No sooner had Mr. Head a little recovered himself, than we find him cheated again by the syren alurements of pleasure and poetry, in the latter of which, however, it does not appear he made any proficiency.  He failed a second time, in the world, and having recourse to his pen, wrote the first part of the English Rogue, which being too libertine, could not be licensed till he had expunged some of the most luscious descriptions out of it.

Mr. Winstanley, p. 208, has informed us, that at the coming out of this first part, he was with him at the Three Cup tavern in Holborn drinking a glass of Rhenish, and made these verses upon him,

  What Gusman, Buscan, Francion, Rablais writ,
  I once applauded for most excellent wit;
  But reading thee, and thy rich fancy’s store,
  I now condemn what I admir’d before. 
  Henceforth translations pack away, be gone,
  No Rogue so well writ, as the English one.

We cannot help observing, that Winstanley has a little ridiculously shewn his vanity, by informing the world, that he could afford to drink a glass of Rhenish; and has added nothing to his reputation by the verses, which have neither poetry nor wit in them.

This English Rogue, described in the life of Meriton Latroon, a witty extravagant, was published anno 1666, in a very large 8vo.  There were three more parts added to it by Francis Kirkman and Mr. Head in conjunction.

He also wrote

Jackson’s Recantation; or the Life and Death of a notorious highwayman, then hanging in chains at Hamstead, 1674.

Proteus Redivivus; or, the Art of wheedling, Lond. 1675.

The Floating Island; or a voyage from Lambethanio to Ramalia.

A Discovery of Old Brazil.

The Red Sea.

He wrote a Pamphlet against Dr. Wild, in answer to Wild’s letter directed to his friend, upon occasion of his Majesty’s declaration for liberty of conscience:  This he concludes in the following manner, by which it will be seen that he was but a poor versifier.

  Thus, Sir, you have my story, but am sorry
  (Taunton excuse) it is no better for ye,
  However read it, as your pease are shelling;
  For you will find, it is not worth the telling. 
  Excuse this boldness, for I can’t avoid
  Thinking sometimes you are but ill employ’d. 
  Fishing for souls more fit, than frying fish;
  That makes me throw pease-shellings in your dish. 
  You have a study, books wherein to look,
  How comes it then the Doctor turn’d a cook? 
  Well Doctor Cook, pray be advised hereafter,
  Don’t make your wife the subject of our laughter. 
  I find she’s careless, and your maid a slut,
  To let you grease your Cassock for your gut. 
  You are all three in fault, by all that’s blest;
  Mend you your manners first, then teach the rest.

Mr. Winstanley says, that our author met with a great many afflictions and crosses in his time, and was cast away at sea, as he was going to the Isle of Wight 1678.