According as your power did _Ebbe_ or _Flow_; And at your will I was Screw’d up too high, That tott’ring, I have broke my necke thereby. For you, I made my _Fingers fish-hookes_ still To catch at all _Trades_, either good, or ill, I car’d not much who lost, so we might get, For all was _Fish_ that came into the Net. For you, (as in my Picture plaine appeares) I put a _Swine’s face_ on, an _Asses eares_, The one to listen unto all I heard, Wherein your Worship’s profit was prefer’d, The other to tast all things, good or bad, (As Hogs will doe) where profit may be had. _Soape_, _Starch_, _Tobacco_, _Pipes_, _Pens_, _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 wondered 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, Was 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_[58]) 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_,[59] and all’s lost. Thus from _Sice-sinke_, we’r sunke below _Dewce-ace_, 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 mad’st me up the price of _Sea-coales_ hoyst. _Corne_, _Leather_, _Partrick_, _Pheasant_, _Rags_, _Gold-twist_, Thou brought’st all to my _Mill_; what was’t we mist?