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His house lay tight, and kept in good repair,
Beside a heath, and in a healthy air;
Close in a corner, couch'd behind a row
Of spreading trees; the building snug and low. d. The man was warm, with wealth in private for'd,
And abler far to purchase than his Lord.
He knew his honour's humour to a hair,
When it was fit to ask, or to forbear.
Whene'er his Lordship wanted a supply,
He with a busie careful face would fly;
Run here and there; then bring the luggage home,
And only help his master to his own.
He (as those gen'rous Lords are use to do)
Not only thanks him, but rewards him too.
This steward rode upon a sturdy jade,
And on his fide he wore a rusty blade. /
A wheelwright he had been, in Norfolk known,
In all the villages near Baldswell town:
Tuck'd round his wafte, like any Fryer was he,
And ftill rode hindmoft of the company.
The Sumner, or Apparitor.
HIS Sumner was not over-stock'd with
grace; He had a bloated, broad, cherubic face; Of fiery hue; with hollow eyes and narrow; Red as a cock, and lech'rous as a sparrow. Black were his eye-brows, bristled was his beard, And much the children his stern visage fear'd. His nose with carbuncles was overspread, His cheeks with white welks on a ground of red. No inward med'cine he cou'd e'er procure, Had pow'r sufficient to effect their cure. Not new-kill'd quick-filver with ceruse too, Brimstone, nor oil of Tartar, ought cou'd do. Strong bloody wine he lov'd, and well-dress'd fish, And stunk of garlick like a Spanish dish: When he was drunk, he'd talk a man to death, And belch out Latin with unfavoury breath. Two or three common fragments he could say; No wonder, for he heard it all the day:
But if you press’d him farther, you might see
A sudden end of his philosophy.
A leud young fellow, for a quart of wine,
Might for a twelvemonth have his concubine.
He taught his loose companions in their sport,
T'evade the censure of th' Arch-deacon's court:
But if a rich libidinous prize he found,
Him he enclos'd within his bawdy pound.
This, as no vulgar secret he would tell,
A large full purse is the Arch-deacon's Hell.
If rich mens souls within their purses lie,
'Tis just their souls be punish'd there, say I.
To him all wenches in the bishop's see
Paid publick tribute, or a private fee.
Boldly he rode, a garland on his head;
Of all unmarried men and maids, the dread.
Pardon-monger last brought up the rear,
With patriarchal face, and holy leer: His hair was of the hue of yellow wax, Strait and unequal as a strieke of flax.
Yet long, and thin it grew from his large head,
And all his brawny shoulders over spread;
Divided into parcels here and there:
No gaudy hood conceal'd his golden hair;
For that, with care, was in his wallet laid,
Where many curiofities he had.
Except a little cap, he rode all bare;
With glaring eyes, like a new-started hare.
A holy figure stitch'd upon his cap;
His wallet hung before him on his lap,
Stuffd and cramm'd full of pardons, newly come,
For greedy zealots, piping hot from Rome.
Shrill was his voice as any mountain goat,
Aloud he said his orisons by rote:
A beard he never had, nor e'er will have,
No barber took the pains that chin to shave:
He might have been a gelding, or a mare:
But never sure from Berwick ev'n to Ware,
Was Pard'ner furnish'd with such precious geere;
For in his male he had a pollowbere,
Which piously was thought our Lady's veil;
He kept, beside, a gobbet of the fail
Which Peter had and now this pard'ner hath)
When Chrift rebuk'd him for his little faith.
A cross he show'd of tin, set full of stones;
And, in a glass, a number of pigs bones.
With these, more pardons daily he'd dispense,
In one poor village would collect more pence,
(As by record too plainly does appear)
Than a poor parson lab'ring all the Year.
Thus, with feign'd flatteries and holy tools,
He made the parson and the people fools.
Howe'er, to tell the truth just as it stood;
He seem'd in church ecclefiaftick good.
A leffon he could read, or tell a story,
And roar the Psalter with no little glory:
But best of all an offertory sung;
So loud, fo chearful, that the chapel rungi
This gain'd him pence from the deluded crowd;
Therefore he sung fo chearful, and so loud.