_On a certaine present sent from an Archbishop to his friend._ Mittitur in Disco, mihi Piscis ab Archiepisco [67.] Po non ponetur, quia potum non mihi detur. _Englished thus._ There was in a dish, sent me a fish, from an Arch bish Hop I will not put heere, because hee sent me noe beere. NEWES FROM _MORE-LANE_. or A mad, knavish, and uncivil Frolick of a Tapster dwelling there, who buying a fat Coult for Eighteen pence, the Mare being dead and he not knowing how to bring the Coult up by hand, killed it, and had it baked in a Pastie, and invited many of his Neighbours to the Feast and telling of them what it was: the Conceit thereof made them all Sick, as by the following ditty you shall hear. The Tapster fil'd the Cup up to the brim, And all to make the little Coult to swim; But all that heares it sayes that for his gaine, He is no better than a Wagg in graine. The Tune is, _A Health to the best of Men_. There is a Tapster in _More lane_ [68.] that did a Pasty make, All People doe of him complaine, now for his grosse mistake: Hee instead of Venson fine a good fat Coult did kill, And put in store of Clarret Wine, his humour to fullfill. A Peck of Flower at the least, with six pound of Butter, Hee made his Nighbours such a Feast and bid them all to supper: A curious fine fat Colt it was, and handled daintily: The Tapster prov'd himself an Asse, for this his knavery. Likewise there was a Baker too, that lived in that place, And he was a pertaker too, I speak in his disgrace: For he found Flower to make it, I speak not in his praise, And afterwards did bake it, his knavery for to raise. [Illustration] Likewise there was a Carman too and he found Butter for it, But when the Knavery Neighbours knew they could not but abhor it; And then there was a Cooke, Sir, at _More gate_ doth he dwell, And he then under tooke, Sir, to make the Pasty well. Some say it eate as mellow then as any little chick, But I tell thee, good-fellow; then it made the Neighbours sick: The Tapster had his humour, but the Neighbours had the worst, Yet I doe hear they had good Beere and dainty Pastry crust. Then every joviall Blade, Sir, that lived in that place, Their Money freely paid, Sir, they scorned to be bace: They cal'd for Beere, likewise for Ale because the Coult should swim, And of the Cup they would not faile, but fil'd it to the brim. The Car-mans Wife cry'd out and said troath 'tis good Meat indeed, So likewise said the Chamber-maid, when she on it did feed. The Tapster bid them welcome then, and Wea-Hae did he cry You are all welcome, Gentlemen, you'r welcome hartily.