Now here you must note, and 'tis worth observation,
That as his chair at one end o' th' table had station; So sweet mistress may'ress, in just such another, Like the fair queen of hearts, sat in state at the other;
By which I perceiv'd, though it seemed a riddle, The lower end of this must be just in the middle: But perhaps 'tis a rule there, and one that would mind it
Amongst the town-statutes 'tis likely might find it. But now into th' pottage each deep his spoon claps, As in truth one might safely for burning one's chaps,
When straight, with the look and the tone of a
scold,
[cold;
Mistress may'ress complain'd that the pottage was
"And all long of your fiddle-faddle," quoth she.
"Why, what then, Goody Two-shoes, what if it
be?
[he.
Hold you, if you can, your tittle-tattle," queth
I was glad she was snapp'd thus, and guess'd by
th' discourse,
The may'r, not the gray mare, was the better horse.
And yet for all that, there is reason to fear,
She submitted but out of respect to his year:
However, 'twas well she had now so much grace,
Though not to the man, to submit to his place;
For had she proceeded, I verily thought
My turn would the next be, for I was in fault:
But this brush being past, we fell to our diet,
And ev'ry one there fill'd his belly in quiet.
Supper being ended, and things away taken, Master mayor's curiosity 'gan to awaken; Wherefore making me draw something nearer his chair,
He will'd and requir'd me there to declare
My country, my birth, my estate, and my parts,
And whether I was not a master of arts;
And eke what the bus'ness was had brought me thither,
With what I was going about now, and whither:
Giving me caution, no lie should escape me,
For if I should trip, he should certainly trap me.
I answer'd, my country was fam'd Staffordshire;
That in deeds, bills, and bonds, I was ever writ
squire ;
That of land, I had both sorts, some good, and
some eri!,
[Devil;
But that a great part on't was pawn'd to the That as for my parts, they were such as he saw; That, indeed, I had a small smatt'ring of law, Which I lately had got more by practice than reading,
[ing; By sitting o' th' bench, whilst others were pleadBut that arms I had ever more study'd than arts, And was now to a captain rais'd by my deserts; That the business which led me through Palatine
Into Ireland was, whither now I was bound; Where his worship's great favour I loud will proclain,
And in all other places wherever I came.
He said, as to that, I might do what I list,
But that I was welcome, and gave me his fist;
When having my fingers made crack with his
gripes,
He call'd to his man for some bottles and pipes.
To trouble you here with a longer narration
Of the several parts of our confabulation,
Perhaps would be tedious; I'll therefore remit ye Even to the most rev'rend records of the city, Where, doubtless, the acts of the may'rs are recorded,
And if not more truly, yet much better worded.
In short, then, we pip'd, and we tippled Canary, Till my watch pointed one in the circle horary; When thinking it now was high time to depart, His worship I thank'd with a most grateful heart; And because to great men presents are acceptable, I presented the may'r, ere I rose from the table, With a certain fantastical box and a stopper; And he having kindly accepted my offer, I took my fair leave, such my visage adorning, And to bed, for I was to rise early i' th' morning.
THE Sun in the morning disclosed his light,
With complexion as ruddy as mine over night;
And o'er th' eastern mountains peeping up's head,
The casement being open, espy'd me in bed;
With his rays he so tickled my lids that I wak'd,
And was half asham'd, for I found myself nak'd;
But up I soon start, and was dress'd in a trice,
And call'd for a draught of ale, sugar, and spice;
Which having turn'd off, I then call to pay,
And packing my nawls, whipp'd to horse, and
And now by plain dint of hard spurring and whipp• | Under ground is a place, where they bathe, as 'tis
ing, Dry-shod we came where folks sometimes take And where the salt sea, as the Devil were in't, Came roaring, t' have hinder'd our journey to Flint;
But we, by good luck, before him got thither, He else would have carried us, no man knows whither.
And now her in Wales is, saint Taph be her speed, [need; Gott splutter her taste, some Welch ale her had For her ride in great haste, and was like shit her breeches,
For fear of her being catch'd up by the fishes:
But the lord of Flint castle's no lord worth a
louse,
[house;
For he keeps ne'er a drop of good drink in his
But in a small house near unto't there was store
Of such ale as (thank God) I ne'er tasted before;
And surely the Welch are not wise of their fuddle,
For this had the taste and complexion of puddle.
From thence then we march'd, full as dry as we
came,
My guide before prancing, his steed no more lame,
O'er hills and o'er vallies uncouth and uneven,
Until 'twixt the hours of twelve and eleven,
More hungry and thirsty than tongue can well tell,
We happily came to St. Winifred's well:
1 thought it the pool of Bethesda had been
By the cripples lay there; but I went to my inn
To speak for some meat, for so stomach did motion,
Before I did farther proceed in devotion:
I went into th' kitchen, where victuals I saw,
Both beef, veal, and mutton, but all on't was raw;
And some on't alive, but it soon went to slaughter,
For four chickens were slain by my dame and her
daughter;
Of which to saint Win. ere my vows I had paid,
They said I should find a rare fricasée made:
I thank'd them, and straight to the well did repair,
Where some I found cursing, and others at
pray'r;
Some dressing, some stripping, some out and some
in,
[seen;
Some naked, where botches and boils might be
Of which some were fevers of Venus I'm sure,
And therefore unfit for the virgin to cure :
But the fountain, in truth, is well worth the sight,
The beautiful virgin's own tears not more bright;
Nay, none but she ever shed such a tear,
Her conscience, her name, nor herself, were more
clear.
In the bottom there lie certain stones that look
white,
[light,
But streak'd with pure red, as the morning with
Which they say is her blood, and so it may be,
But for that, let who shed it look to it for me.
Over the fountain a chapel there stands,
Which I wonder has 'scap'd master Oliver's hands;
The floor's not ill pav'd, and the margin o' th'
Is enclos'd with a certain octagonal ring;
From each angle of which a pillar does rise,
Of strength and of thickness enough to suffice
To support and uphold from failing to ground
A cupola where with the virgin is crown'd.
Now 'twixt the two angles, that fork to the north, And where the cold nymph does her bason pour forth,
And 'tis true, for I heard folks' teeth hack in their head; [whores For you are to know, that the rogues and the Are not let to pollute the spring-head with their
But one thing I chiefly admir'd in the place,
That a saint, and a virgin, endu'd with such grace,
Should yet be so wonderful kind a well-willer
To that whoring and filching trade of a miller,
As within a few paces to furnish the wheels
Of I cannot tell how many water-mills:
I've study'd that point much, you cannot guess
why,
[than L.
But the virgin was, doubtless, more righteous
And now for my welcome, four, five, or six lasses,
With as many crystalline liberal glasses,
Did all importune me to drink of the water
Of saint Winifreda, good Thewith's fair daughter.
A while I was doubtful, and stood in a muse,
Not knowing, amidst all that choice, where to
choose,
Till a pair of black eyes, darting full in my sight,
From the rest o' th' fair maidens did carry me quite;
I took the glass from her, and, whip, off it went,
I half doubt I fancy'd a health to the saint:
But he was a great villain committed the slaughter,
For St. Winifred made most delicate water.
I slipp'd a hard shilling into her soft hand,
Which had like to have made me the place have
And giving two more to the poor that were there, Did, sharp as a hawk, to my quarters repair.
My dinner was ready, and to it I fell,
I never ate better meat that I can tell,
When having half din'd, there comes in my host,
A catholic good, and a rare drunken toast:
This man, by his drinking, inflamed the Scot,
And told me strange stories, which I have forgot;
But this I remember, 'twas much on's own life,
And one thing, that he had converted his wife.
But now my guide told me, it time was to go, For that to our beds we must both ride and row; Wherefore calling to pay, and having accounted, I soon was down stairs, and as suddenly mounted : On then we travell'd, our guide still before, Sometimes on three legs and sometimes on four, Coasting the sea, and over hills crawling, Sometimes on all four, for fear we should fall in ; For underneath Neptune lay skulking to watch
And, had we but slipp'd once, was ready to catch us.
Thus in places of danger taking more heed,
And in safer travelling mending our speed:
Redland Castle and Abergoney we past,
And o'er against Connaway came at the last:
Just over against a castle there stood,
O' th' right hand the town, and o' th' left hand a
wood;
[water
'Twixt the wood and the castle they see at high
The storm, the place makes it a dangerous matter;
And besides, upon such a steep rock it is founded,
As would break a man's neck, should he 'scape
being drowned:
Perhaps tho' in time one may make them to yield, But 'tis pretti'st Cob-castle e'er I beheld.
The Sun now was going t' unharness his steeds, When the ferry-boat brasking her sides 'gainst the weeds,
Came in as good time, as good time could be,
To give us a cast o'er an arm of the sea;
And bestowing our horses before and abaft,
O'er god Neptune's wide cod-piece gave us a waft;
Where scurvily landing at foot of the fort,
Within very few paces we enter'd the port,
Where another King's Head invited me down,
For indeed I have ever been true to the crown.
How with ill-nature does this world abound!
When I, who ever thought myself inost sound,
And free from that infection, now must choose
Out you, (my lord) whom least I should abuse
To trouble with a tempest, who have none
In your firm breast t' afflict you of your own:
But since of friendship it the nature is,
In any accident that falls amiss,
Whether of sorrow, terrour, loss, or pain,
Caus'd or by men or fortune, to complain
To those who of our ills have deepest sense,
And in whose favour we've most confidence,
Pardon, if in a storm I here engage
Your calmer thoughts, and on a sea, whose rage,
When but a little mov'd, as far outbraves
The tamer mutinies of Adria's waves,
As they, when worst for Neptune to appease,
The softest curls of most pacific seas;
And though I'm vain enough half to believe
My danger will some little trouble give,
I yet more vainly fancy 'twill advance
Your pleasure too, for my deliverance.
'Twas now the time of year, of all the rest,
For slow but certain navigation best;
The Earth had dress'd herself so fine and gay,
That all the world, our little world, was May;
The Sea, too, had put on his smoothest face,
Clear, sleek, and even as a looking-glass;
The rugged winds were lock'd up in their jails,
And were but Zephyrs whisper'd in the sails;
All nature seem'd to court us to our woe;
Good God! can elements dissemble too?
Whilst we, secure, consider'd not the whiles
That greatest treasons lie conceal'd in smiles.
Aboard we went, and soon were un ler sail,
But with so small an over-modest gale,
And to our virgin canvass so unkind,
As not to swell their laps with so much wind,
As common courtship would in breeding pay
To maids less buxom and less trim than they.
But of this calm we could not long complain,
For scarcely were we got out to the main
From the still harbour but a league, no more,
When the false wind (that seein❜d so chaste before)
The ship's lac'd smock began to stretch and tear,
Not like a suitor, but a ravisher;
As if delight were lessen'd by consent,
And tasted worse for being innocent.
A sable curtain, in a little space,
Heaven's loud artillery began to play,
And with pale flashes made a dreadful day:
The centre shook by these, the ocean
In hills of brine to swell and heave began;
Which growing mountains, as they rolling hit,
To surge and foam, each other broke and split,
Like men, who, in intestine storms of state,
Strike any they nor know, nor yet for what;
But with the stream of fury headlong run
To war, they know not how nor why begun.
In this disorder straight the winds forlorn, Which had lain ambush'd all the flatt'ring morn, With unexpected fury rushes in,
The ruling skirmish rudely to begin;
The sea with thunder-claps alarm'd before,
Assaulted thus anew, began to roar
In waves, that striving which should fastest run,
Crouded themselves into confusion.
At which advantage Eolus brought on
His large spread wings, and main battalion,
When by opposing shores the flying foe
Fore'd back against the enemy to flow,
So great a conflict follow'd, as if here
Th' enraged enemics embattled were ;
Not only one another to subdue,
But to destroy themselves and nature too.
To paint this horrour to the life, weak art
Must want a hand, humanity a heart;
And I, the bare relation whilst I make,
Methinks am brave, my hand still does not shake;
For surely since men first in planks of wood
Themselves committed to the faithless flood,
Men born and bred at sea, did ne'er behold
Neptune in such prodigious furrows roll'd;
Those winds, which with the loudest terrour
Never so stretch'd their lungs and cheeks before;
Nor on this floating stage has ever been
So black a scene of dreadful ruin seen.
Poor yacht! in such a sea how canst thou live?
What ransom would not thy pale tenants give
To be set down on the most desp'rate shore,
Where serpents hiss, tigers and lions roar?
And where the men, inbuman savages,
Are yet worse vermin, greater brutes, than these!
Who would not for a danger that may be
Exchange a certain ruin that they see?
For such, unto our reason, or our fear,
Ours did in truth most manifest appear;
And how could we expect a better end,
When winds and seas seem'd only to contend,
Not which should conquer other in this war,
But in our wreck which should have greatest
share?
The winds were all let loose upon the main,
And every wind that blew a hurricane,
Nereus' whole pow'r too muster'd seem'd to be,
Wave rode on wave, and every wave a sea.
Of our small bark gusts rush'd the trembling
Against vast billows that contain'd whole tides,
Which in disdainful fury beat her back
With such a force, as made her stout sides crack,
'Gainst others that in crowds came rolling in,
As if they meant their liquid walls between
Of thick wove clouds, was drawn o'er Phoebus' face, engage the wretched hulk, and crush her flat,
He might not see the horrour of the fight, Nor we the comfort of his heav'nly light: Then, as this darkness had the signal been, At which the furious storm was to begin,
And make her squeeze to death her dying freight Sometimes she on a mountain's ridge would ride, And from that height her gliding keel then slide
Into a gulph, yawning and deep as Hell,
Whilst we were swooning all the while we fell;
Then by another billow rais'd so high,
As if the sea would dart her into th' sky,
To be a pinnace to the Argosy;
Then down a precipice so low and steep,
As it had been the bottom of the deep:
Thus whilst we up and down, and to and fro,
Were miserably toss'd and bandy'd so,
'Twas strange our little pink, tho' ne'er so tight,
Could weather't so, and keep herself upright;
Or was not sunk with weight of our despair,
For hope, alas! could find no anch'ring there:
Her prow, and poop, starboard, and larboard side,
B'ing with these elements so hotly ply'd,
'Twas no less than a miracle her seams
Not ripp'd and open'd, and her very beams
Continu'd faithful in these loud extremes;
That her tall masts, so often bow'd and bent
With gust on gust, were not already spent;
That all, or any thing, indeed, withstood
A sea so hollow, such a high-wrought flood.
Here, where no seaman's art nor strength avails,
Where use of compass, rudder, or of sails,
There now was none; the mariners all stood
Bloodless and cold as we; or though they could
Something, perhaps, have help'd in such a stress,
Were ev'ry one astonish'd ne'ertheless
To that degree, they either had no heart
Their art to use, or had forgot their art.
Meanwhile the miserable passengers,
With sighs the hardest, the more soft with tears,
Mercy of Heav'n in various accents crav'd,
But after drowning hoping to be sav'd.
How oft, by fear of dying, did we die?
And every death, a death of cruelty,
Worse than worst cruelties provok'd impose
On the most hated, most offending foes.
We fancy'd death riding on every wave,
And every hollow seetn'd a gaping grave:
All things we saw such horrour did present,
And all of dying too were so intent,
Ev'ry one thought himself already dead,
And that for him the tears he saw were shed.
Such as had not the courage to behold
Their danger above deck, within the hold
Utter'd such groans in that their floating grave,
As even unto terrour terrour gave;
Whilst those above pale, dead, and cold appear,
Like ghosts in Charon's boat that sailing were.
The last day's dread, which none can comprehend,
But to weak fancy only recommend,
To form the dreadful image from sick fear,
That fear and fancy both were heighten'd here
With such a face of horrour, as alone
Was fit to prompt imagination,
Or to create it where there had been none.
Such as from under hatches thrust a head
Tinquire what news, seem'd rising from the dead,
Whilst those who staid above, bloodless with fear,
And ghastly look, as they new risen were.
The bold and timorous, with like horrour struck,
Were not to be distinguish'd by their look;
And he who could the greatest courage boast,
Howe'er within, look'd still as like a ghost.
Ten hours in this rude tempest we were tost, And ev'ry moment gave ourselves for lost : Heav'n knows how ill prepar'd for sudden death, When the rough winds, as they'd been out of breath,
Now seem'd to pant, and panting to retreat,
The waves with gentler force against us beat;
The sky clear'd up, the Sun again shone bright,
And gave us once again new life and light;
We could again bear sail in those rough seas,
The seamen now resume their offices;
Hope warm'd us now anew, anew the heart
Did to our cheeks some streaks of blood impart ;
And in two hours, or very little more,
We came to anchor faulcon-shot from shore,
The very same we left the morn before ;
Where now in a yet working sea, and high,
Until the wind shall veer, we rolling lie,
Resting secure from present fear; but then
The dangers we escap'd must tempt again;
Which if again I safely shall get through,
(And sure I know the worst the sea can do)
So soon as I shall touch my native land,
I'll thence ride post to kiss your lordship's hand.
Is'r come to this, that we must part?
Then Heav'n is turn'd all cruelty,
And Fate has neither eyes nor heart,
Or else (my sweet) it could not be.
She's a blind deity I'm sure;
For woful sights compassion move,
And heav'nly minds could ne'er endure
To persecute the truest love.
Love is the highest attribute
Of pow'rs unknown we inortals know;
For that all homage we commute,
From that all good and mercies flow,
And can there be a deity
In those eternal seats above,
Will own so dire a cruelty,
As thus to punish faithful love?
Oh, heav'nly pow'rs! be good and just,
Cherish the law yourselves have made,
We else in vain in virtue trust,
And by religion are betray'd.
Oh! punish me some other way
For other sins, but this is none;
Take all the rest you gave away,
But let my dearest dear alone.
Strip me as into th' world I came,
I never shall dispute your will;
Or strike me dumb, deaf, blind, or lame,
But let me have Chlorinda still.
Why was she given me at all?
I thought indeed the gift too great
For my poor merit; but withal
I always knew to value it.
I first by you was worthy made,
Next by her choice; let me not prove
Blasphemous, if I'm not afraid
To say most worthy by my love.
And must I then be damn'd from bliss
For valuing the blessing more,
Be wretched made through happiness,
And by once being rich more poor?
This separation is, alas!
Too great a punishment to bear,
Oh! take my life, or let me pass
That life, that happy life, with her.
O my Chlorinda! couldst thou see
Into the bottom of my heart,
There's such a mine of love for thee,
The treasure would supply desert.
Let the king send me where he please,
Ready at drum and trumpet's call,
I'll fight at home, or cross the seas,
His soldier, but Chlorinda's thrall.
No change of diet, or of air,
In me can a distemper breed;
And if I fall, it should be fair,
Since 'tis her blood that I'm to bleed.
And sitting so, I nothing fear
A noble she of living fame;
And who shall then be by, may hear,
In my last groans, Chlorinda's name.
But I am not proscrib'd to die,
My adversaries are too wise;
More rigour and less charity
Condemns me from Chlorinda's eyes.
Ah, cruel sentence, and severe !
That is a thousand deaths in one;
Oh! let me die before I hear
A sound of separation.
And yet it is decreed, I see,
The race of men are now combin'd,
Though I still keep the body free,
To persecute a loyal mind.
And that's the worst that man can do,
To banish me Chlorinda's sight;
Yet will my heart continue true,
Maugre their power and their spite.
Meanwhile my exit now draws nigh,
When, sweet Chlorinda, thou shalt see
That I have heart enough to die,
Not half enough to part with thee.
RISE, happy mortals, from your sleep,
Bright Phosphor now begins to peep,
In such apparel as ne'er drest
The proudest day-break of the East!
Death's sable curtain 'gins disperse,
And now the blessed morn appears,
Which has long'd and pray'd for him
So many centuries of years,
To defray th' arrears of sin.
Now through the joyful universe
Beams of mercy and of love
Shoot forth comfort from above,
And choirs of angels do proclaim
The holy Jesus' blessed name.
Rise, shepherds, leave your flocks, and run;
The soul's great Shepherd now is come!
Oh! wing your tardy feet, and fly
To greet this dawning majesty:
Heaven's messenger, in tidings bless'd,
Invites you to the sacred place,
Where the blessed Babe of joy,
Wrapp'd in his holy Father's grace,
Comes the serpent to destroy,
That lurks in ev'ry human breast.
To Judah's Beth'lem turn your feet,
There you shall salvation meet;
There, in a homely manger hurl'd,
Lies the Messias of the world.
Riding upon the morning's wings,
The joyful air salvation sings,
"Peace upon Earth, tow'rds men good will," Echoes from ev'ry vale and hill;
For why, the Prince of Peace is come,
The glorious Infant, who this morn
(By a strange mysterious birth)
Is of his virgin mother born,
To redeem the seed of Earth
From foul rebellious heavy doom.
Travel, magi of the East,
To adore this sacred Guest;
And offer up (with reverence)
Your gold, your myrrh, and frankincense.
At th' teeming of this blessed womb
All nature is one joy become;
The fire, the earth, the sea, and air,
The great salvation to declare :
The mountains skip with joy's excess,
The ocean's briny billows swell
O'er the surface of their lands,
And at this sacred miracle
Floods do clap their liquid hands,
Joy's inundation to express:
Babes spring in the narrow rooms
Of their tender mothers' wombs,
And all for triumph of the morn
Wherein the Child of bliss was born.
Let each religious soul then rise
To offer up a sacrifice,
And on the wings of pray'r and praise
His grateful heart to Heaven raise;
For this, that in a stable lies,
This poor neglected Babe, is he,
Hell and Death that must control,
And speak the blessed word, "Be free,"
To ev'ry true believing soul:
Death has no sting, nor Hell no prize,
Through his merits great, whilst we
Travel to eternity,
And with the blessed angels sing
Hosannahs to the heav'nly King.
Rise, then, O rise! and let your voices
Tell the sphercs the soul rejoices.
In Beth'lem, this auspicious morn,
The glorious Son of God is born.
The Child of glory, Prince of Peace,
Brings mercy that will never cease;
Merits that wipe away the sin
Each human soul was forfeit in ;
And washing off the fatal stain,
Man to his Maker knits again :
Join then your grateful notes, and sing
Hosannahs to the heav'nly King.
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