If God so favour me,
I will not proove unkind;
London my love shall see,
And my great bounties find.'
But see his happy chance!
This scullion had a cat,
Which did his state advance,
And by it wealth he gat.
His maister ventred forth,
To a land far unknowne,
With marchandize of worth,
And is in stories shewne.
Whittington had no more
But this poor cat as than,
Which to the ship he bore,
Like a brave marchant-man.
'Vent'ring the same,' quoth he,
'I may get store of golde,
And Maior of London be,
As the bells have me told.'
Whittington's marchandise,
Carried was to a land
Troubled with rats and mice,
As they did understand.
The king of that country there,
As he at dinner sat,
Daily remain'd in fear
Of many a mouse and rat.
Meat that in trenchers lay,
No way they could keepe safe
But by rats borne away,
Fearing no wand or staff.
Whereupon, soone they brought
Whittington's nimble cat;
Which by the king was bought;
Heapes of gold giv'n for that.
Home againe came these men
With their ships loaden so;
Whittington's wealth began
By this cat thus to grow.
Scullions life he forsooke
To be a marchant good,
And soon began to looke
How well his credit stood.
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