ODCOMBS' Complaint: OR CORIATS' funeral Epicedium: or Death-song, upon his late reported drowning. WITH His Epitaph in the Barmuda, and Utopian tongues. And translated into English by john Taylor.  
Printed for merry recreation, and are to be told at the salutation in Utopia. 1613.   

The Author in his own defence.  
IF any where my lines do fall out lame,  
I made them so, in merriment and game:  
For, be they wide, or side, or long, or short,  
All's one to me, I writ them but in sport;  
Yet I would have the Reader thus much know●  
That when I list my simple skill to show  
In poesy, I could both read and spell:  
I know my Dactyls, and my Spondees well;  
My true proportion, & my equal measure,  
What accent must be short, and what at leisure  
How to transpose my words from place, to plac●  
To give my poesy the greater grace.  
Either in Pastoral or Comic strain,  
In Tragedy, or any other vain,  
●n nipping Satyrs, or in Epigrams,  
●n Odes, in Elegies, or Anagrams,  
●n eare-bewitching rare Hexameters,  
Or in iambics, or Pentameters:  
● know these like a Sculler not a Scholar,  
And therefore Poet, pray assuage your collar.  
●f as these in writing you envy me,  
Before you judge me do your worst and try me.  I. T.  

To the Mirror of Time, the most refulgent, splendidious reflecting Court Animal, Don Archibald Armstrong: Great M. controller, Commander, and Countermander of mirth, alacrity, sport, and ridiculous confabulations, in this septentrional, or Western Monarchy of Magna Britannia. Your poor and daily Orator, JOHN TAILOR, wisheth increase of your wisdom, in your own person, and that your eminence and spirit, may be infused into the bosoms of most men's heirs, that esteem more of Wealth, then of WISDOM.  
RIght worthy worthless Patron, the days and times being such, wherein wit goes a woolgathering in a threadbare jacket, and folly is well reputed amongst those that seem wise, I, considering this, having but little wit, in a mad humour bad farewell it, and never so much as asked the question, with whether wilt thou? Being certainly persuaded that playing the fool will repair the breaches which my unhappy wit hath made in the Bulwark of my reputation (as it hath done to many others) wherefore good sir (with) reverence I hearing that so great a member in your esteemed quality, as Mr. Thomas Coriat of Odcomb, was drowned in his passage towards Constantinople; And knowing that many good & worthy writers have graced his living travels: So I have made bold (under your great Patronage) to write his tragical supposed Death-song, or Funeral Elegy; not knowing any man of that worthy worth (besides yourself) to whom I might dedicate these sad Epicediums. Thus, not doubting of your acceptance and protection, I commit myself and my labours to your wonderful wisdoms censure, always having a poor Muse to travel in your service.  john Taylor.  

To the Gentlemen Readers, that understand A. B. from a Battledore.  
NO sooner newe● of coriat's death was come,  
But with the same, my Muse was strooken done:  
For whiest he lived he was my Muse's subject  
Her only life, and sense sole pleasing object.  
Odcombian, Grecian, Laune, Great Thom Ass  
He being dead what life hath she alas.  
But yet I hope his death was false Report,  
Or else 'twas rumoured to beget some sport:  
To try how his dear friends would take his death  
And what rare Epicedium, they would make,  
T' accompany his all-amented Hearse,  
In hobbling jowling, rumbling tumbling verse  
Some smooth some harsh, some shorter and some long:  
As sweet Melodious as Madge Howle●● song:  
But, when I saw that no man took in hand  
To make the world his worth to understand,  
〈◊〉 up I ●ussled from Oblivions den,  
And of a Gander's quill I made a pen,  
With which I wrote this following work of woe  
(Not caring much if he be dead or no:)  
For, whilst his body did contain a life,  
The rare it wits were at continual strife,  
Who should exceed each other in his glory,  
But none but I have writ His Tragic story.  
If he be dead then farewell he: if not,  
At his return, his thanks shall be thy lot,  
Mean time my muse doth like an humble Pleader  
Entreat acceptance of the gentle Reader.  Remaining yours ever, JOHN TAILOR.  

A sad, joyful, lamentable, delightful merry-go-sorry Elegy or Funeral Poem upon the supposed death of the famous Cosmographical surveyor, & Historiographical Relator M Thomas Coriat of Odcomb.  

O For a rope of Onions from Saint Omers,  
And for the Muse of golden tongued Homers  
That I might write and weep, and weep and write,  
Odcombian Coriat's timeless last good-night  
O were my wit inspired with Scoggins vain,  
Or that Will Summers' Ghost had seized my brain,  
Or Tarlton, Lanum, Sin●er, Kempe, and Pope,  
Or she that danced and tumbled on the rope,  
Or Tilting Archy, that so bravely ran,  
Against Don Phoeb●s knight, that wordy man.  
O all you crew, inside pv de coloured garments.  
Assist me to the height of your preferments:  
And with your wits and spirits inspire my pate full.  
That I in coriat's praise be not ingrateful,  
If ever age lamented loss of folly  
If ever man had cause of Melancholy.  
Then now's the time to wail his ruthless wrack,  
And weep in tears of Claret and of Sack.   

ANd now, according to my weak invention,  
His wondrous worthless worthiness i'll mention  
Yet to describe him as he is, or was,  
The wit of Men or Monsters would surpass  
His head was a large powdering tub of phrases,  
Whence men would pick delights, as boys pick daises  
O head, no head, but blockhouse of fierce wars,  
Where wit and learning were at daily jars  
Who should possess the Mansion of his pate:  
But at the last, to end this great debate:  
Admired learning took his heads possession.  
And turned his wit a wandering in progression.  
But Minion Muse, hold, whether wilt thou go,  
Thinkst thou his rare anatomy to show,  
None borne a Christian, Turk, nor yet in Tartary  
Can write each vain, each sinew, and each artery.  
His eyes and ears like brokers by extortion  
Engrossed strange foreign manners and proportion  
But what his eyes and ears did see or hear,  
His tongue or pen discharged the reckoning clear,  
That sure I think, he well could prove by law,  
He uttered more than ere he heard or saw.  
His tongue and hands have truly paid their score,  
And freely spent what they receau●d and more,  
But lord to see, how far over o'er shot am I  
To wade thus deep in his Anatomy.  
What now he is I'll lightly overpass,  
I'll only write ●n part, but what he was:  
That as Grim Death our pleasures thus hath crossed,  
'tis good, because he's gone, to know what's lost.   

he wa● the Imp, whilst he on earth survived,  
From whom this west-worlds' pastimes were derived,  
He was in City, Country, field, and Court  
The Well of dry brained jests, and Pump of sport,  
He was the treasure-house of wrinkled laughter,  
Where melancholy moods are put to slaughter:  
And in a word he was a man 'mongst many,  
That never yet was paralleled by any,  
Who now like human spite of wind and weather,  
Will wear on earthlesse shirt 5. months together?  
Who now to do his native country grace,  
Will for a Trophy execute his case?  
Who now will take the height of every Gallows?  
Or who'll describe the sign of every Alehowse?  
Whether his Host were bog, or short, or tall  
And whether he did knock ere he did call:  
The colour of ●i● Host and Hostess hare?  
What he bought cheap, & what he paid for dear:  
For vea●e or mutton what he paid a joint,  
Where he sat down, and where be loosed a point.  
Each Tower, each Turret, and each lofty steeple,  
Who now (like him) will tell the vulgar people?  
Who now will set a work so many writers,  
As he hath done in spite of his backbiters  
With Panegericks, Anagrams Acrostics,  
T' emblazon him the chief among fantastics?  
Alas not one not one alive doth live,  
That to the world can such contentment give,  
Should Poets stretch their Muses on the rack,  
And study till their percrianions crack.  
Should ●oot-back●t orting Travelours intent,  
To match his travails, all were to no end.  
Let Poets write their best, and Trotters run,  
They near shall write nor run as he hath done.   

But Neptune and great AEolus contending  
'Gainst one another all their forces bending,  
Which of them soonest should rob the happy earth  
Of this rare man of men, this map of mirth.  
And like two envious great ambitious Lords,  
They fell at deep and dangerous discords;  
The sea-god with his three tined angry Rod come,  
And swore by Styx he would have Tom of Odcomb.  
With that, stern Eole blew a boisterous blast,  
And in his rage did gusts and tempests cast  
In sh●●●ring voil●es at fierce Neptune's head:  
Who like a valiant Champion scorning dread,  
Gave blow for blow with his commanding Mace,  
And spitting seems in spiteful AEols face,  
That golden Titan hid his glistering ray,  
As fearing to behold this horrid fray.  
Cimmerian darkness curtained all the world,  
An Ebon Mantle o'er the Globe was hurled,  
The wallowing waves turn oiled the restless ships,  
Like School boys shattlecocks that leaps & skips,  
The Topmast seems to play with Phoebus' nose,  
Straight down toward Erebus amain she goes:  
Blow wind, quoth Neptune, till thy entrails break,  
Against my force thy force shall be too weak:  
Then like two fools at variance for a trifle,  
They split the ship, they enter and they rifle.  
Like cursed Law-wormes, envious and cruel,  
Striving to seize the peerless matchless jewel,  
Whilst AEol sought above the skies to crown him;  
Blew-bearded Neptune in his arms did drown him.  
The Wind-god sees the prize and battle lost,  
Blows, storms, and rages to be curbed and crossed,  
And vowed to rouse great Neptune in his Court,  
And in his teeth his injury retort:  
Then he commands retreat to all his forces;  
Who riding sundry ways on winged horses,  
Big Boreas to the freezing North went puffing,  
And slavering Auster, to the South went huffing,  
Eurus went East, and Zephyrus went West,  
And thus the wars of winds and seas did rest.   

ANd now dame Thetis in thy vasty womb,  
Is odd Odcombians Coriat's timeless tomb,  
Where naiads, Driads, and sweet sea-nymphs tend him,  
And with their daily service do befriend him,  
There al-shaped Proteus and shrill trumping Triton  
And many more, which I can hardly write on,  
As if it were the thing they glory at,  
In servile troops they wait on Coriat,  
That though like hell, the sea were far more dark as  
Yet these would guard his unreguarded carcase.  
You Academic, Latin, Greek Magisters,  
You offsprings of the three times treble Sisters,  
Write, study, teach until your tongues have blisters.  
For, now the Haddocks, and the shifting Sharks,  
That feed on Coriat, will become great Clarks:  
The wrimouthed Place & mumping Whiting-mops  
Will in their maws keep Greek and Latin shops,  
The Porklike purpose; Thorn-back, and the Scate  
Like studious Grecian Latinists will prate,  
And men with eating them, by inspiration,  
With these two tongues, shall fill each barbarous Nation.  
Then, though the Sea hath rudely him bereft us;  
Yet, midst our woes, this only comforts left us,  
That our posterities by eating fishes,  
Shall pick his wisdom out of divers dishes;  
And then (no doubt) but thousands more will be  
As learned, or perhaps all as wisemen as he:  
But to conclude, affection makes me cry,  
Sorrow provokes me sleep, grief dries mine eye.    

EPITAPH in the Barmooda tongue, which must be pronounced with the accent of the grunting of a hog.  
HOugh grantough wow Thomough  
Coriatough, Odcough robunquogh,  
Warawogh bogh Comitogh  
segh wogh termanatogrogh,  
Callimogh gogh whobogh Ragamogh  
demagorgoh palemogh,  
Lomerogh nogh Tottertogh illemortogh  
eagh Allaquemquogh,  
Teracominogh Iagogh jamerogh  
mogh Carnogh pelepsogh,  
Animogh trogh deradrogh maramogh  
hogh Flondrogh calepsogh.   


Epitaph in the Utopian tongue.  
NOrtumblum callimunquash omystoliton quashte burashte,  
Scribuke woshtay solusbay perambulatushte;  
Grekay sons Turkay Paphay zums jeruslushte.  
Neptus esht Ealors Interremoy diz Dolorushte,  
Confahuloy Odcombay Prozeugmolliton tymorumynoy;  
Omulas' or at ushte paralescus tolliton umbroy.   

The same in English, translated by Caleb Quishquash, an Utopian borne and principal Secretary to the great Adelantado of Barmoodoes'.  
HEre lies the wonder of the English Nation,  
involved in Neptune's british vasty maw:  
For fruitless travel, and for strange relation,  
He past and repast all that ere eve saw.  
Odcomb produced him; many Nations fed him,  
And worlds of Writers, through the world have spread him,   
FINIS.   

Certain Sonnets, in praise of Mr. Thomas the deceased; fashioned of divers stuffs, as mockado, fustian, stand-further off, and motley, all which the Author dedicates to the immortal memory of the famous Odcombian traveler.  

COnglomerating Ajax, in a fog  
Consulted with Ixion for a tripe,  
At which Gargantua took an Irish bog,  
And with the same ga●e Sisyphus a stripe.  
That all the bombast forests 'gan to swell,  
With Triple treble trouble and with joy,  
That Lucifer kept holiday to hell,  
Cause Cupid would no more be called a boy.  
Delucitating Flora's painted hide,  
Redeems Arion from the hungry Wolf,  
And with conglutinating haughty pride,  
Threw Pander in the damned Venetian gulf,  
The Mediterrane mountains laughed and smiled,  
And Libra wandered in the woods so wild.  
Bright Cassia Fistula was wondrous sad,  
To hear Zarzaparillas great mishap,  
And Coloquintida was raging mad  
When Saxafrage was set in Rubarbs lap;  
Dame Liquorish was in a monstrous fume,  
Against the luscious Reasons of the sun,  
And Trinidado smoke avoids the room,  
Whilst Gum-armoniack swears she is undone;  
unguentum album is so pale and wan  
That Paracelsus plaster mourns in black,  
The spanish Eleborus strongly can  
Make Lignum vitas hide with sneezing crack:  
Lo, thus with unguents, plasters, oils, & drugge●  
We conjure up the fierce infernal bugs.  
The headstrong Torchlight of Cimmerian waves,  
With fiery frozen wonder leaps and vaults:  
And on th' Altantick Ocean cuts and shaves,  
Whilst thunder thwacking Ossa limps and halts,  
Robustious AEtna drowns the artic Pole,  
And forked Vulcan hath forsook his forge,  
Apollo'es piebald mare hath cast her fool,  
And muley Mahomet hath filled his gorge.  
Don Belzebub sits slaying of his breech,  
And Marble Proteus dances, leaps and skips,  
Belerophon hath penned an excellent speech,  
And big-boand Boreas kissed anrora's lips:  
The Welkin rumbles; Argos lies a sleep,  
And Tantalus hath slain a flock of sheep.  
When flounder-flapping Termagant was slain,  
The smug faced Cerberus did howl and yell.  
And Polyphemus rid in Charles his wain,  
Whilst Gorgon's head rung great Alcides' knell,  
The rip-rap-riffe-raffe, thwick thwack stout Babo●  
Gripes in his downy clutch the spongy Oak.  
And Young Andromeda at night rings noon,  
Whilst Asdrubal at tick tack lost his cloak,  
Prometheus covering, the Umbrano's head,  
And Typhon tumbles through the solid Air:  
Proud Pegasus on Cheese and Garlic fed,  
And Proserpina went to Sturbidge fair.  
Pope Hildebrand bad Pluto home to supper,  
And Don Diego's horse hath broke his crupper.  
Dick Swash drew out his three piled blunted blade  
And flashed in twain the equinoctial line:  
Tom Thumb did through th' Arabian deserts wade,  
Where Castor and his brother Pollux shine,  
The thread bare flapjacks of the western Isles,  
Exasperates the Marble Sithian Snow,  
Damu Venus traveled fifty thousand miles  
To see the bounds of Nilus' ebb and flow.  
The Gurmondizing Quagmires of the East,  
Ingurgitates the Eremanthean Bull:  
And rude rebounding Sagittarius Ceased  
To pipe Levaltoes to Gonzagues Trull  
The Adriatic Polecats sat carousing,  
And hidebound Gogmagog his shirt was lowfin●  
Sweet Semicircled Cynthia played at maw,  
The whilst Endymion ran the wild-goose chase.  
Great Bacchus with his Crossbow killed a daw,  
And sullen Saturn smiled with pleasant face.  
The ninefold Bugbears of the Caspian lake,  
Sat whistling Ebon hornepipes to their Ducks,  
Madgh●ulet strait for joy her Girdle broke.  
And rugged Satyrs frisked like Stags and Buck●  
The untamd tumbling fifteen footed Goat,  
With promulgation of the Lesbian shores,  
Confronted Hydra in a sculler Boat,  
At which the mighty mountain Tauris roars  
Mean time great Sultan Soliman was borne,  
And Atlas blew his rustic tumbling horn.   
IF there be any Gentlemen, or others that are desirous to be practitioners in the Barmoodo and Utopian tongues: the Professor (being the Author hereof) dwelleth at the old Swan near London Bridge, who will teach them (that are willing) to learn, with agility and facility.   

Errata.  
REader, you must imagine these six confused Sonnets, of Rhyme without Reason, are confusedly put together; but I would entreat you ●or your better understanding, to divide them into ●4. lines a piece in your reading.  
FINIS.