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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,^[1] 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 fashion'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.^[2]
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 chink.
If anyone desire to know the man,
Walk, stumble, Trundle, but in Barbican.

1. It is reasonable to conjecture that at this date the custom of "Swearing-in at Highgate was not in vogue—or, No-body would have taken the oath.
2. Named Lean and Fen.—Some jest is intended here on the Host's name.—Qy., Leanfen, or, the anagram of A. Fennel.