Fennors defence: or, I am your first man VVherein the VVater-man, Iohn Taylor, is dasht, sowst, and finally fallen into the Thames: With his slanderous taxations, base imputations, scandalous accusations and foule abhominations, against his maiesties ryming poet: who hath answered him without vexatione, or [...] bling recantations. The reason of my not meeting at the Hope with Taylor, is truly demonstrated in the induction to the [...] udger. Thy hastie gallop my milde muse shall checke, that if thou sit not sure, will breake thy necke.

Defence.

HOw Rascall-like, thou dealst with me at first; Thou shewst frō what Antiquitie th'art nurst: How darst thou of thy Satyre-Musicke boast, That now stands bound vnto the whipping Post? But I will spare thee, thou intemperate Asse, Vntill in Bride-well thou shalt currant passe. Thou sayst, I had better with the Deuill deale; By which thou do'st thy wickednesse reueale:

But I haue naught to doe with him or thee; If thou be his companion, God blesse me. To crouch, or whyne, thou giu'st me no occasion; But I must laugh at thy absurd persuation: Thou art that Lernean Snake, squeeze thine owne gall, But 'tis too bad to make thee Inke withall. Th'ast gone so long to Styx for mingled Inke, That all thy verses in mens nosthrils stinke. For Pens, the Scrich-Owles fethers are too tough; A Gooses Wing for thee is good ynough. Thou hast emblas'd me, Basest slaue of Men; That name I freely send thee backe agen, Vntill the World hath better eyes to see Which is the basest Iacke, my selfe, or thee. Thou call'st me Rogue so artificiall, That I must iudge thee for one naturall: The Iniurie proceeded from thy toung, And yet y^u wouldst make me thy cloake for wrong. But do'st thou thinke the matter is no more, But hang my selfe; thy counsell I abhore: And take thou heed of this inchanted Spell, Iohn Taylor ended like Achitophel. What foolish Asse, like thee, would take in hand To play a Play, that couldst not vnderstand What thine owne follie is, thou art so blinde; Onely to basenesse thou art well inclin'de. Do'st thinke I had no businesse, but to wait On thy detested Fopperies Conceit:

Yet I protest, hadst thou but sent the Bill For me to answere, Ide haue shew'd my skill: Which would haue beene so much to thy disgrace, That thou againe durst nere haue shew'd thy face. Canst thou imagine, that I went away For feare of thee, or thy contemned Play: Know foole, when on the Stage I purchasd worth, I scornd to send for thee to helpe me forth. And put the case that I should challenge thee, Thy rayling Spirit could not answere mee: For thou art nothing without three months studie; Ide beat my braines out, if they were so muddie. Fiue shillings I confesse I had of thee; Which I protest my seruant had from me For to repay thee: but since he did sayle, Thou mightst haue sent to me; not write, and rayle On him, that holds his honestie more deare Then all the Thames Reuenewes in a yeare. But here thou driu'st me to a short demurre, To know why thou shouldst call a Christian, Curre: Oh, I haue found it; to my griefe I see, That Curres and Christians are alike to thee. But was thy credit by my treason slaine; Faith I know none thou hadst to lose or staine. I wonder much at thy simplicitie, That thou shouldst chalenge me for sharking thee; When of my troth I had rather giue thee gifts, Then see thee driuen to such paltrie shifts.

Thou and thy Squire oft have ferried mee, More oft then I and mine haue rim'd to thee, If euer I haue sung to nastie Whores, Thou or some Pander, like thee, kept the dores: For I am sure, that for as little meanes, As two pence, thou wilt carry knaues y queanes. I know not what thou meanst by Daxie Dell, It seemes with them thou art acquainted well. For scrappes & broken beere it is so rare For mee to rime, that thou shall haue my share: For though much wealth I want to maintaine mee I'll neuer trouble Whores, nor Rogues, nor thee. Allow I am squint-eyde, yet with those eyes I can thy Baboonestrickes anatomize. But prethee, which of all the Deuils cramb'd That word of judgement in the Thou art damb'd? I'd rather wish thee talke of thy saluation, Lest hate should hurrie thee into damnation. Had'st thou begun with Brothell then transcended Vnto a Tauerne, thou thy state hadst mended: But thou dost all thou canst to cut my throat And cheat mee of the Tinker and his groat: Thou hast so many voyages to hell, That Nemesis will like thy visage well; And for to make hels number one the fuller, Charon will take thee for his vnder Sculler: And frō those lossing torments w.^ch torment thee. I'll find a shelter, though it discontent thee.

Why dost thou blame my tongue, 'cause it proclai•••• Myself a seruant to my Soueraigne Iames I would all hearts & tongues w.^th mine w.^ch sing Their loyall duty to my Lord the King. His Royall fauor makes thy enuy swell, As by thy words all may discerne it well. Thy base comparison I hate and curse, Pray heauen thy seruice to him proue no wors•• For then my Rime shall tell thee this in Reason Shalt ne'r be hang'd for fellony nor treason. Now for the rest, thou poore Beare garden sport I scorne to tell thee how I liue in Court: Yet for to certifie thee, thou shalt know it, It hath pleasd the King to call mee his Ryming Po•••• Although too farre vnworthy, I confesse, To merit it, the Title I possesse: Yet without boasting, let me boldly say, I'll ryme with any man that breaths this day Vpon a subject in extempore, Or else be blotted from all memorie, For any wager dare ingaged be. Then thinke what cause I had to run from the•• Except it were, because I would not heare, How thou absurdly didst abuse each eare. But thou dost taske me with my sawcinese, That I myselfe a Poet dare professe: Wouldst thou have me rob Nature of her gifts Why that were baser then thy basest shifts:

Yet my esteeme of course extempory, Is but as seruile to sweet Poesie, Why wouldst thou trouble Homer from his rest, To view the slanders belcht from thy base brest. Were Ouid liuing, hee would discommend thee, Horace in steed of wine would water send thee: And famous Virgill, in his lofty stile, At this thy rayling humor would but smile. Last, all that haue deseru'd a Lawrell wreath, Vnto thy Muse a paire of sculls bequeath. Alas pore Spong, thou suckst vp naught but spight And dost me open wrong thy faults to right: What Coxcombe foole would proffer such abuses As thou hast done to Poets and the Muses? But deare Taliae in her riming fit Sung, Thou wilt die a foole, for want of wit, Thou saist thy iudgement can compose a verse; What my opinion's of thee Ile rehearse, Thou art no better then a Poets Whelpe, That fauning vp and downe seekes after helpe: I could be like thy selfe, vnmannerly, But that I scorne thy stile should tutor me. No, burne thy selfe out, like a Candle-snuffe, 'Tis vaine to make thee worse, th'art bad enuffe. Thou taxest me, that I abroad do vaunt, What Lords & Knights to me their fauors graunt; It also seemes that thou from me would'st know, What Countesses and Ladies countenance shew.

I'le tell thee plainely; such do entertaine me, That for thy rayling baseness will disdaine thee, Had they thy hungry chapps once foddered, Thou wouldst not title them embrodered. But, Syrra, though you meddle with your mate Thou shouldst learn maners to forbeare the state And not to descant vppon Court and King, Twere fitter thou shouldst of a Sculler sing. Presumptuous foole, how dar'st thou be so bo•••• To speake of Kings whom men with feare behol•• You say, you know his royall Maiesty Will not allow his Court to harbour me: Nay more; your Scullership doth know right w•••••• That I no longer in his house shal dwell. Is then his wisedome think'st thou such meane treasur•• That Water-men must know his royall pleasure Yet I confesse so farre his will they know When he directs them whether they shall goe. It may bee thou wa'st put in office lately, Which makes thee rogue me so, & rayle so state But when thy head peepes through the pillory I doubt these termes thy eares must iustifie. For thy bace words are of such hard digestion, They'l cause sorn stomack call thy name in quest•••••• Thou hopst to see me whipt; stand fast blind Ho•••••• For feare thou stumble into th'Porters Lodge: Raue, rayle, doe what thou canst, I'le neuer cea•••• To serue my soueraigne maister King of peace.

Watch till thy eyes fall out; Write; do thy worst; I haue a Penne and Inkhorne is as curst, To answere all thy Rayling, Satyrizing, In three daies, what y^u three months art deuising: And when thy quarter-Cockatrice sees light, In troth it is not worthie of mans sight. But I am sorrie that thy credit's tainted, To make thee and thy Chaundler vnacquainted: Will he not score no more for Egges and Cheese, Because he saw thy Hope vpon her knees? Rather then thou shouldst lay that fault on me, Come where I dwell, Ile passe my word for thee: For Reputation thou canst haue no more, Then in a Bakers debt, or Ale-wifes score: And if thou be deny'de both Bread and Drinke, Thy Writing and thy Rowing's like to shrinke. Leaue these Inuectiues, trust vnto thy Scull, For that's the way to fill thy bellie full Of Meat and Drinke; besides this Consolation, Thou labor'st truly in thine owne Vocation. Why shouldst thou stagger after Poesie, That is attended on by Pouertie? I wish thee as my friend; ne're goe about it; For, as I guesse, th'art poore ynough without it. I see thou art so bare and desperate, Thou wouldst turn Hangman to aduance thy state; And hang vp me; but (Sculler) Ile ore-match you, And stand to see a Hempen halter catch you:

For the old prouerbe neuer failed yet, Who spreads netts for his friends, snares his owne feet, But yet I wonder since thou hat'st my life, Thou shouldst professe such kindnes to my wife, If thy hot loue without deceipt be feruent, My kitchin Maide shall take the for her feruant, For all the loue that from my wife proceeds, Is scorning of thy person and thy deeds: Thou calst them wittols that lead quiet liues, But none but Rascalls will abuse their wiues. But now to the disasters of the day, How thou miscariedst with thy Hopefull play. Of thy mishapps no long discourse ile tell, How thou amongst them mad'st a beastly smell. Thou dost commend the Players for their action, But they were all ashamd of thy distraction, For them, as much as thine, my praise alowe, For none amongst them plaide the foole but thou: Thou wouldst same finde a fault, yet knowst not where, When in thy bosome it appeareth cleare. Thy cheefest rayling and thy strongst euasion, Is against me, yet thou art the occasion. Another while thou blamst the Audience, When thou wast cause of their impatience; The better sort said I was wise enuffe, To keep me out of that black whirle-winde puffe, Which almost blue the hangings from the stage, Was ere such folly knowne in any age?

Thou sayst, the Maundering Begger credit got, For that, thou knowst I know a Poet wrot: For all the rest, that was deuisde by thee, Was nothing but a heape of Fopperie. I heard, thou letst the Wine run tumbling downe Thy rotten wind-pipe, like a drunken Clowne: But yet thy Lion drunke could not defend thee, For 'twas thy Ape drunke made some men cōmend thee: For that daies censure thou canst not escape, Which sayes, That all thy actions playde the Ape. But thy Tobacco was such stinking stuffe, That all the people cry'de, Enough, enough. Thy third Act shew'd the humors of men frantick, Wherin, most like an Asse, thou stoodst for Antick: I saw it not whether it were good or bad; But wise men iudge thee either foole, or mad. Thy last Act shewes thy skill vpon the Seas To be so rare; it did them all displease: And in conclusion, such a Tempest rose, That blew thee off, and made thy friends thy foes. And woldst thou load my back with al this blame? Nay; as thou got'st the coyne, so take the shame: And let me tell thee this, to calme thy Rage. I chaleng'd Kendall on the Fortune Stage; And he did promise 'fore an Audience For to oppose me; note the Accidence: I set vp Bills, the People throng'd apace, With full intention to disgrace, or grace;

The House was ful, the Trūpets twice had foūded, And though he came not, I was not confounded, But stept vpon the Stage, and told them this; My Aduerse would not come: not one did hisse; But flung me Theames: I then extempore Did blot his name from out their memorie, And pleasd them all, in spight of one to braue me, Witnesse the Ringing Plaudits that they gaue me. Was not this iust the case 'twixt me and thee? And yet thy eyes thine owne faults cannot see. Ile touch thee neerer: Hadst thou beene away, As I was, and my selfe supply'de the day, I would haue rows'd my Muse incontinent, With Mirths best quaint deuise, for their content; And in extempore I would haue gain'd The fauor of them all; which thee disdain'd. But thou art hatcht from Saturnes frozen braine, Poore drowsie groome of sleepie Morpheus traine: If there be any sparke of Muse in thee, It is the tayle-gut of Melpomenie, Which doth instruct thee in thy filthie tearmes; There's nothing else in thee my Penne affirmes. Hadst thou done well, the credit had been thine; But doing ill, thoud'st haue the shame be mine. The Money pleasd thy humor passing well; But thy discredit made thy anger swell Aboue the verge of Patience; and thy Sayle, Blowne full of Enuie, bursts it selfe to Rayle,

Not publikely, but in a priuate Hole Kindle thy Mallice at the Deuils coale: But I with water of true Honestie Will quench thy raging heat of Villanie. How brauely thou canst brag it out, and swagger, And talk of stabbes (God blesse vs) & thy dagger: I would not see thy spightfull spit-Frog drawne, 'Twill serue thee better for an Ale-house pawne. Thou scornst to foule thy fingers vpon men, Because thou knowst they will shake hands agen: But thou art excellent at these windie puffes, And darst encounter boyes at fisticuffes; But Sirrha, looke to your greene Wastcoat well, For feare the boyes doe teare it off peccemell. All the kinde fauor that I will implore, Is, That thou wouldst not threaten me no more: And yet, now I remember, 'tis no wrong; For threatned folke (the Prouerbe sayes) liue long: But with thy Penne write, & reuenge thy spleene, Ile haue an Answere that shall cut as keene. But now base Slanderer, I must tearme thee so; Why medlest thou with them thou dost not know: This long I haue but spent my Inke in ieast, But now Ile dart my anger at thy breast: I would I had the humor of some Scold, That I, like thee, my venome might vnfold. Thou neuer knewst my birth, nor my begetting, So well as I thy Rascall Play, and Cheating:

But whatsoere my birth or breeding bee, Spider, I liue to tosse and torture thee, Vse thee like Stock-fish, gill thee like a Sprat, Duck thee i'the Towne-ditch, like a Water-Rat, Make Iigges and Ballads of thy apish Toyes, For to be sung by thred-bare Fidlers Boyes: Yet to doe this, I shall but proue a Babie; Thou hast disgrac'd thy selfe as much as may be. Thou Barrabas of all humanitie, Base slanderer of Christianitie, Know that I am a Christian, and am borne Better then thy best Kindred, Ile be sworne: How thy own tongue thy breeding doth display, By Pedlers French, and Canting, Curds & Whay; And Ile approue it to thy foule disgrace, Thou art sprung from basenesse; I, from Gentries Race: Which to make good, my Parents yet doe liue, And each day at their Table food doe giue To better men then thou; mishapen slaue: Thus beare thy slanders with thee to thy graue. If I at Grauesend rim'de for foureteene pence, For 12. pence thou hast row'de that voiage since: Allow it were no more; I bor't away With better credit then thou didst thy Play. Thy enuie is not worth the speaking of; The more thou raylst at me, the more I laugh: I scorne to begge (as thou dost) Poets phrases To raise my name; let Merit sing my praises:

For were they meaner then thy own desert, They were the worse where thou shouldst sing a part: Thou dost but thinke there's nothing good in me; But I am sure there is much lesse in thee. That hate thou bear'st me, prethee beare me still, My good with enuie all thy veines shall fill, Vntil they swell and burst thy angrie gall: Then if I liue, I will lament thy fall; And on thy graue this Epitaph bestow, For to be read for either friend or foe.