THE EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD, OR CORIATS' ESCAPE from his supposed drowning.  
WITH HIS SAFE ARRIVAL AND entertainment at the famous City of Constantinople; And also how he was honourably Knighted with a sword of King PRIAM'S.  
WITH The manner of his proceeding in his peregrination through the Turkish Territories towards the ancient memorable City of JERUSALEM.  
By JOHN TAYLOR.  
Printed at 〈◊〉 near Coleman hedge, and at are to be sold at the sign of the nimble traveler 1613.   

To the Mighty, Magnificent, Potent, and Powerful Knight, Sir Thomas Parsons, (alias) Pheander, (alias) Knight of the Sun, Great Champion to Apollo, Palatine of Ph●ebus, Sword-bearer to Sol, Tilter to Titan, Housekeeper to Hyperion, and heir apparent to the invisible kingdom of the Fairies: your devoted Votary, JOHN TAYLOR, wisheth your Worshits wisdoms Longitude, Latitude, Altitude, and Craslitude may increase above the Ridiculus multitude of the most en●ment Stal●●●● of this latter age.  
TO thee brave knight, who from the Delphian God ●●●e  
I ●on●●●●ate these famous Acts of Odcomb:  
To thee alone, and unto none but thee,  
For Patronage my toiling Muse doth flee.  
I gave my drowning Coriat unto Archy,  
And with his ●ure escape to thee now march 1,  
Not doubting but thou wilt in kindness take  
These lines thus writ, for his, and thy, dear sake.  
If thou in kindness wilt accept this task,  
Hereafter I will better things uncaske,  
And make the world thy worth to glory at  
In greater measure than at Coriat.  
I'll mount thee up in ●urse past Charles his Wain,  
I'll make the Mocue Endymion to disdain,  
I'll write in ever-deering lines thy fame.  
As far as Phoebus spreads his glorious flame.  
I'll make thee pluckestorne Saturn by the Chaps,  
And brave great jove amids his thunder-clappes.  
I'll cause thy praises t'eclipt the God as Arms,  
I'll wake Donia Venus yield to loves alarms.  
The nimble Mercury shall be thy ●oot-mad,  
Is thou wilt grace my lines: therefore lo i●too't man.  
But if to patronize into thou dost scorn,  
'Twere better than thou never hadst been borne:  
For against disdain my Muses only p●t●s.  
To write with Gall, com●●●t with Aqua-lottis:  
And Vinegar, and Salt, and Sublimation.  
Which where it falls will'c●rtch & s●all: probatum.  
Then at thou lov'st the Fairy Queen thine Aunt,  
Deign to touchsafe this poor and trivial grant:  
Then I thy Poet will with how Subjection,  
Proceed to write Tom coriat's Resurrection.  
Yours ever wh 〈…〉 shall persever in your 〈◊〉, JOHN TAYLOR.   

To the knowing Reader.  
NOw sir, it is a common customary use in these times, to salute you with somewhat; as Honest, Kind, Courteous, Loving, Friendly, or Gentle: but all these Epithets are overworn, and do, as it were, stink of the fusty garb of Antiquity. Besides, if I should come upon you with any of these claw-backetearmes, I might chance to belie you. But if your kind disposition do merit to be called kind, I pray let me find it in your favourable censure. Some will (perhaps) dislike that I do dedicate my books to Archy, and Sir Thomas, and such like: To them I answer, that my subject being altogether foolish, I were very absurd to think that any wise man would be my Patron: And it were mere folly for me to make a hodge-podge, in seeking to compound wisdom and folly together. But howsoever thou esteemest it, it thrusts itself into thy view; wherein (if thou be'st not too much drowned in Melancholy) thou wilt show thy teeth (if thou hast any) with laughing. And as my lines are somewhat defective in their shape, so I pray thee, do not hack them, nor hew them with thy stammering, to make them worse, nor Buzzard-blast them with thy calumniating mews, tusks, and scuruyes. Thus leaning thee to thyself, and myself unto thee, I remain thine as thou respects me,  john Taylor.  

The cause of the contention betwixt sir Thomas the Scholar, and john the Sculler.  
A Pamphlet printed was the Sculler named,  
Wherein Sir Thomas much my writing blamed;  
Because an Epigram therein was written,  
In which he said he was ●●pt, galled and bitten.  
He frets, he sums, he rages and exclaims,  
And vows to rovye me from the River Tham●●.  
Well, I to make him some amends for that,  
Did write a Book was called Laugh and be fat:  
In which he said I wronged him ten times more,  
And made him madder than he was before.  
Then did he storm, and chase, and swear, and ban,  
And to superior powers a main he ran,  
Where he obtained Laugh and be fat's confusion,  
Who all were burnt, and made a hot conclusion.  
Then after that, when rumour had him drowned,  
(The news whereof my vexed Muse did wound)  
I writ a letter to th'elysian coast,  
T'appeal his angry wrong incensed Ghost.  
The which my poor invention than did call,  
Odcomhs' Complaint, or coriat's Funeral.  
But since true news is come, he scaped that danger,  
And through hot Sunburnt Asia is a ranger.  
Has raising from the dead I thought to write,  
To please myself, and give my friend's delight:   

The World's eighth Wonder, Or Coriat's reviving.  

LO I the man whose Muse did lately forage,  
Through wind, and sea with dreadless dauntless courage,  
And to the life, in hodge-podge rhyme expressed,  
How Odcomb Coriat was great Neptune's guest.  
How Thetis sweetly lulled him in her lap,  
And (at her darling) fed the Barn with pap,  
How big mouthed AEol stormed, and puffed, and blue,  
And how both wind, and Seas with all their crew  
Were pleased & displeased, tumbled, raged and tossed,  
The Gamers glad, and mad were they that lost.  
These tedious tasks my toiling Muse hath run,  
And what she did, for coriat's sake was dun.  
She hath transported him to Bossoms Inn,  
Where in a Basket he hath hanged been:  
She hath involved him in the hungry deep,  
In hope to leave him in eternal sleep:  
Yet having hanged him first, and after drowned him,  
My poor laborious Muse again hath found him.  
For 'tis her duty still to wait and serve him  
Although the Fates should hang, or drown, or starve him.  
The fatal sisters serve his turn so pat,  
That sure he hath more lives than hath a Cat.  
Alcide● never past so many dangers  
As he hath done, amongst his friends, and strangers,  
Her ●●, through all his actions with such ease,  
As Hogs eat Acorns, or as pigeons Pease.  
There's nothing in the world can him disgrace,  
Not being beaten in a lousy case:  
Nor Trunks, nor Punks, nor stocks, nor mocks, nor moes,  
Not being made an Ass in Rhyme and Prose:  
Nor hanging, drowning, casting, nor the blanket,  
These honours all are his, the God● be thanked.   

But now methinks some curious itching ear,  
Doth long some sportive news of him to hear.  
For being in the Ocean buried under,  
And now alive again, 'tis more than wonder:  
But how these wondrous wonders came to pass,  
I (as I can) will tell you how it was.   

WHen first this mirror amongst a world of Nations,  
(This great ingroser of strange observations)  
Was bound for Constantones brave noble City,  
Then he (who is Wit-all, or else all witty)  
Whose vigilance lets no advantage slip,  
Embarked was in a tall proved Ship  
Of London, the Samaritan she hight,  
Now note the forecast of this famous wight  
The Ship he only for her name did choose  
In detestation of the faithless jews:  
For why the jews and the Samaritans,  
Did hate as Christians, Antichristians.  
Yet I suppose his spite to them did spring,  
For I think what, and now I'll name the thing.  
In his full five months' strange perambulation,  
He was in danger of that perverse Nation.  
For they by wrongful force, would have surprised him,  
T' excoriat Coriat, and t'have Circumcised him.  
This dreadful terror of his Lady ware,  
I guess the cause the jews he hatred bate.  
However was his intricate intent,  
In the Samaritan to sea he went:  
And eare-abusing false intelligence,  
Said he was drowned in Neptune's residence.  
Thus false report did make me much mistake:  
For which a fair recanting mends I'll make.  
My grieved Mine hath ever since his drowning,  
Been ve●e with sorrow and continual swooning:  
But now she's all attired with mirth and gladness,  
The Lie was good that made her sick with sadness.   

KNow therefore Readers, whatsoever you are:  
That this great Britain brave Oucombyan star:  
Was tossed on Neptune's rough remorseless waves:  
Where each man looked for timeless brinish graves:  
For Aeolus unlocked his vaulted Centre,  
And against the Sea-God did in Arms adventure  
With winds uniayled came at unawares,  
And greene-faced Neptune with defiance dares  
With all his watery Regiments to fight  
Or yield this matchless, worthless, wondrous ●●ight.  
The great humidious Monarch, tells him plain,  
'Twere best he jogged from his commanding Main:  
And with his troops of homelesse, roving slaves:  
Go hide him in the earth's imprisoned Caves:  
And not disturb him in his Regal Throne,  
For he would keep Tom Coriat, or else none.  
Then Eol 'gan his windy wrath to vent:  
And swore by Styx that Neptune should repent  
This balky high audacious insolence,  
Against his powerful great magnificence.  
Then Triton, sounded, the alarm was given,  
That from bells bottom to the skirts of heaven:  
The repercussive echoes of his sounding  
With dreadful relapse back again redounding,  
Then, then Robustious swollen cheeked Boreas' blasts,  
Tears, rives, and shivers, Tacklins', sails, and Masts:  
In tottered fragments all in pieces shatred  
Which here and there confusedly lay scattered.  
These hurly burly storms and tempests tumbling  
With dire amazing Thunder-thumping rumbling.  
The mounting billows, like great mountains rise,  
As if they meant to drown the lofty skies.  
Then down they fall to the Tartarian deep,  
As if the infernal Fiends they meant to steep:  
That sure (I guess) a greater gust was never,  
Since Inna did AEnea's ruin endeavour.  
The Kingly Sea-God (to avoid more harms)  
Caught Coriat (the cause of these Alarms.)  
And so his boisterous windy foe deprived,  
And home through worlds of floods amain he dived.  
But awful love to his Imperial sphere  
These grievous garboils chanced for to hear:  
And to his brother Neptune down he sends  
The wing heeled Mercury with these commends:  
To thee thou watery great commanding Keasar.  
I come from heavens Majestic mighty Caesar:  
Commanding thee by thy fraternal love,  
That from thy Coasts thou presently remove  
The man thou lately took'st, the world's sole wonder,  
Or else he'll rouse thee with distracting Thunder:  
And therefore, as Ioues friendship thou dost tender,  
To safe arrival see thou dost him render:  
Whilst May's son his message thus did tell,  
A fury, like a Post-knight, came from hell;  
And from th'infernal King of black Auer●●,  
These words he uttered (which doth much concern us)  
From Acheronticke, Phlegetonticke waves,  
Thy brother Pluto thus much friendships craves:  
Thou wilt send Coriat down with him to reign,  
And he'll send thee as good a thing again,  
For proserpin's his illustrious Fere,  
Of him, and his adventures chanced to hear:  
Because a Gentleman vshe●d she doth want,  
To have him Pluto begs thy friendly grant.  
The Marine Monarch answers, thus it is:  
You Nuntius from our Brethren jove and Dis:  
Know such a mortal is within my power,  
Imprisoned close in ●hetis silver Bower:  
I did surprise him midst a thousand toils  
Of wars; of jars, of bloody baneful broils:  
My high-born brother jove hath hither sent,  
Commanding sue that I incontia●nt  
Do safely set this newfound man a land.  
And I from Pluto further understand.  
That he would have him ●o Crevan Coast,  
Where he and C●ne● daughter rules the coast.  
First therefore I in wisdom hold it best  
To yield unto the mighty Ioues request:  
And on the Grecian coast I'll safely place him,  
Where he may wander where his fortune trace him.  
These messengers thus answered were dit●●●ist,  
And Neptune did to land his guest persist:  
But now all hell was in an expectation  
For coriat's coming making preparation.  
The Stygian Ferryman on Sex's shore,  
Did wait with diligence to waste him o'er,  
And hell's threeheaded Porter sweetly sung  
For joy, that all the Coasts of Limbo rung  
With howling Musics, damn despiteful notes,  
From out his triple Chaps, and treble throats.  
Ixion from the torturing wheel was eased,  
And pining Tantal was with junkets pleased,  
And further, 'twas commanded, and decreed;  
The Gripe no more on Titius' gu●● should feed.  
The nine and forty wenches, water filling  
In Tub● unbottomed which was ever spilling:  
They all had leave, to leave their endless toils,  
To dance, sing, sport, and to keep revel coiles.  
Three forked Hecate to mirth was prone,  
And Sisyphus gave o'er the restless stone.  
All, in conclusion had free leave to play,  
And for Tom coriat's sake make holiday.  
Thus all black Barrathrum is filled with games,  
With lasting bonfires, casting sulphur-flames.  
In Vse'rers skulls the molten gold they quaff,  
And skink, and drink, and wink, and stink, and laugh.  
But when the Post was come and told his Tale,  
Then all this sport was turned to baneful bale.  
Grim Pluto stormed, and Proserpina mourned  
And tortured Ghosts, to torments were returned.   

THe Sea-God (careful of great Ioues high hest)  
To great Constantinople brought his guest:  
Where (nothing that may honour him omitting)  
His entertainment to his slate was fitting:  
There in all pleasure he himself disports  
Conversing daily with such brave consorts.  
As Turks, and Tartars, Englishmen, and greeks,  
That he thinks ages years, and years but weeks  
That's wasted in this rare time stealing chat,  
All his delight's in nothing else but that.  
But his high honour further to relate,  
I'll sing the new advancement of his state.  
Some English Gentlemen with him consulted,  
And he as naturally with them consulted:  
Where they perceiving his deserts were great.  
They strived to mount him into honour's seat:  
And being found of an unmatched sprite,  
He there was double dubbed a doughty Knight.  
Rise up sir Thomas, worshipped mayst thou be  
Of people all (that are as wise as thee.)  
Now rap't with joy, my Muse must needs record  
How he was knighted with a royal sword:  
But into what a puzzle now got I am?  
They say it was the Bilbo of King Priam.  
The fatal blade which he in fury drew,  
When in revenge the Myrmidons he slew.  
Impel mel vengeance for great Heclers' bane,  
Who by Achilles fair foul-play was slain.  
That sword that mowed the Grecians like a scythe:  
That sword that made victorious Trojans blithe.  
That sword, that through so many dangers rubbed,  
That famous sword hath Monsieur Coriat dubbed.  
What though 'twas rusty? spite of cankered rust,  
The memory of honour lives in dust.  
'Twas no disgrace it was so rusty shipped,  
It had (like Coriat) many a scowling scaped.   

But amongst the rest, this must not be forgot,  
How he did from Constantinople trot,  
And how a solemn counsel there decreed,  
That he should travel in a Grecian weed.  
To this (for his own safety) they do woe him.  
Because the language is so natural to him.  
And then besp●ke a sober sage wise fellow,  
(When wine had made them all, in general mellow)  
Take heed quoth he, I counsel you beware  
That of yourself you have a special care  
You be not taken for a Frenchman, for  
The Turks in these parts do the French abhor,  
Since Godfrie● time, that brave bold Bullen Duke,  
Who put them all to shame and rough rebuke.  
And made the Saracens by Millions bleed  
And holy Tomb, from faithless fiends he sited.  
Wherefore (quoth he) in friendship I advise you  
T'avoid suspect 'twere best we Circumcise you:  
And then you freely may through perils pass  
Despite the Turks, so like a Grecian Ass  
No man with Lonxes' eyes will deem you other,  
And thus you safely may suspicion smother.  
Sir Thomas gave this fellows speech the hearing,  
But told him 'twas too heavy for his hearing:  
For why, fall back, fall edge, come good, come all.  
He vowed to keep his foreman's foreskin still.  
This resolution was no sooner spoken,  
The friendly counsel was dismissed and broken.  
Where after leave was ta'en twixt him and them,  
He took his journey toward jerusalem:  
And what he can observe twixt morn and night,  
With due observance he doth daily write,  
That, if my judgement be not much mistook,  
An Elephant will scarce support his book.  
For he in five months built a paper hulk,  
And this must be ten times of greater bulk,  
●● Paule-Church-yard, lonely pity thee,  
Thou only thou, shalt most encumbered Bee:  
Thou from the Press art priest to be oppressed:  
With many a fat-fetched horne-brought Odcomb jest.  
But yet I know the Stationeri are wise,  
And well do know wherein the dangers lies:  
For to such inconvenience they'll not enter:  
But suffers Coriat to abide th'adventure:  
Because his Giant volume is so large,  
they'll give sir Thomas leave to bear the charge.  
That man is mad who changes gold for dross,  
And so were they to buy a certain loss:  
Let him that got and bore the Barn still breed it,  
And nurse, does burse, and soster, cloth, and seed it.   

THus hath my Muse (as fortune her allotted)  
Both run and tid, and gallops, ●●ble●, trotted  
To skies, and seas, and to black hell below  
In servile duty that my love doth owe.  
My captive thoughts like true servants to him,  
Strive how they any way may service do him.  
To serve his turn like Prentices they 'gree,  
love send Sir Thomas home to make them free.    

Epilogue to Sir Thomas Coriat upon his name.  
WHy have I spent my time thus Coriat?  
Wherefore on thy lewd lines thus poor I at?  
Why like an Idiot fool adore— I at  
Thy works? which wisdom will not glory at  
At no place ever was before— I at  
Where wonders upon wonder more— I at  
With pen, instead of Lance, now gore— I at  
Thy Odcomb foppery now door— I at  
At thy pride's altitude, now sore— I at  
Thou art the Theme I write my— story at  
If ought befell me to be— sorry at  
Hardhearted fate against thee then roar— I at   

Upon his books name, called his Crudities.  
TOm Coriat, I have seen thy Crudities,  
And, methinks, very strangely brewed it is,  
With piece and patch together glude it is,  
And how (like thee) ill-favoured hu'de it is,  
In many a line I see that lewd— it is,  
And therefore fit to be subdued— it is,  
Within thy broiling brainpan stude— it is,  
And twixt thy grinding jaws well chewed it is,  
Within thy stomach closely mud— it is,  
And last in Court and Country spude— it is,  
But now by wisdoms eye that viewed it is,  
They all agree that very rude— it is,  
With soolery so full endu'de— it is,  
That wondrously by fools pursued it is,  
As sweet as galls amaritude it is,  
And seeming full of Pulchtitude— it is,  
But more to write but to intrude— it is,  
And therefore wisdom to conclude— It is,   

A Simile for his Learning.  

THe luscious Grape of Bacchus' heating Vine,  
When it to ripe maturity is sprung,  
Is priest, and so converted into wine,  
Then closed in Cask most tied at head and bung:  
For if by chance, it chanceth to take vent:  
It spills the wine in colour, strength, and sent.   

e'en so thy Latin, and thy Greek was good  
Till in thy musty Hogshead it was put:  
And Oddly there Commixed with thy blood,  
Not wisely kept, not well nor tightly shut:  
That of the Cask it tastes so, I assure thee,  
That sew (or none) can (but in sport) endure thee.    

My Farewell to him.  
Now Curiat, I with thee have ever done,  
My Muse unto her journeys and hath won:  
My first Inventions highly did displease thee,  
And these my last are written to appeal thee:  
I wrought these great Herculean works to win thee,  
Then if they please thee not the soole's within thee:  
What next I write, shall better be or none,  
Do thou let me, and I'll let thee alone.  
But if thou seem'st to rub a galled sore,  
Vindict●● vengeance makes all Hell to roar.  
FINIS.