_Soape_, _Starch_, _Tobacco_, _Pipes_, _Pins_, _Butter_, _Haye_, _Wine_, _Coales_, _Cards_, _Dice_, and all came in my way, I brought your worship, every day and houre, And hope to be defended by your power. Sir _Thomas Dodgers Answer_. Alas good _Tenter hooke_, I tell thee plaine, To seeke for helpe of me tis but in vaine: My _Patent_ which I stood upon of late, Is like an _Almanacke_ that's out of _Date_. T'had force and vertue once, strange things to doe, But now it wants both force and vertue too. This was the turne of whirling _Fortune's_ wheele, When we least dream'd we should her changing feele. Then _Time_, and fortune, both with joynt consent Brought us to ruine by a Parliament: I doe confesse thou broughtst me sweet conceits Which now I find were but alluring baits, And I, (too much an Asse) did lend mine eare, To credit all thou saydst, as well as heare. Thou in the _Project_ of the _Soape_ didst toyle, But 'twas so slippery, and too full of oyle, That people wondred how we held it fast But now it is quite slipp'd from us at last. The _Project_ for the _Starch_ thy wit found out, Twas stiffe a while, now limber as a Clout, The Pagan weed (_Tobacco_) was our hope In _Leafe_, _Pricke_, _Role_, _Ball_, _Pudding_, _Pipe_, or _Rope_. _Brasseele_, _Varina_, _Meavis_, _Trinidado_, Saint _Christophers_, _Virginia_, or _Barvado_; _Bermudas_, _Providentia_, _Shallowcongo_, And the most part of all the rest (_Mundungo_[F. 187]). That Patent, with a whiffe is spent and broke, And all our hopes (in fumo) turn'd to smoake. Thou framdst the _Butter_ Patent in thy braines, (A Rope and Butter take thee for thy paines.) I had forgot _Tobacco Pipes_, which are Now like to thou and I, but brittle ware. _Dice_ run against us, we at _Cards_ are crost, We both are turn'd up _Noddies_,[F. 188] and all's lost. Thus from _Sice-sinke_,[F. 189] we'r sunke below _Dewce-ace_,[F. 190] And both of us are Impes of blacke disgrace. _Pins_ pricke us, and _Wine_ frets our very hearts. That we have rais'd the price of _Pints_ and _Quarts_. Thou (in mine eares) thy lyes and tales didst foyst. And madst me up the price of _Sea-coales_ hoyst. _Corne_, _Leather_, _Partrich_, _Pheasant_, _Rags_, _Gold twist_, Thou brought'st all to my _Mill_, what was't we mist? _Weights_, _Bon lace_,[F. 191] _Mowstraps_, new, new, _Corporation_, _Rattles_, _Seadans_,[F. 192] of rare invented fashion, _Silke_, _Tallow_, _Hobby-horses_, _Wood_, _red herring_, _Law_, _Conscience_, _Justice_, _swearing_, and _For-swearing_. All these thou broughtst to me, and still I thought That every thing was good that profit brought, But now all's found to be ill gotten pelfe, I'le shift for one, doe thou shift for thyselfe. Finis. John Taylor[F. 193] London. Printed by _E. P._ for _Francis Coles_, dwelling in the Old Baily. 1641.