A Maidenhead of twenty-five years old,
But surely it was painted, like a whore,
And for a sign, or wonder, hanged at door,.
Which shows a Maidenhead, that's kept so long,
May he hanged up, and yet sustain no wrong.
There did my loving friendly host begin
To entertain me freely to his inn:
And there my friends, and good associates,
Each one to mirth himself accommodates.
At Well-head both for welcome, and for cheer,
Having a good New ton, of good stale beer:
There did we Trundle[1] down health, after health,
(Which oftentimes impairs both health and wealth.)
Till everyone had filled his mortal trunk,
And only No-body was three parts drunk.
The morrow next, Wednesday Saint Swithin's day,
From ancient Islington I took my way.
At Holywell I was enforced carouse,
Ale high, and mighty, at the Blindman's House.
But there's a help to make amends for all,
That though the ale be great, the pots be small.
At Highgate Hill to a strange house I went,
And saw the people were to eating bent,
In either borrowed, craved, asked, begged, or bought,
But most laborious with my teeth I wrought.
I did not this, 'cause meat or drink was scant,
But I did practise thus before my want;
Like to a Tilter that would win the prize,
- ↑ Trundle.—i.e., John Trundle of the sign of No-hody (see note page 6).
