The Black Dog of Newgate: both pithy and profitable for all Readers.  
Vide, Lege, Cave.  
Time shall try the truth.   

To the honourable Sir john Popham Knight, Lord chief justice of England: all increase of honour and happiness.  
TWo reasons, my Honourable good Lord, me especially moved, to dedicate this Book to your honour. The first; for, I held it my duty, to certify you of the notable abuses daily committed by a great number of very bad fellows, who under the colour of Office and service, do mightily abuse both justice and justices: which in this Book is largely discovered. The next; for, your Honour being thereof certified, such bad fellows shallbe the sooner looked into, and their outrages qualified: so that the sooner by you, the like mischiefs may be prevented. What I have done, is in love and Zeal: Both which, I doubt not, but they will excuse my boldness: And so the work be acceptable in your good opinion, I will not regard the malice of the threatening Coney-catcher; who hath sworn, if I publish this Book, they will do me what mischief they can. But how little I regard their windy words, they may well perceive by my proceed: if this work had been worth a Talon, it should have been your ●●nors: and being a poor man's mite, I desire it may be acceptable: and if hereafter I shall be better able, your honour shall not fail, but find me ready to do your honour service, even to the uttermost of my power. Thus assuring myself safe shielded with your favour, to whom I present this Book, desiring you to take the full view of this Black Dog of Newgate, I humbly, and in all duty, cease to be tedious: praying to the Almighty, to lengthen long your days, with increase of all virtue and honour, and after this life, to send you to everlasting happiness, and joys endless. Amen.  
To do your Honour service whilst he liveth, LUKE HUTTON.   

To the Reader.  
GEntle Readers, for my Repentance was so welcome, and so much the better because it was mine: in some part to satisfy your courtesies, I thought it my part to present you with thanks, and more, with my second labour: which albeit, it be both my especial cost and travel, yet it is yours: and so I may say, for you are willing to pay the prize of the Black Dog of Newgate. Marvel not Gentlemen, that you pay so dear for a Dog, indeed a Cur: I wish you all well, and though three halfpences be a Dog's price, yet if you according to my Poesy, accept my Pen and Paper, it will countervail the charge of six pence. You have known me better if you ever knew me, and never worse if you now know me: But for I have read some books of Philosophy, I thought it best to be myself, not as I was, for I hope you are otherwise persuaded, but as I am, and so to live or die. But for it is no better than the Black Dog of Newgate: I desire you not to think your time ill bestowed in the reading, nor the prize great which you gave for it. When you have perused it, if you like it not, say the Dog came from Newgate, hang him up, and rend the Paper in pieces, and I will be your debtor a work of better acceptance, yet let me give you to understand by the way, that this Dog, and many Dogs of his kind, have I known a great while, and if I had not had great occasion, I would never have bestowed so much time 〈…〉: Nay more, that you shall not think this Dog nor any of his kind to be as they have been, the murderers and utter undoing at the least of an infinite number, to be shadowed by the name of Servant at Newgate, at this time I thought good faithfully to give you to understand, that he who was ever able to keep a good Dog, and now to make choice of his servants in Newgate, did in my sight, thrust this Dog by the head and shoulders out of Newgate, making choice of men instead of Dogs: and more I dare say, never shall a Cur in shape of man commit the like abuses, during his time in Newgate. No more for the Dog of Newgate, but for this Dog of mine, wish me still well, I will never do you ill, so to your content as I wish, I leave you and me to my better content when God will.  
For ever far you well, Luke Hutton.   

The black Dog of Newgate: both pithy, pleasant, and profitable, for all readers.  

WHen as black Titan with his dusky rob,  
had Tellus clouded with his curtains' night,  
Fair Phoebus peering underneath earths globe  
with winged steeds hence takes his course a right:  
Titan he leaves to bear imperial sway,  
commanding night, as Phoebus did the day.   

The fiery Chariot posteth under ground.  
With Titan's mantle all the earth is spread,  
And wreaths of Icat about his temples bound:  
earths Tell coal black, sweet Morpheus calls to bed.  
No time to walk, to sport, to game, to see,  
I did obey, that must commanded be.   

Laid in my bed, I 'gan for to recount,  
A thousand things, which had been in my time:  
My birth, my youth, my woes, which all surmount,  
My life, my loss, my liberty my crime:  
Then where I was, unto my mind recalling,  
Me thought Earth gaped, and I to Hell was falling.   

Amidst these fears that all my senses cumber,  
Care closed mine eyes, and sorrow wrong my heart:  
Oppressed with grief, mine eyelids 'gan to slumber,  
But borne to woes, must of more woes have part:  
A thousand furies to my heart appearing,  
〈…〉 torments my soul with fearing.   

Thus lay I long, beholding Hell and Devils,  
Aghast with mazes, almost dead in fears,  
Not knowing how to rid me from the evils:  
They show in action, and in looks appears,  
One antic monster, hideous, foul and grim,  
Me most appayld, and most I looked at him.   

Thought I at last, I will cry out for aid,  
Bowning to cry near dead, affright with fear,  
I heard a voice, which like an Angel, said:  
Hutton be bold, for thou shalt see and hear  
Men Devils, devils men, one both, both all deluding:  
Worlds evils, wrack then, sheeps cloth, Wolves pray concluding.   

Hearing a voice, my heart was much revived,  
Noting the words, I did some courage take:  
But sudden joys hath sudden woes achieved,  
A sudden noise this hellish crew did make,  
Threatening by shows as though they would devower  
my life and soul, subdued by terrors power.   

Thought checked my mind, fears senses all amazing,  
Hell broken lose, eyes visions furies affrighting,  
Subdeud earth's powers, uprears hearts insight a gazing,  
Terror of mind with hope, cries fears faint arighting:  
Help me orequelled: waking with dread, I espied  
Graced gracious Mynerua, who thus to my outcry replied▪   

Fear not at all, nor faint thou with beholding:  
But light thy Lamp, and take thy Pen in hand.  
Writ what thou sees, thy visions all unfolding,  
I will direct, and let thee understand,  
What all these hellhounds shadow by appearing.  
View thou their worst, and then write of their fearing.   

Subdeud by worths, which did all words exceed.  
Ravished with joys, such feature to behold,  
abjecting fear, my glutted eyes I feed,  
Upon her brightness which all harms controlled:  
Glimpse of her brightness senses all endearing,  
Legions of Devils could no more fright with fearing.   

I preasd myself to take the hardest steel,  
And from the flint I bet forth sparks of fire:  
Kindling the lint, my ready match I feel,  
Yielding my Lamp the light of my desire:  
Soon spied Mynerua, with Laurel crowned and Bays,  
Mirror divine feature of worthless praise.   

Before her feet submissively I fell,  
Pardon I craved, fearing I was too bold:  
Rise up quoth she, and view these hags of hell,  
For divers secrets must thy pen unfold.  
Make true record, what shallbe showed to thee,  
For these are they, which Worlds deceivers be.   

I'll cleanse thine eyes, least vapours do offend,  
I'll clear thy Wits, and give a pleasing muse:  
The deafest care shall to thy talk attend,  
The work so worthy, thou may not refuse:  
Newgates black Dog with pen and ink depaint,  
Curs, of this kind shall thereby have restraint.   

Not for my sake do thou what I require,  
But for his sake: and with that word me shoes  
A fair old Man, whose tears foretold desire,  
And in a mantle mourner like he goes.  
His veins like Azure, his hear as white as Wool,  
Tresses before, behind a bare smooth skull.   

And this is Time, Minerva thus replied,  
Which mourns to see these hellhounds times abusing,  
How thousands in their ravening jaws have died:  
Slaughtering Lambs, yet to the world excusing,  
Offence with colour, shadowing mighty evils,  
By name of service, and yet incarnate Devils.   

No more quoth she, but take thee to thy Pen.  
Resolve the Wile, that they have been deceived:  
Many Black Dogs have walked in shapes of men,  
And with deceits hath Common wealth aggrieved:  
His form and lynaments to the world disclose,  
That this Black Dog be known where ere he goes.   

My Muse 'gan blush, dreading to undertake  
so great a task: but Time again replied.  
Fear not at all, Time doth the motion make,  
Unmask this Beast, let him no longer hide  
Himself in shrouds, who makes of sin a scoff,  
worlds greatest admire, when as his vizards off.   

Time then said I, fair time I will not use  
Longer delay, but satisfy thy will:  
So Time will answer for my harmless muse,  
Who wanteth worth to nigh Parnassus' hill.  
Be brief, quoth Time: with that I took my Pen,  
Obeying Time, without offence to men.   

Then did I fix mine eye upon this Beast,  
Who did appear first in the shape of Man,  
Homely attired, of wonders not the least:  
A Broom-man's song to sing this Dog began,  
From street to street trubgeth along this Groom,  
As if he would fern all the world with Broome.   

But in a trice he did transform his shape,  
Which struck a treble horror to my heart.  
A Cerberus, nay worse, he thrice as wide did gape,  
His hears all Snakes curling, they will not part.  
Cole black his hue, like Torches glow his eyes,  
His breath doth poison, smoke from his nostrils flies.   

His countenance ghastly, fearful, grim, and pail,  
His foamy mouth still gapeth for his prey:  
With tigers teeth he spares none to assail,  
His lips Hell gates, orepaynted with decay.  
His tongue the clapper, sounding woeful knell,  
Tolling poor men to ring a peal in hell.   

Like Sepulchre his throat is hollow made,  
Devouring all whom danger makes a prey.  
Brybrie his hand, spoil of the poor, his trade.  
His fingers Talentes, seizing to betray.  
And with his arms he foldeth men in woes,  
Destruction still the path where ere he goes.   

Me thought his breast was all of burning Brass,  
Through which there grew a heart of hardest Steel:  
His belly huge, like scalding furnace was,  
His thighs both like unto a fiery wheel,  
His legs were long, one foot like to a Hind,  
The other foot a Hounds of bloody kind.   

And in this shape I saw this monster walk,  
About the streets, most fearful to behold:  
But more to tell, since I begin to talk,  
Hear is the ease, which Time would fain have told.  
Upon a sudden rush this Cur on me,  
As though my life his evening pray should be.   

Within his clutches did he cease me fast,  
And bore me strait unto black Pluto's cell:  
When there I came, he me in Limbo cast,  
A Stigion lake, the dungeon of deep hell:  
But first my legs he locked in Iron boult,  
As if poor I had been some wanton Coult.   

And then he 'gan with basest terms to braid,  
And then he threats as though he would me kill:  
And then he dances for he me betrayed,  
And then speaks fair, as though he meant no ill:  
Then like Madusa doth he shake his locks,  
And then he threatens me with Iron stocks.   

At last he left me in that irksome den,  
Where was no day for there was ever night:  
Woes me thought I, the abject of all men,  
Clouded in care, quite banished from light:  
Robbed of the Sky, the Scartes, the day, the Sun,  
This Dog, this Devil, hath all my joys undun.   

Suppressed with anguish sorrow grief and woe,  
Me thought I heard a noise of Iron chains:  
Which din did torment and affright me so,  
That all my senses studied what it means:  
But by and by, which did me comfort more,  
There came a man which opened Limbo's door.   

All lean he was, and feeble too God knows,  
Upon his arm he bore a bunsh of keys:  
With candlelight about the cell he goes,  
Who roughly said, sir lie you at your ease?  
Swearing an oath that I did lie too soft,  
Who lay on ground, and thus he at me scoffed.   

To see a man of feature, form and shape,  
It did me good, and partly fears exiled:  
But when I heard him gibe me like an Ape,  
Then did I think that I was thrice beguiled.  
Yet would I venture to this man to speak,  
Into discourses thus I 'gan to break.   

Ay me poor wretch, that knows not where I am,  
Nor for what cause I am brought to this place:  
Bound for the slaughter, lying like the Lamb,  
The butcher's means to kill within a space.  
My grieves are more than can my tongue express,  
Ay me, woes me, that can find no redress.   

Yet if thou be as thou dost seem a man,  
And so thou art, if I do not mistake:  
Do not increase if so release thou can,  
The cruel tortures which me woeful make.  
And tell me first who thou thyself mayst be,  
That art a man, and yet dost gibe at me.   

Seeing the fears which did my heart possess,  
Uiewing the tears that trickled from mine eyes:  
He answered thus, a man I must confess,  
I am myself that hear condemned lies.  
And by the law adjudged I am to die,  
But now the keeper of these keys am I.   

This house is Newgate, gently he replied,  
And this place Limbo wherein now thou art:  
Until thou pay a fine, hear must thou bide,  
With all these bolts which do agreeve thy heart.  
No other place may there provided be,  
Till thou content the keeper with a fee.   

With that he turned as though he would away.  
Sweet, bide awhile, I did him so entreat.  
Quoth he, My friend, I can not longer stay,  
Yet what you want, if you will drink or eat,  
Or have a fire, or Candle by you burn,  
Say what you need, and I will serve your turn.   

Quoth I, dear friend then help me to a Fire,  
Let me have Candle for to give me light:  
Nor meat nor drink do I wish or desire,  
But only grant me gracious in thy sight.  
And say, What monster was it placed me here?  
Who hath me almost lyveles made with fear.   

Nay peace quoth he, for there gins a tale.  
Rest now content, and Time will tell thee more,  
To strive in Fetters it will small avail:  
Seek first to ease thy legs which will grow sore,  
When bolts are off, we will that matter handle.  
So he departed, leaving me a Candle.   

Away he went, and leaves me to my woes.  
And being gone, I could not choose but think  
That he was kind, though first unkind in shows,  
Who offered me both fire, bread, and drink.  
Leaving a Candle by me for to burn,  
It eased my grief, and made me less to mourn.   

joying to see, who whilom had no sight,  
I reached the Candle, which by burning stands,  
but I unworthy comfort of the light,  
A Rat doth rob the Candle from my hands,  
And then a hundred Rats all sally forth,  
As if they would convey their prize of worth.   

In vain I strive to reobteyne what's lost,  
My woes are now, as woes at first began:  
With change of grieves my perplexed soul is tossed,  
To see the end I did bethink me then.  
How time had promised secrets to disclose,  
So I expect the worst of hellish foes.   

Whilst thus I lay in Irons under ground,  
I heard a man that begged for relief:  
And in a chain of Iron was he bound,  
Whose clattering noise filled full my heart with grief,  
Begging one penny to buy a hundred bread,  
Hungerd and starved, for want of food nigh dead.   

Woes me thought I, for thee so bound in chains,  
Woes me for them, thou begs for to sustain:  
Woes me for all, whose want all woes contains,  
Woes me, for me, that in your woes complain.  
Woes me, woes you, and woe is to us all,  
Woe to that Dog, made me to woe a thrall.   

Whilst thus I languish, I on sudden hear,  
An uncouth noise which did approach my den:  
Listening, unto the door, I laid mine ear,  
And then I knew the voices were of men.  
Still in nearness drew they more and more,  
At last I heard them opening Lymboes' door.   

In first there came, the man that gave me light,  
And next the Dog, who brought me to that place:  
Another, with a Club appeared in sight,  
Three weaponless, as though they monde my case.  
Fainting for fear, I knew not what to say,  
Expecting then performance of decay.   

But now this Dog is in another shape,  
In every point proportioned as a man:  
My heart did throb, not knowing how to scape,  
but to entreat this Cur, I thus began.  
Fair friend, quoth I, if so thy will may be,  
To ease my grief I'll give thee any fee.   

With that he grind, and thus he made reply,  
Thou art a villain, worthy of this place:  
Thy fault is such, that thou shalt surely die,  
I will not pity thee in any case.  
Such as thou art, too many every where,  
But I will seek in time to have them hear.   

When he named Time, than I on Time did think,  
But more he says, if thou have any coin:  
To pay for ease, I will a little wink,  
And bolts releasement, with discharge I'll join.  
Of this close prison to some other ward,  
Paying thy fine, or else all ease is bard.   

Like as the child doth kiss the rod for fear,  
Nor yet dare whimper, though it have been bet:  
So with smooth looks, this Dog approach I near,  
Before the Devil, a candle do I set.  
Treating him fair, with fairest words may be,  
Bidding him ask, he shall have gold of me.   

Why then, quoth he, thy speeches please me well,  
Partners (quoth he) strike of his Irons all:  
Then up we went, as one should climb from hell,  
Until I came into a loathsome hall.  
When there I came, they set me on a block,  
With punch and hammer, my Irons off they knock.   

No marvel though, whilst they my legs untied,  
Mine eyes did surfeit, drunk with woes beholding:  
Bolts, shackles, colours, and Iron shears I spied,  
Thumbstals, wastbands, tortures grief unfolding.  
But whilst the ease of legs my sorrows calms,  
Room quoth a wretch, for me with widows alms.   

Take of these curtals did another cry,  
And on his knees he fell before this Cur:  
Who to his sorrowing made a Dog's reply,  
Down to thy ward, and do not make this stur.  
What now I know, if I had known before,  
In stead of these light chains thou shouldst had more.   

With that the poor man was thrust out of sight,  
And I all fearing, feared with fear of fears:  
My Irons off I went, as go I might,  
Unto this Dog, in whom all devils appears.  
With golden Angel, I this Cur presented,  
Saith he, one more, else am not I contented.   

Wonder it was, to see a fiend of hell,  
To thirst for angels of the fairest hue:  
But devils are devils, and they would all orquell,  
Man's life and soul, this Dog seeks to subdue.  
His mouth to stop, angels I gave him two,  
Yielding perforce, as I perforce must do.   

And then he left me in the partner's hall,  
The grate doth open, and this Dog out goes:  
Thousand sorrows holds my heart in thrall,  
Yet there I am not by myself in woes.  
Hereon oreplunged with deep heart's grief cries,  
I live a life, thrice worse than he that dies.   

another sorry soul, without a rag,  
Hurckling for cold, in whom all want appears:  
At last 'gan speak, as if he meant to brag,  
And thus he says: Hear have I been nine years.  
Tell you of woes, when you my woes have seen,  
And yet have many men more woeful been.   

With that I rose, and to this poor man went,  
In hope to learn some novils by his talk:  
Approaching him, amidst his discontent,  
He asked me, if so I pleased to walk?  
And if you will, then follow up these stairs,  
To walk, and talk, deceiveth time of cares.   

I followed him, as he that in a wood,  
Hath lost himself, and knows no way he takes:  
And in distress I thought conferring good,  
New woes with old, just mixture consort makes.  
And though the place do nought but discord sound,  
My soul for his our discords concord found.   

At first he gently took me by the hand,  
And bids we welcome, as I were his guest:  
You are a prisoner, I do understand,  
And hither welcome are both bad and best.  
Men of all sorts come for offending hither,  
And being hear, hear bide they altogether.   

And then he did begin thus to discourse,  
Cease to lament with vain despairing tears:  
Thyself dissolved to droops, gains no remorse,  
heareth none regards, though all thy mournings hears.  
If under earth, the Devils can prove a bell,  
Theirs is not like to this, where wretches dwell.   

See in you Hall are divers sorts of men,  
Some weep, some wail, some mourn, some wring their hands,  
Some curse, some swear, and some blaspheming then,  
My heart did faint, my head hair upright stands.  
O Lord thought I, this house will rend in sunder,  
Or else there can be no hell, this hell under.   

Thus wondering I, on sudden did espy,  
One all in black came stamping up the stairs:  
Whose you I asked, and thus he made reply,  
You is the man doth mitigate our cares.  
He preacheth Christ, and doth God's word deliver,  
To all distressed, to comfort men for ever.   

Then drew I near to see what might betide,  
Or what the sequel was of that I saw:  
Expecting good would follow such a guide,  
As preached Christ, and taught a God to know.  
A hundred clustered, ●ying the pulpit near,  
As if they longed the Gospel for to hear.   

What's this, quoth I, that now I do behold,  
The hage of hell, and Satan's impious limbs,  
Some deeper secret doth this sight unfold,  
Then I can guess, this sight my senses dims.  
Strait, of my friend I asked by and by,  
What it might be, who made me this reply.   

You men which thou beholds so pale and wan,  
Who while looks up, whiles looking down beneath▪  
Are all condemned, and they must die each man,  
judgement is given, that cord shall stop their breath.  
For hayneus' facts, as murder, theft, and treason,  
Unworthy life, to die law thought it reason.   

The Sermon ended, the men condemned to die,  
Taking their leaves of their acquainted friends:  
With sorry looks paysing their steps they ply,  
Down to a hall, where for them there attends.  
A man of office, who to daunt lives hopes,  
Doth cord their hands, and scarf their necks with ropes.   

Thus ropt and corded, they descend the stairs,  
Newgates Black Dog, beesturs to play his part:  
And doth not cease for to augment their cares,  
Willing the Carman to set near his Cart.  
Which done, these men, with fear of death orepangd,  
Bound to the Cart, are carried to be hanged.   

This rueful sight, yet end to their doomed sorrows,  
Makes me aghast, and forces me bethink:  
Woe upon woe, and so from woefull'st borrows,  
A swam of grief, and then I sounding sink.  
But by times aid, I did revive again,  
Might I have died, it had been lesser pain.   

For now again the Dog a fresh assaults me,  
As if my spoil were next to be enacted:  
And like a subtle Cur in speeches halts he,  
With thousand sleighty wiles, old shifts compacted.  
Charging me oft with that I never did,  
In his smoothst looks, are cruel bitings hid.   

I spoke him fair, as if I had offended,  
He treats me foul, who never did him ill:  
He plays the gripe one Tytious intended,  
To tire his heart, yet never hath his fill.  
Even so this Dog doth tire and prey on me,  
Till quite consumed, my golden angels be.   

Then woeful want did make me oft complain,  
Hunger and cold do pinch me at the heart:  
Then am I thrust out of my bed again,  
And from my chamber must I needs departed.  
To lowest wards, to lie upon the boards,  
Which nought but filth and noisome smells affords.   

Midst forty men, surprised with care and grief,  
I lie me down on boards as hard as chenell:  
No bed, nor bolster, may afford relief,  
For worse than Dogs, lie we in that foul kennel.  
What might I think, but sur● assure me then,  
That metamorphosed we were beasts not men.   

Grief upon grief, did still oppress my mind,  
Yet had I store compartners in my woe:  
No ease, but anguish, my distresses find,  
Here lies a man, his last lives breath doth blow.  
And ere the sorry man be fully dead,  
The Rats do prey upon his face and head.   

Whilst thus I languish in my woes, appears  
Time in his mantle, looking fresh and blithe:  
Yet whiles his eyes did shed some drops of tears,  
Wherewith he seemed, as he would wet his scythe.  
Quoth Time, by me shall sorrows be appeased,  
And nows the time thou shalt of cares be eased.   

I did present this Book which I had writ,  
Into times hands, who took it and perused it:  
Yea, but saith Time, thou must discover yet,  
Who this Dog is, who else will be excused.  
For albe I so cleared thine eyes to see him,  
So may not others, yet Time would have all fly him.   

And for thy verses covertly disclose,  
The secrets sense, and yet doth shadow truth▪  
Explain this Black Dog, who he is, in prose,  
For more apparent, than thy Poem showeth.  
Truth needs no colours, than this Dog by kind,  
Make known before, as he is known behind.   

My Sith, quoth Time, is now prepared to cut,  
There is no scythe, but times shall longer dure:  
Newgates Black Dog, must Time to silence put,  
I'll break his teeth, and make his biting sure.  
The shapes of men, on Dogs of cruel kind,  
Time shall confound, that bear so bad a mind.   

Have thou no doubt, but Time shall set thee free,  
And yet hereafter learn thou to beware:  
Of this Black Dog, and do his dangers flee,  
Give others warning, least like fall their share.  
Say to the world, when thou art freed from hell,  
Newgates Black Dog thou saw, and knew too well.   

And for thy Poem draws to a conclusion,  
times pleasure is, that thou this Dog express:  
In shape, in nature, man: yet mens confusion,  
A madding Cur, who doth from kind regress.  
A Mother's son, and most for to be wondered,  
Of Mother's sons, this Dog hath spoiled a hundred.   

In lowly sort, complain to highest powers,  
Truth will be heard, and truth must not be hid:  
With Foxelike wiles, this Dog poor souls devowers,  
This Dog of men, desipher I thee bid.  
And though there be curs many of his kind,  
Say but the truth, and yet leave nought behind.   

When Time had said, I from my fears awake,  
Yet had I writ what premises contains:  
'Twas no illusion moved me this Poem make,  
But grieves endured, and woes my heart sustains.  
Grief, care, and woe, my silly heart do clog,  
Fettered to shame by this cur Newgates Dog.   

Now as I have discribd him in some sort,  
As he is fearful unto all him see:  
His devilish practices now I will report,  
And set them down as wicked as they be.  
Here ends my Poem, Newgates black Dog to name,  
Now read the rest, and then commend or blame.   
FINIS.   

A Dialogue betwixt the Author and one Zawny, who was a Prisoner in Newgate, and perfectly acquainted with matters touching the discovery of the superlative degree of Cnunicatching: pithy, pleasant, and profitable for all the readers hereof.  
ZAwny, 
Aut 〈…〉  I have many times been in hand with thee to give me some notes upon thy knowledge, as concerning the notable abuses committed by a sort of dissolute fellows, who are in very deed the worst members in a commonwealth; I mean infamous coney-catching knaves, who continually seek the spoil of others to enrich themselves, and now is the time thy help will do me some pleasure: for at the request of a very friend, I was moved to write something of worth, whereupon I made choice of the black Dog of Newgate to be a subject to write upon, wherein I could not choose, divers strong reasons especially moving thereunto, but in that title shadow the knavery, villainy, robbery, and Coney-catching, committed daily by divers, who in the name of service and office, were as it were attendants at Newgate. Again I did choose to give my book that title, aswell to satisfy some who yet think there is some spirit about that prison in the likeness of a black Dog: of which fond imagination to put them out of doubt, I thought good to give them to understand, that indeed there is no such matter. The third reason was, for I being in Newgate a prisoner, and overthrown by these kind of bad people with their cunnycatching, in most vile and wicked manner, in so much that whilst I there languished in great extremity, I did both hear and see many outrageous injuries by them committed on diverse sorts of people: the premises considered, I do entreat thee to let me have thy help to set down some of their villainies committed in thy knowledge, and I will not be slack to present this book, being finished, into their godly hands: who will assuredly give them condign punishment, as also provide, that the like mischiefs shall never be any more put in practice by any notable villains.  
Indeed you say well, and I agree: but yet you know I am a poor man, and am a Pisoner. Again, it is ill meddling with edge tools. As you comprehend them in the name of a Dog: so if they be angry, they will bite, and play the devil in their likeness. They have perilous heads, store of money, and some good friends: all which I want. Neither will I name any: but if their knaveries were known, it would be thought the Gallows as fit for these Cunnycatchers, as Newgate is for me, who am rather kept in to bribe them, then to answer any offence I have committed: yet seeing you have begun well, I would wish you end no worse: and for my part, tell you one of their knaveries, and I'll tell another: so that ere we have done, if we tell all, the Coney-catcher will think we have told too much. But by your leave a word, I will name no man, for if they should be named, their friends would be angry: and more than that, I rather wish their amendment, than their public infamy: of which motion if you like, begin when you will, and when you are weary rest you, and I will go on with it: for our matter being all one, no doubt our conclusion will be to the like effect.  
Godly, wise, honourable, worshipful, & gentle Reader, know first there be an infinite number of this sect and company of coney catchers, therefore it were an endless piece of work to name them all: but for I know too many of them, and have likewise ●aide for my acquaintance with them, it may be expected I should name some of them, which for the inconvenience might thereby ensue, I thought good to crave 〈…〉 that behalf, assuring you, that they are easy enough to be known by their colours: but what wicked parts they have performed, I will not fail but make manifest. Therefore, first I desire you to imagine, that these fellows, these Coney catchers I would say, do promise to the world great matters: as for example. They will undertake if a man be robbed by the way, they will help the party offended to his money again, or to the thieves at the least. Likewise, if a Purse be cut, a House broken, a piece of Plate stole, they will promise the like: marry, to further this good piece of service, they must have a Warrant procured from some justice at the least, that by the said general Warrant, they may take up all suspected persons: which being obtained, then mark how notably therewith they play the knaves, how shamefully they abuse the justices who granted the Warrant, & how notoriously they abuse a great sort of poor men, who neither the Warrant mentioneth, nor the party aggrieved in any wise thought to molest or trouble: and for they shadow all their villainies under colour of some especial warrant, let it suffice thee to read the sequel, & then judge of their abuses, as they deserve.  
Now first will I begin with their petty practices in their lewd actions. Say there is a man or two robbed by the high way not far from London: the rumour hereof being bruited in the City, these fellows will be sure to have intelligence with the first, in what manner the men were rob, how much money they lost, & where they dwell: the reason is this, The Cunny-catchers have always abroad some odd fellows which are inquisitors of purpose, who always what they hear rumoured, they presently come and certify their good masters Cunny-catchers, of all whatsoever, how, where, and when this robbery ●as committed: presently away goes F. H. or N. S. or some of that sect, and inquires out the party that was robbed: with whom, if H. or S. hap to meet▪ withal, some occasion shall presently be found to intrude themselves into the company of them be rob: and after some circumstances, the Coney catcher gins to tell of a strange robbery committed in such a place, saying it was shamefully done: and withal, they will cast some words a far off, as who should say in effect: if I be not deceived I know the thieves, and it may be, that if I might speak with him or them that were robbed, happily I should direct them how they might take the villains.  
All this while the Cunnicatcher taketh no notice of them that were rob, neither doth the Cunnicatcher make any show, that they knew any such matter to be done to any in the company.  
Now the poor men that were rob, hearing their smooth speeches, one of them gins very heavily to shape his tale in this, or such like manner. My honest friend, I know too well that such a robbery was done, and in very deed I was the man was rob in such a place, and at such a time as you speak off. I beseech you good friend, stand me in what stead you may: and if you can help me again to my money, or to take the thieves, I will not only think myself greatly beholding to you, but I will also please you to your content. I am a poor man, I pray you do me what pleasure you may, good sir, I beseech you. These and such like speeches he useth.  
The Cunnicatcher presently joineth ishues with him, and with much cunning he tempereth his talk. To be short, he offereth all the pleasure he can do him: but quoth he, you know I am a stranger unto you, and I know not whether you will use me well or no: It may be, when I have done you good, you will lightly reward me. But I'll tell you what I'll do: Give me but forty shillings in hand to bear my charges the time I may search for them, and if I do not deserve it, I will restore it again, and lose all my labour: if you like of this motion, so it is: if not, I will not deal in your matter hot nor cold.  
When the man that was rob, heareth him so brief, yet loath to part company on the sudden: he entreateth to know the Coney-catches name, and where he dwelleth. To this question, an other of the Coney-catches companions maketh this reply.  
Honest man, you need not doubt of his good meaning towards you: This is such a one as may do you pleasure, if he please to undertake it. Then he roundeth the man in the ear, and telleth him his name is E. H. and that he knoweth all the thieves about London, and that he hath done more good in helping men to their own, then can be devised to be done by a hundred others, praising him for a wonderful good member in a Common wealth: further certifying the party where this E. H. dwelleth, and with an oath whispering, he wisheth him to give him some twenty s. and then agree what he shall give him more when the thieves be taken, making many protestations, that he need not to misdoubt of E. H. his honest dealing with him in any respect.  
Presently the poor man putteth his hand into his pocket, and out he pulls an Angel: then saith he; M. H. I have heard of you before, and for I have heard nothing but well of you, I am the willinger to deal with you: truly here is an angel for you, and I will give you a gallon of Wine at the Tavern, and if you do me good in this matter, I will give you xx. s. more: then with some entreaty, he desireth him to take it in good part, and so giveth him the money.  
The Coney-catcher taketh the money very quaintly, as though he would refuse it, but in the end he pockets it up, and is willing to go to the Tavern, where after the drinking a gallon or two of Wine, they conclude of the former matter: and E. H. will out of hand get the thieves into Newgate, and so much he promiseth to perform upon his honest fidelity, not letting to say, if he do it not, he dare be hanged for it.  
Then the day is appointed, when within a week the party rob shall come to Newgate to know what news, and for that time they part, the honest man to his home or about his business, the Cunny-catchers to some other odd place about ●heir knavery, where they laugh at the Coney, devising how to get him in for more money, never intending to do any thing in the matter, which they have undertaken for the honest man, whose angel they drink merrily.  
Now we will leave this man for a while to his business of more profit, and I will proceed with the Cunny-catchers for their practices.  
These Coney-catches are never idle: and therefore it followeth next, to let you understand of a notable piece of service the said H. and S. played with a friend of mine.  
It happened my friend being some time in question, could not miss but he must needs have acquaintance with these odd shavers: and thus it fell out. My friend being in a Tavern drinking with some of his acquaintance, whilst they were drinking together, in cometh H. S. who presently used great courtesy to my friend: but to be short, they took full survey of his weapons, his good cloak, and neat apparel, which was enough for them to imagine that my friend had store of money: whereupon they asked if he would give them a pottle of Wine? which he willingly granted: and so after one pottle, he gave them another: the reckoning paid, and the company ready to departed, quoth S. to E. H. I pray you hark in your ear.  
Presently he whispereth. Thus it is, my fellow hath a warrant to take you: therefore in kindness I wish you to draw to your purse, and give him an Angel to drink, and I will undertake he shall not see you at this time.  
My friend hearing his tale tend to a Coney-catching effect, he gins to swear they are Coney-catching knaves, and they shall not wrong him in any respect.  
To be short, the Coney-catcher sends for a Constable, and charges the party aforesaid with felony: the Constable knowing them to be in office (but not to be such bad fellows) he presently apprehendeth the party: which done, the Cunny-catchers seeing the prisoner in safe keeping, disfurnished of his weapons, they presently require the prisoner of the Constable, and they will be his discharge: which the Constable did, thinking no less than they were right honest men.  
Now mark what followed. As these two knaves were a bringing this party charged with felony to Newgate, one of them offereth for xx. s. to set him free: of which, when the party had considered, knowing though he were clear of that he was charged, yet if he lay in Prison till the Sessions, it would be greater charges. When he was on Newgate stairs ready to go into the Jail, he was content to leave his cloak, that money he had in his purse, and his weapons which were in the Constable's hand pawn for the xx. s. which the Cunny-catchers took, and discharged the prisoner without any more to do.  
Not long after, the aforesaid Cunny-catchers meet with this their Coney of xx. s. price, and an other who was known to be as they term him a good fellow about the town in his company.  
And where meet they, but in a Tavern not far without Bishop's gate, where these two poor Coneys had spoken for supper: amidst their good cheer, in comes H. and S. bidding them be merry with their fare. One of these two being an odd fellow and in dread of these Cunny-catchers, knowing them very perfectly set on the best face he could, and bade them welcome, entreating them to sit down, and do as they did, of which proffer the Cunny-catchers accepted willingly, and sat down with them and eat and drunk merrily: supper being ended, the reckoning was called for, the shot paid, and allthings discharged, the Coneys would feign have been gone.  
Nay quoth N. S. for of the two he was the grimmer knave and had most skill to talk, I must let you know that which indeed I am sorry to do. Yet if you will do yourselves good you may use us well, and we will not use you amiss, to be short, thus it is, such a man was robbed within this week, and he hath got out a warrant for you two by name. He hath lost ten pounds: now if you will restore the money, and bestow xx. s. on us two to drink for our pains, we will undertake to satisfy the party and be your discharge, if not, we have a war●ant, and you must answer it at Newgate.  
This back reckoning is something sharp, but there is no remedy, either pay so much money, or else must a Constable be sent for, and so to Newgate as round as a hoop.  
To be short, this was the conclusion, the Cunnyes paid down xi.l. every penny, whereof ten pound was to be paid to the man in the moon, for I dare take it upon my death neither of these Coneys did offend any such man, in manner as these knaves had charged them.  

●vny.  By your leave a word, all this while you have not concluded what became of the first Coney these odd shavers met with, I pray you be brief, and let us hear how he was ended withal, and then you shall hear me tell you of wonders, if these be held to be but of moment.  

●or.  Well then to the first Coney again at his time appointed, he cometh to the wise man of Newgate to inquire what is done in his matter, and at Newgate the Coney findeth his odd acquaintance with E. H. who at the first sight hath the time of the day for him, much courtesies, but to the tavern they must to debate the matter, where they must have a pottle of the best. Whilst the Wine is a filling, the Coney-catcher showeth what great pain he hath taken to come by the thieves, and how hardly they missed of them: but for it is best to use few words, the Coney-catcher from one day to an other still driveth off the Coney, who is still in hope that the Coney-catcher meaneth good faith, whereas indeed he never made account what faith was: so to be short, if the thieves robbed him of some five or six pound, he hath got or he find where he is, a dry shaving as much as forty or fifty shillings more.  
I tell thee Zawny me thinks these are notable vyllanies, & pity they should not be punished, who live by no other means but practising such pranks as these be.  
Again this is a general rule to the Coney-catcher, that when or where he meets with such a one as hath been at any time committed to Newgate, if that fellow have good apparel on his back, the Coney-catcher taketh acquaintance of him and a quart of Wine they must needs drink, when the reckoning comes to payment, the Coney-catcher hath brought no money from home that day, so by the others drawing of his purse to pay for the wine, he knoweth what lining is in it, then if he have money, the Coney-catcher is in hand with him for a bribe, some odd crown or an Angel to drink: if the man be in any fault, fearing the worst, he will not stand with him for a trifle: if he be in no fault, perhaps he tells, in faith you are deceived in me, I am not he you take me for, and so parteth and giveth him nothing.  
Presently the Coney-catcher useth all means ●o know where he lies, which when he hath done, within a night or two away goes this knave with some old warrant to the Constable of that liberty, craving his aid to apprehend a bad fellow who is thought to have done much mischief, but for a surety he avoucheth him for an errand thief, and that he hath been in Newgate. Upon these speeches the Constable goes with this H. where the poor man lies, and apprehends him and conuaies him to Newgate, laying some justices commandment on him, where he lies till the sessions, unless he come of roundly with a bribe to the Connycatcher: but say the Connycatcher be mistaken in this fellows purse, & that he have not so much as he supposed, yet the Connycatcher is so strong of faith, that he will not believe the contrary: so by this means the poor man lieth in prison till he be quite a beggar, without releasement till the proclamation at the Sessions, at which time he is not worth the ground he goes on, neither knoweth he, being utterly overthrown how to have any remedy: which is pitiful and lamentable.  
I muse you should account of these trifling matters, 
Za  whereas indeed they are nothing in respect of the prizes they have played, and if you will give me leave a little, I will come some thing nearer the Coney-catcher than you have yet done.  
I pray thee do: yet I must needs tell thee I have been too near the Cunnycather, 
Au  and what I have spoken of him it is not only with grief but with sorrow to my heart, and anguish of soul, that these outrages should be committed, to the utter undoing of so many; as within this thirty years have been, for so long did I hear one of these vyllaines' vaunt he had been in office about Newgate: and what I have done or said on this behalf, with my life and death, I am ready to make proof of it, that it is true. Thi●●inde I bear, that the Devil should have his due of these knaves, and I hold it my duty to reveal whatsoever is to the good of a commonwealth; and so I will, though the Cunnycatcher swear to give me a cut in the leg for my labour, and now Zawny I pray thee go forward.  
Gentlemen, though I want eloquence, yet you shall see I have a rolling tongue, deep knowledge, and am a rare fellow to bewray many matters touching Coney-catching.  
Master green God be with thee, for if thou hadst been alive, knowing what I know, thou wouldst as well have made work as matter, but for my part I am a plain fellow, and what I know I will not be meal mouthed, but blab I witted, and out it must: nay and out it shall, for as the Comedian said: Plenus rymarum sum.  
I know twenty and twenty of these fine Cunny-catchers, who learn of the fencers to double a blow, knowing what belongs to the button, and the bob: yet for the Author hath only used four letters for two names, let them stand, and when I name E. he must think Zawny can see whilst there is an eye in his head. H. is aspirationis nota, and no letter indeed, therefore I care not if this Coney-catching H. were wiped out of the letters row to hang on the Gallows, who is fit to be a cipher to make up a number at Tyburn, then to be a man of so bad condition. As for a pottle of Wine he cares not who he hanged so he may have it, if it be but the Wine.  
N. is the first of the second name the Author useth. No knave I warrant you: and as for S. if he be in some sort a knave to be proved? he will be contented, nay he must in spite of his teeth digest the name of a Cunnycatcher, for by that art being not worth one groat a year, he is able by his fine wit to maintain himself in his Satin doublet, Velvet hose, his Hat lined with Velvet, his silk stock, his Rapter and Dagger gilded, his golden brooch, and all things correspondent as might seem a man both of wit and living. And now I, according to my promise to the Author, will have a cast at these fine Cunny-catchers, and I will not slander them in any wise, but speak the truth unto death. If I say more than I will prove, I will never bid you trust Zawny again.  
Not long since, at a tilting upon triumph on the Crownation day: many good subjects with joy assembled the place of Triumph, as well rejoicing to see the Queen's most excellent Majesty, as also to see the tilting performed, by sundry noble and right honourable personages.  
Amongst the rest, there comes a woman with six pounds in her purse, which the Cutpurse met withal, she as it seemed having more mind on the pleasures of the present day and time, than she had of her purse.  
The jousts ended for that day, the woman thinking all had been well, takes her way homeward with a friend of hers, yet by the way, this good woman must needs drink with her friend a pint of Wine: but here was the mischief, when the Wine was to be paid for, the woman missed her purse, and looking on the strings, with a cold heart she might perceive her purse was cut away.  
Her friend to comfort her, bade her take no thought, for he knew a man would help her to her purse again, and saith he, we will presently go to him, for I know where he dwells.  
The woman thanked her friend for his courteous offer, and away they go to E. H. his house, where they found him, to whom they broke the matter wholly how it was, desiring his help. Presently he had them in the wind, and had them welcome, promising that if they would content him for his pains he would do her good, ask her what she would willingly bestow to have her money again: at the first word she offered him forty shillings. All this was well, and they agree to meet ●he next day about White hall, where they shall have answer to ●●eir content: and so after they had drunk a quart of Wine at the Tavern, for that night they parted.  
The next day, according to promise they met, and this E H. had in his company a man, who he said was a Constable, but whether he said truly or no I will not say, but to the matter: They appoint the woman to go to a friends house hard by, and she should hear more anon. Away went she, as they had appointed her, and away go they to look for Cutpurses.  
I warrant you they sought not long, but here they met with a Cutpurse, whom they take by the sleeve: and there they meet with an other as good a cutpurse as the former, and so they take at the least a dozen Cutpurses: which when they have done, the Cunnicatcher gins to rail mightily, swearing they shall some of them be hanged: but to Prison they shall all go, unless this money be had again, showing a Warrant, or a piece of paper at the least: which is sufficient to bear the Cunnicatcher harmless, as he sayeth.  
Now the Cutpurses, though they be all clear of this matter, yet they begin to quake for fear, offering rather than they will go to Prison, they will make up the money, so that E. H. will promise to give it them again when the cutpurse shallbe known, who cut the purse in deed. This motion the Cunnicatcher liketh indifferently: and so of these dozen of cutpurses, he taketh of some more, and of some less, that the sum is largely made up: which done, they are all discharged, marry they must have some twenty shillings overplus for their pains and kindness showed to the cutpurses, all which is granted.  
To be short, no Cutpurse scaped their hands, but he paid a share, so that there was gathered the first day at the least ten pounds amongst Cutpurses, and the next day this E. H. met with the Cutpurse, who cut the purse indeed, of whom he took the money, with the vantage, and let him go, without answering the matter: and to conclude, the woman had four pound of her money again, and so the matter was no more spoken of.  
I think this was a piece of knavery, if you talk of knavery, and yet this is no knavery in respect of that I will show you in this next discovery of their Coney-catching.  
At the Term time, these fellows, H. and S. have had great booties by their practices in this art, and this is their manner.  
In the morning away they go to Westminster hall▪ where they know the Cutpurse will be about his business, but the Cunny-catchers are not without a couple, who are their consorts: who assoon as they come to the Hall, thrust in amongst the thickest, and there they listen to hear if any purse were cut that day.  
Likewise, the Cunny-catchers, they take their standings, one of them at the Water side, the other in some close place, at an other gate: so that lightly a Cutpurse cannot come out of the Hall, but one of them shall spy him, and take him by the sleeve, if the Cutpurse have done any thing, word is presently brought to the Tavern, whether the Coney and the Coney-catcher are gone to drink. Now if it be some small sum, the Coney-catcher showeth the Coney a good countenance, but if it be a large sum, as six pounds, or upwards, the Coney-catcher dissembling his intent, will not stay but the drinking a pottle of Wine.  
The Cutpurse entreats their company, and offereth both Wine and a breakfast, but all is in vain, the Coney-catcher will not carry, swearing a great oath, he is sorry that it was his chance to see this Coney or Cutpurse this day, for there is a mischief done, and he fears some will smoke for it. At this the Cutpurse is afeard, but he for that time scapeth their fingers, for the Coney-catcher will carry no longer.  
Now the Coney-catcher sendeth presently one of his company to seek out the party who had his purse cut, which he performeth with diligence, and meeting with him, he tells the party that he heard he lost his purse at Westminster, and if he will be advised by him, he will help him to ●he most of his money again.  
This honest man glad to have part again of his money, offereth at the first word, the one half to have the other, assuring this odd fellow for certainty, that he lost ten pounds.  
Well (saith this Factor for the Cunnycatcher) if your leisure will serve to go with me, I will bring you to one doth partly know who cut your purse, therefore it is your way to follow his counsel, and I warrant you, my life for it, but you shall have your desire.  
hereat the honest man is glad, and willingly goeth along with him to a place where he knoweth E. H. abideth his coming: Now being met, the Wise man of Newgate gins at the first dash, to tell them whereabout they come, even in as ample manner, as if the man who had his purse cut, had told the tale himself.  
No marvel though the Country man do wonder a while at the matter, but in the end, he telleth him it is so indeed, and according to the first motion they agree, which is the one half for the other: the Countryman willing to refer the matter wholly to this Cunny-catchers discretion.  
Then away goes the Countryman with H. the Coney-catcher, to a justice, to whom he signifieth in every respect, how his purse was cut, desiring of the justice a warrant to take up all suspected persons: of which motion the justice intending to do justice, grants his warrant, and gives it to H. ●●●ling him to certify him what shall be done on that behalf, as the Warrant intendeth.  
This Warrant obtained, the Cunnycatcher is as pleasant as a Pie, taking his leave of the justice, away goes the Countryman and his good friends with him, and to the Tavern strait, where they spend some time in drinking a pottle of the best Wine, which the Countryman must pay for: which done, H. taketh his leave of his client, promising him not to be slack in his business, which done, they part; the Countryman to his lodging or as his occasion serveth, and the Coney-catcher about his faculty.  
Now woe to the Cutpursses, for as H. happeneth to meet with them, they must to Newgate, showing Warrant sufficient for a greater matter.  
But you must take notice, that of a dozen or sixteen Cutpurses who he hath apprehended, he is sure enough that he which cut the purse indeed shall be none of them.  
This honest company of Cutpursses being all in Newgate, H. goes presently and certifies the justice, what a sort of notable thieves he hath taken, desiring the justice to send for them at his pleasure, to examine them about the Country man's Purse, assuring the justice that they are cunning thieves, and that he dare lay his life, they will confess nothing: which in deed the justice findeth true; for, they being examined, will confess as much as near a whit.  
To Newgate away they go again, where they make all means to H. to stand their friend, showing their innocency: yet rather than they will lie in Prison, one offereth ten shillings, an other twenty shillings, some more some less, as they are of ability: offering farther, to give beside the sum, every one something to H. for his good word to the justice, that they may be set at liberty.  
Now the Cunnicatcher hath the matter as he would wish it, and taking their money first, he presently goes to the justice and cirtifieth him, that these which he hath apprehended, did none of them cut the Purse: and for he hath gotten knowledge who did, he desireth that they may be bailed.  
The justice glad to hear the truth is known, is willing to set them at liberty; which upon their bail he granteth. Of this money the Country man hath never a penny, and all these Cutpursses are set at liberty.  
Which done, H seeketh diligently for the Cutpurse, who did the matter in deed: with whom when he meeteth, he spareth not to tell him how sore the justice is against him, and now earnestly the Country man will pursue the Law: and further he sweareth, that some of them who were in Newgate 〈◊〉 the justice plainly, that he cut the Purse.  
This peal rings nothing well in the Cutpursses' ears, who can find no favour, but to Newgate: yet upon entreaty made by the Cutpurse, the Cunnicatcher promiseth, that for his part he will do him any good he can, wishing the Cutpurse, as he is wise enough, so it were good for him to hold his own, and confess nothing to the justice, what proof soever come against him, and in so doing, it may lie in his power to do him good; telling him further, that the man who lost the money, though he be sore bend against him, yet he will partly be ruled by him.  
Well, to Newgate marcheth this H. with his Cutpurse: where he to welcome him for all his fair words, he clappeth on his legs a good pair of Bolts and Shakels: which done, he sendeth for the Country man, and telleth him of these good tidings, how the Thief is taken, and how he hath used him.  
The next way they take, is to the justice, to whom H. signifieth how the case standeth, railing mightily against the Cutpurse, even in the worst manner he can devise: saying, it will be evidently proved that he cut the Purse, and none but he: further he requesteth, that the Cutpurse may be examined. The Cutpurse is sent for, who to every question the justice can demand, having taken out his lesson (Confess and be hanged) hath his answer ready, so that there can be no advantage taken by his examination.  
The justice returneth him to Newgate again to abide till the next Sessions, requiring the party to be bound to give evidence against him: but the Country man dwelling far from London, and it being long to the next Law day, allegeth, he can not be in the City at that time, for he is a poor man, and hath great occasion of business, so that he cannot be there to give evidence, neither can he say, if he would, any thing against that ●artie: for so far as he can remember, he never saw that fellow before in his life.  
Yet H. promiseth, that it willbe proved against the Cutpurse: so the Country man and H. take their leaves of justice, making show as though they would come against though it be no part of H. his meaning.  
H. goeth strait to Newgate, where he falls in hand with the Cutpurse, swearing unto him by his honesty, that he hath laboured the party who had his Purse cut, to take his money again, and not to give evidence against him, answering him with many oaths, that if he may have his money again, he will presently go out of the town. The Cutpurse taking H. his hand, that no man shall give evidence against him at the Sessions, doth presently send abroad to his friends for the money: which as soon as it cometh, he delivereth to H. and withal a large overplus, because he will be sure of H. his favour.  
This done, H. goes to the Country man, and tells him he got no more but six or seven pound, of which if he will accept, and proceed no further against the party, he hath it to pay him: marry he will not be known to the Country man, but that he had that money of some friends of the Cutpursses, who upon the former condition, is willing it should be paid, if not, to have his money again.  
The Country man having haste out of the City, is glad to take it: out of which sum, if it be seven pounds, H. must have half: so that the poor man of ten pounds, hath but three pound ten shillings, whereas the Cunnicatcher by this account hath got at one hand and an other, very near forty Mark: the money shared, the Country man takes Horse, and away he rides: Again, H. his mouth is stopped, and the next Sessions the Cutpurse is quit by Proclamation, no man being there to give evidence against him.  
O wonderful piece of villainy. 
A  Zawny, I will trouble thee no further, thou hast told enough, and I will tell no more: who hears but this which is already spoken, will hold these knaves for execrable varlets. So for this time I will commend thee to thy other business, wishing thy liberty, as I do my own: and if thou have occasion, command me to do thee good, if it lie in my power.  
Sir, 
Z  I thank you for your courteous offer: but yet I must tell you, I could tell twenty such pranks as these are, which these coney-catching fellows have played: but in deed they keep one order almost, in performing them all: but since you think here is enough, I will say no more, and so far 〈…〉.  
Thus have you heard, gentle Reader, how at large this Black Dog is descifered: which Dog as he is, is worthy of your general hate: but for I have with pains concluded my Book under that title, I will not request you according to the old proverb, love me, love my Hound: but only, love me, and hang my Dog, for he is not worthy so good a name as a Hound: and so wishing you all well, I conclude.  
FINIS.