Mr Thomas Coriat to his friends in England sendeth greeting from Agra the capitall city of the dominion of the great Mogoll in the Easterne India, the last of October, 1616. Thy trauels and thy glory to ennamell, with fame we mount thee on the lofty cammell; ... .

A LITTLE RE∣MEMBRANCE OF his variety of Tongues, and Politicke forme of TRAVELL.

A Very Babell of confused Tongues Vnto thy little Microcosme belongs, That to what place soeuer thou doost walk, Thou wilt lose nothing through the want of talke. For thou canst kisse thy hand, and make a legge, And wisely canst in any language begge,

And sure to begge 'tis pollicie (I note) It sometimes saues the cutting of thy throat: For the worst thiefe that euer liu'd by stealth, Will neuer kill a beggar for his wealth. But who is't but thy wisedome doth admire, That doth vnto such high conceits aspire. Thou tak'st the bounty of each bounteous giuer, And drink'st the liquor of the running riuer: Each Kitchin where thou com'st, thou hast a Cooke, Thou neuer run'st on score vnto the Brooke; For if thou didst, the Brooke and thou would'st gree, Thou runst from it, and it doth run from thee. In thy returne from Agra and Assmere By thy relation following doth appeare, That thou dost purpose learnedly to fling A rare Oration to the Persian King.

Then let the idle world prate this, and that, The Persian King will giue thee (God knowes what▪) And furthermore to me it wondrous strange is, How thou dost meane to see the Riuer Ganges, With Tigris, Euphrates, and Nimrods Babell, And the vnhappy place where Caine slew Abell. That if thou were in Hebrew circumsised, The Rabbyes all were wondrous ill aduised: Nay more, they were all Coxecombes, all starke mad To thinke thou wert of any Tribe but Gad. Sure, in thy youth thou eat'st much running fare, As Trotters, Neates-feete, and the swift-foot Hare, And so by inspiration fed, it bred Two going feet to beare one running head. Thou fil'st the Printers Presse with Griefe and mourning, Still gaping, and expecting thy returning:

All Pauls-Church yard is fil'd with melancholy, Not for the want of Bookes, or wit; but folly.

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It is for them, to grieue too much for thee, For thou wilt come when thou thy time shalt see.

But yet at one thing much my Muse doth muse, Thou aust so many commendations vse Vnto thy Mother and to diuers friends, Thou hast ••••membred many kinde commends, And till the last thou didst forget thy Father, I know not why, but this conceit I gather, That as men sitting at a feast to eat, Begin with Beefe, Porke, Mutton, and such meate; And when their stomacks are a little cloyd, This first course then the voyder doth auoid: The anger of their hunger being past, The Pheasant and the Partridge comes at last. This (I imagine) in thy mindedid fail, To note thy Father last to close vp all. First to thy Mother here thou dost commend, And lastly to thy Father thou dost send:

She may command in thee a Filiall awe, But he is but thy Father by the Law. To heare of thee, mirth euery heart doth cheere, But we should laugh out-right to haue thee heere. For who is it that knowes thee, but would choose, Farther to haue thy presence then thy newes. Thou shewest how well thou setst thy wits to worke, In tickling of a misbeleeuing Turke: He cal'd thee Giaur, but thou so well didst answer (Being hot and fiery, like to crabbed Caneer) That if he had a Turke of ten pence bin, Thou told'st him plaine the errors he was in; His Alkaron, his Moskyes are whim-whams, False bug-beare bables, fables all that dams, Sleights of the Deuill, that brings perpetuall woe, Thou wast not mealy mouth'd to tell him so.

And when thy talke with him thou didst giue ore, As wise he parted as he was before: His ignorance had not the power to see Which way or how to edifie by thee: But with the Turke (thus much I build vpon) If words could haue done good, it had beene done.

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