The salutation of the Angel.
I have within mine eye my blessèd charge:
Hail, friend of Truth! safety and joy attend
[292] thee;
I am Truth’s Angel, by my mistress sent
To guard and guide thee. When thou took’st thy oath
I stood on thy right hand, though to thy eye
In visible form I did not then appear;
Ask but thy soul, ’twill tell thee I stood near;
And ’twas a time to take care of thee then,
At such a marriage, before heaven and men,
Thy faith being wed to honour; close behind thee
Stood Error’s minister, that still sought to blind thee,
And wrap his subtle mists about thy oath,
To hide it from the nakedness of Troth,
Which is Truth’s purest glory; but my light,
Still as it shone, expell’d her blackest spite;
His mists fled by, yet all I could devise
Could hardly keep them from some people’s eyes,
But thine they flew from: thy care’s but begun,
Wake on, the victory is not half yet won;
Thou wilt be still assaulted, thou shalt meet
With many dangers that in voice seem sweet,
And ways most pleasant to a worldling’s eye;
My mistress has but one, but that leads high.
To yon triumphant city follow me,
Keep thou to Truth, eternity keeps to thee.
On boldly, man of honour! thou shalt win;
I am Truth’s champion, Zeal, the scourge of sin.
The trumpet then sounding, the Angel and Zeal
rank themselves just before his Lordship, and conduct
him to Paul’s-Chain, where, in the south yard,
Error in a chariot with his infernal ministers attends
to assault him, his garment of ash-colour
silk, his head rolled in a cloud, over which stands
an owl, a mole on one shoulder, a bat on the other,
all symbols of blind ignorance and darkness, mists
hanging at his eyes. Close before him rides Envy,
his champion, eating of a human heart, mounted
on a rhinoceros, attired in red silk, suitable to the
bloodiness of her manners; her left pap bare, where
a snake fastens; her arms half naked; holding in
her right hand a dart tincted in blood.
Art come? O welcome, my triumphant lord,
My glory’s sweetheart! how many millions
Of happy wishes hath my love told out
For this desirèd minute! I was dead
Till I enjoy’d thy presence, I saw nothing,
A blindness thicker than idolatry
Clove to my eyeballs; now I’m all of light,
Of fire, of joy, pleasure runs nimbly through me;
Let’s join together both in state and triumph,
And down with beggarly and friendless Virtue,
That hath so long impoverish’d this fair city;
My beasts shall trample on her naked breast,
Under my chariot-wheels her bones lie prest,
She ne’er shall rise again. Great power this day
Is given into thy hand; make use on’t, lord,
And let thy will and appetite sway the sword;
Down with them all now whom thy heart envìes,
Let not thy conscience come into thine eyes
This twelvemonth, if thou lov’st revenge or gain;
I’ll teach thee to cast mists to blind the plain
And simple eye of man; he shall not know’t,
Nor see thy wrath when ’tis upon his throat;
All shall be carried with such art and wit,
That what thy lust acts shall be counted fit:
Then for attendants that may best observe thee,
I’ll pick out sergeants of my band to serve thee;
Here’s Gluttony and Sloth, two precious slaves,
Will tell thee more than a whole herd of knaves;
The worth of every office to a hair,
And who bids most, and how the markets are,
Let them alone to smell; and, for a need,
They’ll bring thee in bribes for measure and light bread;
Keep thy eye winking and thy hand wide ope,
Then thou shalt know what wealth is, and the scope
Of rich authority; ho, ’tis sweet and dear!
Make use of time then, thou’st but one poor year,
And that will quickly slide, then be not nice:
Both power and profit cleave
[293] to my advice;
And what’s he locks his ear from those sweet charms,
Or runs not to meet gain with wide-stretch’d arms?
There is a poor, thin, threadbare thing call’d Truth,
I give thee warning of her; if she speak,
Stop both thine ears close; most professions break
That ever dealt with her; an unlucky thing,
She’s almost sworn to nothing: I can bring
A thousand of our parish, besides queans,
That ne’er knew what Truth meant, nor ever means;
Some I could cull out here, e’en in this throng,
If I would shew my children, and how strong
I were in faction. ’Las, poor simple stray!
She’s all her lifetime finding out one way;
Sh’as but one foolish way, straight on, right forward,
And yet she makes a toil on’t, and goes on
With care and fear, forsooth, when I can run
Over a hundred with delight and pleasure,
Back-ways and by-ways, and fetch in my treasure
After the wishes of my heart, by shifts,
Deceits, and slights:
[294] and I’ll give thee those gifts;
I’ll shew thee all my corners yet untold,
The very nooks where beldams hide their gold,
In hollow walls and chimneys, where the sun
Never yet shone, nor Truth came ever near:
This of thy life I’ll make the golden year;
Follow me then.
Learn now to scorn thy inferiors, those
[295] most love thee,
And wish to eat their hearts that sit above thee.
Zeal, stirred up with divine indignation at the
impudence of these hell-hounds, both forces their
retirement, and makes way for the chariot wherein
Truth his mistress sits, in a close garment of white
satin, which makes her appear thin and naked,
figuring thereby her simplicity and nearness of
heart to those that embrace her; a robe of white
silk cast over it, filled with the eyes of eagles,
shewing her deep insight and height of wisdom;
over her thrice-sanctified head a milk-white dove,
and on each shoulder one, the sacred emblems of
purity, meekness, and innocency; under her feet
serpents, in that she treads down all subtlety and
fraud; her forehead empaled with a diadem of stars,
the witness of her eternal descent; on her breast a
pure round crystal, shewing the brightness of her
thoughts and actions; a sun in her right hand, than
which nothing is truer; a fan, filled all with stars,
in her left, with which she parts darkness, and
strikes away the vapours of ignorance. If you
hearken to Zeal, her champion, after his holy anger
is past against Error and his crew, he will give it
you in better terms, or at least more smoothly and
pleasingly.
Bold furies, back! or with this scourge of fire,
Whence sparkles out religious chaste desire,
I’ll whip you down to darkness: this a place
Worthy my mistress; her eternal grace
Be the full object to feast all these eyes,
But thine the first—he that feeds here is wise:
Nor by the naked plainness of her weeds
Judge thou her worth, no burnish’d gloss Truth needs;
That crown of stars shews her descent from heaven;
That robe of white, fill’d all with eagles’ eyes,
Her piercing sight through hidden mysteries;
Those milk-white doves her spotless innocence;
Those serpents at her feet her victory shews
Over deceit and guile, her rankest foes;
And by that crystal mirror at her breast
The clearness of her conscience is exprest;
And shewing that her deeds all darkness shun,
Her right hand holds Truth’s symbol, the bright sun;
A fan of stars she in her other twists,
With which she chaseth away Error’s mists:
And now she makes to thee her so even grace,
For to her rich and poor look with one face.
Man, rais’d by faith and love, upon whose head
Honour sits fresh, let not thy heart be led,
In ignorant ways of insolence and pride,
From her that to this day hath been thy guide;
I never shew’d thee yet more paths than one,
And thou hast found sufficient that alone
To bring thee hither; then go forward still,
And having most power, first subject thy will;
Give the first fruits of justice to thyself,—
Then dost thou wisely govern, though that elf
Of sin and darkness, still opposing me,
Counsels thy appetite to master thee.
But call to mind what brought thee to this day,—
Was falsehood, cruelty, or revenge the way?
Thy lust or pleasures? people’s curse or hate?
These were no ways could raise thee to this state,
The ignorant must acknowledge; if, then, from me,
Which no ill dare deny or sin control,
Forsake me not, that can advance thy soul:
I see a blessed yielding in thy eye;
Thou’rt mine; lead on, thy name shall never die.
These words ended, they all set forward, this
chariot of Truth and her celestial handmaids, the
Graces and Virtues, taking place next before his
lordship; Zeal and the Angel before that, the
chariot of Error following as near as it can get; all
passing on till they come into Paul’s-Churchyard,
where stand ready the five islands, those dumb
glories that I spake of before upon the water: upon
the heighth of these five islands sit five persons,
representing the Five Senses,[296]—Visus, Auditus, Tactus,
Gustus, Olfactus, or, Seeing, Hearing, Touching,
Tasting, Smelling; at their feet their proper emblems,—aquila,
cervus, araneus, simia, canis, an
eagle, a hart, a spider, an ape, a dog.
No sooner can your eyes take leave of these, but
they may suddenly espy a strange ship making toward,
and that which may raise greater astonishment,
it having neither sailor nor pilot, only upon
a white silk streamer these two words set in letters
of gold, Veritate gubernor,—I am steered by Truth.
The persons that are contained within this little
vessel are only four; a king of the Moors, his
queen, and two attendants, of their own colour;
the rest of their followers people of the castle that
stands in the middle island, of which company two
or three on the top appear[297] to sight. This king
seeming much astonied at the many eyes of such a
multitude, utters his thoughts in these words:
I see amazement set upon the faces
Of these white people, wonderings and strange gazes;
Is it at me? does my complexion draw
So many Christian eyes, that never saw
A king so black before? no, now I see
Their entire object, they’re all meant to thee,
Grave city-governor, my queen and I
Well honour’d with the glances that [pass] by.
I must confess, many wild thoughts may rise,
Opinions, common murmurs, and fix’d eyes,
At my so strange arrival in a land
Where true religion and her temple stand;
I being a Moor, then, in opinion’s lightness,
As far from sanctity as my face from whiteness.
But I forgive the judgings of th’ unwise,
Whose censures ever quicken in their eyes,
Only begot of outward form and show;
And I think meet to let such censurers know,
However darkness dwells upon my face,
Truth in my soul sets up the light of grace;
And though, in days of error, I did run
To give all adoration to the sun,
The moon, and stars, nay, creatures base and poor,
Now only their Creator I adore.
My queen and people all, at one time won
By the religious conversation
Of English merchants, factors, travellers,
Whose Truth did with our spirits hold commèrce,
As their affairs with us; following their path,
We all were brought to the true Christian faith:
Such benefit in good example dwells,
It oft hath power to convert infidels;
Nor could our desires rest till we were led
Unto this place, where those good spirits were bred;
And see how we arriv’d in blessed time
To do that mistress service, in the prime
Of these her spotless triumphs, and t’ attend
That honourable man, her late-sworn friend.
If any wonder at the safe arrive
Of this small vessel, which all weathers drive
According to their rages, where appears
Nor mariner nor pilot, arm’d ’gainst fears,
Know this came hither from man’s guidance free,
Only by Truth steer’d, as our souls must be:
And see where one of her fair temples stands!
Do reverence, Moors, bow low, and kiss your hands:
Behold, our queen.
Her goodnesses are such,
We cannot honour her and her house too much.
All in the ship and those in the castle bowing
their bodies to the temple of Saint Paul; but Error
smiling, betwixt scorn and anger, to see such a
devout humility take hold of that complexion,
breaks into these:
What, have my sweet-fac’d devils forsook me too?
Nay, then, my charms will have enough to do.
But Time, sitting by the frame of Truth his
daughter’s chariot, attired agreeable to his condition,
with his hour-glass, wings, and scythe,
knowing best himself when it is fittest to speak,
goes forward in this manner:
This Time hath brought t’effect, for on thy day
Nothing but Truth and Virtue shall display
Their virgin ensigns; Infidelity,
Barbarism, and Guile, shall in deep darkness lie.
O, I could ever stand still thus and gaze!
Never turn glass again; wish no more days,
So this might ever last; pity the light
Of this rich glory must be cas’d in night!
But Time must on; I go,’tis so decreed,
To bless my daughter Truth and all her seed
With joys immortal, triumphs never ending;
And as her hand lifts me, to thy ascending
May it be always ready, worthy son!
To hasten which my hours shall quickly run.
See’st thou yon place?
[298] thither I’ll weekly bring thee,
Where Truth’s celestial harmony thou shalt hear;
To which, I charge thee, bend a serious ear.—
Lead on, Time’s swift attendants!
Then the five islands pass along into Cheapside,
the ship next after them; the chariot of Truth still
before his lordship, and that of Error still chased
before it; where their eyes meet with another more
subtle object, planting itself close by the Little Conduit,
which may bear this character,—the true form
and fashion of a mount triumphant, but the beauty
and glory thereof overspread with a thick, sulphurous
darkness, it being a fog or mist, raised
from Error, enviously to blemish that place which
bears the title of London’s Triumphant Mount, the
chief grace and lustre of the whole triumph. At
the four corners sit four monsters, Error’s disciples,
on whom hangs part of the mist for their clothing,
holding in their hands little thick clubs, coloured
like their garments; the names of these four monsters,
Barbarism, Ignorance, Impudence, Falsehood;
who, at the near approaching of Truth’s chariot,
are seen a little to tremble, whilst her deity gives
life to these words:
What’s here? the mist of Error? dare his spite
Stain this Triumphant Mount, where our delight
Hath been divinely fix’d so many ages?
Dare darkness now breathe forth her insolent rages,
And hang in poisonous vapours o’er the place
From whence we receiv’d love, and return’d grace?
I see if Truth a while but turn her eyes,
Thick are the mists that o’er fair cities rise:
We did expect to receive welcome here
From no deform’d shapes, but divine and clear;
Instead of monsters that this place attends,
To meet with goodness and her glorious friends;
Nor can they so forget me to be far.
I know there stands no other envious bar
But that foul cloud to darken this bright day,
Which with this fan of stars I’ll chase away.—
Vanish, infectious fog, that I may see
This city’s grace, that takes her light from me!
At this her powerful command the [mists][299] vanish
[and] give way; [the] cloud suddenly rises and
changes into a bright-spreading canopy, stuck thick
with stars, and beams of gold shooting forth round
about it, the mount appearing then most rich in beauty
and glory, the four monsters falling flat at the foot
of the hill: that grave, feminine shape, figuring
London, sitting in greatest honour: next above
her, in the most eminent place, sits Religion, the
model of a fair temple on her head and a burning
lamp in her hand, the proper emblems of her sanctity,
watchfulness, and zeal; on her right hand sits
Liberality, her head circled with a wreath of gold,
in her hand a cornucopia, or horn of abundance,
out of which rusheth a seeming flood of gold, but
no way flowing to prodigality; for, as the sea is
governed by the moon, so is that wealthy river by
her eye, for bounty must be led by judgment; and
hence is artfully derived the only difference between
prodigality and bounty,—the one deals her
gifts with open eyes, the other blindfold: on her
left side sits Perfect Love, his proper seat being
nearest the heart, wearing upon his head a wreath
of white and red roses mingled together, the ancient
witness of peace, love, and union, wherein
consists the happiness of this land, his right hand
holding a sphere, where, in a circle of gold, is contained
all the Twelve Companies’ arms, and therefore
called The Sphere of true Brotherhood, or
Annulus Amoris, the Ring of Love: upon his left
hand stand two billing turtles, expressing thereby
the happy condition of mutual love and society:
on either side of this mount are displayed the charitable
and religious works of London—especially
the worthy Company of Grocers—in giving maintenance
to scholars, soldiers, widows, orphans, and
the like, where are placed one of each number:
and on the two heights sit Knowledge and Modesty,
Knowledge wearing a crown of stars, in her hand
a perspective glass, betokening both her high judgment
and deep insight: the brow of Modesty circled
with a wreath all of red roses, expressing her bashfulness
and blushings, in her hand a crimson banner
filled with silver stars, figuring the white purity of
her shamefastness; her cheeks not red with shame
or guilt, but with virgin fear and honour. At the
back of this Triumphant Mount, Chastity, Fame,
Simplicity, Meekness, have their seats; Chastity
wearing on her head a garland of white roses, in
her hand a white silk banner filled with stars of
gold, expressing the eternity of her unspotted pureness:
Fame next under her, on her head a crown
of silver, and a silver trumpet in her hand, shewing
both her brightness and shrillness: Simplicity with
a milk-white dove upon her head; and Meekness
with a garland of mingled flowers, in her hand a
white silk banner with a red cross, a lamb at her
feet, by which both their conditions are sufficiently
expressed. The mount thus made glorious by the
power of Truth, and the mist expelled, London
thus speaks:
Thick scales of darkness, in a moment’s space,
Are fell from both mine eyes; I see the face
Of all my friends about me now most clearly,
Religion’s sisters, whom I honour dearly.
O, I behold the work! it comes from thee,
Illustrious patroness, thou that mad’st me see
In days of blindest ignorance; when this light
Was e’en extinguish’d, thou redeem’st my sight.
Then to thy charge, with reverence, I commend
That worthy son of mine, thy virtuous friend,
Whom, on my love and blessing, I require
To observe thee faithfully, and his desire
To imitate thy will, and there lie bounded;
For power’s a dangerous sea, which must be sounded
With truth and justice, or man soon runs on
’Gainst rocks and shelves of dissolution.
Then, that thou may’st the difference ever know
’Twixt Truth and Error, a few words shall shew:
The many ways that to blind Error slide
Are in the entrance broad, hell-mouth is wide;
But when man enters far, he finds it then
Close, dark, and strait, for hell returns no men:
But the one sacred way which Truth directs,
Only at entrance man’s affection checks,
And is there strict alone; to which place throngs
All world’s afflictions, calumnies, and wrongs;
But having past those, then thou find’st a way
In breadth whole heaven, in length eternal day;
Then, following Truth, she brings thee to that way:
But first observe what works she here requires,
Religion, knowledge, sanctity, chaste desires;
Then charity, which bounty must express
To scholars, soldiers, widows, fatherless:
These have been still my works, they must be thine;
Honour and action must together shine,
Or the best part’s eclips’d: behold but this,
Thy very crest shews bounty, here ’tis put;
Thou giv’st the open hand, keep it not shut,
But to the needy or deserving spirit
Let it spread wide, and heaven enrols that merit.
Do these, and prove my hopeful, worthy son;
Yet nothing’s spoke but needfully must be done:
And so lead forward.
At which words the whole Triumph moves, in
his richest glory, toward the cross in Cheap; at
which place Error, full of wrath and malice to see
his mist so chased away, falls into this fury:
Heart of all the fiends in hell!
Could her beggarly power expel
Such a thick and poisonous mist
Which I set Envy’s snakes to twist?
Up, monsters! was her feeble frown
Of force to strike my officers down?
Barbarism, Impudence, Lies, Ignorance,
All your hell-bred heads advance,
And once again with rotten darkness shroud
This Mount Triumphant: drop down, sulphurous cloud!
At which the mist falls again and hangs over all
the beauty of the mount, not a person of glory
seen, only the four monsters gather courage again
and take their seats, advancing their clubs above
their heads; which no sooner perceived, but Truth
in her chariot, making near to the place, willing
still to rescue her friends and servants from the
powers of Ignorance and Darkness, makes use of
these words:
Dare yet the works of ugliness appear
’Gainst this day’s brightness, and see us so near?
How bold is sin and hell, that yet it dare
Rise against us! but know, perdition’s heir,
’Tis idle to contend against our power:
Vanish again, foul mist, from honour’s bower!
Then the cloud dispersing itself again, and all
the mount appearing glorious, it passeth so on to
the Standard,[300] about which place, by elaborate action
from Error, it falls again, and goes so darkened till
it comes to St. Laurence-Lane end, where, by the
former words by Truth uttered being again chased
away, London thus gratefully requites her goodness:
Eternity’s bright sister, by whose light
Error’s infectious works still fly my sight,
Receive thy servant’s thanks.—Now, Perfect Love,
Whose right hand holds a sphere wherein do move
Twelve blest Societies, whose belov’d increase
Styles it the Ring of Brotherhood, Faith, and Peace,
From thy harmonious lips let them all taste
The golden counsel that makes health long last.
Perfect Love then standing up, holding in his
right hand a sphere, on the other two billing turtles,
gives these words:
First, then, I banish from this feast of joy
All excess, epicurism, both which destroy
The healths of soul and body; no such guest
Ought to be welcome to this reverend feast,
Where Truth is mistress; who’s admitted here
Must come for virtue’s love more than for cheer.
These two white turtles may example give
How perfect joy and brotherhood should live;
And they from whom grave order is expected,
Of rude excess must never be detected:
This is the counsel which that lady calls
Golden advice, for by it no man falls:
He that desires days healthful, sound, and blest,
Let moderate judgment serve him at his feast:
And so lead on; may perfect brotherhood shine
Still in [this] sphere, and honour still in thine!
This speech so ended, his lordship and the Companies
pass on to Guildhall; and at their returning
back, these triumphs attend to bring his lordship
toward Saint Paul’s church, there to perform those
yearly ceremonial rites which ancient and grave
order hath determined; Error by the way still busy
and in action to draw darkness often upon that
Mount of Triumph, which by Truth is as often
dispersed: then all returning homewards, full of
beauty and brightness, this mount and the chariot
of Truth both placed near to the entrance of his
lordship’s gate near Leadenhall, London, the lady
of that mount, first gives utterance to these words:
Before the day sprang from the morning’s womb
I rose, my care was earlier than the light,
Nor would it rest till I now brought thee home,
Marrying to one joy both thy day and night;
Nor can we call this night, if our eyes count
The glorious beams that dance about this mount;
Sure, did not custom guide ’em, men would say
Two noons were seen together in one day,
The splendour is so piercing: Triumph seems
As if it sparkled, and to men’s esteems
Threw forth his thanks, wrapt up in golden flames,
As if he would give light to read their names,
That were at cost this day to make him shine,
And be as free in thanks as they in coin.
But see, Time checks me, and his scythe stands ready
To cut all off; no state on earth is steady;
Therefore, grave son, the time that is to come
Bestow on Truth; and so thou’rt welcome home.
Time, standing up in Truth’s chariot, seeming to
make an offer with his scythe to cut off the glories
of the day, growing near now to the season of rest
and sleep, his daughter Truth thus meekly stays
his hand:
Father, desist a while, till I send forth
A few words to our friend, that man of worth.—
The power that heaven, love, and the city’s choice,
Have all conferr’d on thee, with mutual voice,
As it is great, reverend, and honourable,
Meet it with equal goodness, strive t’ excel
Thy former self; as thy command exceeds
Thy last year’s state, so let new acts old deeds;
And as great men in riches and in birth—
Heightening their bloods and joining earth to earth—
Bestow their best hours and most serious cares
In choosing out fit matches for their heirs,
So never give thou over day or hour,
Till with a virtue thou hast match’d this power;
For what is greatness if not join’d with grace?
Like one of high blood that hath married base.
Who seeks authority with an ignorant eye,
Is like a man seeks out his enemy;
For where
[301] before his follies were not spread,
Or his corruptions, then they’re clearly read
E’en by the eyes of all men; ’tis so pure
A crystal of itself, it will endure
No poison of oppression, bribes, hir’d law,
But ’twill appear soon in some crack or flaw:
Howe’er men soothe their hopes with popular breath,
If not in life, they’ll find that crack in death.
I was not made to fawn or stroke sin smooth;
Be wise and hear me, then, that cannot soothe:
I’ve set thee high now, be so in example,
Made thee a pinnacle in honour’s temple,
Fixing ten thousand eyes upon thy brow;
There is no hiding of thy actions now,
They must abide the light, and imitate me,
Or be thrown down to fire where errors be.
Nor only with these words thy ear I feed,
But give those part that shall in time succeed,
To thee in present, and to them to come,
That Truth may bring you all with honour home
To these your gates, and to those, after these,
Of which your own good actions keep the keys.
Then, as the loves of thy Society
Have
[302] flow’d in bounties on this day and thee,
Counting all cost too little for true art,
Doubling rewards there where they found desert,
In thankfulness, justice, and virtuous care,
Perfect their hopes,—those thy requitals are;
With fatherly respect embrace ’em all,
Faith in thy heart and Plenty in thy hall,
Love in thy walks, but Justice in thy state,
Zeal in thy chamber, Bounty at thy gate:
And so to thee and these a blessèd night;—
To thee, fair City, peace, my grace and light!
Trumpets sounding triumphantly, Zeal, the
champion of Truth, on horseback, his head circled
with strange fires, appears to his mistress, and
thus speaks:
See yonder, lady, Error’s chariot stands,
Braving the power of your incens’d commands,
Embolden’d by the privilege of Night
And her black faction; yet, to crown his spite,
Which I’ll confound, I burn in divine wrath.
Strike, then; I give thee leave to shoot it forth.
Then here’s to the destruction of that seat;
There’s nothing seen of thee but fire shall eat.
At which a flame shoots from the head of Zeal,
which, fastening upon that chariot of Error, sets it
on fire, and all the beasts that are joined to it.
The firework being made by master Humphrey
Nichols, a man excellent in his art; and the whole
work and body of the Triumph, with all the proper
beauties of the workmanship, most artfully and
faithfully performed by John Grinkin; and those
furnished with apparel and porters[303] by Anthony
Munday, gentleman.
This proud seat of Error lying now only glowing
in embers—being a figure or type of his lordship’s
justice on all wicked offenders in the time of his
government—I now conclude, holding it a more
learned discretion to cease of myself than to have
Time cut me off rudely: and now let him strike at
his pleasure.
The manner of his Lordship’s Entertainment on Michaelmas
day last, being the day of his honourable
Election, together with the worthy Sir John Swinnerton,
Knight, then Lord Mayor, the learned
and judicious Sir Henry Montague, Knight,
master Recorder, and many of the Right Worshipful
the Aldermen of the City of London, at that
most famous and admired work of the Running
Stream, from Amwell Head into the Cistern near
Islington; being the sole invention, cost, and industry
of that worthy master Hugh Middleton,
of London, Goldsmith, for the general good of the
City.
Perfection, which is the crown of all invention,
swelling now high with happy welcome to all the
glad well-wishers of her admired maturity, the
father and master of this famous work, expressing
thereby both his thankfulness to heaven and his
zeal to the city of London, in true joy of heart to
see his time, travails, and expenses so successively
greeted, this gives entertainment to that honourable
assembly:—
At their first appearing, the warlike music of
drums and trumpets liberally beats the air, sounds
as proper as in battle, for there is no labour that
man undertakes but hath a war within itself, and
perfection makes the conquest; and no few or
mean onsets of malice, calumnies, and slanders,
hath this resolved gentleman borne off, before his
labours were invested with victory, as in this following
speech to those honourable auditors then
placed upon the mount is more at large related.
A troop of labourers, to the number of threescore
or upwards, all in green caps alike, bearing in their
hands the symbols of their several employments
in so great a business, with drums before them,
marching twice or thrice about the cistern, orderly
present themselves before the mount, and after
their obeisance,