THE Counter Scuffle. Whereunto is added THE Counter Rat.  
Written by R. S.  
LONDON, Printed by R. B. and are to be sold by John Stafford. 1648.   

THE counter-scuffle.  

LEt that majestic pen that writes  
Of brave K. Arthur and his Knights,  
And of their noble feats and fights:  
And those who tell of Mice and frogs  
And of the skirmishes of hogs,  
And of fierce bears, and mastiff dogs,  
Be silent.   

And now let each one listen well,  
While I the famous battle tell,  
In Woodstreet Counter that befell  
In high Lent.   

In which great Scuffle only twain,  
Without much hurt, or being slain,  
Immortal honour did obtain  
By merit,   

One was a Captain in degree,  
A strong and lusty man was he,  
Tother a tradesman bold and free  
Of Spirit.   

And though he was no man of force,  
He had a stomach like a Horse,  
And in his rage had no remorse  
Or pity.   

Full nimbly could he cuff and clout,  
And was accounted, without doubt,  
One of the prettiest sparks about  
The City.   

And at his weapon any way  
He could perform a single fray,  
Even from the long pike to the Tay  
- lors Bodkin.   

He recked not for his flesh a jot,  
He feared nor Englishman nor Scot,  
For Man or Monster, cared he not  
A Dodkin,   

For fighting was his recreation,  
And like a man in Desperation,  
For Law, Edict, or Proclamation  
He cared not   

And in his Anger (cause being given)  
To lift his hand 'gainst good Sir Steven,  
Or any justice under Heaven,  
He feared not.   

He durst his enemy withstand,  
Or at Tergoos or Calis sand,  
And bravely there with sword in hand  
Would greet him.   

And noble Ellis was his name,  
Who'mongst his foes to purchase fame,  
Nor cared though the devil came  
To meet him.   

And this brave Goldsmith was the man,  
Who first this worthy brawl began,  
Which after ended in a Can  
Of mild beer.   

But had you seen him when he fought,  
How eagerly for blood he sought,  
there's no man but would have him thought  
A wild bear.   

Imagine now you see a score  
Of madcap Gentlemen, or more,  
Boys that did use to roist and roar,  
And swagger.   

Among the which were three or four,  
That ruled themselves by wisdom's lore,  
Whose very Grandsires scarcely wore  
A dagger.   

A Priest and Lawyer, men well read,  
In wiping poones and chipping bread,  
And falling to, short grace being said,  
Full roundly:   

Whose hungry maws no salads need  
Good appetites therein to breed,  
Their stomachs without sauce could feed  
Profoundly.   

'Twas ill that men of sober diet,  
Who loved to fill their guts in quiet,  
Were placed with ruffians that to riot  
were given:   

And (O great grief!) even from their food,  
(Their stomachs too, being strong & good)  
And that sweet place whereon it stood,  
Be driven.   

But here 'tis fitting I repeat,  
What food our dainty Prisoners eat;  
But if in placing of the meat  
And Dishes,   

From curious order I do swerve,  
'Tis that themselves did none observe,  
For which nor flesh they did deserve,  
Nor fishes.   

But some (perhaps) will say that Lent,  
Affords them not what here is meant,  
So much, so good, and that they went  
without it   

'Tis like; but if I add a Dish,  
Or twain, or three, of Flesh or Fish,  
They either had, or did it wish,  
Ne'er doubt it.   

Then wipe your mouths, while I declare,  
The goodness of this Lenten fare,  
Which is in Prison very rare,  
I tell ye.   

Furmity as sweet as any Nut. 
The Supper.   
As good as ever swilled a Gut.  
And butter sweet as e'er was put  
In belly.   

Eggs by the dozen, new and good,  
Which in white Salt uprightly stood,  
And meats which heat and stir the blood  
To action.   

As buttered Crabs, and Lobsters red,  
Which send the married pair to bed,  
And in loose bloods have often bred,  
A Faction.   

Fish buttered to the Platters brim,  
And Parsnips did in Butter swim,  
Strewed o'er with Pepper neat and trim  
Salt Salmon.   

Smelts cried, come eat me, do not stay,  
Fresh Cod, and Maids full nearly lay,  
And next to these a lusty bacon  
con Gammon   

Stuck thick with Cloves upon the back,  
Well stuffed with Sage, and for the smack,  
Daintily strewed with Pepper black,  
soused Gurnet,   

Pickrell, Sturgeon, Tench, and Trout,  
Meat far too good for such a rout,  
To tumble, toss, and throw about  
And spurn it.   

The next a Neats-tongue neatly dried,  
Mustard and sugar by his side.  
Rochets buttered, Flounders fried.  
Hot Custard.   

eels boiled and broiled: and next they bring  
Herring, that is the fish's King,  
And then a Courtly Poll of Ling,  
And Mustard.   

But stay, I had almost forgot  
The flesh which still stands piping hot,  
Some from the Spit, some from the Pot  
New taken,   

A shoulder, and a Leg of Mutton,  
As good as ever Knife was put on,  
Which never were by a true Glutton  
Forsaken,   

A loin of veal, that would have dared  
One of the hungriest of the Guard,  
And they sometimes will feed full hard,  
Like tall men.   

And such as love the Lusty Chine:  
But when that I shall sup or dine,  
God grant they be no Guests of mine,  
Of all men.   

Thus the Descriptions are complete,  
Which I have made of men and meat.  
Mars aid me now, while I repeat  
The Battle,   

Where Pots and stools were used as Gins,  
To break each others Heads, and Shins,  
Where blows did make bones in their skins  
To rattle.   

Where men to madness never ceased,  
Till each (furious as a Beast)  
Had spoilt the fashion of a Feast,  
Full dainty.   

Whereon had they not been accursed,  
They might have fed, till bellies burst:  
But Ellis showed himself the worst  
Of twenty.   

For he began this monstrous brawl,  
Which afterward incensed them all,  
To throw the meat about the Hall,  
That Even.   

And now give ear unto the jar,  
That fell between these men of war,  
Wherein so many a harmless scar  
was given.   

The Board thus furnished, each man sat,  
Some fell to feeding, some to prate,  
'Mong whom a jarring question straight  
was risen.   

For they grew hotly in dispute,  
What Calling was of most repute:  
'twas well their wits were so acute  
In prison.   

While they discoursed, the Parson blithe 
Parson.   
Fed, as he meant to have the tithe  
Of every dish, being sharp (as sith)  
In feeding.   

But haste had almost made him choke,  
Or else perhaps, he would have spoke  
In praise of his long-thred-bare cloak,  
And breeding.   

But after a deliberate pause,  
The Lawyer spoke, as he had cause, 
Lawyer.   
In commendation of the law's  
Profession.   

The Law, quoth he, by a just doom,  
Doth censure all that to it come,  
And still defends the innocent from  
Oppression.   

It favours Truth; it curbs the hope  
Of Vice; it gives Allegiance scope;  
Provides a gallows and a Rope  
For Treason.   

This doth the Law, and this is it  
Which makes us here in prison sit,  
Which grounded is on holy Writ  
And Reason.   

To which all men must subject be,  
As we by daily proof do see,  
From highest to lowest degree;  
The scholar,   

Noble, and Rich: It doth subdue  
The Soulidier, and his swaggering crew,  
But at that word the captain grew  
In choler.   

He looked full grim, and at first word 
The soldier   
Rapt out an Oath, that shook the board,  
And struck his fist, that the sound roared  
Like thunder.   

It made all skip that stood him near,  
The frighted Custard quaked for fear,  
And those that heard it, stricken were  
With wonder.   

Nought did he now, but frown and puff,  
And having stared and swore enough,  
Thus he began in language rough.  
Thou cogging,   

Base foisting Lawyer, that dost set  
Thy mind on nothing, but to get  
Thy living by thy damned pet  
- tifogging.   

A Slave, that shall for half a Crown,  
With Buckram bag, and daggled Gown,  
Wait like my dog about the Town,  
And follow   

A business of the devil's part,  
For fees, though not with Law nor Art:  
But head as empty as thy heart  
Is hollow,   

You stay at home and pocket fees,  
While we abroad our bloods do lose,  
And then, with such base terms as these  
You wrong us.   

But Lawyer, it is safer far  
For thee to prattle at a bar,  
Than once to show thy face i'th'warre,  
Among us,   

Where to defend such thankless Hinds,  
The soldier little quiet finds,  
But is exposed to stormy winds,  
And weathers,   

And oft in blood he wades full deep,  
Your throats from foreign swords to keep,  
And wakes when you securely sleep  
In feathers.   

What could your laws or Statutes do,  
Against Invasions of the Foe,  
Did not the valiant soldier go  
To quell 'em?   

And to prevent your further harms,  
With ensign, Fife, and loud alarms  
Of warlike Drum, by force of arms  
Repel 'em?   

Your trespass Action will not stand,  
For setting foot upon your Land,  
When they in scorn of your Command  
Come hither.   

No remedy in Courts of Paul's,  
In Common pleas, or in the rolls,  
For joulling of your jobbernowles  
Together.   

Were't not for us, thou Swad, quoth he,  
Where wouldst thou fog to get a fee?  
But to defend such things as thee,  
'Tis pity.   

For such as thou, esteem us least,  
Who ever have been ready pressed,  
To guard you, and the cuckoo's nest,  
Your Ctiy.   

That very word made Ellis start, 
Citizen   
And all his blood ran to his heart,  
He shook, and quaked in every part  
With anger.   

He looked as if nought might assuage  
The heat of his inflamed rage,  
His very countenance did presage  
Some danger.   

A cuckoo's nest? quoth he: and so,  
He hummed, and held his head full low,  
As if distracted thoughts did overpress  
him.   

At length, quoth he, my Mother sed, 
Ellis a Bristol man.   
At Bristol she was brought a-bed,  
And there was Ellis born and bred,  
God bless him.   

Of London City I am free,  
And there I first my Wife did see,  
And for that very cause, quoth he,  
I love it.   

And he that calls it cuckoos nest,  
Except he says he speaks in jest,  
He is a villain and a beast,  
I'll prove it.   

This I'll maintain, nor do I care,  
Though captain potgun stamp and stare,  
And swagger, swear, and tear his hair  
In fury.   

And with the hazard of my blood,  
I'll fight up to the knees in mud,  
But I will make my quarrel good,  
Assure ye.   

For though I am a man of Trade,  
And free of London City made,  
Yet can I use Gun, Bill, and Blade  
In battle.   

And Citizens, if need require,  
Themselves can force the Foe retire,  
What ever this low-country Squire  
Do prattle.   

For we have soldiers of our own,  
Able enough to guard the Town,  
And captains of most fair renown,  
About it,   

If any Foe should fight amain,  
And set on us with all his Train,  
we'll make him to retire again,  
Ne'er doubt it.   

We have fought well in dangers past,  
And will do while our lives do last,  
Without the help of any cast  
Commaders   

That hither come, compelled by want,  
With rusty Swords, and Suits Provant,  
From utrich, Numigen, or Gant,  
In Flanders.   

The Captain could no longer hold,  
But looking fircely, plainly told  
The Citizen, he was too bold,  
and called him   

Proud Boy, and for his saucy speech,  
Did shortly vow to whip his breech:  
Then Ellis snatched the pot, with which  
he malled him.   

He threw the jug, and therewithal,  
He gave the Captain such a mall, 
The Scuffle   
As made him thump against the wall  
his Crupper.   

With that the Captain took a Dish  
That stood brimful of buttered Fish,  
As good as any heart could wish  
To supper.   

And as he threw, his foot did slide,  
Which turned his arm and dish aside,  
And all be-Butter-fishifide  
Nic ballad.   

And he, good man, did none disease,  
But sitting quiet and at ease,  
With buttered Rochets sought to please  
His palate.   

But when he felt the wrong he had,  
He raged, and swore, and grew stark mad,  
Some in the room been better had  
without him;   

For he took hold of any thing,  
And first he caught the poll of Ling,  
Which he courageously did fling  
about him.   

Out of his hand it flew apace,  
And hit the Lawyer in the face,  
Who at the Board in highest place  
was seated.   

And as the Lawyer thought to rise,  
The Salt was thrown into his eyes,  
Which him of sight in woeful wise  
Defeated.   

All things near hand, Nic ballad threw:  
At length his buttered Rochets flew:  
And hit by chance, among the crew,  
The Parson.   

The Sauce his coat did all bewet,  
The Priest began to fume and fret,  
The Seat was buttered which he set  
His— on.   

He knew not what to do or say,  
It was in vain to Preach or pray,  
Or cry you are all gone astray,  
Good people.   

He might as well go strive to teach  
Divinity beyond his reach  
Or when the bells ring out, go preach  
I'th' Steeple.   

At this mischance the silly man,  
Out of the room would fain have run,  
And very angrily began  
To mutter.   

Ill luck had he, for after that  
One threw the parsnips full of fat  
Which stuck like Brooches in his Hat,  
with Butter.   

Out of the place he soon repairs  
And ran half headlong down the stairs,  
And made complaint to Master airs  
with crying.   

Up ran he to know the matter,  
And found how they the things did scatter,  
Here a Trencher, there a platter  
were lying.   

I dare not say he stunk for woe,  
Nor will, unless I did it know,  
But some there be that dare say so,  
that smelled him.   

Nor could ye blame him, if he did,  
For they threw dishes at his head,  
And did with eggs and Loaves of Bread,  
bepelt him.   

He thrust himself into the throng,  
And used the virtue of his tongue,  
But what could one man's word among  
so many?   

The Candles all were shuffled out,  
The Victuals flew afresh about;  
Was never such a Combat fought  
by any.   

Now in the dark was all the coil,  
Some were bloody in the broil,  
And some lay steeped in salad-oil  
and Mustard.   

The sight would make a man afeard:  
Another had a buttered Beard,  
Another's face was all besmeared  
with Custard.   

Others were daubed up to the knee  
With buttered Fish and Furmitee;  
And some the men could scarcely see  
that beat'em.   

Under the Board Lluellin lay, 
Wil. Llu ellen a prisoner there, sometime the Keeper.   
Being sore frighted with the fray,  
And as the weapons flew that way,  
he eat'em.   

The bread stuck in the windows all,  
Like bullets in a Castle wall,  
Which furious Foes do seek to scale  
In battle.   

Shoulders of Mutton, and loins of veal,  
Appointed for to serve the meal,  
About their ears full many a peal  
Did rattle.   

The which when oven Blany spied, 
One of the under Keepers.   
Oh, take away their arms he cried,  
Lest some great hurt do them betide,  
Prevent it,   

And then the Knave away did steal,  
Of food that fell, no little deal,  
And in his house at many a meal  
He spent it.   

The Captain ran the rest among,  
As eager to revenge the wrong  
Done by the Pot which Ellis flung  
So stoutly.   

And angry Ellis sought about,  
To find the furious Captain out,  
At length they met, and then they fought  
Devoutly.   

Now being met, they never lin,  
Till with their loud robustious din,  
The room and all that was therein,  
Did tumble.   

Instead of Weapons made of steel,  
The Captain took a salted eel,  
And at each blow made Ellis reel,  
and tumble.   

Ellis a Pippin pie had got,  
A forer weapon than the pot:  
For lo, the apples being hot,  
did scald him.   

The Captain laid about him still,  
As if he would poor Ellis kill,  
And with his eel with a good will  
he malled him.   

At length, quoth he, Ellis thou art  
A fellow of courageous heart,  
Yield now, and I will take thy part  
hereafter.   

Quoth Ellis, much I scorn to hear  
Thy words of threats, being free from fear.  
With which he hardly could forbear  
from laughter.   

Together then afresh they fly,  
The eel against the Pippin Pie:  
But Blany stood there purposely  
to watch 'em   

The weapons wherewithal they fought,  
Were those, for which he chiefly sought,  
And with an eager stomach thought  
to catch 'em.   

But scap't not now so well away,  
As at the veal and Mutton fray:  
He thought to have with such a prey  
his jaws fed.   

But all his hope did turn aside,  
He looked for that which luck denied;  
For Ellis all be-pippin-pyde  
his calf's head   

Wo was the case he now was in,  
The Apples hot, did scald the skin,  
His Skull, as it had rotten been,  
did coddle.   

With that one fool among the rout,  
Made outcry all the house about,  
That Blany's brains were beaten out  
his noddle   

Which Lockwood hearing needs would see,  
What all this coil and stir might be, 
A Turn-key a fat fellow.   
And up the stairs his Guts and he  
Went wadling.   

But when he came the Chamber near,  
Behind the door he stood to hear,  
But in he durst not come for fear  
Of swaddling.   

There stood he in a frightful case,  
And as by chance he stirred his face,  
Full in the mouth a buttered plaice  
Did hit him.   

Away he sneaked, and with his tongue,  
He licked and swallowed up the wrong,  
And as he went the room along  
Be-him.   

For help now doth poor Lockwood cry,  
O bring a Surgeon, or I die,  
My guts out of my belly fly:  
Come quickly.   

Blany with open mouth likewise,  
For present help of Surgeon cries,  
Pity a man, quoth he, that lies  
So sickly,   

Philips, the skilful Surgeon then,  
Was called, and called, and called again,  
If he had skill to cure these men,  
To show it.   

At length he comes, and first he puts  
His hands, to feel for Lockwoods' guts,  
Which came not forth so sweet as Nuts,  
All know it.   

He cries for water. In the mean  
One calls up Madge the kitchen quean,  
To take and make the Baby clean,  
And clout it.   

Fast by the Nose she took the Squall,  
And led him softly through the Hall,  
Lest the perfume through knees should fall  
About it.   

She turned his Hose beneath the knee,  
Nor could she choose but laugh to see,  
That yellow, which was wont to be  
A white breech.   

She took a dishclout off the shelf,  
And with it wiped the dirty elf,  
Which had not wit to help itself  
Poor-breech.   

Thus leaving Lockwood all be-rai'd,  
Unto the mercy of the maid,  
Who well deserved to be paid  
For taking   

Such homely pains, Now let us east,  
Our thoughts back on the stir that's past,  
And them whose bones could not in haste  
Leave aching.   

And like the Candles, shall my Pen  
Show you these Gallants once again,  
Which now like Furies, not like men  
Appeared.   

Fresh lights being brought t'appease the brawl,  
Show twenty mad men in the Hall,  
With blood and Sauce their faces all  
Besmeared.   

Their clothes rent and soused in drink,  
oil, Mustard, Butter, and the stink,  
Which Lockwood lest, would make one think  
In sadness,   

That these so monstrous creatures dwell,  
Either in Bedlam, or in Hell,  
Or that no tongue, or Pen can tell  
Their madness   

They were indeed disfigured so,  
Friend knew not friend nor foeman foe,  
And each man scarce himself did know:  
But after   

A frantic staring round about,  
They suddenly did quit their doubt,  
And loudly all at once brak out  
In laughter.   

The heat of all is now alaid,  
The Keepers gently do persuade;  
And (as before) all friends are made,  
Full kindly.   

Ellis, the captain doth embrace;  
The captain doth return the grace,  
And so do all men in the place,  
As friendly   

By Jove I love thee, Ellis cried;  
The captain soon as much replied,  
Thou art, quoth he, a man well tried:  
And Vulcan   

With Mars at odds again shall be,  
Ere any jars twixt thee and me:  
And thereupon I drink to thee  
A full Can.   

And then he kneeled upon the ground.  
Drink't off (quoth Ellis) for this round  
For ever shall be held renowned:  
And never   

May any quarrel twixt us twain  
Arise, or this renew again,  
But may we loving friends remain  
For ever   

Amen, cried captain, so did all,  
And so the health went through the Hall,  
And thus the Noble counter-brawl  
Was ended.   

But hunger now did vexe'em more,  
Than all their anger did before:  
They searched i'th' room how far their store  
Extended.   

They want the meat which Blany stole,  
One finds a Herring in a hole,  
With dirt and dust black as a coal,  
And trodden   

All under feet; The next in post  
Snaps up, and feeds on what was lost,  
And looks not whether it be roast  
Or sodden.   

A third finds in another place  
A piece of Ling in dirty case,  
And Mustard in his fellows face;  
Another   

Espies, that finds a loaf of bread:  
A dish of Butter all bespread.  
And stuck upon another's head  
I'th' poother.   

Thus what they found, contented some,  
At length the Keeper brings a broom,  
Meaning there with to cleanse the room  
With sweeping.   

But under Table, on the ground,  
Looking to sweep, by chance he found  
Luellin, feigning to be sound  
- lie sleeping.   

He pulled him out so swift by the heels,  
As if his arse had run on wheels,  
And found his pockets stuffed with eels:  
His codpiece   

Did plenty of provision bring,  
Somewhat it held of every thing,  
Smelts, Flounders, Rochets, and of Ling  
A broadpiece.   

At this discovery each man round  
Took equal share of what was found,  
Which afterwards they freely drowned  
In good drink.   

For of good beer there was good store,  
Till all were glad to give it o'er,  
For each man had enough and more  
That would drink.   

And when they thus had Drunk and fed,  
(As if no quarrel had been bred)  
They all shook hands and all to bed  
Did shuffle.   

Ellis, the glory of this town,  
With that brave captain of renown,  
And thus I end this famous Coun-ter  
Scuffle.   
FINIS.   

  

To the Reader.  
THis Bacchanalian Night-prize of the Counter-Scuffle, being thus finished, hath ever since frighted both Prisoners and jailors from coming into any room, for fear of a second uproar. So that the Counter, for want of sweet garnishing, and cleanly looking to, is grown so nasty, that no man (by his good will) will thrust his nose in at any of the grates: Nay, will rather go a mile about, than come near it; Though to keep it sweet, a great deal of Mace is stuck upon every Sergeant, as if he were a Copon in white-broth.  
Upon this slovenliness, it is woefully haunted with Rats, not such Rats as run up and down in Brew-bouses, sucking the new wort of strong beer so long, and in such abundance, that half the City is compelled to drink beer as small as water; Nor those Rats which are not mealy mouthed in Bake-houses, where they gnaw so many batches of Bread, that a Penny loaf wants sometimes three or four ounces in weight: And then the honest Baker is blamed, and cursed, and (perhaps) innocently set in the Pillory.  
Neither are they those Rats, which grease their throats in Tallow-Chandlers shops, where they nibble so much upon Candles, that not one pound in an hundred is ever full weight.  
No, these are no Rats with four legs, but only two; and though they have nests in a thousand places of London, yet for the most part they run but into two Rot-traps, that is to say, The Counters of Wood-street and the Poultry, and for that cause are called Counter-Rats.  
How caught, how mouzed, and what they are,  
This picture lively doth declare.   

THE counter RAT.  

OF Knights and Squires of low degree,  
Of Roaring boys, that stick and snee,  
Of Battoon dammees, that cry Bree,  
I sing now,   

At men and women, (Bawds and whores)  
At Pimps and Panders that keep doors, 
* I mean no Play-doores: Those are too honest.   
At all that outface vintner's scores,  
I fling now.   

What fling I? Nothing, but light rhymes,  
(Not tuned as are St. Pulchers chimes)  
No steeples height my Muse now climbs,  
But flieth.   

Close to the ground as swallows do,  
When rainy weather must ensue,  
She flies, and sings, and if not true,  
She lieth.   

Lay (
* The King's juggler.  Hocus Pocus) thy tricks by,  
Let Martin Parker's Ballads die,  
Thy theaming likewise I defy;  
O Fenner.   

Let Hogsdon-Scrapers on their Base  
Sound Fum-fum-fum from tottered case,  
Nor mean, nor Treble now take place,  
But tenor;   

A Counter-Tennor is that note,  
Too easy,— 'tis ne'er sung by rote,  
But got with wetting well your throat  
With Claret.   

Or stout march-beer, or Windsor Ale,  
Or Labour in vain, (so seldom stale,)  
Or Pymlico, whose too great sale  
Did mar it:   

He that me reads, shall fall out flat  
With Homer's Frog, and Virgil's Gnat,  
And Ovid's Flea, which so near sat  
The moon shine.   

For I of stranger wonders write,  
Of a wild Vermin got each night,  
Mad bulls i'th' dark, but gulls in sight,  
Of sunshine.   

My Metamorphosis is rare,  
For Men to Rats transformed are,  
And then, those Rats are Prisoners fare,  
O pity!   

But 'tis good sport to see them dressed,  
To garnish out a morning's Feast,  
Each bit being salted with a jest  
Scarce witty:   

These are not Rats that nibble cheese,  
Or challenge mouldy crusts for fees,  
And rather will their long tails lose  
Than Bacon:   

No, these are they, whose guts being crammed,  
(As Canons hard with powder ramed)  
And bagpipe cheeks with wines inflamed,  
Are taken   

By Constables and billmen eke,  
Who speak not Latin, French, nor Greek,  
But are Night-Sconces out to seek  
Night-sneakers,   

Who late in Taverns up do sit,  
Whiffing smoke, Money, Time, and wit.  
Pouring in Boules, till out they spit Full Beakers.   

These (then) being to the Counter led.  
Each Prisoner shakes his shaggy head,  
And leaning half out of his bed,  
a-laughing   

falls,— And cries out— A Rat— A Rat,  
Oh! roars another,— Is he fat?  
If not,— flay off his cloak or hat;  
Thus scoffing,   

Till morn they lie.— The poor Rat gets  
Into some hole.— Besides his wits,  
To hear such caterwalling fits,  
So fright him:   

But day being rise,— All up do rise,  
And call for beer to clear his eyes,  
A Garnish then the whole room cries,  
They bite him,   

Ask any how such news I tell,  
Of Wood-streets hole or poultries' hell?  
Know, I did 'mongst those Gypsies dwell,  
That cozen there.   

I mean the Turn keys, and those Knaves,  
Who rack, for fees, men worse than slaves,  
I saw brought in with bills and glaves,  
Some dozen there.   

For I one night by rug-gowns caught,  
Was for a Rat to th' Counter brought,  
What there my dear experience bought,  
I'll sell ye   

Cheaper, than I could have it there,  
For they for Tokens throats will tear,  
But such as 'tis, fill with the cheer  
Your belly.   

Prick up your ears,— for I begin  
To tell, what Rats, my night, came in,  
Caught without Cat, or Trap, or gin,  
But mildly,   

Being called before the Bench of wits  
Who sit out midnight's Bedlam fits;  
But some being rid, like jades with Bits,  
Ran wildly.   

First, about twelve, the Counter gates  
Thundered with thumpings,— doors & grates  
Reeled at the peal,— when our prison-mates  
Up starting,   

Saw in the yard a frantic Swarm,  
Crying, O my head, neck, sides, leg, arm,  
Sore had the fight been, but small harm  
At parting,   

It was a watch, swearing we bleed,  
But 'twas their noses dropped indeed;  
Masters (quoth they) we charge ye take heed  
Of him there.   

A Roaring Rat.  

THat Roister, us to our trumps has put,  
And run our Beadle through a gut,  
His Bilbo has from each man cut  
A limb here.   

They gone, up comes the Bredah-Bouncer,  
His tusks stiff-starched like a brave Mounser,  
Of Turnbull-Puncks a staring Trouncer,  
Some knew him;   

Why, here (quoth we) why? zounds because  
I tugged with bears, and pared their paws,  
But sure I malled Mr Constable's jaws,  
O slew him;   

All's one,— said one, Please you to bed Sir;  
He (swearing) roared, I'm better bred Sir,  
I scorn to rock my harness-head Sir,  
In feathers;   

Give me a Brick, Sir, for my bolster,  
An Armourer still is my upholster,  
In frost, snow, muck-hils I can roll Sir,  
Hang weathers.   

Rogue, fetch me a sweet truss of straw,  
To fire thy jail,— Pox a this Law,  
That coops a soldier like sack Daw,  
is't treason?   

Rascal! more Claret, There's none here Sir,  
Why then (you mangy Cur) some beer Sir,  
There's not a Tapster dares come near Sir▪  
Thy reason?   

Because you thwack out such huge words Sir,  
His wezand fears them worse than swords Sir  
Mum then,— I'll take a nap o'th' boards Sir.  
He sleeps there.    

A cross legged Rat.  

A Puritan Taylor then came in,  
Who (to take measure) out had been,  
And (Maudlin-drunk) to rinse his sin,  
He weeps there.   

Weeps to be called a Rat, being known  
A man at least,— so down being thrown,  
On a hard Bench, thus did he groan  
In sorrow;   

Brethren where am I? One replied,  
In Wood-street Counter.— O my pride!  
Thou art ta'en down, and I must hide  
Too morrow   

A head that was not hid before,  
Woe worth him makes Manasses roar,  
But die I may not in his score,  
Believe me,   

For consolation I espy  
Through my sweet Spanish needles eye,  
The sister's will (if here I lie)  
Relieve me,   

Sisters i'th' Counter! oh no: here  
Only the wicked ones appear,  
Wash then thy shame in brinish tears,  
Confessing.   

thou'rt rightly punished for thy Yard,  
And for thy Goose which grazed too hard,  
And for some stuffs which thou hast marred  
With pressing.   

We asked him, why he was brought in,  
Black threads of vice (quoth he) I spin,  
And then again did thus begin,  
Condoling,   

All are not friars, I see, wear Cowles,  
Nor all in minced ruffs, milk-white souls,  
I should have talked thus when the bowls  
Were trolling:   

But then, to steal I held no harm,  
Lappets of drink to keep me warm,  
But linings wet, hurt, though they arm,  
Indeed-la   

O would my shears might cut my thread,  
Why is this crosslegged mischief bred?  
Mending my want from heel to head  
With speed-la.   

Sorrow has made me dry,— No matter,  
Out of mine eyes will I drink water,  
No other Ram my brains shall batter,  
To kill me,   

Roof, touch no more wines, French or Spanish,  
All drinks papistical I banish,  
Out of my lips this phrase shall vanish  
Boy,— Fill me.   

One bid him call for beer,— he said,  
Oh! No more beer.— But reach me bread,  
By that I'll swear— Would I were dead,  
And rotten.   

When I again swill aught but whey,  
Yet lest (being cold) my zeal decay,  
Hot waters shall not be one day  
Forgotten.    

An old grey Rat.  

THis done, he nods, and quickly snores;  
And then afresh wind fly the doors,  
An usurer hedged in with mad Whores,  
Came wallowing,   

As does a great ship on the Seas,  
Set on by galleys,— for, all these  
Were fishwives, who had wine at ease  
Been swallowing,   

And blown him up with penny-pots  
Of Sack, which fall to him by lots,  
Paid him at weeks' end by th'old Trots,  
For shillings   

Each Monday lent them,— To buy Skate  
Crabs, Plaice, and Sprats at Bill insgate  
Thus, than they met, and hold thus late  
Their drillings.   

He rests in peace,— but is not dead,  
Yet is worm's meat in lousy bed,  
And lies like one wrapped up in led,  
None stirred him,   

But all his Oyster-mouthes gaped wide,  
(Wine in their guts was at full Tide)  
The devil did so their Rumps bestride,  
And spurred them:   

They flung & winced, & kicked down stairs  
Themselves, and stamped like Flanders Mares,  
Hell is broke loose, No Keeper dares  
Approach them;   

For, at that dog (Besawced in Sack)  
They grind their teeth, and curse him black,  
Crying out, 'Tis thee does break their back,  
And broach them   

So fast, that all their gains boil out,  
Deep-red to die his pocky snout,  
But, that which flung these brands about  
So hotly,   

Began now to quench them, sleep does sound  
Retreat, dead-drunk they all lie drowned  
In cast-up wine,— and on the ground  
The shot lie.    

A Black Rat.  

SCarce was this hellish din allayed,  
But drenched in mire, with drink berayed,  
(New curried) was brought in a jade  
All mettle,   

An ostrich that iron bars could eat,  
And strong-beer out of sea-coals beat,  
His fisticuffs did the Watch fret  
And nettle;   

This second Smug, who had the staggers,  
This Vulcanist, whose nails were daggers,  
This Smith so armed in Ale, he swaggers,  
At snoring,   

Though locked up, yet set up his trade,  
Bolts, Hinges, bars, and Grates he made  
Fly,— which being heard, the jailors paid  
His roaring.   

They furnished him with iron enough.  
Neck, hands, and legs had armour tough,  
And stronger (but more cold) than buff,  
To guard him.   

How did they this? none durst come near him  
Like Tom of Bedlam did they fear,  
All bringing Cans, to pledge them, swear him,  
So snared him,   

Yet, for all this, he danced in's shackles,  
And cried, tother Pot, I want more tackles,  
And thus (till break of day) it cackles,  
Laid having   

The addle egg of his turned brains,  
In his iron nest of rusty chains,  
Which made him lose both sense of pains,  
And raving.    

A Long tayled Rat.  

THe next that in our little Ease,  
Came to be bit with Lice and Fleas,  
Was a spruce Knave, like none of these,  
But sober,   

As the Strand maypole,— he did go,  
In ruff,— His thumb through ring did show  
A Gentleman sealed,— for he was no  
Hog-rubber:   

It was a pettifogging Varlet,  
Whose back wore freeze, but bum no scarlet,  
And was ta'en napping with his Harlot,  
At noddy:   

But being haled in, his hair he rent;  
And swore they all should dear repent  
Their baseness,— for no ill he meant  
To her body:   

The Prisoners asked then what she was,  
(Quoth he) My Client,— One well to pass,  
Though here they impound me like an ass,  
I'll firk them.   

I'll make the Beadle pluck in's horn,  
He flirted at my nose in scorn,  
The Watch shall stink, the Constable mourn,  
I'll jerk them,   

Hang them (if need be) for they broke  
Her house,— That's Burglary,— The clock  
Scarce counting two,— Then they struck  
Ath'mazzard.   

An action of strong Battery! Good!  
They made my Nose then gush blood;  
(One more!)— And that I missed the mud  
was hazard.   

Here's Law in lumps:— Must, when to trial  
My Client comes, I have denial  
For ingress to her, by Scabs? A Ryal  
I enter   

At Midnight,— a plain Case,— else Ployden  
The Case is altered:— shall each Hoyden  
Bar Law her course? Dare rustic Royden  
so venture?   

A farthing-candle burning by,  
By chance his railing rage did die,  
Yet to his breast, Revenge did cry:  
so churning   

His brains for Law-tricks how to sting them,  
And up to all the Bars to bring them,  
He sat, hard-twisting cords to wring them,  
till morning.   

No more of this light skipping Verse;  
A dreary Table I now rehearse.   

LOng this brown study did not last,  
But in, at Compter-gates as fast  
Thronged in the Watch again. A noise  
Of scraping men and squeaking boys  
Straight filled the house. The Two-pennyward  
Leapt up and fell a dancing hard:  
Out at the Hole, all thrust their heads;  
The knight's Ward left their seven-groatbeds:  
The Master's side hearing the din  
Swore that the Devil was sure brought in:  
But when they heard they fiddlers were;  
Some cursed the noise, some lent an ear:  
None cursed, but what went drunk to bed,  
Being then for want of drink half dead.   

Locked were the fiddlers in a Room;  
All cried, Strike up, Play Rogues, Fum fum.  
The Minnikin tickled, roar did the Base;  
Then bawdy songs, all sleep must chase;  
The men played heavily, boys did whine,  
Not seeing Meat, money, Beer, nor Wine:  
Up such a laugh the Prisoners took,  
That the Beds danced, and Chambers shook;  
Nay, the strange hubbub did so please,  
At Prison-bace ran both Lice and Fleas.  
The resin rubbed off, the cat's guts weary,  
We asked, how they who made men merry  
Grew sad themselves, and why (like sprites)  
Fiddlers being strung to walk a-nights,  
Were they locked up?— One then, i th eye  
Putting his finger, told us why.  
Quoth he, being met by a mad Crew,  
In these poor cases— up they drew  
Our Fiddles, and like Tinkers swore  
We should play them to the Blue-Bore,  
Kept by mad Ralf at Islington,  
Whose Hum and Mum, being powered upon  
Our guts,— so burnt'em, we desired  
To part;— being out o'th' house e'en fired:  
As our hands played, our heads were plied;  
And, tho the night was cold, we fried;  
For such hot waters sod our brain,  
Like Daws in June, we gaped for rain:  
Strong were our Coxcombs, our legs weak;  
We, nor our Fiddles had wit to speak.  
The company then being fast asleep,  
And we paid soundly, out did creep  
Into the highway— O sweet Moon!  
We, but for thee, had been undone:  
Yet, though thy torch to us was sighted,  
We all might well have been indicted  
For breaking into others' ground,  
Three in one ditch being almost drowned;  
Yet out scrambled, and along  
The playhouse came,— where seeing no throng,  
We swore 'twas sure some scurvy Play,  
That all the people so sneaked away;  
And so the Players descended were  
To th' Star, nagshead, or Christopher.   

To all those Taverns (we cried) Let's go,  
At which one fell, and then swore— No.   

The Bars in Smithfield well we past,  
For all the Watch had run in haste,  
Armed with chalked Bills, waked by a cry  
Of Whore-dorps ta'en by th' enemy.  
From Cow-Cross stood those stoves not far,  
In which were entered men of war;  
(Low-Country soldiers late come o'er)  
Each one going in to press a whore.   

Leaving them pressing, on we troth  
Through the Horse-fair, till we had got  
Into the middle of Long-lane,  
Where up the Devil doth broker's train.  
There down we fell, and then fell out,  
Our leathern Cases flew about:  
We fenced, and foyned, and fought so long,  
That all our Fiddles lay half unstrung;  
Their backs were broke, & we o'th'ground,  
Swooning for grief they did not sound:  
Our noise brought up from Aldersgate  
The rugged Watch, who before sat  
Nodding at the old Mermaids door;  
Who with a guard of half a score  
Seized us, and cried, at going away,  
Sad Lachrymae you there shall play.   

This told, the Prisoners laughed outright;  
And though the whole Ward had no light,  
Yet from their beds all skipped and cry,  
Scrapers, strike up, we the watch defy.   

The Moon so bold was to look in,  
And saw some only in their skin,  
(Naked as cuckoos when June's past)  
Some had long shirts down to their waste;  
Some wanted backparts, some an Arm;  
None wore a shirt could keep him warm:  
A French Boy that sweeps chimneys, wears  
His patched-up frock as white as theirs:  
Some on their heads no nightcaps wore,  
Some lapped their brows in hose all tore:  
They hobble about, they frisk, they sing  
So long, that cracked was every string,  
By their rude horseplay altogether,  
Flinging their legs they cared not whither.  
Such horrid noise, such stinking smell  
Cannot be heard nor felt in hell:  
Yet o'er they gave not, till the Sun  
Arose, than all to bed did run.    

Good-morrow.  
THe Rats into the Trap that fell  
That night, were few— The Constable  
Belike did wink, and would not see;  
For, when the winds rise, his watch and he  
Toss all that venture on their waves;  
The rocks being brown-bills, Clubs & staves  
On which they split them— These and they  
When morning comes are fetched away:  
Those Rats o'er night whose shapes did lose,  
Being soon turned men, by paying but fees;  
Yet some loose tail, some are seratcht bare,  
Whilst Constables and Counters share.   
FINIS.