The certain travailes of an uncertain journey begun on Tuesday the 9. of August, and ended on Saturday the 3. of September following, 1653. Wherein the readers may take notice, that the authors purpose was to travell, and write this following relation, for no other intent or purpose, but to pleasure himself, and to please his friends in the first place. By John Taylor, at the sign of the Poets Head, in Phœniz [sic] Alley, near the Globe Tavern, in the middle of Long-Acre nigh the Covent-Garden. Those twelve following lines I gave to divers gentlemen and friends, before I went, and as they have kindly subscribed to my bill, I [d]o humbly expect their courteous acceptation of this booke.

The certainty of the uncertaine Travels of John Taylor, performed in this yeere 1653.

TIs laudable to read well pen'd Relations Of foreign Countries, & their situations, That by the judgement of the eie & brain Some knowledge to discourse we may attain. For Histories, and learn'd Cosmographers, And diligent acute Geographers; One hath survay'd celestiall lofty sphears, How all the Planets run in their carriers: The stars, the signes, and every influence In every Heavenly Orbs circumference, And were it not for high Astronomy (Whose lofty painfull steps have scal'd the sky) For times and seasons we might grope and seek, Not knowing yeers, or quarters, month, or week, Or houres, or minutes, nor the Sabbath day, Nor when to eat, or sleep, or debts to pay. Millions of people would this knowledge lack Except directed from the Almanack. Thus Art, (with pains and travell of the mind) Taught mean capacities, these things to find.

He travels far that goes beyond the Moone, Or thinks this skill may be attayned soone. Their overweening thoughts flie high and quick But such mad fooles are only lunatick. Geographers have travel'd land and seas Each coast, and opposite Antipodes; And the description of all lands and parts Described are, in severall Maps and Charts. The Sun & Moon have seldom shewd their faces On any Empire, Kingdom, place, or places, Which Travellers have not viewd and survayd, And by rare Geographique Art displayd. By either sea or land, by night or day, Geography hath chalk'd us out the way: That with Maps, Compas, & indifferent weather True men or Thieves may travell any whither. And thus throgh thick & thin, ways hard or soft, Thousand and thousand miles I travel'd oft. Some men do travell in their contemplations, In reading Histories and strange Relations: Some few do travell in the wayes Divine, Some wander wildly with the Muses nine; For every man would be a Poet gladly, Although he write and Rime but badly madly. Sometimes the wits and tongues do, most unfit, Travell, when tongues do run before the wit. But if they both keep company together, Delight and profit is in both, or eyther.

Discretion gravely goes a gentle pace, When speech, a gallop, runs a heedles race: Mans earthly portion 's travell, paine, and care, (Of which I make a shift to get my share.) Some do disdain, and hold it in high scorn To know thatcht cottages where they were born Some crosse the sea to see strange lands unknown And heer, like strangers, do not know their own. Their own, 'tis fit work for a golden pen To write the names down of such knowing men: Should ech on know & have his own, 'twere rare Right owners wold be rich, & knaves stark bare. Hee's counted wise, with the Italians, That knows his own wife from another mans. But hee's more wise that knows himselfe to be Fraile, mortall, and a map of Misery. But wisest he, that patient takes his lot, And use the world as if he us'd it not. Some seem to know most, yet know almost no∣thing, For man, in knowledge, is a very slow thing. Nosce teipsum, Know thy selfe, and then Each one will know himselfe the worst of men. Many of forreign travels boast and vant, When they, of England, are most ignorant. But yeerly I survey my Country Native, And, mongst 6. cases, live upon the Dative. I travell hard, and for my lifes supply, I every yeere receive a Subsidie.

(Or else to come more neer unto the sence) 'Tis fit to call it a Benevolence. Thus (travelling) a toyling trade I drive, By reason of mine age, neer seventy five: It is my earthly portion and my lot, (The Proverb says, Need makes the old wife trot.) Seven times at sea I serv'd Elizabeth, And 2. Kings forty five yeers, untill death Of both my Royall Masters quite bereft me, That nothing now but age and want is left me. This makes me travell, and my friends to trie, Else I might (like my fellowes) sterve and die. Had the last State, had consciences so tender To think on Oxford siedge, with that surrender, Had they kept Articles and Covenants, In some sort, then they had releev'd our wants. But they were in the land of Promise borne, Perform'd, and paid us nothing, but their scorn. Camelion like we had Ayre, Words, and Wind, With these three empty dishes oft we din'd. And with light Suppers, and such breaking Fast, With meagre Famine, many breath'd their last. we nere bare arms, but houshold servants menial We waited, if 'twere sin, it was but veniall. These thirteen yeers no wages I could get, Which makes me thus to try my friends & wit. Unto the Kings Revenews great Committee We oft Petitiond, and implor'd their pitty;

And first and last, we gave Petitions plenty, I'm sure, in number, neer two hundred twenty. Two thousand Books & Bils then printed were, Wherein our woes and wants wee did declare: Lord Fairfax was himselfe Lord Generall then, He pitied us (poor miserable men;) And he in person, more then one time went And told our griefes unto the Parliament. Besides, for us, to them he Letters wrot, For all which, only, promises we got. I will not curse those men, but this I say, If need and want afflict them, I doe pray They may be comforted, and fed, and clad With promises, as we from them have had.

TH' yeer sixteen hundred fifty, with 3. added, Old Tib my Mare, and I, a journy gadded: I London left, the 9. day I remember Of August, neer 3. weeks before September. In 4. houres riding Post I got to Croydon, And so hath many a man, and many a boy done. There was the George a horseback day & night, And there I, from my mares back did alight. At Water there wine was, but that's a Riddle, At Croydon, you may know both ends & middle. To Micham, from my way full 3. miles wide, A Gentleman, I thank him, was my guide.

Holland my sheets, and Holland was mine Host, My entertainment good for little cost, August the tenth, my bonny Beast and I, From Surrey traveld to South Saxony, Now called Sussex, where at Bellinshurst Six dayes I felt no hunger, cold, or thirst. There at a sign, and no sign but a Frame, Twas the Kings arms, but shatering shot & flame Did beat them down, as useles, of small stead, For armes are of no use without a Head. Mine Host was mighty good, and great withall, And, amongst Hosts, may be a Generall. Hee's friendly, curteous, although big and burly, A right good fellow, no way proud or surly. Six nights at Bellinshurst I freely stayd, And all the charge of mare and man was payd By a Gentleman, to name whom Ile refrain, Whose love, my thankfull mind shall stil retain. Thus in one week I rode Post 30. mile, And neither man or mare tyr'd all that while. A Reverend Preacher preach'd on Sunday twice Directing souls to th' Heavenly Paradice. And if we could but do as he did say, His Doctrine told us all the ready way. Thus Billinshurst thy bounty I extoll, Thou feastedst me in body and in soule. There was rare Musick, sweet and gentile Ayres, For undeserved favours, I am theirs.

My love to Mr. Fist, and to mine Host, But love and thanks T. H. deserveth most. From Billinshurst, August the sixteenth day, I took my leave, before I took my way. The way indifferent good, the welk in smiles, I rode to Petworth, 7. good Sussex miles. To set forth Petworth, its worth more worth is, Then I am worth, or worthy; but know this, Northumberland the Noble, there doth dwell, Whose good housekeeping, few Lords parallell. There Honourable bounty is exprest, With daily charity to th' poor distrest. I speak not this for any thing I got Of that great Lord, I felt or saw him not: For had I seen him, my beliefe is such, I should have felt and found his bounties tutch: But I, for my part, never was so rude To flatter, fawn, or basely to intrude, Yet I declare him liberall, Honourable, And there I din'd well, at his Stewards Table. Thanks Mr. Williams there, the Cook exact By his good friendship there, I nothing lackd. Thanks to my Hostesse kind, good Mrs. Martin, who welcom'd me with good whit wine a quart in. And last of all, but not of all the least, I was kind Mr. Barnards costly Guest: To me he shew'd his bounty from the Mint, For which I give him heer my thanks in Print.

He payd the chinque, and freely gave me drink, And I returne my gratitude with Inke. August the 18. twelve long miles to Stenning I rode, and nothing saw there worth the kenning, But that mine Host there was a joviall Wight, My Hostess fat and fair; a goodly sight: The signe the Chequer, eighteen pence to pay; My Mare eat mortal meat, good Oats and Hay. Twelve miles from Stenning I jogd on to Lewes, And there I found no Beggars, Scolds, or Shrews; Lewes hath no Bayliff, Mayor, or Magistrate, For every one there lives in quiet state: They quarrell not for wagging of a straw, For each man is unto himselfe a Law; They need no bridle (like the Horse or Mule) Where every one himselfe can wisely rule. At the terrestriall Star (a glistring Signe) I lodg'd, and found good Diet, and good Wine; Mine Host and Hostess courteous, free, and kind, And there I sip'd and sup'd, but seldom din'd: Lewes is an ancient Town, as may be seen In Cambden, page three hundred and thirteen: Twelve men they chuse, the most substantiallest, Most rich and wise, to govern all the rest; And out of that discreet and honest dozen, Two (as it were) high Constables are chosen: These have no pow'r themselvs to hang or draw, Or on offendors to inflict the Law;

But to a Justice of the Peace, or Coram They bring the parties, & their cause before am. From Friday unto Friday I did stay, But in the mean time I did take my way Five miles to Torring where my old friend there, The Parson welcom'd me with Country cheer; His name is John, or honest Master Rice, Six meals he meated me, and lodgd me thrice. He Preachd on Sunday, Augusts twenty one, Two Sermons, tending to salvation: His Doctrine's good, & he himselfe doth frame To live in conversation like the same. I thank him, and his Wife and Family, For making of so much (too much) of me: Thus when he could no longer me retaine, With love and thanks, I rode to Lewes againe. This Town contains six Churches, and at least It is a mile in length from West to East: A strong and spacious Castle there hath been, As by its moldred ruines may be see••e. Thence 12 miles I was on my female beast born, T'an unknown feast born, at a Towne cal'd East Bourne; I at an Inne alighted, and found there Unlook'd for welcome, and good Sussex cheer: Sir Thomas Dike, Sir Thomas Parker, Knights, With kinde Esquires, whose names & Epithites I mention not, because I know them not; But to them all my thanks is unforgot,

For undeserv'd, unlook'd for, and unthought, From thē my purse & person both were fraught; This was on Augusts twenty sixt, a Friday, Near Dog dayes end, a very fair and drie day. The next day, and the next I felt the bounty Of the high Sheriff of Sussex famous County; He entertain'd me Saturday and Sunday, And would have kept me 20 dayes past Monday. There was a high and mighty drink call'd Rug, Sure since the Reigne of great King Gorbodug Was never such a rare infus'd confection, Injection, operation, and ejection, Are Hogen Mogen Rugs, great influences To provoke sleep, and stupifie the sences. No cold can ever pierce his flesh or skin Of him who is well lin'd with Rug within: Rug is a Lord beyond the Rules of Law; It conquers hunger in the greedy maw: And (in a word) of all the drinks potable, Rug is most puisant, potent, notable. Rug was the Capitall Commander there, And his Lievtenant Generall was strong Beere. Wine plenteous both in Bottles and in flaggons. whose strēgth would quel S. George & 20 draggōs But Asshuerus Laws were there inrol'd, No man was forc'd to drink more then he would. There was good Will, good Wills son, & good Williā As free as was the Emp'rour Maximilian:

Beasts, fowls and fish, from earth, & sea & ayre Unto the Table, well Cook'd, did repair, There were rare Birds I never saw before The like of them, I think to see no more: Th'are called Wheat ears, less then Lark or Spar∣row, Wel roasted, in the mouth they tast like marow. When once tis in the teeth it is involv'd, Bones, flesh, and all, is lushiously dissolv'd. The name of Wheat ears, on them is ycleap'd, Because they come when wheat is yeerly reap'd. Six weeks, or therabouts, they are catch'd there, And are welnigh 11. months, God knows where. My humble gratitude is heer exprest To Mr. Sheriffe, and his beloved best; His kindnes joind with hers, and hers with his, Doth merit my unfaigned thankfulnes. Unto my Cozen Thomas Taylor there My love remembred, and for my Samphiere He promis'd me, I thank't him thrice before, And when I have it, I will thank him more. Twelve miles on Augusts 9. and 20. day, From Bourne to Battell, 4. miles on my way At Pemsey doth a ruin'd Castle stand, And there the Norman Conqueror did land. Since his invading power arived there, 'Tis ••ow 500, 60, and 6. yeere. Eight miles from thence, the Battel fierce was strook Where bloud of 70000, like a Brook,

Or rather I may say like Sanguin Rivers Which down hills, it impetuously delivers Into the Vales: and where that bloud was spilt The Conqueror caus'd an Abbey to be built Of stately structure, and what it hath been, By great extended ruines may be seen. VVhen Norman forces England overcame, From bloudy Battell, Battell had its name. This Abbey now is kept, by right and due, By the Honourable Viscount Montague. That Lord repair'd some part magnificent, And ther's good house kept, when hees resident. That noble Lord is, in account most famous, Though many miserable Lords doe shame us. At th' Empereall crest, or Eagle spred, My selfe and mare, were stabled, lodg'd and fed. About the reckoning I did not contend, My friend T. H. paid all, and ther's an end. August the thirtith, I rode on to Hastings, Wher was relief for men of severall tastings, Or sundry pallats, put them altogether, Or relisht appetites, take all or neither. At Hastings I staid not, but hastily I ambled 6. miles unto Winchelsey: Which hath been counted in the dayes of yore, (Untill the seas contended with the shore) A famous sea Town, rich in merchandise, But buried in the Ocean now it lies.

A Castle stands i'th sands, enduring flawes, Gusts, tempests, storms, & times devouring jaws: In twice twelve hours, 'tis twice embraced round In th' arms of Neptune, seeming to be drownd: And when the flouds are eb'd into the main, Three miles in sands 'tis compast round again. In Winchelsey that now is I could ken Nothing worth observation of my pen. Two miles from thence, upon a hill, stands Rye, And there I, at the Star, did lodge and lie: More ods there is 'twixt singing songs and crying Then was betwixt my lodging, and my lying. I lodg'd by night, and I did lie by day, And as upon a bed I musing lay, The chamber hang'd with painted cloth, I found My selfe with sentences beleaguerd round. There was Philosophy and History, Poetry Aenigmatick mystery. I know not what the Town in wealth may be, But sure, I on that chambers walls did see More wit then al the town had, and more worth Then my unlearned Muse can well set forth. I will not hold my Reader in dilemma, Thus truly, lying, I transcribed them a.

NO flower so fresh, but frost may it deface, None fits so fast, but hee may lose his place: Tis Concord keeps a Realme in Stable stay, But Discord brings all Kingdomes to decay. No Subject ought (for any kinde of Cause) Resist his Prince, but yeeld him to the Lawes. Sure God is just, whose stroake, delayed long, Doth light at last, with paine more sharp, and strong Time never was, nor n'ere I thinke shall be, That Truth (unshent) might speake, in all things free.

This is the Sum, the Marrow and the Pith My lying Chamber was Adorned with: And 'tis supposed, those lines written there Have in that Roome bin, more then 40 yeare. Now, Reader take this notice more of Rye, 'Tis worth Remembring, and I'le tell you why: If to unloade your Bellies, Nature drive ye, In all the Towne you'se scarcely finde a Privie. For as our Sectaries, in Tubbs preach heere, They make (Sir Reverence) Reverend Iakeses there, Of Pulpets of Prophanity, and these When they are full, are empti'd in the Seas. My fare was good at Rye, my Reck'ning small, I thanke my noble friend, that payd for all, Neete unto Rye, 2 dirty Ferryes bee So Muddy, that they mir'de my Mare and mee: I past them, And on vltima Augusti, well meated, Mounted, man and beast both lusty; I cross'd or'e Gulford ferry, and I went From Rye in Sussex unto Hide in Kent; Septembers first day, Sol, with golden eye Gilt Neptune with celestiall Alcaymie: With sovereign splendor, kissing medows green, And mantled hills tops were coruscant seen. VVhen Phoebus mounted was in glorious pride, I mounted too, and rode away from Hide. Still as I past through sea Towns first and last, I did enquire how businesses had past.

The people said that Guns did bounce & thump, Betwixt our English ships, and Dutch Van Trump. At Rumney, and at Hide, they were in sight, Folks heard the drums to beat, and saw the fight. Thus, little was the newes from sea or shore, Our weekly News books will tel 3. times more. From Hide to Dover, and to Canterbury Full 25. miles, dirty, wet and weary, I took my lodging up, and down I lay Till Friday came, Septembers second day. Then with the Lamb I arose, and with the Lark I got to Gravesend when 'twas almost dark; But I mistake, from sleep I rowz'd my head, And rose with th'Lark, but went with Lamb to bed. On th' way I was not vext with Gates or Stiles, But three and thirty dirty Kentish miles, With washing dashing ways, & rain wel sous'd, It made my Mare and I glad to be hous'd: The signe was Welsh his pie-bald english Bull; I there was welcome empty, welcome full: But at the high and mighty Gravesend Whale, I found most potent admirable Ale, 'Tis second to no drink, but East-Bourne Rug, Put it in Pot or Flaggon, Can or Jug; You'le finde it is the grand Ale, and you'l grant, That 'tis Ale Parramount, Predominant: 'Twas given me by a Friend; but let him end With hanging, that loves Ale more then his friēd

From Gravesend (Satudray Septembers third) I rode without sputs, as I had been spurr'd: I came to London when the Clock struck one; And so my Journey and my Booke is DONE.

Amongst the Muses where the number Nine is, The learned Poets end their Works with Finis: But when unlearned I have Volumes pen'd, Finis is Latine, English Done's an End.