There was also one Jeffry Neve, at this time a student in physic and astrology; he had formerly been a merchant in Yarmouth, and Mayor of the town, but failing in estate, went into the Low-Countries, and at Franecker took the degree, of doctor in Physick; he had some little smattering in astrology; could resolve a question of theft, or love-question, something of sickness; a very grave person, laborious and honest, of tall stature and comely feature; he died of late years, almost in the very street near Tower-Hill:  he had a design of printing two hundred verified questions, and desired my approbation ere they went to press; that I first would see them, and then give testimony.  When I had perused the first forty, I corrected thirty of them, would read over no more:  I showed him how erroneous they were, desired his emendation of the rest, which he performed not.  These were afterwards, in R. Saunders’s custody, bought by him either of his son or of a stationer.[2]

    [Footnote 2:  But first offered to be sold to me for twenty
    shillings.  When Mr. Saunders died I bought them of his son for
    less.  E. A——.]

There was then William Poole, a nibbler at astrology, sometimes a gardener, an apparitor, a drawer of linen; as quoifs, handkerchiefs; a plaisterer and a bricklayer; he would brag many times he had been of seventeen professions; was very good company for drolling, as you yourself very well remember (most honoured Sir);[3] he pretended to poetry; and that posterity may have a taste of it, you shall have here inserted two verses of his own making; the occasion of making them was thus.  One Sir Thomas Jay, a Justice of the Peace in Rosemary-Lane, issued out his warrant for the apprehension of Poole, upon a pretended suggestion, that he was in company with some lewd people in a tavern, where a silver cup was lost, Anglice stolen.  Poole, hearing of the warrant, packs up his little trunk of books, being all his library, and runs to Westminster; but hearing some months after that the Justice was dead and buried, he came and enquired where the grave was; and after the discharge of his belly upon the grave, left these two verses upon it, which he swore he made himself.

  Here lieth buried Sir Thomas Jay, Knight,
  Who being dead, I upon his grave did shite.

    [Footnote 3:  December 17, this William Poole was married to
    Alice How, at St. George’s Church in Southwark.  Mr. Lilly gave
    her to him.]

He died about 1651, or 1652, at St. Mary Overy’s in Southwark; and this was part of his last will.

’Item; I give to Dr. Ardee all my books, and one manuscript of my own, worth one hundred of Lilly’s Introduction.’

’Item; If Dr. Ardee give my wife any thing that is mine, I wish the devil may fetch him body and soul.’  The Doctor, terrified with this curse, gave me all the books and his goods which I presently gave to his widow.—–­Interdum seria jocis.