THE WATER-CORMORANT HIS COMPLAINT: Against a Brood of Land-Cormorants.  
Divided into fourteen Satyrs.  
By JOHN TAYLOR.  

1 A jesuit.  
2 A Separatist.  
A Trust-breaker.  
A Drunkard.  
A prodigal Gallant.  
An Extortioner & broker  
A Basket-Iustice.  
A Cutpurse.  
A good & bad Constable  
A Sergeant & jailer.  
A Patron & his Clark.  
A Country-Yeoman.  
A Figure-flinger.  
A Lawyer, & Vndershriefe   

My Cormorant against these doth inveigh,  
And proves himself much better far than they   
LONDON,  
Printed by GEORGE ELD. 1622.   

To Gentlemen, and those that are gentle.  
Svbiects' may seem scarce, or Printers lack work, when a Cormorant flies into the Press, yet Cormorants oppress and therefore worthy to be pressed; but my Cormorant hath neither dipped his tongue in oil to smooth the faults of the vicious, nor stopped his mouth to conceal the merits of the virtuous: I have thought good to sympathise a subject fit for the time, and I have done my best to handle it in a suitable strain.  
The Cormorant is not easily induced to affability, nor I to flattery.  
His best service is harsh and unsociable, so is my style. His biting is sharp and piercing, so is my phrase. His throat is wide and spacious, my subject is spacious. His colour is black, I discover deeds of darkness. He grubs and spuddles for his prey in muddy holes and obscure caverns, my Muse ferrits base debaushed wretches in their swinish dens. He like the Crocodile moves the upper chap, this Treatise condemns that beasts dissimulation. He swallows down his meat without taste, this book distastes such as sin without touch of conscience.  
The odds is, my Cormorant's appetite is limited, but most of theirs is unsatiable.  
I aim not at such men's slips as may fall by infirmity, for that were like Esop's crab, to offer to teach others to go right, going crooked myself.  
Detraction is a private wounding of a man's name, and flattery a devourer of men alive. If I can sail betwixt these two, and not be split, I shall arrive at my desired port.  
In my passage I shall have Polypheme casting Rocks to sink me, Critics misconstruing my words, like spider's sucking poison out of wholesome flowers.  
But from these Antipodes to goodness, by their Antithesis to nature, I appeal to my conscience which is a witness to me that can neither accuse or condemn me.  
I aim at none but such as devour others, and yet make shift to keep themselves out of the reach of law, I name none personally, and therefore wish the faulty to amend with silence rather than by rubbing of a spot to make a hole in the whole cloth, for I leave glean enough to make a second part if need require. Such stomaches as cannot digest this dish, let me rather be to them a choke pear then a Gudgeon.  
There is no degree of man or woman, whatsoever, from the Court to the Cottage, or from the Palace to the Plough, but may make good use of this Poem, either for merry recreation, or vices defamation: and in a word, if it please the judicious, or be any way profitable to the confirming of the good, or reforming the bad, I have then my full recompense, with the effect of my intentions and wishes.  
john Taylor.   

A brood of CORMORANTS.  

A Jesuit.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

King-killing monsters, out of Heaven's mouth flowed.  
Ca●ers, and Butchers unto Rome and Hell:  
The bane of youth and age, in blood imbrowed:  
Perditions gulf, where all foul Treasons dwell.  
〈◊〉, lives, and souls under the saving style  
Of jesus, they devour, confound, beguile.   

IN setting down this sect of blood compact,  
Me thinks I see a tragic Scene in act:  
The Stage all hanged with the sad death of Kings,  
From whose bewailing story sorrow springs;  
The Actors dipped in cruelty and blood,  
Yet make bad deeds pass in the name of good.  
And kindling new commotions, they conspire  
With their hot Zeal to see whole Realms on fire;  
As 'twas apparent when they did combine,  
Against us, in their fatal powder Mine.  
All hell for that black treason was ploughed up,  
And mischief drank deep of damnation's cup:  
The whole vast Ocean sea, no harbour grants  
To such devouring greedy Cormorants,  
In the wide gulf of their abhorred designs  
Are thoughts that find no room in honest minds.  
And now I speak of Rome even in her sea,  
The jesuits the dangerous whirlpools be,  
Religions are made waves, that rise and fall  
Before the wind or breath Pontifical.  
The Pope sends storms forth, fevers or combines,  
According to his mood it raines or shines,  
And who is ready to put all his will  
In execution, but the jesuit still.  
Nor hath this Cormorant long ta'en degree,  
For Esacus more ancient is then he:  
Years thousands since Troy's son he was created,  
And from a man but to bird translated,  
Whereas the jesuit derives descent  
But from Ignatius Loyola, that went  
For a maimed Spanish soldier, but herein  
The difference rises, which hath ever been:  
From man to bird, one's changed shape began,  
The other to a devil from a man.  
Yet herein these wide mawed Esacians,  
May well agree with these Ignatians,  
First black's the colour of the greedy Fowl,  
And black's the jesuits habit like his soul,  
The bird is lean though oft he be full crawed,  
The Iesuit's hatchet faced, and wattle jawed,  
The Cormorant (as nature best befits)  
Still without chewing doth devour whole bits,  
So jesuits swallow many a lordly living,  
All at a gulp without grace or thanksgiving.  
The birds throat (gaping) without intermission,  
Resembles their most cruel inquisition,  
From neither is, non est redemptio,  
For what into the Corm'rants' throat doth go,  
Or jesuits Barrathrum doth once retain,  
It ne'er returns fit for good use again.  
Eighty years since he stole the Epithet  
From jesus, to be called a jesuit,  
But I could find him out a style more right,  
From judas to be named Iscariotite.  
Though Paul the third their title did approve,  
Yet he confined their number, that above  
Threescore they should not be, and yet we see  
How much increased now the Vipers be,  
That many a thousand Christian lies and groans  
Under the slavery of these devilish drones.  
And he that knows but truly what they are,  
Will judge a Cormorant's their better far.    

A Separatist.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Here earth and hell have made a false commixion.  
Of painted zeal, and holiness, and love:  
Of Faith, of Hope, of Charity (in fiction)  
In smoke and shadows, as the fruits do prove.  
Hypocrisy, which long prayers doth repeat,  
Devoureth Widows, and poor Orphans cheat.   

NOw enters next, to play his Oily part  
A Saint in tongue, but a rough devil in heart:  
One that so smoothly swallows his prey down,  
Without wrath shown, or any seeming frown.  
You'd think him when he does it, in a Psalm,  
Or at his prayers, he's so mild and calm:  
No noise, no trouble to his conscience cries,  
For he devours his prey with heaved up eyes.  
Stands most demurely swallowing down his bit,  
And licks his lips, with long grace after it.  
This Bell-wether (sir reverence) leads the flock,  
After his sense grafted in errors stock.  
This reverend Barrabas, a Button-maker,  
Himself with trusty Demas his partaker,  
Meets with their brethren, Chore, Abiram, Dathan,  
And term our Church the Synagogue of Satan.  
Wise Balaam, Nabal, Esau, Ishmael,  
Tertullus, Theudas, and Achitophel,  
Phiigellus, Himeneus, and Philetus,  
(A crew of turne-coates that desire to cheat us)  
These fellows with their Ample folio graces,  
With mumping chaps, and counterfeited faces,  
Though they like shotten Herrings are to see,  
Yet such tall soldiers of their teeth they be,  
That two of them like greedy Cormorants,  
Devours more than six honest Protestants.  
When privately a sister and a brother  
Do meet, there's dainty doings with each other:  
there's no delay, they ne'er stand shall I shall I,  
Hermogenes with Dallila doth dally:  
And Simei with Saphira will dispute,  
That nine months after she doth bear the fruit.  
When Zimri kissing jesabel doth greet,  
And Cozby with her brother Cham, oh sweet,  
'Tis fit to try (their humours to refresh)  
A Combat 'twixt the spirit and the flesh:  
Provided that they do it secretly,  
So that the wicked not the same espy:  
These youths deride the Surples, Cross and Ring,  
The knee at Sacrament or any thing  
The Church holds Reverend, and to testify  
Their bastardy, the Fathers they deny.  
And of themselves they frame Religions new,  
Which Christ and his Apostles never knew;  
And with untemperd mortar of their own,  
They build a Church, to all good men unknown,  
Rails at the Harmonious Organs, and the Cope,  
Yet in each Church of theirs, they raise a Pope.  
Calls it the begged of Antichristian dross,  
When they see butter printed with a Cross:  
And yet for Coin they'll any man beguile,  
For when they tell it, they turn up the pile.  
Upon the Sabbath they'll no physic take,  
Lest it should work, and so the Sabbath break.  
They hate to see a Churchman ride, (why so)  
Because that Christ bade his Apostles go.  
Against our Churches all, they have exclaimed,  
Because by Saints names most of them are named:  
If these new Saints will no old Saints abide,  
From Christendom they must, or run, or ride.  
Saint George from England chases them away,  
Saint Andrew doth in Scotland bear like sway:  
From Ireland good Saint Patrick them will banish,  
Saint Dennis out of France will make them vanish:  
Saint james will force them out of Spain to fly,  
So will Saint Anthony from Italy,  
And last of all (whom I had half forgot)  
Saint Dany out of Wales will make them troth.  
And what ungodly place, can harbour then,  
These fugitive vnnat'rall Englishmen:  
Except that with the Turk or Infidel,  
Or on, or in the Sea, they mean to dwell,  
That is in lesser room they may be crammed,  
And live and die at Amster and be damned.  
And sure I hold some Roman Catholics  
Much better than these self-willed schismatics.  
For Papists have good affability,  
And some have learning, most have Charity,  
Except a jesuit, whom I think a man,  
May term a tied Papistick Puritan,  
And for the Sep'ratist I justly call,  
A Schismatic Impuritanicall.  
But yet the Iesuit's constant in his mind,  
The Schismatic is waveringly inclined.  
Besides, he thinks whilst he on earth doth live,  
'tis charity to take, and not to give.  
There are a sort of men which conscience make  
Of what they say, or do, or undertake:  
Who neither will dissemble, swear, or lie,  
Who to good ends their actions all apply,  
Who keep the Sabbath, and relieve the poor,  
According to their portions and their store:  
And these good people some men do backbite  
And call them Puritans, in scorn and spite,  
But let all know that do abuse them so,  
That for them is reserved a fearful woe;  
I love and reverence only bear to such,  
And those that here Inuectively I touch  
Are Birds whose Consciences are more unclean  
Than any Cormorant wase're known or seen:  
I'll stand to'th censure of all honest men,  
If they disprove me, I'll ne'er write again.    

A Trust-breaker.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

A Foe to justice, a corrupted Friend,  
An outward Angel and an inward Fiend;  
A hidden Serpent, a most subtle Fox  
A Sugared poison, in a painted Box:  
A Sirens song, alluring to mishap,  
A Snare to Honesty, and Virtue's trap.   

THe Rich Trust breaker, upon whom hell waits  
Doth thrust into the River of Estates,  
His foul devouring Beak, and at one prey  
Will swallow fourteen Tradesmen in a day:  
As many of the Country Lordships slips  
Flap-dragon like, by his Insatiate lips.  
The Father sometimes hath been quite undone,  
Through too much trusting his vnnat'rall Son,  
And a Trust-breaker hath a trick in's pate  
To bring a rich Ward to a Beggar's state.  
For some corrupted men have got tuition  
Of rich men's Heirs, and changed their condition  
With false inducements to Recusancy,  
Or suffering them through prodigality  
To run so far in debt, that all their Lands  
Are lost, before they come into their hands.  
Fair Schools of learning have been built from ground  
For Boys whose Fathers were not worth five pound:  
But false Trust-breakers hold it for no sin,  
To keep out poor men's sons, take rich men's in.  
This Breach of Trust is multiplied, in time  
'T a Catholic, and universal crime,  
That man to man is grown so much unjust,  
That he's a wise man that knows who to trust.  
But (if there be such) they do want much care  
Who trust not in the world nor trusted are.  
Collectorships, the common wealth may lurch,  
For Burnings, Highways, Bridges, or the Church,  
For loss at Sea, for Hospitals and Schools,  
One hundred knaves, may make ten thousand fools.  
Yet these things are so needful, as I wot,  
he's a base villain that contributes not:  
But he's a hellhound that their Trust deceives,  
And the right due from those that want bereaves:  
Why, this Trust breaking hath the excellent skill  
To make a Wife to burn her Husband's Will,  
Because his first Wife's Children should not have  
The Portions that within that Will he gave.  
And oftentimes a gasping man for breath,  
Distracted with the griping pangs of death,  
Hath to a forged Will subscribed his hand,  
And dispossessed his own son of his land.  
Trust-breakers may a senseless hand so frame,  
(Though being six hours dead) to write a Name,  
A rich-man's wealth that's dead's like untold gold,  
And that's because 'tis never truly told:  
For like to pitch it hath polluting tricks,  
And some unto the fing'rers fingers sticks:  
But of all Rascals since the world began,  
The Bankrupt Politicks the only man,  
In courteous fashion many he'll undo,  
And be much pitied and rewarded too:  
For having got men's wealth into his claws,  
He holds it faster than a Cormorant's laws  
Can hold a silly fish, and at the last,  
Himself, himself will into prison cast.  
And having broke for thousands, there the hound  
Compounds, perhaps for ten groats in the pound,  
Se●s richly up again, till time he sees,  
To break, to prison again, again agrees:  
And thus a cunning knave, can with a trice,  
Break, and be whole again, once, twice or thrice.  
These Cormorants are worse than thieves therefore,  
And being worse, deserve a hanging more.  
A Thief speaks what he means, & takes your purse,  
A Bankrupt flattering robs you ten times worse.  
The one doth seldom rob ye of all your pelf,  
The other leaves you naught to help yourself:  
And yet the one for little thieving may,  
At Tyburn make a hanging holiday;  
Whilst the great The●e may wi●h a golden prop,  
To fair Revenues turn a Peddlers shop.  
In this voracity Father stands not free  
From his own Son, nor fr●m his Uncle, he  
Being made Executor to'th States of men,  
My cormorant is a piddler to him then.  
He will by cunning and vexation draw,  
Heir, wealth and All, into his ravenous maw,  
And when his gorge is full up to the brim,  
Into some loathsome prison vomits him.  
There leaves the honour of a ho●se and name,  
To be exchanged for misery and shame:  
Now tell me they that love fair truth indeed,  
If such maws do not Corm'rants guts exceed.  
And to what place soever such resort,  
They are the Fowl Birds both in Town and Court.    

A Drunkard.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

A madness dear bought, with loss of fame,  
Of credit and of manly reputation:  
A cursed purchase of disease and shame,  
Of death, and a great hazard of Damnation:  
In all that's bad, the devil's only Ape,  
Worse than a beast, in the best manly shape.   

THis fellow with the dropsy grown as big,  
And much more beastly than a Sow with pig:  
His cheeks like Boreas swollen, he ●low'd and puffed,  
His paunch like to a woolpack crammed and stuffed:  
And by the means of what he swiled and guled,  
He looked like one that was three quarters mulled.  
His breath compounded of strong English Beer,  
And th'Indian drug would suffer none come near.  
From side to side he staggered as he went,  
As if he reeling did the way indent.  
One skirt of's cloak scarce reached unto his waste,  
The other dragging in the dirt he traced.  
His very brains within his head were stewed,  
And looked so crimson coloured scarlet hewed,  
As 'twere an ignis fatuus, or a comet.  
His garments stunk most sweetly of his vomit,  
Faced with the tap-lash of strong Ale and Wine,  
Which from his slau'ring chaps doth oft decline.  
In truth he looked as red as any coal,  
And bellied like unto a Mare with foal:  
With hollow eyes, and with the palsy shaking,  
And gouty legs with too much liquor taking.  
This valiant pot-leach that upon his knees  
Has drunk a thousand pottles up see frieze,  
Such pickled phrases he had got in store,  
As were unknown unto the times of yore,  
As when he drinks out all the total sum,  
Gave it the style of superna●ul●um,  
And when he quaffing doth his entrailes wash,  
'tis called a hunch, a thrust, a whiff, a slash:  
And when carousing makes his wits to fail,  
They say he hath a rattle at his tail,  
And when his wits are in the wetting shrunk,  
You may not say he's drunk, though he be drunk,  
For though he be as drunk as any Rat,  
He hath but catcht a fox, or whipped the Cat.  
Or some say, he's bewitched, or scratched, or blind,  
(Which are the fittest terms that I can find.  
Or seen the Lions, or his nose is dirty,  
Or he's pot-shaken, or out, two and thirty  
And then strange languages comes in his head,  
When he wants English how to go to bed:  
And though 'twere fit the swine should in his sty be,  
He spews out latin with pro bibi tibi:  
Which is, provide for Tyburn (as I take it)  
Or if it be not, he may chance to make it.  
Then Irish Shachatwhorum from him flees,  
And half a dozen welsh me Vatawhees:  
Until he falls asleep he skinks and drinks,  
And then, like to a Boar he winks, and stinks.  
This Cormorant in one day swallows more,  
Then my poor Esacus doth in a score.  
For mine but once a day doth take his fill,  
The drunkard, night and day doth quaff and swill,  
Drink was ordained to length man's fainting breath,  
And from that liquor Drunkards draw their death:  
Displeasing God, the devil he only pleases,  
And drinks with others healths, his own diseases.  
And in the end contempt and shame's his share,  
The whilst a Tapster is his only Heir.  
Thus drink's's a wrestler that gives many a fall,  
To death, to beggary and slavish thrall.  
And drunkenness a wilful madness is,  
That throws men to hell's bottomless abyss.  
For why, where drunkenness is mistress, there  
Sobriety can hardly mastery bear:  
And ti's no question but the land hath drowned,  
More men with drink, than Seas did ere confound.  
Wine is Earth's blood, which from her breast doth spring,  
And (well used) is a comfortable thing.  
But if abused from it then begins,  
Most horrible notorious crying sins.  
As Murder, Lechery, Ebriety,  
God's wrath, damnation in variety:  
For he that is a drunkard is the sum,  
And abstract of all mischiefs that can come.  
It wastes him soul and body, life and limb,  
My Cormorant's a sober beast to him.  
He that persuades a man to steal or lie,  
To swear, or to commit adultery,  
To stab or murder any man that lives,  
Can it be said that he good counsel gives?  
And he that tempts and forces men to drink,  
Persuades a man to damn himself, I think,  
For drunken men have into dangers run,  
Which (being sober) they would ne'er have done.  
I take them for no friends, that give me wine,  
To turn me from a man unto a swine,  
To make me void of manners, sense, or reason,  
To abuse God, blaspheming odious treason,  
To hurt my soul and body, fame and purse,  
To get the devil, and gain Gods heavy curse,  
Though many take such for their friends to be,  
I wish them hanged that are such friends to me:  
For greater enemies there cannot dwell  
In the whole world, nor in the bounds of hell.  
Good friendly drinking I account not evil,  
But much carousing, which makes man a devil,  
Wanting the privilege that hath a horse,  
And to be urged and forced to drink perforce.  
For why a horse this government hath still,  
Drinks what he will, and not against his will.  
And he that that good rule doth ouerpasse,  
Hath less discretion than a horse or Ass:  
And any man that doth this temperance want,  
Is a worse glutton than my Cormorant.    

A prodigal Country Gallant, and his new made Madam.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Tailor's fools, Times babbles, and prides Apes,  
That as a Squirrel skips from tree to tree:  
So they like Porteus leap from shapes to shapes.  
Like foul swords in gilt scabbards, he and she  
Their carcase pampers, gorgeously bedecked,  
Whilst their poor starved souls they both neglect.   

NOw step● my young gull gallant into play,  
Who (borne to land) i'th' country scorns to stay,  
To live by wit (thanks Sire) he hath no need,  
And if he should be hanged can scarcely read.  
Drabs, dice, and drink are all his only joys,  
His pockets, and his spurs, his gingling boys,  
A Squirrels tail hangs dangling at his ear,  
A badge which many a gull is known to wear.  
His eyes red bloodshot, arguing a sod brainc,  
His dam-him voice set to the roaring strain:  
His nose well inlaid with rich gems about,  
As from a watch- Tower, their h●ads peeping out,  
Attended fitly, (fitting for the age)  
With two shagged Russians, and a pied coat Page,  
Who bears his box, and his Tobacco fills,  
With stopper, tongs, and other utensils.  
This Fop, late buried, ere he came up hither,  
His thrift and's father in one grave together,  
His country stock he sold, for that's the fashion,  
And to a farmer gave it new translation:  
His Father's servants he thrust out of door,  
Allows his mother but a pension poor:  
Salutes you with an oath at every word,  
Sirrah or slave he liberal doth afford.  
His Father (a good housekeeper) being dead,  
He scorns his honest block should fit his head:  
And though he be not skilled in Magic Art,  
Yet to a Coach he turned his Fathers Cart.  
Four Teams of Horses, to four Flanders Mares  
With which to London he in pomp repairs,  
Woos a She Gallant, and to Wife he takes her:  
Then buys a knighthood, and a madam makes her.  
And yearly they upon their backs over wear,  
That which oft fed five hundred with good cheer.  
Whilst in the Country all good bounty's spilt  
His house, as if a juggler it had built,  
For all the Chimneys, where great fires were made,  
The smoke at one hole only is conveyed:  
No times observed nor Charitable Laws,  
The poor receive their answer from the Daws,  
Who in their caaing language call it plain  
Mockbegger Manor, for they came in vain.  
They that devour what Charity should give  
Areboth at London, there the Cormorants live,  
But so transformed of late, do what you can,  
You'll hardly know the woman from the man:  
There sir Tim Twirlepipe and his Lady Gay,  
Do prodigally spend the time away:  
Being both exceeding proud, and scornful too,  
And any thing (but what is good) they'll do.  
For Incubus, and Succubus have got  
A crew of fiends, which the old world knew not:  
That if our Grandfathers and Grand-dams should  
Rise from the dead, and these mad times behold.  
Amazed they (half madly) would admire,  
At our fantastic gestures and attire:  
And they would think that England in conclusion,  
Were a mere babble Babel of confusion.  
That Muld-sack for his most unfashiond fashions,  
Is the fit pattern of their transformations:  
And Mary Frith doth teach them modesty,  
For she doth keep one fashion constantly,  
And therefore she deserves a matron's praise,  
In these inconstant moon-like changing days.  
A witless Ass (to please his wife's desire)  
Pays for the fuel, for her prides hot fire:  
And he and she will waste, consume, and spoil,  
To feed the stinking lamp of pride with oil:  
When with a sword, he got a knightly name,  
With the same blow, his Lady was struck lame.  
For if you mark it, she no ground doth tread,  
(Since the blow fell) except that she be lead:  
And Charity is since that time (some say)  
In a Carts younger brother borne away.  
These are the Cormorants, that have the power  
To swallow a Realm, and last themselves devour:  
And let their gaudy friends, think what they will,  
My Cormorant shall be their better still.    

An Extortioner and a Broker.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Friends to but few, and to their own soul's worst,  
With Aspish poison poisoning men at first,  
Who laughing languish, never think on death,  
Until these Wolves (with biting) stop their breath;  
The devil and they at no time can be sundered,  
And all their trade is forty in the hundred.   

Room for two hounds, well coupled, and 'tis pity  
To part them, they do keep such rank i'th' City,  
Th' Extortioner is such a fiend, that he  
Doth make the Usurer a Saint to be.  
One for a hundreds use doth take but ten,  
Tother for ten a hundred takes again:  
The one 'mongst Christians is well tolerated,  
Tother's of heaven and earth abhorred and hated,  
The one doth often help a man distressed,  
The other adds oppression to'th oppressed.  
By paying use a man may thrive and get,  
But by extortion never none could yet.  
Though usury be bad, ('tis understood,  
Compared with extortion) it seems good.  
One by besaile, and th'other by the great,  
Engross the profits of the whole world's sweat,  
That man is happy that hath meat and cloth,  
And stands in need of neither of them both,  
Extortioners are Monsters in all nations,  
All their Conditions turn to Obligations,  
Wax is their shot, and writing pens their Guns,  
Their powder is the ink that from them runs.  
And this dank powder hath blown up more men  
In one year, than gunpowder hath in ten.  
Bills are their weapons, parchments are their shields,  
With which they win whole lordships, towns & fields  
And, for they know in heaven they ne'er shall dwell,  
They engross the earth before they come to hell.  
Yet all their lives here they with cares are vexed,  
Slaves in this world, and hell hounds in the next.  
And what they o'er the devil's back did win,  
Their heirs beneath his belly waste in sin.  
The Broker is the better scenting hound,  
He hunts and scouts till he his prey hath found,  
The gallant which I mentioned late before,  
Turning old hospitality out of door,  
And having swallowed tenants and their crops,  
Coming to town, he crams Extortions chaps:  
Craft there, may here again be set to school,  
A Country knave oft proves a City fool.  
He that a dog's part plays when he is there,  
A wolf devours him when he comes up here:  
The silly swain the racking Landlord worries,  
But Swain and Landlord both extortion curries.  
First thing is done, the Broker smells him forth,  
Hunts all his haunts, inquires into his worth:  
Scents out his present wants, and then applies  
Rank poison to his wounds for remedies.  
In stead of licking, he's a biting whelp,  
And rankles most, when he most seems to help,  
And he hunts dry foot; never spends his throat  
Till a has caught his game, and then his note  
Lulls him asleep, fast in Extortions bands  
There leaves him, takes his fee o'th' goods and lands.  
And as he is the Commonwealths deceiver,  
So (for the most part) he's the thieves' receiver.  
Hangs up the hangman's wardrobe at his door,  
Which by the hangman hath been hanged before.  
A fishwife, with a pawn, doth money seek,  
He two pence takes for twelve pence every week:  
Which makes me ask myself a question plain,  
And to myself I answer make again:  
Was Hounds-ditch Hounds-ditch called can any tell,  
Before the Brokers in that street did dwell?  
No sure it was not, it hath got that name  
From them, and since the Time they thither came:  
And well it now may called be Hounds-ditch,  
For there are Hounds will give a vengeance twitch:  
These are the Gulfs, that swallow all by lending,  
Like my old shoes, quite past all hope of mending:  
I'd throw my Cormorants dead into the pools.  
If they crammed fish so fast as these eat fools.    

A Basket justice..  
THE ARGUMENT.  

The best of men, when truly exercised,  
The Actor may a Saint be canonised:  
Not Policy but practice, justice frames,  
Those whom bribe's blind, have only threadbare names  
Of what they should be, thus the Land is blest,  
When judgements just flow from the judge's breast.   

BEfore the noise of these two Hounds did cease,  
A justice (coming by) commanded peace:  
Peace Curs (quoth he) and learn to take your prey,  
And not a word, so wise folks, go away:  
This is a youth that sued his place to have,  
Bought his authority to play the knave.  
And as for Coin he did his place obtain,  
So he'll sell justice to make't up again,  
For the old proverb fits his humour well,  
That he that dear buys, must dear sell.  
The sword of justice draw he stoutly can,  
To guard a knave, and grieve an honest man,  
His Clarke's the Bee that fills his comb with honey,  
He hath the wit, his master hath the money.  
Such justicer as this (if men do mark)  
Is altogether guided by his Clerk,  
He's the vice justice, he works all by's wits,  
The whilst his master picks his teeth, or spits,  
Walks, hums, and nods, calls knave at every turn,  
(As if he in a daws nest had been borne:)  
No other language from his worship flees,  
But prisons, warrants, Mittimus, and fees:  
Commit, before he search out the offence,  
And hear the matter after two days hence,  
Talks of Recognizances, and hath scope  
To bind and lose, as if he were the Pope.  
Be the case ne'er so good, yet build upon't,  
Fees must be paid, for that's the humour on't.  
And thus with only cursed wealth and beard,  
He makes a world of witless fools afeard,  
And when he gives them but a smile or nod,  
They think this doughty elf, a demigod.  
When fortune falls, he knows to use the same,  
His Clerk and he, as quiet as a lamb,  
Make not two words, but share, and go through stitch,  
Here's mine, there's thine, for they know which is which  
There hath been, are, and will be still again,  
In all professions, some corrupted men:  
Before this branch of false Gehez●es Tribe,  
'tis sacrilege to call a bribe a bribe,  
Give him a Buck, a Pig, a Goose, or Pheasant,  
(For manners sake) it must be called a present,  
And when he's blind in justice, 'tis a doubt,  
But Turkey's talons scratched his eyes half out:  
Or Capons claws, but 'tis a heavy case  
That fowls should fly so in a justice face.  
Sometimes his eyes are gored with an Ox horn,  
Or sudden dashed out with a sack of corn,  
Or the whisk brushing of a Coachmares tail  
To fit the Coach, but all these thoughts may fail,  
Some think they are but clouded, and will shine,  
Eclipsed a little with a Teirce of Wine,  
Or only fall'n into some hoodwinked nap,  
As some men may upon the Bench, by hap.  
But justice seems deaf when some tales are told,  
Perhaps his charity hath ta'en some cold,  
And that may be the cause, or rattling Coaching,  
Or neighing horses to her gate approaching,  
From thence into the stable, as her own:  
The certain truth thereof is not yet known.  
But sure she is so deaf, that she can hear,  
Nothing but what her Clerk blows in her ear,  
Which Clerk, good men must croach to, & stand bare  
Or else final justice 'mongst them they shall share,  
His Master like a weathercock inclined,  
As he doth please he makes him turn and wind.  
This justice of all senses is bereft,  
Except his feeling, only feeling's left:  
With which he swallows with insatiate power,  
More bribes than doth my cormorant fish devour.    

A Cutpurse.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

This is a mad knave, lives by tricks and sleights.  
He diues by land, and dies within the air:  
He serves no man, yet courteously he waits  
On whom he list, in Church, town, throng, or fair.  
He will not work, yet is well clothed and fed,  
And for his farewell seldom dies in's bed.   

THis spirit, or this Ferret, next that enters  
(Although he be no Merchant) much he ventures,  
And though he be a noted coward, yet  
Most valiantly he doth his living get.  
He hath no weapon but a curtal knife,  
Wherewith for what he hath he hazards life.  
East Indian Merchants cross the raging Floods,  
And in their venturing, venture but their goods:  
When as themselves at Hope securely sleep,  
And never plow the dangerous ocean deep,  
If they do lose by Pirates, tempests, rocks,  
'tis but a Flea bite to their wealthy stocks:  
Whilst the poor Cutpurse day and night doth toil,  
Watches and wards, and doth himslefe turmoil:  
Oft cuts a purse before the Session's bar,  
Whilst others for their lives apleading are,  
To Sturbridge Fair, or unto Bristol ambles  
In jeopardy he for his living rambles,  
And what he gets he doth not beg or borrow,  
Ventures his neck, and there's an end, hang sorrow  
Whilst midst his perils he doth drink and sing  
And hath more pursebearers than any King  
lives like a Gentleman, by sleight of hand;  
Can play the Foist, the Nip, the Stale, the Stand,  
The Snap, the Curb, the Crossbite, Warp, and List,  
Decoy, prig, Cheat, (all for a hanging shift.)  
Still valiant where he comes, and free from care,  
And dares the stocks, the whip, the jail outdare.  
Speaks the brave canting tongue, lies with his dell,  
Or pad, or doxi, or his bonny Nell,  
And lives as merry as the day is long,  
In scorn of Tyburn, or the ropes dingdong.  
But now a jest or two to mind I call,  
Which to this function lately did befall:  
A Cutpurse standing in a market-town,  
As for his prey his eyes scowl up and down,  
At last he shoulders near a country Lass,  
And cut her purse, as by her he did pass.  
She spied and caught him, and began to rave,  
Called him rogue, rascal, villeyne, thief and slave.  
Gep with a pox, the Cutpurse than replied,  
Are you so fine you can no icasting bide,  
I've jested more with forty honest men,  
So with a murrain, take your purse again.  
Another satin Cutpurse, daubed with lace,  
A country Gentleman for's purse did chase,  
On whom a bluecoat Servingman did wait,  
And passing through a narrow obscure strait,  
The thieving knave the purse he nimbly nims  
And like a land shark, thence by land he swims.  
The Scruingman perceived the Cutpurse trick,  
Said nought, but dogs him through thin & thick,  
Until the thief supposed the coast was clear,  
As he was pissing Bluecoat cut off's ear.  
The Cutpurse madly 'gins to swear and curse,  
The other said, Give me my master's purse,  
Which you stole lately from his pocket, then  
There's no wrong done, but here's your ear again.  
Thus though a Cutpurse trade be counted ill,  
I say he is a man of action still:  
waits on Ambassadors that comes and goes,  
Attends at Tilt and triumphant shows  
At Westminster, he still attendance gives  
On the Lord Mayor, his brethren, and the Shrieves,  
Although unbidden, yet he'll be a guest,  
And have his hand in sometimes with the best.  
And whilst he lives, note how he takes degree,  
Newgate's his hall, at Tyburn he's made free:  
Where commonly it so falls out with him,  
He dies in perfect health, sound wind and limb,  
He in a Coaches elder brother rides,  
And when his soul and corpse, from each divides,  
He fowls no sheets, nor any Physic takes,  
But like a bird in'th air an end he makes:  
And such an end I wish they all may have,  
And all that love a shifting Cutpurse knave.  
For they are Cormorants wheresoever they haunt,  
Until the Gallows proves their Cormorant.    

A good and a bad Constable.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

This man is to the Magistrate an eye,  
Revealing things which justice could not find.  
Black deeds of darkness, he doth oft descry,  
And is (if he be honestly inclined)  
So fit the Commonwealth in peace to keep,  
By watching carefully whilst thousands sleep.   

When Titan steeps his bright resplendent beams,  
And hides his burning Car i'th' western streams;  
When to the under world day takes his flight,  
And leaves th'Horizon all in darkness dight,  
When Philomela doth 'gainst a thorn proclaim  
In dulcet notes, the lustful Tereus' shame,  
When Madam Midnight shows her Ebon face,  
And darkness doth the Hemisphere embrace,  
Then (to keep all things peaceable and well)  
The watchful Constable keeps Sentinel.  
Then if a man (with drink) his wit hath left,  
Or hath committed lechery, or theft,  
Or murder, than the Constable thinks fit  
That such committers straight he commit  
he's Lord high Regent of the tedious night,  
Man of the Moon he may be called right:  
Great general of Glow-worms, Owls and Bats,  
comptroller over such as whip the Cats.  
Diana's forester that with regard,  
Doth guard the Herd that lives within his ward,  
His vigilancy is most manifest,  
For through his horns he lightens all the rest.  
Like Minos. or just judging Rhadamant,  
He walks the darksome streets of Troynovant,  
Attended with his Goblins clad in Rugs,  
Like Russian Bears, or Phlegetonian bugs,  
Until Aurora shows her blushing brow,  
And Lucifer doth shine, and Cocks do crow,  
Madge Owlet whooting, hides her fearful head,  
Then goes the Constable and's watch to bed.  
This officer in the first place I put,  
He that comes next is of another cut.  
Yet he's a member of the peace comes next,  
And writ most commonly an ass in Text:  
Image of office he is held to be  
And has his staff tipped with authority,  
He has his billmen, which can seldom keep  
The name of watchmen, for they're still asleep.  
His word is Who goes there? Where do you dwell?  
Stand still, and come before the Constable.  
Is this an hour: carry him to the Compter go.  
Says a man's drunk, when his own case is so.  
But let a quar'ling slave indeed go by,  
Leading byth' arm his rampant venery,  
A thing of filthy surfeit, like a swine,  
That scarce can go laden with pox and wine,  
They for their sixpence shall pass by in state,  
The porter with a leg will open the gate,  
Vvorshiped, and guarded to their lodging safe,  
Not with bills only, but th'officious staff.  
Whilst the good sober man, that nothing gave,  
Is strait committed for a dangerous knave,  
Traitor to'th State, and in the jail must lie,  
Whilst th'other's lighted to his lechery.  
This Constable may have a trick in store,  
His house may be safe harbour for a whore,  
Because no man will offer to search there.  
She there may rest, and roost secure from fear.  
There she may lodge, and trade too if she will,  
As sure and safe, as thieves are in a Mill,  
Or Suburbs for the birth of Bastards are,  
For all desire to lay their bellies there.  
Nay as a Compter for a fellon's home,  
Or Lady's chamber for a Priest from Rome.  
But yet I say, 'tis not a matter hard,  
To find an honest Constable in's ward.  
Trust forbid else, and waking watchmen to,  
Whose bills were never stolen, and much ado  
To be corrupted with a villain's shilling,  
To wrong the good, and bad men's minds fulfilling.  
Such men as those I think some few there be,  
And for the rest, would they were hanged for me.  
He when my cormorant is at rest, and thinks  
Poor fish no harm, nor aught that water drinks,  
That's a night cormorant, and at midnight swills,  
Whole cans and pots with cheaters and their jils,  
He makes all fish that comes into his net,  
Drinks drunk, and sleeps, and then the watch is set.    

A London Sergeant and jailor.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

A brace of Hellhounds that on earth do dwell,  
That tyrannize on poor men's bodies more,  
(If more they could) than devils o'er souls in hell:  
Whose music is the groan of the poor.  
These, when they buy their office, sell their souls,  
No Cormorants are such devouring fowls.   

THe Sergeant I before the jailor name,  
Because he is the dog that hunts the game:  
He worries it, and brings it to the toil,  
And then the jailor lives upon the spoil.  
I've known a Sergeant that four hours hath sat,  
Peeping and leering through a Tavern grate,  
His Yeoman on the other side the way,  
Keeping the like watch both for one poor prey:  
Whom when they spied, like mastiffs they come near him,  
And by the throat like cruel curs they tear him;  
If he hath money, to the Tavern strait,  
These sucking purseleaches will on him wait:  
But if his stock below, and's pockets dry,  
To'th jail with him, there let him starve and dye.  
Yet for all this a Sergeant is devout,  
For he doth watch and prey much out of doubt.  
He sells no spice, and yet in every place  
He's half a Grocer, for he lives by's mace:  
He's part a Gentleman, for up and downc,  
Their steps he follows round about the town.  
And yet he seems a juggler too by this,  
He oft from shape to shape so changed is:  
As sometimes like an Amsterdammian brother,  
Sometimes a Porter's shape, sometimes another,  
Sometimes t'a Counsellor at Law, and then  
T'a lame, or blinded beggar, and again  
T'a Country Servingman that brings a Deer,  
And with these tricks his prey he doth come dear.  
Wherein he imitates the devil aright,  
Who can put on an Angel's shape of light,  
That so his craft may on men's souls prevail.  
So Sergeants snare men's bodies for the jail,  
Time was he wore a proper kind of coat,  
And in his hand a white rod, as a note  
Whereby a man far off a knave might spy,  
And shun him if he were in jeopardy.  
But now to no such habit he is bound,  
Because his place (near) cost him eight score pound,  
To get the which again, he must disguise  
And use a thousand shifts and villainies.  
Oh that a man so little grace should have  
To give so much, to be esteemed a knave.  
To be shaved, ducked, and unpitied dye,  
Cursed and contemned within his grave to lie.  
To hazard soul and body, ne'er to thrive,  
But by men's harms, devouring them alive.  
To be the hangman's guard, and wait upon  
The Gallows at an Execution,  
But yet the office is most fit we see,  
And fit that honest men should have it free.   

Now for the other sucking devil, the jailor  
His work's brought to him, as he were a Tailor.  
As if he were a Fencer he'll begin,  
And ask a man what ward he will be in:  
(But first the prisoner draws without delay,  
A sop for Cerberus that turns the key.)  
Then the old prisoners garnish do demand,  
Which strait must be discharged out of hand.  
But if he cannot pay, or doth deny,  
He thrusts him in the hole, there lets him lie.  
If a good prisoner hath a well-linde purse,  
The jailor than esteems him as his nurse,  
Sucks like a Bulcalfe, and doth never cease  
Till with much grief he hears of a release.  
An Vnderkeeper, (though without desert)  
Is a continual knave in spite on's heart:  
If to the prisoners he be sharp and cruel,  
He proves their knave, and his good master's jewel:  
If unto them himself he well behave,  
He is their jewel and his Master's knave.  
So let him turn himself which way he can,  
He seldom shall be held an honest man.  
Perhaps the jailor in one stinking room  
Hath six beds, for the Gallant and the Groom,)  
In lousy linen, ragged coverlets:  
Twelve men to lodge in those six beds he sets:  
For which each man doth pay a groat a night,  
Which weeklie's eight and twenty shillings right:  
Thus one foul dirty room from men unwilling,  
Draws yearly seventy three pound sixteen shilling.  
Besides a jailor (to keep men in fear)  
Will like a demi-devill dominere:  
Roar like a Bearward, grumble, snarl, and growle,  
Like a Tower Cat-a-mountain stare and scowl.  
He and the Sergeant may be coupled too,  
As bane of mankind, for they both undo:  
Th'Extortioner and Broker named before,  
Having both bit and gripped a man's state sore:  
In comes the Sergeant for his breakfast then,  
Drags him to'th jail to be new squeezd again:  
And thence he gets not, there he shall not start,  
Till the last drop of blood's wrong from his heart.  
Yet I have heard some Sergeants have been mild,  
And used their prisoner like a Christians child:  
Nipped him in private, never triged his way,  
As Bandogs carrion, but went fair away,  
Followed aloof, showed himself kind and meek,  
And lodged him in his own house for a week.  
You'd wonder at such kindness in a man,  
So many Regions from a Christian.  
But what's the cause, I'll lead you out o'th' maze,  
'tis twenty shillings every day he stays,  
Besides the Sergeant's wife must have a stroke,  
At the poor teat, some outside she must soak,  
Although she tridge for't, whilst good fortunes fall,  
He shall command house, Sergeant, and all.  
Thus may it come byth' side o'th' breeding woman,  
The Sergeant's son's a Gentleman, no yeoman:  
And whilst they fish from men's decays and wants,  
Their wives may prove foul fleshly Cormorants.  
Thus a bad Sergeant and a jailor both,  
Are Cormorants which all good people loathe,  
And yet amongst them some good men there are,  
Like snow at Midsummer, exceeding rare.    

A Symonicall Patron, and his penny Clerk.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Here Magus seeketh holy things to buy,  
With cursed bribes and base corrupting gold:  
Lets souls for want of preaching starve and die,  
Fleeces and flayes his flocks, bore piled and bold:  
That to speak truth, in spite of who controls,  
Such Clerks and Patron murder many souls.   

THis is the bane both of the age and men,  
A Patron with his benefices ten;  
That wallows in fat livings a Church leech,  
And cannot keep out of my Corm'rants' reach,  
One of these Patrons doth devour his Clarks,  
As they do perish souls, after four Marks,  
And every year a pair of new high shoes,  
For which betwixt two Churches he doth use  
Each Sabbath day with diligence to troth,  
But to what purpose, few or none know not.  
Except it be'cause he would eat and feed,  
He'll starve two Cures, for he can hardly read.  
This sir john Lacklatine, true course doth keep,  
To preach the Vestry men all fast asleep,  
And box and cuff a Pulpit mightily,  
Speaking nonsense with nosewise gravity,  
These youths, in Art, purse, and attire most bare  
Give their attendance, at each steeple fair:  
Being once hired he'll not displease his Lord,  
His surly Patron, nor dares preach a word,  
But where he gives the text, and that must be  
Some place of Scripture bites no usury,  
Extortion, or the like, but some calm law,  
That will not fret his sore, be't ne'er so raw.  
As calmly preached, as lamely to exptesseed.  
With clamorous yell that likes the parish best.  
This Clerk shall be a drudge too, all his time,  
Weeds in the garden, bears out dung and slime:  
Then upon Sabbath days the scroyle begins  
With most unhallowed hands, to weed up sins:  
And from cup filling all his week days spent,  
Comes then to give the Cup at Sacrament.  
And from his trencher waiting goes to serve  
Spiritual food to those that almost starve;  
And what's this Clerk that's of such servile mind,  
Some smatring Pedant or mechanic hind,  
Who taking an intelligencers place  
Against poor tenants, first crept into grace,  
And drudges for eight pounds ayeare perhaps,  
With his great veils of Sundays trencher scraps.  
This makes the sacred Tribe of Levi sad,  
That many of them prove the Tribe of Gad,  
This makes good Scholars justly to complain,  
When Patroness take they care not who for gain,  
When as a Carter shall more wages have,  
Then a good Preacher that helps souls to save,  
These Cormorant's God's part doth eat and cram,  
And so they fare well, care not who they damn,  
The people scarce knows what a Sermon means,  
For a good Preacher there can have no means,  
To keep himself with clothes, and books, and bread  
Nor scarce a pillow t'vnderlay his head.  
The whilst the Patron's wife (my Lady Gay)  
Fares, and is decked most dainty every day:  
she'll see that preaching trouble not the town,  
And wears a hundred Sermons in a Gown.  
She hath a preachers living on her back,  
For which the souls of many goes to wrack,  
And hires a mongrel cheaply by the year,  
To famish those Christ's blood hath bought so dear;  
What greater cruelty can this exceed,  
Then to pine those whom jesus bids them feed,  
These are hell's vultures, Tophets' greedy fowls,  
That prove (like devils) Cormorants of souls.    

A Country Yeoman.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Here Davy dicker comes, God speed the plough,  
Whose son's a Gentleman, and hunts and hawks:  
His Farm good clothes and feeding will allow,  
And whatsoe'er of him the Country talks,  
His son's in silks, with feather in his head,  
Until a beggar bring a fool to bed.   

THe Roman Histories do true relate  
How Dioclesian changed his Emp'rors' state,  
To live in quiet in a Country Farm,  
Out of the reach of treasons dangerous arm.  
Then was a Farmer, like a labouring Ant,  
And not a land devouring Cormorant.  
For if a Gentleman hath land to let,  
He'll have it, at what price soe'er 'tis set,  
And bids, and over-bids, and will give more,  
Then any man could make of it before:  
Offers the Landlord more than he would crave,  
And buys it, though he neither get nor save.  
And whereas Gentlemen their land would let,  
At rates that tenants might both save and get,  
This Cormorant will give his landlord more,  
Then he would ask, in hope that from the poor  
He may extort it double, by the rate,  
Which he will sell his corn and cattle at.  
At pining famine he will ne'er repine,  
'tis plenty makes this Cormorant to whine,  
To hoard up corn with many a bitter ban,  
From widows, orphans, and the labouring man:  
He prays for rain in harvest, night and day,  
To rot and to consume the grain and hay:  
That so his mows and reeks, and stacks that mould,  
At his own price he may translate to gold.  
But if a plenty come, this ravening thief  
Torments (and sometimes hangs) himself with grief.  
And all this raking toil, and cark and care,  
Is for his clownish first borne son and heir,  
Who must be gentled by his ill got pelf,  
Though he (to get it) got the devil himself.  
And whilst the father's bones a rotting lie,  
His son his cursed wealth, accursed lets fly,  
In whores, drink, gaming, and in revel coil,  
The whilst his father's soul in flames doth broile.  
And when the father on the earth did live,  
To his son's fancy he such way did give,  
For at no season he the plough must hold,  
The Summer was too hot, the Winter cold,  
He robs his mother of her butter pence,  
Within the Alehouse serves him for expense.  
And so (like Coals dog) the untutored mome,  
Must neither go to Church, nor bide at home.  
For he his life another way must frame,  
To hawk, to hunt, abusing the King's game,  
Some Nobleman or Gentleman that's near,  
At a cheap rate to steal what they call dear.  
When if a poor man (his great want to serve)  
Whose wife and children ready are to starve,  
If he but steal a sheep from out the fold,  
The chuff would hang him for it if he could.  
For alms, he never read the word relieve,  
He knows to get, but never knows to give,  
And whatsoe'er he be that doth live thus,  
Is a worse Cormorant than my Aesacus,    

A Figure flinger, or a cozening cunning man.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Amongst a foolish, faithless, graceless crew,  
This man hath better credit than God's word:  
For loss that's past, or profit to ensue,  
Like to a Term, with Customers he's stored.  
he's a Soothsayer, but saith seldom sooth,  
And hath the Devil's great seal for what he doth.   

HEre now I draw a curtain and discover  
Amongst all knaves the devil's special lover:  
One that doth court him still, and daily woo,  
And fain would see the devil, but knows not how.  
He has him in his works, that's his sure place,  
But has not Art to bring him to his face.  
When he could wish him to his outward sense,  
The devil sits laughing in his conscience:  
Yet you shall have this figure-flinger prate,  
To his gull client (small wit shallow pate,)  
As if he were Lord warden of hell fire,  
And Lucifer and he had both one sire,  
The Fiends his cousin Germans (once removed)  
From earth to hell, where he is best beloved.  
More fustian language from his tongue doth drop,  
Then would set forth an honest tradesman's shop:  
As if that all Magicians that ere were,  
Unworthy were his learned books to bear,  
Not Zoroastres, King o'th' Bactrians,  
Nor the sage Magis of the Persians,  
Nor any conjuring son of Cham or Chus,  
Nor Faustus with his Mephistopheles,  
Cornelius Agrippa, Simon Magus,  
Nor any 'twixt the river Thames or Tagus,  
Nor Britanes Bladud, Cambria's Merlin, Bacon,  
Companions for this man would ne'er be taken.  
For he is rare, and deeply read indeed,  
In the admired right reverend old wife's Creed,  
Takes of the jewish Thalmud, and Cabals,  
Solstitiums and Equinoctials,  
Of auguries, of prophecies, predictions,  
Prognostications, revelation, fictions,  
And as he could the Elements command,  
He seems as he their minds doth understand.  
By Fire he hath the skill of Pyromanty,  
By Air he hath the art of Heromanty,  
By Water he knows much in Hidromanty,  
And by the Earth he's skilled in Geomanty:  
Palm Chiromanty, couzuing Necromancy,  
To gull the world, to fulfil fool's fancy.  
Hags, ghosts, and goblins, furies, fairies, clues,  
He knows the secrets of the devils themselves,  
There's not a Nymph, a fawn, or goatefoot Satire,  
That lives by fire, by air, by earth, or water,  
Nor Dryads or Hamadryads,  
Betwixt Septentrio and Meridies,  
But he commands them to do what they list,  
If he but bend the brow, or clutch the fist.  
he'll tell a man's hearts secrets what he thinks,  
Like Oedipus unfolds th'ambiguous Sphinx,  
With skill surpassing great Albumazer's,  
He with intelligencing Fiends confers,  
And by his wondrous Attacoosticon,  
Knows the Turks counsel, and what Prester john  
Determines, or what business now befalls  
Amidst the conclave of Rome's Cardinals.  
He can release, or else increase all harms,  
About the neck or wrists by tying charms.  
He hath a trick to kill the Agues force,  
And make the patient better, or much worse,  
To the great toe three letters he can tie,  
Shall make the gout to tarry or else fly.  
With two words and three leaves of four leaved grass  
He makes the toothache, stay, repass, or pass:  
If lost goods you again would fain have got,  
Go but to him, and you shall speed, or not.  
But he will gain whether you get or lose,  
He'll have his fee, for so the bargain goes:  
He'll tell you wonders when you are alone,  
Of the Philosopher's admired stone:  
And that it from Utopia first did come.  
Brought to him by a spirit, he sent to Rome,  
Whereby (t'enrich the world he dares be bold)  
To turn pans, pots, and dripping pans to gold.  
And in the Goldsmith's burnished glistering row,  
Place Ironmongers with a fairer show,  
Turn Spits and Andir'ns to bright mettle shining,  
that when coin's scarce you strait may put to coining  
These and a thousand more, as idly vain  
Fools swallow, and he swallows them again,  
And though the mark of truth he never hits,  
Yet still this Cormorant doth live by's wits,  
And ne'er will want a false devouring trick,  
Till hell's Archcormorant devour him quick.    

A Corrupted Lawyer, and a knavish Vndershriefe.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

The soul of Commonwealths is in good laws,  
Their execution makes a happy State,  
But where corruption opes his hungry jaws,  
Where Lawyers do increase, not cease debate,  
Such Law worms are the devil's dearest brood,  
Who make the common harm their private good.   

A Hall, a hall, the tramplers are at hand,  
A shifting master, and as sweetly manned:  
His Buckram bearer, one that knows his ku,  
Can write with one hand, and receive with two.  
The trampler is in haste, O clear the way,  
taketh fees with both hands cause he cannot stay,  
No matter where the cause be right or wrong,  
So he be paid for letting out his tongue.  
Me thinks that posy which the Painter's score  
Upon Inn posts, would fir this fellow's door,  
Because he lets his conscience out for fee,  
That here's a tongue that's let at livery.  
This pettifogger, like a Lapland witch,  
Sells his wind dear, and so grows devilish rich:  
Breath is his life and dear he'll sell his breath,  
The more he wastes, the nearer is his death.  
To beggar any man he will not strain  
His voice, except they pay him for his pain.  
He best doth far where Client's fare the worse,  
And every meal hath first and second course,  
The dishes that come first up to the mess,  
Are bra●les and quarrels, strife, unquietness,  
Contentious, emulations, and debate,  
These furnish forth his table in great state.  
And then for picking meat, or dainty bits,  
The second course is actions, cases, writs:  
Long suits from term to term, and fines and fees  
At the last cast comes in for fruit and cheese.  
The man of all men, most in art excelled,  
That in Great Britain would cont●●●ion geld,  
And by that means could make a good prevention,  
Contention would beg●t no more con●ention.  
This Lawyer's riches ever springs and blooms,  
From sheep's coat, calf's skin, russet hobnaild grooms,  
Persuading them that all things shall go well,  
Sucks out the egg, leaves them the empty shell.  
He hath a sleight in s●inning out a cause,  
Till all the money out of purse it draws,  
His clients with full budgets come to town,  
But he takes order for then going down,  
The full is now the Lawyers, theirs the wane,  
Like buckets turned to come up full again:  
With papers laden think themselves most firm,  
C●●e them down, to bring them up next term.  
Horse, plough, and cattle go to wrack, split all,  
'tis fit the stable wait● upon ●he stall.  
Their sheep the parchment bears their geese the quills,  
Which turns their state as this bad Lawyer wils.  
Their sh●rts the paper makes, their Bees the wax,  
T'undo themselves that good discretion lacks,  
These men like geese against themselves do things,  
In plucking quills from their own foolish wings,  
This Lawyer makes his dangerous shafts withal,  
And shoots them at the fowls from whence they fall.  
The Commonwealths impostor he doth cut,  
And the corruption in his purse doth put.  
One gives him for a bribe, a brawn or swine,  
And that's drowned with another's But of wine,  
One gives a Coach all decked and painted gay,  
Another's horses draws it quite away  
One gives a jar of Oil to scape the foil,  
An O●e o'erturns the jar, and spills the Oil.  
And thus like Pharaohs Kine, he hath the power,  
To make the fattest bribes the lean devour.  
His motions move commotions, and his suits  
Four times a year do termely yield him fruits.  
Four sundry ways a kingdom's Laws are used,  
By two maintained, and by two abused:  
Good Lawyers live by Law, and 'tis most fit,  
Good men obey the Law, live under it.  
Bad Lawyers (for their gain) do wrest the Law,  
Bad men of God or man's Law have no awe.  
But whether these men use Law well or ill,  
Th'inten●ion of the Law is honest still.  
For as the text is rend, and torn, and varied,  
And by opinions from the sense is carried  
By ignorant and wilful Heretics,  
Or impure separating schismatics,  
Though from the truth of text all men should sever,  
The text is permanent and sacred ever.  
Even so the Law is in itself upright,  
Correcting and protecting, wrong and right:  
'tis no just Lawyers, 〈◊〉 the laws defame,  
Although some hounds of hell abuse the same.  
This Cormorant I mean, gulps whom he list,  
And having swallowed fees into his fist,  
Defers the motion till the Court withdraws,  
Then to the cushions pleads the poor man's cause,  
As formally as if the judges sat,  
No matter for the man, the money's got.  
My Cormorant was never matched till now,  
If I said o'er matched, I'll resolve you how,  
And you that read it shall confess it true,  
Perhaps it is a thing well known to you,  
Where Corm'rants haunts, numbers of fish grow less,  
But where bad Lawyers come, there brawls increase.   

Now master Vndershriefe I understand,  
You bring my Lawyer's work unto his hand,  
You bring him stuff, he like a Tailor cuts it.  
And into any shape he pleaseth puts it.  
Though to the Client it appear slight stuff,  
It shall out last him any suit of Buff:  
For though from term to term it be worn long,  
'tis dressed still with the teazle of the tongue,  
That (though it be old) at every day of hearing,  
It looks fresh, as't had never come to wearing.  
And though it seem as th'owner never wore it,  
A broker will not give him three pence for it.  
Sweet master Shrieve, let it not grieve your mind,  
You being the last o'th' brood, come last behind,  
No doubt you might be first in a bad case,  
But being called under, I make this your place;  
I know where ere you stand, you are so good,  
You'll scorn to be unlike one of the brood,  
And take't in dudgeon (as you might no doubt)  
If'mongst this rank of Corm'rants you were out.  
I have a warrant here for what I do,  
Plain truth itself, and that have seldom you.  
Some of your tribe a man may honest call,  
But those my cormorant meddles not withal.  
You that dare fright men of a shallow wit,  
Who cannot read when there is nothing writ:  
And can return (when you are pleased to save)  
A Non inventus for a bribing knave.  
For one that stands indebted to the King  
A Nihil habet, if his purse can ring.  
When a poor man shall have his Bullocks ceased,  
And prized at little, to make you appeased  
You have the art and skill to raze words out  
Of Writs and Warrants, to bring gain about.  
I will not serve you so, for if you look,  
Your name stands fairly printed in my book,  
For every one to read, how you can strain  
On widow's goods, and restore none again.  
Pick juries for your purpose, which is worse  
Then if you picked the wronged plaintiffs purse:  
Return your Writs to your advantage best,  
Bring in some money, and drab ou● the rest.  
Leaving (oft times) the high Shrieve in the lurch,  
Who stops the bounty should repair the Church,  
Or buy some bells to sound forth his devotion.  
If either air, or earth, or the wide ocean  
Can show worse Cormorants, or any brook,  
I'll never ask a penny for my Book.    

EPILOGUE.  

NOw Reader, tell me (if thou well canst judge)  
If any honest man have cause to grudge  
At these my Satyrs, being plain and true,  
Giving the world and the devil their due.  
I have but bluntly called a spade a spade,  
And he that winceth shows himself a jade.  
Be quiet, see thy faults, and learn t'amend,  
Thou show'st thy guiltiness if thou contend.    
FINIS.