Page:The Pennyles Pilgrimage.djvu/29

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,