The Discovery of a London Monster, called, The Black Dog of Newgate; Profitable for all Readers to take heed by. Vide, Lege, Cave. Time bringeth all things to light. Printed at London by M. P. for Robert Wilson, at his Shop at Grays-inn Gate in Holborn. 1638. To the Reader. Marvel not gentle Reader, though in a mad humour, I have thus published the Black Dog of Newgate, and here shown his tricks to the wide world to wonder at; he is but a Cur indeed, not worth three half pence to be sold, but if you will accept of my Pen and Paper, it may countervail the charge of six pence; it is no better than an ill favoured black Dog, yet I desire you not to think your time ill bestowed in the reading, nor the price too great which you pay for it. When you have perused it, and like it not, reward not my good will with a scoff: But say the Dog came from Newgate, hang him up and rend the Book in pieces, and then I will be your debtor in a Work of more worth, but let me tell you by the way, This Dog, with many Dogs of his kind, have I known a great while, and have received by them great wrong: otherwise had I not bestowed so much time in deciphering a Cur; nay more, let me give you to understand, that this Dog, thus shadowed under the name of a servant at Newgate, was in my sight, by head and shoulders thrust out of Newgate: and now men chosen instead of Dogs of far more pity and honesty, than that hellhound ever had. Therefore let me thus conclude, that never Cur in shape of man, in that place, shall commit the like abuses. No more for the Dog of Newgate: But for this Dog of mine, wish me well, and I will never do you ill: Rest content, and I am well pleased. Fare you Well. The Discovery of a London Monster, called, The Black Dog of Newgate. AWonder, a wonder Gentlemen, Hell's brook loose, and the Black Dog of Newgate is got out of Prison, and leapt into a Sign: What the Devils here (quoth a mad fellow going by) seeing the Black Cur ringed about the nose with a golden Hoop, his two sawcer-like eyes, and an Iron chains about his neck; this cannot choose (said he) but be a well customed house, where such a Porter keeps the door, and calls in company. Room for a customer, quoth I, so in I went, where I found English, Scottish, Welsh, Irish, Dutch and French, in several Rooms; some drinking the neat wine of Drleance, some the Gascony, some the Bordeaux, there wanted neither Sherry sack, nor Charnico, Maligo, nor Peter Seem, Ambercoloured Candy, nor Liquorish hippocras, brown beloved Bastard, fat Aligant, or any quick spirited Liquor that might draw their wits into a Circle, to see the Devil by in●nagination: I seeing this Gallimaufry of Company, set me down, and called for my whole pint alone, which I had not half drunk up, but there sits down by me a poor Thin-gut fellow, with a face as red as the gilded knobs of an Alderman's Horse-bridle, one, as it seemed, newly come out of Limbo, with commendation to his rugged Devilship, Mounsieur Shagg, the Black Dog of Newgate, who being a fellow, as I thought, not worth six pence in money, yet would he spend eight pence to keep me company. ay, to equal his expenses, called for as much, and thereupon having both our wits set upon the rack of invention, began to argue of the Black Dog's beginning, and how he came first to be called the black Dog of Newgate: now touching the same, I maintained that I had read an old Chronicle, that it was a walking spirit in the likeness of a black Dog, gliding up and down the streets a little before the time of Execution, and in the night whilst the Sessions continued, and his beginning thus. In the reign of King Henry the third there happened such a famine through England, but especially in London, that many starved for want of food, by which means the Prisoners in Newgate eat up one another altue, but commonly those that came newly in, and such as could make but small resistance. Amongst many others cast into this Den of misery, there was a certain Scholar brought thither, upon suspicion of Conjuring, and that he by Charms and devilish Whithcrafts, had done much hurt to the King's Subjects, which Scholar, maugre his Devil's Furies, Spirits and Goblins, was by the famished Prisoners eaten up, and deemed passing good meat. This being done, such an idle conceit possessed the minds of the poor Prisoners, that they supposed, nightly to see the Scholar in the shape of a black Dog walking up and down the Prison, ready with his rabening jaws to tear out their bowels: for his late humane flesh they had so hungerly eaten, & withal they hourly heard (as they thought) strange groans and cries, as if it had been some creature in great pain and torments; whereupon such a nightly fear grew amongst them, that it turned to a Frenzy, and from a Frenzy to Desperation; in which desperation they killed the Keeper, and so many of them escaped forth, but yet whither soever they came or went they imagined the black Dog to follow, and by this means, as I do think, the name of him began. Not so, quoth Signior Thin-gut, I think it rather an idle fiction, than a probable truth; but this I must tell you Sir, (said he) I know it for a truth, that there is no other black Dog, that I ever saw or heard of, but a great black stone standing in the dungeon called Limbo, the place where the condemned Prisoners be put after their judgement, upon which they set a burning candle in the night, against which, I have heard that a desperate condemned Prisoner d●shed out his brains; and that is all the Black Dogs that I know, or heard of: But if you be so pleased as to publish it, I will satisfy the wondering world with a discourse of the Black Dog in the best manner I can, and the very same, that the wisest judgements thinks it to be. In so doing (quoth I) you please God, benefit your Country, and satisfy your friend's: so with a stayed look and in sober manner, he began as followeth. Sir (quoth he) the Black Dog is a black Conscience, haunting none but black conditioned people, such as Newgate may challenge to be guests; yet this rugged Cur hath his sev●rall abidings; as in the bosoms of Traitors, Murderers, thieves, Cutpurses, Cunny-catchers, and such like, who being the Devils black Parator summons them, one after another, to appear personaily at his Hempton-hall of his three-l●g'd-Tiborne, but in the mean time they commit many notable felonies and cozoning, to the great hurt of plain minded people: as for example, I will first begin with a Woman Thief, which in my mind is a limb of the Devil, for at any not able Robbery, where still a woman is an Actor, there likely is committed some murder or other, for as they be the kindest in love, so are they cruelest in hate: But now to one Woman Thief. I once knew living about London, a lusty W●nch, Gentlewomanlike, clothed in silk and tasf●ty, ●ood Plate and rich Furniture about her house, and well esteemed of her neighbours, that had no other means to maintain her estate but plain Thievery: in what manner think you? mar● in this kind: she had for her purpose a homely suit of apparel, like unto a Trads●mans w●fe, a pa●re of shoo●s with cloth soles to prevent crackling, a fire-sticke in her hand unkindled, and so in the morning betime would she along the str●etes, and any where she did chance to espy either Gentleman's or Merchant's door open, in she would, where being not intercepted by any, what thing soever lay in her way was good purchase, and with her it should: as Hat, Cloak, Gown, Petticoat, or Smock, or such like. But if it chanced that either Maidservant, or an Apprentice, or any other met her, than would she desire to kindle her stick, where sitting by the fire she would spend away the time hover over it, till the coast were clear, or else would she in needy sort request a cup of small beer, which the honest minded Maid will fetch her, thinking her to be some poor neighbour, perchance in a silver Beaker, which she like an Hypocrite will sip, and simper over so long till the maids back be turned, and then goes away beaker and all: she will sometimes in her cloth shoes tread so softly that a mouse cannot hear her, and venture up into a Knight's Chamber, he and his Lady being in bed together, and carry away the Jewels they wore the day before, but if being spi●d by any of the Household, she hath the name of one Gentleman or other aright, which is well acquainted in that house, and so escapeth unsuspected: other times she will venture into Mercers or Silkemens' shops, when they arebusied with most customers, as though she were some waitingmayde to a Lady or Gentle woman there present, and with a hook under her wearing apparel will, like a cunning Porter, bear away either Silk, Uelvet, or other rich Stuffs, not perceived by the Shopkeepers, or any Customer, many such conveyances is she Crast-master in, which in my mind are the black d●●des of iniquity, and well may she be called one of the Black Dogs of Newgate, for at last, the rewards of Newgate will fall to her share. I could tell you likewise where the Black Dog keeps his rendezvous, if I do not mistake, in the bosoms of Chamberlains and Tapsters in great Inns: and though the Master be an honest man, the Servants may be knavish, I speak not to all, but ●o some, as by the Law Probatum est: To our purpose: A plain Country Gentleman, Yeoman, Farmer, or such like, coming up to the Term, and chancing to happen into one of these Inns, he as a guest boldly throws his cloak down upon the Hall Table, thinking all true men in the house, being as then full of Guests; in comes the Tapster or Chamberlain, in jesting manner, and carries the Cloak away in good sadness, either into the Taphouse, or into the Hostry, and there keeps it for his own; the poor Country man missing it, makes inquiry, thinking some of the house had laid it up, but no news thereof, (confess and be hanged) thinks he that keeps it in Lavender, in too sweet a place for the countrymen having it again: the Innkeeper himself hearing of his guests loss, goes chase and fretting up and down, that his house is thus discredited by thieves, and lays wait at every Brokers, both in Long-lane, Charter-house-lane, Barbican, Hounds-ditch, and such like places, but no news thereof; so is the countryman sent home to his wife without a cloak, perhaps with as little money, by which means the Innkeeper for ever after loseth his guests. Now come we to the Thief, Tapster or Chamberlain, I mean he that stole the cloak in jest, he must now needs sell in good earnest; to whom, to the Brokers? no: for there is wait laid: whither then, to a Neighbour? no neither for then it may come to light, and be known of his Master: but unto a kind of Fripperers it must be vented, which be certain Merchants of old wares, going up and down to buy Lists, ends of Cloth, and old Cloaks, one of these must buy it, and send it into France, to learn the French Tongue, or into the Netherlands to speak Dutch, these be terrible black Dogs indeed, and have sawcer-like eyes that can look broad and wide quite over a whole City; but let them alone and lose themselves in their own adventures, it concerns not me, there is a whip in store for these Dogs, and their kennels will be ransacked I fear me. But now to wade deeper into this Labyrinth of knavery, I will tell you as notable a prank as ever you heard by one of these arch Bandogs done within these few years. There were two of this faculty which I name M. A. and M. B: whom (to bring this their proceeding purpose to effect) either bought or hired two Chains, the one of perfect good gold, the other plain copper double gilt, and away go they into the Country towards Beverley Fair, in Yorkshire, well mounted upon two goodly geldings, as they had been two substantial Gentlemen, and riding by the way they happened into company of a Northern Gentleman riding from London, with whom they spent liberally,, and every night at their lodgings were all fellows both at board and bed; in this familiar sort riding together some two or three days, they began thus to effect their purpose, and to cast forth their angling hooks to catch this greedy gudgeon: First, M. B. spurring his Gelding as they road together, got some quarter of a mile of ground before the Gentleman, and his fellow knave riding after a good pace, and le's fall the right gold Chain tied within a Buckram bag, in the sight of Master A. directly in the high way; who seeing it, starteth a little before the Gentleman, taking it hastily up, saying, A prize, a prize, in a Buckram bag, a prize: half part quoth the Gentleman, not so quoth Master A. I found it, but I am witness (quoth the Gentleman) and will have half, or cry it lost in the next Market: During this controversy, they overtook Master B. who had let fall the Chain, and being made Umpire betwixt them, gave judgement, that it should be equally shared, whereupon opening the bag, they found therein, wrapped in a fair paper, a good Chain of Gold, worth four score pound: the Northern Gentleman having it in his hand, made bold to keep it till they came to Beverley, where at a Goldsmith's shop they tried it, and being touched thoroughly, the Goldsmith proffered for it full four score pounds in ready money: nay, said the Gentleman, if it be so good, I will have it myself, and give Master A forty pound for his part: Whereupon both being agreed, home they go to the Gentleman's house, and receive their money: but now mark the I●st, whilst the money was a telling, Master B. cunningly convaies the copper Chain into the place where the gold Chain lay upon the Table, being like to it, put in a Buckram bag and all, that one could not know one from the other: so having received the money, away goes Master A. and B. well contented for their journey, leaving the Northern Gentleman nothing but a Copper chain for his forty pound, who perhaps like a wise man never perceived till the guilt was worn off, and then where should he look my two Gallants? marry, God knows where, unless it were howling at the grate at Newgate, omongst those pitiful creatures. Having told this tale, the Bell began to ring nine a clock, whereupon the Vintner calling, shut up the doors, it is late, caused my friend and I to break company, who paid for our Wine, thanking each other, and so departed, he to his lodging, and I to mine, where being no sooner laid in my bed, and calling to mind, our passed discourses of the Black Dog, and his first beginning, I fell into a most unquiet slumber, and was all the night long troubled with a most fearful dream; for me thought I was myself prisoner in Newgate, lying laden with I●on● in great misery, where being destitute of friends, moneyless, and forsaken of all my acquaintance, this following Dialogue is ●h subject passed betwixt myself and one Z●●●, who was like wise a prisoner as I was, and perfectly acquainted with matters touching the discovery of the s●●●arlatiue degree of Cunny-catchers: pithy, pleasant, and profitable for all the Readers hereof. The Interlocutors. The Author, and Zany, a prisoner. Author. ZAny, 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, diverse strong reasons especially moving thereunto, but in that title shadow the Knavery, Uillany, Robbery, and Coney-catching committed daily by diverse, 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, as well 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 coney-catching, 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 shallbe never any more put in practice by any notable villains. Zany. Indeed you say well, and I agree: but yet you know I am a poor man, and am a Prisoner. Again, it is ill m●dling 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 Cunny-catchers, 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 l●aue 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, and gentle Reader, know first, there be an infinite number of this sect and company of cunny-catchers, therefore it were an endless piece of work to name them all: but for I know too many of them, and have likewise paid 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 your patience on 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 Cunny-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, and 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, and 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 fellowos will be sure to have intelligence with the first, in what manner the men were robbed, how much money they lost, and 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 master Cunny-catchers, of all whatsoever, how, where, and when this robbery was committed; presently away goes E. H. or N. S or some of that set; and inquires out the party that was robbed: with whom it H. or S hap so meet withal, some occasion shall presently be found to intrude themselves into the company of them be robbed: and after some circumstances, the Coney-catcher begins 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 Coney-catcher taketh no notice of them that were robbed, neither doth the Coney-catcher make any show, that they knew any such matter to be done to any in the company. Now the poor men that were robbed, hearing their smooth speeches, one of them begins 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 robbed 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 ●ore man, pray you do me what pleasure you may, good sir, I beseech you. Th●se and such like speech's he useth. The Cunnicatcher presently joineth issues 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 shtllings in hand to bear my charges the time I may search 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 robbed, heareth him so brief, yet loath to part company on the sudden: he in treateth to know the Coney-catches name, and where he dwelleth. To this question, another 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 Thiefs 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 Commonwealth: further certifying the party where this E. H. dwelleth, and with an oath whispering, he wisheth him to give him some xx. s. and then agree what he shall give him more, when the Thiefs 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 them 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'll pocket it up, & is willing to go to the Tavern, where after that drinking a gallon or two of wine, they conclude of the former matter: and E. H. will out of hand get the Thiefs into Newgate: & 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 robbed 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 Cunnycatchers to some other odd place about their 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 Cunny-catchers 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 depart, quoth S. to E. H I pr●y 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 begins to swear they are coney-catching Knaves, and they shall not wrong him in any respect. To be short, the Cunnicatcher 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 Coney-catches seeing the prisoner in safe keeping, dis-furnished 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 yet 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 Battle, he was content to leave his Cloak, that money he h●d in his purse, and his weapons which were in the Constable's hand pa●●e for the xr. s. which the Cunnycatchers took, and discharged the prisoner without any more to do. Not long after, the aforesaid Coney-catches meet with this their Coney of xx. s. price, and another 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 Coney-catches, 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 Cunnicathers accepted willingly, and sat down with them and eat and drunk merrily: supper being ended, the reckoning was called for, the shot paid, and all things discharged, the Coneys would fain 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 warrant, 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 Coneys 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. Zany. By your leave a word, all this while you have not concluded what became of the first Coney these edde shavers meet 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. Author. 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 add 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 to the Thiefs, and how hardly they missed of them: but for it is best to use few words, the Cunnycatcher from one day to another, 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 Thiefs robbed high not some five or six pound, he hath got, or if he find where he is, a dry shaving as much as forty or fifty shillings more. I tell thee Zany me thinks these are notable villantes, and 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 Cunnicatcher, 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 Cunnicatcher taketh acquaintance of him, and a quart of Wine they must needs drink, when the reckoning comes to payment, the Cunnicatcher 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 Cunnicatcher 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 Cunnicatcher useth all means to know where he lies, which when he hath done, within a night or two away goes this knave with soon 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, & that he hath been in Newgate. Upon these speeches the Constable goes with this H. where the poor man lies, and apprehends him and convaies him to Newgate, laying some justice's commandment on him, where he lies till the Sessions, unless he come off roundly with a bribe to the Cunnicatcher: but say the Cunnicatcher be mistaken in this fellow's purse, and that he have not so much as he supposed, yet the Cunnicatcher 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. Zany. I muse you should account of these trifling matters, whereas indeed they are nothing in respect of the priz●● they have played, and if you will give me leave a little, I will come something nearer the Cunnicatcher than you have yet done. Author. I pray thee do: yet I must needs tell thee I have been too near the Cunnicatcher, and what I have spoken of him, it is not only with grief but withsorrow 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 Villains 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. This mind 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 Cunnicatcher swear to give me a cut in the leg for my labour, and now Zany 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 Greene, 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 meale-mouthed, but blab I wist, 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 Coney-catches, 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 H he must think Zany can see whilst there is an eye in his head, H. is aspirationis nota, and no le●●●r indeed, therefore I care not if this Cunnycatching H. were wiped out of the Letters Row to h●ng on the Gallows, who is fitter 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 hang 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 Cunnicatcher, for by that are y● being not worth a groat a year, he is able by his fine wit to maintain himself in his Satin Doublet, Uelvet Hose, his Hat lined with Uelvet, his Silk stock, his Rapier and Dagger gilded, his golden Brouch, 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 Coney-catches, 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 Zany again. Not long since at a Tylting upon triumph on the Coronation day: many good Subjects with joy assembled the place of Triumph, aswell rejoicing to see the Queen's most Excellent Majesty, as also to see the Tylting 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 justs ended for that day, the woman thinking all had been well, takes her way homewards 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 wou●d 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 bade them welcome, promising that if they would content him for his pains he would do her good, ask her what she will willingly bestow to have her money again. At the first word she offered him forty shillings. All this was well, and they agreed to meet next day about White Hall, where they shall have answer to their content: and so after they had drunk a quart of Wine at the Tavern, for that might 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 there they met with a Cutpurse, whom they take by the sleeve: and there they meet with another as good a Cutpurse as the former, and so they take at the least a dozen Cutpurses: which when they have done, the Cunnicatcher begins to rail mightily, swearing they shall some of them be hanged: but to prison they shall all go, unless this money be had again, she wing a Warrant, or a piece of Paper at the least: which is sufficient to bear the Cunnicatcher harmless, as he saith. 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 shall be known, who cut the Purse indeed. 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 Coney catchers are not without a couple, who are their consorts: who as soon 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 another 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, whither 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 of 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 tarry, 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 f●●res some will smoke for it. At this the Cutpurse is afeard, but he for that time scapeth their fingers, for the Coney-catcher will t●rry 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 the most of his Money again. This honest man glad to have part again of his money, offereth at 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 Coney-catcher) 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 Wiseman of Newgate begins 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 Country man willing to refer the matter wholly to this Cunny-catchers discretion. Then away goes the Country man 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. willing him to certify him what shall be done on that behalf, as the Warrant intendeth. This Warrant obtained, the Coney-catcher is as pleasant as a Pie, taking his leave of the justice, away goes the Country man, 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 Country man 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 Country man to his lodging, or as his occasion serveth, and the Coney-catcher about his faculty. Now woe to the Cutpurses, 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 Cutpurses 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 indeed the justice findeth true: for they being axamined, will confess as much as ne'er a whit. To Newgate away they go again, where they make all means to H. to stand their friend, showing their innocence: yet rather than they will lie in prison, one offereth ten shillings, another 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 Coney-catcher hath the matter as he would wish it, and taking their money first, he presently goes to the justice, and certifieth 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 Cutpurses are set at liberty. Which done, H seeketh diligently for the Cutpurse, who did the matter indeed: with whom when he meeteth, he spareth not to tell him how sore the justice is against him, and how earnestly the Country man will pursue the Law: and further he sweareth, that some of them who were in Newgate told the justice plainly, that he cut the purse. This peal rings nothing well in the Cutpurse's ears, who can find no favour, but to Newgate: yet upon entreaty made by the Cutpurse, the Coney-catcher 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 so the justice, what proof so ever 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 his fair words, he clappeth on his legs a good pair of Bolts and Shackles: 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, & 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 cannot 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 party: for so far as he can remember, he never saw that fellow before in his life. Yet H. promiseth, that it will be proved against the Cutpurse: so the Country man and H. take their leaves of the justice, making show as though they would come again, 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 ●he party who had his purse cut, to take his money again, and not to give evidence against him, assuring him with many oaths, that if he m●y 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 fells him, he got no more but six or seven pounds, 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 cutpurses, 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 pounds ten shillings, whereas the Coney-catcher by this account hath got at one hand and an other, very near forty Marks: the money shard●, 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. Author. O wonderful piece of villainy. 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 U●rlets. So for this time I will commend thee to thy other business, wishing thy liberty as I do mine own: and if thou have occasion, command me to do thee good, if it lie in my power. Zany. Sir, 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 indeed they keep one order almost, in performing them all: but since you think here is enough, I will say no more, and so fare you well. Author. Thus have you heard, gentle Reader, how at large this Black Dog is deciphered: 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. Certain fearful Visions a poring to the Author of this Book, most worthy to be noted. WHen as black Titan with his dusky robe, Had Tellus clouded with his curtains night, Fair Phoebus peering underneath earth's globe, With winged Steeds hence takes his course aright. 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 wreathes of jet about his temples bound: Earth's Cell 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 began 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 wr●ng my heart: Oppressed with grief, mine eyelids began to slumber, But borne to woes, must of more woes have part. A thousand Furies to my heart appearing, That did affright my soul with ugly searing. 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 appalled, and most I looked at him. Thought I at last, I will cry out for aid, Striving to cry near dead, affright with fear, I heard a voice, which like an Angel said: Be not dismayed, for thou shalt see and hear Men devils, devils men, one both, both all deluding: Worlds evils, wrack then, sheep's 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 devour My life and soul, subdued by terrors power. Thought checked my mind, fears senses all amazing, Hell broken loose, eyes visions furies affrighting, Subdued earth's powers, upreares hearts insight a gazing, Terror of mind with hope, cries fears faint arighting: Help me orequelled: waking with dread, I espied Graced gracious Minerva, who thus to my outery replied: Fear not at all, nor saint thou with beholding: But light thy Lamp, and take thy Pen in hand, Write what thou feast, thy Uisions all unfolding, I will direct, and let thee understand, What all these Hell hounds shadow by appearing, View thou their worst, and then write of their fearing. Subdued by words, which did all works 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 pressed myself to take the hardest steel, And from the Flint, I beat forth sparks of fire: Kindling the Lint, my ready Match I feel, Yielding my Lamp the light of my desire: Soon spied Minerva, with Laurel crowned, and Bays, Mirror divine, feature of worthless praise. Before her feet submissively I tell, Pardon I craved, fearing I was too bold: Rise up, quoth she, and view these Hags of Hell, For diverse secrets must thy pen unfold. Make true record, what shall be 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 deasest ear shall to thy talk attend, The work so worthy, thou mayst 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 shows A fair old Man, whose tears foretold desire, And in a mantle mourner-like he goes. His veins like Azure, his hair 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 wise, that they have been deceived: Many Black Dogs have walked in shapes of men, And with deceits the Commonwealth aggrieved: His form and lineaments 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 shrowds, who makes of sins a scoff, World's great'st admire, when as his Uizards 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 so nigh P●rnassus 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 trudgeth along this Groom, As if he would serve 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 hairs all Snakes curling, they will not part. Coal-black his hue, like Torches glow his eyes, His breath doth poison, smoke from's nostrils flies. His countenance ghastly, fearful, grim, and pale, His foamy mouth still gaping for his prey: With Tiger's teeth he spares none to assail, His lips Hell gates, ore-painted 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 dangers make a prey, Bribery his hand, spoil of the poor his trade. His finger's talents ceasing to betray, And with his arms he foldeth men in woes, Destruction stil's the path where ere he goes. Me thought his breast was all of burning Brass, Through which there grew a 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, Here is the tale which time would fain have told. Upon a sudden rushed this Cur on me, As though my life his evening prey 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 Bolt, As if poor I had been some wanton Colt. And then he 'gan with basest terms to bray, And then he threats as though he would me kill: And then he dances, for he me be●raid, And then speaks fair, as though he meant none ill: Then like Medusa did 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 Stars, the Day, the Sun, This Dog, this Devil, hath all my joys undone. 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 Lymbo's door. All lean he was, and feeble too God knows, Upon his arm he bore a bunch of Keys: With Candle-light 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. Nye 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 means to kill within a space. My griefs 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 increase thou can, The cruel tortures which me woeful make. And tell me first who thou thyself mayest be, That art a man, and yet dost gibe at me. Seeing the fears which did my heart possess, Uiewing the tears that frickled from mine eyes, He answered thus, a man I must confess, I am myself that here condemned lies. And by the law adjudged I am to dye, But now the Keeper of these Keys am I. This house is Newgate, gently he replied, And this place Limbo, where in 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 a while, I did him so entreat: Quoth he, my friend, I can no 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 lifeless made with fear, Nay peace, quoth he, for there begins 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 convoy their prize of worth. In vain I strive to reobtain what's lost, My woes are now, as woes at first began: With change of griefs, 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, Hungered and starved, for want of food nigh dead. Woe's me, thought I, for thee so bound in chains, Woe's me for them, thou beg'st for to sustain: Woe's me for all, whose want all woes contains, Woe's me, for me, that in your woes complain. Woe's me, woe's 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 uncoth 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 Lymbo's 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 moaned my case: Fainting for fear, I knew not what to say, Expecting then performance of decay. But now this Dog is in a better 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 ●o thy will may be, To case my grief, I le give thee any Fee. With that he gri●'d, 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 joint. Of this close prison to another 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 hath been beat: 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 off 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, drink with woes beholding, Bolts, Shackles, Colours, and Iron, Sheares I spied, Thumstals, Wastbands, tortures grief unfolding: But while the case of legs my sorrows calm, Room, quoth a wretch, for me with Widow's alms. Take of these curtalles 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 stir. 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 I am not 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 orequell. Man's life and soul, this Dog seeks to subdue: His mouth to stop, Angels I gave him two, Yielding persorce, as I perforce must do. And then he left me in the Partners Hall, The Grate doth open, and this Dog outgoes, 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. An other 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 among 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 doth nought but discord sound, My soul for his, our discords concord found. At first he gently took me by the hand, And bids me 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 here, here bidethey altogether. And then he did begin thus to discourse. Cease to lament with vain despairing fears: Thyself dissolved to drops gains no remorse, Here's none regards, though all my mournings hea●●s, If under earth, the Devils can prove a hell, Theirs is not like to this, where wretches dwell. See in you Hall are diverse 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 heads 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 stairss: Whose you I asked, and thus he made reply, You is the man doth mitigate our ●ares. 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 be●ide, 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 clustering come the Pulpit near, As if they longed she Gospel for to hear. What's this, quoth I, that now I do behold, The h●gs 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 behold; so ●ale and wa●, Who while looks up, whiles looking down beneath, Are all condemned, and they must dye each man. judgement is given, that cord shall stop their breath. For heinous facts, as murder, theft, and treason, Unworthy life, to dye Law thought it reason. The Sermon ended, the men condemned to dye, Taking the●e leaves of their acquainted friends: With ●orry looks, paysing their steps they ply, Down to a Hall, where for them there attends, A man of Office, who to da●nt lives hopes, Doth ●●rd their bands, and scar●e their necks, with rope's. Thus roped and corded, they descend the stairs, Newgates Black Dog, bestirs to play his part: And doth not cease for to augment their cares, Willing the Cerman to s●t near his Cart. Which done, these men, with fear of death orepanged, Bound to the Cart, are carried to be handged. 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 swar●●e of grief, and then I sounding sink. But by T●nes aid, I did revive again, Might I have died, it had been lesser pain. For now again the Dog a fresh assaults me, As is my spoil were next to be enacted: And like a subtle Cur in speeches halts he, With thousand fleighty wiles, old shifts compacted. Charging me off with that I never did, In his smoothest 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 on Tytius intended, To tyre his heart, yet never hath his fill. Even so this Dog doth tyre 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 depart: 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 chennell: No bed nor bolster may afford relief, For worse than Dogs, lie we in that foul kennel: What might I think, but sure assure me then, That metamorphosed, we were beasts not men. Grief upon grief, did still oppress my mind, Yet had I store Copartners in my woe: No ease but anguish, my distresses find, H●re lies a man; his l●st lives breath doth blow: And ere the sorry man be fully dead, The Rats do prey upon his face or head. Whilst thus I languish in my woes, appears Time in his man●l●, looking fresh and bl●●he: Yet whiles his eyes did shed some drops of tears, Wherewith he seemed as he would whet his ●●the. Quoth Time by m●●shall sorrows be appeased. And now's the time thou shalt of cares be eased. I did present this Book which I did writ, Into Time's 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 able 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 secret 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 sithment Times shall longer dure: Newgates Black Dog, must Time to silence put, I'll br●●ke his teeth, and make his biting sure. The sh●●es of M●●● 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 〈◊〉 hereafter learn ●hee to beware, Of 〈◊〉 Black Dog, and do his dangers flee, G●ve oth●rs w●rning, least like fall their share. S●● to 〈◊〉 world, when thou ●rt freed from hell, Newgates Black Dog thou saw, and knew too well. And for thy Poem draws to a conclusion, Time's pleasure is, that thou this Dog express: I● shape, in nature, man: yet mens confusion. A madding C●r, 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 ●owers, Truth will be heard, and truth must not be hid: With for like wiles, this Dog poor souls devours, This Dog of me●, 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 fear awake Yet had I writ what premises contains: I was no illusion moved me this Poem make, But griefs 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 described him in some sort, As he is fearful unto all him see: His devilish practices given to report, And set them down, as wicked as they be. Here ends my Poem, Newgates Black Dog by name, As it deserves either commend or blame. FINIS.