Exceeding True NEWS From Newcastle. Declaring the manifold Distractions, Fears, and jealousies of that City, and several other places of Note in the Country. Likewise a real and exact Declaration of the particular causes of their distempers. Set down in as ample and exact a manner as can be desired, for the satisfaction of all those that desire to be informed of the present estate of those parts. May 17. London, Printed for J. Horton, 1642. Exceeding True News from Newcastle. IT is not unknown to most men gentle Reader what great Distractions, fears, and Jealousies are fostered in all parts; Nay in every Corner of this Kingdom, as hath been made apparent by many circumstances which will be too tedious for me to insert in this following Relation. Only give me leave to give you a taste of the great Distractions, growing Fears and frantic jealousies of the Inhabitants in Newcastle, Durham, Northallerton, Morpat●, and many other places in the Bishopric and N●rthumherland. And first touching their 〈◊〉 … actions. Merchants are distracted for want of Traffic, they are in such a pitiful rage, that they have sworn not to carry Coals for any man, they swear, that since the Peace was concluded, Coals are fallen at least six pence a Bushel, which makes them curse Peace and fall together by the ears amongst themselves, likewise your Gunsmiths begin to bounce and break with a powder, for since the Army marched away they have had nothing to do but to make Key-Gunnes for which they curse peace likewise, and make the black Pots five one against the other, they are all to pieces on that side too. The Citizen's wives that had decrepit Husbands, they are distracted for the loss of their loves honest Gentlemen Troopers (whom they in pity) of their Husband's weakness 〈…〉 suffered to hunt in their Conyberies': Your Alewives and Tapsters likewise, are distracted to see their Ale sour for want of good fellows, their Beer converted to Vinegar, they likewise curse Peace till they are a dry; drink till they are mad, then let the rest about the Cellar, then run Tap run Tapster, all's gone, nothing lest but the empty Hogshead for the Brewer to make him a Helmet on to cover his Loggerhead. The Baker that in the time of War made his bread of half wheat and half sand now, cries out that his bread is dowe baked, he swears he had rather have stood in the Pillory then to have had Peace concluded, for now he makes his bread but two ounces to light in a two penny loaf, and then he made it four ounces two light, yet now his bread lies on his hands, which makes him pray for war or a dear year, and then the mealey mouth Rogue swears he will make them pay for it. But O the general Lamentation that there is amongst the Maids that should be the wives that would be, and the whores that must, be those that were Maids curse their own weakness, the brittleness of their wares that would not endure one knock, but ever after be esteemed cracked Commodities, those that have gotten their bellies full they curse their greedy stomaches, that they could not be contented with a bit or so but that they must take so much as to make such a damnable timpany, in their ungodly guts, nothing can cure but Lust's Lacrimie, and the virtue of that white sheet, which was guilty of that Venerable Banquet. Likewise Churchwardens and Overseers of the Poor are in a pitiful perplexity, they are compelled to turn Quarter-Masters, and take up all the Barns, Stables, Stocks, and Cages, to lodge a great invisible Army, every day being more visible than other, to wit; young Soldiers, or the fruits of the last year's war; who now are drawn together to an almost incredible number, for lusty Soldiers finding no employment in the fields of Mars, chose to run a Tilt in Venus' Bowers, or to run at a Ring of a Maids setting up. Likewise the late Maids but now Whores are resolved so to continue, which puts the Country Fellows into a lamentable fright, for fear they should like Cowards be forced to father those Children, which by the Soldiers were so valiantly gotten, wherefore they were resolved to Petition (but whom they know not.) FINIS.