CHRISTMAS

I, antiquity was the mother of ignorance: this latter world that sees but with her spectacles, hath spied a pad in those sports more then they could. No nor to say, by my troth, if I may get a good bargain. So will he never be of good husbandry. I may say to you, there is many and old God, that is now grown out of fashion. So is the God of hospitality. No other reason, but that Gluttony is a sin, & too many dunghills are infectious. A men belly was not made for a poudring beef tub: to feed the poor twelve days, & let them starve all the year after, would but stretch out the guts wider then they should be, & so make famine a bigger den in their bellies, then he had before. I should kill and ox, & have some such fellow as Milo to come and eat it up at a mouthful. Or Like the Sybarites, do nothing all one year, but bid guests against the next year. The scraping of trenchers you think would put a man to no charges. It is not a hundredth pound a year would serve the scullions in dishclouts. My house stands upon vaults, it will fallen if it be overladen with a multitude. Be sides, have you never read of a city that was undermind and destroyed by Mowles? So, say I keep hospitality, and a whole fair of beggars bid me to dinner every day, what with making legs, when they thank me at their going away, and settling their wallets handsomely on their backs, they would shake as many lice on the ground, as were able to undermine my house, and undo me utterly: It is their prayers would build it again, if it were overthrown by this vermin, would it? I pray, who begun feasting, and gourmandise first, but Sardanapalus, Nero, Heliogabalus, Commodus, tyram ̄ ts, whoremasters, unthrifts? Some call them Emperors, but I respect no crowns, but crowns in the purse. Any ma ̄ may wear a silver crown, that hath made a fray in Smithfield, & lost but a piece of his brain pan. And to tell you plain, your golden crowns are little better in sub stance, and many times God after the same sort. I, I, such wise men as you, come to beg at such fools doors as we be. What worms do another day I care not, but I'll be sworn upon a whole Kilderkin of single Beer, I will not have a wormeaten nose Like a Pursuivant, while I live. Feasts ere but puffing up of the flesh, the purveyors for diseases, tram well, cost, time ill spent. Oh, it were a trim thing to send, as the Romans did, round about the world for provision for one ban quet. I must rig ships to Samos for Peacocks, to Paphos for Pigeons, to Austria for Oysters, to Phasis for Pheasants, to Aram bia for Phaenixes, to Meander for Swans, to the Orcades for Geese, to Phrigia for Woodcocks, to Malta for Cranes, to the Isle of Man for Puffins, to Ambracia for Goats, to Tartole for Lampreys, to Egypt for Dates, to Spain for Chestnuts, and all for one feast. Liberalit as liberalit ate perit, love me a little and love me long: our feet must have wherewithal to feed the stones, out backs walls of wool to keep out the cold that besiegeth our warm blood, our doors must have bars, our dubblets must have buttons. Item, for and old sword to scrape the stones before the door with, three halfpence for stitching a wooden tanckard that was burst. These Water-bearers will empty the conduit and a men coffers at once. Not a Porter that brings a man a letter, but will have his penny. I am afraid to keep passed one or two servants, least hungry knaves they should rob me: and those I keep, I warrant I do not pamper up too lusty, I keep them under with read Herring and poor John all the year long. I have damned up all my chimneys for fear (though I burn nothing but small coal) my house should be set on fire with the smoke. I will not deny, but once in a dozen year when there is a great rot of sheep, and I know not what to do with them, I keep open house for all the beg gers, in some of my out-yardes, marry they must bring bred with them, I am no Baker.