Fragmenta Carceris: OR, The KINGS-BENCH SCUFFLE; WITH THE HUMOURS of the COMMON-SIDE. THE KINGS-BENCH LITANY. AND The Legend of Duke HUMPHREY. By Samuel Speed, a Member of that Royal Society. Are they at 〈◊〉 The Devil part 'em. LONDON, Printed by I. C. for S. S. and sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster. 1674. To his worthy Friends, the ingenious Gentlemen-Prisoners, within the Confines of the KINGS-BENCH. SIRS, SInce the People of the World imagine ye to be Prisoners, I shall endeavour to offer my instructions how you may convince them of their Errors: Study how to be Content; so though you change your place, your Fortunes are the same; ye alter the habitation of your Bodies, for the better enjoying the tranquillity of your minds. He is truly Noble, that knows how to rejoice in Crosses, as well as in Contents; that will not think of Desperation, nor be urged with Impatience. The Body of a wise man, is a House unto the Soul; but to the ignorant, a Prison: for the discontented man is a slave to his own humours, and a Prisoner in a double sense. Nor can the Soul of a discreet man be confined, more than the windy breath of Boreas; or as easy is it to shut up the bright beams of light within a Crystal. No Prison in the world, be it famous, or infamous, can be so deep, as to bury; so dark, as to blind; so straight, so crooked, so narrow, as to bind the Genius of a wise man: for wisdom is the wing of the Soul, that bears it not only out of Prison, but to all the parts of the Terrestrial Globe. A continuation of which happiness, is heartily wished by (gentlemans) Your Friend and Servant, Samuel Speed. On his Friend Mr. SAMUEL SPEED, and his KINGS-BENCH SCUFFLE. ARE Prisons now made Offices of Wit? 'Tis more than strange, but true that thou hast writ Without the help of Books, as if for th'nonce Fate did decree that thou shouldst study stones. Couldst thou not find a trusting Aristotle? Nothing to feed thy Muse, but Bub and Bottle? Yet thy smooth lines carry such gentle strains, That not torment, but recreate the brains. In Writings certainly those best must be, That freely suit with each capacity. What can Encomiums add unto thy Fame, Since thou hast got a monumental Name Left by thy Grandsire, one that will outlast The iron teeth of Time, or Fame's loud blast? His Chronicle's a Pyramid to thee, And thou art Great, though Speeds Epitome. WILLIAM SHELDEN. THE Kings-Bench SCUFFLE. IT is not of the force of Bulls, Or of those Heroes break their Skulls I'th' Bear-garden, nor else of Trulls, as Phillis, Chloris, the fairest Nymphs as may Be picked up in a Summer's day, By Gallants that adore an Amarillis. Nor do I sing of Butterflies, Or of the screeks, and horrid cries Of dying Pigs, or chattering Pies: for know ye, To hag my Muse at such a rate, Would make me with myself debate; For too too much is such a state below me. But mind my Tale ye Champions all, For I am to relate a Brawl, The like did never yet befall in Kings-Bench. It lately happened th'other day, That there began a horrid fray, And 'twas about (as people say) a thing's wench, So mean a Rat, that you'd have sworn, His Jade must be a Common Whore, Or she'd ne'er fancy such a Boarish Fellow. But say the Girl was Whore enough, And strongly smelled of Kitchenstuff, Yet she had Vizard-mask, and Muff was yellow. To set her person forth would be A task of small felicity; Nor need it, since they did agree to love well. Though some would call the Lady Punk, Some hold their Nose as if she stunk, Yet these two Lovers would be drunk above well. One time unhappily it chanced, That some upon her Credit danced, At which her brisk Gallant he pranced profoundly; With Pots, and Pipes, he made retreat, With all his force to do the feat; He flung, and did another beat most sound. The Flagons flew about amain, Much blood was spilt, but no man slain; So that the Scuffle was in vain, as seemeth. But one more stout than all beside, Looked round about, and then he spied One sleeping, but with honour cried, He dreameth. From whence the world may understand There's those are stout, but can command Their passions with the best o'th' Land: for know it, If any he dare be so fell, Rashly to fight in hopes to quell, Fame's Trumpet won't the story tell, nor blow it. Nor is't my place to issue forth The Actions of an unknown Birth, Though all his Deeds they may be worth Rehearsal. Then let us sing those praises due, Which from his Valour did accrue; 'Tis pity but they should be Universal. He that has Rambled through the Halls O'th' City, slept upon its Stalls, Behold! 'tis he, the stony Walls environ; As if they did design their Jars Should be more cruel than our Wars, Who call to their assistance Bars of Iron. And well they might with reason too, If my Intelligence be true, For all (God knows) had much ado to hold him. How then shall I describe this Man, Whose Deeds a Volume cannot span? And in my thoughts, there's no man can unfold him. In short, some stories flew about, (For in the end the truth will out) And those did make his Mistress pout, and frown too; With indignation than she swore, She'd be revenged of Rogue; or Whore, Counted her sins, and made the score abound too. With Prince, or Peasant, Lord, or Earl, I venture dare or Gold or Pearl, They never met with such a Girl for Valour: A Girl, and thereby hangs a tail, Although perhaps itwas somewhat stale, Her tongue I'm sure could all outrail▪ And taller This our Girl was; yet i'd be loath For her to lie, or use an Oath, For Nature did her part by both, so be it. This Age produces those as bold, Majestic, strong, or those can scold, As former Ages did of old, we see it. The man with silence had incaged His soul, but now he was enraged, And valiantly he would have waged his tattling: That whereas some her Honour smutcht, (For such like words he always grudged To hear) that none of them had touched her Twattling. One that Pot valiant was, stood by, And without musing, gave the Lie: What after happened, by and by will follow. The woman reached a neighbouring Can, And flunged at's head; her loving man To buffets fell, and all began to hollow. The woman, as in Duty bound, Seeing him tumbled to the ground, The other Hero she did sound scratch him. The humble man cried two to one Was odds, and so lay still to groan; And to say truth, herself alone would match him. But since 'tis passed, so much for that, Now let's some other subject chat, Not of some Chit, or little Brat, but Tall-man. But Reader, this observe, take heed How you with Giant deal your speed; For it may chance to cost indeed a fall man. Have you not heard of Warwick's Guy, That slew a world when none were by, And can ye then forbear to cry 'tis pity? But why do we discourse of one, As if he merited alone? The Greeks it was that made to groan a City. The splendid Troy was made forlorn, Like Sampson's Foxes in the Corn, Each merry Greek exalted horn, to burn 'em. By merry Greeks the learned mean Fat Usurers, that are obscene, And say they'll make their Debtors lean, to turn 'em. Thus as advised by Hudibras, One line for Rhyme must this time pass, For sense the other: for alas you know well, We erring Mortals sometime speak Or Nonsense, Latin, or pure Greek▪ And Trees too have a silent squeak, says Howell. But why do we digress so wide? Hark how they roar o'th' 〈◊〉 For to be poor is all their 〈…〉 And who more blithe than they are there▪ They drink and sing to banish care, For they are mad because they spare the Sherry. And well they may, for when they get it, Their stomaches are so sharply whetted, The Wine would surely be befretted at thee Boys; For I have heard'em make their moan, When Ale would give 'em leave to groan, Such Liquor sure was made alone for we Boys. The Cellar you may note is dark, And each one's eye doth seem to spark- Cle; every minute echoes, Hark, a Taper. The light's come in to ease their thrall, Commanded by the chief of all, Whom we in vulgar terms do call Ale-draper. When brought and on the Table sat, A Ceremony they begat In Compliments; but note each Hat was pawned. But jack let's drink, a fart for Foe, We'll drench the Cellar, then we'll go; Faith come, a match, cry all, and so they yawned. Says one, Let's scorn to think of wealth; A second drinks his Sov'raigns' health, And that goes round, for none by stealth, forsake it. Drink round, cries one, Boy drink again, The Act will pay our Debts; for when We're quite undone, we'll jointly then go take it. A League is made, and all are Friends, With promises to make amends; For no man there hath private ends, they scorn it. Their Liquor that is sound and strong, And when there's one that doth prolong The drinking, this is all their Song, Come horn it. Up with't, another cries, Nay, pish Man, pull away, and give's the Dish; For such delays will catch no Fish: Drink clear Boy. If I had stowage like a Whale, Oh I could tell thee such a Tale, I'd live on only Smoke and Ale, and Beer Boy. Then on the Cup he lays his fang, And doth it to his Neighbour bang, With— Let our Creditors go hang I say men. They all their Contribution pay, And kill with Curses every way; And in conclusion each doth say to't Amen. Their Coin and Credit being cracked, They all conclude it is no Fact To swear according to the Act, a stout Book. To that 'tis time to list an ear, Their Oaths by Rote they will forbear, For they too long were used to swear without-book. Nor are they there so void of bliss, But they can eat, and eating piss; For nothing there can come amiss to many. Sometimes no Knife they have perhaps, However there are bones and scraps Are ready carved to fit the chaps of any. When Dined, they to the Cellar run; Says one, Come Brother, charge your Gun; Here's Smoke, there's none beneath the Sun can mend it. His Pipe he fills, and all the rest, Not one did seem with grief oppressed, And each did like a welcome Guest attend it. There's no man's Soul but's large and wide, They're free, though freedom is denied; From thence 'tis called the Common Side: for all things In common lie, and are disperse- Ed so, I cannot well rehearse It in the compass of a Verse: Nor small things Are there so much as thought upon; Their Creditors though hard as stone, Whilst these are singing, sigh and groan, No matter. They're fools that think a Prison pays; And while they keep their strict delays, They do themselves (instead of praise) bespatter. They're madmen wont be Prisoners there, For each one's life is void of care; Of food they have enough to spare their Debtors. Their Charities are grown so large, Though Rowers some in Boat, or Barge, They'll stay themselves, but they'll discharge Abettors. But now a mischief draweth nigh; Tobacco here is, one doth cry, But it will surely make us die the quicker, If thus we eat, and smoke without Some moisture: Hogs that feed on Grout, And are but Swine, yet they no doubt have Liquor. One being drunk, could not collogue, But plainly gave his generous vogue, Pox on 'em all that sent this Rogue among us; These cursed tricks he'll never lin, Till he pays dearly for his sin; ' Stead of Virginia, he brings in Mundungus. I have two halfpences, says the next; Another much with passion vexed, But yet a man was hugely dextrous frothing, Cried, I've been cutting Pegs all day, Whilst others at the Grate did pray, And as it seemeth by my faith for nothing. Come, since we are all bare of Chink, This Movable shall purchase Drink, Here's a Crevat, my honest Skinker draw some: But let it be the best, for know, We mean to pay before we go; Let not your Drink, dear honest Io, be nausome. Two pots of Beer were straightway brought, And drank they were, as soon as caught; That had you seen 'em, you'd have thought 'em Monsters. However each one did abhor To be at least behindhand, or Dirty; for know, they cared not for misconstrues. My Hat (cries one) will yield Two pots, To which agree the other Sots; For they most freely take their lots as can be. The last man drank the bottom up; With that, says one, I'll have a sup (Out of a far more cheerful Cup) of Brandy. To purchase half a Pint of that, His Coat was lodged with th' others Hat; The Brandy came, and laid 'em flat as Flounder. But by and by they rose again, And with one voice they all complain, That they must be (or Tapster slain) compounders. You Rogue, says one, with Carrots sandy, You brought us damned confounded Brandy; Another called him jackadandy; A third man Swore at him, called him something too, And said, he'd beat him black and blue: He scornfully replying, You, A Turd man. With that a Scuffle did begin, Nor was there one that cared a pin For broken Pate, or maimed Shin, which you know Is common in such Feuds as these; 'Tis better (than to fight) t' appease, And far more wholesome for one's ease, by juno. A pewter flagon, not of Lead, Was straightway flung at Tapster's head; But mist, or else he had been dead o'th' sudden. The Tapster's courage now was stung, And searching all the food among, With might and main he stoutly flung a Pudden. 'Twas little less than scalding hot, One that by order he had got For some that greased the Porridge-pot when able. And truly I myself did wish For that, above the buttered fish, As being held the better Dish o'th' Table. But all were good, for they were dressed Not as a dinner, but a feast, When each man is a welcome Guest on High-dayes. Nor is my zeal so nicely fresh, To raise disputes between Leg and Leash, For I can eat, or fish, or flesh, on Fridays. Another flung with all his might An Artichoke, but aimed not right; For missing Tapster, smote the sight of woman, Or wife to one among the Crew, Although the Company all knew Her well, and that she would be true to no man. However she with battered face When wiped, began to open case: People, quoth she, if this disgrace ye suffer, No woman shall henceforth appear, To give her friend a Cup of Beer; But every Rascal that is here will cuff her. That blunt detracting word did gall Not only one, but jointly all, That on the woman they befall with ill words: As you're a Whore, a common Cheat, Your tongue out of your head we'll beat. One silent was, for he was eating Phill-berds. But at the last this mighty Hub Bub concluded in virtuous Bub, As good as ever came from Tub, or Barrel. And Reader, if thou hadst been there, Thou needst must have an equal share Of courage, that must boldly dare to quarrel. For to say true, I cannot tell, But it may be the Muses well, Of which 'tis sung, it doth excel all others. For they're of such a jovial func- Tion, that they'd drink until they stunk, And swear they'd live and die as Drunken Brothers. I oftentimes myself have sipped Until my Legs each other tripped, And sober Vermin called me tiptled Spendthrift. Among the rest a smooth-faced La- Die, called Sempstress, did by my faith Rebuke me, and I answered, Madam Mend-shift. Tom Segar he more bold indeed, Faster than I myself made speed All to be-whore her, till her Needle pricked her. At which we did compassion take, And only laughed to see her quake; For were it not for her blood's sake, We'd kicked her. But were it not for Drink, the Smoke Might very well the stoutest choke; And I observed it did provoke to squtter. For some stepped forth, with faces blue, To spit perhaps, or else to spew, Returning with a smoothing hue as Butter. But let me not mistake, for sure The Muses never did inure Themselves to Smoke, or could endure Tobacco. But here the Parallel may hold, Our Cellar's filled with Beer that's old; But they would fuddle out their Gold in Sack though. The next in view, is man of Pegs; If he can stand, will stretch his Legs, Till reeling he has broke of Eggs a flasket. For there is good relief he knows, Not in his Creditors, or Foes, But in the scraps which overflows the basket. With these his eager paunch he fills, Forgets his grace, and then he kills, Not on his Trencher, those are ills beneath him. But was it either Louse or Flea, Or both perhaps, as that may be, It matters not, then thinketh he, bequeath him Unto his rest I think it fit: Then having eat the other bit, He takes his Knife, and wipeth it most cleanly, But 'twas upon his Shoes or Hose, Sometimes the inside of his clothes; For Basket-victuals all men knows is leanly. Howe'er the Fish was wondrous good, Swimming all in a Butter-flood; Nor could a mortal wish for food much better. But as 'twould vex a Dog to see A Pudding creep, or go, or flee; So you may judge it vexed me the greater. The names of this same Butter'd-fish Were Cod's▪ and Maids, both in a Dish, Most neatly laid, as heart could wish they should do. By this same Dish another stood▪ Esteemed by all almost as good, And any one might eat that wooed, and could too. This was no Counter-supper fight, Not courage that was showed at Night, But such as did by Day invite those sinners That came to make their mirth sometimes With Notes loud as St. George's Chimes, And knew the punctual hours and climes for Dinners. Now Mars inspire my busy Muse, While I discourse of Cuff and Bruise, Such as this Age doth seldom use to hear on. The Table was bedecked with Can, With Pots, and Dishes; but one man No sooner sat, but he began to jeer on, Reflecting on the Tapster's face, Anon bemoans the woman's case; Both taking it for a disgrace, like Thunder The Dishes fly all at his head, Who though a Captain as 'twas said, Filled all the people (not b'ing dead) with wonder: One takes the Captain's part with Mug In hand, another with a Jug Meets him, and they with Cornish hug do greet each. But first about each others Pate They broke their Pots, then in the state Of wrestling, they at any rate do beat each. Their number was some Twenty-six, No one forbore to show his Tricks, But each does like a Mastiff fix on other. The Room by this time swum with Drink, With Fish, and Butter, not with Chink; Whilst each with might did striving think to Smother, Stifle, or Drown his furious Foe; For there 'tis known they made no more Of slipping when they could not go i'th' Liquor. That being Drunk before they were So dashed against the Butts of Beer, Some cried out, Oh I shall ne'er be sicker. Some that best 'scaped, got up again, Scratching their heads to ease their pain, Whilst some do tipple up the main so Aley, That down they tumble in their fits, Forsake the thoughts of eating bits; For now alas their tender wits cry Vale. To study Plots is no design Of theirs, if they get Ale or Wine; For they adore the Tub and Vine so highly, They tipple till their heads do ache, And then their head and heels they shake; Public Devotions too they make not slily. When any friend to visit comes, And sends for Wine to whet their hums, Their voices sound as loud as Drums to Bacchus. May that great God be blest, cry they, That thus provides such pleasant Whey, Oh that his Vines for ever may be-sack us. A London Citizen was wont To quarrel with a silly— Ryman, and he was daring blunt as Ellis: Of whom in ancient Story we Read how the Counter-Rats agree; That he most stoutly oft would flee their Bellies. The Countryman howe'er was stout, They boxed and boxed a second bout, Nor could all art make him give out for won day. It was acknowledged 'fore 'em all, That there was neither great nor small, Like him could wrest, or kick the Ball on Sunday. The flying Fish now marched about, Begreased and smote the Rabble-Rout; The Tapster had his eyes put out, to thinking. But when retreating from his ground, He searched with care the buttered wound: All people there then plainly found him winking. But yet the Fish did sound pelt, And which was worse, the Butter salt Stole in his eyes by (as some call't) a Bye-blow. In wrath a piece of Beef just hot, He reached as taken from the Pot; The Beef besides alas had got a Flieblow. The Dinner ended, ere it did Begin; for men and meat were hid: Some slept, as drunk; and some were fiddle fooling. But not in wrath; for now the fray Began each spirit to allay, And those most hot were stepped away for cooling. But some more wise than all the rest, Though thinking to have spoke in jest, Cry out, My friends, but where's the feast so pleasant? With that each doth his corner search; One that above the rest was arch, Produces a most lovely Perch and Pheasant. Another cries, See here you Thief, Here's that will give us all relief; It was indeed a piece of Beef with Mustard. Still as they searched, they something found, Enough to make fresh healths go round; One finds be-battered on the ground a Custard. One finds a Fish all black as Sut, Another finds an Eel whose Gut Was trod to nought, and all the Butter vanished. Well, now they left their humours mad, They all shook hands, and none were sad; But drank and fed, as if they had been famished. The Lady that began the fight, They hug'd, and kissed, to do her right; And she as pleased with delight, was bonny. What afterwards they to her did, When strangers that came in were slid, Since it is fit it should be hid, pray Con ye. Unto their Beds they all like friends, Promised there should be kind amends; Each one unto his sleep had ends to shuffle. Thus Reader, you have heard the things That did befall; for News hath wings: And so concludes the dreadful Kings-Bench Scuffle. THE Kings-Bench LITANY. FRom Creditors when cruel grown; From those that cannot hold their own; From little Souls that make their moan, Libera nos Domine. From Bailiffs, and their crafty scent; From being in a Prison penned; From staying till our Coin is spent, Libera nos Domine. From running on the Cellars Score; From calling, Will you Trust us more? From answers, You're a Rogue or Whore, Libera nos Domine. From those that Justice have forsaken; From any Cellar-worms rebuke; From Dining often with the Duke, Libera nos Domine. From those that love to bounce, or thump; From learning in the Hall to mump; From paying Homage to the pump, Libera nos Domine. From Heathen Cooks that have no faith; From Duns that move a Prisoners wrath; From him that pays, and nothing hath, Libera nos Domine. From guilt of any horrid fact; From being Citizens that cracked; From taking of the Ten-pound Act, Libera nos Domine. From fire (God bless us) in a Gun; From Dungeons deep that see no Sun; From those that from their Waiters run, Libera nos Domine. From being overcome by Drink; From lodging near a Boghouse stink; From having stomaches, and no Chink, Libera nos Domine. From ask food, and be denied; From being unto Goals allied; From being turned to th' Common side, Libera nos Domine. From turning Day all into Night; From those in rudeness do delight; From being sent to th' Lion White, Libera nos Domine. From Foreign and Domestic Jars; From being cheated unawares; From peeping through Iron Bars, Libera nos Domine. From Prisoners that can swear and lie; From being buried ere we die; From those that will not hear our cry, Libera nos Domine. From living in a lousy Jail; From wanting Drink, or mild, or stale; From empty Butts that have no Ale, Libera nos Domine. From those that will afford no aid; From mouldy Scraps in Basket laid; From making Pegs, that humble Trade, Libera nos Domine. From Cellar-Clowns that treat us ill; From their great pride, and little skill; From fools that let them have their will, Libera nos Domine. From groaning with dejected heart; From those which weekly feed our smart; From wishing they may want a Cart, Libera nos Domine. From those that seemed our friends before; From friends that will be friends no more; From slaves that do their Gold adore, Libera nos Domine. From Vermine vulgarly called Lice; From those that do delight in Vice; From Gamesters turn our Bones to Dice, Libera nos Domine. From breaking when we may but bend; From being sureties for our friend; From Bonds or Bills are sharp at end, Libera nos Domine. From those that are for Ruin bend; From being Duned for Chamber-Rent; From frowns and threats when Cash is spent, Libera nos Domine. From lying in the middle Ward; From Chambers that are locked and barred; From calling, and cannot be heard, Libera nos Domine. From chirping in a Nest of Chips; From wanting Beds to lodge our hips; From those whose Staves begin with Tips, Libera nos Domine. From those that Harlots keep, or wed; From wooden Blocks to rest our head; From all, or any Kings-Bench Bed, Libera nos Domine. From rattling Chains that make a noise; From swearing, cursing, ranting Boys; From Huffs, that are indeed but Toys, Libera nos Domine. From sober Slaves, that fit and whine; From all dull hearts that do repine; From those that have not hearts like mine, Libera nos Domine. The Legend OF THE Thrice-Honourable, Ancient, and Renowned Prince, HIS GRACE HUMPHREY, Duke of St. Paul's Cathedral Walk, Surveyor of the Monuments and Tombs of Westminster and the Temple, Patron to the Perambulators in the Piazza's in Covent-Garden, Master of Kings-Bench Hall: And one of the Colleges Honourable Privy-Council. AMong those Tales that Story doth repeat, I find not one that doth of Hunger treat, That may compare to ours His Grace the DUKE: Hath daily given to All a just Rebuke. His Glories we in ancient Stories read, How, and with whom his Grace was pleased to feed: Not with Ambassadors, who came to view Those Rarities they heard of, never knew; Nor doth the DUKE his Invitations send To Princes, or to those that on them tend, But pays his kindness to an hungry maw; His Charity's his Reason, and his Law. Shall any Mortal then, that knows a Verse, Withdraw his Pen, his bounty to rehearse? How many poor distressed Knights hath he Freely relieved in their Necessity! How open is his Table unto all, To those that come without, or with a call! Nay, which is more, his Genius so is bend, He'd ne'er admit one Penny should be spent! For to say truth, Hunger hath hundreds brought To Dine with him, and all not worth a Groat. Some with their Beads unto a Pillar crowd; Some mutter forth, some say their Grace's loud; Some on Devotion came to feed their Muse; Some came to sleep, or walk, or talk of News. For though they came to Dine, they loathed Meat; For many had almost forgot to eat. Myself ofttimes did at his Table sit, When neither I, nor others eat one bit. But come they did, or else they'd been to blame; To pay their Duty to the DUKE, they came: And of their visits, since they came in love, His Grace did daily thankfully approve. Some came with jingling Spurs instead of Chink, For that was melted on their Morning's drink; And drink they must; I never yet knew one Could quench his thirst, with reading Doctor Donne: Nor is it easy for a common eye To draw the substance of an Elegy; Nay some, though old, could sooner eat a staff, Than suck the marrow of an Epitaph. Some came with Rags scarce hid their Bodies o'er; Some with foul Cuffs, washed but three months before; Some as dull Lovers, in a silent mood, Walked as if melancholy was their food. The Learned call them Amorists, a name As none more frequent in the Book of Fame. Those Heroes that in upper Regions move, Grew proud below, 'cause they could live to love; And with aspiring thoughts, still soaring high, They lived, and loved, and loving, lived, to die. These Amorists of whom we now do talk, Took great delight to trace our private Walk: With folded Arms, and Hat below his brow, He seems to count his gentle steps, or how Much full of misery he now is in, Wishing he ne'er had loved, or ne'er had been; Anon bethinks himself he did amiss, Behold this place Diana's Temple is: All Profanation strait way hence must flee, Or that great Goddess won't propitious be; Then to a corner, with a silent Air, Addresses he to Venus makes in prayer. There leave we him studying a fresh Caress, Whilst we press on into the crowd of Guess; And such a Crowd was never seen before, To visit Dukes, or to approach their door. Some came with Shoes, that feared to touch the ground; Some with half-hose, to show their shins were sound; Some decayed Scholars, with their loins begirt; Some with half-sleeves (poor Souls) but ne'er a shirt; Some so attended in their wretched state, Thousands thousands did hourly round about them wait; That men might see, although but single-eyed, Like persons great they were well fortified. And well observed it was, by men of skill, Their Births were high, on Mountain, or on Hill. Some even ere their Dinner had an end, Would boldly dare to kill their bosom-friend: And in that act, this was their usual cry, So let Bloodsuckers, and Backbiters die. Some came with Cloaks, though threadbare as their Lawn; Some came without; for why? they were at pawn; Some though they knew their Pockets had no stock, Could talk, look big, and make their Beavers cock. And well they might, for as in Bed they lay, The Rats had almost eat the brims away; For they were so well oy'ld with store of fat, For Roast-meat they might pass with Mouse or Rat. Yet though the brims were swallowed by the swarm, They left the Crowns to keep their Noddles warm; As if the Vermin modestly should say, We know your births, though fallen to decay: And did demonstrate by their knowing Art, Of Hats, for warmth, Crowns was the chiefest part. Some Pedagogues to set their Learning forth, Discourse in Latin, of his Grace's worth; They that could understand that tongue might speak, But all abhorred the hideous noise of Greek. Perhaps among the Crowd a Sword was seen, But rusty grown, in Holland it had been: And he that wore it, walked with such a grace, As who should say, My steps shall speak my race. A waggish Boy not yet discreetly grown, To understand the Virtues of the Town, Walked by, but kept at distance, as afeared, Still looking back, and as he looked, he sneared. Captain, quoth he: The Captain turns about; Whoop Captain, quoth the Boy, and so runs out. The Captain he pursues, as moved in wrath, Makes strong attempts to draw his Weapon forth▪ But all in vain; at which the Captain cursed, Whilst standers by, with laughing almost burst. For as it afterwards appeared, his Blade Had cut its way through Europe since 'twas made; And 'cause for many years it did not peep, The Captain willed it might in Scabbard sleep. Nor was the Captain's courage then adust, For it so deeply was begnawn with rust, That it defied the rules of Martial Law, And dared the Captain, if he durst, to draw. The angry Captain cries, I could be mad, Thus to be tied to what I never had. Just than a zealous Student passing by, Looking as kicked from th' University, He gave his grave advice, with whites so eyed, As Nonconformist much Presbytrifyed. The Captain by his frowns appeared as vexed, Which put the Parson quite beside his Text. The Guests being met, and all prepared to eat, What next should come, but what they want, their meat? Much bussling then appeared, a general strife There was, contending where to whet a Knife. The Parson holding forth, said, 'Twas forbid In Holy Writ, his Talon should be hid. Quoth he, We meet in Clusters here to Dine, But fasting helps a man to be Divine. When pious Cogitations do decay, 'Tis high time then to fast (not feast) and pray. In former Ages since the World began, He that could fast, was held an holy man: But he that doth delight to feast, when in, He gluts himself with meat, and drink, and sin. The poor man fasts, because he has no meat; The sick man fasts, because he cannot eat; The Usurer fasteth, to increase his store; The Glutton fasts, 'cause he can eat no more; The Tradesman fasts, his Landlord to enrich; The Gallant fasts, to cure venereal Itch; The Lawyer fasts, to gain his Client's cause; Divines do fast to study for Applause; Physicians fast, because 'tis for their health; The Beggar fasts, but when he eats by stealth; The Hypocrites do fast, to be commended; The Saints do fast, because they have offended. And Brethren, since we know we all are sinners, Now we're here met, let Fasting be our Dinners. The hungry Captain listened▪ then cried, Sup Pose we all now should eat the Parson up; He prates of Fasting; by my Coat of Buff, I de eat, for I have fasted long enough. Let those of this your Doctrine have a taste, That daily feast, while we are forced to fast; And fast we do, till like poor half-starved Elves, We ready are almost to eat ourselves. Long may the Parson on the Subject treat Of fasting, but however give us meat. Each shrugs his shoulder, walks from place to place, Nor could they scarce forbear to blame his Grace: But some whose judgements deeper far could look, Would only stamp, and frown, and curse the Cook; And justly too: for when they all did think To be well-cramed with store of meat and drink, The generous DUKE appeared, and speaking fair, Quoth he, My Friends, fall to, a Dish of Air Is all that now our Kitchen can afford; When next you please to see us, and our Board, Ye shall have Carp, Crabs, Pouts, and store of Rail, Varieties of Fish, at least a Tail. Expect no Sauce, we'll promise no such thing, Because we know ye all do Stomaches bring. Much discontent sat on each others brow, Their food was thin; however none knew how To show their ill resentments, but as men Well-pacified, agreed to come again. But ere that happy day was fully grown, A dreadful Fire consumes the Kitchen down: Which Fire began not in his Grace's house, But thither came, and Burnt both Rat and Mouse. On which the DUKE, to shun a scorching doom, Perambulated to Ben Johnson's Tomb, Where Shakespeare, Spencer, Cambden, and the rest, Once rising Suns, are now set in the West; But still their lustres do so brightly shine, That they invite our Worthies there to Dine, Where their moist Marbles seem for grief to weep, That they, but stone, should Sacred Relics keep: And some have fancied that they've heard them sing, Within this place is Aganippe ' s Spring. There our ingenious Train have thought it fit To change their Diet, and to Dine on Wit. First with a free consent they all combine To pay their visits unto Catiline, By whom a Damsel, styled the Silent Woman, Stands in her rich Attire, the like by no man Was ever yet beheld; and 'tis her due To stand near him, b'ing fair, and silent too: For if some Ladies stood but in her stead, Their Clappers would go nigh to wake the dead. Hard by this famous Dame, with well-grown Locks, Behold an ancient well-experienced Fox, Placed as a grave adviser, who with care Cries out, O rare Ben Johnson lieth there. Next day his Grace, and all his Guests so trim, Do Shakespeare find, and then they feast on him. For two such Dishes at one single meal, Would like two Thiefs into the Senses steal; And such a Surfeit cause, that by their pain, They'd judged unsafe to feed on Wit again. Our DUKE by this time spies a Fairy Queen, And as a man surprised with Fits o'th' Spleen, Such strange infusions did his passions move, That he must live to dote, or die in love. Her to behold, is to be blind, or frantic; To speak her Fame, would seem as if Romantic. Her eyes shoot Darts, which at the heart you'd feel, Who like Achilles' Lance, both hurt and heal. By which the world may judge his Grace had skill In beauties, finding out those eyes that kill. The great Apelles was for Painting rare, Yet never drew a beauty half so fair. Art may contrive a curious Golden Fleece, But this Fair Queen is Nature's Masterpiece. If beauties may be made with painting o'er, What may Art make of what was fair before? Have you not in the morning first of May, Observed the Countrey-Lasses fresh and gay; Or a fair Shepherdess with Garlands crowned, With other Nymphs to dance the Maypole round? As Phillis, Amarillis bright, and Chloris, Excelling beauties; and there many more is: Or have you heard of the Arcadian Dame, The fair Parthenia, whose immortal Fame 'Bove all that we have named, may bear the sway? But this our Queen is Lady of the May. To gain acquaintance with this Lady bright, He thinks it meet some Doxies to invite. Next day came tripping in a light-heeled Girl, Adorned with Ribbons, Paints, and Bastard-pearl. We need not speak of either feet or legs, Her face seemed anointed with the yolk of Eggs. Slily into the Company she slid, A colour having got for what she did. Some blamed her, saying, Sinners used to paint; Others reply, But she's a seeming Saint. Nor was there want of Pocket-pickers there, Nor Lifters of the careful Tradesman's Ware. Old Chaucer, who though sickly, full of ails, From hence collects a Book as full of Tales. His Neighbour Drayton, who was his Amoris, Studying to write Encomiums on Authoris. The Learned Cambden's Gravity appeared, At which they starting, seemed as if they feared. One that was grown more crafty than the rest. Beclouds their fear with this invented Jest; Hither we come, and in the end perhaps Our entertainment shall be nought but scraps: Then let us take a taste of these Remains, And so depart; the DUKE a slighting feigns. Mean time his Grace, whose passion still grew high With pangs of pensiveness, was standing by; Musing, not minding either Guests, or Meat, His busie-brain allowed no time to eat: With starv'ling Body, and with ghastly look, He seemed more like a Devil, than a DUKE. His Eyes grew gogled, Cheeks were pale and wan; Sometimes he sighs, anon doth curse and ban. Presently afterwards is heard to cry, Oh that I had not lovd, or now could die! Finding no answer to each kind address, And that she would not love for love express; He with himself resolves when stronger grown, To move from thence with thoughts to see the Town. Then to the Gatehouse went, as nearest to him, Where he no sooner came, but divers knew him. A Flock of Wretches do his Grace environ, All lined with Vermine, some with Chains of Iron. After some mutual Compliments were passed, His Grace to Covent-garden maketh haste; For some there were that for his Grace had stayed, And till he came, at Post and Pillar played: And that I briefly may their worth express, These the gentilest were of all his Guests; Only a faculty they had to curse, To Raut, and Huff, like Giants; Nay, what's worse, They'd Ramble all the Night, and Windows break, Then in a Crowd to the Piazza's sneak. Some Whore away their Coin, and then with grief They humbly come, and beg the DUKE'S relief; And swear God-dam-'em they his Grace will serve, And for his sake they'll even dare to starve. The DUKE returned his thanks you well may think, But would however stay with none to drink. Then to the Temple, Lincolns-Inne, and Gray's, He walks, but yet at none of either stays: For his resolves were now for Newgate bent, Where some of his acquaintance fast were penned. First to the Master-side without delay, His Grave thought fit he should his Visit pay; Having with busy eye the Rooms surveyed, He called the Nurse, one that was once a Maid: And having shown her where the Cobwebs hung, He chid her, and in wrath away he flung; Shook hands with some whom he of old had known, And only cried, We're glad you're well, adieu. Some that ne'er knew him, might perhaps suppose Him noble by his Title, and his clothes; Both were grown ancient, and could justly vie With any Dukedom for Antiquity. But those that did expect they should behold Some gallant Compliments in yellow gold, Were much mistaken; for the DUKE ne'er went To visit any one with such intent: For he ne'er loved to suffer Cash so near him, For which some Wags behind his back would jeer him. Now to the Felons Jail he bends his march, Where being come, one that was chiefly arch Accosted him in complimental strain; Whereat the DUKE forthwith vouchsafed to deign An answer; what it was I've quite forgot, But as I guess, 'twas either sense, or not. For divers Friends he asked, but heard no more, But only they were Hanged a while before: But one whose skill was far above the rest, Approached the DUKE, and thus himself expressed. Great DUKE, although your ancient Guests are fled. From hence, their Craft doth live when they are dead: For know, this Lesson one hath left behind, Hear it, and judge, as you the truth shall find. Cheats are the maintenance of small and great; A Prison, like the World, is but a Cheat; The Merchantman the Cheat by Wholesale plays; The Shop-man cheats in every word he says; The Victualler cheats in Reckon, and in Froth; The Clothier, and the Draper, cheat in Cloth; And when they do so, boldly will retort; The Tailor cheats, and pleads a Custom for't: If a young Heir shall run upon his score, When once he pays, he pays the worth twice o'er. The Stationer cheats both Lawyers and Divines; The Vintner cheats with brewing of his Wines; The Husbandman, and he a man would think Hath scarcely Brains enough to covet Chink, He sells his Corn, and if the mould it lack, He knows to cheat by virtue of his Sack. The Handicraftsman, true, he taketh pains, But he will cheat, rather than miss his gains; The Priest will preach one Sermon ofttimes o'er▪ The Lawyer cheats as fast as all before; Physicians too, the cheating Art have found In false Applies: and so the Cheat goes round. In short, the Country doth the City cheat, 'Twould be too tedious to describe the feat; The City too as briskly cheats the Court; Thus all are Cheats, oh here's brave cheating sport! Cheat thou for me, cries one, I'll cheat for thee; Thus do the Cheaters lovingly agree: The only way for any to be great, Or get preferment, is to be a Cheat. The honest man that loves not worldly pelf, Rather than break the number, cheats himself. The jailors cheat, by taking unjust Fees; The Prisoner too, he cheats as fast as these; The Creditor, whose malice is grown great, Seizes on all, and doth the Prisoner cheat; Oh desperate Fates, what hazards do we run, We must be naught, or, to be just, undone! The DUKE with silence heard, and patient stood, Then took his leave, to visit old King Lud; Who having seen, he unto Bridewell goes, Then to the Counters, where are some that knows What splendid Table 'twas his Grace did keep; For they went thither not to eat, but sleep. The Fleet he likewise called upon, but there Were few that knew the DUKE, each one did stare Upon his Grace, and Censures passed aloud; For they indeed are generally proud, And so abound with Friends, and store of Coin, They'll choose to purchase, rather than purloyn, Or with an empty Pocket to intrude Into the number of a multitude. For they like Fishers with a silver hook, Caught food enough to entertain the DUKE. From hence his Grace to Southwark bends his course, And to the marshalsea with eager force He hastes, and enters; whence I do divine, There's many with the DUKE were wont to Dine. Compliments flew like Hailstones round about, As if the DUKE when in, would ne'er get out: Forty and odd a Circle round him lay, That to get loose, 'twas hard to find the way. Besides, I've read it in some Book or Song, That each of these were Twenty-thousand strong; And I that on his Grace did daily watch, Observed the DUKE did in his bosom scratch, Sometimes in's Codpiece; but I must forbear To be too busy with his private Ware. But I can this with modesty assure, To scratch, or itch, the DUKE could ne'er endure; And whether in that Crowd he Vermin got, Or Crab-lice had before, I know it not: Much honour for the DUKE they jointly own, Talk freely with him, as if wealthy grown. However, though they are with plenty filled, Almshouses they have all forsworn to build. The DUKE his grave Advice bestows on all, Bids them be merry, though they are in thrall; For he himself by his experience finds, Despair's the issue of ignoble minds. Thus having said, with eyes about him cast, Quoth he, Well Sirs, old Friends must part at last; And Madam Wyatt at the Kings-Bench stays Until I come: besides, I've divers ways How to expend my time, and pass my hours; Wherefore adieu, I was, and still am yours. Thus having spoke, the DUKE with nimble wings Takes flight from thence, unto the Bench of Kings: Where having greased the Key, found way to come Into his Parlour, called the Mumpers Room, Where he inquiry made how things did stand; And as it happened, there was one at hand Was so endued with Art, with Skill, and Worth, To satisfy the DUKE in setting forth Th' affairs of all the House, and C's the man, Who having made obeisance, thus began: These Iron Bars a Lecture preach to me, That there's no jewel like true Liberty; For here to be confined in such a Cage, Brings blooming Youth to an untimely Age. Behold those highflown Gallants, who of late Came hither, and their Creditors and Fate Did both defy, how now they droop and sink, Having in Bub and Smoke consumed their Chink. Ungrateful slaves, that did profess us love, Now we are in the Grates like Mountains move. Those that from Cellar unto Cellar jump, Must at the last do homage to the Pump; That Christian Pump, that seems to sigh and moan, As being conscious of a Prisoners groan. The Cook-room which so oft they did frequent, They must but smell to, when their money's spent. Their Citadels now on the Master-side▪ Wherein they are with Thousands fortified, They must retreat from, quickly as the Summons (Having no money) calls them to the Commons, Where they must beat their brains, & cramp their legs, In the low livelihood of making Pegs; Where I leave all those wretched Souls to be Slaves, till Death pays their Debts, and sets them free. The DUKE with grave attention lent his Ear, Seeming to grieve for what he then did hear; Told all about him, That whilst he was able, He'd make them daily welcome to his Table. What did more over-pass, I don't well know, For I got loose, and they cried, Let him go: But any person that hath time to spare, And fain would see the DUKE, may find him there: Where that they might the Great DUKE'S mirth prolong, They entertain him with— The PRISONERS Song. COme, let us rejoice, and our Creditors whine; That prisoner's faint-hearted that once doth repine, Whilst Ale's in the House, or there's Juice in the Vine. Then let's not despair for a foregoing Fact Of running in Debt, for we'll pay by the Act. Though Fools may imagine our griefs are emergent, A fart for our Foes, and the Pox take a Sergeant. Call to the Tapster for bushels of Liquor, He's a dull Rascal for coming no quicker; Not sorrow, but drought 'tis, that makes us the sicker: And when we have drank up the mass of his main, We'll stay for recruits, and then drink on again: Though Fools may imagine, etc. Is any one Member among us oppressed? Then make his heart float like a Cork in his breast: Here's no fear of Bailiffs, nor of their Arrest; Such Vermin that formerly used to torment us, Had rather be hanged, than now to frequent us. Though Fools may imagine our griefs are emergent, A fart for our Foes, and the Pox take a Sergeant. Several Books Printed for Samuel Speed, and sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster. FOLIO. PHaramond, the famed Romance, written by the Author of those other two eminent Volumes, Cassandra, and Cleopatra. The Precedency of Kings. By james Howell Esq Actions of the Case for Deeds. By William Sheppard Esq Memoires on the Lives, Actions, Sufferings, and Deaths of those Noble, Reverend, and Excellent Personages, that suffered by Death, Sequestration, Decimation, or otherwise, for the Protestant Religion, and the great Principle thereof, Allegiance to their Sovereign, in our late intestine Wars. By Da: Lloyd A. M. Systema Agriculturae: Or, The whole Mystery of Husbandry, made known by I. W. Gent. QUARTO. Palmerin of England, in Three Parts. Primaleon of Greece, in Three Parts. The Jewelhouse of Art and Nature. By Sir Hugh Plat. The Woman's Lawyer. By Sir john Doderige. Divine Law: Or, The Patron's purchaser. By Alexander Huck-ston. The Complete Parson▪ By Sir john Doderidge. Star-Chamber Cases. The description of Tangier, with an account of the Life of Gayland, the Usurper of the Kingdom of Fez. The Golden Coast: Or, A description of Guinny. The Complete Copyholder. By the Lord Cook. Fragmenta Carceris: Or, The Kings-Bench Scuffle, The Humours of the Common-side, the Kings-Bench Litany, and the Legend of Duke Humphrey. OCTAVO. Quintus Curtius his Life of Alexander the Great, Translated into English. Observations on the Statesmen and Favourites of England since the Reformation, their Rise, and Growth, Prudences, and Policies, Miscarriages, and Falls, during the Reigns of King Henry VIII, King Edward VI, Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King james, and King Charles I. By David Lloyd A. M. An Abridgement of the Reports of Sir George Crooks Three Volumes. An Abridgement of the Reports of Sir Francis Moor. The Roman History of Lucius Florus Englished. The City and Countrey-Purchaser and Builder, with directions for Purchasing, Building, and Improving of Lands and Houses in any part of England. By Stephen Primate Gent. A brief Chronicle of the late intestine War, in the Three Kingdoms of England, Scotland, and Ireland, from the year 1637, to the year 1663. By james Heath Gent. Ovid Exulans: Or, Ovid travesty, in Burlesque Verse. TWELVE. Arithmetical Recreations. By W. Leybourn. Machiavels Discourses, and Prince. FINIS.