Part 12

[52.] A Certaine Gentleman in Lincolneshire, being also a Justice of Peace, had an old servant many yeares called _Adam Milford_, who upon a time came unto his Master, and desired him, in regard that he had been his servant so many yeares, hee would now give him somthing to help him in his old age. Thou sayest true, quoth his Master, and I will tell thee what I will doe. Now shortly am I to ride up to London; if thou wilt pay my costs & charges by the way, I will give thee, ere long, such a thing as shall be worth to thee an hundred pounds. I am content, quoth _Adam_, and so payed for all their reckoning by the way. Being come to London, hee put his Master in mind of his former promise that he had made to him. What did I promise thee anything? Yes, quoth _Adam_, that you did; for you said you would give me that which should be worth to me an hundred pounds, for bearing your Charges to London. Let me see your writing, quoth his Master. I have none, quoth _Adam_. Then thou art like to have nothing, quoth his Master; And learne this of me, that when thou makest a bargain with any man, looke thou take a Writing, and beware how thou makest a Writing to any man. This hath availed me an hundred pounds in my dayes. When _Adam_ saw there was no remedy, he was content; but when they should depart _Adam_ stayed behind his Master to reckon with his Hostis, and on his Masters Scarlet cloake borrowed so much mony, as came to all their charges he had laid out by the way. His Master had not ridden past two miles, but it began to raine apace: wherefore he called for his cloake. His other men made answer that _Adam_ was behinde, and had it with him. So they shrowded them under a tree, till _Adam_ came. When he came, his Master said all angerly, Thou knave, come give me my cloak: hast thou not served me well, to let me be thus wet? Truely, Sir, (quoth _Adam_) I have laid it to pawne for all your charges by the way. Why, knave, quoth he, didst thou not promise me to beare my charges to London? Did I? quoth Adam; I, quoth his Master, that thou didst. Let's see, shew me your writing of it, quoth _Adam_. Whereupon, his Master perceiving he was over-reacht by his man, was fain to send for his cloak againe, and pay the money.

There was a singular mania in this century for chronograms, or making up dates out of words, which will be best explained in the annexed example. Jas. Hilton, Esq., has by dint of vast trouble and research, been enabled to collect a large quantity of these, and his book[F. 104] (of which only a very limited number were printed) will well repay the perusal of the curious.

Chronogramma. Anno 1628. obiit _Georg_IV_s_ DVX _B_VC_k_I_ngha_MI_æ_

Malignant characters that did portend [67.] Duke-murthering Fate & his untimely end, Constrain'd to die, that would have liv'd & fought Xantippus like, but that fell Felton brought Vncertaine quick[F. 105] to a certaine end. Vaine are designes, where one doth of his freind Vsurpe too much, him you doe countermine In breife the world applaudes this last designe. It was his death, but now hee's dead & gone Ill having heard of many, _felt_ but _one_.

The date 1628 can be easily made by adding the Roman numerals, which are represented by the capital letters.

[Footnote 104: Brit. Mus. Catalogue, 11905, a. a. 8. Hilton, Jas., Chronograms; Lond., 1882, 8vo.]

[Footnote 105: Life.]

All things have savour, though some very small, [5.] Nay, a box on the eare hath no smell at all.

[17.] One having a scoulding Wife, swore he would drown himself. She followed him desiring him to forbear, or at least to let her speak with him. Speak quickly then, says he: Pray Husband, if you will needs drown your self, take my counsel to goe into a deep place; for it would grieve my heart to see you long a dying; with that the Fellow came back again and went to the Indies.

[52.] _Coomes_ of _Stapforth_ hearing that his wife was drowned comming from market went with certaine of his friends to see if they could finde her in the River; he, contrary to all the rest, sought his wife against the streame: which, they perceiving, said, He lookt the wrong way. And why so? (quoth he) Because (quoth they) you should look down the streame, and not against it. Nay (quoth he) I shall never finde her that way: for she did all things so Contrary in her lifetime, that now she is dead, I am sure she will goe against the streame.

I've known many men [12.] Know each other now and then Yet never the knowledge could get Of any Man before Though known many a score, That ever knew himself yet.

[4.] Doctor _Fuller_ overtook one M^r _Woodcock_ upon the Road, falling into Discourse in a facetious manner, ask'd him what difference there was between a Woodcock and an Owl, (supposing Mr _Woodcock_ had not known him). He wittily replyed, _That an Owl was Fuller in the Head, Fuller in the Face, Fuller in the Eyes, Fuller in the Neck, and Fuller all over_.

_On Anne Angel marrying a Lawyer._

Anne is an Angel, but what if she bee. [67.] What is an Angel, but a Lawyer's fee.

A Welchman walking in y^e darke for feare [67.] Some wall might hitte his face a box o' th' eare, Strecht out his armes, y^t if such danger Came, His hands might from his face avert y^e same. At last betwixt his armes there came a post, Which hitte his nose, and stroke him downe almost; Pluter of nayles, quoth he, I did not know My nose was longer than my armes till now.

The accompanying illustration is taken for its quaintness and as an example of caricature, the tract itself hardly repaying perusal.

No-Body--_Why do'st thou father all thy Lies_ [69.] _On Me? heaping Indignities_ _On one that never injur'd thee?_

Some-Body--_My Words and Acts hurt_ No-Body:

No-Body--Som-Body _hath belied me much_, No-Body _sure hath cause to grutch_.

[52.] A certain rich Farmer having lain long sick in Norfolk, at last sent for a Physitian from the next Market Towne: who when he came, he felt his pulses, and viewed his water, & then told them, That he could by no means, nor physick escape, the disease had so much power in his body, and so went his way. Within a while after, by God's good help (who is the only giver of all health) the man escaped and was well againe, and walking abroad, being still very weak and feeble, he met with his Physitian, who, being very sore afraid to see him, asks him, if he were not such a Farmer; Yes, truely (quoth he) I am: Art thou alive or dead? (quoth he) Dead (quoth he) I am; and because I have experience of many things, God hath sent me to take up all Physitians I can get: which made the Physitian quiver and quake, and looke as pale as ashes for feare. Nay feare not quoth the Farmer, though I named all the Physitians, yet I meant thee for none: for I am sure a verier dunce lives not this day, than thou art: and then I should be a foole to take thee for one, that art more fit to give dogges physicke than men, and so he left him: but the Physitian never left quaking till he was out of his Patients Sight.

_To my Booke-seller._

Thou that mak'st gaine thy end, and wisely well, [70.] Call'st a booke good, or bad, as it doth sell, Use mine so, too; I give thee leave. But crave For the luck's sake, it this much favour have. To lye upon thy stall, till it be sought; Not offer'd, as it made sute to be bought; Nor have my title-leafe on posts, or walls, Or in cleft-sticks, advanced to make calls For termers,[F. 106] or some clarke-like serving-man, Who scarse can spell th' hard names; whose knight lesse can. If, without these vile arts, it will not sell, Send it to _Bucklers-bury_,[F. 107] there 'twill, well.

[Footnote 106: Nares defines thus, "TERMER, a person, whether male or female, who resorted to London in term time only, for the sake of tricks to be practised or intrigues to be carried on at that period;" as in _Decker's Belman_, "Some of these boothalers are called _termers_, and they ply Westminster Hall; Michaelmas term is their harvest, and they sweat in it harder than reapers doe at their works in the heat of summer."]

[Footnote 107: To wrap up spices or drugs. We should now say, "Send it to the butterman."]

[61.] Two gentlemen met upon the Road, betwixt _Ware_ and _London_, the one was a wild young Gallant who had more means than Manners, the other a very grave discreet and temperate Citizen of _London_; who considering his own yeares, conceived that the younger man would give him the way, and by continuing his speed resolved to trye the young Gallants manners, until their Horses heads met. But the young fellow crost expectation, and uncivilly demanded his way of the elder; who replyed, Sir, since you will dispute it, I must tell you, according to the rules of Civility, the Elder in our Country have alwayes the way of their Younger: But the bold Upstart answered him again, that his Horse would not give way to a Foole. To which the old man replyed, But my Horse will, and so resigned the way to my gallant.

A Man in a Hall, [12.] His Dogg Cuckold did call; Says a Woman stood by, 'tis a shame To calle a Dogg so, For I'de have you to know 'Tis a Christian bodies name.

[17.] A Lady was bragging that she had overthrown her Enemy in Law: One of her Servants standing by, said, He took a wrong Sow by the ear, when he meddled with your Ladyship.

[17.] In a great Corporation in _England_, the Serjeants[F. 108] desired the Mayor they might have Gowns as formerly, for which they had a president:[F. 109] Gowns, says the Mayor, and why not Coats? So calling for a pair[F. 110] of Cards, said he could cut off that Custom by a president also: he shewed them the four Kings and four Queens in Gowns, but the four Knaves all in short Coats.

[Footnote 108: These must not be confounded with that awful being, now legally extinct, a "Serjeant learned in the Law;" but meant tipstaves, or serjeants of the mace.]

[Footnote 109: Precedent.]

[Footnote 110: A pack.]

Who woes a wife, thinks wedded men do know [5.] The onely true content, I thinke not so; If Woe in wooers bee, that women court, As the word Woe in wooers doth import; And Woe in woemen too, that Courted be, As the word Woe in women we doe see.

A Merry Dialogue between _Thomas_ and _John_.

in the praise and dispraise of Women and Wine.

Thomas against the Women doth contend, But John most stoutly doth their cause defend; Young and old read these lines that ensue, You'l all confess that what I write is true, I know no reason but that without dispute This may as well be printed as sung to a Lute.

To a gallant delightful new Tune, well known among Musitioners, and in Play-houses: Called _Women and Wine_.

_Thomas_

Some Women are like to the Wine, [71.] like the Sea, and like the Rocks, But they that proves them soon may find 'em like the Wine and Weathercocks. _But if you'l believe me_, _i'le tell you true_ _What light Women are likeunto_, _Wine, Women and Wine_, _thus you may compare them too_.

_John_

Women most Constant Men doth find, not like the Sea, but like the Rocks, They are evermore loving and kind, not like the Wine and Weather Cocks _But if &c_

_Thomas_

Women have hooks, and women have crooks, so hath the Wine, so hath the Wine, Which draws great Lawyers from their books more than the Wine, more than the Wine. _But if &c_

_John_

Women have beauty and fair looks, So hath the Wine, so hath the Wine, Far surpassing the Lawyers books more than the Wine, more than the Wine. _But if you'l believe me_ _i'le tell you true_ _What good Women are like unto_, _Wine, Wine, Women and Wine_, _thus may you compare them too_.

_Thomas_

Women are Witches when they may so is the Wine, so is the Wine, Which causeth men from their Wives to stray, so will the Wine, so will the Wine. _But if you'l believe me_ _i'le tell you true_ _What light Women are like unto_. _Wine, Wine, Women and Wine_, _thus may you compare them too_.

_John_

Women are witty when they may, so is not Wine, so is not Wine, And causeth Men at home to stay, so doth not Wine, so doth not Wine. _But if &c_

_Thomas_

Women have arms for to imbrace, more than the Wine, more than the Wine, Which brings brave Gallants to disgrace, so doth the Wine, so doth the Wine. _But if &c_

_John_

Women most sweetly do imbrace more than the Wine, more than the Wine, And save their Husbands from disgrace, so doth not Wine, so doth not Wine. _But if &c_

_Thomas_

Women's tongues are like sharp swords, so is the Wine, so is the Wine, Which urgeth men to swear damn'd Oaths, so doth the Wine, so doth the Wine. _But if &c_

_John_

Women's tongues do speak sweet Words, so doth not Wine, so doth not Wine; They can persuade from damned Oaths, so will not Wine, so will not Wine. _But if &c_

_Thomas_

Women they do use to change, so doth the Wine, so doth the Wine, And often times abroad will range when Sun doth shine, when Sun doth shine. _But if &c_

_John_

Good Women they will never change, so will the Wine, so will the Wine, For profit they abroad will range, Hail, Rain or Shine, Hail Rain or Shine. _But if &c_

_Thomas_

Women they will fight and brawl, fill'd with Wine, fill'd with Wine, Their Husbands they will Cuckolds call, inflam'd with Wine, inflam'd with Wine. _But if &c_

_John_

Good Women they will comfort all, like the best Wine, like the best Wine, Whatever Sorrow doth befall, so will good Wine, so will good Wine. _But if you'l believe me_, _i'le tell you true_, _What good Women are like unto_, _Wine, Wine, Women and Wine_, _thus you may compare them to_.

Printed for J. Williamson,[F. 111] at the Sun and Bible in Cannon Street near London Stone.

[Footnote 111: Published in 1665.]

[17.] A Welch man in heat of blood, challenged an Englishman at Sword and Buckler; but the Englishman giving him a lusty blow on the leg which vext him, he threw down his Weapon, swearing _Splut, was not her Buckler broad enough, but her must hit her on the leg?_

[52.] A _Bulkin_[F. 112] well knowne in divers places for his mad conceits, and his couzenage, upon a time came into Kent to Sittingborne; and in divers Villages there-about set up bills that all sorts of people, young and old, that would come to Sittingborne, on such a day, they should find a man there, that would give a remedy for all kinds of diseases; and also would tell them what would happen unto any of them in five or Six yeares after: and he would desire but two pence a piece of any of them. Whereupon came people of all sorts and from all places: so that he gathered of the people that came to the value of twenty pounds: and he had provided a Stage, and set it up, and placed a chaire where he would sit: and so, they being all come in, and every one set in order, he comes to the gate, and takes the money from them that gathered it, and bids them looke that good rule be kept, and so they did: also hee bid them by and by sound the drumme, and then he would begin his Orations. He, when they were gone, with all haste gets him to the backe-side, and there having his Gelding, gets upon his backe, and away towards _Rochester_ rides he, as fast as ever he could gallop. Now they, thinking he had beene preparing of things in a readinesse, sounded the drumme. The Audience looked still when he would come, and staying one, two, or three houres, nay more, thought sure they were cozened. Whereupon one of the Company seeing a paper in the chaire on the Stage, tooke it, wherein was written.

_Now you have heard the sound of the drumme_ _You may all depart like fooles as you come_.

Whereupon the men falling to cursing and swearing, the women to scolding, scratching, and biting, were fame to depart like fooles indeed.

[Footnote 112: Or bulchin, is a little bull, or bull calf.]

A Man being cold [12.] In's Boots, was so bold, To stand near the fire for remedy; You'l burn your Spurs, says _Jane_, My Boots sure you mean; No, Sir, they are burnt already.

[26.] A Scholar coming home from _Cambridge_ to his Father, his Father askt him what he had learnt? Why Father, says he, I'll prove that this Capon is better than the blessing of God. How Zon, says he, come, let's hear it; Why thus, Father, says he, nothing you know is better than the blessing of God, and this Leg of the Capon is better than Nothing: Ergo.

[52.] In London dwelt a mad conceited fellow, which with his wit lived with Gallants and domineered with good fellowes. Not very long agoe, in Hay-harvest, he gets a Pitchforke on his neck, went forth towards Islington in the morning, and meets with two loads of Hay, comming towards the City to be sold: for the which hee bargained with them that owned the same, for thirty shillings. But whither shall wee bring them? quoth they. To the Swanne by Smithfield, said hee. And so went his way, and left them: then to the Swan he went, to the good man of the house, and asked if he would buy two loades of Hay? Yes, quoth the Inne keeper, where be they? Here they come, quoth he. What shall I pay, quoth the In-keeper? Foure Nobles[F. 113] a load, quoth the Make-shift. But at the last they agreed for twenty shillings. When they were come, he bad them unload the Hay. So while they were unloading of it, hee came to the Inne-holder, and said, I pray you let me have my money: for while my men unload, I will buy some stuffe to have home with me. The Inne-holder was content, and gave him money, and so hee went away. When the men had unloaded their Hay they came and demanded their money. I have paid your Master (quoth the Inne holder). What Master? quoth they. Marry, quoth hee, he that bad you bring the Hay hither. Wee know him not quoth they. Nor I neither, quoth hee, but with him I bargained, and him have I paid; with you I meddled not, and therefore go seeke him if you will. And so the poore men were cozened.

[Footnote 113: A noble was 6s. 8d.]

[72.]

The accompanying quaint illustration shows the antiquity of "Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures."[F. 114]

[Footnote 114: At p. 107 the very phrase is mentioned, "These need not feare to have their shoulders besprinkled with _Zantippee's_ livery; or to have their breakfast chang'd into a Morning _Curtaine Lecture_."]

A friend of _Durus_ comming on a day [5.] To visite him, finding the doores say nay; Being lock'd fast up, first knocks, and then doth pause, As Lord have mercy on's[F. 115] had bin the cause; But missing it, he ask't a neighbour by When the rich _Durus_' (doors) were lock'd and why? He said it was a Custome growne of late At diner time to lock your great man's gate, _Durus_' his poor friend admir'd & thought the door Was not for State lock'd up, but 'gainst the poore, And thence departing empty of good cheere, Said, Lord have mercy on us is not there.

[Footnote 115: Houses visited by the plague were marked by a cross chalked on the door, and also the words, "Lord have mercy on us."]

A Man there was, who liv'd a merry life, [72.] Till in the end he tooke him to a Wife; One that no image was (for shee could speake) And now and then her husbands costrell[F. 116] breake: So fierce she was and furious, as in summe, She was an arrant Devill of her tongue. This drove the poore man to a discontent, And oft, and many times did he repent That e're hee chang'd his former quiet state, But 'las, repentance then did come too late. No cure he finde to cure this maladie, But makes a vertue of necessitie, The common cure for care to every man, "A potte of nappy Ale:" where he began To fortifie his braine 'gainst all should come, 'Mongst which the clamour of his wives loud tongue This habit graffed[F. 117] in him grew so strong, That when he was from Ale, an houre seem'd long, So well hee lik'd th' profession: on a Time Having staid long at pot (for rule nor line Limits no drunkard) even from Morne to Night, He hasted home apace, by the Moone-light: Where as he went, what phantasies were bred, I doe not know, in his distempered head, But a strange Ghost appear'd, and forc'd him stay, With which perplext, hee thus began to say: "Good Spirit, if thou be, I need no charme, For well I know, thou wilt not doe mee harme; And if the Devill; sure mee thou shoulds't not hurt, I wed't thy _Sister_, and am plagued for't." The Spirit, well approving what he said, Dissolv'd to ayre, and quickly vanished.

[Footnote 116: Head.]

[Footnote 117: Grafted.]

[17.] A Taylor sent his bill to a Lawyer for money; the Lawyer bid the Boy tell his Master, that he was not running away (being very busie at that time). The Boy comes again, and tells him he must needs have his money. Did'st tell him, I was not running away? Yes Sir, but he bid me tell you, that _though you were not running away, yet he was_.

[17.] A Schollar was lock'd out of _Wadham_ Colledge, and about ten a Clock he came and knockt; the Porter came to the Gate, and told him the Warden had took up the keys with him: Pray, says he to the Porter, go to the Warden, and tell him I am here: Truly, Sir, says he, the Warden is angry with me already, I dare not do it: but if you'll go your self, it may be he'll give you the keys.

He's rich that hath great in-comes by the year; [5.] Then that great belly'd man is rich, Ile swear: For sure, his belly ne'r so big had bin, Had he not daily had great comings in.

[26.] One meeting a mad Fellow that was drunk, ask't him whither he was going? says he, I am going to the Tavern: No, says t'other, that you are not; for Drunkenness is the way to Hell, and thither you are going. Puh, says the Drunkard, you are therein much mistaken; and I ne'r fear that, for I am so drunk, that my Legs are not able to carry me so far; and what need I go thither agen, for I came from the Devil[F. 118] (_Tavern_) but now.

[Footnote 118: In Fleet Street, close by where Temple Bar stood, now Messrs. Childs' Bank.]

PORTSMOUTH'S LAMENTATION

OR

_A Dialogue between Two Amorous Ladies_, E.G.[F. 119] and D.P.[F. 120]

Dame _Portsmouth_ was design'd for _France_, But therein was prevented; Who mourns at this Unhappy Chance, and sadly doth lament it.

To the Tune of, Tom the Taylor, Or, Titus Oats.

I prithee _Portsmouth_ tell me plain, [73.] without dissimulation, When dost thou home return again, and leave this English Nation? Your youthful days are past and gone, you plainly may perceive it Winter of age is coming on, 'tis true, you may believe it.

And, _Nelly_, is't not so with thee, why dost thou seem to flout me, I am in clos'd with misery, and sorrows round about me: O, 'twas a sad and fatal hour, as ere could come to me, When Death did all my joys devour, on purpose to undoe me.

Thy loss was much, I must confess, and much to be lamented, Now thou art almost pittiless, thy design it is prevented: To _France_ 'twas thy intent to go, but therein did'st miscarry, And trouble 'tis to thee I know, that thou art forc'd to tarry.