Page:The Pennyles Pilgrimage.djvu/11

 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,