Three, who (if kinder Destinies shall please) May all dye rich, though they love Wit, and ease; And I, whom some odde hum'rous Planet bid To register the doughty acts they did, Tooke horse; leaving ith' Town, ill Playes, sowre Wine, Fierce Serjeants and the plague; besides of mine An Ethnick Taylor too, that was farre worse Than these, or what just Heaven did ever curse. Scarce was the busie Citie left behind, But from the South arose a busier Winde; Which sent us so much raine, each man did wish, His hands and leggs, were Finnes, his Horse, a Fish. Dull as a thick-skull'd-Iustice, drunke with Sloth; Or Alderman (farre gone in Capon Broth) Wee all appear'd; no man gave breath to thought; But like to silent Traytors in a Vault, Digg'd on our way; or as wee Traytors were T'our selves, and jealous of each others Eare: And as i'th Worlds great Showre, some that did spie (Hors'd on the Plaines) Rivers, and Seas draw nigh; Spurr'd on apace; in feare all lost their time, That could not reach a ground where they might climbe; So wee did never thinke us safe, untill Wee had attain'd the Top o'th first high Hill: And now it cleer'd: so to my travail'd Eie, Lookes a round yellow Dane, when he doth spie Neere to his puissant Arme, a Bowle so full, That it may fill his Bladder, and his Skull, As Phebus at this moysture falne; who laught; To see such plenty for his mornings draught: But like Chamelions Colours that decay But seemingly to give new colours way; So our false griefs, had not themselves outworne, But step'd aside, to vary in returne. Beare witnesse World! for now my tir'd Horse stood, As I, a Vaulter were, and himselfe Wood: As if some Student fierce, the day before Had spurr'd his full halfe Crowne from him, and more. Endimion cryes, away! What make wee here? To draw a Map, or gather Juniper? More cruell than Shrove-Prentices, when they (Drunk in a Brothell House) are bid to pay; Or than the Bawd at Sessions, to that vilde Indicted Rout, which first her house until'de, Is now the Captaine; who laughing swore; thus, Each puny Poet rides his Pegasus. But what's the cause my Lord spurs on amaine, As if t'outride a Tartar, not the Raine; Some such swift Tartar as might safely say, To an inviting friend, that tempts his stay; Farwell; thou seest the Sunne declin'd long since, And I'm to sup a Hundred miles from hence. My Lord (me thought) as he had heard this same, Rod post, to eat that supper ere he came. And now, my Mule moves too; but with such speed, As Pris'ners to a Psalme, that cannot read: Yet wee reach'd Wickham, with the early Night: Which to describe to Eares, or draw to Sight; For scituation, or for forme, for heighth, For strength, or magnitude, would (in good faith) But stale the price o'th Map; small credit be T'our Poem, lesse to our Geographie: Or as your riding Academicks use, To toyle, and vex, a long fed mutton-Muse, With taking the circumference of mine Host, Or his Wives sumitrie, were time worse lost; Since nor Taurentius, nor Van-dike, have yet Command to draw them for the King in great. He that to night rul'd each delighted breast, Gave to the pallat of each Eare a feast; With joy of pledges made our sowre wine sweet, And nimble as the leaping juice of Creet; Was, the brave Endimion; whose triumphs, cleere, From cruell tyranny, or too nice feare; Having wit still ready, and no huge sinne To cause a sadnesse that might keepe it in, Let flye at all; the Shafts were keene; and when They miss'd to pierce, he strongly drew agen. But Sleep, whom Constables obey, though they Have twenty Bills to keepe him off till day: Sleepe, whom th'high tun'd Cloth-worker, Weaver tall, Nor Cobler shrill, with Catches or his Aule, Knowes to resist, seal'd up our lips, and sight; Making us blind, and silent as the Night. Our other Sallies, and th'adventures wee Achiev'd, deserve new braine, new Historie.
