The Blacke Dogge of Newgate: both pithie and profitable for all Readers.

Vide, Lege, Caue.

Time shall trie the trueth.

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To the honorable Sir Iohn Popham Knight, Lord chiefe Iustice of Englande: all encrease of honor and happines.

TWo reasons, my Honorable good Lord, mee especially mooued, to de­dicate this Booke to your Honor. The first; for, I helde it my deutie, to certifie you of the notable abuses dayly committed by a great number of very bad fellowes, who vnder the couller of Office and seruice, doe mightely abuse both Iustice and Iustices: which in this Booke is largely discouered. The next; for, your Honor being there­of certified, such bad fellowes shalbe the soner lookt into, and their outragies quallified: so that the soner by you, the like mischieues may be preuented. What I haue done, is in loue and Zeale: Both which, I doubt not, but they will excuse my boldnesse: And so the worke be acceptable in your good opi­nion, I will not regarde the mallice of the threatning Cunny-catcher; who hath sworne, if I publish this Booke, they will do me what mischiefe they can. But how little I regarde their windie wordes, they may well perceiue by my proceedings: if this worke had beene worth a Talent, it should haue beene your [...]nors: and being a poore mans mite, I desire it may be ac­ceptable: [Page] and if heereafter I shall be better able, your honor shall not faile, but finde me ready to do your honor seruice, euen to the vttermost of my power. Thus assuring my selfe safe shielded with your fauour, to whome I present this Booke, desi­ring you to take the full view of this Black Dogge of New­gate, I humbly, and in all dutie, cease to be tedious: praying to the Almighty, to lengthen long your dayes, with encrease of all vertue and honor, and after this lyfe, to send you to euer­lasting happinesse, and ioyes endlesse. Amen.

To do your Honour ser­uice whilest he liueth, LVKE HVTTON.

To the Reader.

GEntle Readers, for my Repentance was so welcome, and so much the better because it was mine: in some parte to satisfie your courtesies, I thought it my part to present you with thankes, and more, with my se­cond labour: which albeit, it be both my especiall cost and trauell, yet it is yours: and so I may say, for you are willing to paye the prize of the Black Dogge of Newgate. Meruaile not Gentlemen, that you pay so deare for a Dogge, indeed a Curre: I wish you all well, and though three halfe-pence be a Dogs price, yet if you according to my Poesie, accept my Penne and Paper, it will counteruaile the charge of six pence. You haue knowne me better if you euer knew me, and neuer worse if you now know me: But for I haue read some bookes of Philosophie, I thought it best to be my selfe, not as I was, for I hope you are otherwise perswaded, but as I am, and so to liue or die. But for it is no better then the Blacke Dogge of Newgate: I de­sire you not to thinke your time ill bestowed in the reading, nor the prise great which you gaue for it. When you haue perused it, if you like it not, say the Dogge came from New­gate, hang him vp, and rend the Paper in peeces, and I will be your debter a worke of better acceptance, yet let me giue you to vnderstand by the way, that this Dogge, and many Dogs of his kinde, haue I knowne a great while, and if I had not had great occasion, I would neuer haue bestowed so much time [...]: Nay more, that you shall not thinke [Page] this Dogge nor any of his kinde to be as they haue beene, the murtherers and vtter vndooing at the least of an infinite number, to be shadowed by the name of Seruant at Newgate, at this time I thought good faithfully to giue you to vn­derstand, that he who was euer able to keepe a good Dogge, and now to make choyse of his seruants in Newgate, did in my sight, thrust this Dogge by the head and shoulders out of Newgate, making choise of men insteed of Dogges: and more I dare say, neuer shall a Curre in shape of man commit the like abuses, during his time in Newgate. No more for the Dogge of Newgate, but for this Dogge of mine, wish me still well, I will neuer doe you ill, so to your content as I wish, I leaue you and me to my better content when God will.

For euer fare you well, Luke Hutton.

The blacke Dogge of Newgate: both piththy, pleasant, and profitable, for all readers.

WHen as blacke Tytan with his duskie robe,
had Tellus clouded with his curtaynes nyght,
Fayre Phebus peering vnderneath earthes globe
with winged steedes hence takes his course a right:
Tytan he leaues to beare imperial sway,
commaunding nyght, as Phebus did the day.
The fierie Chariot posteth vnder ground.
With Tytans mantle all the earth is spred,
And wreathes of Icat about his temples bound:
Earthes Tell cole blacke, sweete Morpheus cals to bed.
No time to walke, to sport, to game, to see,
I did obey, that must commaunded bee.
Layed in my bed, I gan for to recount,
A thousand thinges, which had been in my time:
My birth, my youth, my woes, which all surmount,
My life, my losse, my libertie my crime:
Then where I was, vnto my minde recalling,
Mee thought Earth gapt, and I to Hell was falling.
Amidst these feares that all my senses cumber,
Care closd mine eyes, and sorrow wroung my hart:
Opprest with greefe, mine eye-lids gan to slumber,
But borne to woes, must of more woes haue part:
A thousand furies to my hart appearing,
[...] torments my soule with fearing.
Thus lay I long, beholding Hell and Deuils,
Agast with mazes, almost dead in feares,
Not knowing how to rid me from the euils:
They shew in action, and in lookes appeares,
One anticke monster, hidious, foule and grim,
Mee most appayld, and most I lookt at him.
Thought I at last, I will crie out for ayde,
Bowning to crie neare dead, afright with feare,
I heard a voyce, which like an Angel, sayd:
Hutton be bolde, for thou shalt see and heare
Men Deuils, Deuils men, one both, both all deluding:
Worlds euils, wracke then, sheepes cloth, Wolues pray con­cluding.
Hearing a voyce, my hart was much reuiued,
Noting the wordes, I did some corrage take:
But suddaine ioyes hath suddaine woes atchiued,
A suddaine noyse this hellish crew did make,
Threatning by shewes as though they would deuower
my life and soule, subdewd by terrors power.
Thought checkt my minde, feares senses all amazing,
Hell broken loose, eyes visions furies affrighting,
Subdeud earths powers, vprears harts insight a gazing,
Terror of minde with hope, cries feares faint arighting:
Helpe mee orequelled: waking with dread, I espied
Grast gracious Mynerua, who thus to my outcrie replied▪
FEare not at all, nor faynt thou with beholding:
But light thy Lampe, and take thy Pen in hand.
Write what thou sees, thy visions all vnfolding,
I will direct, and let thee vnderstande,
What all these helhoundes shadow by appearing.
Uiew thou their worst, and then write of their fearing.
Subdeud by worths, which did all wordes exceede.
Rauisht with ioyes, such feature to behold,
Abiecting feare, my glutted eyes I feede,
Upon hir brightnes which all harmes controld:
Glimse of hir brightnes senses all indearing,
Legions of Deuils could no more fright with fearing.
I preasd my selfe to take the hardest steele,
And from the flint I bett foorth sparkes of fyer:
Kindling the lint, my ready match I feele,
Yeelding my Lampe the light of my desyer:
Soone spyed Mynerua, with Lawrel cround and Bayes,
Myrror deuine feature of worthles prayse.
Before her feete submissiuely I fell,
Pardon I craud, fearing I was too bold:
Rise vp quoth shee, and view these hags of hell,
For diuers secrets must thy pen vnfold.
Make true recorde, what shalbe shewd to thee,
For these are they, which Worldes deceauers bee.
Ile clense thine eyes, least vapours do offend,
Ile cleare thy Wits, and giue a pleasing muse:
The deafest care shall to thy talke attend,
The worke so worthy, thou may not refuse:
Newgates blacke Dogge with pen and inke depaynt,
Curres, of this kinde shall thereby haue restraynt.
Not for my sake do thou what I require,
But for his sake: and with that worde mee shoes
A fayre olde Man, whose teares foretolde desier,
And in a mantle mourner like he goes.
His veynes like Azure, his heare as white as Wooll,
Tresses before, behinde a bare smoth skull.
And this is Time, Minerua thus replyed,
Which mournes to see these helhoundes Tymes abusing,
How thousandes in their rauening iawes haue dyed:
Slaughtering Lambes, yet to the worlde excusing,
Offence with culler, shadowing mightie euils,
By name of seruice, and yet incarnat Deuils.
No more quoth shee, but take thee to thy Pen.
Resolue the Wyle, that they haue been deceaued:
Many Blacke Dogs haue walkt in shapes of men,
And with deceites hath Common wealth agreeued:
His forme and lynaments to the worlde disclose,
That this Blacke Dogge be knowen where ere he goes.
My Muse gan blush, dreading to vndertake
so great a taske: but Time againe replyde.
Feare not at all, Time doth the motion make,
Unmaske this Beast, let him no longer hide
Him selfe in shrowdes, who makes of sinne a scoff,
Worldes greatst admire, when as his vizards off.
Time then sayd I, fayre time I will not vse
Longer delay, but satisfie thy will:
So Time will answere for my harmeles muse,
Who wanteth worth to nigh Pernassus hill.
Be briefe, quoth Time: with that I tooke my Pen,
Obeying Time, without offence to men.
Then did I fixe mine eye vpon this Beast,
Who did appeare first in the shape of Man,
Homly attyrde, of wonders not the least:
A Broome-mans song to sing this Dogge began,
From streete to streete trubgeth along this Groome,
As if he would ferne all the worlde with Broome.
But in a trice he did transforme his shape,
Which stroke a trebble horror to my hart.
A Cerberus, nay worse, hee thrise as wide did gape,
His heares all Snakes curling, they will not part.
Cole blacke his hew, like Torches glow his eyes,
His breath doth poyson, smooke from his nostrels flyes.
His countenance gastly, fearefull, grim, and payle,
His fomie mouth still gapeth for his pray:
With Tygers teeth he spares none to assayle,
His lyppes Hell gates, orepaynted with decay.
His tongue the clapper, sounding woofull knell,
Towling poore men to ring a peale in hell.
Like Sepulcher his throate is hollow made,
Deuouring all whom danger makes a pray.
Brybrie his hand, spoyle of the pore, his trade.
His fyngers Talentes, ceazing to betray.
And with his armes he fouldeth men in woes,
Destruction still the path where ere he goes.
Mee thought his brest was all of burning Brasse,
Through which there grew a hart of hardest Steele:
His belly hudge, lyke scalding furnace was,
His thyghes both like vnto a fierie wheele,
His legges were long, one foote lyke to a Hind,
The other foote a Houndes of bloody kind.
And in this shape I saw this monster walke,
About the streetes, most fearefull to beholde:
But more to tell, since I begin to talke,
Heere is the ease, which Time would fayne haue tolde.
Upon a suddaine rushe this Curr on mee,
As though my lyfe his euening pray should bee.
Within his clutches did he ceaze me fast,
And bare me straight vnto blacke Plutoes cell:
When there I came, he me in Lymbo cast,
A Stigion lake, the dungion of deepe hell:
But first my legs he lockt in Iron boult,
As if poore I had beene some wanton Coult.
And then he gan with basest termes to braide,
And then he threats as though he would me kill:
And then he daunces for he me betrayd,
And then speakes fayre, as though he ment no ill:
Then like Madusa doth he shake his locks,
And then he threatens me with Iron stocks.
At last he left me in that irksome den,
Where was no day for there was euer night:
Woes me thought I, the abject of all men,
Clouded in care, quite banished from light:
Robd of the Skie, the Scartes, the day, the Sunne,
This Dog, this Diuell, hath all my ioyes vndun.
Surprest with anguish sorrow griefe and woe,
Me thought I heard a noise of Iron cheanes:
Which din did torment and affright me so,
That all my sences studied what it meanes:
But by and by, which did me comfort more,
There came a man which opened Lymbos dore.
All leane he was, and feeble too God knowes,
Upon his arme he bare a bunsh of keyes:
With Candle-light about the cell he goes,
Who roughly sayd, sir lye you at your ease?
Swearing an oath that I did lie too soft,
Who lay on ground, and thus he at me scoft.
To see a man of feature, forme and shape,
It did me good, and partly feares exiled:
But when I heard him gibe me like an Ape,
Then did I thinke that I was thrise beguiled.
Yet would I venture to this man to speake,
Into discourses thus I gan to breake.
Aye me poore wretch, that knowes not where I am,
Nor for what cause I am brought to this place:
Bound for the slaughter, lying like the Lambe,
The butchers meanes to kill within a space.
My greeues are more then can my toung expresse,
Aye me, woes me, that can finde no redresse.
Yet if thou be as thou doest seeme a man,
And so thou art, if I do not mistake:
Do not encrease if so release thou can,
The cruell tortures which me wofull make.
And tell me first who thou thy selfe mayst be,
That art a man, and yet doest gibe at me.
Seeing the feares which dyd my heart possesse,
Uiewing the teares that trickled from mine eyes:
He answered thus, a man I must confesse,
I am my selfe that heare condemned lyes.
And by the law adiudgd I am to dye,
But now the keeper of these keyes am I.
This house is Newgate, gently he replyed,
And this place Lymbo wherein now thou art:
Untill thou pay a fine, heare must thou bide,
With all these boults which do agreeue thy heart.
No other place may there prouided be,
Till thou content the keeper with a fee.
With that hee turnd as though he would away.
Sweete, bide awhyle, I did him so entreate.
Quoth hee, My freend, I can not longer stay,
Yet what you want, yf you will drinke or eate,
Or haue a fyer, or Candle by you burne,
Say what you neede, and I will serue your turne.
Quoth I, deare frende then helpe mee to a Fyer,
Let me haue Candle for to giue mee lyght:
Nor meate nor drinke do I wysh or desier,
But onely graunt mee gracious in thy sight.
And say, What monster was it plast mee heere?
Who hath mee almost lyueles made with feare.
Nay peace quoth hee, for there begins a tale.
Rest now content, and Time will tell thee more,
To striue in Fetters it will small auayle:
Seeke first to ease thy legges which will grow sore,
When boults are off, we will that matter handle.
So he departed, leauing mee a Candle.
Away he went, and leaues me to my woes.
And being gon, I could not chuse but thinke
That he was kind, though first vnkind in showes,
Who offered mee both fyer, bread, and drinke.
Leauing a Candle by me for to burne,
It easd my greefe, and made mee lesse to mourne.
Ioying to see, who whilome had no syght,
I reacht the Candle, which by burnyng standes,
but I vnworthy comfort of the lyght,
A Rat doth rob the Candle from my handes,
And then a hundred Rats all sallie foorth,
As yf they would conuaye their pryze of worth.
In vaine I striue to reobteyne whats lost,
My woes are now, as woes at first began:
With change of greeues my perplext soule is tost,
To see the end I did bethinke me than.
How time had promisd secrets to disclose,
So I exspect the worst of hellish foes.
Whilst thus I lay in Irons vnder ground,
I heard a man that begged for releefe:
And in a chaine of Iron was he bound,
Whose clattering noyse filde full my heart with griefe,
Begging one penny to buie a hundred bread,
Hungerd and sterud, for want of food ny dead.
Woes me thought I, for thee so bound in chaines,
Woes me for them, thou begs for to sustaine:
Woes me for all, whose want all woes conteynes,
Woes me, for me, that in your woes complaine.
Woes me, woes you, and woe is to vs all,
Woe to that Dogge, made me to woe a thrall.
Whilst thus I languish, I on suddaine heare,
An vncoth noyse which did approche my den:
Listning, vnto the doore, I laide mine eare,
And then I knew the voyces were of men.
Still in neerenesse drew they more and more,
At last I heard them opening Lymboes dore.
In first there came, the man that gaue me light,
And next the Dogge, who brought me to that place:
Another, with a Club appeard in sight,
Three weaponlesse, as though they monde my case.
Fainting for feare, I knew not what to say,
Exspecting then performance of decay.
But now this Dog is in another shape,
In euery point proportiond as a man:
My heart did throb, not knowing how to scape,
but to intreat this Curre, I thus began.
Fayre friend, quoth I, if so thy will may be,
To ease my griefe Ile giue thee any fee.
With that he grynd, and thus he made reply,
Thou art a villaine, worthy of this place:
Thy fault is such, that thou shalt surely dye,
I will not pitty thee in any case.
Such as thou art, too many euery where,
But I will seeke in time to haue them heare.
When he namde Tyme, then I on Tyme did thinke,
But more he sayes, if thou haue any coyne:
To pay for ease, I will a little winke,
And boults releasment, with discharge Ile ioyne.
Of this close prison to some other warde,
Paying thy fine, or else all ease is bard.
Like as the childe dooth kisse the rod for feare,
Nor yet dare whimper, though it haue beene bet:
So with smoothe lookes, this Dog approache I neare,
Before the Diuell, a candle do I set.
Treating him faire, with fayrest words may be,
Bidding him aske, he shall haue golde of me.
Why then, quoth he, thy speeches please me well,
Partners (quoth he) strike of his Irons all:
Then vp we went, as one should clime from hell,
Untill I came into a loathsome hall.
When there I came, they set me on a block,
With punche and hammer, my Irons off they knock.
No meruaile though, whilst they my legs vntide,
Mine eyes did surfet, drunke with woes beholding:
Boults, shackles, colors, and Iron shears I spide,
Thumbstals, wastbands, tortors greefe vnfolding.
But whilst the ease of legs my sorrowes calmes,
Roome quoth a wretch, for me with wydowes almes.
Take of these curtals did another crie,
And on his knees he fell before this Cur:
Who to his sorrowing made a Dogs replie,
Downe to thy warde, and doe not make this stur.
What now I know, if I had knowne before,
In stead of these light chaines thou shouldst had more.
With that the poore man was thrust out of sight,
And I all fearing, feard with feare of feares:
My Irons off I went, as go I might,
Unto this Dog, in whom all diuels appeares.
With goulden Angell, I this Cur presented,
Saith he, one more, else am not I contented.
Wonder it was, to see a feend of hell,
To thirst for angels of the fayrest hue:
But diuels are diuels, and they would all orquell,
Mans life and soule, this Dog seekes to subdue.
His mouth to stoppe, angels I gaue him two,
Yeelding perforce, as I perforce must doo.
And then he left me in the partners hall,
The grate doth open, and this Dog out goes:
Thousand sorrowes holds my heart in thrall,
Yet there I am not by my selfe in woes.
Hereon oreplunged with deepe hearts greefe cryes,
I liue a life, thrise worse then he that dyes.
An other sorrye soule, without a ragge,
Hurckling for colde, in whome all want appeares:
At last gan speake, as if he ment to bragge,
And thus he sayes: Heare haue I beene nine yeares.
Tell you of woes, when you my woes haue seene,
And yet haue many men more wofull beene.
With that I rose, and to this poore man went,
In hope to learne some nouils by his talke:
Approching him, amidst his discontent,
He asked me, if so I pleasd to walke?
And if you will, then follow vp these staires,
To walke, and talke, deceiueth time of cares.
I followed him, as he that in a wood,
Hath lost himselfe, and knowes no way he takes:
And in distresse I thought conferring good,
New woes with olde, iust mixture consort makes.
And though the place do naught but discord sound,
My soule for his our discords concord found.
At first he gently tooke me by the hand,
And bids we welcome, as I were his guest:
You are a prisoner, I do vnderstand,
And hether welcome are both bad and best.
Men of all sorts come for offending hether,
And being heare, heare bide they altogether.
And then he did begin thus to discourse,
Cease to lament with vaine dispayring teares:
Thy selfe dissolud to droopes, gaines no remorse,
Heares none regards, though all thy mournings hears.
If vnder earth, the Diuels can prooue a bell,
Theirs is not like to this, where wretches dwell.
See in you Hall are diuers sorts of men,
Some weepe, some waile, some mourne, some wring their hands,
Some cursse, some sweare, and some blaspheming then,
My heart did faint, my head hayre vpright stands.
O Lord thought I, this house will rend in sunder,
Or else there can be no hell, this hell vnder.
Thus wondring I, on suddaine did espie,
One all in black came stamping vp the stayres:
Whose you I askt, and thus he made reply,
You is the man doth mitigate our cares.
He preacheth Christ, and doth Gods word deliuer,
To all distrest, to comfort men for euer.
Then drew I neare to see what might betide,
Or what the sequell was of that I saw:
Exspecting good would follow such a guide,
As preached Christ, and taught a God to know.
A hundred clustered, [...]ying the pulpit neare,
As if they longd the Gospell for to heare.
Whats this, quoth I, that now I do behold,
The hage of hell, and Sathans impious lims,
Some deeper secret doth this sight vnfolde,
Then I can gesse, this sight my sences dims.
Straight, of my friend I asked by and by,
What it might be, who made me this reply.
You men which thou beholds so pale and wan,
Who whiles lookes vp, whiles looking downe beneath▪
Are all condemnd, and they must dye each man,
Iudgment is giuen, that corde shall stop their breath.
For hayneus facts, as murther, theft, and treason,
Unworthy life, to dye law thought it reason.
The Sermon ended, the men condemnd to dye,
Taking their leaues of their acquainted friends:
With sorry lookes paysing their steps they plye,
Downe to a hall, where for them there attends.
A man of office, who to daunt liues hopes,
Doth corde their hands, and scarfe their necks with ropes.
Thus ropt and corded, they discend the stayres,
Newgates Black Dog, beesturs to play his part:
And doth not cease for to augment their cares,
Willing the Carman to set neare his Cart.
Which done, these men, with feare of death orepangd,
Bound to the Cart, are carried to be hangd.
This ruefull sight, yet end to their doomd sorrowes,
Makes me agast, and forces me bethinke:
Woe vpon woe, and so from wofulst borrowes,
A swame of greefe, and then I sounding sinke.
But by Tymes ayde, I did reuiue againe,
Might I haue dyed, it had beene lesser paine.
For now againe the Dog a fresh assaults me,
As if my spoile were next to be inacted:
And like a subtill Cur in speeches halts he,
With thousand sleighty wyles, olde shiftes compacted.
Charging me oft with that I neuer did,
In his smoothst lookes, are cruell bitings hid.
I spake him faire, as if I had offended,
He treats me foule, who neuer did him ill:
He playes the gripe one Tytious intended,
To tyre his heart, yet neuer hath his fyll.
Euen so this Dog doth tyre and prey on me,
Till quite consumd, my golden angels be.
Then wofull wante did make me oft complaine,
Hunger and colde do pinche me at the heart:
Then am I thrust out of my bed againe,
And from my chamber must I needes depart.
To lowest wardes, to lye vpon the boords,
Which naught but filthe and noisome smels affords.
Midst fortie men, surprisd with care and greefe,
I lye me downe on boords as hard as chenell:
No bed, nor boulster, may affoord releefe,
For worse then Dogs, lye we in that foule kennell.
What might I thinke, but sur [...] assure me then,
That metamorphosd we were beasts not men.
Greefe vpon greefe, did still oppresse my minde,
Yet had I store compartners in my woe:
No ease, but anguish, my distresses finde,
Here lyes a man, his last liues breath dooth blow.
And ere the sorry man be fully dead,
The Rats do prey vpon his face and head.
Whilst thus I languish in my woes, appeares
Tyme in his mantle, looking fresh and blythe:
Yet whiles his eyes did shed some drops of teares,
Wherewith he seemd, as he would wet his sithe.
Quoth Tyme, by me shall sorrowes be appeased,
And nows the tyme thou shalt of cares be eased.
I did present this Booke which I had writ,
Into Tymes hands, who tooke it and perused it:
Yea, but sayth Tyme, thou must discouer yet,
Who this Dog is, who else will be excused.
For albe I so cleard thine eyes to see him,
So may not others, yet Tyme would haue all flie him.
And for thy verses couertly disclose,
The secrets sence, and yet doth shadow trueth▪
Explaine this Black Dogge, who he is, in prose,
For more apparant, then thy Poem sheweth.
Truth needs no coulours, then this Dog by kinde,
Make knowne before, as he is knowne behynde.
My Sythe, quoth Tyme, is now prepard to cut,
There is no sithe, but Tymes shall longer dure:
Newgates Black Dog, must Tyme to silence put,
Ile breake his teeth, and make his biting sure.
The shapes of men, on Dogs of cruell kinde,
Tyme shall confound, that beare so bad a minde.
Haue thou no doubt, but Tyme shall set thee free,
And yet hereafter learne thou to beware:
Of this Black Dog, and do his dangers flee,
Giue others warning, least like fall their share.
Say to the world, when thou art freed from hell,
Newgates Black Dog thou saw, and knew too well.
And for thy Poem drawes to a conclusion,
Tymes pleasure is, that thou this Dog expresse:
In shape, in nature, man: yet mens confusion,
A madding Cur, who doth from kinde regresse.
A Mothers sonne, and most for to be wondred,
Of Mothers sonnes, this Dog hath spoild a hundred.
In lowly sort, complaine to highest powers,
Trueth will be heard, and trueth must not be hid:
With Foxelike wyles, this Dog poore soules deuowers,
This Dog of men, desipher I thee bid.
And though there be curs many of his kinde,
Say but the trueth, and yet leaue naught behinde.
When Tyme had sayd, I from my feares awake,
Yet had I writ what premises containes:
Twas no illusion moude me this Poem make,
But greeues indured, and woes my heart sustaines.
Greefe, care, and woe, my silly heart do clog,
Fettered to shame by this cur Newgates Dog.
Now as I haue discribd him in some sort,
As he is fearefull vnto all him see:
His diuellish practises now I will report,
And set them downe as wicked as they be.
Here ends my Poem, Newgates black Dog to name,
Now read the rest, and then commend or blame.
FINIS.

A Dialogue betwixt the Author and one Zawny, who was a Prisoner in Newgate, and perfectly acquainted with matters touching the discouerie of the su­perlatiue degree of Cnunicatching: pi­thy, pleasant, and profitable for all the readers heereof.

ZAwny, Aut [...] I haue many times beene in hand with thee to giue me some notes vpon thy knowledge, as concerning the notable abuses committed by a sort of dissolute fel­lowes, who are in very deed the worste members in a common-wealth; I meane infamous cunnicatching knaues, who con­tinually seeke the spoile of others to inritch themselues, and now is the time thy helpe will do me some pleasure: for at the request of a very friend, I was mooued to write something of worth, wherevpon I made choise of the blacke Dog of New­gate to be a subiect to write vpon, wherein I could not choose, diuers strong reasons especially moouing therevnto, but in that tytle shadow the knauerie, villanie, robberie, and Cunni­catching, committed daily by diuers, who in the name of ser­uice and office, were as it were attendants at Newgate. Againe I did choose to giue my booke that title, aswell to satisfie some who yet thinke there is some spirit about that prison in the like­nesse of a black Dog: of which fonde imagination to put them out of doubt, I thought good to giue them to vnderstand, that indeed there is no such matter. The third reason was, for I be­ing in Newgate a prisoner, and ouerthrowne by these kinde of [Page] bad people with their cunnycatching, in most vile and wicked manner, in so much that whilest I there languished in great ex­tremitie, I did both heare and see many outragious iniuries by them committed on diuerse sorts of people: the premisses consi­dered, I doe intreate thee to let me haue thy helpe to set downe some of their villanies committed in thy knowledge, and I will not be slack to present this booke, being finished, into their godly hands: who will assuredly giue them condigne punishment, as also prouide, that the like mischiefes shal neuer be any more put in practise by any notable villaines.

Indeed you say well, and I agree: but yet you know I am a poore man, and am a Pisoner. Againe, it is ill medling with edge tooles. As you comprehend them in the name of a Dog: so if they be angrie, they will bite, and play the deuill in their like­nesse. They haue parlous heads, store of money, and some good friends: all which I want. Neither will I name any: but if their knaueries were knowen, it would be thought the Gal­lowes as fit for these Cunnycatchers, as Newgate is for mee, who am rather kept in to bribe them, then to answer any offence I haue committed: yet seeing you haue begun well, I would wish you end no worse: and for my part, tell you one of their knaueries, and Ile tell another: so that ere we haue done, if we tell all, the Cunny-catcher will thinke we haue tolde too much. But by your leaue a word, I wil name no man, for if they should be named, their friends would be angry: and more then that, I rather wish their amendment, then their publike infamie: of which motion if you like, begin when you will, and when you are weary rest you, and I will go on with it: for our matter be­ing all one, no doubt our conclusion will be to the like effect.

Godly, wise, honorable, worshipful, & gentle Reader, know first there be an infinite number of this sect and company of cun­ny catchers, therfore it were an endlesse peece of worke to name them all: but for I know too many of them, and haue likewise [...]aide for my acquaintance with them, it may be exspected I should name some of them, which for the inconuenience might thereby insue, I thought good to craue [...] that [Page] behalfe, assuring you, that they are easie enough to be knowne by their coullers: but what wicked parts they haue performed, I will not faile but make manifest. Therefore, first I desire you to imagine, that these fellowes, these Cunny catchers I would say, do promise to y e world great matters: as for example. They will vndertake if a man be robd by the way, they will helpe the party offended to his money againe, or to the theeues at the least. Likewise, if a Purse be cut, a House broken, a peece of Plate stole, they will promise the like: mary, to further this good peece of seruice, they must haue a Warrant procured from some Iustice at the least, that by the sayd general Warrant, they may take vp all suspected persons: which being obteined, then marke how notably therewith they play the knaues, how shamefully they abuse the Iustices who graunted the Warrant, & how no­toriouslie they abuse a great sort of poore men, who neither the Warrant mentioneth, nor the partye agreeued in any wise thought to molest or trouble: and for they shadow all their villa­nies vnder coullor of some especiall warrant, let it suffise thee to read the sequell, & then iudge of their abuses, as they deserue.

Now first will I begin with their petty practises in theyr lewd actions. Say there is a man or two robd by the high way not farre from London: the rumor heereof being bruted in the Citty, these fellowes will be sure to haue intelligence with the first, in what manner the men were robbed, how much money they lost, & where they dwell: the reason is this, The Cunny-catchers haue alwayes abroad some odde fellowes which are inquisitors of purpose, who alwayes what they heare rumord, they presently come and certifie their good maisters Cunny-catchers, of all whatsoeuer, how, where, and when this robberie [...]as committed: presently away goes F. H. or N. S. or some of that sect, and inquires out the partie that was robd: with whom, if H. or S. hap to meete▪ withall, some occasion shall pre­sen [...]ly be found to intrude themselues into the company of them be robbed: and after some circumstances, the Cunny catcher be­gins to tell of a strange robbery committed in such a place, say­ing it was shamefully done: and withall, they will cast some [Page] words a farre off, as who should say in effect: if I be not decei­ued I know the theeues, and it may be, that if I might speake with him or them that were robd, happily I should direct them how they might take the villaines.

All this while the Cunnicatcher taketh no notice of them that were robbed, neyther doth the Cunnicatcher make any shew, that they knew any such matter to be done to any in the companie.

Now the poore men that were robbed, hearing their smoth speaches, one of them begins very heauily to shape his tale in this, or such like manner. My honest friende, I know too well that such a robberie was done, and in very deede I was the man was robbed in such a place, and at such a time as you speake off. I beseech you good friende, stande me in what stead you may: and if you can helpe me againe to my money, or to take the Theeues, I will not onely thinke my selfe greatly be­holding to you, but I will also please you to your content. I am a poore man, I pray you do mee what pleasure you may, good sir, I beseech you. These and such like speaches he vseth.

The Cunnicatcher presently ioyneth ishues with him, and with much cunnyng he tempereth his talke. To be short, he of­fereth all the pleasure he can do him: but quoth he, you know I am a stranger vnto you, and I know not whether you will vse mee well or no: It may be, when I haue done you good, you will lyghtly rewarde mee. But Ile tell you what Ile do: Giue mee but fourtie shillinges in hand to beare my charges the time I may search for them, and yf I do not deserue it, I will restore it agayne, and loose all my laboure: yf you lyke of this motion, so it is: yf not, I will not deale in your matter hot nor colde.

When the man that was robbed, heareth him so briefe, yet loth to part company on the suddaine: he intreateth to know the Cunnicatchers name, and where he dwelleth. To this question, an other of the Cunnicatchers companions maketh this reply.

Honest man, you neede not doubt of his good meanyng to­wardes you: This is such a one as may do you pleasure, yf he [Page] please to vndertake it. Then he roundeth the man in the eare, and telleth him his name is E. H. and that he knoweth all the Theeues about London, and that he hath done more good in helping men to their owne, then can be deuised to be done by a hundred others, praysing him for a wonderfull good member in a Common wealth: further certifying the partie where this E. H. dwelleth, and with an oth whispering, he wysheth him to giue him some .xx. s. and then agree what he shall giue him more when the Theeues be taken, making many protestations, that he neede not to misdoubt of E. H. his honest dealing with him in any respect.

Presently the poore man putteth his hand into his pocket, and out he puls an Angell: then saith he; M. H. I haue heard of you before, and for I haue heard nothing but well of you, I am the willinger to deale with you: truly here is an angell for you, and I will giue you a gallon of Wine at the Tauerne, and if you doe me good in this matter, I will giue you xx. s. more: then with some intreatie, he desireth him to take it in good part, and so giueth him the money.

The Cunny-catcher taketh the money verye quaintly, as though he would refuse it, but in the end he pockets it vp, and is willing to go to the Tauerne, where after y e drinking a gallon or two of Wine, they conclude of the former matter: and E. H. will out of hand get the theeues into Newgate, and so much he promiseth to perfome vpon his honest fidelitie, not letting to say, if he do it not, he dare be hanged for it.

Then the day is appointed, when within a weeke the partie robbed shall come to Newgate to know what newes, and for that time they part, the honest man to his home or about his bu­sinesse, the Cunny-catchers to some other odde place about [...]heir knauerie, where they laugh at the Cunny, deuising how to get him in for more money, neuer intending to do any thing in the matter, which they haue vndertaken for the honest man, whose angell they drinke merrily.

Nowe we will leaue this man for a while to his busines of more profit, and I will proceede with the Cunny-catchers for [Page] their practises.

These Cunnicatchers are neuer idle: and therefore it follo­weth next, to let you vnderstand of a notable peece of seruice the sayd H. and S. playde with a friende of mine.

It happened my friende being some time in question, could not misse but he must needes haue acquaintance with these odde shauers: and thus it fell out. My friend being in a Tauerne drinking with some of his acquaintance, whilst they were drink­ing together, in comes H. S. who presently vsed great courtesie to my friend: but to be short, they tooke full suruey of his wea­pons, his good cloake, and neate apparrell, which was enough for them to imagine that my friend had store of money: where­vpon they asked if he would giue them a pottle of Wine? which he willingly granted: and so after one pottle, he gaue them another: the reckoning payde, and the company ready to depart, quoth S. to E. H. I pray you hearke in your eare.

Presently he whispereth. Thus it is, my fellow hath a war­rant to take you: therefore in kindnesse I wish you to drawe to your pursse, and giue him an Angell to drinke, and I wil vnder­take he shall not see you at this time.

My friend hearing his tale tend to a Cunny-catching effect, he begins to sweare they are Cunny-catching knaues, and they shall not wrong him in any respect.

To be short, the Cunny-catcher sends for a Constable, and charges the party aforesaid with fellony: the Constable know­ing them to be in office (but not to be such bad fellowes) he pre­sently apprehendeth the party: which done, the Cunny-catchers seeing the prisoner in safe keeping, disfurnished of his weapons, they presently require the prisoner of the Constable, and they will be his discharge: which the Constable did, thinking no lesse then they were right honest men.

Now marke what followed. As these two knaues were a bringing this party charged with fellony to Newgate, one of them offereth for xx. s. to set him free: of which, when the party had considered, knowing though he were cleare of that he was charged, yet if he lay in Prison till the Sessions, it would [Page] be greater charges. When he was on Newgate stayres redy to go into the Gayle, he was content to leaue his cloake, that mo­ney he had in his pursse, and his weapons which were in the Constables hand pawne for the xx. s. which the Cunny-cat­chers tooke, and discharged the prisoner without any more to doe.

Not long after, the aforesaid Cunny-catchers meete with this their Cunny of xx. s. price, and an other who was knowne to bee as they terme him a good fellow about the towne in his companie.

And where meete they, but in a Tauerne not farre without Bishops gate, where these two poore Cunnies had spoken for supper: amiddest their good cheere, in comes H. and S. bidding them be merry with their fare. One of these two being an odde fellow and in dread of these Cunny-catchers, knowing them very perfectly set on the best face he could, and bad them wel­come, intreating them to sit downe, and doe as they did, of which proffer the Cunny-catchers accepted willingly, and sate downe with them and eate and drunke merrily: supper being ended, the reckoning was cald for, the shot paide, and althings discharged, the Cunnies would faine haue beene gone.

Nay quoth N. S. for of the two he was the grimmer knaue and had most skill to talke, I must let you know that which in­deed I am sorry to doe. Yet if you will doe your selues good you may vse vs well, and we will not vse you amisse, to be short, thus it is, such a man was robd within this weeke, and he hath got out a warrant for you two by name. Hee hath lost ten pounds: now if you will restore the money, and bestowe xx. s. on vs two to drinke for our paines, we will vndertake to [...]atisfie the partie and be your discharge, if not, we haue a war­ [...]ant, and you must answer it at Newgate.

This back reckoning is something sharpe, but there is no remedy, either pay so much money, or else must a Constable be sent for, and so to Newgate as round as a hoope.

To be shorte, this was the conclusion, the Cunnyes paide downe xi.l. euery penny, whereof ten pound was to be paide [Page] to the man in the moone, for I dare take it vpon my death nei­ther of these Cunnies did offend any such man, in manner as these knaues had charged them.

[...]vny.By your leaue a word, all this while you haue not concluded what became of the first Cunny these odde shauers mette with, I pray you be briefe, and let vs heare how he was ended withall, and then you shall heare me tell you of wonders, if these be held to be but of moment.

[...]or.Well then to the first Cunny againe at his time appointed, he commeth to the wise man of Newgate to inquire what is done in his matter, and at Newgate the Cunny findeth his odde acquaintance with E. H. who at the first sight hath the time of the day for him, much curtesies, but to the tauerne they must to debate the matter, where they must haue a pottle of the best. Whilest the Wine is a filling, the Cunny-catcher sheweth what great paine he hath taken to come by the theeues, and how hardly they mist of them: but for it is best to vse few wordes, the Cunny-catcher from one day to an other still driueth off the Cunny, who is still in hope that the Cunny-catcher meaneth good faith, whereas indeed he neuer made accoumpt what faith was: so to be short, if the theeues robd him of some fiue or sixe pound, he hath got or he finde where he is, a drie shauing as much as forty or fiftie shillings more.

I tell thee Zawny me thinkes these are notable vyllanies, & pittie they should not be punished, who liue by no other meanes but practising such prankes as these be.

Againe this is a generall rule to the Cunny-catcher, that when or where he meetes with such a one as hath beene at any time committed to Newgate, if that fellow haue good appar­rell on his back, the Cunny-catcher taketh acquaintance of him and a quarte of Wine they must needes drinke, when the recko­ning comes to paiment, the Cunny-catcher hath brought no money from home that day, so by the others drawing of his pursse to pay for the wine, he knoweth what lyning is in it, then if he haue money, the Cunny-catcher is in hand with him for a bribe, some odde crowne or an Angell to drinke: if the man [Page] be in any fault, fearing the worst, he will not stand with him for a tryfle: if he be in no fault, perhaps he tels, in fayth you are deceiued in me, I am not he you take me for, and so parteth and giueth him nothing.

Presently the Cunny-catcher vseth all meanes [...]o knowe where he lyes, which when he hath done, within a night or two away goes this knaue with some olde warrant to the Constable of that liberty, crauing his ayde to apprehend a bad fellow who is thought to haue done much mischiefe, but for a suertye he auoucheth him for an arrand theefe, and that he hath beene in Newgate. Upon these speeches the Constable goes with this H. where the poore man lyes, and apprehends him and con­uaies him to Newgate, laying some Iustices commaundement on him, where he lyes till the sessions, vnlesse he come of round­lie with a bribe to the Connycatcher: but say the Connycatcher be mistaken in this fellowes pursse, & that he haue not so much as he supposed, yet the Connycatcher is so strong of faith, that he will not beleeue the contrary: so by this meanes the poore man lyeth in prison till he be quite a beggar, without releas­ment till the proclamation at the Sessions, at which time he is not worth the ground he goes on, neither knoweth he, being vt­terly ouerthrowne how to haue any remedy: which is pittifull and lamentable.

I muse you should accoumpt of these trifling matters, Za where­as iudeed they are nothing in respect of the prizes they haue plaide, and if you will giue me leaue a little, I will come some thing nearer the Cunny-catcher then you haue yet done.

I pray thee doe: yet I must needs tell thee I haue beene too neere the Cunnycather, Au and what I haue spoken of him it is not onely with greefe but with sorrow to my heart, and anguish of soule, that these outrages should be committed, to the vtter vndoing of so many; as within this thirty yeares haue beene, for so long did I heare one of these vyllaines vaunt he had beene in office about Newgate: and what I haue done or sayd on this behalfe, with my life and death, I am ready to make proofe of it, that it is true. Thi [...] [...]inde I beare, that the Diuell should [Page] haue his due of these knaues, and I holde it my duty to reueale whatsoeuer is to the good of a common-wealth; and so I will, though the Cunnycatcher sweare to giue me a cut in the legge for my labour, and now Zawny I pray thee go forward.

Gentlemen, though I want eloquence, yet you shall see I haue a rowling toung, deepe knowledge, and am a rare fellow to bewray many matters touching Cunny-catching.

Maister Greene God be with thee, for if thou hadst beene a liue, knowing what I know, thou wouldst as well haue made worke as matter, but for my part I am a plaine fellow, and what I know I will not be meale mouthed, but blab I wist, and out it must: nay and out it shall, for as the Comedian sayd: Plenus rymarum sum.

I know twenty and twenty of these fine Cunny-catchers, who learne of the fencers to double a blow, knowing what be­longs to the button, and the bob: yet for the Author hath onely vsed foure letters for two names, let them stand, and when I name E. he must thinke Zawny can see whilst there is an eye in his head. H. is aspirationis nota, and no letter indeed, therefore I care not if this Cunny-catching H. were wypte out of the letters rowe to hang on the Gallowes, who is fitter to be a sipher to make vp a number at Tyborne, then to be a man of so bad condition. As for a pottle of Wine he cares not who he hangd so he may haue it, if it be but the Wine.

N. is the first of the second name the Author vseth. No knaue I warrant you: and as for S. if he be in some sorte a knaue to be prooued? he will be contented, nay he must in spight of his teeth disgest the name of a Cunnycatcher, for by that arte being not worth one groate a yeare, he is able by his fine wit to main­teyne himselfe in his Sattin dublet, Ueluet hose, his Hatt lynde with Ueluet, his silke stock, his Rapter and Dagger gilt, his goulden brouche, and all things correspondent as might seeme a man both of witte and liuing. And now I, according to my promise to the Author, will haue a cast at these fine Cunny-catchers, and I will not slaunder them in any wise, but speake the trueth vnto death. If I say more then I will prooue, [Page] I will neuer byd you trust Zawny againe.

Not long since, at a Tylting vpon triumph on the Crowna­tion day: many good subiects with ioy assembled the place of Triumph, as well reioycing to see the Queenes most excellent Maiestie, as also to see the Tylting performed, by sundry noble and right honorable personages.

Amongst the rest, there comes a woman with sixe pounds in her purse, which the Cutpursse met withall, she as it seemed ha­uing more minde on the pleasures of the present day and time, then she had of hir pursse.

The Iousts ended for that day, the woman thinking all had beene well, takes her way homewarde with a friend of hirs, yet by the way, this good woman must needs drinke with her friend a pinte of Wine: but heere was the mischiefe, when the Wine was to be payde for, the woman mist her pursse, and looking on the strings, with a colde heart she might perceiue hir pursse was cut away.

Hir friend to comfort hir, bad hir take no thought, for he knew a man would helpe hir to hir pursse againe, and saith he, we will presently go to him, for I know where he dwels.

The woman thanked hir friend for his courteous offer, and away they go to E. H. his house, where they found him, to whom they brake the matter wholy how it was, desiring his helpe. Presently he had them in the winde, and had them wel­come, promising that if they would content him for his paynes he would doe hir good, asking hir what she would willingly bestowe to haue hir money againe: at the first worde she offered him fortie shillings. All this was well, and they agree to meet [...]he next day about White hall, where they shall haue answer to [...]eir content: and so after they had drunke a quarte of Wine at the Tauerne, for that night they parted.

The next day, according to promise they met, and this E H. had in his company a man, who he sayd was a Constable, but whether he sayd truely or no I wyll not say, but to the matter: They appoint the woman to go to a friends house hard by, and she should heare more anon. Away went she, as they had appoin­ted [Page] hir, and away go they to looke for Cutpurses.

I warrant you they sought not long, but heere they met with a Cutpurse, whom they take by the sleeue: and there they meete with an other as good a cutpurse as the former, and so they take at the least a dosen Cutpurses: which when they haue done, the Cunnicatcher begins to rayle mightely, swearing they shall some of them be hanged: but to Prison they shall all go, vnles this money be had agayne, shewing a Warrant, or a peece of paper at the least: which is sufficient to beare the Cun­nicatcher harmeles, as he sayeth.

Now the Cutpurses, though they be all cleere of this matter, yet they begin to quake for feare, offering rather then they will goe to Prison, they will make vp the money, so that E. H. will promise to giue it them againe when the cutpurse shalbe kno­wen, who cut the purse in deede. This motion the Cunnicat­cher liketh indifferently: and so of these dosen of cutpurses, he taketh of some more, and of some lesse, that the summe is largely made vp: which done, they are all discharged, mary they must haue some twentye shillings ouerplus for their paynes and kindnesse shewed to the cutpurses, all which is graunted.

To be shorte, no Cutpursse scapte their handes, but he paide a share, so that there was gathered the first day at the least ten pounds amongst Cutpurses, and the next day this E. H. mette with the Cutpursse, who cut the pursse indeed, of whome he tooke the money, with the vantage, and let hym goe, without answering the matter: and to conclude, the woman had foure pound of hir money againe, and so the matter was no more spoken of.

I thinke this was a peece of knauery, if you talke of kna­uerie, and yet this is no knauerye in respect of that I will shewe you in this next discouerie of their Cunny-catching.

At the Tearme time, these fellowes, H. and S. haue had great booties by their practises in this arte, and this is their manner.

In the morning away they goe to Westminster hall▪ where [Page] they know the Cutpursse wyll be about his businesse, but the Cunny-catchers are not without a couple, who are their consorts: who assoone as they come to the Hall, thrust in a­mongst the thickest, and there they listen to heare if any pursse were cut that day.

Likewise, the Cunny-catchers, they take their standings, one of them at the Water side, the other in some close place, at an other gate: so that lightlye a Cutpursse cannot come out of the Hall, but one of them shall spye him, and take him by the sleeue, if the Cutpursse haue done any thing, worde is presently brought to the Tauerne, whether the Cunny and the Cunny-catcher are gone to drinke. Nowe if it be some small summe, the Cunny-catcher sheweth the Cunny a good countenance, but if it be a large summe, as sixe pounds, or vpwardes, the Cunny-catcher dissembling his intent, wyll not stay but the drinking a pottle of Wine.

The Cutpursse intreats their company, and offereth both Wine and a breakefast, but all is in vayne, the Cunny-catcher wyll not carry, swearing a great oathe, hee is sorrye that it was his chaunse to see this Cunny or Cutpursse this day, for there is a mischiefe doone, and hee feares some wyll smoake for it. At this the Cutpursse is afearde, but hee for that tyme scapeth their fyngers, for the Cunny-catcher wyll car­rie no longer.

Nowe the Cunny-catcher sendeth presentlye one of his company to seeke out the partye who had his pursse cutte, which he performeth with dilligence, and meeting with him, he tels the partye that hee heard hee lost his pursse at West­minster, and if he wyll be aduised by him, he wyll helpe him to [...]he most of his money againe.

This honest man glad to haue parte againe of his mony, offereth at the first worde, the one halfe to haue the other, assuring this odde fellowe for certaintye, that hee lost tenne pounds.

Well (saith this Factor for the Cunnycatcher) if your leasure wyll serue to goe with me, I wyll bring you to one [Page] dooth partly knowe who cut your pursse, therefore it is your waye to followe his counsayle, and I warrant you, my life for it, but you shall haue your desire.

Heereat the honest man is glad, and willyngly goeth along with him to a place where he knoweth E. H. abideth his com­ming: Now being met, the Wise man of Newgate begins at the first dash, to tell them whereabout they come, euen in as ample manner, as if the man who had his pursse cut, had tolde the tale himselfe.

No meruaile though the Countrey man doe wonder a while at the matter, but in the end, he telleth him it is so indeed, and according to the first motion they agree, which is the one halfe for the other: the Countryman willing to referre the mat­ter wholy to this Cunny-catchers discretion.

Then away goes the Countreyman with H. the Cunny-catcher, to a Iustice, to whome he signifieth in euery respect, how his pursse was cut, desiring of the Iustice a warrant to take vp all suspected persons: of which motion the Iustice in­tending to do Iustice, graunts his warrant, and giues it to H. [...]ling him to certifie him what shall be done on that behalfe, as the Warrant intendeth.

This Warrant obteined, the Cunnycatcher is as pleasant as a Pye, taking his leaue of the Iustice, away goes the Countryman and his good friends with him, and to the Ta­uerne straight, where they spend some time in drinking a pottle of the best Wine, which the Countryman must pay for: which done, H. taketh his leaue of his clyent, promising him not to be slacke in his businesse, which done, they part; the Countrey­man to his lodging or as his occasion serueth, and the Cunny-catcher about his facultie.

Now woe to the Cutpursses, for as H. happeneth to meet with them, they must to Newgate, shewing Warrant suffici­ent for a greater matter.

But you must take notice, that of a dozen or sixteene Cutpur­ses who he hath apprehended, he is sure enough that he whith cut the pursse indeed shall be none of them.

[Page]This honest company of Cutpursses being all in Newgate, H. goes presently and certifies the Iustice, what a sort of nota­ble Theeues he hath taken, desiring the Iustice to sende for them at his pleasure, to examine them about the Country mans Pursse, assuring the Iustice that they are cunning Theeues, and that he dare lay his lyfe, they will confesse nothing: which in deede the Iustice findeth true; for, they being examined, will confesse as much as neare a whit.

To Newgate away they goe againe, where they make all meanes to H. to stande their friende, shewing their innocencie: yet rather then they will lie in Prison, one offereth ten shyl­linges, an other twentie shyllinges, some more some lesse, as they are of abilitie: offering farther, to giue besides the summe, euery one something to H. for his good worde to the Iustice, that they may be set at libertie.

Now the Cunni-catcher hath the matter as he would wysh it, and taking their money first, he presently goes to the Iustice and cirtifieth him, that these which he hath apprehended, did none of them cut the Pursse: and for he hath gotten knowledg who did, he desireth that they may be bayled.

The Iustice glad to heare the trueth is knowen, is willing to set them at libertie; which vpon their bayle he graunteth. Of this money the Countrey man hath neuer a penny, and all these Cutpursses are set at libertie.

Which done, H seeketh diligently for the Cutpursse, who did the matter in deede: with whom when he meeteth, he spa­reth not to tell him how sore the Iustice is against him, and now earnestly the Countrey man will pursue the Law: and further he sweareth, that some of them who were in Newgate [...] the Iustice playnely, that he cut the Pursse.

This peale ringes nothing well in the Cutpursses eares, who can finde no fauour, but to Newgate: yet vpon intreatie made by the Cutpursse, the Cunni-catcher promiseth, that for his part he will do him any good he can, wishing the Cutpursse, as he is wise enough, so it were good for him to hold his owne, and confesse nothing to the Iustice, what profe soeuer come a­gainst [Page] him, and in so doing, it may lie in his power to do him good; telling him further, that the man who lost the money, though he be sore bent against him, yet he will partly be rewled by him.

Well, to Newgate marcheth this H. with his Cutpursse: where he to welcome him for all his fayre wordes, he clappeth on his legges a good payre of Boultes and Shakels: which done, he sendeth for the Countrey man, and telleth him of these good tydinges, how the Theefe is taken, and how he hath vsed him.

The next way they take, is to the Iustice, to whom H. signi­fieth how the case standeth, rayling mightely against the Cut­pursse, euen in the worst maner he can deuise: saying, it will be euidently proued that he cut the Purse, and none but he: further he requesteth, that the Cutpursse may be examined. The Cut­pursse is sent for, who to euery question the Iustice can de­maunde, hauing taken out his lesson (Confesse and be hanged) hath his answere ready, so that there can be no aduantage ta­ken by his examination.

The Iustice returneth him to Newgate againe to abyde till the next Sessions, requiring the partie to be bound to giue eui­dence against him: but the Countrey man dwelling farre from London, and it being long to the next Law day, alleadgeth, he can not be in the Citie at that time, for he is a poore man, and hath great occasion of busines, so that he cannot be there to giue euidence, neyther can he say, yf he would, any thing against that [...]artie: for so farre as he can remember, he neuer saw that fel­low before in his lyfe.

Yet H. promiseth, that it wilbe prooued against the Cut­pursse: so the Countrey man and H. take their leaues of Iustice, making shew as though they woulde come again [...] though it be no part of H. his meanyng.

H. goeth straight to Newgate, where he falles in hand with the Cutpursse, swearing vnto him by his honestie, that he hath laboured the partie who had his Pursse cut, to take his money againe, and not to giue euidence against him, answering [Page] him with many othes, that yf he may haue his money againe, he will presently goe out of the towne. The Cutpursse taking H. his hand, that no man shall giue euidence against him at the Sessions, doth presently send abrode to his friendes for the mo­ney: which as soone as it commeth, he deliuereth to H. and withall a large ouerplus, because he will be suer of H. his fauour.

This done, H. goes to the Countrey man, and tels him he got no more but sixe or seuen pound, of which if he will accept, and proceede no further against the partie, he hath it to pay him: mary he will not be knowen to the Countrey man, but that he had that money of some friendes of the Cutpursses, who vpon the former condition, is willing it should be payde, yf not, to haue his money agayne.

The Countrey man hauing haste out of the Citie, is glad to take it: out of which summe, if it be seauen poundes, H. must haue halfe: so that the poore man of ten poundes, hath but three pound ten shillinges, whereas the Cunni-catcher by this ac­compt hath got at one hand and an other, very neare fourtie Marke: the money sharde, the Countrey man takes Horse, and away he rides: Againe, H. his mouth is stopt, and the next Sessions the Cutpursse is quit by Proclamation, no man being there to giue euidence against him.

O wonderfull peece of villanie. A Zawny, I will trouble thee no further, thou hast tolde inough, and I will tell no more: who heares but this which is already spoken, will holde these knaues for execrable varlets. So for this time I will com­mende thee to thy other busines, wyshing thy libertie, as I do my owne: and if thou haue occasion, commaund mee to do thee good, if it lie in my power.

Sir, Z I thanke you for your courteous offer: but yet I must tell you, I could tell twentie such prankes as these are, which these cunny-catching fellowes haue played: but in deede they keepe one order almost, in perfourming them all: but since you thinke here is inough, I will say no more, and so fare [...].

[Page]Thus haue you heard, gentle Reader, how at large this Blacke Dogge is descifered: which Dogge as he is, is worthy of your generall hate: but for I haue with paynes concluded my Booke vnder that tytle, I will not request you accordyng to the olde prouerbe, loue mee, loue my Hound: but only, loue mee, and hang my Dogge, for he is not worthy so good a name as a Hound: and so wishing you all well, I conclude.

FINIS.

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