AN ANSWER TO A FOOLISH PAMPHLET ENTITVLED A swarme of Sectaries & Schismaticks.

Put forth by John Taylor the Water-Poet.

Wherein is set downe

  • 1. An Epistle to John Taylor.
  • 2. Iohn Taylors Armes, blazed by Fennor.
  • 3. George Hattons lines sent to Iohn Taylor.
  • 4. The view of his long silence.
  • 5. The view of his writing this Booke.
  • 6. A view of the Title.
  • 7. A view of Iohn Taylor in the TUB.
  • 8. A view of his Puritans.
  • 9. A view of his Hypocrisie.
  • 10. An Exhortation to Iohn Taylor to repent.

Printed in the Yeare, 1641.

An Epistle to Iohn Taylor the Water Poet.

M [...] Taylor,

AFter a Supper of slanders, give me leave to return a B [...]nquet of defence; I am sorry that my pen is pluck't back from other occasions, to answere an oppo [...]te so ignoble: but seeing Religion shot at by such a poysoned Pistoll; I thought it meet to serue out the bul­let of thy infamie before it grew rank, or festred too farre in the worlds apprehension. But all that I shall say to thee in this Epistle more, is onely to call thee back, to thy old A. B. C. long since set thee by an old acquaintance of thine to an Anagramme, that thy selfe writ of his name.

My Anagramme if thou but rightly fear,
Then thou wilt find, 'tis I will feare no man,
How can I then feare thee that art a Taylor,
A shred of fustian, and a ragged Raylor;
A dish that is not worth the seeding on,
When thou art best in Lent th'art but poore Iohn.

The Armes of John Taylor the Water-poet, blazed according to the old Coppy.

And first because all sculls thou dost excell,
A silver care will for thy Crest doe well,
A paire of armes bound in a sable scarfe,
In a sad field as large as Wapping-wharfe:
Out of the wa [...]er shall appeare one dead,
A halter, and a crosse barre o're his head,
And on his shield this Motto shall be found,
Taylor the sculler was both hang'd and drown'd:
In all this blazing thee no hurt I meane,
But hang thee till the tide hath washt thee cleane.

To John Taylor the Water-poet.

When a fresh water-man doth turne salt Poet;
His Muse must prattle, all the world must know it,
Of whore and thiefe, he writes two merry bookes,
Hee loves them both, J know it by his lookes.
G. H.

John Taylors lying still.

Not I alone (but many more) have wondered that Iohn Taylor hath of late bin crouded from the Presse by these young Poets; surely he hath mourned to see these times, and fearing Reformation, thought it the best policy to hold his peace; lest his pen betray his dissembling heart, & so the times chance to correct his knavery, and he feele the smart of his lascivious life; for such wanton trickes as he used when he made the Poet almost feare that hee—came too neare his wife, when he said to him.

But yet I wonder since thou hatest my life,
Thou shouldst professe such kindnesse to my wife,
If thy hote love without deceit be fervent,
My Kitchin maid shall take thee for her servant;
For all the love that from my wife proceedes,
Is scorning of thy person and thy deedes.

Such tricks as these may well prevaile to keepe an idle lascivious, drunken Poets lines from the Presse, such happy times as these.

But stay! Iohn Taylor hath taken courage: he hath writ a booke, and oh how Papists laugh at it, and commend it, and they are very glad to see him begin to peepe out; well let him take heed, lest he peepe through a wooden case­ment in Cheape-side, or else faire worse in a cart, with a breakfast with young Gregorie.

The cause why he writ.

Iohn Taylor was, a while since, invited to dine with his old friend the Bishop of Canterbury in the Tower, and oh [Page 3] how he made his little gr [...]ce laugh, with telling of him strange stories; Iohn c [...]n cut out Brownists, and Puritans into shreds at his pleasure, though he have his own Religi­on to choose, indeed he hath said to some, that they had as good to deale with the Divell, as with him, which wee see verified in him, by his base scandalous lines, which were long since reproved thus.

How Rascall-like thou dealest at the first,
Thou shew'st from what a [...]tiquitie th' art nurs't:
But I will spare thee thou intemp'rate Asse,
Ʋntill in Bridewell thou shalt currant passe.

What hath the Bishop of Canterbury rub'd up the cou­rage, to put thy rayling lines in print, against thou know'st not whom nor what? No marvell though his Arch-Grace told John Taylor, that he wonder'd he would not visit his wine ofter; is this booke his recompence for thy friendly entertainment?

An Answer to his title.

The title pretends to discover Sects, and Schismes, but the booke runs (for the most part) of another matter, sure he thought he had bin at his old worke, the world runs on wheeles; he writes of kissing, and whoring, and such ribble and rabble of his own braine: ah Iohn, old Rats love cheese. Dost thou think thou losest thy living, when thou hast not thy fare of threescore whores in a day: doth this enable Poets to do the Kingdome good service? What, wilt thou again lament the losse of those dayes, wherein thou hast at­tended the whole fry of famous whores, to ayre themselves by waters?

Of the picture in the title of his Booke.

I did first conceive that fellow in the Tub to be Iohn Taylor the Poet, having stayed so long with the Bishop of Canterbury, untill at last he saw one vessell of Sack drawne dry, and then brake out the head of the Tub to tumble in, [Page 4] and falling asleepe was almost stifled in the Lees; crying out to Sam t [...]e Vintners boy in the Tower, to helpe him; crying Sam: How, come and helpe me out, and all the peo­ple flocking about him, see how he stands like a drown'd mouse. But for all this, when the Bishop comes to his grace­ship againe, hee'le give John a good pension, but I hope hee shall ne're see it. Long since did that Satyr protest thus against him.

I to my Countrey do commend my love and skill,
To roote out all such
Iohn Tailor and his Ad­herents,
instruments of ill.

This, saith he, was printed luckily, and you see that it may be read unhappily.

The Knaves Puritan.

The Captaine and first frontier of the swarme he brings in to be the Knaves Puritan▪ or if you will John Taylors op­posite, that abhors sin, and detests all such corrupt company.

Who striving God to feare, and serve the best he can,
The Poet is a knave t'abuse this Puritan.

The Knave Puritan.

What is the Poet mad to lay the rod in pisse, that must lash his owne fat knavish buttocks; to describe the knave Puritan (as hee calls him) to bee so like his owne picture? Surely did not the Printer mistake, and put in Puritan in­stead of Poet? Well a Croyden Scholler once began to tum­ble Hell for Taylors shreds that are throwne out of sight: though something obscurely, when he said he read his ver­ses to me, and which more is, did move my Muse to write Laudem Auditories.

If for his Land Discoveries, she should praise him,
Whether would then this liquid knowledge raise him?
[Page 5]
Reade his two Treatises of thiefe and whore,
You'l thinke it time for him to leave his Oare;
Yet thus much of his worth I cannot smother,
'Tis well for us, when thieves peach one another.

To he that will.

In the first place John Taylor would have the Readers to understand that his Muse is no further Musicall, then it runs division; and so it is in very deed; for one while he derides those that deride true Religion as Atheistes, and by and by, he (like a substantiall Papist) derides the Con­temners of Popish rights as Heretikes, and while he pre­tends reverence to truth, and presently againe he applauds foule Errors; this indeed is truely called by himselfe di­vision, whereby he unmaskes his owne Hypocrisie. Thou talkest much of preaching, but when dost thou either heare the word of God preached to thee, or when dost thou pray? One writ the word long since;

That thou that of mans life art no esteemer,
What mercy canst thou hope from thy Redeemer?
Say these had wrong'd thee, thou good names betrayer,
Thou callest for vengeance in thy Saviours prayer;
I will not say so, but it doth appeare,
Thou scarse dost say thy prayers once a yeare.

How lightly doth he esteeme of pre [...]ching: when as he compares it to the hangings in a L [...]dies bed-chamber, and I know not what, surely this he rub'd up out of his memory, since he played the B [...]wd, expressing himselfe, how the wandring sight brought home, into the very bed-chamber of the heart, amorous actions, effeminate glances, pictures of prostitution, and Veneriall vanities, he brings a rem [...]m­br [...]nce (which was long since commended) before his eyes and presents it to others, to t [...]ke warning by Achitophell.

[Page 6]
But dost thou thinke the matter is no more,
But hang themselves? Thy Counsell they abhorre.
But take thou heed of this inchanted spell,
John Taylor ended like Achitophell.
What foolish Asse, like thee, would take in hand,
To write of that thou canst not unde [...]stand?
But deare T [...]rlia in her [...]iming fit
Sung, thou wilt dye a foole for want of wit.
But I am sorry that thy credit's tainted,
To make thee and thy Chandler unacquainted,
VVill he now score no more for egges and cheese,
Because he saw thy Hope upon her knees?
For reputation thou canst have no more
Than in a bakers debt, or Ale-wives score;
And if thou be deny'd both bread and d [...]inke,
Thy writing, and thy lazie sides will shrinke.
J see thou art so bare and desperate,
Thou wouldst turne Hangman to a [...]vance thy state,
And hang up honest men, but they'l o're-match you,
And stand to see an hempen halter catch you.

Taylors shreds.

When this Taylor comes to spread his shreds abro [...]d by piece-meale, hee falls into a furious rayling against this man, and that man, and J know not who, and these hee calls holy brethren, & the women holy sisters, the lines are full of roguish Language, such as Newgate teacheth: a friend of his was perswaded long since, that he was tutor'd in the stewes, because he is so perfect in their speech, full of base roguish wishings, Curses, and Revilings, tempestuous Rai­lings, and defiling mens good names, and though hee pro­tested not long since that he would scorne to molest the name of the dead, expressing himselfe that he conceived it to be a most inhumane thing, but let him looke upon his old Anagramme.

[Page 7]
O hate, raile on, or this raile on, O hate:
For spite of rayling I must it dedicate
An Answer to thy theame although not so large,
Will sinke thy scullers boat, though't were a Barge,
To halter up thy Muse my Muse begins,
To trusse the jade for breaking peoples shins.
Remember when thou let'st the wine run tumbling downe,
Thy rotten wine-pipe like a drunken clowne,
But yet thy Lyon drunke could not defend thee,
Although thy Ape drunke, makes some men commend thee,
And thy tobacco is such stinking stuffe,
That thou know'st who cryed out enough, enough.
Farewell,
V. R. Heavenly K. R.
FINIS.

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