A DOG OF WAR.  
  

A DOG OF WAR.  
A Dog of War, OR, The Travels of Drunkard, the famous Cur of the Round- Woolstaple in Westminster.  
His Services in the Netherlands, and lately in France, with his home Return.  
By john Taylor.  
The Argument and contents of this Discourse is in the next Page or leaf.  
Printed by I Perseus I, for O pierce O, and & pierce &, and are to be sold at the Sign of the A diphthong.   

The Argument.  
AN honest, well-knowing and well-known Soldier, (whose name for some Reasons I conceal) dwelled lately in Westminster), in the round Woolstaple, he was a man only for Action, but such Action as Loyalty did always justify, either for his Prince, Country, or their Deer and near Friends or Allies; in such noble designs He would and did often with courage, and good Aprovement employ himself in the Low-countrieses, having always with him a little black Dog, whom he called Drunkard; which Cur would (by no means) ever forsake or leave him. But lately in these French Wars, the Dog being in the Isle of RHEA, where his Master (valiantly fight) was unfortunately slain, whose death was grieved for by as many as knew him; and as the Corpse lay dead, the poor loving Masterless Dog would not forsake it, until an English Soldier pulled off his Master's Coat, whom the Dog followed to a Boat, by which means he came back to Westminster, where he now remains. Upon whose fidelity, (for the love I owed his diseased Master) I have writ these following lines, to express my Adiction to the Proverb, Love me and love my Hound; I have a little rubbed our Gull-gallant Roarers over the Coxcombs, and withal I have not forgotten our nosewise Prescisians: If the Dog Drunkard do a little snap at them, I hold it their wisest way to be silent and put it up, but if they will be maundering, let them expect what follows.   

To the Reader.  
REader, if you expect from hence,  
For overplus of Wit or Sense,  
I deal with no such Traffic:  
Heroics and jambiks I,  
My Buskinde Muse hath laid them by,  
Pray be content with Saphicke.  
Durunkard the Dog my Patron is,  
And he doth love me well for this,  
Whose love I take for Guerdon;  
And he's a Dog of Mars, his Train.  
Who hath seen men and Horses slain,  
The like was never heard on.   

A Dog of War.  

STand clear my master's ware your shinns,  
For now to Bark my Muse Begins,  
'Tis of a Dog I write now:  
Yet let me tell you for excuse,  
That Muse or Dog, or Dog or Muse,  
Have no intent to By't now.   

In doggerel Rhymes my Lines are writ,  
As for a Dog I thought it fit.  
And fitting Best his Carcase,  
Had I been silent as a Stoic,  
Or had I writ in Verse Heroick,  
Then had I been a Stark Ass.   

Old Homer wrote of Frogs and Mice,  
And Rablays wrote of Nitts and Lice,  
And Virgil of A Fly,  
One wrote the Treatise of the Fox  
Another praised the Frenchman's Pox  
Whose praise was but a Lye.   

Great Alexander had a Horse,  
A famous Beast of mighty force  
Y cleped Bucephalus:  
He was a stout and sturdy Steed,  
And of an excellent Race and Breed,  
But that concerns not us.   

I list not write the babble praise  
Of Apes, or Owls, or Popinjaies.  
Or of the Cat Grimmalkin,  
But of a true and trusty Dog,  
Who well could faun, but never cog,  
His praise my Pen must walk in.   

And Drunkard he is falsely named,  
For with that Vice he ne'er was blamed,  
For he loves not god Bacchus:  
The Kitchen he esteem more dear,  
Then Cellars full of Wine or Beer,  
Which oftentimes doth wrack us.   

He is no Mastiff, huge of limb,  
Or Waterspaniell, that can swim,  
Nor Bloodhound or no Setter:  
No Bobtayle Tike, or Trundle rail,  
Nor can he Partridge spring or Quail,  
But yet he is much better.   

No Dainty Ladies sifting Hound,  
That lives upon our Britain Ground  
No Mongrel Cur or Shogh:  
Should Litters, or whole Kennels dare  
With honest Drunkard to compare,  
My pen writes, marry fough.   

The Otter Hound, the Fox Hound, nor  
The swift foot Grey hound cared he for,  
Nor Cerberus' Hell's Bandog;  
His service proves them Curs and Tikes,  
And his renown a terror strikes.  
In Water dog and Land dog;   

'Gainst brave Buquoy, or stout Dampiere,  
He durst have barked withouten fear  
Or against the hot Count Tylly:  
At Bergin Laguer and Bredha,  
Against the Noble Spinola,  
He showed himself not silly.   

He served his Master at commands,  
In the most warlike Netherlands,  
In Holland, Zealand, Brabant,  
He to him still was true and just,  
And if his fare were but a Crust,  
He patiently would knab on't.   

He durst t' have stood stern Aiax frown,  
When wise Ulysses talked him down,  
In grave Diebus illis,  
When he by cunning prating won  
The Armour, from fierce Telamon,  
That longed to Achilles:   

Brave Drunkard, oft on God's dear ground,  
took such poor lodging as he found,  
In Town, Feild, Camp or Cottage,  
His Bed but cold, his diet thin,  
He oft in that poor case was in,  
To want both Meat and Pottage.   

Two rows of Teeth for Arms he bore,  
Which in his mouth he always wore,  
Which served to fight and feed to:  
His grumbling for his Drum did pass,  
And barking (loud) his Ordnance was,  
Which helped in time of need to.   

His Tail his Ensign he did make,  
Which he would oft display, and shake,  
Fast in his Poop upreared:  
His Powder hot, but somewhat dank,  
His Shot in (sent) most dangerous rank,  
Which sometimes made him feared:   

Thus hath he long served near and far,  
Well known to be A Dog of War,  
Though he ne'er shot with Musket;  
Yet Cannons roar, or Culuerings,  
That whizzing through the Welk in sings,  
He slighted as a Puss Cat   

For Guns nor Drums, nor Trumpets clang,  
Nor hunger, cold, nor many a pang,  
Could make him leave his Master:  
In joy, and in adversity  
In plenty, and in poverty,  
He often was a Taster.   

Thus served he on the Belgia Coast,  
Yet ne'er was heard to brag or boast,  
Of services done by him:  
He is no Pharisey to blow  
A Trumpet, his good deeds to show,  
'tis pity to belly him.   

At last he home returned in peace,  
Till wars, and jars, and scars increase  
'twixt us, and France, in malice:  
Away went he and crossed the Sea,  
With's Master, to the Isle of Rhea,  
A good way beyond Calais.   

He was so true, so good, so kind,  
He scorned to stay at home behind,  
And leave his Master frustrate;  
For which, could I like Ovid write,  
Or else like Virgil could indite,  
I would his praise illustrate.   

I wish my hands could never stir,  
But I do love a thankful Cur  
More than a Man ingrateful:  
And this poor Dog's fidelity,  
May make a thankless Knave descry  
How much that vice is hateful.   

For why? of all the faults of Men,  
Which they have got from Hell's black den,  
Ingratitude the worst is:  
For treasons, murders, incests, rapes,  
Nor any sin in any shapes,  
So bad, nor so accursed is.   

I hope I shall no anger gain,  
If I do write a word or twain,  
How this Dog was distressed:  
His Master being wounded dead,  
Shot, cut, and slashed, from heel to head,  
Think how he was oppressed.   

To lose him that he loved most,  
And be upon a foreign Coast,  
Where no man would Relieve him:  
He licked his Master's wounds in love,  
And from his Carcase would not move,  
Although the fight did grieve him.   

By chance a Soldier passing by,  
That did his Master's Coat espy.  
And quick away he took it;  
But Drunkard followed to a Boat,  
To have again his Master's Coat,  
Such theft he could not brook it.   

So after all his woe and wrack,  
To Westminster he was brought back,  
A poor half starved Creature;  
And in remembrance of his cares,  
Upon his back he closely wears  
A Mourning Coat by nature.   

Live Drunkard, sober Drunkard live,  
I know thou no offence wilt give,  
Thou art a harmless dumb thing;  
And for thy love I'll freely grant,  
Rather than thou shouldst ever want,  
Each day to give thee something.   

For thou hast got a good report,  
Of which there's many a Dog comes short,  
And very few Men gain it;  
Though they all dangers bravely bide,  
And watch, fast, fight, run, go and ride,  
Yet hardly they Attain it.   

Some like Dominical Letters go,  
In Scarlet from the top to toe,  
Whose vallour's talk and smoke all.  
Who make, (God sink'em) their discourse,  
Refuse, Renounce, or Dam, that's worse,  
I wish a halter Choke all.   

Yet all their talk is Bastinado,  
Strong Armado Hot Scalado,  
Smoking Trinidado.  
Of Canvasado, palizado,  
Of the secret Ambuscado,  
Boasting with Bravado.   

If Swearing could but make a Man,  
Then each of these is one that can  
With Oaths, an Army scatter:  
If Oaths could conquer Fort, or Hold,  
Then I presume these Gallants could  
With Brags, a Castle batter.   

Let such but think on Drunkard's fame,  
And note therewith their merits blame,  
How both are universal;  
Then would such Coxcombs blush to see  
They by a Dog outstriped should be,  
Whose praise is worth rehearsal.   

The times now full of danger are,  
And we are round engaged in war,  
Our Foes would fain distress us:  
Yet many a stubborn miser knave,  
Will give no Coin his Throat to save,  
If he were stored like Croesus.   

These hidebound Varlets, worse than Turks,  
Top full with Faith, but no Good works,  
A crew of fond Precise-men;  
In factions, and in emulation,  
Caterpillars of a Nation,  
Whom few esteem for wise men.   

But leaving such to mend, or end:  
Back to the Dog my Verse doth bend,  
Whose worth, the subject mine is:  
Though thou a dogs life here dost lead,  
Let not a dogs death strike thee dead,  
And make thy fatal Finis.   

Thou shalt be Stellifide by me,  
I'll make the Dog-star wait on thee,  
And in his room I'll seat thee:  
When sol doth in his Progress swinge,  
And in the Dog-days hotly sing,  
He shall not over heat thee.   

So honest Drunkard now adieu,  
Thy praise no longer I'll pursue,  
But still my love is to thee:  
And when thy life is gone and spent,  
These Lines shall be thy Monument,  
And shall much service do thee.   

I loved thy Master, so did all  
That ever knew him, great and small,  
And he did well deserve it:  
For he was honest, valiant, good,  
And one that manhood understood,  
And did till death preserve it.   

For whose sake, I'll his Dog prefer,  
And at the Dog at Westminster  
Shall Drunkard be a Bencher;  
Where I will set a work his chaps,  
Not with bare bones, or broken scapps,  
But Victuals from my Trencher.   

All those my Lines that Ill digest,  
Or madly do my meaning wrest,  
In malice, or derision:  
Kind Drunkard, prithee bite them all,  
And make them reel from wall to wall,  
With Wine, or Maults incision.   

I know when foes did fight or parley,  
Thou valiantly wouldst grin and snarl,  
Against an Army adverse;  
Which made me bold, with rustic Pen  
Stray here and there, and back again,  
To blaze thy fame in mad Verse.   

It was no Avaritious scope,  
Or flattery, or the windy hope  
Of any fee, or stipend:  
For none, nor yet for all of these,  
But only my poor self to please,  
This mighty Volume I Penned.   

ANNO.  
This story's writ the day and year,  
That Seacoales were exceeding dear.   
THus the old Proverb is fulfilled, A Dog shall have his day: And this Dog hath not out lived his Reputation, but (to the perpetual renown of himself, and good example of his own begotten Puppies) he hath his bright day of Fame perspicuously shining.  
I read in Anthony Guevaroa his Golden Epistles, that the Great Alexander buried his Horse; that the Emperor Augustus made a stately Monument for his Parrot: and that Heliogabalus did embaulmne and entomb his Sparrow. Happy were those Creatures in dying before their Masters: I could with all my heart have been glad that Drunkard's fortune had been the like, upon the condition that I had paid for his Burial.  
But to speak a little of the nature of Beasts, and of the service and fidelity of Dogs toward their Masters: Quintus Curtius writes, that the Elephant whereon Porus the Indian King road in the Battle against Alexander, when the King was beaten down to the ground, that the Elephant drew his Master with his Trunk out of the danger of the Fight, and so saved him.  
A Groom of the Chamber to French King Francis the first, was murdered in the Forest of Fountein Belleau, but the said Groom had a Dog, who afterward (in the presence of the King & all the Court) did tear the Murderer in pieces.  
Amongst the Watermen at the Blackfriars, there lately was a little Bitch that Whelped or Littered in the Lane under a bench, the Men perceived that she had more Puppies than she could sustain, did take three of them and cast them into the Thames, (the water being high) but the next day, when the water was ebbed away, the Bitch went down the stairs, and found her three drowned Puppies, when presently she digged a deep pit in the ground, and drew them into it one after an other, and then scraped the gravel upon them and so hid them.  
I could produce and relate many of these examples and accidents, but they are so frequent and familiar, that almost every man hath either known or heard of the like: But chiefly for the Dog, he is in request above all Beasts, and by and from Dogs our Separatists and Amsterdamians, and our Precise despisers of all honest and laudable Recreations may see their errors; For of all the Creatures, there are most diversity in the shapes and forms of Dogs; of all which, there are but two sorts that are useful for Man's profit, which two are the Mastiff, and the little Cur, Whippet, or House-dogge; all the rest are for pleasure and recreation; so likewise is the Mastiff for Bear and Bull: But the Water-spaniel, Land-spaniell, Greyhound, Fox-hound, Buck-hound, Bloodhound, Otterhound, Setter, Tumbler, with Shove and Dainty, my Ladies delicate Fisting hound; all these are for pleasure, by which we may perceive that Man is allowed lawful and honest recreation, or else these Dogs had never been made for such uses.  
But many pretty ridiculous aspersions are cast upon Dogs, so that it would make a Dog laugh to hear and understand them: As I have heard a Man say, I am as hot as a Dog, or, as cold as a Dog; I sweat like a Dog, (when indeed a Dog never sweats,) as drunk as a Dog, he swore like a Dog: and one told a Man once, That his Wife was not to be believed, for she would lie like a Dog; marry (quoth the other) I would give twelve pence to see that trick, for I have seen a Dog to lie with his Nose in his Tail.  
FINIS.