The poet's ramble after riches, or, A nights transactions upon the road burlesqu'd; with reflections on a dissenting corporation: together with the authors lamentation, in the time of adversity. Licensed and enter'd according to order. Ward, Edward, 1667-1731. 1691 Approx. 25 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 15 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-07 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A67514 Wing W748 ESTC R219390 99830868 99830868 35329 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A67514) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 35329) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1879:08) The poet's ramble after riches, or, A nights transactions upon the road burlesqu'd; with reflections on a dissenting corporation: together with the authors lamentation, in the time of adversity. Licensed and enter'd according to order. Ward, Edward, 1667-1731. 24 p. printed by J. Millet, at the Angel in Little-Brittain, London : MDCXCI. [1691] Attributed by Wing to Edward Ward. In verse. Reproduction of the original in the British Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700. 2003-02 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2003-03 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2003-04 Mona Logarbo Sampled and proofread 2003-04 Mona Logarbo Text and markup reviewed and edited 2003-06 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion THE Poet's Ramble AFTER RICHES , OR , A Nights Transactions Upon the ROAD BURLESQU'D ; With Reflections on a Dissenting Corporation : TOGETHER , With the Authors Lamentation , in the time of Adversity . Licensed and Enter'd according to Order . LONDON , Printed by I. Millet , at the Angel in Little-Brittain , MDCXCI . THE POET's Ramble AFTER RICHES , &c. I SING of neither Hogan Mogan , Of Ancient Greek , or Trusty Trojan ; Or is my Muse dispos'd to Babble Of some strange Antiquated Fable , In blust'ring Strains to Boast , or Brag on , How George for England slew the Dragon ; Or do I Sing , in flat'ring Phrases , Fair Helen , or Queen Dido's Praises ; Or in a Whining Cant discover The Fate of some poor slighted Lover , Who Raves and Sighs , Laments and Wanders , And on disdainful Phillis Ponders . I Treat you with a merry Tale , Spun o'er a Cup of Nappy Ale ; For Custom 's sake excuse Preamble , I 'll Sing you o'er a Country Ramble ; Where l , in doleful Cogitation , Have view'd , with mighty Admiration , The Circled Earth , and Misty Sky , Where Fairies Dance , and Witches fly ; And oft have heard the Country Wenches Complain of Hags , and Fairy Pinches : And Ralph , with Hands o'er flaming * Cow-Turd Turn Tales and Stories inside outward ; Where Dames , whose pritty Eyes would pierce ye , Will turn up Tales for God have Mercy , And think no greater Obligation , Than the sweet Tye of Copulation : But lest l tire your kind Complaisance , By thus Haranging on your Patience , No more bye-Crochets will I scatter , But come with speed unto the Matter . In an Age blest with no great Plenty , When Wit and Money both grew Scanty , I then , with quiet mind possessing The Poets ancient Thread-bare Blessing , Lodg'd in a Place , I must declare it , I think , for Neatness , call'd a Garret ; Where , as I pensively lay thinking , One Morning , after Nights hard Drinking ; Up comes a Man with Hasty Look , And opens me his Pocket-Book ; At that my Heart began to fail me , I thought of nought but who should Bail me ▪ Good Sir , says he , I 'm come to tell you , Of an Estate of late befell you ; Your Grand-mother is , Sir , Departed ; Pleas'd with the News , then up I started : And is my Granny Dead ? quoth I ; He answer'd me , Yea , verily ; Thou may'st believe me without Swearing , She is as dead as any Herring : Well , if the News be true , said I , Excuse me that I do not Cry , Since 't is appointed all must Dye ; For Grief , you know , will neither save , Or call Relations from the Grave . I lugg'd on Hose , and fell to dressing , Few Tears let fall , small Grief expressing ; From thence we'djourned to the Ale-House , Where Credit seldom us'd to fail us , And there I made the Bumpkin Fuddle , Till Muddy Ale had seiz'd his Noddle , And then was forc'd to call two Porters , To lead the Lubber to his Quarters , My Landlord , as I pass'd the Bar , Gry'd out , Who pays the Reckoning here ? Said I , pray take it not amiss , Remember I must pay you this : Said he , pray , to prevent mistakes , Will you remember what this makes ; Landlord , let no Ill Thoughts be harbour'd , I 'll soon be rubb'd from off your Bar-board ; I 'll pay you in a little time ; I doubt , says he , 't will be in Rhime , For whatsoe ' re we Trust a Poet , Our Bar for seven years may show it ; And then if Dunn'd , all that they say to 't , Poh , that Debt's Cancell'd by the Statute . From thence I went to th' City Crest , In Pasty-Nook , to hire a Beast , Where one I got on Reputation , To prevent tedious Ambulation ; Girt with a Sword , which in old Wars , Made many Bloody Wounds and Scars , Whose Blade was so experiencive , Of 't self it knew to be defensive : A pair of Boots then on I Garters , The Owner said had been King Arthurs , With Spurs , whose inlaid Gallantry Were Types of great Antiquity : Thus mounted I my Noble Steed , In this brave order to proceed ; But by the way , my Muse intent is , To Sing my Horse's Excellencies ; A short Encomium on his Paces , With all his Comely Looks and Graces . Don Quixot's Steed ne'er mov'd so nimble , When he advanc'd against the Windmill ; And as for Shape , mine far surpasses The Courser of Sir Hugh de Brasses ; He was , if I am not mistaken , As fat as any Hock of Bacon ; He 'd all his Ribs , I 'll boldly Swear on 't , I told them , they were so apparent ; No Curb he needed , whose will ride him , Instead of that , a Thread would guide him ; For thus much in his Praise I 'll say , I never knew him run away ; Three Legs he 'd Gallop , like a Racer , But still the fourth would be a Pacer ; Yet when he Pac'd , as sure as could be , That self same Leg a Trotter would be ; What Pace so e'er he 'd into enter , One Foot would still be a Dissenter , Which makes me apt to think , Plague Rot him , Some Presbyterian's Cart-Horse got him ; With Whip and Spur ▪ he might be beat up Into a Canterbury Tit-up ; But then on 's Knees , he was so humble , Each other step would be a Stumble ; Then would I Spur , Whip , Curse , and Mumble , And he , poor Jade , so Groan and Grumble , That 't would have made you laugh t o've seen us , Such work sometimes there was between us : He ne'er would Sweat , or Tired be , Confound him , but he Tired me ; Hail , Rain , or Shine , he 'd in all Weather , Trot , Stumble , Gallop , altogether ; So fierce he 'd look , when he was Prancing , With Pendant Ears , and Tail advancing , And through both thick and thin would trudge it , As fast as Ass with Tinkers Budget ; He 'd rarely serve some Country Parson , To clap his Laziness's Arse on ; Or truly to exchange my Notion , He 'd finely fit a Spaniard's Motion ; For Whip and Spur at any rate , Will never make him change his Gate : Poor Poet ne'er was mounted thus Sure , on so Damn'd a Pegasus . And Madam Fortune , she to double , Like an Old Purblind Bitch , my Trouble , And that my Case might be amended , My little Coin was all expended : Thus on I Travell'd , Hey Ie ▪ Dobbin , Exempted from the fear of Robbing , Till it grew late , and to be short , Sir , I forced was to take up Quarter , Where I put up my Steed in Stable , Who scarce to crawl to th' Rack was able : Then , to look Big , I Cockt my Caster , And bid the Hostler call his Master , Who when he came , cry'd Wellcome , Sir , You 're wellcome into Leicester ; Here , Jack , Tom , Harry , Will , who 's there ? Pray set the Gentleman a Chair : What News , I pray , Good Sir , from London ? Then I reply'd , King I — s was undone ; For that our Royal , Brave King William , He did so hack , so hew , and kill * 'em , That lest he soon was reconcil'd , He 'd slay them every Mothers Child ; And that some Troops , near Inneskillen , Had drown'd themselves for fear of killing ; Nay , and King Iames , by his Men forsaken , But that they mist him , had been taken : My Host reply'd , Marry , Good speed , This is rare , dainty News indeed ! Here , Thomas , take four Cans and fill'em , Ifac , well drink thy Health , Brave William ; And if , good Sir , you will permit me , I with a Can or two will Treat ye : I thankt him — Then , undaunted as a Trooper , I askt him what he had for Supper ? He answer'd me rare Duck , or Chicken , Or Ribs of Beef , where was fine picking , As sweet and good as Knife could stick in . In then he call'd his pretty Daughter , In truth , which made my Chops to water ; That I should scarce have made a scruple T o've lent her Buttons to her Loop-hole : When she came in to show her breeding , She dropt a Cout'sie most exceeding ; I'rose and kist her , as I shou'd do , And gave her earnest what I wou'd do ; With fine white Hands laid cross her Belly , She lookt so tempting , let me tell ye ; Her Lips so melting soft and tender , They did so sweet a Kiss surrender ; That Pego , like an upstart Hector , Finding how much I did affect her , Would fain have Rul'd as Lord Protector : Inflam'd by one so like a Goddess , I scarce could keep him in my Codpiece . By this time she had brought up Supper , Then at the Tables end that 's upper , My Landlord set his Brawny Crupper ; With Eyes t'wards Heaven devoutly cast , As if it were to be his Last ; He said a Grace , as I Conjecture , As long as any Evening Lecture : His next Oration being then , Fall on , you 're Wellcome Gentlemen ; Which he had spoke , but I no sooner Fell on as fierce as a Dragooner : I Cut and Slasht , and Carbonado'd ; The Meat being cold , had some grilliado'd : We sat not long upon our Haunches , E'er we had all well stuft our Paunches ; Hiding with 's Hat an ugly Face , My Landlord then said After Grace ; And so in order to be Drunk , We each Man call'd for Pipe of Funk ; Then Nasty Cans well lin'd with Rozen , Were call'd for in by the whole dozen . An Alderman both Grave and Wise , Did from his Elboe-Chair arise ; Plucks off his Hat from his bald Noddle , And thust ' wards me begins his Fuddle : Here , Honest Master , here 's to to thee , To England's Church Prosperity : Then up starts one , and Swears aloud , For England's Church he 'd lose his Blood , And he 's a Rogue , and he 'd maintain it , That dares to speak a word again it . The following Point we chanc'd to pitch on , Being half Drunk , it was Religion : Then one begins in a great Rapture , And goes a Gleaning through the Scripture , Divinely for to prove it true , That Balaam and his Ass were two ; At which , then I clapt in a word , And Swore by G — d he made the Third ; Then up starts he in mighty Anger , And Swore , but that I was a Stranger , Or else he further would Contend on 't , Then bit his Nails , and there 's an end on 't , Another he breathes forth a Hick-up , And gravely then begins to speak up , That he 'd before the World maintain , Eve Dam'd her self with a Paremane ; I told him , No , 't was a Boon-Critting , The Lord preserv'd for his own Eating ; At which he skip'd , to make Evasions , From Genesis to th' Revelations ; At last , to th' Clouds his Fancy tost him , Like Doctor Sh — y , there we lost him . A Third , who being more Sedate , That seem'd not much to care to Prate , Would now and then , by chance , refine us Some Godly Phrase from Tom Aquinus , Or else would tell us some strange Story Of our Old Father St. Gregory . My Landlord , who had long sat silent , At this poor Saint grew very Violent , Saying , if he wa'n't much mistaken , He was a Saint of Rome's own making , And then rail'd furiously on Against the Whore of Babylon , Telling us many dreadful Stories Of Massacres , and Purgatories ; And how their bloody Priests would Broil us , Stew , Frigasie , nay , Bake and Boil us ; And were so exquisite in Evil , In Wicked Snares they 'd trap the Devil : Then one whose Argumental Fire , Spoke him some Iesuit or Fryer , Huffs , Puffs , and Sweats , looks Big , and blusters , Speaking great Words to m' Host by Clusters , And Stagg ' ring Swore , his Brains being mellow , St. Greg'ry was an Honest Fellow ; And as for Baking , Boiling , Frying , He Swore , by Iove , 't was all Damn'd Lying ; Saying , to th' Pope a Pow'r was given , With 's Bulls , to toss a Man to Heaven . Then one who 's Church-Clark in the Town , At that same word began to Frown , And takes him smartly up , and short , Which , truly , made us pleasant Sport : Says he , I 'll hold you , Sir , a Shilling , I 'll prove the Pope to be a Villain ; With that such Noise we had a while , Loud as the Cataracts of Nile ; Each strain'd his Lungs , to keep on prating , No sweeter Musick at Bear-beating ; Noise through the whole Soci'ty went , For th' better part of Argument ; He that bawl'd loudest , we all cry'd , Had the most Reason on his side : The one he makes a loud Oration , Thumping the Table'n Vindication Of the Pope's Power of Dispensation ; At which the Psalmist grew so angry , He Roar'd like one perplext with Strangry ; At last being rais'd , by Indignation , To th' highest pitch of Disputation , Each Learned Point , to tell you truly , Ended in , You Lye , Sir , and you Lye : Now , fir'd with heat of Argument , The Disputants to Boxing went , That Blows might give Determination To their deep Point in Disputation ; Thus to 't they fell , and bang'd each other , Amidst the Spittle , Spew , and Smother ; The Pipes and Noggins flew about , And Candles soon were all put out , Whilst I at distance stole away , Not caring for the heat o' th' Fray , Yet stood where I could see Fair Play ; For Poets , tho's they oft , by Writing , Breed Quarrels , seldom care for Fighting : Both spur'd with Honour in Bravado , Each bravely stood the Bastinado ; One Scratch'd and Claw'd , like any Ferret , Last t'other lent him such a wherret , Who being astonisht at the Cuff , Cry'd out , O Lord , I have enough : The mighty Conquerour then sat down With torn Cloaths , and broken Crow ; His Victim from the Ground arose , First blow'd , and then he whip'd his Nose , Which truly much reviv'd the Noddy , To find 't was Snotty , more than Bloody : The Clark , who stood in Vindication Of England's People , Church and Natiou , With painfull threshing , let us see How he could mawl down Popery : Now when the hot Dispute was ended , And the Clerks Courage much Commended , To make the Champions both amends , We all agreed they should be Friends , Provided they would both be willing , On that account , to spend their Shilling ; They answer'd , Yea , if it were Ten , And so shook hands like Honest Men. The Tapster we began to call on , To bring the Jug that holds a Gallon : But who stept in from out the Gate-way , But our Caesar's , * Cleopatra , Who entering in a mighty Passion , Gave her Great Lord this Salutation : You Rogue , you Rascal , are you not A silly , sorry , sap-head Sot , Thus to sit hugging of a Pot , And let your poor young Infants mutter At home for want of Bread and Butter ; You 'll find , you Sot , this loving Ale , At last will bring you to a Goal : Be Judge your self , would it not vex one , To see how handsomely the Sexton Maintains his Wife and Family , In all her Silks and Bravery ? Whilst I , it s well known , since my Marriage , Have wanted Bread to crumb my Porridge , And you that are the Clark o' th' Parish , In Pots of Ale to be so Lavish ; I will appeal , is 't not a hard thing , That none will Trust us for a Farthing ? Nay , don't you grin , and thus perplex me , I vow to God , if once you vex me , You know I shall not be afraid To fling the Flaggon at your Head : You 're a fit Man to say Gods Word , You say Amen , you say a Turd : These Practices you know are evil ; You Clark to th' Church , you Clark to th' Devil ; Rise and come Home , or , by my Soul , I 'll crack your Noddle with the Bowl . The Noddy fear'd to disobey , Arose , took leave , and went his way ; The rest , as well as he , God wot , Pay'ng Homage to the Petticoat ; Fearing their Wives , in Indignation , Should blow up our Association ; With Sparkling Eyes , and Flaming Noses , They all Reell'd home to their dear Spouses , Leaving my Host and I to prate Of some Affairs concerning State : I told him 't was not to be doubted , But that the French would soon be Routed ; And that the Prince of Wales for certain , Was a meer Flam , a Sham , a Perkin : By this time we were got so Fuddled , That both our Brains in truth were addled ; Thus , like true Sots , we neither started Till Drunk , and then to Bed departed . Reflections on a Dissenting Corporation . THE Town it is a Corporation , Where Women all have Toleration For Universal Copulation . Of what Degree so e'er , or Function , The Females never want Conjunction , Or that blest Ointment , Humane Unction . Adultery , and Fornication Are Licens'd through the Corporation , As proper Means for Generation . Cuckolds and Misers here are plenty , Many Mechannicks , and few Gentry , Whose Bags are full , as Skulls are empty . Honest Men pretious are as Rubies , Their Mayors Successively are Boobies , And Aldermen great Brawny Loobies . The Top o' th' Town are Petty-Foggers , The Mean are Mercers and Corn-Jobbers , The Lowest Common Whores and Robbers . Their Justices , to speak the best on , Are Country ' Squires , the People rest on ; But Fools enough , you need not question . As for Religions , there are many Profest , but few that practice any ; They'd deny God to gain a Penny. The Puny sort are kind of Franticks , Who Pray and Prate on Stools , like Anticks , Follow'd by Spiritual Pedanticks . They Cackle Doctrine by the Spirit , Who Lye , and say they shall Inherit A Heavenly Kingdom , by the Spirit . Yea and Nay 's their Communication , Swearing they hold's Abomination , But Whoring , as a small Transgre●sion . For all their Canting , Pious Prating , And Godly Humming at their Meeting ; Yet , Lawyer like , they live by Cheating . The Rest are Presbyter-Dissenters , These are the Herd the Devil enters ; They are all Sinners , no Repenters . This is the Godly Tribe we read of , Who Cut the Royal Martyr's Head off ; These are the Rogues the Devil has need of . So fixt , their Principles ne'er alter , So Honest , each deserves a Halter , So Learned , scarce one can Read his Psalter . ' IT is true , the Pastors of the Zealous , Such Doctrines will in Tub reveal us , You 'd think 't was Magick from Cornelius . At such deeping Notions they 'll be reaching , That all the tedious hours they 're Teaching , You 'd think them Conjuring , not Preaching . Their Lawyers , by Gods great Mercy , Enough of Lattin can Rehearse ye , To fill up Nov'rint Vniversi . To give more ample Definition Of these , the Wedges of Sedition , We 'll do 't by way of Supposition . They th' Benefit of th' Clergy needing , I doubt , but few , for all their pleading , Could save their Necks by their right Reading . The Top of these the Town Relies on ; I dare not say but he 's a Wise Man , And Honest as their Fat Excise Man. What if they all were Fools , what then ? They may be Wiser , God knows when , But Cuckolds still ; Wives say Amen . The Authors Lamentation in time of Adversity . A Shirt I have on , Little better than none , In Colour much like to a Cinder ; So Thin and so Fine , It is my design To present it the Muses for Tinder . My black Fustian Breeches , So fal'n in the Stitches , You might see what my Legs had between 'em ; My Pockets all four , I 'm a Son of a Whore , If a Devil a Penny is in ' em . A Hat I have on , Which so Greezy is grown , It remarkable is for its shining ▪ One side is stitcht up , ' Stead of Button and Loop , But the Devil a bit of a Lining . I have a long Sword , You may take 't of my word , That the Blade is a Tolledo Trusty ; The Handle is bound , With a black Ribbon round , And the Basket Hilt damnable Rusty . My Coat it is turn'd , With the Lappets piss-burn'd , So out at the Arm-pits and Elboes , That I look as absurd , As a Seaman on Board , That has lain half a Year in the Bilboes . I have Stockins , 't is true , But the Devil a Shoe , I am forc'd to wear Boots all Weathers ; Till I lost my Spur-Rowls , And damn'd my Boot Souls , And Confounded the Upper Leathers . My Beard is grown long , As Hogs Bristles , and strong , Which the Wenches so woundily stare at ; The Colour is Whey , Mixt with Orange and Grey , With a little small spice of the Carrat . As true as I live , I have but one Sleeve , Which I wear in the Room of a Cravat ; In this plight I wait , To get an Estate , But the Devil knows when I shall have it . O had you but seen The sad State I was in , You 'd not find such a Poet in Twenty ; I had nothing that 's full , But my Shirt and my Skull , For my Guts and my Pockets were empty . FINIS . Notes, typically marginal, from the original text Notes for div A67514-e130 * They burn Cow-turd for Fuel . * The King was just gone to Ireland . * Wife to the Clerk , who had so manfuly thrasht the Papist .