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"Hold, hold, my spruce host! for i' th' morning We found it so good, and we drank so profoundly, That four good round shillings were whipt away

so early,

I never drink liquor but what's made of barley." Which words were scarce out, but, which made me admire,

My lordship was presently turn'd into 'squire: "Ale, 'squire, you mean?" quoth he nimbly

again,

"What, must it be purl'd ?"—"No, I love it best

plain."

"Why, if you'll drink ale, sir, pray take my advice, Here's the best ale i' th' land, if you'll go to the

price;

Better, I sure am, ne'er blew out a stopple ;

66

But then, in plain truth, it is sixpence a bottle." Why, faith," quoth I, " friend, if your liquor be such,

For the best ale in England, it is not too much :
Let's have it, and quickly."-" O sir! you may stay;
A pot in your pate is a mile in your way:
Come, bring out a bottle here presently, wife,
Of the best Cheshire hum he e'er drank in his life."
Straight out comes the mistress in waistcoat of silk,
As clear as a milkmaid, as white as her milk,
With visage as oval and sleek as an egg,
As straight as an arrow, as right as my leg:
A curtsey she made, as demure as a sister,
I could not forbear, but alighted and kiss'd her :
Then ducking another with most modest mien,
The first word she said, was, "Will't please you
walk in ?"

I thank'd her; but told her, I then could not stay,
For the haste of my bus'ness did call me away.
She said, she was sorry it fell out so odd,
But if, when again I should travel that road,
I would stay there a night, she assured me the
nation

Should nowhere afford better accommodation:
Meanwhile my spruce landlord has broken the cork,
And call'd for a bodkin, though he had a fork ;
But I show'd him a screw, which I told my brisk

gull

A trepan was for bottles had broken their scull;
Which, as it was true, he believed without doubt,
But 'twas I that apply'd it, and pull'd the cork out.
Bounce, quoth the bottle, the work being done,
It roar'd, and it smoked, like a new-fired gun;
But the shot miss'd us all, or else we'd been
routed,

Which yet was a wonder, we were so about it. Mine host pour'd and fill'd, till he could fill no fuller:

"Look here, sir," quoth he, "both for nap and for colour,

Sans bragging, I hate it, nor will I e'er do't;
I defy Leek, and Lambhith, and Sandwich, to boot."
By my troth, he said true, for I speak it with tears,
Though I have been a toss-pot these twenty good
years,

And have drank so much liquor has made me a

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roundly;

And then I conceived it was time to be jogging, For our work had been done, had we stay'd t' other noggin.

From thence we set forth with more mettle and

spright,

Our horses were empty, our coxcombs were light; O'er Dellamore forest we, tantivy, posted,

Till our horses were basted as if they were roasted: In truth, we pursued might have been by our haste, And I think Sir George Booth did not gallop so fast, Till about two o'clock after noon, God be blest, We came, safe and sound, all to Chester i' th' west. And now in high time 'twas to call for some meat, Though drinking does well, yet some time we must eat;

And i' faith we had victuals both plenty and good, Where we all laid about us as if we were wood : Go thy ways, mistress Anderton, for a good woman, Thy guests shall by thee ne'er be turn'd to a

common;

And whoever of thy entertainment complains,
Let him lie with a drab, and be pox'd for his pains.

And here I must stop the career of my Muse,
The poor jade is weary, 'las! how should she choose?
And if I should farther here spur on my course,
I should, questionless, tire both my wits and my
horse :

To-night let us rest, for 'tis good Sunday's even, To-morrow to church, and ask pardon of Heaven. Thus far we our time spent, as here I have penn'd it, An odd kind of life, and 'tis well if we mend it: But to-morrow (God willing) we'll have t' other bout,

And better or worse be't, for murder will out, Our future adventures we'll lay down before ye, For my Muse is deep sworn to use truth of the story.

CANTO II.

AFTER seven hours' sleep, to commute for pains taken,

A man of himself, one would think, might awaken;
But riding, and drinking hard, were two such spells,
I doubt I'd slept on, but for jangling of bells,
Which, ringing to matins all over the town,
Made me leap out of bed, and put on my gown,
With intent (so God mend me) I have gone to the
choir,

When straight I perceived myself all on a fire; For the two fore-named things had so heated my blood,

That a little phlebotomy would do me good:
I sent for chirurgion, who came in a trice,
And swift to shed blood, needed not be called
twice,

But tilted stiletto quite thorough the vein,

From whence issued out the ill humours amain;

When having twelve ounces, he bound up my arm, By which, though thick-skull'd, he must underAnd I gave him two Georges, which did him no

harm:

But after my bleeding, I soon understood

It had cool'd my devotion as well as my blood; For I had no more mind to look on my psalter, Than (saving your presence) I had to a halter; But, like a most wicked and obstinate sinner, Then sat in my chamber till folks came to dinner: I dined with good stomach, and very good cheer, With a very fine woman, and good ale and beer; When myself having stuff'd than a bagpipe more full,

I fell to my smoking until I grew dull;

And, therefore, to take a fine nap thought it best,
For when belly full is, bones would be at rest:
I tumbled me down on my bed like a swad,
Where, O! the delicious dream that I had!
Till the bells, that had been my morning molesters,
Now waked me again, chiming all in to vespers ;
With that starting up, for my man I did whistle,
And comb'd out and powder'd my locks that were
grizzle ;

Had my clothes neatly brush'd, and then put on my sword,

Resolved now to go and attend on the word.

Thus trick'd, and thus trim, to set forth I begin, Neat and cleanly without, but scarce cleanly within; For why, Heaven knows it, I long time had been A most humble obedient servant to sin : And now in devotion was even so proud, I scorned (forsooth) to join pray'r with the crowd; For though courted by all the bells as I went, I was deaf, and regarded not the compliment, But to the cathedral still held on my pace,

As 't were, scorning to kneel but in the best place. I there made myself sure of good music at least, But was something deceived, for 'twas none of the best:

But however, I stay'd at the church's commanding Till we came to the "Peace passes all understanding,"

Which no sooner was ended, but whir and away, Like boys in a school when they 've leave got to play;

All save master mayor, who still gravely stays Till the rest had left room for his worship and 's

mace:

Then he and his brethren in order appear,
I out of my stall, and fell into his rear;
For why, 'tis much safer appearing, no doubt,
In authority's tail, than the head of a rout.

In this rev'rend order we marched from pray'r;
The mace before me borne as well as the may'r;
Who looking behind him, and seeing most plain
A glorious gold belt in the rear of his train,
Made such a low congé, forgetting his place,
I was never so honour'd before in my days:
But then off went my scalp-case, and down went
my fist,

Till the pavement, too hard, by my knuckles was kiss'd;

stand this,

That I was a most humble servant of his;
Which also so wonderful kindly he took,
(As I well perceived both b' his gesture and look,)
That to have me dogg'd home he straightway ap-
pointed,

Resolving, it seems, to be better acquainted.
I was scarce in my quarters, and set down on

crupper,

But his man was there too, to invite me to supper:
I start up, and after most respective fashion
Gave his worship much thanks for his kind in-

vitation ;

But begg'd his excuse, for my stomach was small,
And I never did eat any supper at all;

But that after supper I would kiss his hands,
And would come to receive his worship's commands.
Sure no one will say, but a patron of slander,
That this was not pretty well for a Moorlander:
And since on such reasons to sup I refused,
I nothing did doubt to be holden excused;
But my quaint repartee had his worship possess'd
With so wonderful good a conceit of the rest,
That with mere impatience he hop'd in his breech e
To see the fine fellow that made such fine speeches:
“Go, sirrah !” quoth he, "get you to him again,
And will and require, in his majesty's name,
That he come; and tell him, obey he were best, or
I'll teach him to know that he's now in West-
Chester."

The man, upon this, comes me running again,
But yet minced his message, and was not so plain;
Saying to me only, "Good sir, I am sorry
To tell you my master has sent again for you;
And has such a longing to have you his guest,
That I, with these ears, heard him swear and

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Where lights being brought me, I mounted the stairs,

The worst I e'er saw in my life at a mayor's:
But every thing else must be highly commended.
I there found his worship most nobly attended,
Besides such a supper as well did convince,
A may'r in his province to be a great prince;
As he sat in his chair, he did not much vary,
In state nor in face, from our eighth English Harry;
But whether his face was swell'd up with fat,
Or puff'd up with glory, I cannot tell that.
Being enter'd the chamber half length of a pike,
And cutting of faces exceedingly like [Indies,
One of those little gentlemen brought from the
And screwing myself into congés and cringes,

By then I was half way advanced in the room,
His worship most rev'rendly rose from his bum,
And with the more honour to grace and to greet me,
Advanced a whole step and an half for to meet me;
Where leisurely doffing a hat worth a tester,
He bade me most heartily welcome to Chester.
I thank'd him in language the best I was able,
And so we forthwith sat us all down to table.
Now here you must note, and 'tis worth observa-
tion,

That as his chair at one end o' th' table had station;
So sweet mistress may'ress, in just such another,
Like the fair queen of hearts, sat in state at the
other;

By which I perceived, though it seemed a riddle, The lower end of this must be just in the middle : But perhaps 'tis a rule there, and one that would mind it

Amongst the town-statutes 'tis likely might find it. But now into th' pottage each deep his spoon claps, As in truth one might safely for burning one's chaps, When straight, with the look and the tone of a scold, Mistress may'ress complain'd that the pottage was cold;

"And all long of your fiddle-faddle," quoth she.
"Why, what then, Goody Two-Shoes, what if it be?
"Hold you, if you can, your tittle-tattle," quoth he.
I was glad she was snapp'd thus, and guess'd by
th' discourse,

The may'r, not the gray mare, was the better horse,
And yet for all that, there is reason to fear,
She submitted but out of respect to his year:
However 'twas well she had now so much grace,
Though not to the man, to submit to his place;
For had she proceeded, I verily thought

My turn would the next be, for I was in fault :
But this brush being past, we fell to our diet,
And ev'ry one there fill'd his belly in quiet.

Supper being ended, and things away taken,
Master mayor's curiosity 'gan to awaken; [chair,
Wherefore making me draw something nearer his
He will'd and required me there to declare
My country, my birth, my estate, and my parts,
And whether I was not a master of arts;

And eke what the bus'ness was had brought me thither,

With what I was going about now, and whither :
Giving me caution, no lie should escape me,
For if I should trip, he should certainly trap me.
I answer'd, my country was famed Staffordshire;
That in deeds, bills, and bonds, I was ever writ
squire;

That of land I had both sorts, some good, and some evil,

But that a great part on't was pawn'd to the Devil; That as for my parts, they were such as he saw; That, indeed, I had a small smatt'ring of law, Which I lately had got more by practice than reading,

By sitting o' th' bench, whilst others were pleading; But that arms I had ever more studied than arts, And was now to a captain raised by my deserts;

That the bus'ness which led me through Palatine ground

Into Ireland was, whither now I was bound;
Where his worship's great favour I loud will pro-
And in all other places wherever I came. [claim,
He said, as to that, I might do what I list,
But that I was welcome, and gave me his fist;
When having my fingers made crack with his gripes,
He call'd to his man for some bottles and pipes.

To trouble you here with a longer narration
Of the several parts of our confabulation,
Perhaps would be tedious; I'll therefore remit ye
Even to the most rev'rend records of the city,
Where doubtless, the acts of the may'rs are re-
corded,

And if not more truly, yet much better worded.

In short, then, we piped and we tippled Canary, Till my watch pointed one in the circle horary; When thinking it now was high time to depart, His worship I thank'd with a most grateful heart; And because to great men presents are acceptable, I presented the may'r, ere I rose from the table, With a certain fantastical box and a stopper; And he having kindly accepted my offer, I took my fair leave, such my visage adorning, And to bed, for I was to rise early i' th' morning.

CANTO III.

THE Sun in the morning disclosed his light,
With complexion as ruddy as mine over night;
And o'er th' eastern mountains peeping up's head,
The casement being open, espied me in bed;
With his rays he so tickled my lids that I waked,
And was half ashamed, for I found myself naked;
But up
I soon start, and was dress'd in a trice,
And call'd for a draught of ale, sugar, and spice;
Which having turn'd off, I then call to pay,
And packing my nawls, whipp'd to horse, and away.
A guide I had got, who demanded great vails,
For conducting me over the mountains of Wales:
Twenty good shillings, which sure very large is ;
Yet that would not serve, but I must bear his charges;
And yet for all that, rode astride on a beast,
The worst that e'er went on three legs, I protest :
It certainly was the most ugly of jades,
His hips and his rump made a right ace of spades;
His sides were two ladders, well spur-gall'd withal;
His neck was a helve, and his head was a mall;
For his colour, my pains and your trouble I'll spare,
For the creature was wholly denuded of hair;
And, except for two things, as bare as my nail,
A tuft of a mane, and a sprig of a tail ;
And by these the true colour one can no more know,
Than by mouse-skins above stairs, the merkin below,
Now such as the beast was, even such was the rider,
With a head like a nutmeg, and legs like a spider;
A voice like a cricket, a look like a rat,
The brains of a goose, and the heart of a cat :
Even such was my guide and his beast; let them
The one for a horse, and the other an ass. [pass,

But now with our horses, what sound and what rotten,

Down to the shore, you must know, we were gotten; And there we were told, it concern'd us to ride, Unless we did mean to encounter the tide;

And then my guide lab'ring with heels and with hands,

With two up and one down, hopp'd over the sands,
Till his horse, finding the labour for three legs too
Fol'd out a new leg, and then he had four: [sore,
And now by plain dint of hard spurring and whipping,
Dry-shod we came where folks sometimes take
shipping;

And where the salt sea, as the Devil were in't,
Came roaring t'have hinder'd our journey to Flint;
But we, by good luck, before him got thither,
He else would have carried us, no man knows
whither.

And now her in Wales is, saint Taph be her speed, Gott splutter her taste, some Welsh ale her had need;

For her ride in great haste, and

For fear of her being catch'd up by the fishes:
But the lord of Flint castle's no lord worth a louse,
For he keeps ne'er a drop of good drink in his house;
But in a small house near unto't there was store
Of such ale as (thank God) I ne'er tasted before;
And surely the Welsh are not wise of their fuddle,
For this had the taste and complexion of puddle.
From thence then we march'd, full as dry as we came,
My guide before prancing, his steed no more lame,
O'er hills and o'er valleys uncouth and uneven,
Until 'twixt the hours of twelve and eleven,
More hungry and thirsty than tongue can well tell,
We happily came to St. Winifred's well:
I thought it the pool of Bethesda had been,
By the cripples lay there; but I went to my inn
To speak for some meat, for so stomach did motion,
Before I did farther proceed in devotion:
I went into th' kitchen, where victuals I saw,
Both beef, veal, and mutton, but all on't was raw;
And some on't alive, but soon went to slaughter,
For four chickens were slain by my dame and her
daughter;

Of which to saint Win. ere my vows I had paid,
They said I should find a rare fricasée made:
I thank'd them, and straight to the well did repair,
Where some I found cursing, and others at pray'r;
Some dressing, some stripping, some out and some in,
Some naked, where botches and boils might be seen;
Of which some were fevers of Venus I'm sure,
And therefore unfit for the virgin to cure :
But the fountain, in truth, is well worth the sight,
The beautiful virgin's own tears not more bright;
Nay, none but she ever shed such a tear,

Her conscience, her name, nor herself, were more clear.

In the bottom there lie certain stones that look white, But streaked with pure red, as the morning with light,

Which they say is her blood, and so it may be,
But for that, let who shed it look to it for me.

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Over the fountain a chapel there stands,
Which I wonder has 'scaped master Oliver's hands;
The floor's not ill paved, and the margin o' th'
Is inclosed with a certain octagonal ring; [spring
From each angle of which a pillar does rise,
Of strength and of thickness enough to suffice
To support and uphold from falling to ground
A cupola wherewith the virgin is crown'd.
Now 'twixt the two angles that fork to the north,
And where the cold nymph does her basin pour
forth,

Under ground is a place where they bathe, as 'tis said,

And 'tis true, for I heard folks' teeth hack in their head;

For you are to know, that the rogues and the
Are not let to pollute the spring-head with their

sores.

But one thing I chiefly admired in the place,
That a saint and a virgin endued with such grace,
Should yet be so wonderful kind a well-willer
To that whoring and filching trade of a miller,
As within a few paces to furnish the wheels
Of I cannot tell how many water-mills :
I've studied that point much, you cannot guess why,
But the virgin was, doubtless, more righteous
than I.

And now for my welcome, four, five, or six lasses,
With as many crystalline liberal glasses,
Did all importune me to drink of the water
Of Saint Winifreda, good Thewith's fair daughter.
A while I was doubtful, and stood in a muse,
Not knowing, amidst all that choice, where to choose.
Till a pair of black eyes, darting full in my sight,
From the rest o' th' fair maidens did carry me quite;
I took the glass from her, and whip, off it went,
I half doubt I fancied a health to the saint:
But he was a great villain committed the slaughter,
For St. Winifred made most delicate water.
I slipp'd a hard shilling into her soft hand,
Which had like to have made me the place have
profaned;

And giving two more to the poor that were there,
Did, sharp as a hawk, to my quarters repair.

My dinner was ready, and to it I fell,

I never ate better meat, that I can tell ;

When having half dined, there comes in my host,

A catholic good, and a rare drunken toast:
This man, by his drinking, inflamed the scot,
And told me strange stories, which I have forgot;
But this I remember, 'twas much on's own life,
And one thing, that he had converted his wife.

But now my guide told me, it time was to go,
For that to our beds we must both ride and row;
Wherefore calling to pay, and having accounted,
I soon was down stairs, and as suddenly mounted:
On then we travell'd, our guide still before,
Sometimes on three legs, and sometimes on four,
Coasting the sea, and over hills crawling,
Sometimes on all four, for fear we should fall in;
For underneath Neptune lay skulking to watch us,
And, had we but slipp'd once, was ready to catch us.

Thus in places of danger taking more heed,
And in safer travelling mending our speed:
Redland Castle and Abergoney we past,
And o'er against Connoway came at the last :
Just over against a castle there stood,

O' th' right hand the town, and o' th' left hand a wood;

Perhaps though in time one may make them to
But 'tis pretti'st Cob-castle e'er I beheld. [yield,
The Sun now was going t' unharness his steeds,
When the ferry-boat brasking her sides 'gainst the
weeds,

Came in as good time as good time could be,
To give us a cast o'er an arm of the sea;

'Twixt the wood and the castle they see at high And bestowing our horses before and abaft,

water

The storm, the place makes it a dangerous matter; And besides, upon such a steep rock it is founded, As would break a man's neck, should he 'scape being drowned:

O'er god Neptune's wide cod-piece gave us a waft;
Where scurvily landing at foot of the fort,
Within very few paces we enter'd the port,
Where another King's Head invited me down,
For indeed I have ever been true to the crown.

DR. HENRY MORE.

[Born, 1614. Died, 1687.]

DR. HENRY MORE was the son of a respectable gentleman at Grantham, in Lincolnshire. He spent the better part of a long and intensely studious life at Cambridge, refusing even the mastership of his college, and several offers of preferment in the church, for the sake of unbroken leisure and retirement. In 1640 he composed his Psychozoia, or Life of the Soul, which he afterwards republished with other pieces, in a volume entitled Philosophical Poems. Before the appearance of the former work he had studied the Platonic writers and mystic divines, till his frame had become emaciated, and his faculties had been strained to such enthusiasm, that he began to talk of holding supernatural communications, and imagined that his body exhaled the perfume of violets. With the exception of these innocent reveries, his life and literary character were highly respectable. He corresponded with Des Cartes, was the friend of Cudworth, and as a divine and moralist was not only popular in his own time, but has been mentioned with admira

tion both by Addison and Blair. In the heat of rebellion he was spared even by the fanatics, who, though he refused to take the covenant, left him to dream with Plato in his academic bower. As a poet he has woven together a singular texture of Gothic fancy and Greek philosophy, and made the Christiano-Platonic system of metaphysics a ground-work for the fables of the nursery. His versification, though he tells us that he was won to the Muses in his childhood by the melody of Spenser, is but a faint echo of the Spenserian tune. In fancy he is dark and lethargic. Yet his Psychozoia is not a common-place production: a certain solemnity and earnestness in his tone leaves an impression that he "believed the magic wonders which he sung*." His poetry is not, indeed, like a beautiful landscape on which the eye can repose, but may be compared to some curious grotto, whose gloomy labyrinths we might be curious to explore for the strange and mystic associations they excite.

THE PRE-EXISTENCY OF THE SOUL.

RISE then, Aristo's son, assist my Muse;
Let that high sprite which did enrich thy brains
With choice conceits, some worthy thoughts infuse
Worthy thy title and the reader's pains.

And thou, O Lycian sage! whose pen contains
Treasures of heavenly light with gentle fire,
Give leave awhile to warm me at thy flames,
That I may also kindle sweet desire

In holy minds that unto highest things aspire.

For I would sing the pre-existency
Of human souls, and live once o'er again,
By recollection and quick memory,
All that is past since first we all began;
But all too shallow be my wits to scan

So deep a point, and mind too dull to clear
So dark a matter. But thou, more than man,
Aread, thou sacred soul of Plotin dear,
Tell me what mortals are-tell what of old they
[were.
A spark or ray of the divinity,
Clouded with earthy fogs, yclad in clay,
A precious drop sunk from eternity,
Spilt on the ground, or rather slunk away;
For then we fell when we 'gan first t'assay,
By stealth of our own selves, something to been
Uncentering ourselves from our great stay,
Which fondly we new liberty did ween, [deem.
And from that prank right jolly wits ourselves did
[* Collins.]

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