London, Printed for _Henry Gossen_.
[Footnote 179: Being mean, miserly.]
[52.] An untravelled Irish man intended to see England, and arriving
at London, chanced to light on a Barbers shoppe, supposing by his
cluster of Basons hanging at the door, it must of necessity be some
penny-pottage Ordinary: and, wanting the language, entred the shop,
and pointed to his mouth, meaning some victuals to stay his hunger.
The Barber gathered by this signe, that the poore fellow had pain in
his teeth, and desired to have one pluckt out; willed him to sit downe
in his Chaire, and approached with his dismall instruments towards the
fellows chaps. The Irishman began to wonder at this strange kinde of
feeding, giving the Barber to understand (so well as he could) he
was never brought up to that kinde of feeding, and with an unmannerly
thrust bad him, Avant.[F. 180] The Barber, half discontented, tumbled
the Irish man with his Chair upside down, who, sprawling on the ground
began to seeke after the doore, and made as much haste to his lodging
as he could: where, meeting with one of his Countrymen, hee prayed
him, of all loves, to depart this Country of England, and returne to
that worthy Ireland. For, (quoth he) they be ill divels here, and
no honest men, since when a poore stranger makes shew of hunger, the
knavish Inhabitants will break out men's teeth like dogs, and so send
us to our Country again with never a tooth in our heads: which caused
much good mirth to all that heard it.
[Footnote 180: Avaunt, begone.]
[17.] A great Lord being in the Tower was visited by some other Lords;
and being merry, one began the Kings health, which he refused to
pledge. They told him 'twould be ill taken: Why truly, my Lords, saies
he, I'll pray for the Kings health, but drink for my own.
[4.] A gentleman ordr'd a Crane for Supper; but his Cook, having a
Sweetheart in a longing condition, cut off a Leg and sent her; so the
one Legg'd Crane was set on the Table, which the Gentleman seeing,
was enrag'd at his Cook; but he, being an arch Wag, readily told
the Gentleman that Cranes had but one Leg, and avowed it with that
Confidence, that he gain'd upon his wise Masters belief; but he,
resolving to observe it as he was walking in the Fields one Frosty
Morning, he saw a flock of Cranes, and, sending for his Cook, they
held up one of their Legs under their Wings, as is the Custom of those
birds in the cool weather. So, says his Cook, I hope your Worship is
satisfied that they have but one Leg; but the Gentleman going pretty
near to them, cries _Cush_, and frighted them up. Whereupon both Legs
appear'd. Look, says the Gentleman, they have now two Legs. Oh, says
the Cook, if you had cried _Cush_ to that in the Dish, it wou'd have
had two Legs too.
[26.] A Gentleman that had bred up a Young Colt, and had taught
him many pretty pieces of Activity, but one among the rest, that of
leaping so well, that no Ditch or Hedg, though never so broad or deep
but he whipt over: nay, an ordinary House was nothing with him, or
small Country Church also, but yet could never leap over the Steeple.
It fortun'd that the Gentleman having occasion to ride abroad on him,
came to a River that was about Twenty yards wide, which you'll say was
very broad; yet this poor beast leapt with him to the very brink of
the River on the other side, and there by chance lighted upon a stump
of a Tree which ran into his Belly; which the Master seeing, alighted,
and so left the poor Beast in that condition, yet would not kill him,
and so went away. About six months after, this Gentleman was riding
that way with his Man, and as they rode, says his Master, Don't you
see something move yonder? Yes, says he, I think I see a Tree go; and
coming near to it, they put aside all the Boughs, and there spied his
late Horse, which he thought had died there: so they cut off all the
Boughs, which were so many as to load almost three Carts, and then he
took the poor Beast home, and cur'd him of all but the stump of the
Tree which was in his Belly; and, indeed he need not do it, for he
receiv'd a great advantage by it every year; that is, at least two or
three load of Wood, which serv'd him to burn in his Chamber; for he
would never burn any other than that, out of the love he bore to
that poor beast of his. But some that heard him tell it, thought it
savour'd too much of the Legend: Why, if you won't believe me, ask my
Man, who knows it as well as I, and shall swear it too, if you please.
Here at last doth she lie in quiet, [18.]
Who whilst she lived was ever unquiet.
Her Husband prays, if by her Grave you walk,
You'd gently tread, for if waked, she'll talk.
The following was written in 1646, and is a satire on the then feeling
of the army.
[Illustration: The Mercenary Souldier]