A Voyage to Ireland in Burlesque

The Lives of frail men are compar'd by the Sages,
Or unto short Journies, or Pilgrimages,
As men to their Inns do come sooner or later,
That is, to their Ends; (to be plain in my matter;)
From whence, when one dead is, it currantly follows,
He has run his Race, though his Goal be the Gallows;
And this 'tis, I fancy, sets Folk so a madding,
And makes Men and Women so eager of gadding;
Truth is, in my youth I was one of those People
Would have gone a great way to have seen an high Steeple,
And though I was bred 'mongst the Wonders o'th' Peak,
Would have thrown away Money, and ventur'd my neck
To have seen a great Hill, a Rock, or a Cave,
And thought there was nothing so pleasant and brave.
But at Forty years old you may (if you please)
Think me wiser than run such errands as these;
Or, had the same humour still ran in my Toes,
A Voyage to Ireland I ne'er should have chose:
But to tell you the truth on't, indeed it was neither
Improvement nor pleasure for which I went thither;
I know then you'll presently ask me, for what?
Why, faith, It was that makes the Old Woman trot;
And therefore I think I'm not much to be blam'd
If I went to the place whereof Nick was asham'd.

Oh Couriate! thou Traveller fam'd as Vlysses,
In such a stupendious labour as this is
Come lend me the Aids of thy hands and thy feet,
Though the first be pedantick, the other not sweet,
Yet both are so restless in Peregrination,
They'll help both my Journey, and eke my Relation.

'Twas now the most beautifull time of the year,
The days were now long, and the Sky was now clear,
And May, that fair Lady of splendid renown,
Had dress'd herself fine, in her flowr'd Tabby Gown,
When about some two hours and an half after Noon .
When it grew something late, though I thought it too soon,
With a pitifull voice, and a most heavy heart,
I tun'd up my Pipes to sing loth to depart,
The Ditty concluded, I call'd for my Horse,
And with a good pack did the Jument endorse,
Till he groan'd and he farted under the burthen,
For sorrow had made me a cumbersome Lurden:
And now farewell Dove, where I've caught such brave Dishes
Of over-grown, golden, and silver-scal'd Fishes;
Thy Trout and thy Grailing may now feed securely,
I've left none behind me can take 'em so surely;
Feed on then, and breed on, untill the next year,
But if I return I expect my arrear.

By pacing and trotting, betimes in the Even,
Ever the Sun had forsaken one half of the Heaven,
We all at fair Congerton took up our Inn,
Where the Sign of a King kept a King and his Quee.
But who do you think came to wellcome me there?
No worse a man, marry, than good Master Mayor,
With his Staff of Command, yet the man was not lame,
But he needed it more when he went, than he came;
After three or four hours of friendly potation
We took leave each of other in courteous fashion,
When each one, to keep his Brains fast in his head,
Put on a good Night-cap, and streight-way to bed.

Next Morn, having paid for boil'd, roasted, and Bacon,
And of sovereign Hostess our leaves kindly taken,
(For her King (as 'twas rumor'd) by late pouring down,
This morning had got a foul flaw in his crown,)
We mounted again, and full soberly riding,
Three miles we had rid e'er we met with a biding;
But there (having over night plied the Tap well)
We now must needs water at place call'd Holmes Chapel;
A Hay! quoth the foremost, Ho! who keeps the House?
Which said, out an Host comes as brisk as a Louse,
His hair comb'd as slick, as a Barber he'd bin,
A Cravat with black Ribbon ti'd under his chin,
Though by what I saw in him I streight'gan to fear
That knot would be one day slip'd under his ear:
Quoth he, (with low Congy) what lack you my Lord.
The best Liquor, quoth I, that the House will afford:
You shall streight, quoth he, and then calls out, Mary.
Come quickly, and bring us a quart of Canary:
Hold, hold, my spruce Host, for i'th' Morning so early.
I never drink Liquor but what's made of Barley;
Which words were scarce out, but, which made me admire,
My Lordship was presently turn'd into Squire;
Ale, Squire, you mean, quoth he, nimbly again,
What, must it be purl'd? no, I love it best plain:
Why, if you'll drink Ale, Sir, pray take my advice,
Here's the best Ale i'th' Land, if you'll go to the price.
Better, I sure am, ne'er blew out a stopple,
But then, in plain truth, it is six pence a Bottle:
Why, Faith, quoth I, Friend, if your Liquor be such,
For the best Ale in England, it is not too much;
Let's have it, and quickly; O Sir! you may stay,
A Pot in your pate is a mile in your way:
Come, bring out a Bottle here presently, Wife,
Of the best Cheshire Hum he e'er drank in his Life.
Streight out comes the Mistress in Wastcoat of Silk,
As clear as a Milk-maid, and white as her Milk,
With Visage as oval and slick as an Egg,
As streight as an Arrow, as right as my Leg;
A court'sie she made, as demure as a Sister,
I could not forbear, but alighted and kiss'd her,
Then ducking another with most modest meen,
The first word she said, was, wilt please you walk in?
I thank'd her, but told her, I then could not stay,
For the haste of my bus'ness did call me away;
She said she was sorry it fell out so odd,
But if, when again I should travel that Road,
I would stay there a night, she assur'd me the Nation
Should no where afford better accommodation:
Mean while my spruce Landlord has broken the Cork,
And call'd for a Bodkin, though he had a Fork;
But I shew him a Skrew, which I told my brisk Gull .
A Trepane was for Bottles had broken their skull.
Which, as it was true, he believ'd without doubt,
But 'twas I that appli'd it, and pull'd the Cork out.
Bounce, quoth the Bottle, the work being done,
It roar'd, and it smoak'd, like a new fir'd Gun;
But the shot miss'd us all, or else we'd been routed,
Which yet was a wonder, we were so about it;
Mine Host pour'd and fill'd, till he could fill no fulle .
Look here, Sir, quoth he, both for Nap and for colour .
Sans bragging, I hate it, nor will I e'er do't,
I defie Leek, and Lambhith, and Sandwich to boot .
By my troth he said true, for I speak it with tears,
Though I have been a Toss-pot these twenty good . years,
And have drank so much Liquor has made me Debtor,
In my days, that I know of, I never drank better.
We found it so good, and we drank so profoundly.
That four good round Shillings were whipt as roundly;
And then I conceiv'd it was time to be jogging,
For our work had been done, had we staid t'other Noggin.

From thence we set forth with more mettle and spright,
Our Horses were empty, our Coxcombs were light,
O'er Dellamore Forrest we, Tantivy, posted,
Till our Horses were basted as if they were roasted;
In truth, we pursu'd might have been by our Host,
And I think Sir George Booth did not gallop so fast,
Till about two a Clock after Noon, God be bless'd,
We came safe and sound, all to Chester i'th' West.

And now in high time 'twas to call for some Meat,
Though drinking does well, yet some time we must eat;
And I'faith we had Vict'als both plenty and good, Where we all laid about us as if we were wood:
Go thy ways, Mistress Anderton, for a good Woman,
Thy Guests shall by thee ne'er be turn'd to a Common,
And whoever of thy entertainment complains,
Let him lie with a Drab, and be pox'd for his pains.

And here I must stop the Carier of my Muse,
The poor Jade is weary, 'lass! how should she chuse,
And if I should farther here spur on my Course,
I should, questionless, tire both my Wits and my Horse.
To night let us rest, for 'tis good Sunday's Even,
To morrow to Church, and ask pardon of Heaven.
Thus far we our time spent, as here I have pen'd it,
An odd kind of Life, and 'tis well if we mend it;
But to morrow (God willing) we'll have t'orher bout,
And better or worse be't, for Murther will out,
Our future Adventures we'll lay down before ye,
For my Muse is deep sworn to use truth of the Story.