There wee crost Trent, and on the other side Prayd to Saint Andrew; and up hill wee ride. Where wee observ’d the cunning men, like moles, Dwell not in howses, but were earth’t in holes; So did they not builde upwards, but digg thorough, As hermitts caves, or conyes do their borough: Great underminers sure as any where; Tis thought the Powder-traitors practis’d there. Would you not thinke the men stood on their heads, When gardens cover howses there, like leades; And on the chymneyes topp the mayd may know Whether her pottage boyle or not, below; There cast in hearbes, and salt, or bread; their meate Contented rather with the smoake then heate? This was the Rocky-Parish; higher stood Churches and houses, buildings stone and wood; Crosses not yet demolish’t; and our Ladye With her armes on, embracing her whole Baby[92]. Where let us note, though those are northerne parts, The Crosse finds in them more then southerne hearts. The Castle’s next; but what shall I report Of that which is a ruine, was a fort? The gates two statues keepe, which gyants[93] are, To whome it seemes committed was the care Of the whole downfall. If it be your fault; If you are guilty; may king Davids vault[94], Or Mortimers darke hole[95], contain you both[96]! A just reward for so prophane a sloth. And if hereafter tidings shall be brought Of any place or office to be bought, And the left lead, or unwedg’d timber yet Shall pass by your consent to purchase it; May your deformed bulkes endure the edge Of axes, feele the beetle and the wedge! May all the ballads be call’d in and dye, Which sing the warrs of Colebrand and sir Guy! Oh you that doe Guild-hall and Holmeby keepe Soe carefully, when both the founders sleepe, You are good giants, and partake no shame With those two worthlesse trunkes of Nottinghame: Looke to your severall charges; wee must goe, Though greiv’d at heart to leave a castle so. The Bull-head[97] is the word, and wee must eate; Noe sorrow can descend soe deepe as meate: So to the inne wee come; where our best cheere Was, that his grace of Yorke had lodged there: Hee was objected to us when wee call, Or dislike ought: “My lords grace” answers all: “Hee was contented with this bed, this dyett.” That keepes our discontented stomackes quiett. The inne-keeper was old, fourescore allmost, Indeede an embleme rather then an host; In whome wee read how God and Time decree To honour thrifty ostlers, such as hee. For in the stable first he did begin; Now see hee is sole lord of the whole inne: Mark the encrease of straw and hay, and how, By thrift, a bottle may become a mow. Marke him, all you that have the golden itch, All whome God hath condemned to be rich[98]. Farwell, glad father of thy daughter Maris,