Part 1 (1/2)

The Pennyles Pilgrimage.

by John Taylor.

TO ALL MY LOVING ADVENTURERS, BY WHAT NAME OR t.i.tLE SOEVER, MY GENERAL SALUTATION.

_Reader, these Travels of mine into_ Scotland, _were not undertaken, neither in imitation, or emulation of any man, but only devised by myself, on purpose to make trial of my friends both in this Kingdom of_ England, _and that of_ Scotland, _and because I would be an eye-witness of divers things which I had heard of that Country; and whereas many shallow-brained Critics, do lay an aspersion on me, that I was set on by others, or that I did undergo this project, either in malice, or mockage of Master_ Benjamin Jonson, _I vow by the faith of a Christian, that their imaginations are all wide, for he is a gentleman, to whom I am so much obliged for many undeserved courtesies that I have received from him, and from others by his favour, that I durst never to be so impudent or ungrateful, as either to suffer any man's persuasions, or mine own instigation, to incite me, to make so bad a requital, for so much goodness formerly received; so much for that, and now Reader, if you expect_

That I should write of cities' situations, Or that of countries I should make relations: Of brooks, crooks, nooks; of rivers, bournes and rills, Of mountains, fountains, castles, towers and hills, Of s.h.i.+res, and piers, and memorable things, Of lives and deaths of great commanding kings, I touch not those, they not belong to me; But if such things as these you long to see, Lay down my book, and but vouchsafe to read The learned _Camden_, or laborious _Speed_.

_And so G.o.d speed you and me, whilst I rest

Yours in all thankfulness:_

JOHN TAYLOR.

[Decorative thought break]

TAYLOR'S PENNILESS PILGRIMAGE.

List Lordlings, list (if you have l.u.s.t to list) I write not here a tale of had I wist: But you shall hear of travels, and relations, Descriptions of strange (yet English) fas.h.i.+ons.

And he that not believes what here is writ, Let him (as I have done) make proof of it.

The year of grace, accounted (as I ween) One thousand twice three hundred and eighteen, And to relate all things in order duly, 'Twas Tuesday last, the fourteenth day of July, Saint _Revels_ day, the almanack will tell ye The sign in _Virgo_ was, or near the belly: The moon full three days old, the wind full south; At these times I began this trick of youth.

I speak not of the tide, for understand, My legs I made my oars, and rowed by land, Though in the morning I began to go Good fellows trooping, flocked me so, That make what haste I could, the sun was set, E're from the gates of _London_ I could get.

At last I took my latest leave thus late, At the Bell Inn, that's _extra Aldersgate_.

There stood a horse that my provant[1] should carry, From that place to the end of my fegary,[2]

My horse no horse, or mare, but gelded nag, That with good understanding bore my bag: And of good carriage he himself did show, These things are excellent in a beast you know.

There in my knapsack, (to pay hunger's fees) I had good bacon, biscuit, neat's-tongue, cheese With roses, barberries, of each conserves, And mithridate, that vigorous health perserves: And I entreat you take these words for no-lies, I had good _Aqua vitae, Rosa_ so-lies: With sweet _Ambrosia_, (the G.o.ds' own drink) Most excellent gear for mortals, as I think, Besides, I had both vinegar and oil, That could a daring saucy stomach foil.

This foresaid Tuesday night 'twixt eight and nine, Well rigged and ballasted, both with beer and wine, I stumbling forward, thus my jaunt begun, And went that night as far as _Islington_.

There did I find (I dare affirm it bold) A Maidenhead of twenty-five years old, But surely it was painted, like a wh.o.r.e, And for a sign, or wonder, hanged at door, Which shows a Maidenhead, that's kept so long, May be 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 a.s.sociates, 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_[3] down health, after health, (Which oftentimes impairs both health and wealth.) Till everyone had filled his mortal trunk, And only _No-body_[3] 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, Before the day he'll often exercise.

So I began to put in use, at first These principles 'gainst hunger, 'gainst thirst.

Close to the Gate,[4] there dwelt a worthy man, That well could take his whiff, and quaff his can, Right Robin Good-fellow, but humours evil, Do call him _Robin Pluto_, or the devil.

But finding him a devil, freely hearted, With friendly farewells I took leave and parted, And as alongst I did my journey take, I drank at _Broom's well_, for pure fas.h.i.+on's sake, Two miles I travelled then without a bait, The Saracen's Head at _Whetstone_ entering straight, I found an host, that might lead an host of men, Exceeding fat, yet named _Lean_, and _Fen_.[5]

And though we make small reckoning of him here, He's known to be a very great man there.

There I took leave of all my company, Bade all farewell, yet spake to _No-body_.

Good reader think not strange, what I compile, For _No-body_ was with me all this while.

And _No-body_ did drink, and, wink, and scink, And on occasion freely spent his c.h.i.n.k.

If anyone desire to know the man, Walk, stumble, _Trundle_, but in _Barbican_.

There's as good beer and ale as ever tw.a.n.g'd, And in that street kind _No-body_[6] is hanged.

But leaving him unto his matchless fame, I to St. _Albans_ in the evening came, Where Master _Taylor_, at the Saracen's Head, Unasked (unpaid for) me both lodged and fed.

The tapsters, hostlers, chamberlains, and all, Saved me a labour, that I need not call, The jugs were filled and filled, the cups went round, And in a word great kindness there I found, For which both to my cousin, and his men, I'll still be thankful in word, deed, and pen.

Till Thursday morning there I made my stay, And then I went plain _Dunstable_ highway.

My very heart with drought methought did shrink, I went twelve miles, and no one bade me drink.

Which made me call to mind, that instant time, That drunkenness was a most sinful crime.