Yet this I note, my nag, through stones and dirt, Did shift shoes twice, ere I did shift one shirt: Can these kind things be in oblivion hid? No, Master _Prestwitch_, this and much more did, His friendship did command and freely gave All before writ, and more than I durst crave. But leaving him a little, I must tell, How men of _Manchester_ did use me well, Their loves they on the tenter-hooks did rack, Roast, boiled, baked, too--too--much, white, claret, sack, Nothing they thought too heavy or too hot, Can followed can, and pot succeeded pot, That what they could do, all they thought too little, Striving in love the traveller to whittle. We went into the house of one _John Pinners_, (A man that lives amongst a crew of sinners) And there eight several sorts of ale we had, All able to make one stark drunk or mad. But I with courage bravely flinched not, And gave the town leave to discharge the shot. We had at one time set upon the table, Good ale of hyssop, 'twas no AEsop-fable: Then had we ale of sage, and ale of malt, And ale of wormwood, that could make one halt, With ale of rosemary, and betony, And two ales more, or else I needs must lie. But to conclude this drinking aley-tale, We had a sort of ale, called scurvy ale. Thus all these men, at their own charge and cost, Did strive whose love should be expressed most, And farther to declare their boundless loves, They saw I wanted, and they gave me gloves, In deed, and very deed, their loves were such, That in their praise I cannot write too much; They merit more than I have here compiled, I lodged at the Eagle and the Child, Whereas my hostess, (a good ancient woman) Did entertain me with respect, not common. She caused my linen, shirts, and bands be washed, And on my way she caused me be refreshed, She gave me twelve silk points, she gave me bacon, Which by me much refused, at last was taken, In troth she proved a mother unto me, For which, I evermore will thankful be. But when to mind these kindnesses I call, Kind Master _Prestwitch_ author is of all, And yet Sir _Urian Leigh's_ good commendation, Was the main ground of this my recreation. From both of them, there what I had, I had, Or else my entertainment had been bad. O all you worthy men of _Manchester_, (True bred bloods of the County _Lancaster_) When I forget what you to me have done, Then let me headlong to confusion run. To noble Master _Prestwitch_ I must give Thanks, upon thanks, as long as I do live, His love was such, I ne'er can pay the score, He far surpassed all that went before, A horse and man he sent, with boundless bounty, To bring me quite through _Lancaster's_ large county, Which I well know is fifty miles at large, And he defrayed all the cost and charge. This unlooked pleasure, was to me such pleasure,