THE Counter Scuffle. Whereunto is added THE Counter Rat.
Written by R. S.
LONDON, Printed by R. B. and are to be sold by Iohn Stafford. 1648.
THE COVNTER-SCVFFLE.
LEt that Majestick pen that writes
Of brave
K. Arthur and his Knights,
And of their noble feats and fights:
And those who tell of Mice and Frogges
And of the skirmishes of Hogges,
And of fierce
Beares, and Mastive Dogges,
Be silent.
And now let each one listen well,
While I the famous Battell tell,
In
Woodstreet Counter that befell
In high Lent.
In which great
Scuffle only twain,
Without much hurt, or being slain,
Immortall honour did obtain
By merit,
One was a
Captain in degree,
A strong and lusty man was hee,
T'other a
Trades-man bold and free
Of Spirit.
And though he was no man of force,
He had a stomack like a Horse,
And in his rage had no remorse
Or pitty.
Full nimbly could he cuffe and clout,
And was accounted, without doubt,
One of the prettiest sparks about
The City.
And at his weapon any way
He could performe a single fray,
Even from the long pike to the
Tay
-lors Bodkin.
He reckt not for his flesh a jot,
He feard nor
Englishman nor
Scot,
For
Man or
Monster, car'd he not
A Dodkin,
For fighting was his recreation,
And like a man in Desperation,
For
Law, Edict, or
Proclamation
He car'd not
And in his Anger (cause being given)
To lift his hand' gainst good Sir
Steven,
Or any
Iustice under Heaven,
He fear'd 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 Devill came
To meet him.
And this brave
Goldsmith was the man,
Who first this worthy brawle began,
Which after ended in a Can
Of milde Beere.
But had you seen him when he fought,
How eagerly for blood he sought,
Ther's no man but would have him thought
A wilde Beare.
Imagine now you see a score
Of madcap Gentlemen, or more,
Boyes that did use to royst and rore,
And swagger.
Among the which were three or foure,
That rul'd themselves by wisdoms 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 sed,
Full roundly:
Whose hungry mawes no Sallets need
Good appetites therein to breed,
Their stomacks without sauce could feed
Profoundly.
'Twas ill that men of sober dyet,
Who lov'd to fill their guts in quiet,
Were plac'd with
Ruffins that to ryot
were given:
And (O great griefe!) even from their food,
(Their Stomacks 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 ment,
So much, so good, and that they went
without it
'Tis like; but if I adde a Dish,
Or twain, or three, of Flesh or Fish,
They either had, or did it wish,
Ne're doubt it.
Then wipe your mouths, while I declare,
The goodnesse 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 swill'd a Gut.
And butter sweet as e're 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 butter'd
Crabs, and
Lobsters red,
Which send the married payre to bed,
And in loose bloods have often bred,
A Faction.
Fish butter'd to the Platters brim,
And Parsnips did in Butter swim,
Strew'd ore with Pepper neat and trim
Salt Salmon.
Smelts cryde, come eat me, do not stay,
Fresh Cod, and
Maids full nearly lay,
And next to these a lusty
Ba
-con Gammon
Stuck thick with Cloves upon the back,
Well stuft with Sage, and for the smack,
Daintily strew'd with Pepper black,
Sous'd Gurnet,
Pickrell, Sturgeon, Tench, and
Trout,
Meat farre too good for such a rout,
To tumble, tosse, and throw about
And spurn it.
The next a
Neats-tongue neatly dryde,
Mustard and
Suger by his side.
Rochets butter'd,
Flounders fryde.
Hot
Custard.
Eeles boyl'd and broyl'd: and next they bring
Herring, that is the
Fishes 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
Loyne of
Veale, that would have dar'd
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 compleat,
Which I have made of men and meat.
Mars ayd me now, while I repeat
The Battle,
Where Pots and Stooles were us'd as Gins,
To break each others Heads, and Shins,
Where blowes did make bones in their skins
To rattle.
Where men to madnesse never ceast,
Till each (furious as a Beast)
Had spoyld the fashion of a Feast,
Full dainty.
Whereon had they not been accurst,
They might have fed, till bellies burst:
But
Ellis shew'd himselfe the worst
Of twenty.
For he began this monstrous brall,
Which afterward incens'd them all,
To throw the meat about the Hall,
That Even.
And now give eare unto the jarre,
That fell between these men of warre,
Wherein so many a harmlesse skarre
was given.
The Board thus furnisht, each man sate,
Some fell to feeding, some to prate,
Mong whom a jarring question strait
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 discours'd, the
Parson blythe
Parson.
Fed, as he meant to have the tythe
Of every dish, being sharp (as Sythe)
In feeding.
But haste had almost made him choke,
Or else perhaps, he would have spoke
In prayse of his long-thred-bare Cloke,
And breeding.
But after a deliberate pause,
The Lawyer spoke, as he had cause,
Lawyer.
In commendation of the Lawes
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 Gallowes 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 proofe do see,
From highest to low'st degree;
The
Scholler,
Noble, and
Rich: It doth subdue
The
Soulidier, and his swaggering crue,
But at that word the
Captaine grew
In choller.
He lookt full grim, and at first word
The Souldier
Rapt out an Oath, that shook the board,
And struck his fist, that the sound roar'd
Like thunder.
It made all skip that stood him neare,
The frighted
Custard quak'd for feare,
And those that heard it, stricken were
With wonder.
Nought did he now, but frown and puffe,
And having star'd and swore enough,
Thus he began in language rough.
Thou cogging,
Base foysting
Lawyer, that dost set
Thy minde on nothing, but to get
Thy living by thy damned pet
-tifogging.
A Slave, that shall for halfe a Crown,
With Buckram bag, and daggled Gown,
Wait like my dogge about the Town,
And follow
A businesse of the Devils 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 leese,
And then, with such base termes as these
You wrong us.
But
Lawyer, it is safer farre
For thee to prattle at a Barre,
Than once to shew thy face i'th'warre,
Among us,
Where to defend such thanklesse Hinds,
The
Souldier little quiet finds,
But is expos'd to stormy winds,
And weathers,
And oft in blood he wades full deep,
Your throats from forrain swords to keep,
And wakes when you securely sleep
In feathers.
What could your Lawes or Statutes doe,
Against Invasions of the
Foe,
Did not the valiant
Souldier goe
To quell' em?
And to prevent your further harmes,
With Ensigne, Fife, and loud Alarmes
Of warlike Drum, by force of Armes
Repell' em?
Your
Trespasse Action will not stand,
For setting foot upon your Land,
When they in scorn of your Command
Come hither.
No remedy in Courts of
Powles,
In
Common Pleaes, or in the
Rowles,
For joulling of your
Iobbernowles
Together.
Wer't not for us, thou
Swad, quoth he,
Where would'st 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 prest,
To guard you, and the
Cuckowes nest,
Your
Ctiy.
That very word made
Ellis start,
Citizen
And all his blood ran to his heart,
He shook, and quak'd in every part
With anger.
He lookt as if nought might asswage
The heat of his enflamed rage,
His very countenance did presage
Some danger.
A
Cuckowes nest? quoth he: and so,
He humm'd, and held his head full low,
As if distracted thoughts did o
-verpresse him.
At length, quoth he, my Mother sed,
Ellis a Bristow man.
At
Bristow she was brought abed,
And there was
Ellis born and bred,
God blesse 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 cals it
Cuckowes nest,
Except he sayes he speaks in jest,
He is a villain and a beast,
Ile prove it.
This Ile maintain, nor do I care,
Though
Captaine Pot-gun stamp and stare,
And swagger, sweare, and teare his hayre
In fury.
And with the hazard of my blood,
Ile fight up to the knees in mud,
But I will mak my quarrell 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-Countrey Squire
Do prattle.
For we have Souldiers of our own,
Able enough to guard the Town,
And Captaines of most faire renown,
About it,
If any Foe should fight amain,
And set on us with all his Train,
Wee'll make him to retire again,
Nere 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, compell'd by want,
With rusty Swords, and Suits Provant,
From
Vtrich, Numigen, or
Gant,
In
Flanders.
The Captain could no longer hold,
But looking fircely, plainly told
The Citizen, he was too bold,
and call'd him
Proud Boy, and for his sawcy speech,
Did shortly vow to whip his breech:
Then
Ellis snacht the pot, with which
he mall'd him.
He threw the jugge, and therewithall,
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 brim-full of butterd Fish,
As good as any heart could wish
To supper.
And as he threw, his foot did slide,
Which turn'd his arme and dish aside,
And all be-Butter-fishifide
Nic Ballat.
And he, good man, did none disease,
But sitting quiet and at ease,
With butterd
Rochets sought to please
His pallat.
But when he felt the wrong he had,
He rag'd, and swore, and grew stark mad,
Some in the roome been better had
without him;
For he took hold of any thing,
And first he caught the poll of
Ling,
Which he couragiously 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 wofull wise
Defeated.
All things nere hand,
Nic Ballat threw:
At length his butterd
Rochets flew:
And hit by chance, among the crew,
The Parson.
The Sauce his coat did all be-wet,
The
Priest began to fume and fret,
The Seat was butterd which he set
His — on.
He knew not what to do or say,
It was in vaine 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 Bels ring out, go preach
I'th Steeple.
At this mischance the silly man,
Out of the roome would faine have ran,
And very angerly began
To mutter.
Ill luck had he, for after that
One threw the
Parsneps full of fat
Which stuck like Brooches in his Hat,
with Butter.
Out of the place he soon repaires
And ran halfe headlong down the Staires,
And made complaint to Master
Ayres
with crying.
Vp ran hee 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 wo,
Nor will, unlesse I did it know,
But some there be that dare say so,
that smelt him.
Nor could ye blame him, if he did,
For they threw dishes at his head,
And did with Egges and Loaves of Bread,
bepelt him.
He thrust himselfe into the throng,
And u'sd the vertue of his tongue,
But what could one mans 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 coyle,
Some were bloody in the broyle,
And some lay steept in
Sallet-Oyle
and
Mustard.
The sight would make a man afeard:
Another had a butterd Beard,
Anothers face was all besmeard
with
Custard.
Others were dawb'd up to the knee
With butterd
Fish and
Furmitee;
And some the men could scarcely see
that beat'em.
Vnder the Board
Lluellin lay,
Wil. Llu ellin
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 windowes all,
Like bullets in a
Castle wall,
Which furious Foes do seek to scale
In battle.
Shoulders of
Mutton, and Loynes of
Veale,
Appointed for to serve the Meale,
About their eares full many a Peale
Did rattle.
The which when
Ouen Blany spide,
One of the under Keepers.
Oh, take away their Armes he cryde,
Lest some great hurt do them betide,
Prevent it,
And then the Knave away did steale,
Of food that fell, no little deale,
And in his house at many a meale
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 finde the furious
Captain out,
At length they met, and then they fought
Devoutly.
Now being met, they never lin,
Till with their lowd robustious din,
The room and all that was therein,
Did tumble.
Instead of Weapons made of steele,
The
Captain took a salted Eele,
And at each blow made
Ellis reele,
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 layd about him still,
As if he would poore
Ellis kill,
And with his
Eele with a good will
he mall'd him.
At length, quoth he,
Ellis thou art
A fellow of couragious heart,
Yeeld now, and I will take thy part
hereafter.
Quoth
Ellis, much I scorn to heare
Thy words of threats, being free from feare.
With which he hardly could forbeare
from laughter.
Together then afresh they flie,
The
Eele against the
Pippin Pie:
But
Blany stood there purposely
to watch 'em
The weapons wherewithall they fought,
Were those, for which he chiefly sought,
And with an eager stomack thought
to catch' em.
But scap't not now so well away,
As at the
Veale and
Mutton fray:
He thought to have with such a prey
his jawes fed.
But all his hope did turne aside,
He lookt for that which luck deny'd;
For
Ellis all be-pippin-pyde
his Calves head
Wo was the case he now was in,
The Apples hot, did scald the skin,
His Skull, as it had rotten bin,
did coddle.
With that one foole among the rout,
Made out-cry all the house about,
That
Blany's braines were beaten out
his noddle
Which
Lockwood hearing needs would see,
What all this coyl and stirre might be,
A Turnkey a fat fellow.
And up the Staires his Guts and he
Went wadling.
But when he came the Chamber neere,
Behinde the doore he stood to heare,
But in he durst not come for feare
Of swadling.
There stood he in a frightfull case,
And as by chance he stir'd his face,
Full in the mouth a butter'd Playce
Did hit him.
Away he sneakt, and with his tongue,
He lick'd and swallow'd vp the wrong,
And as he went the roome along
Be-him.
For helpe now doth poore
Lockwood crie,
O bring a Surgeon, or I die,
My guts out of my belly flye:
Come quickly.
Blany with open mouth likewise,
For present help of Surgeon cryes,
Pittie a man, quoth he, that lyes
So sickly,
Philips, the skilfull Surgeon then,
Was cal'd, and cal'd, and cal'd agen,
If he had skill to cure these men,
To shew 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 cals up
Madge the Kitchin quean,
To take and make the Baby clean,
And clout it.
Fast by the Nose she tooke the Squall,
And led him softly through the Hall,
Lest the perfume through knees should fall
About it.
Shee turn'd his Hose beneath the knee,
Nor could shee chuse but laugh to see,
That yellow, which was wont to bee
A white breech.
Shee took a Dish-clout off the Shelfe,
And with it wipt the durtie Elfe,
Which had not wit to helpe it selfe
Poore-breech.
Thus leaving
Lockwood all be-rai'd,
Vnto the mercie of the Maide,
Who well deserved to be paid
For taking
Such homely paines, Now let us east,
Our thoughts backe on the stirre that's past,
And them whose bones could not in haste
Leave aking.
And like the Candles, shall my Pen
Shew you these Gallants once agen,
Which now like
Furies, not like men
Appeared.
Fresh lights being brought t'appease the bral,
Shew twenty mad men in the Hall,
With Bloud and Sauce their faces all
Besmeared.
Their Cloathes rent and sows'd in drinke,
Oyle, Mustard, Butter, and the stinke,
Which
Lockwood lest, would make one thinke
In sadnesse,
That these so monstrous creatures dwell,
Either in
Bedlam, or in Hell,
Or that no tongue, or Pen can tell
Their madnesse
They were indeed disfigured so,
Friend knew not friend nor foe-man foe,
And each man scarce himselfe did know:
But after
A frantick staring round about,
They suddenly did quit their doubt,
And loudly all at once brak out
In lafter.
The heat of all is now alaid,
The Keepers gently doe perswade;
And (as before) all friends are made,
Full kindly.
Ellis, the
Captaine doth imbrace;
The
Captaine doth return the grace,
And so doe all men in the place,
As friendly
By
Ioue I love thee,
Ellis cryd;
The
Captaine soone as much replyed,
Thou art, quoth he, a man well tryd:
And
Vulcan
With
Mars at ods againe shall be,
E're any iarres twixt thee and me:
And thereupon I drink to thee
A full Can.
And then he kneeld upon the ground.
Drink't off (quoth
Ellis) for this round
For ever shall be held renownd:
And never
May any quarrell twixt us twaine
Arise, or this renew againe,
But may we loving friends remaine
For ever
Amen, cryde
Captaine, so did all,
And so the health went through the Hall,
And thus the Noble
Counter-brall
Was ended.
But hunger now did vexe'em more,
Then all their anger did before:
They searcht i'th roome how far their store
Extended.
They want the meat which
Blany stole,
One finds a
Herring in a hole,
With durt and dust blacke as a coale,
And trodden
All under feet; The next in post
Snaps vp, and feeds on vvhat was lost,
And lookes not whether it be rost
Or sodden.
A third finds in another place
A piece of
Ling in durtie case,
And
Mustard in his fellovves face;
Another
Espies, that finds a loafe of bread:
A dish of Butter all bespread.
And stuck vpon anothers head
I'th poother.
Thus what they found, contented some,
At length the Keeper brings a Broome,
Meaning there with to cleanse the roome
With sweeping.
But under Table, on the ground,
Looking to sweepe, by chance he found
Luellin, faining to be sound
-ly sleeping.
He pull'd him out so swift by the heeles,
As if his arse had ran on wheeles,
And found his pockets stuft with
Eeles:
His Cod-piece
Did plenty of provision bring,
Somewhat it held of every thing,
Smelts, Flounders, Rochets, and of
Ling
A broadpiece.
At this discoverie each man round
Tooke equall share of what was found,
Which afterwards they freely drown'd
In good drink.
For of good Beere there was good store,
Till all were glad to give it o're,
For each man had enough and more
That would drink.
And when they thus had Drunk and fed,
(As if no quarrell had been bred)
They all shook hands and all to bed
Did shuffle.
Ellis, the glory of this Towne,
With that brave
Captaine of renowne,
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 hoth Prisoners and Iaylors from comming into any roome, for feare of a second uproare. 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 goe a mile about, than come neare it; Though to keep it sweet, a great deale of Mace is stuck upon every Sergeant, as if he were a Copon in white-broth.
Vpon this slovenlinesse, it is wofully haunted with Rats, not such Rats as runne up and downe in Brew-bouses, sucking the new wort of strong [Page] Beere so long, and in such abundance, that halfe the City is compelled to drink Beere as small as water; Nor those Rats which are not mealy mouth'd in Bake-houses, where they gnaw so many batches of Bread, that a Penny loafe wants sometimes three or foure ounces in waight: And then the honest Baker is blam'd, and curs'd, and (perhaps) innocently set in the Pillory.
Neither are they those Rats, which greaze their throats in Tallow-Chandlers shops, where they nibble so much upon Candles, that not one pound in an hundred is ever full waight.
No, these are no Rats with foure 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 mouz'd, and what they are,
This picture lively doth declare.
THE COVNTER RAT.
OF Knights and Squires of low degree,
Of Roaring Boyes, that stick and snee,
Of Battoon Dam-mees, that cry Bree,
I sing now,
At men and women, (Bawds and whores)
At Pimps and Panders that keep doores,
I mean no Play-doores: Those are too honest.
At all that out-face Vintners scores,
I fling now.
What fling I? Nothing, but light rimes,
(Not tun'd as are S
t.
Pulchers chimes)
No steeples heigth my Muse now climbes,
But flyeth.
Close to the ground as Swallowes do,
When rainy weather must ensue,
She flies, and sings, and if not true,
She lyeth.
Lay (
The Kings Iuggler.
Hocus Pocus) thy tricks by,Let
Martin Parkers Ballads die,
Thy theaming likewise I defie;
O
Fenner.
Let Hogsdon-Scrapers on their Base
Sound Fum-fum-fum from totterd case,
Nor Meane, nor Treble now take place,
But Tennor;
A Counter-Tennor is that note,
Too easie,—'tis nere sung by rote,
But got with wetting well your throat
With Claret.
Or stout March-beere, or Windsor Ale,
Or Labour in vaine, (so seldome stale,)
Or Pymlico, whose too great sale
Did marre it:
He that me reads, shall fall out flat
With
Homers Frog, and
Virgils Gnat,
And
Ovids Flea, which so neare sat
The Moone shine.
For I of stranger wonders write,
Of a wilde Vermin got each night,
Mad Buls i'th dark, but guls in sight,
Of Sun-shine.
My Metamorphosis is rare,
For Men to Rats transformed are,
And then, those Rats are Prisoners fare,
O pitty!
But tis good sport to see them drest,
To garnish out a Mornings 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 tayles leese
Than Bacon:
No, these are they, whose guts being cram'd,
(As Canons hard with powder ram'd)
And Bag-pipe cheekes with wines inflam'd,
Are taken
By Constables and Bill-men eke,
Who speak not Latine, 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 shaggie head,
And leaning halfe out of his bed,
A laughing
Fals,—And cries out—A Rat—A Rat,
Oh! roares another,—Is he fat?
If not,—Fley off his cloak or hat;
Thus scoffing,
Till Morne they lye.—The poore Rat gets
Into some hole.—Besides his wits,
To heare such cater walling fits,
So fright him:
But day being rise,—All up do rise,
And call for Beere to cleare his eyes,
A Garnish then the whole Roome cryes,
They bite him,
Aske any how such newes 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 then slaves,
I saw brought in with bils and glaves,
Some dozen there.
For I one night by Rug-gownes caught,
Was for a Rat to th' Counter brought,
What there my deere experience bought,
Ile sell yee
Cheaper, than I could have it there,
For they for Tokens throats will teare,
But such as 'tis, fill with the Cheere
Your belly.
Prick up your eares,—for I begin
To tell, what Rats, my night, came in,
Caught without Cat, or Trap, or Ginne,
But mildly,
Being call'd before the Bench of wits
Who sit out midnights Bedlam fits;
But some being rid, like Iades with Bits,
Ran wildly.
First, about twelve, the Counter gates
Thundred with thumpings,—Dores & grates
Reel'd at the peale,—when our prison-mates
Vp starting,
Saw in the yard a frantick Swarm,
Crying, O my head, neck, sides, leg, arme,
Sore had the fight been, but small harme
At parting,
It was a watch, swearing we bleed,
But 'twas their noses dropt indeed;
Masters (quoth they) we charge ye take heed
Of him there.
A Roaring Rat.
THat Royster, 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, Vp comes the Bredah-Bouncer,
His tusks stiffe-starcht like a brave Mounser,
Of Turnbull-Puncks a staring Trouncer,
Some knew him;
Why, here (quoth we) why? zounds because
I tugg'd with beares, and par'd their pawes,
But sure I mall'd
Mr Constables Iawes,
O slew him;
All's one,—sayd one, Please you to bed Sir;
He (swearing) roar'd, I'm better bred Sir,
I scorn to rock my Harnesse-Head Sir,
In feathers;
Give me a Brick, Sir, for my bolster,
An Armourer still is my Vpholster,
In frost, snow, muck-hils I can roll Sir,
Hang weathers.
Rogue, fetch me a sweet trusse of straw,
To fire thy Iayle,—Pox a this Law,
That coopes a Souldier like sack Daw,
I'st treason?
Rascall! more Claret, There's none here Sir,
Why then (you mangy Cur) some beere Sir,
There's not a Tapster dares come neere Sir▪
Thy reason?
Because you thwack out such huge words Sir,
His wezand fears them worse than swords Sir
Mum then,—Ile take a nap o'th boords Sir.
He sleepes there.
A Crosse legg'd Rat.
A Puritan Taylor then came in,
Who (to take measure) out had bin,
And (Maudlin-drunk) to rince his sin,
He weeps there.
Weepes to be call'd 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 reply'd,
In
Wood-street Counter.—O my pride!
Thou art tane down, and I must hide
Too morrow
A head that was not hid before,
Wo worth him makes
Manasses roare,
But die I may not in his score,
Beleeve me,
For consolation I espy
Th'row my sweet Spanish needles eye,
The Sisters will (if here I lie)
Releeve me,
Sisters i'th' Counter! oh no: here
Only the wicked ones appeare,
Wash then thy shame in brinish teares,
Confessing.
Th'art rightly punisht for thy Yard,
And for thy Goose which graz'd too hard,
And for some Stuffes which thou hast marr'd
With pressing.
We ask'd him, why he was brought in,
Black threds of vice (quoth he) I spin,
And then agen did thus begin,
Condoling,
All are not Friers, I see, weare Cowles,
Nor all in minc'd ruffes, milk-white soules,
I should have talk'd thus when the bowles
Were trolling:
But then, to steale I held no harm,
Lappets of drink to keep me warm,
But linings wet, hurt, though they arm,
Indeed-la
O would my sheeres might cut my thred,
Why is this crosse-legg'd mischiefe bred?
Mending my want from heele to head
With speed-la.
Sorrow has made me dry,—No matter,
Out of mine eyes will I drink water,
No other Ram my braines shall batter,
To kill me,
Roofe, touch no more wines, French or Spanish,
All drinks Papisticall I banish,
Out of my lips this phrase shall vanish
Boy,—Fill me.
One bid him call for beere,—he sed,
Oh! No more beere.—But reach me bread,
By that lle sweare—Would I were dead,
And rotten.
When I agen swill ought but whay,
Yet lest (being cold) my zeale decay,
Hot waters shall not be one day
Forgotten.
An old gray Rat.
THis done, he nods, and quickly snores;
And then afresh wind flie the doores,
An Vsurer hedg'd in with mad Whores,
Came wallowing,
As does a great ship on the Seas,
Set on by Gallies,—for, all these
Were Fish-wives, who had wine at ease
Been swallowing,
And blown him up with penny-pots
Of Sack, which fall to him by lots,
Payd 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, then they met, and hold thus late
Their drillings.
He rests in peace,—but is not dead,
Yet is wormes meat in lowzie bed,
And lies like one wrapt up in led,
None stirr'd him,
But all his Oyster-mouthes gap'd wide,
(Wine in their guts was at full Tide)
The Devill did so their Rumps bestride,
And spurr'd them:
They flung & winc'd, & kick'd down staires
Themselves, and stampt like Flanders Mares,
Hell is broke loose, No Keeper dares
Approach them;
For, at that Dogge (besawc'd in Sack)
They grinde their teeth, and curse him black,
Crying out, 'Tis thee does break their back,
And broach them
So fast, that all their gaines boyle out,
Deep-red to dye his pockie snout,
But, that which flung these brands about
So hotly,
'Gan now to quench them, sleep does sound
Retreat, dead-drunk they all lie drown'd
In cast-up wine,—and on the ground
The shot lie.
A Black Rat.
SCarce was this hellish dinne allayd,
But drencht in mire, with drink berayd,
(New curried) was brought in a jade
All mettle,
An Estridge that iron barres could eat,
And Strong-beere out of Sea-coales beat,
His fifty-cuffes did the Watch fret
And nettle;
This second Smug, who had the staggers,
This Vulcanist, whose nayles were daggers,
This Smith so arm'd in Ale, he swaggers,
At snoring,
Though lockt up, yet set up his trade,
Bolts, Hinges, Barres, and Grates he made
Fly,—which being heard, the Iaylors payd
His roaring.
They furnish't him with iron enough.
Neck, hands, and leggs had armour tough,
And stronger (but more cold) than Buffe,
To guard him.
How did they this? none durst come neer him
Like Tom of Bedlam did they feare,
All bringing Cans, to pledge them, swear him,
So snar'd him,
Yet, for all this, he danc'd in's shackles,
And cry'd, t'other Pot, I want more tackles,
And thus (till break of day) it cackles,
Layd having
The addle Egge of his turn'd braines,
In his iron nest of rusty chaines,
Which made him lose both sense of paines,
And raving.
A Long Tayl'd 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 May-pole,—he did go,
In ruffe,—His thumb th'row ring did show
A Gentleman seal'd,—for he was no
Hog-grubber:
It was a Petty-fogging Varlet,
Whose back wore freez, but bum no scarlet,
And was tane napping with his Harlot,
At noddy:
But being hal'd in, his haire he rent;
And swore they all should deare repent
Their basenesse,—for no ill he meant
To her body:
The Prisoners ask't then what she was,
(Quoth he) My Client,—One well to passe,
Though here they impound me like an Asse,
Ile ferk them.
Ile make the Beadle pluck in's horne,
He flirted at my nose in scorne,
The Watch shall stink, the Constable mourn,
Ile 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 bloud;
(One more!)—And that I mist the mud
was hazzard.
Here's Law in lumps:—Must, when to trial
My Client comes, I have denyal
For ingress to her, by Scabs? A Ryal
I enter
At Midnight,—a plain Case,—else
Ployden
The Case is altred:—shall each
Hoyden
Bar Law her course? Dare rustick
Royden
so venture?
A farthing-candle burning by,
By chance his railing rage did die,
Yet to his Brest, 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 dreery Table I now rehearse.
LOng this brown study did not last,
But in, at Compter-gates as fast
Throng'd in the Watch again. A noise
Of scraping men and squeaking boys
Straight fill'd the house. The Two-pennyward
Leap'd up and fell a dancing hard:
Out at the Hole, all thrust their heads;
The Knights Ward left their seven-groatbeds:
The Masters side hearing the din
Swore that the Devil was sure brought in:
But when they heard they Fidlers were;
Some curs'd the noise, some lent an ear:
None curs'd, but what went drunk to bed,
Being then for want of drink half dead.
Lock't were the Fidlers in a Room;
All cry'd, Strike up, Play Rogues, Fum fum.
The Minnikin tickled, roar did the Base;
Then bawdy songs, all sleep must chase;
The men play'd heavily, boys did whine,
Not seeing Meat, Mony, Beer, nor Wine:
Up such a laugh the Prisoners took,
That the Beds danc'd, and Chambers shook;
Nay, the strange hubbub did so please,
At Prison-bace ran both Lice and Fleas.
[Page] The Rozzen rub'd off, the Cats guts weary,
VVe ask'd, how they who made men merry
Grew sad themselves, and why (like sprites)
Fidlers being strung to walk anights,
VVere they lock'd 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
VVe should play them to the Blue-Bore,
Kept by mad
Ralf at Islington,
VVhose Hum and Mum, being power'd upon
Our guts,—so burnt'em, we desir'd
To part;—being out o'th' house e'en fir'd:
As our hands play'd, our heads were plyed;
And, tho the night was cold, we fryed;
For such hot waters sod our brain,
Like Daws in
June, we gap'd for rain:
Strong were our Coxcombs, our legs weak;
VVe, nor our Fiddles had wit to speak.
The company then being fast asleep,
And we paid soundly, out did creep
Into the high-way—O sweet Moon!
We, but for thee, had been undone:
[Page] Yet, though thy torch to us was sighted,
VVe all might well have been indited
For breaking into others ground,
Three in one ditch being almost drown'd;
Yet out scrambled, and along
The Play-house came,—where seeing no throng,
We swore 'twas sure some scurvy Play,
That all the people so sneak'd away;
And so the Players descended were
To th' Star, Nags-head, or
Christopher.
To all those Taverns (we cry'd) Let's go,
At which one fell, and then swore—No.
The Bars in Smith-field well we past,
For all the Watch had run in haste,
Arm'd with chalk'd Bills, wak'd by a cry
Of Whore-dorps tane by th' enemy.
From Cow-Cross stood those stoves not far,
In which were entred men of war;
(Low-Country Souldiers late come o're)
Each one going in to press a whore.
Leaving them pressing, on we trot
Through the Horse-fair, till we had got
Into the middle of Long-lane,
Where up the Devil doth Brokers train.
[Page] There down we fell, and then fell out,
Our leathern Cases flew about:
VVe fenc'd, and foyn'd, and fought so long,
That all our Fiddles lay half unstrung;
Their backs were broke, & we o'th'ground,
Swouning for grief they did not sound:
Our noise brought up from Aldersgate
The rugged Watch, who before sate
Nodding at the old Mermaids dore;
VVho with a guard of half a score
Seiz'd us, and cry'd, at going away,
Sad
Lachrymae you there shall play.
This told, the Prisoners laught out-right;
And though the whole Ward had no light,
Yet from their beds all skipt and cry,
Scrapers, strike up, we the VVatch desie.
The Moon so bold was to look in,
And saw some onely in their skin,
(Naked as Cuckowes when
June's past)
Some had long shirts down to their waste;
Some wanted back-parts, some an Arm;
None vvore a shirt could keep him vvarm:
A French Boy that svveeps Chimnies, vvears
His patch'd-up frock as vvhite as theirs:
[Page] Some on their heads no night-caps wore,
Some lapp'd their brows in hose all tore:
They hobble about, they frisk, they sing
So long, that crackt was every string,
By their rude horse-play altogether,
Flinging their legs they car'd 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, then 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 fetch'd away:
Those Rats o'er night whose shapes did leese,
Being soon turn'd men, by paying but fees;
Yet some lose tail, some are seratcht bare,
Whilst Constables and Counters share.
FINIS.