ord,
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 flinc