong as _Hercules_,
or wiser than _Apollo_,
Or had I _Icarus_ wings to flye,
my wife would after follow:
Or should I live as many years
as ever did King _Nestor_,
Yet do I greatly stand in fear
my wife would be my Master.
_But if ever &c._

I know no cause nor reason why,
that she with me should jangle,
I never gave her cause at all
to make her with me wrangle;
I please her still in what I may,
and do no jot distast her,
Yet she doth strive both night and day
always to be my Master.
_But if ever &c._

I every morning make a fire,
all which is done to ease her
I get a Nutmeg, make a toast,
in hope therewith to please her:
Of a Cup of nappy ale and spice,
of which she is first taster,
And yet this cros-grain'd quean will scold
and strive to be my Master.
_But if ever &c._

I wash the dishes, sweep the house,
I dress her wholsome dyet,
I humour her in every thing,
because I would be quiet:
Of every several dish of meat,
she'l surely be first taster,
And I am glad to pick the bones,
She is so much my Master.
_But if ever &c._

Sometimes she'l sit while day gives light,
in company with good fellows,
In Taverns and in bowsing Kens,
or in some pimping Ale house:
And when she comes home drunk at night,
though I do not distast her,
She'l fling, she'l throw, she'l scratch and bite,
and strive to be my Master.
_But if ever &c._

Her bed I make both soft and fine,
and put on smock compleatly,
Her shooes and stockings I pull off,
and lay her down most neatly:
I cover her, and keep her warm
for fear I should distast her,
I hug her kindly in my arms,
Yet still She'l be my Master.
_But if ever &c._

And when I am with her in bed
she doth not use me well sir,
She'l wring my nose, and pull my ears,
a pittiful case to tell sir;
And when I am with her in bed,
not meaning to molest her,
She'l kick me out at the bed's feet,
and so become my Master.
_But if ever &c._

And thus you hear how cruelly
my wife doth still abuse me,
At bed, at board, at noon and night
she always did misuse me:
But if I were a lusty Man
and able for to baste her,
Then would I surely use some means,
that she should not be my Master.
_But if ever &c._

You Batchelors that sweet-hearts have,
when as you are a Wooing,
Be sure you look before you leap,
for fear of your undoing:
The after wit is not the best,
and he that weds in hast sir,
May like to me, bewail his case,
if his wife do prove his Master.
_But if ever &c._

You Married Men that have good wives,
I wish you deal well by them,
For they more precious are than Gold,
if once you come to try them:
A good wife makes a husband glad,
then let him not distast her,
But a Scold will make a man run mad,
if once she proves his Master.
_But if ever &c._

Printed for _F. Coles_, _T. Vere_,[F. 211] _J. Wright_, _J. Clarke_, _W. Thackeray_, and T. Passinger.

[Footnote 211: Published from 1648 to 1680.]

[93.] There was some halfe dozen of Citizens, that had oftentimes beene solliciters to _George_ (_Peele_), he being a Master of Art at the Universitie of Oxford, that hee would ride with them to the Commencement, it being at Midsomer. _George_, willing to pleasure the Gentlemen his friends, rode along with them. When they had rode the better part of the way, they baited at a village called Stoken, five miles from Wickham; good cheere was bespoken for dinner, and frolicke was the company, all but _George_, who could not be in that pleasant vaine that did ordinarilie possess him, by reason he was without mony: but he had not fetcht fortie turnes about the Chamber, before his noddle had entertained a conceit how to money himself with credit, and yet glean it from some one of the Company. There was among them one excellent Asse, a fellow that did nothing but friske up and down the Chamber, that his money might bee heard chide in his pocket: this fellow had _George_ observed, and secretly convay'd his gilt Rapier and Dagger into another Chamber, and there closely hid it: that done, he called up the Tapster, and upon his cloake borrowes 5 shillings for an houre or so, till his man came, (as he could fashion it well enough:) so much money he had, and then who more merry than _George!_ Meate was brought up, they set themselves to dinner, all full of mirth, especially my little foole, who dranke not of the conclusion of their feast: dinner ended, much prattle past, every man begins to buckle to his furniture: among whom this Hichcock missed his Rapier: at which all the Company were in a maze; he, besides his wits, for he had borrowed it of a speciall friend of his, and swore he had rather spend twenty Nobles. This is strange, quoth _George_, it should be gone in this fashion, none beeing heere but our selves, and the fellowes of the house, who were examined, but no Rapier could be heard of: but _George_ in a pittifull chafe, swore it should cost him fortie shillings, but hee would know what was become of it, if Art could do it; and with that he caused the Oastler to saddle his Nag, for _George_ would ride to a Scholler, a friend of his, that had skill in such matters. O, good M. _Peele_, quoth the fellow, want no money, heere is forty shillings, see what you can doe, and, if you please, I'le ride along with you. Not so, quoth _George_, taking his fortie shillings, I'le ride alone, and be you as merry as you can till my returne. So _George_ left them, and rode directly to Oxford; there he acquaints a friend of his with all the circumstances, who presently tooke Horse, and rode along with him to laugh at the Jest. When they came backe, _George_ tels them he has brought one of the rarest men in England: whom they with much complement bid welcome. He, after a distracted countenance, and strange words, takes this Bulfinch by the wrist, and carried him into the privy, and there willed him to put in his head, but while he had written his name and told forty: which he willingly did: that done, the Scholler asked him what he saw? By my faith, sir, I smelt a villainous sent, but I saw nothing. Then I have, quoth he, and with that directed him where his Rapier was: saying, it is just North East, inclosed in Wood, neere the earth: for which they all made diligent search, till _George_ who had hid it under a settle, found it, to the comfort of the fellow, the joy of the Company, and the eternall credit of his friend, who was entertained with Wine and Sugar; and _George_ redeemed his Cloake, rode merrily to Oxford, having Coine in his pocket, where this Loach spares not for any expence, for the good fortune he had in the happy finding of his Rapier.

[94.] One said the Midwifes Trade, of all Trades, was most commendable, because they lived not by the hurts of other men as Surgeons do; nor by the falling out of friends, as Lawyers do; but by the agreement betwixt party and party.

[105.] On a time Scogin did send Jacke to Oxford to market, to buy a penny worth of fresh herring. Scogin said, bring foure herrings for a penny, or else bring none. Jack could not get foure herrings but three for his penny; and when he came home, Scogin said, how many herrings hast thou brought? and Jacke said, three herrings, for I could not get foure for a penny. Scogin said he would none of them: Sir, said Jacke, then will I, and here is your penny againe. When dinner time was come then Jack did set bread and butter before his Master, and rosted his herrings, and sate downe at the lower end of the table and did eate the herrings. Scogin said, let mee have one of thy herrings, and thou shalt have another of mee another time. Jacke said, if you will have one herring, it shall cost you a penny. What, said Scogin, thou will not take it on thy Conscience: Jacke said, my conscience is such, that you get not a morsell here, except I have my penny again. Thus contending together, Jacke had made an end of his herrings: A Master of Arts of Oxford, one of Scogins fellowes, did come to see Scogin, and when Scogin had espied him, hee said to Jacke, set up the bones of the herrings before me: sir, said Jacke, they shall cost you a penny. Then said Scogin, what, wilt thou shame me? No, sir, said Jacke, give me my penny again, and you shal have up the bones, or else I will tell all. Scogin then cast down a penny to Jacke, and Jacke brought up to Scogin the herring bones: and by this time the Master of Arts did come in to Scogin, and Scogin bad him welcome, saying, if you had come sooner you should have had fresh herrings to dinner.

[26.] A confident bold Fellow at a _Nisi prius_ in the Country, having a Trial then in Law, and fearing that the Trial would go against him, said to the Judge, My Lord, I do not desire your Sentence now, but only your Opinion at the present; and I will wait upon your Lordship for Judgment at some other time. Well, says the Judge, if you'd only have my Opinion now, why then my Opinion is, That if you had had Judgment to be hang'd seven years ago, the Country would have been more quiet than it is now. Well, my Lord, says he, if this be your Opinion, then your Judgement and mine doth not suit at all, so that I'le have nothing to do with you, but go to another Judge.

Poor _Robin's_ Prophesie,

_or_

The merry Conceited Fortune-Teller.

Although the Poet makes no large Apology,
Some insight he may have into Ass-trology,
Then buy this Song, and give your Judgment of it,
And then perhaps you'l say he's a Small Prophet
For he can tell when things will come to pass,
That you will say is strange as ever was.

Tune of, _The Delights of the Bottle_ &c.[F. 212] With Allowance. Ro. L'Estrange.[F. 213]

All you that delight to hear a new song, [109.]
Or to see the world turn'd topsie turvy e're long,
Come give good attention unto these my Rhimes,
And never complain of the hardness of times,
For all will be mended, by this you may find,
_And Golden days come, when the Devil is blind_.

And first for the Shopkeeper, this I can tell,
That after long trusting, all things will be well,
The Gallant will pay him, what ever's his due
And make him rejoyce when he finds it is true:
False weights, & false measures, he then will not mind,
_But honest will prove, when the Devil is blind_.

The Country Client that comes up to Term,
Likewise from this subject, good news he may learn,
A benefit which he shall never more leese
For Lawyers hereafter will plead without Fees:
You shall have Law freely, if you be inclin'd,
_Without any charge, when the Devil is blind_.

The Usurer open his Coffers will throw,
And break all his Locks both above and below,
He'l burn all his Parchments, and cancel his Bands,
And freely return all his Morgaged Lands;
Young heirs will be glad for to see them so kind,
_But that will not be till the Devil is blind_.

The Learned Phisitian who valued his wealth,
Will now be more chary of all peoples health,
And make it his business howe're he doth thrive,
To pussle his brains for to keep men alive:
Nor Mountebank Bills in the Streets you shall find,
_For they'l keep in their lies, when the Devil is Blind_.

Your Lady of pleasure that us'd for to rant,
And Coach it about with her lusty Gallant,
Will then become modest, and find a new way
To live like a Nun in a Cloyster all day:
Her Pride, and her painting she never will mind,
_But seem like a Saint when the Devil is blind_.

Yea the Bullies themselves that did use for to rore,
And spent great estates in good wine and a w----
Shall leave off their gameing, and fairly take up,
And scarcely will tast of the Grape half a Cup,
But leave good Canary, and Claret behind,
_Small Tipple to Drink, when the Devil is blind_.

The Hecks[F. 214] and the Padders[F. 215] who used to prey,
And venture abroad for no purchase, no pay,
Shall work for their livings, and find a new trade,
And never more travel like Knights of the Blade;
Let Newgate stand empty, and then you will find
_All this will prove true, when the Devil is blind_.

All Trades men will strive for to help one another,
And friendly will be, like to Brother and Brother,
And keep up their prices that money may flow,
Their charge to maintain and to pay what they owe:
Then two of a trade shall agree, if you mind,
_And all will be well when the Devil is blind_.

The Tapsters no more shall their Ticklers froth,
No Coffee men blind us with their Ninny broth,
Full measures of liquor shall pass through the Land,
And men without money the same shall command;
You'l say 'tis a wonder when this you do find,
_And that you will sure when the Devil is blind_.

Not onely the City shall find this welfare,
But throughout the Country the same they shall share,
No cheating and couzening tricks shall be us'd,
For by such deceit we have all been abus'd;
Those men who of late with _Duke Humphrey_ have din'd
_With plenty shall flow, when the Devil is blind_.

Then let us be merry and frolick amain,
Since the golden world is returning again,
We shall be all Gallants, as sure as a Gun,
When this work is finisht that's hardly begun;
Then Poets in both pockets Guinneys[F. 216] shall find,
_And purchase estates when the Devil is blind_.

FINIS.

Printed for _F. Coles_, _T. Vere_, _J. Wright_ and _J. Clarke_.

[Footnote 212: For tune, see Appendix, same as _The Leather
Bottel_.]

[Footnote 213: Licensed from 1663 to 1685.]

[Footnote 214: Probably a contraction for _hector_ or bully.]

[Footnote 215: Footpad.]

[Footnote 216: Guineas were made from the gold from the West
Coast of Africa, and were first coined in 1663, the African
company having by charter the right of stamping an elephant on
the coin.]

[110.] Evermore when Maister _Hobson_[F. 217] had any busines abroad, his prentices 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 custome (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 to doe, demanded at his comming home what the Preachers text was: Sir (quoth the fellow) I was not at the beginning; what was in the middle (quoth Maister _Hobson_) Sir, (qd the fellow) then was I asleepe: said Maister _Hobson_ againe, what then was the conclusion? then Replyed his servant, I was come, Sir, away before the end; by which meanes he knew well he was not there, but rather in some tippling house offending Gods majesty, and the lawes of the land. Therefore the next Sunday morning after, Maister _Hobson_ called all his servants together, and in the sight of many of his neighbors and their prentises, tooke a peece of chaulke, & chaulkd 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 never the like mesdemenour used amongst them.

[Footnote 217: He must not be confounded with the Cambridge
carrier, whose famous dictum has passed into a proverb,
"Hobson's choice, that or none," that is, his inflexible rule
was for his customer to take the horse he apportioned to him
or go without. Our Hobson may be best described in the words
of his editor:--"In the beginning of Queene _Elizabeths_
most happy raigne, our late deceased Soveraigne, under whose
peaceful government long flourished this our Country of
_England_; There lived in the Citty of London, a merry Citizen
named old _Hobson_, a haberdasher of small wares, dwelling at
the lower end of _cheapside_, in the _Poultry_: as well
known through this part of _England_, as a Sergeant knows
the Counter-gate, he was a homely plaine man, most commonly
wearing a button'd cap close to his eares, a short gowne girt
hard about his middle, 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
disposition, 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 jests savoring upon wisdome; read
willingly, but scoffe not spitefully, for old _Hobson_ spent
his dayes merrily."]

[17.] One affirmed that he had seen a Cabbage so big, that Five hundred men on hors back might stand under its shade; and I for my part, says another, have seen a Caldron so wide, That Three hundred men wrought therein, each distant from the other twenty yards: Then the Cabbage-lyer ask'd him, For what use was that Caldron? Says he, To boil your Cabbage in.

[67.] A man excused y^e beating of his wife, because she was his owne flesh, saying, may I not beat mine owne flesh? and she upon that excused y^e scratching of him, saying, May I not scratch mine own head?

An honest Vicker, and a kind consort, [102.]
That to the Alehouse friendly would resort,
To have a game at Tables now and than,
Or drinke his pot, as soone as any man:
As faire a gamster, and as free from brawl,
As ever man should need to play withall:
Because his Hostesse pledg'd him not carouse,
Rashly in choller did forsweare her house.
Taking the glasse, this was the oath he swore,
Now by this drinke, I'le nere come hither more.
But mightily his Hostesse did repent,
For al her guests to the next Ale house went,
Following their Vickars steps in everie thing:
He led the Parish even by a string.
At length his ancient Hostesse did complaine
She was undone unlesse he came againe.
Desiring certain friends of hers and his,
To use a pollicie, which should be this:
Because with cunning he should not forsweare him,
To save his oath, they on their backs might bear him.
Of this good course the Vicker well did thinke,
And so they alwayes carried him to drinke.

[4.] The Lord _Bacon_ going the Northern Circuit, a Fellow that was try'd for Robbing, was very importunate with the Judge to be favourable to him, telling him he was a kin to his Lordship: Why, how so? said the Judge. Why answered the Fellow, An't please your Lordship, your Name is _Bacon_, and my name is _Hog_, and those two are alike. 'Tis true, said the Judge; but you and I can't be kindred till you are Hang'd, for _Hog_ is never good _Bacon_ till 'tis Hang'd.

[26.] Another Story was, That he being in a Low room, with some Gentlemen a drinking a bottle of Ale; he saw the Man of the House open a Bottle, and the Cork flew up with such a Violence, that it strook his Hat off his Head, and after that went through the Cieling of that Room and another Room above that, which was two pair of Stairs high, and kill'd a Man and his Wife as they lay in Bed, and from thence flew up into the Garret, and they could not get it out with a Hammer and Mallet.

Sir, says another, to make good your Story, which I saw with my own Eyes, that being with some others in an upper Room, one was then opening a Bottle of Ale, and the Cork then flew up with such a violence thorow the Top of the House, that it broke the Cieling and Tiles also, and kill'd a Kite as he was flying just then over the House; and the hole was so big which the Cork had made, that down fell the Kite thorow the hole, and they, opening the Kite to see where she was wounded, found two great Chickens in her Belly, which they sold to pay for their Drink, and after that, would never drink in any other Room in that House: but I don't know that it ever hapned so agen; for these things, though there be truth in 'em, don't happen every day so.

[103.] A Woman very much addicted to Tipling, and having a Cup of a large size, out of which she usually drank, and in which she never left a drop, her Husband chid her for it, and said, It was not decent for a Woman to drink so great a quantity: She told him, that the Virgin _Mary_ being at the bottom of the Cup, she could not but admire her beautiful Face: upon which he broke that Cup, and bought her another something less, with the Devil painted at the bottom of it; however, She always swallowed up all the Liquor in it; and being repremanded again by her Husband for her excessive Drinking: Oh, says she, I do it because the foul Fiend should not have one drop of it.

=No Money, no Friend.=

The Spendthrift he, when 'tis too late,
Laments his sad and Wretched state:
And all good Men he doth advise,
That they would Merry be and wise.

The Tune is { _All you that do desire to play_
{ _At Cards, to pass the time away_.

All you that freely spend your Coyn, [111.]
Come learn by this advice of mine;
That you no more so play the Fool,
Nor Tipple in the Fuddling-School:
For when that you have spent your store,
Your Host will turn you out o' th door.

This by experience I do know,
Who too too lately found it so:
Five hundred pound was left to me,
Which I consum'd immediately:
And when my Money was all gone,
I like an Ass was lookt upon.

While I had Gold and Silver store,
I thought the world did me adore:
For then each false dissembling Curr,
Would cry, your humble servant, Sir:
But now my Money is all spent,
Too late, poor Fool, I do lament.

When I was in Prosperity,
Each Tap-lach[F. 218] that I passed by:
Would cringe and bow, and swear to be
My Servant to Eternity:
But now alas, my Money's gone,
And Servants I have never a one.

But now if to their house I go,
E're drink they draw, they'l surely know
If that my Pocket it will speak,
Which is enough my heart to break:
If not, then he who was my friend,
Out of the door soon will me send.

Oh, what a dreadful thing is this,
That I of all my Servants miss;
And those who did me oft invite,
To drink with them now do me slight:
But if again I Money get,
I surely then shall have more wit.

Yet is not spending all the Crime,
For idly then I spent my time,
And rather than Companions lack,
I'de pick up every Idle Jack:
And he that would me Master call,
Should me command, my Purse and all.

The Hostis she would flatter then,
And say I was a pretty Man:
And this so tickled then mine ear,
That I my praise so oft did hear:
Come hang't said I, giv's t'other Pot,
And thus I feasted every Sot.

At last I had no Money left,
And then was I of joys bereft;
My Host and Hostis they did frown,
And said I was a Drunken Clown:
So then was I dispis'd by all,
That me before did Master call.

From street to street as I did pass,
Folks cry'd, there goes a Drunken Ass,
Who not long since had Money store,
But now no Creature is more poor:
For Pots and Pipes made him so low,
That like a Beggar he doth go.

Then who would pitty such a one,
Who could not keep himself alone,
If Wife and Children he had had,
The case had then been far more sad:
But he no pitty doth deserve,
If for a bit of Bread he starve.

This is the pitty I do find,
That when I had it was so kind,
To him that said he was my friend,
I'de give him Wine and Money lend;
But now myself I have undone,
My Company all men do shun.

Let this my case a warning be,
That none may play the Fool like me:
A greater plague there cannot be,
Than falling from Prosperitie
Into a state so deadly low,
Your nearest friends will not you know.

Account your Money as your friend,
So shall you flourish to the end,
But when you come of friends to borrow,
It will but aggravate your sorrow:
To see how they will slight you then,
And say you are the worst of men.

Your Pot Companions will you slight,
In whom they once did take delight,
And while your Money it doth last
With Oaths they'l tye their friendship fast:
But when that you have wasted all,
Then from you will your Servants fall.

Such servants you may have good store,
Who help to eat you out of door,
And by their drinking in Excess,
Will help to make you Money less:
Then Young-men warning take by me,
That of my Money was too free.

This doth my Passion much provoke,
To think when I am like to Choake,
Those that I heretofore did feast,
They will not mind me in the least:
Nor make me drink, who once were proud,
To drink with me to be allow'd.

My Kindred and Relations near,
Who once did vow they lov'd me dear;
Will know me not, but me despise,
As loathsom to their scornful eyes:
For without Money there's no Friend,
And thus my Song in Woe doth End.

FINIS.

Printed for _F. Coles_, _T. Vere_, _J. Wright_, _J. Clarke_, _W. Thackeray_, and _T. Passinger_.

[Footnote 218: Used as a term of contempt for a publican,
_taplash_ being very small beer, or the refuse of the casks.]

[105.] _Scogin_ on a time had two eggs to his breakefast, and _Jacke_ his scholler should rost them, and as they were rosting, _Scogin_ went to the fire to warme him, and as the eggs were rosting _Jacke_ said, Sir, I can by sophistry prove that here be three Eggs. Let me see that, said _Scogin_. I shall tell you, sir, said Jacke: Is not here one? Yes, said _Scogin_. And is not here two, said _Jacke_? Yea, said _Scogin_, of that I am sure. Then _Jacke_ did tell the first egge againe, saying, is not this the third? O said _Scogin_, _Jacke_ thou art a good sophister. Wel, said _Scogin_, these two eggs shal serve me for my break fast, and take thou the third for thy labour, and for the herring that thou didst give mee the last day. So one goode turne doth aske another, and to deceive him that goeth about to deceive, is no deceit.

[94.] A Gentleman Hawk'd in another mans ground, to which the surly owner shew'd himself angry; at which the Gentleman spet in his face. What is your reason for that? said the Farmer. I cry you mercy, said the Gentleman, I gave you warning, for I hawked before I spet.

[67.] A Scholar traveyling, and having noe money, call'd at an Alehouse, and ask'd for a penny loafe, then gave his hostesse it againe, for a pot of ale; and having drunke it of, was going away. The woman demanded a penny of him. For what? saies he. Shee answers, for y^e ale. Quoth hee, I gave you y^e loafe for it. Then, said she, pay for y^e loafe. Quoth hee, had you it not againe? which put y^e woman to a _non plus_, that y^e scholar went free away.

[93.] _George_ (_Peele_) lying at an old Widdowes house, and had gone on so farre on the Score, that his credit would stretch no further: for she had made a vow not to depart with drinke or victuals without ready money. Which _George_ seeing the fury of his froward Hostis, in griefe kept his Chamber; called to his Hostis and told her, she should understand that he was not without money, how poorely soever he appeared to her, and that my diet shall testifie: in the meane time, good Hostis, quoth he, send for such a friend of mine. Shee did: so his friend came: to whom _George_ imparted his mind; the effect whereof was this, to pawne his Cloake, Hose and Doublet, unknowne to his Hostis: for, quoth _George_ this seven nights doe I intend to keepe my bed. (Truly hee spake, for his intent was that the bed should not keepe him any longer). Away goes he to pawne his apparell; _George_ bespeakes good cheere to supper, which was no shamble butcher stuffe, but according to the place; for, his Chamber being remote from the house, at the end of the Garden, his apparell being gone, it appeared to him as the Counter; therefore to comfort himselfe he dealt in Poultrie. His friend brought the money, supped with him: his Hostis hee very liberally payed, but cavelled with her at her unkindnesse: vowing that while he lay there, none should attend him but his friend. The Hostis reply'd, A God's name, she was well contented with it: so was _George_ too: for none knew better than himselfe what he intended; but in briefe thus he used his kinde Hostis. After his Apparell and Money was gone, hee made bolde with the feather bed hee lay on, which his friend-ship convey'd away, having as villanous a Wolfe in his belly as _George_, though not altogether so wise; for that feather bed they devoured in two daies, feathers and all, which was no sooner digested, but away went the Coverlet, Sheetes and the Blancket; and at the last dinner, when _George's_ good friend perceiving nothing left but the bed-cords, as the Devill would have it, straight came into his mind the fashion of a halter; the foolish kind knave would needs fetch a quart of sacke for his friend _George_; which Sacke to this day never saw Vintners Cellar; and so he left _George_ in a cold chamber, a thin shirt, a ravished bed, no comfort left him, but the bare bones of deceased Capons. In this distresse, George bethought him what he might doe; nothing was left him; and as his eye wandred up and downe the empty Chamber, by chance he spied out an old Armour; at which sight George was the joyfullest man in Christendome; for the Armour of Achilles, that Ulysses and Ajax strove for, was not more precious to them, than this to him: for hee presently claps it upon his backe, the Halbert in his hand, the Moryon on his head, and so gets out the backe way, marches from Shorditch to Clarkenwell, to the no small wonder of those spectators that beheld him. Being arrived to the wished haven he would be, an old acquaintance of his furnished him with an old Sute and an old Cloake for his old Armour.