The complaint of M. Tenter-hooke the Proiector, and Sir Thomas Dodger the Patentee
If any aske, what things these
Monsters be,
Tis a
Projector, and a
Patentee:
Such, as like Ʋermine or'e this Land did crawle,
And grew so rich, they gaind the Devill and all.
LOe I, that lately was a
Man of fashion,
The
Bug-beare and the
Scarcrow of this Nation,
Th'admired mighty
Mounte-banke of
Fame,
The Juggling
Hocus Pocus of good name,
The
Bull-begger, who did affright and feare,
And rake, and pull, teare, pill, pole, shave, and sheare,
Now
Time hath pluck'd the
Vizard from my face,
I am the onely Image of disgrace.
My ugly shape I hid so cunningly
(Close cover'd with the cloake of honesty)
That from the
East to
VVest, from
South to
North,
I was a man esteem'd of ex'lent worth.
And (sweet Sir
Thomas Dodger) for your sake,
My studious time I spent, my sleepes I brake,
My braines I tost, with many a strange vagary,
And (like a Spanniell) did both fetch and carry,
To you, such
Projects, as I could invent,
Not thinking there would come a Parliament.
I was the Great
Projector, and from me,
Your worship learn'd to be a
Patentee,
I had the Art to cheat the Common-weale,
And you had tricks and slights to passe the Seale.
I tooke the paines, I travell'd, search'd, and sought,
Which (by your power) were into Patents wrought.
What was I but your journey-man, I pray,
To bring your worke to you, both night and day:
I found
Stuffe, and you brought it so about
You (like a skilfull
Taylor) cut it out,
And fashion'd it, but now (to our displeasure)
You fail'd exceedingly, in taking measure.
My legs were Screwes, to raise thee high or low,
According as your power did
Ebbe or
Flow:
And at your will I was Screwd up too high
That tott'ring, I have broke my necke thereby.
For you, I made my
Fingers fish-hookes still
To catch at all
Trades, either good or ill,
I car'd not much who lost, so we might get,
For all was
Fish that came into the
Net.
For you (as in my Picture plaine appeares)
I put a
Swines face on, an
Asses eares,
The one to listen unto all I heard
Wherein your worships profit was prefer'd.
The other to tast all things, good or bad
(As Hogs will doe) where profit may be had,
Grape, Starch, Tobacco, Pipes, Pins, Butter, Haye,
Wine, Coales, Cards, Dice, and all came in my way.
I brought your worship, every day and houre,
And hope to be defended by your power,
Sir Thomas Dodgers Answer!
ALas good
Tenter-hooke, I tell thee plaine,
To seeke for helpe of me tis but in vaine:
My
Patent, which I stood upon of late,
Is like an
Almanacke that's out of
Date.
T'had force and vertue once, strange things to doe,
But now it wants both force and vertue too:
his was the turne of whirling
Fortunes wheele,
When we least dream'd we should her changing feele.
Then
Time, and fortune, both with joynt consent
Brought us to ruine by a Parliament:
I doe confesse thou broughtst me sweet conceits
Which now I find were but alluring baits,
And I (to much an Asse) did lend my eare,
To credit all thou saydst, as well as heare.
Thou in the
Project of the
Soape didst toyle,
But 'twas so slippery, and too full of oyle,
That people wondred how we held it fast,
But now it is quite slipp'd from us at last.
The
Project for the
Starch thy wit found out,
Twas stiffe a while, now limber as a Clout,
The Pagan weed
(Tobacco) was our hope
In
Leafe, Pricke, Role, Ball, Pudding, Pipe, or
Rope.
Brasseele, Varina, Meavis, Trinidado,
Saint
Christophers, Virginia, or
Barvado;
Bermudas, Providentia, Shallowcongo,
And the most part of all the rest (
Mundungo)
That Patent, with a whiffe is spent and broke,
And all our hopes (in fumo) turn'd to smoake.
Thou framdst the
Butter Patent in thy braines,
(A rope and butter take thee for thy paines)
I had forgot
Tobacco-pipes, which are
Now like to thou and I, but brittle ware.
Dice run against us, we at
Cards are crost,
We both are turn'd up
Noddies, and all's lost.
Thus from-
Sice-sinke, we'r sunke below
Dewee-ace,
And both of us are Impes of blacke disgrace.
Pins pricke us, and
Wine frets our very hearts,
That we have rais'd the price of
Pints and
Quarts.
Thou (in mine eares) thy lyes and tales didst foyst.
And madst me up the price of
Sea-coales hoyst.
Corne, Leather, Partrich, Pheasant, Rags, Gold twist,
Thou brought'st all to my
Mill, what was't we mist?
Weights, Bonlace, Mowstraps, new, new, Corporation,
Rattles, Seadans, of rare invented fashions,
Silke, Tallow, Hobby-horses, wood, red-herring,
Law, Conscience, Iustice, swearing, and For-swearing.
All these thou broughtst to me, and still I thought,
That every thing was good that profit brought,
But now all's found to be ill gotten pelfe,
I'le shift for one doe thou shift for thy selfe.
Finis.
JOHN TAYLOR London Printed by H. P. for Frances Coles dwelling in the Old-Baily.