News out of the West: OR, THE Character of a Mountebank.  
BEING A DISCOURSE 〈…〉 Hodge Lether-Pelch, and Tim 〈…〉, Sir Harry-Hart-hole their Landlord, and his Friend Sir Clement Council: Also of their Travels from Taunton to LONDON, Their Arrival at their Physician's Palace.  
The Description of it, His Sick and Brainsick followers, Person and Family, WITH A full Relation of the Medicines he commonly administers. Their Operation and Danger Represented by them.  
ALSO, A Relation of their Abuses now suffered and fomented by Authority: With a Remedy set down, to the Encouragement of Physicians, illustration of the Honoured Art, and general Good of the Republic.  
BY A well willer to PHYSIC and CHIRURGERIE, 〈◊〉 Deplorer of the now too Common 〈◊〉 of them.  
Printed in the year of Grace. M. D.C.XLVII.   

The Argument.  
HOdge-Lether-pelch, for some small pain in's thighs  
Seeks, help, Tim Hobnayle does the same for's eyes.  
They trudge to London, where they hear of one  
Famous for both to make them good; or none  
Hodge gets two Crutches, a help which before  
He had not: Tim one Eye out, t'other sore.  
In this sad plight Returning to their home,  
Their hearty Landlord, bids them both welcome.  
Merry Sir Henry Heartwhole, stays his Friend  
Sir Clement Council, does his tale Commend  
Unto his hearing: though loath (his affairs  
Calling him thence) attentively he hears  
The story of their Travels, which sets forth  
Desperate Dangers, in some Scenes of mirth.  
Sir Henry Heartwhole and his friend Sir Clement,  
The strange Abuses of these Times lament.  
Discourse a remedy, and it commend  
Unto Authority, and if that lend  
A hand; there's thousands would be saved; now go:  
Thrust out o'th' World, cum Privilegio.   

THE CHARACTER OF A Montebanck.  Sir Harry-Heart-hole the Landlord, and Sir Clement Council his Friend, Hodge-Lether-pelch, and Tym-Hob-nayle. Sir Har. 
YOur occasions Sir I know▪ are not so regent  
But you may loiter one day more with me.  
The mirth perhaps you'll hear, may present something  
To excuse your truant stay from your affairs  
And somewhat benefit. From such course History  
Is often Gathered sweet, and quaint conclusions;  
Which figure forth our Follies in a fairer  
Text, than the subtler sort will give their Errors  
And thereby prove Examples, to wean from us  
The will's we have to stain our pregnant Fancies  
With some absurd escapes, which cannot pass  
The General Censure without blemish▪  Sir Clem. 
Sir!  
I cannot expect such pieces from that Couple  
You mentioned lately.  Harry. 
Come they're Miracles  
Which in them have not ended.  Servant. 
Sir, your Tenants  
Wait your Commands.  Sir Harry. 
Oh that's well you cannot  
Now think of any speed; go bid 'em enter▪  
Welcome tenants, what Hodge art Lame? And you Tim Blind too, How comes these evils to you.  Hodge-Lether-pelch. 
— By hab, nab Sir, as the Doctor Cures 'em all, Tim tell how thou cam'st blind o' one Eye, like my Landlords old Dungill Cock.  Tim Hobnayle. 
— Marry, I took a long journey to put it out, e'en up to London, where i heard of one was perilous good at the business.  Hodge. 
And I Land lord, to change for these Crutches, good wholesome limbs, and I give money to boot▪ but I hope Landlord, you will be still merciless to us, and though we are not able to you any Knight-service in the Wars, Tim holding his blindness in Capite, and my lameness is Copy holdfast between two Ashen stilts, and Beggary copied (in them) out to me which I must learn● having alienated my bones into Crutches; yet we can do you Yeoman's service at the Powdering-tub, and shall never want stout Stomaches to maintain by tooth and nail your hospitality, with all Comers▪ Therefore good Landlord be merciless to us—  Tym. 
Mercy-foole, you Loggerhead— You spokesman.  Hodg. 
I say merciless ye Jobbernoll; for if his Purse be full o' money and he gon's none, e'ut it full still ye Dolt? if he gon's all in't, eued his Purse pennyless? And is it not so we mercy in his heart ye Dunce? and therefore merciless Landlord.  Sir Clem. 
Well disputed Hodge: I must be Sir, a suitor to you for them, go on good Hodge Lether-pelch.  Hodg. 
But Landlord you will before this honest Gentleman, be merciless to us?  Sir Har. 
Doubt not Hodge, that I'll be harsh or cruel, and before this my friend I'll take but half the Rent, and Tim shall pay no more.  Both. 
Now Landlord we shall pray for your limbs and Eyes, that Age may neither put you into Crutches nor Spectacles but that you may see to go many a mile to such charity.  Hodge. 
I must be spokesman must I?  Sir Har. 
But Hodge, go on, you remember your Travels?  Hodg. 
Ch'ave cause I think, being Crossed with a pain in one thigh and to cross my wife; c'he went cross the water, o'er the Bridge, and cross the Country, the nigher way, and then c'he went cross another water, where there were many wooden houses wit ' Guns ah midst on't, lay cross one another, with great wooden crosses one above another, upon beacons; and Flags a top o' all, as big as our Wake streamers, wi'red Crosses in 'em.  Sir Har. 
What means he Sir by these?  Sir Clem. 
The Ships in Thames, I think.  Tym. 
I▪ i called 'em Sheep, but i had another Faith, to go to heaven by; I'm sure i looked like Oaken Castles i'th' water.  Sir Clem. 
Did any of them give fire to the Guns?  Hodg. 
Give Fire co ' ye who the d'ile would have't but themselves, and i said they speke well▪ marry 'twas in thunder: Then i asked him what language 'twas i spoke, I'm sure 'twas we ' breathe, as if it had been out of a Furnace;— Then i landed at Blackwall,— Well Landlord, that's a nook i'th' world, tells nothing but lies; for i said 'twas Black-wall, and as I'm a Kirsened Cripple i saw neither Black-wall, nor any thing ' r was black, but dirt, and blackmen, eating o' black Puddings, and some a flaying one o' those Great black-sheepe, (as they told us) for i pulled off the wool, skin and all.  Sir Cle. 
The Carpenters were unsheathing some ships sure?  Tym. 
I, I, Shearing i said, if we would a believed 'em in a dry Ditch 'twas, I think they were clad in Budget-lether with the hair side inward.  Hodg. 
Then, i met with a Sea-Country-man, and i said a would leads to a Doctor should mends all, Then i went many a Cross way, till i thought i had been on's way as Times' Eye is, quite out; Then i said we must take a little whirly gig, was not Tim, at a Cursned shore, call Dieks.  Sir Clem. 
'Twas a Wherry at Dick-shore Hodge?  Hodg. 
But what heathen people are these to Curson such dirty places? And the Whirly-gig-man sed, a must ha' a Groat to carry us to Trig-stayres.  Tym. 
Then Hodge told him he was a Lazy harlot, to ask a Day's toil at Plough and Cart, for a little Paddling in the water with two Ovens-Peeles.  Hodg. 
And the currish rascal go me cross words, and said a'wud lay me cross the pate, if I did not the sooner get out on'ns wooden trough. Then my Sea-Country man sed we'll go by Land.  Tym. 
And Hodge sed farewell, c'hem glad to h'eared and that i came not to that purpose, to buy Land! C'he was not so rich or so thrifty.  Hodge. 
And the giglots laughed at me so much, as c'he had been clad in motley with a muckender, that i began to suspect myself for a fool, but my Sea-Country-man said there was a Spurge-maker would dou's good, than i passed by many a young trifle, every one with white flags, o truce before 'em, and sitting at door, buying o black withered Plums and apples on a fellow, with a three legged flasket on's head, that said he had the Pipin's mouth, I think than i came to Rattle-crosse, and a little further, my Sea-Country-man, pointed to he painted Shop: full o white pots, and said there was the Pot-carryer would dou's good.  Tym. 
and Hodge went and make legs and Curtsies to an ill-favoured outlandish Gentleman, in all Clay-coloured hayre-gowne, and a black long Vizard scrubing on'ns arse, and my Sea-Country-man tolds'a was a Jew, and that he chattered Hebrew: but he made mouths at Hodge, as if he had been a May-game, than he go Hodge his hand to kiss, and we'tother snatched away the Pome-water Hodge was craunching to quench his thirst.  Hodg. 
I called him Mr. Baboon, o'th' Doctor's Complexion, but that he e'ut so like a dry-fat. Then out came a fellow with a culour in's nose, as if of had been smugged over we red Ochre, and i asked which o those two was the Spurge-maker▪  Tym. 
And the fellow with the Brick-stained face, go ' Hodge with a Coltstaff, such a knock cross the Coxcomb, made him ree'le two or three Cross legs to him, but had it not been for our Sea-Country-man, we had been swaddled e'saith.  Hodg. 
Then i went many a Cross way called— as you may see by Tym's Chalke-booke, go ' my Landlord your membrance book Tim— and i came to another Spurge-maker a depper fellow and a Saminer of Gudgeons that makes lob-lolly, and spleces broken legs at Sea—.  Tym. 
Che sed he had a Pulpit on's house, made of an old Hogshead and a what waste Hodge a bawdy filthy name t'had?  Sir. Cle. 
A Conventicle.  Hodg. 
And his name was the name of a weed c'have had it oft e'my porridge: what waist Tym.  Tym. 
They were Elenanders', and his t'other name was—.  Hodg. 
Eat-um ye lobcock, and I had a mighty stomach to be dealing with him,— well Landlord, I passed so many Crosses that I left ne'er a Cross ' e my pocket, and now I am come to be a cross to all my friends.  Sir Har. 
Well Tenants, your Sea-Country-man, as you term him, hath done you the honour, as to bring you safe through the trouble and dangerous passages (as I read in your wooden journal) of Blackwall, Lyme-house, Red-cliffe, Shadwell, over the Rocks of Execution-Docke, by the Landmarks of Wapping▪ the Cloudy Armitage, whereas you say you smeled nothing but Sulphur and Burley vapour, and past, that Cursned place St. Katherine's.  Tym. 
I, I, my Kates own name— I think they were Cursned both at a Font, for that ened so crooked but she's as Cross so God mend's all one, yet that's a Saint, and my Kate's a Devil.  Sir Har. 
Well Tim, you are always busy with your sentences, to put hours to the story; but Hodge proceed, being at the Doctor's door do us the favour as to enter.  Hodg. 
Nay 'troth surs, soft and fair, i must look abou● her first, But looking up, O'my Conscience Tim, tho● know'st what a wonderment, it was, that the Doctor's house should be covered with a Bishops flat cornered Cap.  Tim. 
And Landlord, the measel Hodge said, 'twas a dangerous thing, for a Doctor's housetop, to wear a Bishop's Cap, because Bishops are put down, and if the City Matrums should take it as in contempt, and petition that his house might be pulled down too, what a case would the great measled Pork be in.  Sir Clem. 
Marry in none but his outside, for his Sty pulled down, he must even grunt in his natural place, in rubbish and among the dunghills, but go on, good Ho●ge.  Hodg. 
Why then i looked upon the outside, and Tymm what said I too't?  Tym. 
Marry knavishly enough; Hodge said it looked as if it had bynn plastered over we Posset-Curd, which his Patients saved for him; with the Over-plus, and a little Pepper; he dieted his Mad Wife, and his Man to save charges.  Hodge. 
I Tim, but thou hast not told all; when I asked the man's boy over the way that makes great Course brown sheets, hemmed about with black ropes; I think for the huge Doctor to snort and scrub his scales off in, at midnight, the Crackrope, said a had feed all the— what did a call 'em Tym.  Tym. 
Old Beldames o'th' Hospitals, to save their Curds on Physic days to wether-boord his Palace.  Hodg. 
I▪ I, wether-boord so 'twas, and that he had caused three thousand Possets to be made in 5 days, for the advantage of the Curds.  Tym. 
There was an old woman looked on't ' we Spectacles and said of was a prophene but cherly fellow to wether-boord his house we white Lamb-skinns, and wished the French Rot might thaw his fat sides, and said, 'twas no marvel her husband could buy none to make gloves, when he must have the outside on's kennel clad in'um.  Sir Har. 
What say you to this news my friend? Has it not relish? Does it not smack in your fancy?  Sir Cle. 
Good Hodge Lether-Pelch go on.  
I would not want one tittle of thy story  
For Volumes of Tu quoques.  Hodg. 
You Coakses; why so Gentlemen?  Sir Cle. 
Prithee Hodge don't mistake me, Tu quoques I said.  Hodg. 
And we say we are not such beasts or Coaks'es', to be bought and sold in Latin, or to be Coaks'es' in any other language than our own natural speech.  Sir Har. 
Nay Hodge, what captious, go on I say, you had almost spoiled all.  Hod. 
Well Landlord in hope you'll ever be an honest man, and be merciless to us— But looking a little lower, what said I Tim? Prithee turn o'er my membrances in thy Chalk-booke.  Tym. 
First Hodge tells what the old beggar said▪ that with his tow wooden legs waited like a Groome-porter at his door.  Hodg. 
The beggar laughing at the Posset Curd, said his house looked more like a— what waist Tim?  Tym. 
Faith, c'has forgot, c'ham such a loblivious measell, the can under-com-sang▪ nothing but my bum— what say you Gentlemen, when a hor●e hath to do with a Mare.  Sir Clem. 
Why he does leap her Tym.  Hodg. 
Udds niggs, Tim right, i said his house looked like a Leper, and i said 'twas all his Grannam le●t his Father as a Patent to beg by, which inheritance was left him in his tow wooden legs.  Tym. 
Now Hodge, thou mayst pull down the pride of thy eyes, and look a little lower▪ what spye'st thou there Hodge-Lether-Pelch?  Hodg. 
Marry Tim Hobnayle Gulleries and balled Cunies as they call'um.  Sir Har. 
How Hodge what waste? Galleries and bell Coneys?  Hodg. 
A path way in the air round about his Charnell-house; it's like an old churl's Ruff in crinckle cranckles, daubed over ' we blew Starch, and stiffened, to purpose, but what said I to the beggar, Tim?  Tym. 
Like any arrant Cursned Carter living; Landlord, a told the beggar that there were spokes for his knees in that Gullery and ready turned to his hand, if his stumps flood in need of any fresh legs.  Hod. 
The Neighbours say, the great lump o tallow, whose outside looks like the inside of a Cavalere-but, wast not so Tim?  Sir Cle. 
A Cavyare but, Hodge it was.  Hodg. 
That he is rolling up and down in that Gullery in a hot day to swelter himself in the shade and the cool air, but Landlord, merciless Landlord as you have faithfully promised me, I am now with my eyes betwixt the two Loggerheaded posts at his door, clad in blue-jackets, like your good Grandfather's old pow-der-beefe men, and they stand too't as stiffly as if'ft he devil were within 'em.  Sir Har. 
Precious Pelch proceed.  Hodg. 
The Porch was strongly guarded with the blind and lame.  Sir Cle. 
How strongly guarded Hodge with such Watchmen?  Hodg. 
And Watch-woemen too Sir, or I'm a very shoobuckle, there was such a strong sent among 'em, none durst approach 'em, they smelled like our old persons 6 holes in his arms, legs, and ankles; that he daily feeds we ' dry Peas, and Cole-wort leaves instead o Salads, to keep low the French Gugawes in his bones or the great blue blotches our Sexton's wife hath in both her shinbones, which she daubs over, we ' Candles grease and white Chalk, and gives it a nickname as she does her husband Nickles, and calls it an Atonement.  Tym. 
Puppy, 'tis an odd-sent she calls it.  Sir Clem. 
An Ointment, eued it Hodge.  Hodg. 
I, I, an Appointment, but Landlord ne'er a cup ● Ale, I grow hoarse a little.  Sir Har. 
You shall have much ado to wash your b●●● down, some drink there.  Tym. 
Hold Hodge, thou drinkst like a horse.  Hodg. 
I may thank my merciless Landlord Tim, for i can taste no Malt in the water, wned carouse Tym.  Sir Cle. 
The Southern Air?  
Hath breathed a nimble fineness Hodge into  
Your home-spunn noddle, but good Pelch go on,  
I thirst to hear the sequel.  Hodg. 
Do you thirst to drink o my Land lords Well too? He is very free of his B●cket— but having knocked, there appeared an old thing of whit-lether and bad's come in, where Tim, thou know'st what a rabble there was too?  Tym. 
I and a stench too Hodge, would he poisoned a Polecat, Landlord there was complexions of all sorts, The old story i'th' Arras hang hath not half so many, far worse than jacobs' and his twelve sons faces crowded together in old painted cloth. But Hodge look back a little and tells what thou saidst to the two old Gentlewomen in ancient lose gowns and french-hoods that the Ca●rman on a throne, brought softly thither in a black Calves-skin study we●lether windows, on wheels, with a pair he jade's yoked together, and a Pole, set between 'em, that i asked whether they meant to run a till't.  Tym. 
And a beggar woman said we ' her whole brood o sons and daughters, at her back and in her arms, that they were a pair of old Court-whoores, waste not Tim?  Sir Clem. 
Courtiers Hodge Courtiers, sure.  Hodg. 
I Court whore's Gentleman, that had the Crick in their thumbs, or their bums, or gums, look Tim in thy scroll.  Tim, 
Crinck-ums ye dolt, and then the beggar said 'twas a French Commodity, and that they paid dear for their Commodities, and now they hurried to the Doctors to be rid out, and wished the Doctor would stew 'em in a tub like harlots, that had nothing for her generation at her back, that stunk o piss and scraps— what was the name o'th' tub Hodge.—  Hodg. 
Why a tub— a tub, faith c'have forgot, but 'twas Cursned in Holland i'm sure, A tub— a cur-hellish tub— is there ere such a tub in Christendom Gentleman?  Sir Clem. 
A Cornelius tub there is.  Hodg. 
I, I, a Cadwallader tub 'twas, than i asked the old fellow▪ with the whip, whether his jades did not understand their own natural speech of hoy, G woe, ree but that a must carry such a tormentor in'● hands for their thi● pummeled buttocks.  Tym. 
And i swore, i would ●●●ell Hodge to purpose if he talked so but what wast the 〈…〉 trap whooped at Hodge?  Hodg. 
Why they said the fellow in the trunk-hose that drove 'em had brought's horses to the Doctor, to be Cured of their lean Consumption, and sed, their 〈◊〉 had the 〈◊〉, and that they were hidebound, that their ribs were like hoops, to keep in th●i● guts, they had ● rotten Cough▪ the snekup, clubb-feere, blind eyes and the snevill.  Tym. 
But, O my Conscience Landlord c'he thought at first, all the red Petticoats in Taun on had been tu●n'd into red waistcooats; every one had an egg-ba●ket in her hand, with a long ill favoured glass in't full o todge, looked like grounds of Ale, and stunk like a Brewers sink, what wast they called them Hodge?  Hodg. 
Curr-can alls waste not Tim?  Sir Clem. 
Urinals you mean,  Hodg. 
I Sir you are a good ' Spositor, we blockhead; shu● spoil all else— there was an old fellow looked as if he had been stewed in Kitchen-stuff, and he had a belly like a Grannum we child, i said a was hy-topsy-turvy, the deal mend 'em, they ha', such names for 'um.  Sir Clem. 
You mean Hydropic.  Hodg. 
I, I, High trapstick Landlord, and another, puffed and blowed, as if he had been broken-winded, or newly run up a hill, of hawkt such buttermilk spawle up, looked like the snout-ropings of my old yexing jade that has the Glanders:— there were a great many slung in Crutches, and some that had the very same cough our Priest is troubled with when he's out in's Sermon.— There were many pretty she parcels of the City in black Masks, and ruffling in silks, to know if they were we ' child, or how they might be, the Doctor has one medicine for 'em all, or he's belied.  Tym. 
And others that made me weak stomached, they had Scales on their foreheads, looked like the half dried dirt o my Cart wheels, or Cowdung crusted i'th' Sun, and covered over we'yellow Wasps and blue flesh-flies.  Hodg. 
And if ever there were need o painting, those Faces looked so pitifully as if they begged for't.  Tym. 
But Landlord, passing that Golgotha, we were ushered by a thin fellow, whose bare buttocks peeped through his trunk breeches, into the presence of the Gog and Magog, well furs he sat straddling four els wide, and looked like a Giant that had been knocked into crumples, with a great club.  Sir Clem. 
Now we may expect  
The Monsters learned discourse; Sir, I have heard  
A murmur of him 'mongst the common Rabble,  
As if that Curses and more Charitable breath,  
Had mixed to speak his name, indeed, a sound  
Uncharitable enough, if an inbred goodness  
Dwelled somewhat darkly in him, which the eye  
That views at random could not guess, it there,  
Yet in itself it would break intoth' air,  
And raise a harmony would please the ear,  
Of the more knowing tribe; but when all mouths  
That have discreet and modest owners must  
Swell with a Language suitable to's actions,  
Of pestilent relish, it must carry in't  
A jealousy the stench that lives in's breast  
Must be as murdering in the wiser thought  
As are his mixtures to that wretched crew,  
That dar● assault his door to purchase them,  
But on good Hodge and Tym.  Hodg. 
I marry Tim, here's a Gentleman would tell a tale to purpose, as God mends, he has spoke very wisely, dost understand him Tim?  Tym. 
As much as thou dost Hodge, but o my Conscience I know not what to make on't.  Sir Har. 
Well Tenants you speak the truth, and that will shame the Devil.  Hodg. 
The Doctor you mean Land●ord, but the first word a● spoke to us, a did grunt out and we were feign to speak a whole bottle a hay, to scour his throat clearer.  Tym. 
HE than said we we're full o gross humours, and that we must take a Sturgeon: but i told him c'had no skill in Fisherman-ship.  Hodg. 
Thou liest Owl, 'twas a St●rgation  Sir Clem. 
A Purgation sure, wast not?  Hodg. 
I, I, and the Pickrell, go my p●●se one first and emptied it of eight Groats, and a spick and span new towpence, the deal throttle his wezand with't.  Tym. 
But what wast he go thee Hodge?  Hodg. 
The d'eale in a Powder, ' i said it was the d'eales' Grid-Iron and a Scummer.  Sir Clem. 
How? Stay good Hodge.—  Hodg. 
I tell you ' i could not stay one minute when ' i had it in my paunch, the very thought on'nt makes me clownish, ' i must go and untruss a point, and—  Sir Cle. 
Sir! I have read with some delight the history of simples,  
But what this should be 'tis too difficult,  
For me to guess at.  Tym. 
Faith Sir, the Simple was e'en Lether-Pelch himself tened worth your anger to study for't.  Sir Clem. 
Wast not Tim, Dy●gredium and Scamonye.  Tym. 
O my Conscience Gentleman,  been a Doctor too, but y'are nothing like him.  Sir Clem. 
Prithee Tim describe him.  Tym. 
Describe him what's that?  Sir Clem. 
Paint him forth.  Tym. 
Oh is that all, then on a smoked wall, with a little small-coal, I will scratch out a great fat Devil though it look like a Bear, it's but your worship's scrolling under, This is a Devil, and there's ne'er a Maypole blade i'th' Town but will understand it, without go'ng to our old Curate.  Sir Clem. 
Come Hodge, we must desire  
Your wit in Figuring this piece, I know  
That there is somewhat carries worth within thee,  
And thy invention, come then let's survey  
The Doctor and each Limb in its due colour  
Lay out, that when we have numbered all, we may  
Wonder at's true Dimensions.  Hodg. 
Well though I could (when I had my limbs) better hold the Plough then a Pencil, yet I will scrawle him out we my tongue and tell you what a bundle of mortality he is— did you ever see a Roman Nose in a Ballado Country love, even such a snout has he, dappled with pock-holes, and coloured like Wainscot in joiners' varnish, with a pair of Sachell-cheekes o'th' same complexion and hony-combed like a course sive, a has a Chin that's masked in sweat and pox-scarres with here and there a Bristle stuck in spite on's Nose.  Tym. 
His jowl is curled and tufted like a Negroes, and i'th' shape of a Molehill, nitted we ' Vermin as that's we ' Pissemyres'— They say he is as brazenfaced as Pitts Cannons on Tower-wharf, but I don't believe't the Mongrel looks more like in countenance one of the old Iron Guns on Tower-hill, that lie in Ambush to cheat some Sea novice or other, as the Doctor does, with the appearance of their greatness more than their service, and roar (as he does in his own behalf) till they split and murder all about 'um.  Hodg. 
And Landlord, he's larded with Porkes-grease i'th' Brisket, and he has a flank like an Ox he's buttockt like an Elephant, and Uddered like a Cow, he has a pair of Pumpkinns instead of legs, and a foot as large as a Bucking-beetle, with a paunch like a brewing-fat; A should be no Gentleman by his arms, for they are almost buried in their own pits, and from thence there reaks a boorish stream, as rank as an old Galleyslaves, or the slimy Groynes of a withered witch, he makes a noise when he walks as if he were threshing or beating Hemp.  Sir Har. 
Didst see his Wife Hodge?  Hodg. 
I did see a bundle he carrion' i called one, she looks like a Bear's whelp, and he must lick her into shape ' ere she have any, the D'eale send him a Stomach too't.  Tym. 
‛ I dances a Morris ev'ry Mid-sommer-Moone, we ' the Queen o' Fairies, and loves the Dogstar abominably, and hopes to have whelps by him, ' i says that Charles-wayn has eight wheels, and fears nothing more than that she shall be hurried in that Cart, to Bedlam.  Hodg. 
And talks of a Pedigree, longer than ever was hammered out o' South-Wales, i swears Venus is her granchild, if she be, and like her, God Scarce might as well a been enammelled of a Witch, and the Cuckold Pul-can might a found somewhat else to a done, then to a been angry.  Sir Clem. 
Gramercy Hodge, thou hast honest smooth brows, the Feminine evils are not enoculated ' on 'um.  Hodg. 
‛ I had some pimpling there ' o late.  Tym. 
Then i said. V-bi-ther, was an arrant Whoremaster, and the man in the Moon was his Bawd, and that a had wooed her, and sent Mercury, with a bottle on's water, to sweep the Scales and dandruff from her Physiognomy, and Pouch-mouth: and that's Aturne should be the next good thing of would present her, that she might be Planet struck, and bring forth another Sun, which with A pottle Water might make the Stubble on her sweet Pugs chaps, grow a little faster.  Sir Har. 
Well set out Tim: she is mad it seems?  Hodg. 
Mad co ye, i was wedded to the Doctor for the same purpose, and he took her for better for worse, to the same end; well Landlord, she's a notable Straw-lug-ger, and Vows the 12 Sins are her own proper goods, and that she was delivered of Gemini at a Gossip's feast; when the old midwife, had it in Aries, which was a Sine then parboiled mumblecrust had a mighty mind to he been Leo, and he roared like one, when Aquarius, had been fit for her then the toss-pot.  Tym. 
I said her husband's Arms was Taurus, and that she was well skilled in Harlotry, and that she had added gulls to 'um?  Sir Clem. 
Geules' Geules.  Tym. 
We 3 singes more Gudgeons for Piss-us, and Capring-horne, which Fur-goe to in-belly-●●it  Sir Clem. 
Embellesh it good Tym.  Hodg. 
A mad drab 'tis, and then suddenly cried out, and sed, i had a Scorpion betwixt her legs, a Canker in her breast, and Rovers in her Thighs, that put her to many flights,— And so ran away from's.  Tym. 
Then came his Servingman, a fellow in motley that looked as if he had not slept since the Conquest; he's a walking shadow that grumbles out yes, and no, to all comers, sucks his paws and the wet nurses, come we ' Pisspots very eagerly, he has a begging countenance, and a breath that stinks like a stone Chamber-pot, surred white with age, and stolen, or a Jurden that has 'scaped many a scouring both ways, in an Inn.  Sir Har. 
But how did your Physic work Hodge?  Hodg. 
Work co ye, it played at Tennis e'my guts, I thought the Varlet, had conjured a couple a sawyer's into my guts to Saw my puddings e pieces, or a Smith's Vice and pincers, they did so gripe me.  Tym. 
HE Roared out, and said there was a Shambles in's arse a shit red gobbets, and blood, as if it had poured through the sinke-hole of a slaughter-house.  Hodg. 
Then he go me a Cord-an-all enough to a throttled a mangy-dog a black drench of soot and bull's gall, would a caused a lean spur-galld jade to he had the Chyn-cough: well Landlord, I have heard of a cold sweat (at Plough and Cart c'have had many a hot one) and i could a whistled it away with a little Sully-bub; but a cold-sweat do you call it? 'tis a medicine for a dead horse, it made my head and my heart ache: it renced my Maw e'faith: c'had Cricks and Cramps, from my back to my toes: c'he thought a cold-sweat, would a thrust me out o'th' world by neck and shoulders: if ever shepherds would scare a Nation o Foxes from their Lambs, let them catch one and put him into a cold-sweat, and send him among his tribe again, and if ever any come neere'um, I'll be cut into tripes and broiled o'th' Coals: Why, i was wrung and twisted with it like a course hempen-sheet out o'th' cold water  Tym. 
And the malmsey nosed chap-fal'n jade, my Landlady said he was a beast to piss a-bed and bathe in't, when poor Hodge he was in a cold sweat, and did grin at it, like the death's head, set in a jewel o mortality, o'er the Churchyard portal, c'he was feign to wring his mother's milk out on's nose to fetch him again.  Hodg. 
A cold sweat do ye call i●?  Sir Cle▪ 
You are mistaken Hodge,  
T ' was not by order but by accident.  Hodg. 
How Sir, mistaken! Pray do you go and entreat him we ' 8 shillings to put you into a cold-sweat, you'd part with all you have to be out on't; you may lay your life on't, for 'tis as much as 'tis worth if you be once in't.— Why? Man, my bum stood where my belly was, and my nose was placed like a Hawks at Roost, i'th' nape o'my neck: my golls were writhed like Hoby-de-boodies, or the arrantst Fairy innocent ever slavered.  Tym. 
Byth' Mass, i thought c'had lost Hodge, and the D'eale had left a changeling, in's room, as God mends a did so squint and make mouths: and his Oagles did so witter, c'he thought, that c'had, had a Morice-dancer in's noddle, his joints did so twitch, and his chaps did so taber, c'he was even wishing for a nosegay, bells, and a blue handkerchief.  Sir Har. 
Thou hadst Convulsion fits Hodge.  Hodg. 
Fits co ye? I was fitted e'faith; but how fit so ere 'twas c'ham sure they were Compulsions,— But pray Sir! Go and buy a cold-sweat on him, make your Will first; bespeak the Cakes and Ale, and take leave of all your friends; forgive your Enemies, and especially your Butcher, the Doctor, and if ever you be at Peace (when you are once in't,) till you are at Peace we ' God, I'll make a trough o my hide and serve the Hogs in't, mistaken co ye?  Tym. 
Yes go, such a cold sweat as poor Hodge Lether-pelch had, i'll warrant you speed, you'll make such speed, to be out on't, you may chance to break your neck by't.  Hodg. 
Neck co ye, c'he thought the Doctor's Hobgoblins been wring my neck a pieces, i saw no body and yet i was pulled and hall'd, like a Traitor o'th' wrack, i talks of the nightmare, but i thought a thousand on 'em had been tearing my limbs asunder▪ Then i thought strangely that c'had been in a Cloud for c'had mists and Fegaries before my eyes, and capering little devils, as if c'had been at a Puppit-play.  Tym. 
Che wonders, so many will run the hazard to hang or drowned themselves, when they may have some hope o' heaven by a cold-sweat, more haste, and better speed: if the Lord Major would but send one Cart full of execution flesh to him, and let him but kill 'em with a cold-sweat, it would so scare the cutpurses, the markets would be swept clear o'um for 7 years after.  Sir Har. 
I believe thee Hodge, and Newgate want much of its revenue, to the making lean of the under Copper-nosed jailors; the Hangman would fall into a deep Consumption by it, Long-lane want many a Tyburn bargain, and the Brokers in Houndsditch translate themselves into absolute Wolves, the more ravenously to feed upon the innocent poor.  Hodg. 
O my Conscience Landlord, you a been in a cold-sweat too.  Sir Har. 
No Pelch, but thy tale has made me have a deep apprehension of it.  Hodg. 
A deep what do you call't co ye, c'ham sure it had almost thrust me as deep into the ground as c'ham long, c'he thinks if a Witch were put out o'th' World by a cold-sweat instead o burning: all the hellish brood would be so frighted, they would deny their Covenant, bid defiance to the devil, fall to Prayers and be converted again; but Tim take thy memerdrandums out o thy pouch, and tells what the man sed that bored the Elmetrees right-ore agone him.  Tym. 
Why i said they were Pumps you puppy: for the Abygale Lucy, Elizabeth, Mary, plain Joan, Robert, Harry William and Ralph.  Hodg. 
I, I, Pumps, and i said they wore 'em out faster, than c'he could make 'em and thou asked him Tim: what waste Tim?  Tym. 
Why, i asked him whether they were all rogues and whores he named that came to the great fat Doctor or no?  Hodg. 
I, I, che sed, and laughed, and said they were to pump 'em, and then we sneaked away, and Tim said what a pair o rogues are we to endanger a Pumping.  Tym. 
'twas a merry Piper ' saith, and said if there had been a Pump ready we must a gone too't too.  Sir Clem. 
Some Pumps for ships they mean.  Hodg. 
A said i had a Brother, would set up a shed next door to the Doctor and sell nothing but Crutches, Wooden legs, glasse-eyes, and trotter-bone Teeth, and hoped to be as gross as an Alderman in Purse, and the Doctor in Carcase in two Moons: but Landlord, ne'er a scrap o' pudding, or mess o Bacon porridge.  Sir Har. 
Yes, go in, Hodge and Tim: there's the carcase of a Goose and a stolen Woodcock.  Hodg. 
I'll ha' the carcase Tim 'cause it has no legs, but i hopes, it has other gets Pinions then mine are.  Tym. 
What thy Crutches Hodge? And c'heele make an ass o the Woodcock.  Hodg. 
C'heele swing myself betwixt Heaven and Earth o my Crutches again to London, and be Pump, if thou canst make an Ass of a Woodcock Tim: Though it fall to your share, you'll sooner make nothing on't Tim, if you have a good stomach too't, but bones good Tym.  Sir Har. 
At my last being at London where I lodged  
In a friend's house, we had discourse about  
This rank of people we call Mountebanks  
Of whom that vast place does receive such swarms,  
And of all Sexes, nay of Nations too,  
Made out of all trades, (when misfortunes, either  
Of Vice or Ignorance has beat them out  
Of their own Countries, or their Manual Arts,  
That 'tis a pity there's no Law nor power  
Ordained to bridle them.  Sir Clem. 
Oh Sir, did you know,  
How th'venom of the times hath bloched the face  
Of justice, and made Virtue hang the head,  
You would deplore the miseries of this Country,  
That more groan under these base burdens, than  
The Sword or Pestilence, with all the Ruins  
That wait on Heaven's wrath or the brow of War,  
If there be any lose piece that has lost  
Himself in Cobbling Shoes or botching Stockings  
Strait he retires to Physic or Divinity,  
And so does mend, and patch himself again,  
To underlay his fortunes with his Cozenage,  
And botch himself up by hypocrisy,  
Into a Pulpit Cassock.  Sir Har. 
Most ridiculous.  
What hath the breath of Englishmen infected,  
The Air it can give life and being too  
Such Mongrel Serpents?  Sir Clem. 
'tis most true, but wert  
Not! An heroic act to cleuse the Common  
Wealth, of such dunghills, and i'th' hurly burly,  
Never abuse the knowing pining Brain,  
That sits half starved with riches in his Pate,  
Would weigh the wealth of India down if valued  
To their just worth, nay, polish them, and set  
Them as rich jewels to the public eye,  
And purchase to our Nation, the reverence  
All foreign climates own too't in due debt,  
Would it not leave unto Posterity?  
A Chronicle, but of the date and year,  
The fullness of all years would not wipe out,  
Oh I could wake in such a noble passion  
And give it breath but to dispute this cause,  
Until the coldness of the grave had cast  
The night and sleep it holds in its possession  
Over my flesh and Spirit.  Sir Har. 
'tTwere a work  
Would be eternal and as everlasting  
In the great benefits it carries with it,  
But how performed? That question dashes out  
All Policies and not unworthily,  
Since th'Law hath shared a liberty to all  
To live.  Sir Clem. 
So it be honestly, but what  
Faith or credit can a base Imposture  
Challenge unto himself, or by what Law,  
Can he determine Physic, or Divinity  
His own Inheritance? When in neither he  
Is so fare lettered, as to read the title  
And branch the Etymology: all the right  
He hath unto those Sacred mysteries,  
Is the contemned applauses of dry Nurs'es'  
Porters, and Carre-men; with a heap of Rubbish,  
(Tumbled into a multitude) of that making  
And some odd scribble of a learned jew,  
On purpose called so, and reduced into  
A dark dispensatory of Receipts,  
Treasured i'th' harlot Library of their Noddles,  
And what can this stuff, by a dangerous hand  
(Rashly administered) promise but destruction,  
To those that dare attempt their use?  Sir Harry. 
I see,  
You have a smart sense of th'abuse.  Sir Clem. 
And must,  
Out of a Pious duty to my Country  
Their common way of publishing their trumperies,  
Under the Pye-balled title of elixirs,  
Makes Virtue such a bastared unto those  
Barely conceive that truth they read on posts,  
To bring them Cheese and Garlic; when they close  
Their wise opinions (in the cursed trial)  
That all the blessings of that noble mystery  
Must be o'th' same mould and mortal.  Sir Har. 
I confess, in these Relations go integrity:  
And must lament the cause; yet I have known  
Some eminent in Office an in Garb  
(It seems more than in judgement) has proclaimed  
Great miracles of these Monsters.—  Sir Clem. 
And enforced  
Their visits to their best friends, who have soon  
Cursed them and their belief, i'th' sad conclusion,  
But for a remedy?  Sir Har. 
It would wipe off the tears  
The common Cheek is every day bedewed with,  
And quit the score, before Heaven which they rashly  
Swell to an account of murder of themselves  
And nearest Allies, turn'e the grey Beard in Plush  
(That's Coached and hurried to some quaint destruction.)  
Into a wiser habit, that at least  
He may in's wit seem suitable to's Clothes  
And titles; though those gay Materials  
Were left him by his Grandsire in his Will  
Such silken gulls there are, but for a remedy.  Sir Clem. 
Wert not a piece of Piety next too  
The quenching of infectious Heresy,  
Might have a place and called the work of Heaven,  
Thus to Reform these evils.  Sir Har. 
Pray discourse it.  Sir Clem. 
That none should dare.  
To practise Physic but such as can give  
A fair description of their knowledge in't  
In some sound work of theirs; which would put many  
True labourers into the Vineyard.  Sir Har. 
An excellent way, and those works.—  Sir Clem. 
Published by th'common purse.  Sir Har. 
I conceive you.  
And thereby Physic would here only grow,  
With its sweet odour and most glorious Tincture,  
And set all Nations such fresh Copies of  
The yet but dreamt of mystery,— that they  
Would next to their Devotions think upon  
The honourable thanks they own and must  
Pay to this Northern Nursery.  Sir Clem. 
Then what  
By the strict hand of such Authority  
(In th'execution) dirty heepes of Maggots,  
Would be swept up together all the Dung-Carts  
Must for a Month forsake the stifled kennels  
And stinking dust tubs, to convey those Mountains,  
Of more infectious carrion out o'th' City,  
The Gold-finders much change their hours and trade  
And hurry out i'th' day those loathsome lakes,  
And purchase by th'employment fields to lay  
Their filth in; and not need, the common gist  
Toth' necessary work.  Sir Harry. 
What Troops of Plush  
Must trudge; and old chins feathered white with Age,  
With daggled Petticoats that were lately spewed  
Out of some Hospital; Tailors drabs, and whores,  
Of a most impudent making: with some blasted  
Copper-nosed Crack-brained Medicine makers: what  
A killing sunk, the allies would be cleansed of  
And the streets emptied.  Sir Clem. 
Nay Sir! Some fine Pageants  
That sit i'th' chair of justice must then pack too,  
And if the English want a murdering Army,  
To shed among the Irish, that like famine  
Would eat them up and make large Valleys but  
One grave until they swelled up to the Mountains,  
Let them but Muster these, and if they don't  
Depopulate their Country in five Months,  
Maugre their Bogs and Nutio; I'll be stewed  
In Barrowes grease, & served to the Devil's Table,  
When he toth' Pope Communicates a Morsel  
At the Renewing of their league.  Sir Harry. 
Where would  
Hodge, his Physician be then?  Sir Clem. 
In a Dung-Cart,  
A Chariot that becomes him.  Sir Harry. 
Well Hodge what news now?  Hodg. 
A whole belly full. Tim sed c'had a weak stomach and if c'had not a cantle o Cheese a two pounds, a Rye Loaf oh six pence, and a black jacke, o Sir a shed not believe a had a Woodcock in's belly.  Sir Clem. 
But what's worse  
The Varlets with confronting impudence  
Leaves on the bosom of Authority  
Murder as 'twere by Patent, and makes poor,  
The Hospital Charity, when it shares to numbers;  
For what byth' Benefactors, was judged sufficient.  
To ease a Cities maimed: now'es too little  
But for one Precinct.  Sir Harry. 
I pity the abuse.  Sir Clem. 
Is't not strange  
The looseness of some Gentlewoman's belly,  
Waits on some ancient Lady, healed by accident,  
Or bawdry, not by Art, or honest actions,  
Should be sufficient warrant for these— Mongrels  
Half men, half Monsters to stand in defiance  
Of a whole College, all Sage honest men,  
As Reverend in their Art, as they're in years,  
As white in all their undertake, as  
The curled Snow sits on their heads, and brows,  
The true somenters of their noble mystery,  
And rare examples to all Posterity.  
In whose chaste bos●●e, our progenitors  
Planted a full power, to examine, and  
Punish these Vultures, now by bribes and filth,  
Corrupting the Republic breast so much  
That they Cu● Privilegis act their baseness  
In dangerous mixtures, and so▪ either fully  
Eclipse their rights, or weaken those brave men,  
They are of no use to the common Good,  Sir Har. 
What does the Law set down, 'gainst these abuses  
In their restraint.  Sir Clem 
As they now interpret  
The Law; it does support 'em and break down,  
The ancient privileges we are planted in,  
The Society of Physicians; and  
Under pretence of Freedom to all people  
In honest ways to make provision  
For their own Families, and to keep out  
Want: and other irksome Guests attending on't  
They let in all, for Ruin.  Sir Har. 
judge of the Law  
And Ministers of it charitably.  Sir Clem. 
Sir,  
They may as well admit a dabbled Barato●  
Made out of a hobbling Butcher by necessity  
And Common quarrels, and dubbed Solicitors  
By Fishwives, and such tag-rag-squabling pieces  
Into the Throne of justice, and have borne  
The Mace before him to their Courts, As be  
The Champions of these Pisspot prodigies,  
In consideration of their Golden sees:  
And by a Power derived, I know ned from whence  
Divest the College of those limits which  
Our Predecessors gave them, and made Law  
As high and equal, in such Cases, As  
Their own professings?  Sir Har. 
Be not passionate,  
Indeed, I cannot discern, how they can by  
True sympathy, determine it, but as  
The College may usurp unto themselves  
A number, and, for their own private ends  
Never admit beyond such scopes, which would  
Make Physic barren, if from thence they only  
Must issue, when, from other Countries, we  
Are furnished with rich jewels for the Common Good.  Sir Clem. 
And from thence flock many varnished ore,  
With title more than knowledge: being the purchase  
Of their f●●ll purses, not their Brains; Their empty,  
And sick of Inanition; neither do I  
So fortify myself against all reason,  
But if these fellows that profess so much  
Are but endued with what is published of 'em  
Why don't they publish some brave work of theirs  
To be a Testament unto these minutes,  
And after ages of their admired, and known  
Worth in their Arts? Would it not clinch the mouth  
Of all, and set them off full, and supported  
Byth' general voice and hand? from all oppression?  
Would it not put a Palsy intoth' chaps,  
(A dead one) of the common brute, and scandal?  
That it should fall and trembl but to mention  
One syllable of dishonour, if such worth  
Can but appear out of'um.  Sir Harry. 
You speak reason.  Sir Clem. 
And if not, to force 'em  
Into their proper channels for a livelihood,  
Tinker to Tinkering, botcher to his botching.  
Their Trulls to scouring and their seaventh he Bastard  
To Weaving, Ditching, Delving and such Works  
Nature did fit them Limbs for, as big and monstrous  
As Corineus, or his huge foe Colbrous,  
That guard the Shreeves Courts, from flesh flies that swarm  
Out of the Compters Ordinary, where there's  
Diet and place more fit for such thrummed Yeomen  
Then that these times allow'um.  Sir Harry. 
Indeed Carts and Cages better suits.  Sir Clem. 
With their foul cozenage,  
Then private Chambers and Coaches.  Hodg. 
Tim, I hope of don't mean us.  Sir Clem. 
No honest Hodge thou sufferded  
Under these blazing Comets that portend.  
Nothing but death and slaughter when they shine  
Brightest.— But i'll collect myself.  Sir Harry. 
Nobly uttered Sir,  
There is no fraud or flattery in your words.  
Well Tim, what was your Physic?  Tym. 
Why c'had first a Stir-up.  Sir Clem. 
A Syrup Tim, a Syrup.  Tym. 
I say, 'twas a stirrup, it so stirred up my Maw, i spewed up all c'had eaten in five days, besides great gobbets of very worshipful phlegm.  Sir Clem. 
How Worshipful?  Hodg. 
I, Right Worshipful an't please you, such as the Major o' Taunton pleased to give his dog out on's own belly after supper, instead of a Posset.  Sir Clem. 
What wast called Tym.  Tym. 
Why, i called it an Oxin meal and a Skillet on we simples.  Sir Clem. 
Oximel sciliticum simplex▪ 'twas Tym.  Tim. 
I, I, sir you must pardon my loblivion, such hard words they are.  Hodg. 
Then i gone him a Trough a trough, a Pellet beaten into powder.  Sir Clem. 
A Trosicke, honest Hodge, I must help your memory still.  Tym. 
I, I, sick, i remembers i made me as sick as a dog with't, I wished it in's tripes and a tenter hook i'th' middle on't.  Hodg. 
I called it a Trough-sicke, of All-hands.  Sir Clem. 
All-Handul●s, Tym.  Tym. 
Dandle us co ye, i dandled my bum so, i could scarce squat in six days after.  Hodg. 
Then i go him a powder i said it was a Trollop.  Sir Clem. 
Ye pose me to unfold this Riddle, a Trollop▪  Hodg. 
'Twas the powder of his old wifes-shin-bone, for o my Conscience she's a Trollop.  Sir Clem. 
'Twas called jallop.  Tym. 
I, I, Gallop, i had it no sooner e'my maw, but it set spurs to my sides, it did swinge me under the short Ribs, and did Gallop through my Guts as if a troop o Horse had been Routed e ' my crop; a noose choke him, i had a Trooper out o'my pocket for't.  Hodg. 
A said i must have a rack o' Mutton, to make broth, but a set Tim on such a wrack, that i was feign to eat the Porridge, they would a been cold else; but Landlord, merciless Landlord, as you have promised me before sufficient witness; Tim had no more colour in's face then I had, when you told me you would Rack my rent, merciless Landlord—.  Tym. 
Then i said I must ha' a Choler for mine eyes.  Hodge. 
A horse Coller 'twas, conjured into a little Glass: but Tim a said your Trollop-powder, would spurge thy head but I think it powdered your Muggets, and your Choler put you into choler I think, it made him stamp and stare like one o your Roaring boys, my Landlady brought up a dozen o' Cans and asked if the Measell were mad to knock for so much Beer, when poor Tim had a Choler in's eyes wrought as dangerously as a Halter almost.  Sir Clem. 
'Twas called a Collerium?  Tym. 
I good Gentleman, a Colliers. Thumb i called it, as soon as i had thrust it into my eyes, it made me blubber like a great-Cow-baby, and put one quite out, i was e'en bethinking myself of a Dog and a Bell, with a begging piece o' Scripture to a howling tone, That 'tis a long Night that never his day, or blind Bess' trade, of Repeating a chapter o' John with her hands in her placket, and churning o' Pleas with her buttocks, and miscalling the waggish striplings, that mocked and slockt about her.  Sir Clem. 
Enough good Tim, it grows late Sir Harry?  Hodg. 
The Song, the song, Landlord pray slay and heart.  Sir Har. 
By all means Hodge?  Hodge. 
'Tis to a new tune Landlord, of old Thomas you cannot.  

THE SONG.  

1.  
COme come away  
Why make you any stay:  
Me thinks you do not flock  
To purchase these Elixirs:  
E'en faith I do not mock  
But is your sweetheart's quick Sirs?  
Her's Syrup will devour  
What ever's Threatened your.   

2.  
Do not smother  
The truth, though sick o'th' Mother,  
Here's in this little Pill  
A Bawd will surely do't  
Without the Midwife's skill  
Let it but once come too't  
And if that you are willing▪  
It will not blench at killing.   

3.  
Or hath a touch  
Of the Frenchman too much  
Ceased on your scoling bones,  
Or does your Grief nor spare  
With midnights Gripes and Groans,  
To Tanne the scalp from hair:  
Here's in this Dulcie potion  
A Surgeon's boy with Lotion.   

4.  
Come make trial,  
Here's in this little Viol  
An Hospital of Cures,  
There's none that ever took't,  
Now any pain endures,  
Or after e ' to forsooked:  
'Tis Physic for the Gout,  
The Stone, and those look out.   

5.  
Here's a Jelly  
For the Hydropicke belly,  
The Wind and water it  
With power Conjures forth,  
And Cures the Frenzy sit,  
It quickens the Dead birth:  
It Cools a babbling tongue,  
And makes a Mid-wi●e young.   

6.  
Hear is no fraud  
In Doctor or in Bawd,  
The troubles of this world  
From persons of each Gender,  
They sundenly have hurled  
Till Doomsday, Peace they Render:  
Fame no Account will have  
Of them, but from the Grave.    Sir Har. 
Come 'tis Dinner time:  
And Sir, I hope, this day I shall enjoy  
Your company, to morrow morning choose  
What early hour you please to take your journey  
We will put down these merry Scenes, with a  
Fresh bowl of Suck, shall warm our appetites  
Unto a competent meal of homely fare  
I will not be denied.  Sir Clem. 
Sir you are  
Too poorefull o'er me, and your Goodness doth  
Extend in bounty, beyond my deservings,  
Your liberal table is not furnished more  
With excellent Viands, than your free, and noble  
Heart is with honest wishes to your Friends;  
Which end in fair performances, and Sir  
That is the Crown of all, without which all  
Hospitality were but vild and Counterfeit.  Sir Har. 
No more— nay Hodge and Tim you are my loving Guests too  
The Doctor has dealt favourably with you  
For though your journey, does return you shame,  
A has left you so, The Blind may lead the Lame.   

Epigrams.  

1.  
THus Hodge and Tim how course so  they seem  
In language, may, for truth be in esteem.   

2.  
In tatters, they, their Dialogue have sent  
Abroad, but why? 'Cause truth still naked went.   

3.  
And though some may Conclude their tale but froth,  
Believe't they are a kin to Tom-tell-troth.   

4.  
But if they brand them, with Imposturie,  
Tell'um from me they give themselves the lie.  
Though course, in Tatters, and but froth, they may  
Win, (without Lawyers, or fat bribes) the Day.    
The End.