Classic Poem

Have-at-all, Slicer, Hearsay , having rescued him in a Quarrell.

Have. 'Tis destin'd, I'l be valiant, I am sure
I shall be beaten with more credit then,
Than now I do escape. Lieutenant hast
Bethought thy self as yet? hast any way
To make my Sword fetch bloud?
Slic. You never yet
Did kill your man then?
Have. No.
Hear. Nor get your Wench
With child I warrant?
Have. O Sir.
Slic. You're not quite
Free of the Gentry till y'have marrd one man
And made another: when one fury hath
Cryd quit with t'other, and your Lust repair'd
What Anger hath destroyd, the Title's yours,
Till then you do but stand for 't.
Have. Pox! who'd be
That vile scorn'd Name, that stuffs all Court-gate Bils?
Lieutenant thou mayst teach me valour yet.
Slic. Teach thee? I will inspire thee man. I'l make
Thy name become a terrour, and to say
That Have-at-all is comming, shall make roome
As when the Bears are in Procession.
Heark hither Franke — — They consult .
Hear. That's good, but — —
Slic. How think'st now?
Hear. Nay he will pay you large — lie.
Have. Pay, what else?
Hear. Make him beleeve the Citizen's his Guest,
The Citizen that he is his.
Slic. Concluded;
Would you fight fair or conquer by a spell?
Have. I do not care for Witchcraft; I would have
My strength relie meerlie upon it self.
Slic. There is a way though I ne'r shew'd it yet,
But to one Spaniard, and 'twas wondrous happy.
Have. Think me a second Spaniard worthy Sir.
Slic. Then listen. The design is by a dinner;
An easie way you'l say, I'l say a true;
Hunger may break stone walls, it ne'r hurts men.
Your cleanly feeder is your man of valour.
What makes the Peasant grovel in his muck,
Humbling his crooked soule, but that he eates
Bread just in colour like it? Courage ne'r
Vouchsaf'd to dwell a minute, where a sullen
Pair of brown loaves darken'd the dutty Table;
Shadows of bread, not bread. You never knew
A solemn Son of Bagpudding and Pottage
Make a Commander; or a Tripe-eater
Become a Tyrant: he's the Kingdoms arm
That can feed large, and choicely.
Have. If that be
The way, I'l eat my self into courage,
And will devour valour enough quickly.
Slic. 'Tis not the casual eating of those meats,
That doth procure those Spirits, but the order,
And manner of the meal; the ranking of
The dishes, that does all; else he that hath
The greatest range would be the hardest man.
Those goodly Juments of the Guard would fight
(As they eat Beef) after six stone a day;
The Spit would nourish great Attempts; my Lord
Would lead a Troop, as well as now a Masque;
And force the Enemies sword with as much ease
As his Mistrisses Bodkin: Gallants would
Owe valour to their Ordinaries, and fight
After a crown a meal.
Have. I do conceive
The Art is all in all. If that you'l give
A bill of your directions, I'l account
My self oblig'd unto you for my safety.
Slic. Take it then thus. All must be Souldier-like;
No dish but must present Artilery.
Some military instrument in each.
Imprimis sixe or seven yards of Tripe
Display'd instead o'th' Ensign.
Have. Why, you said,
Tripe-eaters ne'r made Tyrants.
Slic. Peace Sir, Learners
Must be attentive and beleeve. Do y' think
Wee'l eat this? 'tis but for formalitie;
Item a Coller of good large fat Brawn
Serv'd for a Drum, waited upon by two
Fair long black Puddings lying by for drumsticks;
Item a well grown Lamprey for a Fife;
Next some good curious Marchpanes made into
The form of Trumpets: Then in order shall
Follow the Officers. The Captain first
Shall be presented in a warlike Cock,
Swiming in whitebroth, as he's wont in bloud;
The Sergeant Major he may bustle in
The shape of some large Turkey; For my self,
Who am Lieutenant, I'm content there be
A Bustard only; let the Corporall
Come sweating in a Breast of Mutton, stuff'd
With Pudding, or strut in some aged Carpe,
Either doth serve I think. As for Perdues
Some choice Sous'd-fish brought couchant in a dish
Among some fennell, or some other grasse,
Shews how they lie i'th' field. The Souldier then
May be thus rank'd. The common one Chicken,
Duck, Rabbet, Pidgeon. For the more Gentile,
Snipe, Woodcock, Partridge, Pheasant, Quail will serve.
Hear. Bravelie contriv'd.
Slic. That weapons be not wanting
Wee'l have a dozen of bones well charg'd with marrow
For Ordnance, Muskets, Petronels, Petarrs;
Twelve yards of Sausage by insteed of Match;
And Caveari then prepar'd for wild-fire.
Hea. Rare Rogue! how I do love him now me thinks.
Slic. Next wee'l have true fat, eatable old Pikes;
Then a fresh Turbut brought in for a Buckler,
With a long Spitchcock for the sword adjoyn'd;
Wee'l bring the ancient weapons into play.
Have. Most rare by heaven.
Slic. Peaches, Apricocks,
And Malecotoons, with other choiser Plums
Will serve for large siz'd Bullets; then a dish
Or two of Pease for small ones. I could now
Tell you of Pepper in the stead of Powder,
But that 'tis not in fashion 'mongst us Gallants;
If this might all stand upon Drum heads, 'twould
Work somewhat better.
Have. Wil't so? then we'l have 'em
From every ward i'th' City.
Slic. No I'm loath
To put you to such charge: for once, a long
Table shall serve the turn; 'tis no great matter.
The main thing's still behind: we must have there
Some Fort to scale; a venison pastie doth it:
You may have other Pies instead of outworks;
Some Sconces would not be amisse, I think.
When this is all prepar'd, and when we see
The Table look like a pitch'd Battel, then
Wee'l give the word, Fall to, slash, kill, and spoile;
Destruction, rapine, violence, spare none.
Hear. Thou hast forgotten Wine, Lieutenant, wine.
Slic. Then to avoid the grosse absurdity
Of a dry Battel, cause there must some bloud
Be spilt (on th' enemies side I mean) you may
Have there a Rundlet of brisk Claret, and
As much of Aligant, the same quantitie
Of Tent would not be wanting, 'tis a wine
Most like to bloud. Some shal bleed fainter colours,
As Sack, and White wine. Some that have the itch
(As there are Taylors still in every Army)
Shall run with Renish, that hath Brimstone in 't.
When this is done fight boldly; write your self
The tenth or 'leventh Worthy, which you please.
Your choice is free.
Have. I'l be the gaming Worthy;
My word shall be Twice twelve; I think the dice
Ne'r mounted any upon horseback yet.
Sl. Wee'l bring your friends & ours to this large dinner:
It works the better eaten before witnesse.
Beware you say 'tis yours: Confession is
One step to weaknesse, private Conscience is
A Theater to valour. Let's be close.
Old Credulous , and his Son, and Mr Caster
Shall all be there.
Have. But then they will grow valiant
All at my charge.
Slic. Ne'r fear't; th' unknowing man
Eates only Flesh, the understanding Valour;
His ignorance i'th' mystery keeps him coward:
To him 'tis but a Meale; to you 'tis vertue.
It shall be kept here.
Hav. No fitter place; there is
An old rich Clutchfist Knight, Sir Thomas Bitefig ,
Invite him too; perhaps I may have luck,
And break his Purse yet open for one hundred.
A Usurer is somewhat exorable
When he is full: He ne'r lends money empty.
Slic. Discreet, and wisely done; I was about
T' have prompted it.
Hear. Stout Mr Haveatall
Lets be sworn Brothers.
Have. Pox! thou fear'st Ile beat thee
After I've eaten. Dost thou think I'l offer't?
By my next meale I won't: nay I do love
My friends how e'r: I do but think how I
Shall bastinado o'r the Ordinaries.
Arm'd with my sword, Battoone and foot Ile walk
To give each rank its due. No one shall scape,
But he I win off.
Hear. You shall have at least
Some twenty warrants serv'd upon you straight;
The trunck-hose Justices will try all means
To bind you to the Peace, but that your strength
Shall not be bound by any.
Slic. Surgeons will
Pray for your health and happinesse, you may
Bring 'em to be your Tributaries, if
You but denie to fight a while.
Have. My teeth
Are on an edge till I do eat; now will
I couzen all men without opposition.
I feel my strength encrease with very thought on't.
Sword, sword, thou shalt grow fat; and thou Battoon
Hold out I prethee, when my labour's done,
I'l plant thee in the Tower-yard, and there
Water'd with wine thou shalt revive, and spring
In spight of Nature with fresh succulent boughs,
Which shall supply the Commonwealth with Cudgels.
Thou I first meet after this meal I do
Pronounce unhappy shadow; happie yet
In that thou'lt fall by me. Some men I will
Speak into Carcasse, Some I'l look to death,
Others I'l breath to dust, none shall hold back
This fatall Arm: The Templers shall not dare
T' attempt a rescue; no mild words shall bury
My splitted spitchcock'd — —
Slic. Oliv'd, hasht — —
Hear. Dri'd, powder'd — —
Have. Rosted fury.