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 pass 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
worship, then perhaps That
by and
by a
Drawer claps His bum 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 pass 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
noble 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.
A Broad-side of 1667
News from the Coffe House; in which is shewn their several sorts of Passions appeared in 1667. It was reprinted in 1672 as The Coffee House or News-mongers' Hall.
Several stanzas from these broadsides have been much quoted. They serve to throw additional light upon the manners of the time, and upon the kind of conversation met with in any well frequented coffee house of the seventeenth century, particularly under the Stuarts. They are finely descriptive of the company characteristics of the early coffee houses. The fifth stanza of the edition of 1667, inimical to the French, was omitted when the broadside was amended and reprinted in 1672, the year that England joined with France and again declared war on the Dutch. The following verses with explanatory notes are from Timbs:
News from the Coffe House
You that delight in Wit and Mirth,
And long to hear such News,
As comes from all Parts of the Earth, Dutch, Danes, and Turks, and Jews, I'le send yee to a Rendezvouz, Where it is smoaking new; Go hear it at a Coffe-house, It cannot but be true. There Battles and Sea-Fights are Fought, And bloudy Plots display'd; They know more Things then ere was thought Or ever was betray'd: No Money in the Minting-house Is halfe so Bright and New; And comming from a Coffe-house It cannot but be true. Before the Navyes fall to Work, They know who shall be Winner; They there can tell ye what the Turk Last Sunday had to Dinner; Who last did Cut Du Ruitters[75] Corns, Amongst his jovial Crew; Or Who first gave the Devil Horns, Which cannot but be true. A Fisherman did boldly tell, And strongly did avouch, He Caught a Shoal of Mackarel, That Parley'd all in Dutch, And cry'd out Yaw, yaw, yaw Myne Here; But as the Draught they Drew They Stunck for fear, that Monck[76] was there, Which cannot but be true. *** There's nothing done in all the World, From Monarch to the Mouse But every Day or Night 'tis hurld Into the Coffe-house. What Lillie[77] or what Booker[78] can By Art, not bring about, At Coffe-house you'l find a Man, Can quickly find it out. They know who shall in Times to come, Be either made, or undone, From great St. Peters street in Rome, To Turnbull-street[79] in London; *** They know all that is Good, or Hurt, To Dam ye, or to Save ye; There is the Colledge, and the Court, The Country, Camp and Navie; So great a Universitie, I think there ne're was any; In which you may a Schoolar be For spending of a Penny. *** Here Men do talk of every Thing, With large and liberal Lungs, Like Women at a Gossiping, With double tyre of Tongues; They'l give a Broad-side presently, Soon as you are in view, With Stories that, you'l wonder at, Which they will swear are true. The Drinking there of Chockalat, Can make a Fool a Sophie: 'Tis thought the Turkish Mahomet Was first Inspir'd with Coffe, By which his Powers did Over-flow The Land of Palestine: Then let us to, the Coffe-house go, 'Tis Cheaper farr then Wine. You shall know there, what Fashions are; How Perrywiggs are Curl'd; And for a Penny you shall heare, All Novells in the World. Both Old and Young, and Great and Small, And Rich, and Poore, you'l see; Therefore let's to the Coffe All, Come All away with Mee. Finis.
Robert
