And much ado I had from thence to get, There I was almost put unto my trumps, My horse's shoes were worn as thin as pumps; But noble _Vulcan_, a mad smuggy smith, All reparations me did furnish with. The shoes were well removed, my palfrey shod, And he referred the payment unto God. I found a friend, when I to _Lichfield_ came, A joiner, and _John Piddock_ is his name. He made me welcome, for he knew my jaunt, And he did furnish me with good provant: He offered me some money, I refused it, And so I took my leave, with thanks excused it, That Wednesday, I a weary way did pass, Rain, wind, stones, dirt, and dabbling dewy grass, With here and there a pelting scattered village, Which yielded me no charity, or pillage: For all the day, nor yet the night that followed. One drop of drink I'm sure my gullet swallowed. At night I came to a stony town called _Stone_. Where I knew none, nor was I known of none: I therefore through the streets held on my pace, Some two miles farther to some resting place: At last I spied a meadow newly mowed, The hay was rotten, the ground half o'erflowed: We made a breach, and entered horse and man, There our pavilion, we to pitch began, Which we erected with green broom and hay, To expel the cold, and keep the rain away; The sky all muffled in a cloud 'gan lower, And presently there fell a mighty shower, Which without intermission down did pour, From ten a night, until the morning's four. We all that time close in our couch did lie, Which being well compacted kept us dry. The worst was, we did neither sup nor sleep, And so a temperate diet we did keep. The morning all enrobed in drifting fogs, We being as ready as we had been dogs: We need not stand upon long ready making, But gaping, stretching, and our ears well shaking: And for I found my host and hostess kind, I like a true man left my sheets behind. That Thursday morn, my weary course I framed, Unto a town that is _Newcastle_ named. (Not that _Newcastle_ standing upon _Tyne_) But this town situation doth confine Near _Cheshire_, in the famous county _Stafford_, And for their love, I owe them not a straw for't; But now my versing muse craves some repose, And whilst she sleeps I'll spout a little prose.