afternoon that Wednesday, being the thirteenth of August, and the day of Clare the Virgin (the sign being in Virgo) the moon four days old, the wind at west, I came to take rest, at the wished, long expected, ancient famous city of Edinburgh, which I entered like Pierce Penniless,[1] altogether moneyless, but I thank God, not friendless; for being there, for the time of my stay, I might borrow, (if any man would lend) spend if I could get, beg if I had the impudence, and steal, if I durst adventure the price of a hanging, but my purpose was to house my horse, and to suffer him and my apparel to lie in durance, or lavender instead of litter, till such time as I could meet with some valiant friend, that would desperately disburse.
Walking thus down the street, (my body being tired with travel, and my mind attired with moody, muddy, Moor-ditch melancholy) my contemplation did devotely pray, that I might meet one or other to prey upon, being willing to take any slender acquaintance of any map whatsoever, viewing, and circumviewing every man's face I met, as if I meant to draw his picture, but all my acquaintance was Non est inventus, (pardon me, reader, that Latin is none of my own, I swear by Priscian's Pericranium, an oath which I have ignorantly broken many times.)
- ↑ Pierce Penniless, by Thomas Nash. London, 1592.
