The Pennyles Pilgrimage

Front matter

THE

PENNYLES

PILGRIMAGE,

Dedication

To the Truly Noble and Right Honorable Lord GEORGE MARQUIS of Buckingham, Viscount Villlers, Baron of Whaddon, Justice in Eyre of all his Majesty's Forests, Parks, and Chases beyond Trent, Master of the Horse to his Majesty, and one of the Gentlemen of his Highness Royal Bed-Chamber, Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter, and one of his Majesty's most Honorable Privy Council of both the Kingdoms of England and Scotland.

RIGHT Honorable, and worthy honoured Lord, as in my Travels, I was entertained, welcomed, and relieved by many Honourable Lords, Worshipful Knights, Esquires, Gentlemen, and others both in England and Scotland. So now your Lordship's inclination hath incited, or invited my poor muse to shelter herself under the shadow of your honorable patronage, not that there is any worth at all in my sterile invention, but in all humility I acknowledge that it is only your Lordship's acceptance, that is able to make this nothing, something, and withal engage me ever. Your Honors, In all observance, JOHN TAYLOR.

To the Reader

TO ALL MY LOVING ADVENTURERS, BY WHAT NAME OR TITLE SOEVER, MY GENERAL SALUTATION.

READER these Travels of mine into Scotland, were not undertaken, neither in imitation, or emulation of any man, but only devised by myself on purpose to make trial of my friends both in this Kingdom of England, and that of Scotland, and because I would be an eye-witness of divers things which I had heard of that Country; and whereas many shallow-brained Critics, do lay an aspersion on me, that I was set on by others, or that I did undergo this project, either in malice, or mockage of Master Benjamin Jonson, I vow by the faith of a Christian, that their imaginations are all wide, for he is a gentleman, to whom I am so much obliged for many undeserved courtesies that I have received from him, and from others by his favour, that I durst never to be so impudent or ungrateful, as either to suffer any man's persuasions, or mine own instigation, to incite me, to make so bad a requital, for so much goodness formerly received; so much for that, and now Reader, if you expect

That I should write of cities' situations, Or that of countries I should make relations: Of brooks, crooks, nooks; of rivers, bournes and rills, Of mountains, fountains, castles, towers and hills, Of shires, and piers, and memorable things, Of lives and deaths of great commanding kings, I touch not those, they not belong to me; But if such things as these you long to see, Lay down my book, and but vouchsafe to read The learned Camden or laborious Speed.

And so God speed you and me, whilst I rest Yours in all thankfulness: John Taylor.

First poetry section

TAYLOR'S PENNILESS PILGRIMAGE.

LIST Lordlings, list (if you have lust to list) I write not here a tale of had I wist: But you shall hear of travels, and relations, Descriptions of strange (yet English) fashions. And he that not believes what here is writ, Let him (as I have done) make proof of it. The year of grace, accounted (as I ween) One thousand twice three hundred and eighteen, And to relate all things in order duly, 'Twas Tuesday last, the fourteenth day of July, Saint Revels day, the almanack will tell ye The sign in Virgo was, or near the belly: The moon full three days old, the wind full south; At these times I began this trick of youth. I speak not of the tide, for understand, My legs I made my oars, and rowed by land,

Though in the morning I began to go Good fellows trooping, flocked me so, That make what haste I could, the sun was set, E're from the gates of London I could get. At last I took my latest leave thus late, At the Bell Inn, that's extra Aldersgate. There stood a horse that my provant should carry, From that place to the end of my fegary, My horse no horse, or mare, but gelded nag, That with good understanding bore my bag: And of good carriage he himself did show, These things are excellent in a beast you know. There in my knapsack, (to pay hunger's fees) I had good bacon, biscuit, neat's-tongue, cheese With roses, barberries, of each conserves, And mithridate, that vigorous health perserves: And I entreat you take these words for no-lies, I had good Aqua vitæ, Rosa so-lies: With sweet Ambrosia, (the gods' own drink) Most excellent gear for mortals, as I think, Besides, I had both vinegar and oil, That could a daring saucy stomach foil. This foresaid Tuesday night 'twixt eight and nine, Well rigged and ballasted, both with beer and wine, I stumbling forward, thus my jaunt begun, And went that night as far as Islington. There did I find (I dare affirm it bold)

A Maidenhead of twenty-five years old, But surely it was painted, like a whore, And for a sign, or wonder, hanged at door,. Which shows a Maidenhead, that's kept so long, May he hanged up, and yet sustain no wrong. There did my loving friendly host begin To entertain me freely to his inn: And there my friends, and good associates, Each one to mirth himself accommodates. At Well-head both for welcome, and for cheer, Having a good New ton, of good stale beer: There did we Trundle down health, after health, (Which oftentimes impairs both health and wealth.) Till everyone had filled his mortal trunk, And only No-body was three parts drunk. The morrow next, Wednesday Saint Swithin's day, From ancient Islington I took my way. At Holywell I was enforced carouse, Ale high, and mighty, at the Blindman's House. But there's a help to make amends for all, That though the ale be great, the pots be small. At Highgate Hill to a strange house I went, And saw the people were to eating bent, In either borrowed, craved, asked, begged, or bought, But most laborious with my teeth I wrought. I did not this, 'cause meat or drink was scant, But I did practise thus before my want; Like to a Tilter that would win the prize,

Before the day he'll often exercise. So I began to put in use, at first These principles 'gainst hunger, 'gainst thirst. Close to the Gate, there dwelt a worthy man, That well could take his whiff, and quaff his can, Right Robin Good-fellow, but humours evil. Do call him Robin Pluto, or the devil. But finding him a devil, freely hearted. With friendly farewells I took leave and parted. And as alongst I did my journey take, I drank at Broom's well, for pure fashion's sake, Two miles I travelled then without a bait, The Saracen's Head at Whetstone entering straight, I found an host, that might lead an host of men, Exceeding fat, yet named Lean, and Fen. And though we make small reckoning of him here, He's known to be a very great man there. There I took leave of all my company, Bade all farewell, yet spake to No-body. Good reader think not strange, what I compile, For No-body was with me all this while. And No-body did drink, and, wink, and scink, And on occasion freely spent his chink. If anyone desire to know the man, Walk, stumble, Trundle, but in Barbican.

There's as good beer and ale as ever twang'd, And in that street kind No-body is hanged. But leaving him unto his matchless fame, I to St. Albans in the evening came, Where Master Taylor, at the Saracen's Head, Unasked (unpaid for) me both lodged and fed.

The tapsters, hostlers, chamberlains, and all, Saved me a labour, that I need not call, The jugs were filled and filled, the cups went round, And in a word great kindness there I found, For which both to my cousin, and his men, I'll still be thankful in word, deed, and pen. Till Thursday morning there I made my stay, And then I went plain Dunstable highway. My very heart with drought methought did shrink, I went twelve miles, and no one bade me drink. Which made me call to mind, that instant time, That drunkenness was a most sinful crime. When Puddle-hill I footed down, and past A mile from thence, I found a hedge at last. There stroke we sail, our bacon, cheese, and bread, We drew like fiddlers, and like farmers fed. And whilst two hours we there did take our ease. My nag made shift to mump green pulse and peas. Thus we our hungry stomachs did supply, And drank the water of a brook hard by. Away toward Hockley in the Hole, we make, When straight a horseman did me overtake, Who knew me, and would fain have given me coin, I said, my bonds did me from coin enjoin, I thanked and prayed him to put up his chink, And willingly I wished it drowned in drink. Away rode he, but like an honest man, I found at Hockley standing at the Swan,

A formal tapster, with a jug and glass, Who did arrest me: I most willing was To try the action, and straight put in bail, My fees were paid before, with sixpence ale, To quit this kindness, I most willing am, The man that paid for all, his name is Dam, At the Green Dragon, against Grays-Inn gate, He lives in good repute, and honest state. I forward went in this my roving race, To Stony Stratford I toward night did pace, My mind was fixed through the town to pass, To find some lodging in the hay or grass, But at the Queen's Arm's, from the window there, A comfortable voice I chanced to hear, Call Taylor, Taylor, and be hanged come hither, I looked for small entreaty and went thither, There were some friends, which I was glad to see, Who knew my journey; lodged, and boarded me. On Friday morn, as I would take my way, My friendly host entreated me to stay, Because it rained, he told me I should have Meat, drink, and horse-meat and not pay or crave. I thanked him, and for his love remain his debtor, But if I live, I will requite him better. (From Stony Stratford) the way hard with stones, Did founder me, and vex me to the bones. In blustering weather, both for wind and rain, Through Towcester I trotted with much pain,

Two miles from thence, we sat us down and dined, Well bulwarked by a hedge, from rain and wind. We having fed, away incontinent, With weary pace toward Daventry we went. Four miles short of it, one overtook me there, And told me he would leave a jug of beer, At Daventry at the Horse-shoe for my use. I thought it no good manners to refuse, But thanked him, for his kind unasked gift, Whilst I was lame as scarce a leg could lift, Came limping after to that stony town, Whose hard streets made me almost halt right down. There had my friend performed the words he said, And at the door a jug of liquor staid, The folks were all informed, before I came, How, and wherefore my journey I did frame, Which caused mine hostess from her door come out, (Having a great wart rampant on her snout.) The tapsters, hostlers, one another call, The chamberlains with admiration all, Were filled with wonder, more than wonderful, As if some monster sent from the Mogul, Some elephant from Africa, I had been, Or some strange beast from the Amazonian Queen. As buzzards, widgeons, woodcocks, and such fowl. Do gaze and wonder at the broad-faced owl,

So did these brainless asses, all amazed, With admirable Nonsense talked and gazed, They knew my state (although not told by me) That I could scarcely go, they all could see, They drank of my beer, that to me was given, But gave me not a drop to make all even, And that which in my mind was most amiss, My hostess she stood by and saw all this, Had she but said, come near the house my friend, For this day here shall be your journey's end. Then had she done the thing which [she] did not, And I in kinder words had paid the shot. I do entreat my friends, (as I have some) If they to Daventry do chance to come, That they will baulk that inn; or if by chance, Or accident into that house they glance, Kind gentlemen, as they by you reap profit, My hostess care of me, pray tell her of it, Yet do not neither; lodge there when you will, You for your money shall be welcome still. From thence that night, although my bones were sore, I made a shift to hobble seven miles more: The way to Dunchurch, foul with dirt and mire, Able, I think, both man and horse to tire. On Dunsmoor Heath, a hedge doth there enclose Grounds, on the right hand, there I did repose.

Wit's whetstone, Want, there made us quickly learn, With knives to cut down rushes, and green fern, Of which we made a field-bed in the field, Which sleep, and rest, and much content did yield. There with my mother earth, I thought it fit To lodge, and yet no incest did commit: My bed was curtained with good wholesome airs, And being weary, I went up no stairs: The sky my canopy, bright Phœbe shined Sweet bawling Zephyrus breathed gentle wind, In heaven's star-chamber I did lodge that night, Ten thousand stars, me to my bed did light; There barricadoed with a bank lay we Below the lofty branches of a tree, There my bed-fellows and companions were, My man, my horse, a bull, four cows, two steer: But yet for all this most confused rout, We had no bed-staves, yet we fell not out. Thus nature, like an ancient free upholster, Did furnish us with bedstead, bed, and bolster; And the kind skies, (for which high heaven be thanked,) Allowed us a large covering and a blanket; Auroras face 'gan light our lodging dark, We arose and mounted, with the mounting lark, Through plashes, puddles, thick, thin, wet and dry, I travelled to the city Coventry.

There Master Doctor Holland caused me stay The day of Saturn and the Sabbath day. Most friendly welcome, he me did afford, I was so entertained at bed and board, Which as I dare not brag how much it was, I dare not be ingrate and let it pass, But with thanks many I remember it, (Instead of his good deeds) in words and writ, He used me like his son, more than a friend, And he on Monday his commends did send To Newhall, where a gentleman did dwell, Who by his name is hight Sacheverell, The Tuesday July's one and twentieth day, I to the city Lichfield took my way, At Sutton Coldfield with some friends I met, And much ado I had from thence to get, There I was almost put unto my trumps, My horse's shoes were worn as thin as pumps; But noble Vulcan, a mad smuggy smith, All reparations me did furnish with. The shoes were well removed, my palfrey shod, And he referred the payment unto God.

I found a friend, when I to Lichfield came, A joiner, and John Piddock is his name. He made me welcome, for he knew my jaunt, And he did furnish me with good provant: He offered me some money, I refused it, And so I took my leave, with thanks excused it, That Wednesday, I a weary way did pass, Rain, wind, stones, dirt, and dabbling dewy grass, With here and there a pelting scattered village, Which yielded me no charity, or pillage: For all the day, nor yet the night that followed. One drop of drink I'm sure my gullet swallowed. At night I came to a stony town called Stone. Where I knew none, nor was I known of none: I therefore through the streets held on my pace, Some two miles farther to some resting place: At last I spied a meadow newly mowed, The hay was rotten, the ground half o'erflowed: We made a breach, and entered horse and man, There our pavilion, we to pitch began, Which we erected with green broom and hay, To expel the cold, and keep the rain away; The sky all muffled in a cloud 'gan lower, And presently there fell a mighty shower, Which without intermission down did pour, From ten a night, until the morning's four. We all that time close in our couch did lie, Which being well compacted kept us dry.

Thw worst was, we did neither sup nor sleep, And so a temperate diet we did keep. The morning all enrobed in drifting fogs, We being as ready as we had been dogs: We need not stand upon long ready making, But gaping, stretching, and our ears well shaking: And for I found my host and hostess kind, I like a true man left my sheets behind. That Thursday morn, my weary course I framed, Unto a town that is Newcastle named. (Not that Newcastle standing upon Tyne) But this town situation doth confine Near Cheshire, in the famous county Stafford, And for their love, I owe them not a straw for't; But now my versing muse craves some repose, And whilst she sleeps I'll spout a little prose.

First prose section

In this town of Newcastle, I overtook an hostler, and I asked him what the next town was called, that was in my way toward Lancaster, he holding the end of a riding rod in his mouth, as if it had been a flute, piped me this answer, and said, Talk-on-the-Hill; I asked him again what he said Talk-on-the-Hill: I demanded the third time, and the third time he answered me as he did before, Talk-on-the-Hill. I began to grow choleric, and asked him why he could not talk, or tell me my way as well there as on the hill; at last I was resolved, that the next town was four miles off me, and that the name of it was, Talk-on-the-Hill: I had not travelled above two miles farther: but my last night's supper (which was as much as nothing) my mind being informed of it by my stomach. I made a virtue of necessity, and went to breakfast in the Sun: I have fared better at three Suns many times before now, in Aldersgate Street, Cripplegate, and new Fish Street; but here is the odds, at those Suns they will come upon a man with a tavern bill as sharp cutting as a tailor's bill of items: a watchman's-bill, or a welsh-hook falls not half so heavy upon a man; besides, most of the vintners have the law in their own hands, and have all their actions, cases, bills of debt, and such reckonings tried at their own bars; from whence there is no appeal. But leaving these impertinences, in the material Sunshine, we eat a substantial dinner, and like miserable guests we did budget up the reversions.

Second poetry section

And now with sleep my muse hath eased her brain I'll turn my style from prose, to verse again. That which we could not have, we freely spared, And wanting drink, most soberly we fared. We had great store of fowl (but 'twas foul way) And kindly every step entreats me stay, The clammy clay sometimes my heels would trip, One foot went forward, the other back would slip, This weary day, when I had almost past, I came unto Sir Urian Leigh's at last,

At Adlington, near Macclesfield he doth dwell, Beloved, respected, and reputed well. Through his great love, my stay with him was fixed, From Thursday night, till noon on Monday next, At his own table I did daily eat, Whereat may be supposed, did want no meat, He would have given me gold or silver either, But I, with many thanks, received neither. And thus much without flattery I dare swear, He is a knight beloved far and near, First he's beloved of his God above, (Which love he loves to keep, beyond all love) Next with a wife and children he is blest, Each having God's fear planted in their breast. With fair demaines, revenue of good lands, He's fairly blessed by the Almighty's hands. And as he's happy in these outward things, So from his inward mind continual springs Fruits of devotion, deeds of piety, Good hospitable works of charity, Just in his actions, constant in his word, And one that won his honour with the sword, He's no carranto, cap’ring, carpet knight, But he knows when, and how to speak or fight, I cannot flatter him, say what I can, He's every way a complete gentleman. I write not this, for what he did to me, But what mine ears, and eyes did hear and see,

Nor do I pen this to enlarge his fame. But to make others imitate the same, For like a trumpet were I pleased to blow, I would his worthy worth more amply show, But I already fear have been too bold, And crave his pardon, me excused to hold. Thanks to his sons and servants every one, Both males and females all, excepting none. To bear a letter he did me require, Near ‘’Manchester’’, unto a good Esquire: His kinsman ‘’Edmund Prestwitch’’, he ordained, That I was at ‘’Manchester’’ entertained Two nights, and one day, ere we thence could pass, For men and horse, roast, boiled, and oats, and grass; This gentleman not only gave harbour, But in the morning sent me to his barber, Who laved, and shaved me, still I spared my purse, Yet sure he left me many a hair the worse. But in conclusion, when his work was ended, His glass informed, my face was much amended. And for the kindness he to me did show, God grant his customers beards faster grow, That though the time of year be dear or cheap, From fruitful faces he may mow and reap. Then came a smith, with shoes, and tooth and nail, He searched my horse's hoofs, mending what did fail,

Yet this I note, my nag, through stones and dirt, Did shift shoes twice, ere I did shift one shirt: Can these kind things be in oblivion hid? No, Master Prestwitch, this and much more did, His friendship did command and freely gave All before writ, and more than I durst crave. But leaving him a little, I must tell, How men of Manchester did use me well, Their loves they on the tenter-hooks did rack, Roast, boiled, baked, too — too— much, white, claret, sack, Nothing they thought too heavy or too hot, Can followed can, and pot succeeded pot, That what they could do, all they thought too little, Striving in love the traveller to whittle. We went into the house of one John Pinners, A man that lives amongst a crew of sinners) And there eight several sorts of ale we had, All able to make one stark drunk or mad. But I with courage bravely flinched not, And gave the town leave to discharge the shot. We had at one time set upon the table, Good ale of hyssop, 'twas no Æsop-fable: Then had we ale of sage, and ale of malt, And ale of wormwood, that could make one halt, With ale of rosemary, and betony, And two ales more, or else I needs must lie. But to conclude this drinking aley-tale,

We had a sort of ale, called scurvy ale. Thus all these men, at their own charge and cost, Did strive whose love should be expressed most, And farther to declare their boundless loves, They saw I wanted, and they gave me gloves, In deed, and very deed, their loves were such, That in their praise I cannot write too much; They merit more than I have here compiled, I lodged at the Eagle and the Child, Whereas my hostess, (a good ancient woman) Did entertain me with respect, not common. She caused my linen, shirts, and bands be washed, And on my way she caused me be refreshed, She gave me twelve silk points, she gave me bacon, Which by me much refused, at last was taken, In troth she proved a mother unto me, For which, I evermore will thankful be. But when to mind these kindnesses I call, Kind Master Prestwitch author is of all, And yet Sir Urian Leigh's good commendation, Was the main ground of this my recreation. From both of them, there what I had, I had, Or else my entertainment had been bad. O all you worthy men of Manchester, (True bred bloods of the County Lancaster) When I forget what you to me have done, Then let me headlong to confusion run. To noble Master Prestwitch I must give

Thanks, upon thanks, as long as I do live, His love was such, I ne'er can pay the score, He far surpassed all that went before, A horse and man he sent, with boundless bounty, To bring me quite through Lancaster's large county, Which I well know is fifty miles at large, And he defrayed all the cost and charge. This unlooked pleasure, was to me such pleasure, That I can ne'er express my thanks with measure. So Mistress Saracoal, hostess kind, And Manchester with thanks I left behind. The Wednesday being July's twenty nine, My journey I to Preston did confine, All the day long it rained but one shower, Which from the morning to the evening did pour, And I, before to Preston I could get, Was soused, and pickled both with rain and sweat, But there I was supplied with fire and food, And anything I wanted sweet and good. There, at the Hind, kind Master Hind mine host, Kept a good table, baked and boiled, and roast, There Wednesday, Thursday, Friday I did stay, And hardly got from thence on Saturday. Unto my lodging often did repair, Kind Master Thomas Banister, the Mayor, Who is of worship, and of good respect, And in his charge discreet and circumspect.

For I protest to God I never saw, A town more wisely governed by the law. They told me when my Sovereign there was last, That one man's rashness seemed to give distaste. It grieved them all, but when at last they found, His Majesty was pleased, their joys were crowned. He knew, the fairest garden hath some weeds, He did accept their kind intents, for deeds: One man there was, that with his zeal too hot, And furious haste, himself much overshot. But what man is so foolish, that desires To get good fruit from thistles, thorns and briars? Thus much I thought good to demonstrate here, Because I saw how much they grieved were; That any way, the least part of offence, Should make them seem offensive to their Prince. Thus three nights was I staid and lodged in Preston, And saw nothing ridiculous to jest on, Much cost and charge the Mayor upon me spent, And on my way two miles, with me he went, There (by good chance) I did more friendship get, The under Sheriff of Lancashire we met, A gentleman that loved, and knew me well, And one whose bounteous mind doth bear the bell. There, as if I had been a noted thief, The Mayor delivered me unto the Sheriff. The Sheriffs authority did much prevail, He sent me unto one that kept the jail.

Thus I perambuling, poor John Taylor, Was given from Mayor to Sheriff, from Sheriff to Jailor. The Jailor kept an inn, good beds, good cheer, Where paying nothing, I found nothing dear, For the under-Sheriff kind Master Covill named, (A man for house-keeping renowed and famed) Did cause the town of Lancashire afford Me welcome, as if I had been a lord. And 'tis reported, that for daily bounty, His mate can scarce be found in all that county. The extremes of miser, or of prodigal, He shuns, and lives discreet and liberal, His wife's mind, and his own are one, so fixed, That Argus eyes could see no odds betwixt, And sure the difference, (if there difference be) Is who shall do most good, or he, or she. Poor folks report, that for relieving them, He and his wife, are each of them a gem; At the inn, and at his house two nights I staid, And what was to be paid, I know he paid: If nothing of their kindness I had wrote, Ungrateful me the world might justly note: Had I declared all I did hear, and see, For a great flatterer then I deemed should be, Him and his wife, and modest daughter Bess, With earth, and heaven's felicity, God bless. Two days a man of his, at his command, Did guide me to the midst of Westmoreland,

And my conductor with a liberal fist, To keep me moist, scarce any alehouse missed. The fourth of August (weary, halt, and lame) We in the dark, to a town called Sedbergh came, There Master Borrowed, my kind honest host, Upon me did bestowed unasked cost. The next day I held on my journey still, Six miles unto a place called Carling hill, Where Master Edmund Branthwaite doth reside, Who made me welcome, with my man and guide. Our entertainment, and our fare were such, It might have satisfied our betters much; Yet all too little was, his kind heart thought, And five miles on my way himself me brought, At Orton he, I, and my man did dine, With Master Corney a good true Divine, And surely Master Branthwaites well beloved, His firm integrity is much approved: His good effects, do make him still affected Of God and good men, (with regard) respected. He sent his man with me, o'er dale and down,