By this time grew the conflict to be (_t_) hot, Boots against boots, 'gainst (_u_) Sandals, Sandals fly, Many poor thirsty men went to the pot, Feathers lopt off, spurrs every where did lie. _Cætera desiderantur._ _t._ It seems this was a great battail, both by the furie of it, and the aydes of each side; but hereof read more in _Cornel. Tacit. lib. de moribus German._ _u._ This is an imitation of _Lucan_. "Signis Signa & pila" &c. _Pharsalia. lib. 1._ in principio. [Footnote 58: A virago who lived temp. Henry VIII.] _Of Treason._ Treason doth never prosper; what's the reason? [16.] For if it prosper, none dare call it Treason. A miserable _Jack_ [12.] Gave a little glass of Sack. To a Lass that liv'd at the _Spittle_; 'Tis old wine, says he, That's a wonder, says she, To be old, and yet so little. [18.] 'Tis said of one who well remembred what he had lent, but forgot what he had borrowed, that _he had lost one half of his Memory_. _On the word intollerable._ Two gentlemen did to a Tavern come, [5.] And call'd the drawer for to shew a room, The drawer did, and what room think ye was't? One of the small ones, where men drink in haste; One gentleman sat down there, but the other Dislik'd it, would not sit, call'd for another: At which his friend, rising up from the table, Cryes, friend, let's stay, this room is tollerable: Why, that's the cause (quoth hee) I will not stay, Is that the cause, quoth th' other? why, I pray? To give a reason to you, I am able, Because I hate to be in--Tollerable. [26.] A Gentleman coming drunk to Bed over night, in the morning could not find his breeches: then he knock'd for the Chamberlain: _Sir_, says he, _if you are sure you brought them in with you, you had best search your pockets for them, for you lost all your Money last Night out of your Pockets, it may be your Breeches are got in there_. THE CUNNING NORTHERNE BEGGER Who all the By-standers doth earnestly pray To bestow a penny upon him to day. To the Tune of _Tom of Bedlam_. [Illustration] I am a lusty begger, [29.] And live by others giving, I scorne to worke, But by the highway lurke, And beg to get my living: I'le i' th' wind and weather, And weare all ragged Garments, Yet though I am bare, I am free from care, A fig for high preferments. _For still will I cry good, your worship, good sir, Bestow one poor denier, sir; Which when I've got, At the Pipe and Pot, I soon will it cashiere, sir._