Part 21

[103.] A Gentleman having left a Bag of Money in a Hackney Coach, besides an Advertisement in the _Gazet_, he put up a paper at the _Exchange_, that he would give a sixth part (_viz_ £20) to the Coachman, if he would bring him his Money; the Fellow, hearing of the offer, went to the _Exchange_ and writ on the Paper, _Then shall I be the Loser_, which was all the Gentleman had for his Coin.

[26.] One swore most plentifully, That he saw a Lobster kill a Hare upon _Salisbury Plain_; then they all began to think indeed that was a lie, till he very discreetly told them how it was; for the Lobsters that are taken at _Weymouth_, _Southampton_, and upon the Sea-Coasts thereabouts, are presently convey'd in Panniers into the Midland Country, and by the way on _Salisbury Plain_ did drop a very good Lobster, and a Hare a little after, came close to the Lobster: which the Lobster feeling, with his Claw presently catcht him fast by the foot, and so kill'd him; and swore also that they put it into a Pie, and both bak't together (but I don't mean with the skin and the shell on) then you'd think't a lie indeed; and so sent up to _London_, and eaten there.

Alas, _Delfridus_ keepes his bed, God knowes, [102.] Which is a sign his worship's very ill: His griefe beyond the grounds of Phisike goes; No Doctor that comes neere it with his skill, Yet doth he eat, drink, talke, and sleepe profound, Seeming to all men's judgements healthful found.

Then gesse the cause he thus to bed is drawne What? think you so? may such a hap procure it? Well; faith, 'tis true, his Hose is out at pawne, A breechlesse chance is come, he must indure it: His Hose to Brokers Jayle committed are, His Singular, and only Velvet paire.

[17.] A man on his death bed bequeathed all that he had to his three Sons; to the first he gave all his Land, for he said he had been very dutiful, but he said he hoped his Father would live to enjoy it all himself: To the second, he gave all his money and goods, for he had been dutiful also, and he wisht his father might live and enjoy it all himself: And to the third, he said, Thou hast been a Villain, a Rogue, and a Vagabond; I first give to thee the benefit of the Stocks, to keep both thy legs warm; and next _Bridwell_, where thou shalt dine upon freecost with M^r _Lashington_ every day; and then I bestow the Gallows upon thee at last: Truly Father, says he, I thank you, and _I hope you'll live to enjoy them_ all, yourself.

[94.] One asked the reason why Lawyers Clerks writ such wide lines: Another answered, It was done to keep the peace; for if the Plaintiff should be in one line, and the Defendant in the next, the lines being too near together, they might perhaps fall together by the Ears.

[4.] M^r _Noy_[F. 200] the Attorney General, making a Venison Feast in a Tavern where _Ben Johnson_ and some of his Companions were Drinking, and he having a mind to some of the Venison, wrote these Verses, and sent them to M^r _Noy_

When all the World was drown'd, No Venison could be found; For then there was no Park: Lo here we sit, Without e're a bit, _Noy_ has it all in his Ark.

For the ingenuity of which, M^r _Noy_ sent him a good corner of a Pasty, and half a Dozen Bottles of Sack to wash it down.

At another time, _Ben Johnson_ intending to go through the Half Moone Tavern in _Aldersgate Street_, was denied entrance, the Door being shut: upon which he made these Verses.

Since the _Half-Moon_ is so unkind, to make me go about, The _Sun_ my Money now shall take, the _Moon_ shall go without.

And so he went to the _Sun Tavern_ at _Long Lane_ end, forsaking the _Half-Moon_ for this affront.

[Footnote 200: "Noy, when Whitelocke came to him about the Bill, advised with him about the King's Patent concerning an association between England and Scotland for fishing. Noy loved a little drollery, and gave Whitelocke eleven groats out of his little purse. Here, said Noy, take these single pence; and I give you more than an attorney's fee, because you will be a better man than an Attorney-General; and this you will find to be true. This was in 1629."--_Lives of Eminent Sergeants at Law, by H. W. Woolrych, Lond. 1869._]

[91.] When I lived, I fed the living, now I am dead, I bear the living, and with swift speed walke over the living. _Resolution._ A Ship made of an Oake, growing, fed Hogs with Acorns, now beares men, swims over fishes.

The English Irish Souldier

_With his new Discipline, new Armes, old Stomacke, and new taken pillage, who had rather Eate than Fight._

If any Souldate [106.] think I do appeare, In this strange Armes and posture, as a Jeere, Let him advance up to me he shall see, Ile stop his mouth and we wil both agree.

Our Skirmish ended our Enemies fled or slaine Pillage wee cry then, for the Souldiers game, And this compleat Artillery I have got, The best of Souldiers, I think, hateth not.

My Martiall Armes dealt I amongst my foes With this I charged stand 'gainst hungers blowes; This is Munition if a Souldier lacke, He fights like _Iohn a dreams_[F. 201] or Lent's thin _Jacke_.[F. 202]

All safe and cleare, my true Arms rest awhile, And welcome pillage you have foes to soile. This Pot, my Helmet, must not be forsaken, For loe I seiz'd it full of Hens and Bacon.

Rebels for Rebels drest it but our hot rost Made them to flye and now they kisse the post. And better that to kisse than stay for Pullets And have their bellies cram'd with leaden bullets.

This fowle my Feather is, who wins most fame, To weare a pretty Duck he need not shame; This Spit my well chargd Musket with a Goose, Now cryes come eate me, let your stomacks loose.

This Dripping Pan's my target, and this Hartichoke My Basket-hilted blade can make 'em smoake, And make them slash and cut who most Home puts, Ile most my fury sheath into his guts.

This Forke my Rest is, and my Bandaleers Canary Bottles, that can quell base feares, And make us quaffe downe danger, if this not doe, What is it then? can raise a spiritt into fearfull men.

This Match are linkes to light down to my belly Wherein are darksome chinks as I may tell yee, Or Sassages, or Puddings, choose you which, An excellent Needle, Hungers wounds to stitch.

These my Supporters, garter'd with black pots, Can steele the nose & purg the brain of plots; These tosts my shooestrings, steept in this strong fog, Is able of themselves to foxe a Dog.

These Armes being vanisht, once againe appeare A true and faithful Souldier _As you were_; But if this wants, and that we have no biting In our best Armours we make sorry fighting.

FINIS

Printed at _London_ for _R. Wood_ and _A. Coe_ 1642.

[Footnote 201: _i.e._ a stupid, semi-idiot, as--

"A Dull and Muddy Mettled rascal, peak, Like _John a dreams_, impregnant of my cause, And can say nothing."--_Hamlet_, Act ii. Scene 2. ]

[Footnote 202: "A Jack a Lent" was a straw-stuffed image which was shot at, beaten, thrown at, and otherwise ill-treated during Lent. It was supposed to represent Judas Iscariot.]

[93.] There was a Gentleman that dwelt in the West Countrey, and had staid here in London a Tearme longer than hee intended, by reason of a Booke that _George_ (_Peele_) had to translate out of Greeke into English: and when he wanted money, George had it of the Gentleman, but the more he supplyed him of Coine, the further off he was from his Booke, and could get no end of it, neither by faire meanes, entreatie, or double payment: for _George_ was of the Poeticall disposition, never to write so long as his money lasted; some quarter of the Booke being done, and lying in his hands at randome.

The Gentleman had plotted a meanes to take such an order with _George_ next time he came, that he would have his Booke finished. It was not long before he had his Company; his arrival was for more money; the Gentleman bids him welcome; causeth him to stay dinner, where falling into discourse about his Booke, found it was as neere ended, as he left it two moneths ago. The Gentleman, meaning to be gul'd no longer, caused two of his men to binde _George_ hand and foot in a Chayre: a folly it was for him to aske what they meant by it: the Gentleman sent for a Barber, and George had a beard of an indifferent size, and well growne: he made the Barber shave him beard and head, left him as bare of haire, as he was of money: the Barber he was well contented for his paines, who left _George_ like an old woman in mans apparell: and his voyce became it well, for it was more woman than man. _George_ quoth the Gentleman, I have always used you like a friend, my purse hath beene open to you: that you have of mine to translate, you know it is a thing I highly esteeme: therefore I have used you in this fashion, that I might have an end of my Booke, which shall be as much for your profit as my pleasure. So forthwith he commanded his men to unbinde him, and putting his hand into his pocket, gave him two brace of Angels; quoth hee, Master _Peele_, drinke this, and by that time you have finished my booke, your beard will be growne, untill which time, I know you will be ashamed to walke abroad. _George_ patiently tooke the gold, said little, and when it was darke night, took his leave of the Gentleman, and went directly home: who, when his wife saw, I omit the wonder shee made, but imagine those that shall behold their husbands in such a case. To bed went _George_, and ere morning hee had plotted sufficiently how to cry _quid pro quo_ with his politick Gentleman.

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.

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.]