Poor Robin's PERAMBULATION FROM Saffron-Walden TO LONDON: Performed this Month of JULY, 1678.  
With Allowance, July 11. 1678. Ro. L'Estrange.  
LONDON: Printed for T.E. and are to be Sold by the General Assembly of Hawkers, 1678.   

Poor ROBIN'S Perambulation from Saffron-Walden to London, etc.  


NOw have amongst you Gallants, here's a story  
Will make you laugh, or else I should be sorry:  
'Tis of a Journey lately made from Walden  
To London, and of several places called in  
As by the way I travelled, with their Rarities  
Of Vice and Virtue, and their great disparities.   

'Twas in the year of Grace called Sixteen hundred  
Seventy and seven, as our account is numbered,  
The Eve o'th' Scottish Champion St. Andrew,  
Who wore as good a sword as e'er man drew,  
Being the twenty-ninth day of November,  
Called St. Saturnine as I remember,  
The very next day when the Term was ended,  
Wherein much (ah too much) Coin is expended,  
The sign was in Aquarius, or the Legs,  
Being Wednesday, a day for Fish and Eggs.  
The Moon full four days old, the wind was North,  
When I on this mad Journey did set forth.  
As for the Tide I will not mention here,  
For we have neither Sea nor Thames us near,  
And therefore of their Ebbs, or of their flowing,  
Very few persons thereabouts are knowing.   

Thus having shown you when, in the next place  
I'll show you whence my Journey I did trace:  
'Twas from the Rose and Crown, where Mr. Eve  
Doth keep a House like to an Under-sheriff;  
There is good Sack, good French-Wine, and good Beer.  
And if you'll dine or sup, there is good cheer:  
Or does your stomach to a Breakfast stand,  
There's cold roast Beef, or Pork at your command.  
For those men who the truth of this deny it,  
Let them go there, and do as I did, try it;  
There for your money you shall have kind usage,  
Good words, and reckonings right, without abusage.   

There at my parting, some kind friends of mine  
Would needs bestow on me a quart of Wine,  
Where with stout drinking ere my parting hour,  
That Quart was made at least a three or four;  
But Sol his speedy journey would not stay,  
And posting-time did call me thence away:  
Yet would my Jovial friends on me attend  
Part of my Journey unto Audley-end,  
By them called Nineveh, but no great City,  
Though too much sin may be there, more's the pity  
There at the sign (of such a thing I think  
As never swum on pond or river's brink)  
Of a Black Swan, which is as rare 'tis said  
As of a wench with child to be a maid.  
Yet although of this Sign there's no such thing,  
It was a sign there was good drink within,  
And that we found fresh, sprightly, and well tasted;  
With drinking which, we a long hour wasted.   

But friends at last must part, though loath they be.  
And so with much leave-taking than did we,  
When, 'cause bad company should be withstood,  
I walked alone, and so had none but good.  
The first Town I came to, was Wenden named,  
Who hate Eighth Henry, though a King much famed;  
The reason of the same, they understand  
He was the first man ever wore a Band,  
And that's a fashion to which they'll not come,  
As being chargeable and troublesome,  
Therefore without Bands commonly they go,  
By which sign you a Wenden-man may know.   

From Wenden I my course did next way bend  
Unto the place is called Sparrows-end,  
Where Mr. Harris my old friend the Tanner  
Did entertain me in most courteous manner,  
And having drunk such strong drink as we found,  
With which his House doth commonly abound,  
To Newport-pond my course I next way bend,  
And in at the sign of the Black-Bull went,  
Where scarcely in a room I had set down  
When in came my old friends kind Mr. Br—  
And Mr. Woe— two who love their friend  
With true and hearty love unto the end;  
For though they in another Town do live,  
They to their Neighbour some kind Visits give.   

'Twas twelve a Clock, Dinnertime did approach,  
When men whet Knives on Wheels of Cart or Coach;  
The Cloth was laid, and by the scent o'th' meat  
One might perceive there something was to eat,  
And so it proved indeed, for from the pot  
Came forth a Rump of Beef was piping hot;  
And from the Spit was brought a loin of Mutton  
Would satisfy the stomach of a Glutton;  
For like a Loin of Beef it might been knighted;  
To which our Hostess kindly us invited,  
Which we accepted of; and to delight her,  
Told her none could deny such an inviter:  
For she's a Widow of such excellent carriage,  
Would make a man most happy in her Marriage,  
Being young, fresh, fair, of a most pregnant wit,  
And for a kind good Husband sure most fit.   

We having dined, and joined a pint or two,  
Then forwards on my Journey I did go.  
And first I came unto a Town called Rickling,  
Where for to stay a while I made no stickling,  
But presently in at the Kings-head fell,  
Where of Compounding Dick I there heard tell,  
To whom if that it please you to resort ye,  
He for a hundred pound will mortgage forty  
Shillings a year, nor do you think I jest,  
It's very true indeed, probatum est.  
Or lend him lesser sums, which if you do,  
For twenty Shillings he will pay you two;  
Not two and twenty Shillings, no such plenty,  
I mean he'll pay you two Shillings for twenty;  
Pray lend him then, and this shall be your portion,  
You shall not need fear being sued for extortion.  
From the Kings-head I out of doors scarce went,  
But was in Quenden-street incontinent;  
Of many a handsome Countryhouse the station,  
It seems to be a little Corporation,  
Yet are the Houses not so neat as strong,  
And doth most to one Gentleman belong.  
For nothing on it can you look asquint,  
Unless cause there is ne'er an Alehouse in't.  
Good air, brave Woods, and fine rich Meadow-ground,  
And doth with every sort of Grain abound.  
The young men there do bear the Bell away  
From all the Towns about at Football play.   

Unto a Farmer's House I went outright,  
Who entertained me like to a Knight:  
And though at Newport I had dined before,  
Yet here with him I must eat one bit more,  
Some Ribs of Pork new killed, broiled on a Gridiron  
Of seven ribs, three on each side, and one mid-iron.  
But ere they laid them on, they did them Salt,  
A Shooing-horn to draw down juice of Malt;  
Yet thus much of his Beer's strength I do know,  
'Twould well go down without helps thereunto;  
And who thereof to drink too much on't ventures,  
'Twill turn him Scrivener for to make Indentures;  
Which made me have a care of that same drink,  
Because some Scriveners are K— s I think,  
But whether so or no I'll leave to Pen,  
They may be Knaves or may be honest men:  
But to the matter, ere that we did part  
I of his liquor took down many a quart;  
Then fear lest I should of a Fox-skin smell,  
I bid to him (as he made me) farewell.   

From Quenden I my ready course did frame  
Thorough a Town that hath an Ugly name,  
Indeed to call it so they did not well,  
Because that handsome Women in it dwell;  
Nor are the Men for aught that I can find  
But good conditioned, debonair, and kind:  
And therefore he who ere the name it gave,  
To call it so was but an ugly K—.   

From Ugly I next way to Stansted travelled,  
Upon a plain Highway well stoned and gravelled;  
This Town of Stansted for distinctions sake  
Doth unto it the name Montfitchet take,  
From the Montfitchets once Lords of great fame,  
And who ere while were owners of the same.  
There at the Bell, at my old friend's George Perrin,  
We drunk and tippled like unto a Herring;  
For there is Ale and Stale-beer strong and mighty,  
Will burn i'th' fire like unto Aquavitae;  
And that the reason is, as you may know,  
That this Bells Liquor makes men's Clappers go:  
Then when men's brains begin for to grow addle,  
Some talk of riding ne'er sat on a Saddle,  
And every one doth think himself a Prince,  
Though he in's Pocket scarce hath Thirteen-pences.  
This Town from Walden is eight miles they say,  
All which long space I travelled in one day,  
But wearied sore, and having drunken deep,  
The leaden god then summoned me to sleep;  
So that for to repose my drowsy head,  
It was not long before I went to bed;  
And though I did not go out of my way,  
Yet I that very night in Holland lay.  
Next morn, ere Titan showed his glorious head,  
My Host did rouse me from my drowsy bed;  
And for so doing this was his pretence,  
To pay a Groat for my last night's offence,  
Which I soon gave unto the jovial Croney,  
For being so ore-reached by Volpone;  
And being up, we briskly did it spend,  
And so of the round Groat made a square end.   

Thus armed with Toast and Ale, my Muse and I,  
Having no other in our company,  
Footed it on the Road, and straightway came  
Unto a Town Birchanger called by name,  
Of which there is a Proverb very old,  
From one Age still unto another told  
That there they christian Calves, which by men's bounty  
It may extend to each Town in the County;  
Because the plenty of the Veal from thence,  
To call them Essex Calves is a pretence.   

Thorough Birchanger I passed without drinking,  
The reason thereof you perhaps are thinking;  
Yet don't believe herein that I do scoff-ye,  
They there sell neither Ale, Wine, Beer, nor Coffee;  
Therefore unless without Town they be sped,  
They very soberly may go to Bed:  
But though such liquors are not sold among them,  
Because that I would willingly not wrong them,  
Strong drink in private Houses there may be,  
Of which the owners may be frank and free;  
But whether that the same be so or no,  
To tell to you the truth, I do not know,  
Therefore it to avouch I were to blame,  
Unless that I had tasted of the same.   

Thus something dry within, yet nevertheless  
In a good plight, my way I next address  
Unto a place called Hockrell, and there took  
In at the Crown, with honest Mr. Cook;  
Now here I did no entertainment lack,  
With French-Wine, Rhenish, and good Spanish Sack;  
And being Dinnertime I filled my gullet,  
Begun with powdered Beef, ended with Pullet;  
And after Dinner we to drinking fixed,  
With taking of Tobacco intermixed.   

Minding that Town my Journeys end should be  
For that same night, I was resolved to see  
The rarities of the same, which to disclose  
A little while I'll turn my Verse to Prose.    

This place called Hockrell belongeth to Bishop Storford, so named from the Bishops of London, who once had a Palace here, being an ancient Castle given by William the Conqueror unto the Bishop Mauritius, with all the appurtenances belonging thereunto for ever; the Ruins of which Castle remain to this day. On the upper side of the Town stands a fair Church, in which lie Interred many of the Flemings, a Family whose numerous branches have spread themselves through England, Scotland and Wales, ever since the time of Sir John le Fleming, Knight, who flourished in the Reign of King William Rufus. Their Market (which is kept on on Thursdays) is very well served with all sorts of Provisions for the sustentation of life, especially Barley and Malt, which makes our English Bachanialian juice; the operations of which liquor take from the Poet: 
Whilst Pearls and Rubies doth strong drink disclose▪  
They make their purse poor to enrich their nose.  They have three Fairs in the year, one nine days before Whitsuntide, another nine days after it, and the third on Michaelmas-day. This Town is also accommodated with three Taverns, viz. the Crown, the Rein-deer, and the George, at either of which, bringing the merry Chink, you may have the merry drink. How many Alehouses is there, I had not time to number, only I saw the signs of some Horned Beasts, as the Bull, the Ram, etc. but what the people are that dwell therein, I know not, but guess you may have good liquor there for your money. As for the Cage and Stocks there, let those who have been in them give you a description of them. And now after this serious view of the Town, I returned to my Quarters, where I had dined, and took up my lodging there that night.   


From Bishop-Storford I next day set forth  
Unto a Town is called Sabridgworth,  
Contracted Sapssord; but call't what you will,  
In the same place it did, the Town stands still.  
Good Corn they say within the same doth grow,  
And good Beer may be in't for aught I know;  
But at that time I had no list to drink,  
So passed I through it, and saved my Chink.   

Unto Pie-corner went I, to the Rose,  
Where for a time I stayed and topeed my nose;  
There was a jolly Hostess, and good tipple,  
Would make the tongue run, and the legs a cripple.  
But of large drinking, Reader, this know of it,  
There is small pleasure in it, and less profit;  
'Twill quickly empty all the purse of crosses,  
Which will breed discontentment for such losses.  
My Hostess without coin you can't accost her,  
Her rule is, No penny, no Paternoster;  
She cares not for your company a bean-straw,  
You can't come at her backside with a handsaw.  
But if you have the white and yellow mettle,  
She simpers like to a Furmety-kettle.  
The servants nimble are, and you may brag on  
The credit, not to call twice for a flagon:  
The female servants, lest they should be shent,  
Do answer (as they are) incontinent.  
For Claret, Sack, strong Beer you shall not stand Sir,  
Both Hostess, men and maids, are at command Sir.  
But if the Purse chance to be in the wane,  
Than you may call, and call, and call again,  
You have free liberty for to be gone Sir,  
For quickly come, is turned anon, anon Sir.  
Therefore kind Reader spend not all away,  
But keep a penny 'gainst a rainy day;  
Then shall you welcome be where e'er you come,  
Where otherwise more welcome is your room.   

But I've digressed, but hope have not transgressed  
In these invective lines I've here expressed;  
Yet Reader know, although Inns and Alehouses  
Were not ordained for men to drink Carrouses,  
Yet are they for the traveler necessary,  
Who else his meat and drink must with him carry;  
And very oftentimes it would be found  
He must his lodging take on the cold ground;  
This also must of them be understood,  
That many Hosts and Hostesses are good,  
Use people kindly for their drink and diet,  
And lodge them softly, where they rest in quiet.  
Where we will leave them sleeping in their bed,  
To show how after in my way I sped.   

Crossing the Fields, I in short space came down  
To Eastwick, to the sign o'th' Rose and Crown,  
Where for to stay I did not once intend,  
But at the Inn-door there I met a friend,  
An old acquaintance newly come from London,  
Where women some are done, some men are undone;  
To see how resolutions soon may alter,  
At sight of him my legs began to falter,  
And though before I had no list to drink,  
Now other thoughts into my mind did sink;  
Methoughts I was as dry as was a bottle  
Turned upside downward, and without a stopple;  
My eyes began view the door, which open stood  
To invite all Company in that would;  
Seeing an opportunity so fit,  
How every thing invited us to it,  
My friend and I resolved ere we did go,  
To enter in and drink a quart or two;  
Yet did we think the House not so resplendent,  
Because no Bush was to the sign dependent;  
But this gave comfort, What could not be cured,  
It must be with a patient mind endured;  
Because therefore no Wine we could come by,  
We were resolved Beer should us satisfy.   

Being in, the first thing that our eyes beheld,  
(like to two Soldiers marching in the field)  
Came in a Bag-pudding and piece of Beef,  
Which unto hungry stomaches gives relief.  
By what is writ, Reader, thou mayst suppose  
(without the smelling, snuffing sense, the Nose)  
'Twas Dinner time, when men do meat devour,  
Or (as the Quaker saith) 'bout the Twelfth hour,  
Our Stomaches were provided for the meat,  
Nor did our Host fail for to bid us eat,  
Few compliments need to be used to do it,  
For (hungry) we did stoutly fall unto it.   

And being thus refreshed with wholesome diet,  
You'd think our Stomaches should have been at quiet:  
But other thoughts did in our mind take place,  
And liquor there was wanting in the case;  
Our Hostess she was very blithe and handy,  
And brought us in a quartern of Nantz-Brandy,  
A Liquor which the Dutchmen prize, I think,  
More than Ambrosia which the gods do drink;  
Therefore its fame unto the heavens they raise,  
Indeed that Liquor well deserveth praise  
Beyond Metheglin, Vsquebah, or Perry,  
Or nappy Ale that makes men's hearts full merry.  
Worstershire-Sider, nor yet Brunswick-Mum,  
In goodness nothing near unto it come.  
Your liquorish Steponey, or your Bracket,  
For goodness like to Brandy they much lack it.  
Cardimum, Rosa-solis, Aquavitae,  
Although that they be very strong and mighty,  
They are no more comparable to Brandy,  
Than is a Giant to a Jackadandy:  
Nor yet that Liquor Fancy on us thrusts,  
Which scalds our mouths, and tastes like to burnt Crusts,  
As Black as Soot, or as the River Styx,  
Which they with Kennel water (surely) mix,  
It comes far short of Brandy all will say,  
Not to be mentioned with it the same day.   

Brandy (according to the drinking Law)  
It is both good and wholesome burnt or raw;  
Or raw mixed with Sugar, if you do it,  
There is no drink comparable unto it;  
It clears the Stomach, and it helps digestion,  
And is a wholesome Liquor without question.   

Now we at this good Liquor there did stay  
Till two full hours were wasted of the day;  
When time, which every one of truth convinces,  
And will not stay one jot, no not for Princes,  
Told us that we must part, that too much drinking  
Crippled the Legs, and made the wits be shrinking,  
Then then we would not be contradictory  
To Time, although to part we were right sorry,  
We paid the shot, a thing must not be undone,  
And parted, he towards York, and I towards London.   

From thence I on my journey forwards fell  
Unto a Town named Stansted-Deal, or Dell,  
So called 'cause it is in a bottom founded,  
With Dells or watery places most surrounded:  
Here runs a River which doth save them charges,  
Being capable of bearing Boats and Barges,  
By which to London they send store of Grain,  
And bring thence Coals and other things again.  
There is good liquor in that Town they say,  
But 'twas near half a mile out of my way:  
Wherefore because I would not go about,  
I of that nappy liquor went without;  
For why, the nearest way to London lies  
Over a Common-meddow called the Ryes,  
Which way I took, and crossed the New-River,  
That unto London doth her Streams deliver.  
But now some other matters to explain,  
A while I'll turn my Verse to Prose again.    

As I was thus going over the Ryes, there over-took me a Journeyman Shoemaker, going so fast, as if his business required wonderful haste; however I had that inquisitiveness to ask him why he went so fast, and that if he went softlier I should be glad of his company, as being alone: He replied, that he was one of the Gentle-Craft, and having by the persuasions of Monsieur Malt-worm spent all his chink, he must hast to London that night, having no Money to accommodate him with a lodging by the way. I laughed heartily at his discourse, and told him he was not to be blamed for being money-less, seeing the same was ordained by Jupiter before. Those words struck Crispin into a great amazement, who would needs know how it came to pass that Jupiter should be such an enemy to good fellowship? Marry (said I) I think him to be no enemy unto good fellowship, though it hath happened that he hath predestined most of you to be unthrifts, the manner whereof I will relate unto you.  
It happened some Ages before my Grandmother was born, that Jupiter and Mercury traveled together upon the earth; Mercury was wonderfully hungry, and had no Money in his Purse to buy him any food; and at last to his great comfort he spied where a company of Tailors were at dinner with buttered Pease, eating their Pease with their Needles points one by one: Mercury came to them, and asked them his alms; they proudly bid him sit down and do as he saw them did, and with that delivered him a Needle. The poor God being passing hungry, could not content his Maw with eating one by one, but turned the eye of his Needle, and eat two or three together; which the Tailors seeing, they start up, and said, What fellow, a Shovel and Spade to buttered Pease! hast thou no more manners? Get out of our company: and so they sent him packing with many strokes. Mercury coming back, Jupiter demanded of him what news? And he told him how churlishly he was used by the Tailors. Well, wandering on further, Mercury espied where a company of Shoemakers were at Dinner with powdered Beef and Brewess; going to them, before he could ask them any alms, they said, Welcome good fellow, what is thy Stomach up? Wilt thou do as we do, and taste of our Beef? Mercury thanked them, and sat down and eat his Bellyful, and drank well of Double-Beer; and when he had done, went home to his Master; as soon as he came, Jupiter asked him what news? And he said, I have lighted amongst a crew of Shoemakers, the boonest Fellows that ever I met withal, they have frankly fed me without grudging, and therefore grant me a Boon for them. Ask what thou wilt, Mercury (quoth he) and it shall be granted. Why then quoth he, grant that for this good turn they have done me, they may ever spend a Groat afore they can earn Twopences; It shall be granted quoth he: Mercury, as soon as Jupiter had said the word, he bethought himself, and said, Not so, but that they may earn a Groat before they spend Twopences, for my Tongue slipped at first; but Jupiter replied, my grant cannot be recalled, your first wish must stand firm. And hence it comes to pass that by Mercury's mistake, and Jupiter's grant, that the Journeymen of the Gentle-craft have been ever since such boon blades, and toping good Fellows.  
Crispin heard my Story with much attention, and I perceived that had his Purse been answerable to his heart, we had tasted what liquor had been at the next Alehouse: But as the old song says, Poverty parts good company; my Lady Pecunia having parted from him, he soon parted from me, and made all the hast he could towards London.   


Passing thus as I told you o'er, the Rye,  
Incontinent to Hodsden I did high,  
A great th'row-fare, consisting of one street,  
But seated in an Air wholesome and sweet;  
There is therein of Inns the duce and all,  
But Beer in them methought was very small,  
I tried not only one, but two or three,  
But Beer in none did with my taste agree;  
Indeed there is good Ale at the Thatcht-house,  
Which followed will give a man a douce,  
And likewise in the Town you there may see  
Of Taverns there's no less than two or three,  
Wherein with Wine you there may fill your gorges,  
But not so good (methinks) as my friend George's.  
There is a Statue of a Nymph-like charm,  
Which always holds a Pitcher in her arm,  
Through which she water constant doth deliver,  
Which saves the fetching of it from the River;  
What other Rarities in this Town be,  
Let them who list go thither for to see.   

From thence I went and had a little pull  
At Broksborn, at the Sign of the Black-Bull,  
Where though there was not high and mighty Liquor,  
'Twas stronger than at Hodsden, and more quicker;  
Quicker in two respects, Pots came more thick,  
And then the Beer in drinking was more quick;  
But having by such quickness much coin spent,  
I parted thence, and unto Wormly went;  
There did I stay all night at the White-Hind,  
And found an Host was debonair and kind.  
He told me many tricks done in his youth,  
Which if so be they all of them were truth,  
I must conclude (for so it plain appears)  
He was an arch wag in his younger years.  
My Hostess she was bonny, tight, and neat,  
And full of mirth, as is an Egg of meat.  
She bid me kindly welcome, so she may  
I think to any one that freely pay;  
Yet this I'll say, her Meat was of the best,  
Fresh, sweet, and good, and very cleanly dressed;  
All her discourse was pleasant, sweet as honey,  
And I was kindly welcome for my money.   

Next morn no sooner Phoebus did appear,  
And with his beams did gild our Hemisphere,  
But I soon shook off Morpheus drowsy clog,  
First drank, and paid, then forwards on did jog  
Unto a Town called Cheston, wheretofore  
Was a Religious House of Nuns great store;  
These Nuns were Maids or Virgins, choose you which,  
Or at the leastwise they should have been such,  
But same hath told (if same hath not belied them)  
They no such cattle were by those that tried them;  
For under ground they had a private Cell  
To Waltham-Abby where the Monks did dwell,  
By which conveyance they each other met,  
And many Bastards by this means did get;  
But whether that the same were true or no,  
'Tis only God Almighty that doth know.   

This Cheston Town is three miles long or near,  
And scattered with Houses here and there;  
Some Alehouses upon the Road I saw,  
And some with bushes, shew'ng they Wine did draw,  
But whether Beer or Wine were good or bad,  
To taste thereof no time as then I had:  
For should a man at every Alehouse call,  
'Twould empty his Purse, and spoil his brains withal;  
And truly unto me it is a wonder  
To see how Alehouses the Road do ●●●●er,  
It does to me much admiration give  
To think which ways they make a shift to live!  
And yet I think a man may wonder more  
That many men about them live so poor!  
The Reason is, that what these poor men gain,  
The Alehouses for drink from them do drain;  
And so these poor men, to be termed good fellows,  
Do toil and moil for to maintain the Alehouse.   

As to this purpose did a Neighbour mine,  
Who to maintain the Alewives to go fine,  
And idly live, whatever that he got  
He spent upon them, on the Pipe and Pot;  
He following this Trade continually,  
Fell grievous sick, as if he strait would die;  
Desiring his Wife's pity, he to move her,  
Told her if that please God he did recover,  
And that his help he to him would be giving,  
he'd make the Alewives to spin for their living.  
Soon after he recovered his distemper,  
But quickly grew he to be idem-semper,  
The Alehouses he no ways would refrain,  
Which made his wife thus carefully complain,  
Husband, you said, if that God sent you health,  
You would unto yourself return your wealth,  
And make the Alewives for their living spin,  
But now another mind I see you're in.  
True Wife (replied the man) I were to blame  
Should I deny't, and still my mind's the same:  
But first they must have Money wherewithal  
For to buy Flax, ere they to spinning fall.  
" Thus still what vice a man is to addicted,  
" He by excuses seeks to be protected.   

But to return where I did leave before,  
This Town of Cheston having passed o'er,  
I came to Waltham-Cross, from London Town  
A Dozen miles just, either up or down:  
Of which same Cross, because that I will write,  
I will again in Prose a while indite.    

This Cross was erected by King Edward the first, in memory of his Wife Queen Eleanor, a renowned and virtuous Lady, Sister to Alphonsus' King of Castille, Daughter to King Ferdinand the third, and only Child of Joan his second Wife, Daughter and Heir of John Earl of Ponthien. She accompanied her Husband to the Holy Land, in which Voyage, he being stabbed by a Saracen with a poisoned Dagger, when no Medicine could extract the poison, she did it with her Tongue, licking daily, while her Husband slept, his rankling wounds, whereby they perfectly closed, and yet herself received no harm! So sovereign a medicine (said Speed) is a woman's tongue, anointed with the virtue of lovely affection. Pity it is, saith Mr. Fuller, such a pretty story should not be true, because than we might hear of one woman's tongue that hath done good, whereas otherwise we have heard of a hundred women's tongues that have done hurt. However, no question she was a woman of excellent parts, to our Nation a loving Mother, and (saith Walsingham) the Column and Pillar, as it were, of the whole Realm. She died at Herdby in Lincolnshire, November 29, 1290, having been King Edward's Wife 36 years, who erected to her honour these Crosses, as Statues, at Lincoln, Grantham, Stanford, Geddington, Northampton, Stony-Stratford, Dunstable, St. Alban, this at Waltham, and one at Westminster called Charing-cross; which last was by the Rump, that Maggot-end of a Parliament, pulled down; to such uncertain periods come oftentimes the fairest Structures, as this which was built of Marble, and therefore the more subject to the covetousness of avaricious hands. Thus, as John Taylor hath it, 
Old Charing-Cross that lasted many lives,  
Is turned to Saltsellers and Huffs of Knives.  But this Cross at Waltham being not so rich, escaped ruin, though time hath made it something ruinous in respect of its former beauty and splendour. But enough of this Cross, lest I cross my Reader with the tediousness of the relation thereof.   


From Waltham-Cross I went to Enfield Town,  
Unto the Sign there of the Rose and Crown,  
A noted place; which House much money takes  
For sale of Buttered bread, Eel-pies and Cakes;  
There also is good Beer, and Ale so great,  
'Tis said that it will make a Cat to speak.  
But there is one thing makes amends for all,  
Although their Ale be great, their pots are small.  
This House is called old joan's, but wherefore so,  
To tell to you the truth, I do not know;  
Nor can we ought of its antiquity read  
In learned Cambden, or laborious Speed,  
For had they at the same but topeed their nose,  
They would have writ of it I do suppose;  
Nor did John Taylor the brave Water▪ Poet  
In all his rambling Travels surely know it,  
For honest John did ne'er commit that crime,  
To drink good Ale, and mention not the Sign;  
But since that time I have informed been,  
That those same persons who now live therein,  
Were in another House living ere while,  
Nearer to London much about a mile,  
And coming for to live where now they do,  
They brought the name of old joan's thither too.   

Here after I had stayed a little space,  
Towards London than I forwarder did trace,  
And weary as I was at last did come  
To the Blue Bell in merry Edmonton;  
I call it merry, for it doth appear  
That once a merry Devil lived there.  
Or else the story lies, and the Devil's in't,  
If men would dare for to put lies in print;  
But ancient Records they belike do tell  
One Peter Faber he therein did dwell,  
And he deceived the Devil as 'tis said,  
The Devil sure was fairly brought to bed;  
That he should be deceived 'tis to be wondered,  
Where one deceives him, he deceives a hundred.   

But Holla Muse, where runs my busy pen!  
Return unto thy subject once again,  
Here at the Bell I found good Beer, good Sack,  
Nor did they Customers at that time lack,  
Whose postures to express as they sat quaffing,  
Would make a Horse his Bridle break with laughing:  
Here one sat in a fume of Tunidado,  
Whose vapours unto Heaven did make scalado;  
Another he did spit and spall so sore  
As if he'd see what he had drunk before;  
Another he did sing so out of frame,  
'Twould scare the screech-owls for to hear the same;  
One had his tongue continually a walking,  
Yet none could gain one wise word by his talking;  
Another did better decorum keep,  
Nodding his head a while he fell asleep;  
Some could not to one seat their breeches fix,  
But walking still were full of antic tricks:  
So each a several posture did express,  
Acted with very much rediculousness,  
That it would make one think, a man to see  
What kind of Beasts and Antics, Drunkards be,  
That he from over-drinking should refrain,  
Or having been drunk, ne'er be drunk again.   

Here at the Bell I little time did stay,  
Drank only one bare pint, and went my way.  
But in the Road another Tavern spied,  
Where what juice was within I went and tried;  
To give you commendations of the Wine  
It much doth need, 'twas neither brisk nor fine,  
Racy, nor pure; therefore I do not scoff,  
It needs much praises for to put it off;  
But yet the Drawer like an honest Lad  
Told me, although the first pint proved bad,  
Bid me I should not be too much perplexed,  
For why it should be mended in the next;  
But I well knowing his wire-drawing tricks,  
By which on many a person they do fix;  
Did leave him for some other one to taper on,  
And bid adieu to him and his blue apron.   

Next I to Totnam-High-cross took my way,  
And at the Sign o'th' Swan a while did stay,  
Being by a friend called in, who with a glance  
From out the window spied me by chance;  
No Compliments betwixt us were neglected,  
Being glad to meet together unexpected,  
And then as when friends meet, the common use  
Is to inquire strait, Pray what good news?  
So was it then with us, our tongues began prate  
Of such transactions as were done of late,  
And afterwards to other matters fell;  
And first of all our tongues began to tell  
How Honesty we thought from earth was fled,  
Money was scarce, and that made trading dead.  
That men of parts were slighted and neglected,  
Whilst mimic antics were too much respected;  
How that Hypocrisy bore so much rule,  
Plain dealing now accounted was a fool;  
How yea and nay, if you do rightly scan him,  
Would cozen, but more slylier far than dam-●im;  
That some men, though in Knavery were mounted;  
Yet would be angry to be Knaves accounted▪  
These last were my friends words which he me told,  
But I straightway desired him to hold,  
And bid him speak with better circumspection,  
(There is no gen'ral Rule without exception)  
For in our Country I myself did know  
As great a Knave as thereabouts did grow,  
Who cause he would be known to be a Knave,  
To have it underhand five shillings gave,  
And that this was a▪ real truth, no jest,  
Hundreds might sign it with Probatum est.   

Thus we of Knav'ry did our judgements scan,  
Yet Knav'ry will be used do what we can;  
Which made that Knave to think he did not lose,  
When as he paid ten pounds by one poor Cheese;  
Well may we say with Rombus the School master,  
'Twill cause a broken head to have such plaster;  
And thus a man might easily make it plain,  
That some are but bare Knaves, some Knaves in grain.   

But to return where we did leave before▪  
And of these cheating Knaves to write no more:  
Commanding Time which will not stay for no man,  
Me to my Journey once again did summon;  
My friend and I that was so honest hearted,  
Drunk to each other▪ then shook hands and parted.  
Going still nearer London, I did come  
In little space of time to Newington.  
Now as I passed along I cast my eye on,  
The Signs of Cock and Pie, and Bull and Lion,  
And Handsome Hostesses, with smiling looks,  
And thought that Jackdaws might be caught by Rooks.  
So I ne'er stayed, but unto Kingsland came,  
Where at that place I found the very same  
Signs to invite the people in to drink,   

Where (if you will) you may spend store of Chink.  
From thence my course to London I did bend,  
And at the City made my Journeys▪   
END.