The Chequer Inn.

I'LL tell thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the Parliament have seen,
The choice of ale and beer:
But such a choice as ne'er was found
In any age on English ground,
In borough or in shire.

At Charing Cross, hard by the way
Where all the Berties make their hay,
There stands a house new painted;
Where I could see 'em crowding in,
But sure they often there had been,
They seemed so well acquainted.

The host that dwells in that same house
Is now a man, that was a mouse,
Till he was burgess chosen:
And for his country first began,
But quickly turned cat in pan,
(The way they all have rosen.)

The Chequer Inn — the Exchequer.
And ever since he did so wax,
That now he money tells by pecks,
And heaps up all our treasure.
Thou'lt ken him out by his white wand
He dandles always in his hand,

With which he strikes the measure.
But though he now do look so big,
And bear himself on such a twig,
'T will fail him in a year.
Then oh, how I could claw him off,
For all his slender quarter-staff,

And have him here and there.
He is as stiff as any stake,
And leaner, Dick, than any rake;
Envy is not so pale.
And though by selling of us all
He's wrought himself into Whitehall,

He looks like bird of jail;
And there he might ere now have laid,
Had not the members most been made,
For some had him indicted.
But whosoe'er that 'peach him durst,
To clear him would have been the first,

Had they too been requited.
But he had men enough to spare,
Besides a good friend in the chair,
Though all men blushed that heard it.
And, for I needs must speak my mind,
They all deserved to have been fined

For such a shameful verdict.
And now they marched all. tag and rag,
Each of his handiwork to brag,
Over a gallant supper;
On backside of their letters some
For sureness cited were to come;

The rest were bid by Cooper.
They stood, when entered in the hall,
Mannerly reared against the wall,
Till to sit down desired.
And simpered, justly to compare,
Like maidens at a statute fair,

(None went away unhired).
The lady, dressed like any bride,
Her forehead cloth had laid aside,
And smiling, through did sail;
Though they had dirtied so the room,
That she was forced to call for groom

To carry up her tail.
Wheler at board then next her set,
And if it had been nearer yet,
She might it well afford;
For ev'n at bed the time has been
When no one could see sun between

His lady and her lord.
This knight was sent t' America,
And was as soon sent for away,
Though not for his good deeds;
And since the soil whither he went
Would not bear his wild government,

Here now he plants the seeds.
And next him sat George Montague,
The foreman of the British crew,
(His cup he never fails);
Mansell and Morgan, and the rest,
All of them of the grand inquest,

A jury right of Wales.
Wild with his tongue did all outrun,
And popping like an elder-gun,
Both words and meat did utter.
The pellets which his chops did dart,
Fed all his neighbours overthwart,

That gaped to hear him sputter.
But King, God save him, though so crammed,
The cheer into his breeches rammed,
That buttery were and larder.
And of more provender to dispose,
Had sewed on too his double hose;

For times, thou know'st, grow harder.
Holt, out of linen, as of land,
Had mortgaged of his two one band,
To have the other washed;
And though his sweat the while he ate,
With his own gravy filled the plate,

That band with sauce too splashed.
His brain and face Tredenham wrung,
For words not to be said but sung;
His neck, it turned on wire.
And Berkenhead, of all the rout,
There was but one could be found out

To be a greater liar.
Old Hoby's brother, Cheyney, there,
Throgmorton, Neville, Doleman, were,
And Lawley, knight of Shropshire.
Nay, Portman, though all men cried shame,
And Cholmondeley of Vale Royal came

For something more than chop-cheer.
The western glory, Harry Ford,
The landlord Bales out-eat, out-roared,
And did his trencher lick.
What pity 'tis a wit so great
Should live to sell himself for meat:

But who can help it, Dick?
Yet, wot'st thou, he was none of those,
But would as well as meat have clothes,
Before he'd sell the nation;
And wisely lodging at next door,
Was served more often than the poor,

With his whole generation.
Sir Courteney Poole and he contend
Which should the other most commend,
For what that day they spoke;
The man that gave that woeful tax,
And sweeping all our chimney-stacks,

Excises us for smoke.
The Hanmers, Herberts, Sandys, Musgraves,
Fathers and sons, like coupled slaves,
They were not to be sundered.
The tale of all that there did sup
On Chequer tallies was scored up,

And made above a hundred.
Our greatest barn could not have held
The belly-timber that they felled,
For mess was ricked on mess.
'T was such a treat, that I'm afraid
The reckoning never will be paid

Without another cess.
They talked about, and made such din,
That scarce the lady could hedge in
The Papishes and Frenches.
On them she was allowed to rail,
But, and thereby does hang a tale,

Not one word of the wenches.
The host, who sat at lower end,
The healths in order up did send,
Nor of his own took care.
But down the physic bottle threw,
And took his wine when 't was his due,

In spite of pothecary.
They drank, I know not who had most,
Till King both hostess kissed and host,
And clapped him on the back;
And prithee why so pale? Then swore
Should they indict him o'er and o'er

He'd bring him off, y-sack.
Then all said Ay, who had said No,
And now, who would, 't was time to go,
For grace they did not stay.
And for to save the serving men
The pains of coming in again,

The guests took all away.
Candlesticks, forks, salts, plates, spoons, knives,
(Like sweetmeats for their girls and wives), And table-linen went;
I saw no more, but hither ran,
Lest some should take me for the man,
And I for them be shent.