All the vvorkes of Iohn Taylor the water-poet Beeing sixty and three in number. Collected into one volume by the author: vvith sundry new additions corrected, reuised, and newly imprinted, 1630.

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Title
All the vvorkes of Iohn Taylor the water-poet Beeing sixty and three in number. Collected into one volume by the author: vvith sundry new additions corrected, reuised, and newly imprinted, 1630.
Author
Taylor, John, 1580-1653.
Publication
At London :: Printed by I[ohn] B[eale, Elizabeth Allde, Bernard Alsop, and Thomas Fawcet] for Iames Boler; at the signe of the Marigold in Pauls Churchyard,
1630.
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"All the vvorkes of Iohn Taylor the water-poet Beeing sixty and three in number. Collected into one volume by the author: vvith sundry new additions corrected, reuised, and newly imprinted, 1630." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A13415.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 7, 2025.

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THE EIGHTH VVONDER OF THE VVORLD: OR, CORIATS ESCAPE FROM HIS SVPPOSED DROWNING.

DEDICATED

To the Mighty, Magnificent, Potent, and Powerfull Knight, Sir Thomas Parsons, (alias) Pheander, (alias,) Knight of the Sunne, Great Champion to Apollo, Palatine of Phoebus, Sword-hearer to Sol, Tilter, to Tytan, Housekeeper to Hyperion, and heire apparant to the inuisible kingdome of the Fairies: your deuoted Votary, IOHN TAYLOR, wisheth your Worshits wisdomes Longi∣tude, Latitude, Altitude, and Crassitude may increase aboue the Ri∣diculous multitude of the most eminent Stultorums of this latter age.

To thee braue knight, who from the Delphia god come cōsecrate these famous Acts of Odcomb: To thee alone, and vnto none but thee, For Patronage my toyling Muse doth flee,

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I gaue my drowning Coriat vnto Archy, And with his faire escape to thee now march I, Not doubting but thou wilt in kindnesse take These lines thus writ, for his, and thy deare sake. If thou in kindnesse wilt accept this taske, Hereafter I will better things vn-caske, And make the world thy worth to glory at, In greater measure then at Coriat. I'l mount thee vp in verse past Charles his Wain, I'l make the Moone Endimion to disdaine, I'l write in euer-during lines thy fame, As farre as Phoebus spreads his glorious flame. I'l make thee plucke sterne Saturne by the Chaps, And braue great Ioue amids his thunder-clappes. I'l cause thy praise t'eclipse the god of Armes, I'l make Dame Venus yeeld to loues alarmes. The nimble Mercury shall be thy foot-man, If thou wilt grace my lines, therfore looke too ma But if to patronize me thou dost scorne, 'Twere better then, thou neuer hadst beene borne: For 'gainst difdaine my Muses onely sport is, To write with Gall, commixt with Aqua-fortis: And Vineger, and Salt, and Sublimatum, Which where it falls, wil scortch & scald: probatu, Then as thou lou'st the Fairy Queene thine, Aunt, Daine to vouchsafe this poore and triuiall grannt: Then I thy Poet will with low Subiection, Proceed to write Tom Coriats Resurrection.

Yours euer, whose endeauoir shall perseuer in your seruice, IOHN TAYLOR.

To the knowing Reader.

NOw sir, it is a common customary vse in these times, to salute you with somewhat; as Honest, Kinde, Courteous, Louing, Friendly, or Gentle; but all these Epithites are ouer-worne, and doe, as it were, stinke of the fusty garbe of Antiquity. Besides, if I should come vpon you with any of these claw-backe tearmes, I might chance to belye you. But if your kinde disposition doth merit to bee called kinde, I pray let me finde it in your fauourable censure. Some will (perhaps) dislike, that I doe dedicate my bookes to Archy, and Sir Thomas, and such like. To them I answere, that my subiect being altogether foolish, I were very absurd to thinke that any wise man would be my Patron. And it were meere follie for mee to make a hotch-potch, in seeking to compound wisedome and follie together. But how, soeuer thou esteemest it, it thrusts it selfe into thy view; wherein (if thou beest not too much drowned in Melancholie) thou wilt shew thy teeth (if thou hast any) with laughing. And as •••• lines are somewhat defectiue in their shape, so I pray thee doe not hacke them, nor hew them with thy stammering, to make them worse, nor. Buzzard-blast them with thy alumniating mewes, rushes, and scuruies. Thus leauing thee to thy selfe, and my selfe vnto thee, I remaine thine as thou respect'st me,

IOHN TAYLOR.

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The cause of the contention betwixt sir Thomas the Scholer, and Iohn the Sculler.

A Pamphlet printed was, The Sculler nam'd, Wherein Sir Thomas much my writing blam'd; Because in Epigram therin was written, In which he said, he was nipt, gald and bitten. He frets, he fun••••, he rages and exclaimes, And vowes to rouze me from the Riuer Thames. Well, I to make him some amends for that, Did write a Booke was cald, Laugh and be fat: In which he said I wrong'd him ten times more, And made him madder then he was before. Then did he storme, and chase, and sweare, and ban, And so superiour powers amaine he ran, Where he obtained Laugh and be fat's confusion, Who all were burnt, and made a hot conclusion. Then after that, when rumour had him drownd, (The newes whereof, my vexed Muse did wound) I writ a letter to th Elizian coast, T' appease his angry wrong-incensed Ghost. The which my poore inuention then did call, Odcombs Complaint, or Coriats Funerall. But since true newes is come, he scap'd that danger, And through hot Sun-burnt Asia is a ranger: His raising from the dead I thought to write, To please my selfe, and giue my friends delight.

The VVorlds eighth VVonder: OR, CORIATS REVIVING.

LOI the man whose Muse did lately forage, Through winds & seas with dreadlesse dantlesse corage, And to the life, in hodg-podg rime exprest, How Odcomb Coras was great Neptunes ghest. How Th•••••• sweedy full'd him in her lappe, And (as her darling) fed the Barne with pappe. How big mouth'd AEol storm'd, and pust, and blew: And how both winds and Sea with all their crue Were pleas'd and displeas'd, tumbled, rag'd, and tost, The Gainers glad, and mad were they that lost. These tedious taskes my toyling Muse hath run, And what she did, for Coriats sake was dun. Shee hath transported him to Bossems Inne, Where in a Basket he hath hanged bin: Shee hath inuolu'd him in the hungry deepe, In hope to leaue him in eternall sleepe: Yet hauing hang'd him first, and after drown'd him, My poore laborious Muse againe hath found him. For 'tis her duty still to wait and serue him, Although the Fates should hang, or drown, or sterue him, The fatall Sisters serue his turne so pat, That sure he hath more liues then hath a Cat. Alcides neuer past so many dangers As he hath done, amongst his friends, and strangers. He runs through all his actions with such ease, As Hogs eate Acorns, or as Pidgeons Pease, There's nothing in the world can him disgrace, Not being beaten in a lowzy case: Nor Trunks, nor Puncks, nor stocks, nor mocks, nor moes, Nor being made an Asse in Rime and Prose: Nor hanging, drowning, carting nor the blanket. These honours all are his, the gods be thanked.
BVt now me-thinkes, some curious itching care Doth long some sportiue newes of him to heare.

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For being in the Ocean buried vnder, And now aliue againe, 'tis more then wonder: But how these wondrous wooders came to passe, I (as I can) will tell you how it was.
VVHen first this mirrour 'mongst a world of Nations, (This great ingroser of strange obseruations) Was bound for Constantines braue noble City, Then he (who is Wit, all, or else all witty) Whose vigilancy lets no aduantage slip, Embarked was in a tall proued Ship Of London, the Samaritan she hight: Now note the fore cast of this famous wight: The Ship he onely for her name did chuse, In detestation of the faithlesse Iewes: For why, the Iewes and the Samaritans Did hate as Christians, Anti-Christians. Yet I suppose his spight to them did spring. For I thinke what, and now I'l name the thing: In his first fiue months strange perambulation, He was in danger of that peruerse Nation. For they by wrongfull force would haue surpriz'd him, T'excoriat Coriat, and haue Circumciz'd him. This dreadfull terrour of his Lady-ware, I gese the cause the Iewes he hatred bare. How ••••er was his intricate intent, In the Samaritan to Sea he went: And care-abusing false intelligence Said, he was drown'd in Neptunes residence. Thus false report did make me much mistake: For which, a faire recanting mends I'l make. My grieued Muse hath euer since his drowning, Beene vext with sorrow, and continuall swowning: But now she's all attir'd with mirth and gladnesse, The Lye was good that made her sick with sadnesse.
KNow therefore, Readers, whatsoe'r you are: That this great Britaine braue Odcombyan star, Was tost on Neptunes rough ren or celesse waes, Where each man look'd for timelesse brinish granes: For Eolus vnlock'd his vaulted Center, And 'gainst the Sea-god did in Armes aduenter, With winds vniayled came at vnawares, And greene-fac'd Neptune with defiance dares, With all his warry Regiments to fight, Or yeeld this matchles, worthles, wondrous knight. The great humidious Monarch tells him plaine, 'Twere best he iogd from his commanding Maine: And with his troupes of homelesse, rouing slane Goe hide him in the earths imprison'd Canes, And not disturbe him in his Regall Thr••••e, For be would keepe Tom Coriat, or else none. Then Eol 'gan his windy wrath to vent, And swore by Styn, that Neptune should repent This hauty high audacious insolence, Against his powerfull great magnificence. Then Triton founded, the alarme was giuen, That from hells bottome, to the skirts of heauen, The repercussiue ecchoes of his founding, With dreadfull relapse backe againe redounding. Then, then Robustious swolne cheek'd Boreas blasts, Teare, riue, and shiuer Tacklins, Sailes, and Masts: In totter'd fragments all in pieces shatter'd, Which here and there confusedly lay scatter'd. These hurly burly stormes and tempests tumbling, With dire amazing Thunder-thumping rumbling, The mounting billowes, like great mountaines ••••••, As if they meant to drowne the losty skies. Then downe they fall to the Tartarian deepe, As if th' infernall Fiends they meant to steepe: That sure (I gesse) a greater gust was neuer, Since Iun did AEnea's ruine endeauour. The Kingly Sea-god (to anoyd more harmes) Caught Coriat (the cause of these Alarmes) And so his boystrons windy foe depriu'd, And home thorow worlds of flouds a main he dim'd. But awefull loue to his Imperiall spheare, These grieuous garboyles chanced for to heare: And to his brother Neptune downe he sends The wing-heel'd Mercury, with these commends: To thee, thou watry great commanding Keasar, I come from heauens Maiesticke mighty Casar; Commanding thee by thy fraternall loue, That from thy Coasts thou presently remoue The man thou lately look'st, the worlds sole woder, Or else he'l rouze thee with distracting Thunder: And therefore, as Iones friendship thou dost tender, To safe arriuall see thou dost him render: Whilst May'es sonne his message thus did tell, A fury, like a Post-knight, came from hell: And from th' inf••••nall King of blacke Anernu, These words he vtter'd (which doe much concern vs From Acherouticke, Phlegetonticke waues, Thy brother Plato thus much friendship craues: Thou wilt send Coriat downe with him to igne, And he'l send thee as good a thing againe. For Proserpina his illustrious Pheare, Of him, and his aduentures chanc'd to heare: Because a Gentleman-vsher the doth want, To haue him, Pluto begs thy friendly grant. The Marine Monarch answers, thus it is: You N••••ti from our brothren Ione, and D••••, Know, such a mortall is within my power, Imprison'd close, in Thetis siluer Bower, I did surprize him midst a thousand toyles Of warres, of iarres, of bloody banefull broyles: My high-borne brother Ioue hath hither sent, Commanding me that I incontinent Doe safely set this new-found man aland. And I from Pluto further vnderstand,

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That he would haue him to Cocitus Coast, Where he and Cores daughter rules the roast. First therefore I in wisedome hold it best, To yeeld vnto the mighty loues request: And on the Grecian coast I'l safely place him, Where he may wāder where his fortunes trace him. Thes messengers thus answer'd, were dismist, And Neptune did to land his guest persist: •••• now all hell was in an expectation For Coriats comming, making preparation, The Stigian Ferri-man on Stixes shore, Did wait with diligence to wast him o'r, And hels three headed Porter sweetly sung For ioy, that all the Coastes of Limbo rung With howling Musickes, dambe despightfull notes, From out his triple Chaps, and treble throats. •••• from the tortring wheele was eas'd, And pining Tantall was with iunkets pleas'd: And further, 'twas commanded, and decreed, The Gripe no more on Titius guts should feed. The nine and forty wenches, water silling, In tubs vnbottom'd, which was euer spilling: They all had leaue to leaue their endlesse toyles, To dance, sing, sport, and to keepe reuell coyles. Three forked Hecate to mirth was prone, And Si••••phus gaue o'r the restlesse stone. All in conclusion, had free leaue to play, And for Tom Coriats sake make holiday. Thus all blacke Barathrum is fill'd with games, With lasting bone-fires, casting sulphur-flames. In Vse'rers skuls the molten gold they quaffe, And skink, and drink, and wink, and stink, and lasse. But when the Post was come and told his Tale, Then all this sport was turn'd to banefull bale. Grim Pluto storm'd, and Proserpina mournd, And tortur'd Ghosts, to torments were returnd.
The Sea god (carefull of great Iones high hest) To great Constantinople brought his guest: Where (nothing that may honour him omitting) His entertainement to his state was fitting: There in all pleasure he himselfe disports, Conuersing daily with such braue consorts, As Turkes, and Tartars, Englishmen and Greekes, That he thinkes ages yeeres, and yeeres but weekes, That's wasted in this rare time stealing chat. All his delight's in nothing else but that. But his high honour further to relate, I'l sing the new aduancement of his state. Some English Gentlemen with him consulted, And he as nat'rally with them constulted: Where they perceiuing his deserts were great, They striu'd to mount him into honours seat: And being found of an vnmatched spright, He there, was double dub'd a doughty Knight. Rise vp, sir Thomas, worship'd mayst thoube Of people all (that are as wise as thee.) Now rap't with ioy, my Muse must needs record, How he was knighted with a royall sword: But into what a puzzell now got I am? They say it was the Bilbo of King Priam, The fatall blade which he in fury drew, When in reuenge the Mirmidons he flew. Im pell mel vengeance for great Hectors bane, Who by Achillis faire foule-play was slaine. That sword that mow'd the Grecians like a sithe: That sword that made victorious Troyans blithe: That sword, that through so many dangers rub'd, That famous sword hath Monsier Coriat dub'd. What though 'twas rusty? spight of cankerd rust, The memory of honour liues in dust, 'Twas no disgrace it was so rusty shap'd, It had (like Coriat) many a scowring scap'd.
BVt 'mongst the rest, this must not be forgot, How he did from Constantinople trot, And how a solemne counsell there decreed, That he should trauell in a Grecian weede. To this (for his owne safety) they doe woo him, Because the language is so nat'rall to him. And then bespake a sober sage wise fellow, (When wine had made them all in general mellow) Take heed, quoth he, I counsell you, beware That of your selfe you haue a speciall care, You be not taken for a French-man, for The Turks in these parts doe the French abhor. Since Godsries times, that braue bold Bullen Duke, Who put them all to shame, and rough rebuke, And made the Sarasins by Millions bleed, And holy Toombe, from faithlesse fiends he freed. Wherefore (quoth he) in friendship I aduise you T'auoid suspect, 'twere best we Circumcise you: And then you freely may through perils passe, Despight the Turks, so like a Grecian Asse. Noman with Linxes eyes will deeme you other, And thus you safely may suspition smother. Sir Thomas gaue this fellowes speech the hearing, But told him 'twas too heauy for his bearing: For why, fall backe, fall edge, come good, come ill, He vow'd to keepe his fore-mans fore-skin still. This resolution was no sooner spoken, The friendly counsell was dismist and broken. Where after leaue was tane twixt him and them, He tooke his iourny toward Ierusalem: And what he can obserue 'twixt morne and night, With due obseruance he doth daily write, That if my iudgement be not much mistooke, An Elephant will scarce support his booke. For he in fiue months built a paper hulke, And this must be ten times of greater buike.

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O Pauls-Church-yard, I onely pitty thee, Thou, onely thou, shalt most encumbred bee: Thou from the Presse are prest to be opprest, With many a farfetch'd home-brought Odcomb iest. But yet I know the Stationers are wise, And well do know wherein the danger lies: For to such inconuenience they'l not enter, But suffer Coriat to abide th'aduenter: Because his Gyant volume is so large, They'l giue sir Thomas leaue to beare the charge. That man is mad who changes gold for drosse, And so were they to buy a certaine losse: Let him that got and bore the Barne, still breed it, And nurse, disburse, and foster, cloath, and feed it.
THus hath my Muse (as fortune her allotted) Both run and rid, and gallopt, ambled, trotted To skyes, and seas, and to blacke hell below, In seruile duty that my loue doth owe. My captiue thoughts, like trusty seruants to him, Striue how they any way may seruice doe him. To serue his turne like Prentices they gree, Ioue send Sir Thomas home to make them free.
Epilogue to Sir Thomas Coriat vpon his name.
VVHy haue I spent my time thus, Coriat? Wherfore on thy leud lines thus pore I at? Why like an Ideot foole adore— I at Thy workes? which wisedome will not glory at. At no place'euer was before— I at Where wonders vpon wonder more— I at With pen, instead of Lance, now gore— I at Thy Odcomb foppery now bore— I at. At thy prides altitude, now fore— I at Thou art the Theame I write my— story at. If ought befell me to be— story at Hard-hearted fate, 'gainst thee then rore— I at.
Vpon his bookes name, called his Crudities.
TOm Coriat, I haue seene thy Crudities, And, me-thinkes, very strangely brude it is, With piece and patch together glude— it is, And how (like thee) ill-fauour'd hu'de— it is, In many a line I see that lewd— it is, And therefore fit to be subdew'd— it is,
Within thy broyling braine-pan stude— it is, And twixt thy grinding iawes well chewd it is, Within thy stomacke closely mude— it is, And last, in Court and Country spude— it is: But now by wisedomes eye that view'd it is, They all agree that very rude— it is, With foolery so full endude— it is, That wondrously by fooles pursude— it is, As sweet as galls amaritude— it is, And seeming full of Pulchritude— it is, But more to write, but to intrude— it is, And therefore wisedome to conclude— it is,
A Simile for his Learning.
THe lushious Grape of Bacchus heating Vine, When it to ripe maturity is sprung, Is prest, and so conuerred into wine, Then clos'd in Caske most tight at head and bung: For if by chance, it chanceth to take vent: It spils the wine in colour, strength, and sent,
Eu'n so thy Latine, and thy Greeke was good Till in thy musty Hogges-head it was put: And Odly there Commixed with thy blood, Not wisely kept, nor well; nor tightly shut: That of the Caske it tastes, so I assure thee, That few (or none) can (but in sport) endure thee.
My Fare-well to him.
NOw Coriat, I with thee haue euer done, My Muse vnto her iournies end hath wonne: My first Inuentions highly did displease thee, And these my last are written to appease thee. I wrought these great Herculean works to win thee: Then if they please thee not, the foole's within thee What next I write, shall better be or none, Doe thou let me, and I'l let thee alone. But if thou seem'st to rub a galled sore, Vindictas vengeance makes all Hell to rore.
FINIS.
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