The lettin[g] of humours blood in the head-vaine with a new morissco, daunced by seauen satyres, vpon the bottome of Diog[e?]nes tubbe.

1.

WHo haue we here? Behold him and be mute, Some mightie man Ile warrant by his sute. If all the Mercers in Cheapside shew such, Ile giue them leaue to giue me twice asmuch: I thinke the stuffe is namelesse he doth weare, But what so ere it be, it is huge geare. Marke but his gate, and giue him then his due, Some swaggring fellow, I may say to you: It seemes Ambition in his bigge lookes shroudes, Some Centaure sure, begotten of the Cloudes, Now a shame take the buzard, is it he: I know the ruffaine, now his face I see. On a more gull the Sunne did neuer shine, How with a vengance comes the soole so fine? Some Noble mans cast Sute is fallen vnto him, For buying Hose and Doblet would vndo him.

But wote you now, whither the buzard walkes? I, into Paules for sooth, and there he talkes Of forraine tumults, vttring his aduice, And prouing Warres euen like a game at dice: For this (sayes he) as euery gamster knowes, Where one side winnes, the other side must loose Next speach he vtters, is his stomackes care, Which ordinarie yeeldes the cheapest fare: Or if his pursse be out of tune to pay, Then he remembers tis a fasting day: And then he talketh much against excesse, Swearing all other Nations eate farre lesse Then Englishmen; experience you may get In Fraunce and Spaine; where he was neuer yet. With a score of Figges and halfe a pint of Wine, Some foure or fine will very hugely dine. Mee thinkes this tale is very huge in sound, That halfe a pint should serue fiue to drinke round And twentie Figges could feed them full and fat: But trauellers may lye; who knowes not that, Then why not he, that trauels in conceit, From East to West, when he can get no meate? His Iorney is in Paules in the backe Isles,

Wher's stomacke counts each pace a hūdred miles. A tedious thing, though chaunce will haue it such, To trauaile so long baytlesle, sure tis much. Some other time stumbling on wealthy Chuffes, Worth gulling: then he swaggers all in huffes, And tels them of a prize he was at taking Wil be the ship-boyes childrens childrens making: And that a Mouse could finde no roome in holde, It was so pesterd all with pearle and golde: Vowing to pawne his head if it were tride, They had more Rubies then wold paue Cheapsid A thousand other grosle and odious ••ies, He dares auouch to blind dull Iudgements eyes, Not caring what he speake or what he sweare, So he gaine credite at his hearers care. Sometimes into the Royall Exchange hee'le droppe Clad in the ruines of a Brokers shoppe: And there his tongue runs by as on affaires, No talke but of commodities and wares: And what great wealth he lookes for ery wind, From God knowes where, the place is hard to find. If newes be harkend for, then he preuailes, Setting his mynt a worke to coyne false tales.

His tongues-end is betipt with forged chat, Vttring rare lyes to be admired at, Heele tell you of a tree that he doth know, Vpon the which Rapiers and Daggers grow, As good as Fleetstreete hath in any shoppe, which being ripe, downe into scabbards droppe. He hath a very peece of that same Chaire. In which Caesar was stabb'd: Is it not rare? He with his feete vpon the stoones did tread, That Sathan brought, & bad Christ make thē bread His wondrous trauels challenge such renowne, That Sir Iohn Maundiuell is quite put downe. Men without heades, and Pigmies hand-bredth hie Those with one legge that on their backes do lie, And do the weathers iniurie disdaie, Making their legges a penthouse for the raine: Are tut, and tush: not any thing at all. His knowledge knowes, what no mans notice shall This is a mate vnmeete for euery groome, And where he comes, peace, giue his lying roome He saw a Hollander in Middleborow, As he was flashing of a browne Loafe thorow, Where-to the haste of hunger had inclyn'd him.

Cut himselfe through, & two that stood behind him Besides, he saw a fellow put to death, Could drinke a whole Beere barrell at a breath. Oh this is he that will say any thing, That to himselfe may any profite bring. Gainst whosoeuer he doth speake he cares not, For what is it that such a villaine dares not? And though in conscience he cannot denie, The All-commaunder saith, Thou shalt not lie, Yet will he answere (carelesse of soules state) Trueth telling, is a thing obtaineth hate.

FINIS.