The Preface.
"John Franks, the reputed son of John Ward, was born at Much Eaton in Essex, within three miles of Dunmow. He had no friends to take care of him, but his being such a fool was the cause of his well being; for every one was in love with the sport he made.
"When he was grown to be of man's stature, there was a worthy Knight, who took him to keep, where he did many strange pranks.
"He was a comely person, and had a good complexion, his hair was of a dark flaxen. He was of a middle stature, and good countenance. If his tongue had not betrayed his folly, he might have been taken for a wise man."
"The Knight where Jack lived kept a poor taylor in his house, who lay with the fool.
"One morning they wondered that the taylor nor Jack did not come down; one of the servants going up, found the door fast, and calling to them, Jack only answered them; so calling more assistance and breaking open the door, they found the taylor dead in his bed with his neck broke, and the fool set astride on a high beam, whence he could not come down without help. They asked Jack how it was? he said the Devil came upstairs, clink, clink, clink, and came to my bed side, and I cried, Good devil do not take me take the taylor; so the devil broke the taylor's neck, and set me upon the beam. Jack was strictly examined at Chelmsford Assizes, and several times after; but he always kept in one story, and never seemed concerned."
"Jack was often upon the ramble; one day he went up to a yeoman's house, who loved to make sport with him. The servants being all busy and abroad, none but the fool and he was together. Mr. Sorrel, says Jack, shall we play at Blind Man's Buff? Ay, says he, with all my heart, Jack—You shall be blinded says Jack—That I will, Jack, says he. So pinning a napkin about his eyes and head; Now turn about, says Jack; but you see Mr. Sorrel, you see; No, Jack, said he I do not see. Jack shuffled about the kitchen, in order to catch him, still crying, you see, but when he found he did not see he ran to the chimney and whipt down some puddings, and put them into his pockets; this he did every time he came to that end of the room, till he had filled his pockets and breeches. The doors being open, away runs Jack, leaving the good man blindfolded, who wondering he did not hear the fool, cried out, Jack, Jack; but finding no answer, he pulled off the napkin, and seeing the fool gone, and that he had taken so many puddings with him, was so enraged that he sent his blood hounds after him; which when Jack perceived, he takes a pudding and flings it at them; the dogs smelling the pudding, Jack gained ground the time: and still as the dogs pursued, he threw a pudding at them; and this he did till he come to an house. This was spread abroad to the shame and vexation of the farmer.
"Some time after Mr. Sorrel and some other tenants went to see the fool's master. Jack espying them, went and told his Lady that Mr. Sorrel was come. The lady being afraid the fool might offend him by speaking of the puddings, told Jack he should be whipped if he mentioned them. But when they were at dinner, Jack went and shaked Mr. Sorel by the hand, saying, How is it Mr. Sorel then, seeming to whisper, but speaking so loud that all the Company heard him, said, Not a word of the puddings, Mr. Sorel.—At this they all burst into a laughter, but the honest man was so ashamed, that he never came there again. Ever since it is a bye-word to say, Not a word of the puddings."
"A Justice of the Peace being at his Lord's table one day, who delighted to jest with every one, and Jack being in the room to make them some sport, and having then a new calfskin suit on, red and white spotted, and a young puppy in his arms, much of the same colour; he said to the justice, as he jogged him, Is not this puppy like me? The justice said It is very much like thee; now there are two puppies Jack, ha! ha! ha!—Jack after going downstairs to dinner, returned again and striking the Justice on the back with his fist the Justice seemed angry. How is it Justice, said Jack, are you angry, let us shake hands and be friends. The Justice gave him his hand, and the fool cried out laughing, Now here are two fools, Justice, two fools, two fools. At this they all laughed heartily, to see this great wit affronted by a fool; especially a gentleman whom the Justice had but a few minutes before abused by his jesting; for he was of that temper that he would jest but never take one.
It is not safe to play with edged tools
Nor is it good to Jest too much with fools."
Simple Simon's Misfortunes
AND HIS
Wife Margery's Cruelty
WHICH BEGAN
The very next Morning after their
Marriage
Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church Yard London
Simple Simon married a shrew named Margery, who brought him a "considerable fortune; forty shillings in money, and a good milch cow, four fat weathers, with half a dozen ewes and lambs, likewise geese, hens, and turkies; also a sow and pigs, with other moveables." She began scolding him the day after marriage, and the poor fellow found out he had a hard bargain. "Ud swaggers, I think I have a woeful one now." He went out, and meeting with one Jobson, an old friend, proceeded to an alehouse with him; but his wife, coming there with her gossips, "snatched up Jobsons oaken staff from off the table, and gave poor Simon such a clank upon the noddle, as made the blood spin," and afterwards treated Jobson to a sound thrashing, and then she and her gossips got "as drunk as fishwomen."
Simon sneaked away, but when he got home he found his wife before him, and "not forgetting the fault he had committed, she invented a new kind of punishment; for having a wide chimney, wherein they used to dry bacon, she, taking him at a disadvantage, tied him hand and foot, bound him in a basket, and by the help of a rope drew him up to the beam of the chimney, and left him there to take his lodging the second night after his wedding; with a small smoaky fire under him; so that in the morning he was reezed like a red herring. But at length he caused his wife to shew him so much pity as to let him down."
He was undoubtedly a great fool, for, his wife having sent him to the mill with a sack of corn, he was induced by a stranger to lay it on the back of his spare horse, and of course the man made off with it.
Simon had to take a basket of eggs to market, but finding that "two butter women had fallen out, and to that degree, that they had taken one another by the quoif, their hair and their fillets flying about their ears," he essayed to part them, but got pushed down, and his eggs were all broken. The constable, coming up, thought they were drunk, and clapped them in the stocks, where, being between the combatants, he had to endure their scolding. On his release he went home, only to endure his customary beating. So he lay all night in the hog-stye, and on the morrow, "in the presence of some of his dearest friends he begged pardon on his knees, of his sweet wife Margery."
One day his wife went to a "gossiping," leaving Simon at home to fill and boil the kettle. He made the fire and hung the kettle over it, then started to fill his pail at the well. He put down his pail in order to stop a runaway ox, which led him a chase of three or four miles. On his return he found his pail stolen, and, when he reached home, the bottom was burnt out of the kettle. When his wife came back, it is needless to say that "she let fly an earthen pot at his head, which made the blood run about his ears. This done she took him by the collar and cuft him about the kitchen at a most horrid rate."
No doubt he was very vexing, as he could not be trusted with the most ordinary concerns of life. He had to get some soap, but, whilst passing over a bridge, he was frightened by some crows, and dropped the money into the water. Knowing what the consequences would be, he stripped and went into the water to search after it, but a larcenous old ragman came by and stole his clothes. He had to go home naked, where his wife administered his usual correction—"taking the dog whip, she jerked poor Simon about, making him dance the Canaries for two hours."
Many more mishaps and punishments happened to the poor wretch, until at last even he could stand it no longer; so he attempted to poison himself, but, by mistake, drank his wife's bottle of sack (vide frontispiece), and consequently got drunk. He was duly cudgelled; but, either this determination of his, frightened his wife, or she saw the folly of going on in the way they were doing, for the tale winds up with, "For now he leads a happy life."
THE
HISTORY
OF
TOM LONG the Carrier
Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church Yard
Bow Lane
Although the address "To the Reader" says—
"Of all the Toms that ever yet was nam'd,
Was ever Tom like Tom Long fam'd,
Tom Tram, who mad pranks shews,
Unto Tom Long, will prove a Goose.
Tom Thumb is dumb until the pudding creep,
In which he was entomb'd, then out doth peep.
The fool may go to school, but ne'er be taught,
Such rare conceits with which Tom Long is fraught.
Tom Ass but for his ugly ears, might pass,
Since no such jewels as our Tom he wears.
Tom Tell Truth is but froth, the truth to tell,
From all the Toms, Tom Long doth bear the bell,"
yet the Chap-book is very dreary fun, not even being enlivened by any good illustrations—those supplied belonging to other books—but it is valuable for its frontispiece, which represents a Chapman of Elizabethan or Jacobean time, a veritable Autolycus. The other edition in the British Museum, "Printed and Sold at Sympson's Warehouse in Stone Cutter Street, Fleet Market," has a bad copy of this engraving.
THE
WORLD
TURNED
UPSIDE DOWN
OR THE
FOLLY OF MAN
EXEMPLIFIED
IN TWELVE COMICAL RELATIONS
UPON
UNCOMMON SUBJECTS
Illustrated with Twelve curious Cuts
Truly adapted to each Story
Printed and Sold in London
"Philosophers of old will tell us,
As Tycho, and such merry fellows,
That round this habitable ball
The beamy sun did yearly fall;
No wonder then the world is found
By change of place Turn'd Upside Down;
If revolutions strange appear
Within the compass of the sphere;
If men and things succession know,
And no dependance reigns below;
Since tis allow'd the world we dwell in,
Is always round the sun a sailing;
Experience to our knowledge brings;
That times may change as well as things,
And art than nature wiser grown,
Turns every object upside down,
Whim's epidemic takes her rise,
And constancy's become a vice.
He that to do is fortunate,
The darling minions of his fate!
To morrow feels his fate's displeasure,
Spoil'd his hoarded idol treasure!
And like this man, his emblem shows,
A sudden revolution knows.
His fortune grows profoundly scurvy
Turns the poor earthworms topsy turvy,
Becomes the tennis ball of fools,
Things quite form'd out of nature's rules.
Such as you see Atlas bear
Upon their backs this mighty sphere.
The young, the old, the middle aged,
Are all in this great task engaged;
And strive with wondrous eagerness
Which all the greatest part possess.
Since folly then has got the ascendant,
He's most a fool that han't a hand in't;
And as the mad brain'd world runs round
Still keeps towards the rising ground."
This is quite enough for a specimen of the style of this poem, and, luckily, the illustrations explain themselves.