Chapter 14
And if _Culpepper_ woon some glory In turning the _Dispensatory_ From _Latin_ into _English_; then Why should not all good _English men_ Give him much thanks who shews a _cure_ For all diseases men endure?
SIGNS: HOW TO FIND IT OUT
As you along the streets do trudge, To take the pains you must not grudge, To view the Posts or Broomsticks where The Signs of _Liquors_ hanged are.
And if you see the great _Morat_ With Shash on's head instead of hat, Or any _Sultan_ in his dress, Or picture of a _Sultaness_, Or _John's_ admir'd curled pate, Or th' great _Mogul_ in's Chair of State, Or _Constantine_ the _Grecian_, Who fourteen years was th' onely man That made _Coffee_ for th' great _Bashaw_, Although the man he never saw; Or if you see a _Coffee_-cup Fil'd from a Turkish pot, hung up Within the clouds, and round it _Pipes_, _Wax Candles_, _Stoppers_, these are types And certain signs (with many more Would be too long to write them 'ore,) Which plainly do Spectators tell That in that house they _Coffee_ sell.
Some wiser than the rest (no doubt,) Say they can by the smell find't out; In at a door (say they,) but thrust Your Nose, and if you scent _burnt Crust_, Be sure there's _Coffee_ sold that's good, For so by most 'tis understood.
Now being enter'd, there's no needing Of complements or gentile breeding, For you may seat you any where, There's no respect of persons there; Then comes the _Coffee-man_ to greet you, With welcome Sir, let me entreat you, To tell me what you'l please to have, For I'm your humble, humble slave; But if you ask, what good does Coffee?
He'l answer, Sir, don't think I scoff yee, If I affirm there's no disease Men have that drink it but find ease.
THE VERTUES OF COFFEE
Look, there's a man who takes the steem In at his Nose, has an extreme _Worm_ in his pate, and giddiness, Ask him and he will say no less.
There sitteth one whose Droptick belly Was hard as flint, now's soft as jelly.
There stands another holds his head 'Ore th' _Coffee_-pot, was almost dead Even now with Rhume; ask him hee'l say That all his Rhum's now past away.
See, there's a man sits now demure And sober, was within this hour Quite drunk, and comes here frequently, For 'tis his daily Malady, More, it has such reviving power 'Twill keep a man awake an houre, Nay, make his eyes wide open stare Both Sermon time and all the prayer.
Sir, should I tell you all the rest O' th' cures 't has done, two hours at least In numb'ring them I needs must spend, Scarce able then to make an end.
Besides these vertues that's therein.
For any kind of _Medicine_, The _Commonwealth-Kingdom_ I'd say, Has mighty reason for to pray That still _Arabia_ may produce Enough of Berry for it's use: For't has such strange magnetick force, That it draws after't great concourse Of all degrees of persons, even From high to low, from morn till even; Especially the _sober Party_, And News-mongers do drink't most hearty Here you'r not thrust into a _Box_ As _Taverns_ do to catch the _Fox_, But as from th' top of _Pauls_ high steeple, Th' whole _City's_ view'd, even so all _people_ May here be seen; no secrets are At th' _Court_ for _Peace_, or th' _Camp_ for _War_, But straight they'r here disclos'd and known; Men in this Age so wise are grown.
Now (Sir) what profit may accrew By this, to all good men, judge you.
With that he's loudly call'd upon For _Coffee_, and then whip he's gone.
THE COMPANY
Here at a Table sits (perplext) A griping _Usurer_, and next To him a gallant _Furioso_, Then nigh to him a _Virtuoso_; A _Player_ then (full fine) sits down, And close to him a _Country Clown_.
O' th' other side sits some _Pragmatick_, And next to him some sly _Phanatick_.
THE SEVERAL LIQUORS
The gallant he for _Tea_ doth call, The _Usurer_ for nought at all.
The _Pragmatick_ he doth intreat That they will fill him some _Beau-cheat_, The _Virtuoso_ he cries hand me Some _Coffee_ mixt with _Sugar-candy_.
_Phanaticus_ (at last) says come, Bring me some _Aromatic.u.m_.
The _Player_ bawls for _Chocolate_, All which the _b.u.mpkin_ wond'ring at, Cries, ho, my _Masters_, what d' ye speak, D' ye call for drink in Heathen Greek?
Give me some good old _Ale_ or _Beer_, Or else I will not drink, I swear.
Then having charg'd their _Pipes_
THEIR DISCOURSE
They silence break; First the profound And sage _Phanatique_, Sirs what news?
Troth says the _Us'rer_ I ne'r use To tip my tongue with such discourse, 'Twere news to know how to disburse A summ of mony (makes me sad) To get ought by't, times are so bad.
The other answers, truly Sir You speak but truth, for I'le aver They ne'r were worse; did you not hear What _prodigies_ did late appear At _Norwich, Ipswich, Grantham, Gotam_?
And though prophane ones do not not'em, Yet we--Here th' _Virtuoso_ stops The current of his speech, with hopes Quoth he, you will not tak'd amiss, I say all's lies that's news like this, For I have Factors all about The Realm, so that no _Stars_ peep out That are unusual, much less these Strange and unheard-of _prodigies_ You would relate, but they are tost To me in letters by first Post.
At which the _Furioso_ swears Such chat as this offends his ears It rather doth become this Age To talk of bloodshed, fury, rage, And t' drink stout healths in brim-fill'd _Nogans_.
To th' downfall of the _Hogan Mogans_.
With that the _Player_ doffs his Bonnet, And tunes his voice as if a Sonnet Were to be sung; then gently says, O what delight there is in _Plays_!
Sure if we were but all in _Peace_, This noise of _Wars_ and _News_ would cease; All sorts of people then would club Their pence to see a Play that's good.
You'l wonder all this while (perhaps) The _Curioso_ holds his chaps.
But he doth in his thoughts devise, How to the rest he may seem wise; Yet able longer not to hold, His tedious tale too must be told, And thus begins, Sirs unto me It reason seems that liberty Of speech and words should be allow'd Where men of differing judgements croud, And that's a _Coffee-house_, for where Should men discourse so free as there?
_Coffee_ and _Commonwealth_ begin Both with one letter, both came in Together for a _Reformation_, To make's a free and sober _Nation_.
But now--With that _Phanaticus_ Gives him a nod, and speaks him thus, Hold brother, I know your intent, That's no dispute convenient For this same place, truths seldome find Acceptance here, they'r more confin'd To _Taverns_ and to _Ale-house_ liquor, Where men do vent their minds more quicker If that may for a truth but pa.s.s What's said, _In vino veritas_.
With that up starts the _Country Clown_, And stares about with threatening frown.
As if he would even eat them all up.
Then bids the boy run quick and call up, A _Constable_, for he has reason To fear their Latin may be _treason_ But straight they all call what's to pay, Lay't down, and march each several way.
THE COMPANY
At th' other table sits a Knight, And here _a grave old man_ ore right Against his _wors.h.i.+p_, then perhaps That _by_ and _by_ a _Drawer_ claps His b.u.m close by them, there down squats _A dealer in old shoes and hats_; And here withouten any panick Fear, dread or care a bold _Mechanick_.
HEIR DISCOURSE
The _Knight_ (because he's so) he prates Of matters far beyond their pates.
_The grave old man_ he makes a bustle, And his wise sentence in must justle.
Up starts th' _Apprentice boy_ and he Says boldly so and so't must be.
_The dealer in old shoes to_ utter His saying too makes no small sputter.
Then comes the pert _mechanick blade_, And contradicts what all have said.
There by the fier-side doth sit, One freezing in an _Ague_ fit.
Another poking in't with th' tongs, Still ready to cough up his lungs Here sitteth one that's melancolick, And there one singing in a frolick.
Each one hath such a prety gesture, At Smithfield fair would yield a tester.
Boy reach a pipe cries he that shakes, The songster no Tobacco takes, Says he who coughs, nor do I smoak, Then _Monsieur Mopus_ turns his cloak Off from his face, and with a grave Majestick beck his pipe doth crave.
They load their guns and fall a smoaking Whilst he who coughs sits by a choaking, Till he no longer can abide.
And so removes from th' fier side.
Now all this while none calls to drink, Which makes the _Coffee boy_ to think Much they his pots should so enclose, He cannot pa.s.s but tread on toes.
With that as he the _Nectar_ fills From pot to pot, some on't he spills Upon the _Songster_. Oh cries he.
Pox, what dost do? thou'st burnt my knee; No says the boy, (to make a bald And blind excuse.) _Sir 'twill not scald_.
With that the man lends him a cuff O' th' ear, and whips away in snuff.
The other two, their pipes being out, Says _Monsieur Mopus_ I much doubt My friend I wait for will not come, But if he do, say I'm gone home.
Then says the _Aguish man_ I must come According to my wonted custome, To give ye' a visit, although now I dare not drink, and so _adieu_.
The boy replies, O Sir, however You'r very welcome, we do never Our _Candles_, _Pipes_ or _Fier_ grutch To daily customers and such, They'r _Company_ (without expence,) For that's sufficient recompence.
Here at a table all alone, Sits (studying) _a spruce youngster_, (one Who doth conceipt himself fully witty, And's counted _one o' th' wits o' th' City_,) Till by him (with a stately grace,) A Spanish _Don_ himself doth place.
Then (cap in hand) a brisk _Monsieur_ He takes his seat, and crowds as near As possibly that he can come.
Then next a _Dutchman_ takes his room.
The Wits glib tongue begins to chatter, Though't utters more of noise than matter, Yet 'cause they seem to mind his words, His lungs more battle still affords At last says he to _Don_, I trow You understand me? _Sennor no_ Says th' other. Here the Wit doth pause A little while, then opes his jaws, And says to _Monsieur_, you enjoy Our tongue I hope? _Non par ma foy_, Replies the _Frenchman_: nor you, Sir?
Says he to th' _Dutchman, Neen mynheer_, With that he's gone, and cries, why sho'd He stay where _wit's_ not understood?
There in a place of his own chusing (Alone) some _lover_ sits a musing, With arms across, and's eyes up lift, As if he were of sence bereft.
Till sometimes to himself he's speaking, Then sighs as if his heart were breaking.
Here in a corner sits a _Phrantick_, And there stands by a frisking Antick, Of all sorts some and all conditions Even _Vintners_, _Surgeons_ and _Physicians_.
The _blind_, the _deaf_, and _aged cripple_ Do here resort and Coffee tipple.
Now here (perhaps) you may expect My _Muse_ some trophies should erect In high flown verse, for to set forth The _n.o.ble praises_ of its _worth_.
Truth is, _old Poets_ beat their brains To find out high and lofty strains To praise the (now too frequent) use Of the bewitching _grapes strong juice_, Some have strain'd hard for to exalt The _liquor_ of our _English Mault_ Nay _Don_ has almost crackt his _nodle_ Enough t'applaud his _Caaco Caudle_.
The _Germans Mum_, _Teag's Usquebagh_, (Made him so well defend _Tredagh_,) _Metheglin_, which the _Brittains_ tope, Hot _Brandy_ wine, the _Hogans_ hope.
Stout _Meade_ which makes the _Russ_ to laugh, Spic'd _Punch_ (in bowls) the _Indians quaff_.
All these have had their pens to raise Them _Monuments_ of lasting praise, Onely poor _Coffee_ seems to me No subject fit for _Poetry_ At least 'tis one that none of mine is, So I do wave 't, and here write-- FINIS.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A BROAD-SIDE OF 1667]