FENNOR'S DEFENCE: Or, I am your first Man. Wherein the Waterman, JOHN TAYLOR, is dashed, soused, and finally fallen into the Thames: With his slanderous Taxations, base Imputations, scandalous Accusations, and foul Abominations, against his majesties Rhyming Poet: who hath Answered him without Vexations, or trembling Recantations. The Reason of my not meeting at the Hope with Taylor, is truly demonstrated in the Induction to the judger. Thy hasty Gallop my mild Muse shall check, That if thou sit not sure, will break thy neck. LONDON, Printed for Roger Barnes, and are to be sold at his shop in S. Dunstan's Churchyard in Fleetstreet, 1615. To all that can judge, of what Degree soever. IVdiciall Reader, after a Supper of Slanders, give me leave to bestow a Banquet of Defence; which, I hope, shall relish with more delight in thy generous opinion. I am sorry that my Pen 〈◊〉 plucked back from better Occasions, to answer an Opposite so ignoble. But seeing my Reputation is shot at by such a poisoned Pistol, I thought it meet to screw out the Bullet of his Infamy with my approved Honesty, before it grew rank, or festered too far ●n the World's Apprehension. But to the purpose: Master Taylor, the Gentlemanlike sculler at the Hope on the Bankside, at a friends house of mine, acquainted me with his Project; which was as followeth: That he the said Taylor had studied such several Humours in Prose, as never were the like before: (which indeed fell out true, to his shame) wherein he would have me join; he to play a Scene in Prose, and I to answer him in Verse: Whereto I condescended, on these Conditions; viz. That I might have half the Commodity thereof; Or Security for five pounds; Or else twenty shillings in hand, and the rest as the Day afforded. Next, That I might hear his Book read (which was fit) to know on what ground I might build my Invention. And last, That I should see the Manner of his Challenge before it was published, and set my Answer to it with my own hand. To all which he granted, and delivered me five Shillings upon the same: Whereupon I promised faithfully, That if all this were on his part performed, I would (Good willing) meet him, and with my best endeavour strive to give the Audience content. Now, here I must entreat you, before you condemn me, note but the Occasions of my Breach of Promise: This Water-Taylor, with his Confederates, presuming he had bound me with his Earnest-money, printed his Challenge-Bill, and my Answer annexed thereunto, without my Hand, Knowledge, or Consent: Nay more; My Answer was by him set up so mean and insufficient to so braving a Challenge, that I altogether disliked thereof (as I had reason) and thereupon sent my Man with the Money five days before the Play, to certify them, That I was otherwise employed, and would not come, in regard of the Wrong done unto me, in setting up my Answer without my Consent: My Man delivered the Message, but lost the Money at Play, emboldening himself upon the Wrongs I had received; which I have since paid. And the same day I received a Letter out of Warwickshire from my Father, That he was not well; wishing me and my wife to repair unto him with all possible speed. Now, you that are Parents of Children, or Children to Parents, judge, whether I ought rather to disobey my Father, or displease john Taylor; purchase my Father's hate, or lose a Sculler's love; and I hope you will say I had sufficient cause to keep me from the Hope. But fearing my homely Truth (though it be sufficient to plead my Honesty) is not answerable to your expectation of my practice in Poesy; I will, as ●eare as I can, fit my Muse to your liking, which is my content: And ever rest honester by Land then Tailor by Water, WILL: FENNOR. Although I cannot Rogue it, as he can, Yet will I show myself an honest man. AN APOLOGY to the Anagram of my Name, made by no Scholar, but a Sculler. IT were a simple Tree thy breath could shake; But see (mere Malice) how thou dost mistake: For what thy Title would bestow on me, They self art Author of. New Villainy. But since thou urgest me, mark how I'll blaze That name; which thou with villainy wouldst glafe: For I will open the Casement, and clear Light Shall chase thy black verse to eternal Night. When the first William, Duke of Normandy, Sailed from the Coasts of France to Brittany, Amongst his best Ranks came a Chivaliere, Whose name in French was called le Fogniere, Which then our English Tongue so well did tender, Gave him the Name and Title of Defender. On the Sea-coasts he did defend so well, That for his Crest he bears the Scallop shell. Since, briefer Language gives us Fennor's name, Nor can thy impudence impair the same: And for a Token of wronged Innocence, I do resume my first name for Defence. My Anagram if thou but rightly scan, Then thou wilt find 'tis, I will fear no man. How can I then fear thee that art a Tailor, A shred of Fustian, and a ragged Railer; A dish that is not worth the feeding on, When thou art best in Lent, thouart but Poor john. An Anagram upon the Sculler's Name. JOHN TAYLOR, Anagramma. O Hate, rail on. O Hate rail on; or this, Rail on, O Hate: For spite of Railing, I must dedicate An answer to thy Theme, though near so large, Will sink thy Sculler's Boat, though 'twere a Barge. To halter up your Muse, my Muse begins; I'll truss the jade for breaking people's shins. Then Monster do thy worst, yerk out thy fill, Thou canst not touch my goodness with thy ill: Though Horses break their Bridles, and escape, My Lines shall load an Ass, or whip an Ape. To his approved Foe john Taylor. I Have looked over with my best Prospectives, And viewed the tenor of thy base invectives: But if thou knewst how slenderly I weigh them, Thou wouldst not make such labour to display them, All that my Lyntia in thy vain discerns, Is Roguish Language, such as Newgate learns. I think thou hast been tutored in the Stews; For thine's the perfect speech they only use: Base Roguish Wishes, Cursing, and Reviling, Tempestuous railings, and good Names defiling. Yet maugre Malice john, I pity thee For all the pains thou hast bestowed on me; And were my Purse but of ability, I'd recompense thy labours horribly: But since my means unable is to right thee, Mark how my Pen in kindness shall requite thee. I will bestow a sheet or two of Paper, And sit the burning of a Tallow Taper, To tell thee thou art monstrous insolent: Although thy Verse is lame and impotent; And at the highest, thou art but partaker With Libell-spreaders, or some Ballade-maker. But do not think thou dealest with Coriate, Whose bosom thou didst bolt a Story at; Nor look not for such Battery at my Walls, As against the Knight o'the Sun, or Archibales; Expect not Captain Ottooles understanding: No, no; against a Bulwark thou art banding Of better temper, and a Nobler spirit, Then ever thy base bosom could inherit. Against Cynthia, like a Wolf, th'oult bark & howl, Whereby thou showst thy judgement dark & fowl. Thou grievest, my Muse with her reflecting rays, Hath quite eclipsed a famous Sculler's praise: Thou wouldst have Poesy in none to flourish, But in thyself; O thou art too too currish: Banish this self-conceit; false shady dreams Hang in thy heart, and drive thee to extremes. But why do I presume to counsel thee, That hat'st good Counsel, as thou hatest me? Wherefore I leave thy brazen Impudence, To answer thy Revenge with my Defence. Defence. HOw Rascall-like, thou dealest with me at first; Thou showst from what Antiquity thouart nursed: How darest thou of thy Satyre-Musicke boast, That now stands bound unto the whipping Post? But I will spare thee, thou intemperate Ass, Until in Bridewell thou shalt currant pass. Thou sayst, I had better with the Devil deal; By which thou dost thy wickedness reveal: But I have nought to do with him or thee; If thou be his companion, God bless me. To crouch, or whine, thou giv'st me no occasion; But I must laugh at thy absurd persuasion: Thou art that Lernaean Snake, squeeze thine own gall, But 'tis too bad to make thee Ink withal. thoust gone so long to Styx for mingled Ink, That all thy verses in men's nostrils stink. For Pens, the Scrich-Owles feathers are too tough; A Goose's Wing for thee is good enough. Thou hast emblased me, Basest slave of Men; That name I freely send thee back again, Until the World hath better eyes to see Which is the basest jack, myself, or thee. Thou call'st me Rogue so artificial, That I must judge thee for one natural: The Injury proceeded from thy tongue, And yet thou wouldst make me thy cloak for wrong. But dost thou think the matter is no more, But hang myself; thy counsel I abhor: And take thou heed of this enchanted Spell, john Taylor ended like Achitophel. What foolish Ass, like thee, would take in hand To play a Play, that couldst not understand What thine own folly is, thou art so blind; Only to baseness thou art well inclined. Dost think I had no business, but to wait On thy detested Fopperies Conceit: Yet I protest, hadst thou but sent the Bill For me to answer, I'd have show'd my skill: Which would have been so much to thy disgrace, That thou again durst near have show'd thy face. Canst thou imagine, that I went away For fear of thee, or thy contemned Play: Know fool, when on the Stage I purchased worth, I scorned to send for thee to help me forth. And put the case that I should challenge thee, Thy railing Spirit could not answer me: For thou art nothing without three months' study; I'd beat my brains out, if they were so muddy. Five shillings I confess I had of thee; Which I protest my servant had from me For to repay thee: but since he did sail, Thou mightst have sent to me; not write, and rail On him, that holds his honesty more dear Than all the Thames Revenues in a year. But here thou drivest me to a short demur, To know why thou shouldst call a Christian, Cur: Oh, I have found it; to my grief I see, That Curs and Christians are alike to thee. But was thy credit by my treason slain; Faith I know none thou hadst to lose or stain. I wonder much at thy simplicity, That thou shouldst challenge me for sharking thee; When of my troth I had rather give thee gifts, Then see thee driven to such paltry shifts. Thou and thy Squire oft have ferried me, More oft than I and mine have rhymed to thee, If ever I have sung to nasty Whores, Thou or some Pander, like thee, kept the doors: For I am sure, that for as little means, As two pence, thou wilt carry knaves y queans. I know not what thou meanest by Daxie del, It seems with them thou art acquainted well. For scraps & broken beer it is so rare For me to rhyme, that thou shall have my share: For though much wealth I want to maintain me I'll never trouble Whores, nor Rogues, nor thee. Allow I am squint-eyde, yet with those eyes I can thy Baboonestrickes anatomize. But prithee, which of all the Devils crammed That word of judgement in the Thou art damned? I'd rather wish thee talk of thy salvation, Lest hate should hurry thee into damnation. Hadst thou begun with Brothel then transcended Unto a Tavern, thou thy state hadst mended: But thou dost all thou canst to cut my throat And cheat me of the Tinker and his groat: Thou hast so many voyages to hell, That Nemesis will like thy visage well; And for to make hell's number one the fuller, Charon will take thee for his under Sculler: And from those losing torments which torment thee. I'll find a shelter, though it discontent thee. Why dost thou blame my tongue, 'cause it proclaims Myself a servant to my Sovereign james I would all hearts & tongues with mine single sing Their loyal duty to my Lord the King. His Royal favour makes thy envy swell, As by thy words all may discern it well. Thy base comparison I hate and curse, Pray heaven thy service to him prove no wors● For then my Rhyme shall tell thee this in Reason Shalt ne'er be hanged for felony nor treason. Now for the rest, thou poor Bear garden sport I scorn to tell thee how I live in Court: Yet for to certify thee, thou shalt know it, It hath pleased the King to call me his Rhyming Po●● Although too far unworthy, I confess, To merit it, the Title I possess: Yet without boasting, let me boldly say, I'll rhyme with any man that breathes this day Upon a subject in extempore, Or else be blotted from all memory, For any wager dare engaged be. Then think what cause I had to run from the● Except it were, because I would not hear, How thou absurdly didst abuse each ear. But thou dost task me with my sawcinese, That I myself a Poet dare profess: Wouldst thou have me rob Nature of her gifts Why that were base than thy basest shifts: Yet my esteem of course extempore, Is but as servile to sweet Poesy, Why wouldst thou trouble Homer from his rest, To view the slanders belched from thy base breast. Were Ovid living, he would discommend thee, Horace in steed of wine would water send thee: And famous Virgil, in his lofty stile, At this thy railing humour would but smile. Last, all that have deserved a Laurel wreath, Unto thy Muse a pair of skulls bequeath. Alas poor Spong, thou suckest up nought but spite And dost me open wrong thy faults to right: What Coxcomb fool would proffer such abuses As thou hast done to Poets and the Muses? But dear Taliae in her rhyming fit Sung, Thou wilt die a fool, for want of wit, Thou sayst thy judgement can compose a verse; What my opinion of thee I'll rehearse, Thou art no better than a Poet's Whelp, That fawning up and down seeks after help: I could be like thyself, unmannerly, But that I scorn thy stile should tutor me. No, burn thyself out, like a Candle-snuffe, 'Tis vain to make thee worse, thouart bad enough. Thou taxest me, that I abroad do vaunt, What Lords & Knights to me their favours grant; It also seems that thou from me wouldst know, What Countesses and Lady's countenance show. I'll tell thee plainly; such do entertain me, That for thy railing baseness will disdain thee, Had they thy hungry chaps once foddered, Thou wouldst not title them embroidered. But, Sirrah, though you meddle with your mate Thou shouldst learn manners to forbear the state And not to descant upon Court and King, 'twere fitter thou shouldst of a Sculler sing. Presumptuous fool, how dar'st thou be so bo●● To speak of Kings whom men with fear behold You say, you know his royal Majesty Will not allow his Court to harbour me: Nay more; your Scullership doth know right w●●● That I no longer in his house shall dwell. Is then his wisdom think'st thou such mean treasur● That watermen must know his royal pleasure Yet I confess so far his will they know When he directs them whether they shall go. It may be thou was't put in office lately, Which makes thee rogue me so, & rail so state But when thy head peeps through the pillory I doubt these terms thy ears must justify. For thy base words are of such hard digestion, They'll cause sorn stomach call thy name in quest●●● Thou hopest to see me whipped; stand fast blind Ho●●● For fear thou stumble into th'Porters Lodge: Rave, rail, do what thou canst, I'll never cea●● To serve my sovereign master King of peace. Watch till thy eyes fall out; Write; do thy worst; I have a Pen and Inkhorn is as cursed, To answer all thy Railing, Satyrizing, In three days, what thou three months' art devising: And when thy quarter-Cockatrice sees light, In troth it is not worthy of man's sight. But I am sorry that thy credit's tainted, To make thee and thy Chandler unacquainted: Will he not score no more for Eggs and Cheese, Because he saw thy Hope upon her knees? Rather than thou shouldst lay that fault on me, Come where I dwell, I'll pass my word for thee: For Reputation thou canst have no more, Then in a Baker's debt, or Ale-wifes' score: And if thou be denied both Bread and Drink, Thy Writing and thy Rowing's like to shrink. Leave these invectives, trust unto thy skull, For that's the way to fill thy belly full Of Meat and Drink; besides this Consolation, Thou labor'st truly in thine own Vocation. Why shouldst thou stagger after Poesy, That is attended on by Poverty? I wish thee as my friend; ne'er go about it; For, as I guess, thouart poor enough without it. I see thou art so bare and desperate, Thou wouldst turn Hangman to advance thy state; And hang up me; but (Sculler) I'll ore-match you, And stand to see a Hempen halter catch you: For the old proverb never failed yet, Who spreads nets for his friends, snares his own feet, But yet I wonder since thou hat'st my life, Thou shouldst profess such kindness to my wife, If thy hot love without deceit be fervent, My kitchen Maid shall take the for her servant, For all the love that from my wife proceeds, Is scorning of thy person and thy deeds: Thou call'st them wittols that lead quiet lives, But none but Rascals will abuse their wives. But now to the disasters of the day, How thou miscariedst with thy Hopeful play. Of thy mishaps no long discourse i'll tell, How thou amongst them mad'st a beastly smell. Thou dost commend the Players for their action, But they were all ashamed of thy distraction, For them, as much as thine, my praise allow, For none amongst them played the fool but thou: Thou wouldst same find a fault, yet know'st not where, When in thy bosom it appeareth clear. Thy chiefest railing and thy strongest evasion, Is against me, yet thou art the occasion. Another while thou blamst the Audience, When thou wast cause of their impatience; The better sort said I was wise enough, To keep me out of that black whirlwind puff, Which almost blue the hangings from the stage, Was ere such folly known in any age? Thou sayst, the Maundering Beggar credit got, For that, thou know'st I know a Poet wrote: For all the rest, that was devised by thee, Was nothing but a heap of Foppery. I heard, thou lettest the Wine run tumbling down Thy rotten windpipe, like a drunken Clown: But yet thy Lion drunk could not defend thee, For 'twas thy Ape drunk made some men commend thee: For that days censure thou canst not escape, Which says, That all thy actions played the Ape. But thy Tobacco was such stinking stuff, That all the people cried, Enough, enough. Thy third Act show'd the humours of men frantic, Wherein, most like an Ass, thou stoodst for Antic: I saw it not whether it were good or bad; But wise men judge thee either fool, or mad. Thy last Act shows thy skill upon the Seas To be so rare; it did them all displease: And in conclusion, such a Tempest rose, That blew thee off, and made thy friends thy foes. And wouldst thou load my back with all this blame? Nay; as thou got'st the coin, so take the shame: And let me tell thee this, to calm thy Rage. I challenged Kendal on the Fortune Stage; And he did promise 'fore an Audience For to oppose me; note the Accidence: I set up Bills, the People thronged apace, With full intention to disgrace, or grace; The House was full, the Trumpets twice had founded, And though he came not, I was not confounded, But stepped upon the Stage, and told them this; My Adverse would not come: not one did hiss; But flung me Themes: I then extempore Did blot his name from out their memory, And pleased them all, in spite of one to brave me, Witness the Ringing Plaudits that they gave me. Was not this just the case 'twixt me and thee? And yet thy eyes thine own faults cannot see. I'll touch thee nearer: Hadst thou been away, As I was, and myself supply'de the day, I would have roused my Muse incontinent, With Mirth's best acquaint devise, for their content; And in extempore I would have gained The favour of them all; which thee disdained. But thou art hatched from Saturn's frozen brain, Poor drowsy groom of sleepy Morpheus' train: If there be any spark of Muse in thee, It is the tayle-gut of Melpomenie, Which doth instruct thee in thy filthy terms; There's nothing else in thee my Pen affirms. Hadst thou done well, the credit had been thine; But doing ill, thou'dst have the shame be mine. The Money pleased thy humour passing well; But thy discredit made thy anger swell Above the verge of Patience; and thy Sail, Blown full of Envy, bursts itself to Rail, Not publicly, but in a private Hole Kindle thy Malice at the devils coal: But I with water of true Honesty Will quench thy raging heat of Villainy. How bravely thou canst brag it out, and swagger, And talk of stabs (God bless us) & thy dagger: I would not see thy spiteful spit-Frog drawn, 'Twill serve thee better for an Alehouse pawn. Thou scorn'st to foul thy fingers upon men, Because thou know'st they will shake hands again: But thou art excellent at these windy puffs, And darest encounter boys at fisticuffes; But Sirrah, look to your green Waistcoat well, For fear the boys do tear it off peccemell. All the kind favour that I will implore, Is, That thou wouldst not threaten me no more: And yet, now I remember, 'tis no wrong; For threatened folk (the Proverb says) live long: But with thy Pen write, & revenge thy spleen, I'll have an Answer that shall cut as keen. But now base Slanderer, I must term thee so; Why meddlest thou with them thou dost not know: This long I have but spent my Ink in jest, But now I'll dart my anger at thy breast: I would I had the humour of some Scold, That I, like thee, my venom might unfold. Thou never knewst my birth, nor my begetting, So well as I thy Rascal Play, and Cheating: But whatsoe'er my birth or breeding be, Spider, I live to toss and torture thee, Use thee like Stockfish, gill thee like a Sprat, Duck thee i'the Towne-ditch, like a Water-Rat, Make jigs and Ballads of thy apish Toys, For to be sung by threadbare Fiddlers Boys: Yet to do this, I shall but prove a Baby; Thou hast disgraced thyself as much as may be. Thou Barrabas of all humanity, Base slanderer of Christianity, Know that I am a Christian, and am borne Better than thy best Kindred, I'll be sworn: How thy own tongue thy breeding doth display, By peddlers French, and Canting, Curds & Whey; And I'll approve it to thy foul disgrace, Thou art sprung from baseness; I, from Gentry's Race: Which to make good, my Parents yet do live, And each day at their Table food do give To better men than thou; misshaped slave: Thus bear thy slanders with thee to thy grave. If I at Gravesend rim'de for fourteen pence, For 12. pence thou hast row'de that voyage since: Allow it were no more; I bored away With better credit than thou didst thy Play. Thy envy is not worth the speaking of; The more thou rail'st at me, the more I laugh: I scorn to beg (as thou dost) Poet's phrases To raise my name; let Merit sing my praises: For were they meaner than thy own desert, They were the worse where thou shouldst sing a part: Thou dost but think there's nothing good in me; But I am sure there is much less in thee. That hate thou bearest me, prithee bear me still, My good with envy all thy veins shall fill, Until they swell and burst thy angry gall: Then if I live, I will lament thy fall; And on thy grave this Epitaph bestow, For to be read for either friend or foe. Epitaph. HEre lies a Carcase in this Grave, Who while he lived, would rail and rave; Borrow his wit from others worth, And in his own name set it forth: He row'de from Tiber to the Thames, And there his tongue himself proclaims The lustre of all Watermen, To row with skull, or write with Pen. O, had he still kept on the Water, And never come upon Theatre, He might have lived full merrily, And not have died so lousily. O, 'twas that foolish scurvy Play At Hope that took his sense away: Yet he to blot out all his shame, Imputes the fault on Fennor's name; And rayl'de at him like a mad body; Lived a bare Fool, died a base Noddy. But if you'll know what was his name, I willingly will show the same: No Land-Poet, nor Sea-Saylor, But a poor Sculler, called john Taylor: And had not Hate this Wonder slain, He would have lived a Knave in grain. Thus jack thou seest what friendship I would do, Garnish thy Grave out with a verse or two: But yet thou art alive, and I surmise Thou wilt not die till crows peck out thy eyes. I'd wish thee sail unto some foreign Places, Where they have never heard of thy Disgraces: The Baramoodes Tongue thou dost profess; The name of Poet there thou mayst possess: There spread thy Pamphlets, make them understand Thou art the chiefest Poet in that Land. Thou sayst my Pate a mint of Lies can forge; Indeed t'has wit enough thy lies to scourge: For I was neither rid South, North, nor East, But into Warwikeshire, direct Northwest: Nor did I thither ride, to shun thy Play, But 'twas my Father's will called me away; And for th'obedience that he in me found, He gave me his blessing, with a hundred pound. Then Sculler know, that was no Tinker's gift, Nor had I need for thy poor Crown to shift: But he that told thee I was gone int' Kent, Spoke half as true as thou dost, lies invent. But see how Envy in thy heart doth troth, Thou grievest that I a poor man's Pardon got; Is thy eye evil then, 'cause mine is good? Or wouldst thou stop my Fountain with thy mud? No; spite of thee, thou Cannibal to man, I will not cease to do what good I can: Nor do I look for Silver for my meed, When poor men want, if I can help their need: For though thou rail'st on me at the Bear garden, Rather than see thee hanged, I'd beg thy Pardon; Although it cost me more the suing forth In ready money than thy Boat is worth: So much I tender Man, though bred by Nature, As being Image of his high Creator: But thou that of man's Life art no esteemer, What mercy canst thou hope from thy Redeemer. Say I had wronged thee, thou good-names betrayer, Thou call'st for Vengeance in thy saviour's prayer: I will not say so, but it doth appear, Thou scarce dost say thy prayers once a year: Thou must forgive, if thou wouldst be forgiven; For if thou fearest not Hell, near hope for Heaven. Thou dost accuse the King as well for Grants As men for Suits: But leave these bitter taunts, And learn in time, black tail of insolence, To arm thy heart with Christian patience. Thus have I answered all thy false Alarms: Now it remains for me to blaze thy Arms; For thou hast falsely set up mine in blue; Wherefore I mean to have a bout with you. Thy Heraldry shall not outstrip my brain, But I'll devise as good for thee again: And first; because all skulls thou dost excel, A silver oar will for thy Crest do well, A pair of Arms bound in a sable Scarf, In a sad field, as large as Wapping Wharf, Out of the water shall appear one dead, A Halter and a cross-bar o'er his head; And on his Shield this Motto shall be found, Taylor the Sculler was both hanged and drowned. In all this blazing thee, no hurt I mean, But hang thee till the Tide have washed thee clean: And when the billows o'er thy head are flowing, And AEolus against Neptune's brow is blowing, And Oars & Skulls above thy cross-bar sailing, There is great hope thou wilt forget thy railing. Thus have I answered thee in three days space, And yet my Pen ran but an ampling pace: Thus much I mildly write, in hope 'twil mend thee; If not, the Thames or Wapping shore will end thee. And last, to show what course I would direct thee, Use honesty, from Tyburn to protect thee. Thine more than thou desirest, Will: Fennor, his majesties Rhyming Poet. To my kind Friends in general. NOw you have read, and understand my mind, I hope your wont favours I shall find, In spite of railing baseness, whose lewd tongues Are Satan's Instruments for slanderous wrongs. Sure I have satisfied your expectation, And used the Sculler in his own vocation: But if you think my Answer over-milde. Know this; I would not have my tongue defiled With such uncivil terms, much less my Pen, Which now gives satisfaction to all men Of Truth; I will avouch, in spite of ill, My Answer was set up in tailors Bill Falsely, without my Knowledge or consent: Then was not that a cause sufficient, To give my purpose sudden alteration, When I was played the Knave with in that fashion. But though we could not then meet face to face, I hope my Pen hath followed him apace: If I be not deceived, it hath outstripped him, And spite of all his rods in piss, 'tath whipped him, And made his howling hollow voice to roar; Yet for your loves, I'll give him one lash more. FENNOR'S final Fare-ill to TAYLOR, With his blue Bitch and Cod's belly. BLadder of Envy, one word more with you; I must hunt out your Bitch, of Azure hue: You that at Rotterdam have Spies to hover, And in Cod's bellies transport Slanders over, And without Licence belcheth them abroad, 'T were fit she should be searched to see her Loan: For in her Head, her Belly, and her crooks, I doubt there will be found some dangerous Books: For he that undertook this Work for thee, Perhaps prints Romish Doctrine for a fee; Or Matters prejudicial to the State; Or things Schismatical, to breed debate. If it be found so; spite of your Revenge, You and your Bitch may in a Halter swinge, And your Cod's belly starve for want of water: To you all three I do commend this Satire, And to my Country all my love and skill, To root out all such instruments of ill. FINIS.