And now with sleep my muse hath eased her brain
I'll turn my style from prose, to verse again.
That which we could not have, we freely spared,
And wanting drink, most soberly we fared.
We had great store of fowl (but 'twas foul way)
And kindly every step entreats me stay,
The clammy clay sometimes my heels would trip,
One foot went forward, the other back would slip,
This weary day, when I had almost past,
I came unto Sir Urian Leigh's at last,
At Adlington, near Macclesfield he doth dwell,
Beloved, respected, and reputed well.
Through his great love, my stay with him was fixed,
From Thursday night, till noon on Monday next,
At his own table I did daily eat,
Whereat may be supposed, did want no meat,
He would have given me gold or silver either,
But I, with many thanks, received neither.
And thus much without flattery I dare swear,
He is a knight beloved far and near,
First he's beloved of his God above,
(Which love he loves to keep, beyond all love)
Next with a wife and children he is blest,
Each having God's fear planted in their breast.
With fair demaines, revenue of good lands,
He's fairly blessed by the Almighty's hands.
And as he's happy in these outward things,
So from his inward mind continual springs
Fruits of devotion, deeds of piety,
Good hospitable works of charity,
Just in his actions, constant in his word,
And one that won his honour with the sword,
He's no carranto, cap’ring, carpet knight,
But he knows when, and how to speak or fight,
I cannot flatter him, say what I can,
He's every way a complete gentleman.
I write not this, for what he did to me,
But what mine ears, and eyes did hear and see,
Nor do I pen this to enlarge his fame.
But to make others imitate the same,
For like a trumpet were I pleased to blow,
I would his worthy worth more amply show,
But I already fear have been too bold,
And crave his pardon, me excused to hold.
Thanks to his sons and servants every one,
Both males and females all, excepting none.
To bear a letter he did me require,
Near ‘’Manchester’’, unto a good Esquire:
His kinsman ‘’Edmund Prestwitch’’, he ordained,
That I was at ‘’Manchester’’ entertained
Two nights, and one day, ere we thence could pass,
For men and horse, roast, boiled, and oats, and grass;
This gentleman not only gave harbour,
But in the morning sent me to his barber,
Who laved, and shaved me, still I spared my purse,
Yet sure he left me many a hair the worse.
But in conclusion, when his work was ended,
His glass informed, my face was much amended.
And for the kindness he to me did show,
God grant his customers beards faster grow,
That though the time of year be dear or cheap,
From fruitful faces he may mow and reap.
Then came a smith, with shoes, and tooth and nail,
He searched my horse's hoofs, mending what did fail,
Yet this I note, my nag, through stones and dirt,
Did shift shoes twice, ere I did shift one shirt:
Can these kind things be in oblivion hid?
No, Master Prestwitch, this and much more did,
His friendship did command and freely gave
All before writ, and more than I durst crave.
But leaving him a little, I must tell,
How men of Manchester did use me well,
Their loves they on the tenter-hooks did rack,
Roast, boiled, baked, too — too— much, white, claret, sack,
Nothing they thought too heavy or too hot,
Can followed can, and pot succeeded pot,
That what they could do, all they thought too little,
Striving in love the traveller to whittle.
We went into the house of one John Pinners,
A man that lives amongst a crew of sinners)
And there eight several sorts of ale we had,
All able to make one stark drunk or mad.
But I with courage bravely flinched not,
And gave the town leave to discharge the shot.
We had at one time set upon the table,
Good ale of hyssop, 'twas no Æsop-fable:
Then had we ale of sage, and ale of malt,
And ale of wormwood, that could make one halt,
With ale of rosemary, and betony,
And two ales more, or else I needs must lie.
But to conclude this drinking aley-tale,
We had a sort of ale, called scurvy ale.
Thus all these men, at their own charge and cost,
Did strive whose love should be expressed most,
And farther to declare their boundless loves,
They saw I wanted, and they gave me gloves,
In deed, and very deed, their loves were such,
That in their praise I cannot write too much;
They merit more than I have here compiled,
I lodged at the Eagle and the Child,
Whereas my hostess, (a good ancient woman)
Did entertain me with respect, not common.
She caused my linen, shirts, and bands be washed,
And on my way she caused me be refreshed,
She gave me twelve silk points, she gave me bacon,
Which by me much refused, at last was taken,
In troth she proved a mother unto me,
For which, I evermore will thankful be.
But when to mind these kindnesses I call,
Kind Master Prestwitch author is of all,
And yet Sir Urian Leigh's good commendation,
Was the main ground of this my recreation.
From both of them, there what I had, I had,
Or else my entertainment had been bad.
O all you worthy men of Manchester,
(True bred bloods of the County Lancaster)
When I forget what you to me have done,
Then let me headlong to confusion run.
To noble Master Prestwitch I must give
Thanks, upon thanks, as long as I do live,
His love was such, I ne'er can pay the score,
He far surpassed all that went before,
A horse and man he sent, with boundless bounty,
To bring me quite through Lancaster's large county,
Which I well know is fifty miles at large,
And he defrayed all the cost and charge.
This unlooked pleasure, was to me such pleasure,
That I can ne'er express my thanks with measure.
So Mistress Saracoal, hostess kind,
And Manchester with thanks I left behind.
The Wednesday being July's twenty nine,
My journey I to Preston did confine,
All the day long it rained but one shower,
Which from the morning to the evening did pour,
And I, before to Preston I could get,
Was soused, and pickled both with rain and sweat,
But there I was supplied with fire and food,
And anything I wanted sweet and good.
There, at the Hind, kind Master Hind mine host,
Kept a good table, baked and boiled, and roast,
There Wednesday, Thursday, Friday I did stay,
And hardly got from thence on Saturday.
Unto my lodging often did repair,
Kind Master Thomas Banister, the Mayor,
Who is of worship, and of good respect,
And in his charge discreet and circumspect.
For I protest to God I never saw,
A town more wisely governed by the law.
They told me when my Sovereign there was last,
That one man's rashness seemed to give distaste.
It grieved them all, but when at last they found,
His Majesty was pleased, their joys were crowned.
He knew, the fairest garden hath some weeds,
He did accept their kind intents, for deeds:
One man there was, that with his zeal too hot,
And furious haste, himself much overshot.
But what man is so foolish, that desires
To get good fruit from thistles, thorns and briars?
Thus much I thought good to demonstrate here,
Because I saw how much they grieved were;
That any way, the least part of offence,
Should make them seem offensive to their Prince.
Thus three nights was I staid and lodged in Preston,
And saw nothing ridiculous to jest on,
Much cost and charge the Mayor upon me spent,
And on my way two miles, with me he went,
There (by good chance) I did more friendship get,
The under Sheriff of Lancashire we met,
A gentleman that loved, and knew me well,
And one whose bounteous mind doth bear the bell.
There, as if I had been a noted thief,
The Mayor delivered me unto the Sheriff.
The Sheriffs authority did much prevail,
He sent me unto one that kept the jail.
Thus I perambuling, poor John Taylor,
Was given from Mayor to Sheriff, from Sheriff to Jailor.
The Jailor kept an inn, good beds, good cheer,
Where paying nothing, I found nothing dear,
For the under-Sheriff kind Master Covill named,
(A man for house-keeping renowed and famed)
Did cause the town of Lancashire afford
Me welcome, as if I had been a lord.
And 'tis reported, that for daily bounty,
His mate can scarce be found in all that county.
The extremes of miser, or of prodigal,
He shuns, and lives discreet and liberal,
His wife's mind, and his own are one, so fixed,
That Argus eyes could see no odds betwixt,
And sure the difference, (if there difference be)
Is who shall do most good, or he, or she.
Poor folks report, that for relieving them,
He and his wife, are each of them a gem;
At the inn, and at his house two nights I staid,
And what was to be paid, I know he paid:
If nothing of their kindness I had wrote,
Ungrateful me the world might justly note:
Had I declared all I did hear, and see,
For a great flatterer then I deemed should be,
Him and his wife, and modest daughter Bess,
With earth, and heaven's felicity, God bless.
Two days a man of his, at his command,
Did guide me to the midst of Westmoreland,
And my conductor with a liberal fist,
To keep me moist, scarce any alehouse missed.
The fourth of August (weary, halt, and lame)
We in the dark, to a town called Sedbergh came,
There Master Borrowed, my kind honest host,
Upon me did bestowed unasked cost.
The next day I held on my journey still,
Six miles unto a place called Carling hill,
Where Master Edmund Branthwaite[1] doth reside,
Who made me welcome, with my man and guide.
Our entertainment, and our fare were such,
It might have satisfied our betters much;
Yet all too little was, his kind heart thought,
And five miles on my way himself me brought,
At Orton he, I, and my man did dine,
With Master Corney a good true Divine,
And surely Master Branthwaite's well beloved,
His firm integrity is much approved:
His good effects, do make him still affected
Of God and good men, (with regard) respected.
He sent his man with me, o'er dale and down,
Who lodged, and boarded me at Penrith town,
And such good cheer, and bedding there I had,
That nothing, (but my weary self) was bad;
There a fresh man, (I know not for whose sake)
With me a journey would to Carlisle make:
But from that city, about two miles wide,
Good Sir John Dalston lodged me and my guide.
Of all the gentlemen in England's bounds
His house is nearest to the Scottish grounds,
And fame proclaims him, far and near, aloud,
He's free from being covetous, or proud;
His son, Sir George, most affable, and kind,
His father's image, both in form and mind,
On Saturday to Carlisle both did ride,
Where (by their loves and leaves) I did abide,
Where of good entertainment I found store,
From one that was the mayor the year before,
His name is Master Adam Robinson,
I the last English friendship with him won.
He (gratis) found a guide to bring me through, My thanks to Sir John and Sir Geo. Dalston, with Sir Henry Curwin.
From Carlisle to the city Edinburgh:
This was a help, that was a help alone,
Of all my helps inferior unto none.
Eight miles from Carlisle runs a little river,
Which England's bounds, from Scotland's grounds doth sever.
Without horse, bridge, or boat, I o'er did getOver Esk I waded.
On foot, I went, yet scarce my shoes did wet.
I being come to this long-looked-for land,
Did mark, remark, note, renote, viewed, and scanned;
And I saw nothing that could change my will,
But that I thought myself in England still.
The kingdoms are so nearly joined and fixed,
There scarcely went a pair of shears betwixt;
There I saw sky above, and earth below,
And as in England, there the sun did show;
The hills with sheep replete, with corn the dale,
The afore-named knights had given money to my guide, of which he left some part at every ale-house.And many a cottage yielded good Scottish ale;
This county (Avondale) in former times,
Was the cursed climate of rebellious crimes:
For Cumberland and it, both kingdoms borders,
Were ever ordered, by their own disorders,
Some sharking, shifting, cutting throats, and thieving,
Each taking pleasure in the other's grieving;
And many times he that had wealth to-night,
Was by the morrow morning beggared quite:
Too many years this pell-mell fury lasted,
That all these borders were quite spoiled and wasted,
Confusion, hurly-burly reigned and revelled,
The churches with the lowly ground were levelled;
All memorable monuments defaced,
All places of defence o'erthrown and razed.
That whoso then did in the borders dwell,
Lived little happier than those in hell.
But since the all-disposing God of heaven,
Hath these two kingdoms to one monarch given,
Blest peace, and plenty on them both have showered,
Exile, and hanging hath the thieves devoured,
That now each subject may securely sleep,
His sheep and neat, the black the white doth keep,
For now those crowns are both in one combined,
Those former borders, that each one confine,
Appears to me (as I do understand)
To be almost the centre of the land,
This was a blessed heaven expounded riddle,
To thrust great kingdoms skirts into the middle.
Long may the instrumental cause survive.
From him and his, succession still derive
True heirs unto his virtues, and his throne,
That these two kingdoms ever may be one;
This county of all Scotland is most poor,
By reason of the outrages before,
Yet mighty store of corn I saw there grow,
And as good grass as ever man did mow:
And as that day I twenty miles did pass,
I saw eleven hundred neat at grass,
By which may be conjectured at the least,
That there was sustenance for man and beast.
And in the kingdom I have truly scanned,
There's many worser parts, are better manned,
For in the time that thieving was in ure,
The gentles fled to places more secure.
And left the poorer sort, to abide the pain,
Whilst they could ne'er find time to turn again.
The shire of gentlemen is scarce and dainty,
Yet there's relief in great abundance plenty,
Twixt it and England, little odds I see,
They eat, and live, and strong and able be,
So much in verse, and now I'll change my style,
And seriously I'll write in prose awhile.
- ↑ Edmund Branthwaite.—Robert Branthwaite, William Branthwaite Cant., and "Thy assured friend" R. B., have each written Commendatory Verses to all the Works of John Taylor. London 1630. And Southey in his "Lives and Works of Uneducated Poets," has the following:—"One might have hoped in these parts for a happy meeting between John Taylor and Bamabee, of immortal memory; indeed it is likely that the Water-Poet and the Anti-Water-Poet were acquainted, and that the latter may have introduced him to his connections hereabout, Branthwaite being the same name as Brathwait, and Barnabee's brother having married a daughter of this Sir John Dalston."