The ret̄ne of. M. smythes enuoy seruaunt to the Kynges Royall Maiestye and Clerke of the Quenes graces counsell (though most vnworthy)

Trolle here, trolle there, trolle out, trolle in
Ye trolle away & trolle aboute lyke a blynde sym.
EUen with the same commendacion that to you dothe pertayne
I sende you here myne answer, which is no great treatyse
Desyrynge you to marke, and to vnderstande playne
That I haue receyued your enuyous and proude enterpryse
The mater wherof, I trust, all honest men dothe despyse
But bragge and face what you can, I care not a whyt
I take tyme as tyme is, though hereafter commeth not yet.
¶ You ruffle and you rayle for malyce and despyte
And as a loftye lurden, you shewe your selfe full playne
For asmoche as you are greued with the good that I dyd wryte
Which I wyll neuer denye, but earnestlye mayntayne
Hauynge causes ynowe, on your malyce to complayne
For your manasynges and threatnynges, wherin I am sure ye do but gesse
For layenge popery to your charge, your herte grauntynge there no lesse.
¶ Though with the poynt of my penne I dyd you so spurre and pryck
That therby you were greued, and greatlye styrred to yre
Yet I councell you to syt sure, and that you nother wynche nor kyck
For and yf you do, I wyll surely laye you in the myer
Take no more vpon you then is mete, lest your selfe ye do tyer
Or some other myschefe chaunce you, take this prouerbe for a token
That a sycke man is sone beaten, and a skalde hed sone broken.
¶ I was nothynge greued that yourselfe so openly ye dyd declare
Nether with the descrybynge of your name, nor of your seruyce the pyth
Nor yet wyll any honest man so iudge, and therfore I nothynge care
Though mad malyce moued you, to be despyted therwith
Ragynge because I compared a coblet with the smyth
Your folyshe dysplesure wherwith, is easye ynough to be founde
Namyuge me as ye arre, an vpryght vagaboude.
¶ Of the openynge of your name and seruyce I knew not your entent
But yet for your doynges, I thought ye worthy blame
Not countynge you gyltlesse, and therfore I dyd you shent
Consydrynge I regarded your dede, more then I dyd your name
And therfore vnto your offyre, I wysshed no maner of shame
But entendynge my purpose I wryte as in my mynde it laye
Howbeyt, you beynge naught your selfe, turne it another waye.
¶ Sometyme a thefe shameth not to shewe bothe his name and face
Where the true man hydeth hym selfe, and standeth in great doute
Least that this theuyshe malyce shuld present it selfe in place
To the destruccyon of him that his thefery wolde trye oute
So in lykewyse you, do seke all corners rounde aboute
But it will not helpe you, though awhyle there be delaye
Tyme maye brynge you forthe, as well as it doth poure graye
¶ For romblynge in the scryptures in dede I dyd you reproue
Wysshynge with all my herte that your doynges ye wold amende
Descrybynge your faute playnly, as honestye dyd me behoue
You myght gentely haue spoken with m [...] ye coulde me reprehende
But I am sure ye mynded it not, but dyd it least intende
For all your bragges and krackes, on your ale benche when you syt
Let tyme be as tyme is, though herafter commeth not yet.
¶ To a taylour in dede I aduysed you that ye dyd resorte
For the shapynge out of scrypture / your text the better to frame
A secte I am sure more catholyck / then are your popysshe sorte
Beynge the members of chryst / and him selfe the hed of the same
Neyther heretyckes nor papistes / but men of honest fame
That alwayes are obedyent and vse not / for to rebelle
Though you and soche other / wolde helpe therto with your councell.
¶ I nother bluster nor blowe / any false mater to proue
Though you do desyer of euery honest man the fall
Nother layed I popery to your charge / but thought ye dyd it loue
For yf by you / popery I coulde proue / then a traytour I wolde you call
And wolde it not concele / but bryng you to your tryall
Our doynges wyll apere / though ye defer them for a space
And I wyll be forth commynge / before your betters to shewe my face.
¶ The rest of your raylynges I wyll as now omytte
Vpon soche braynles braggery my tyme I wyll not spende
They do nothyng elles but manyfest the lewde vse of your wyt
And the myschefe of your herte whiche to other ye do pretende
You haue no nother buckler your selfe for to defende
Who rebuketh your secte / or wolde reforme your popery
Amonge you strayte / he is a mayntayner of heresy.
¶ Thus / though ye wolde be hydden / yet men may easely knowe
What trayterous hertes ye beare / to god and oure good kynge
His grace hath geuen in functyons / whiche cleane to ouerthrowe
What councelles do ye holde / to euydent is the thynge
We shulde beware of your treason / for surely I feare ye wolde brynge
Your romyshe tuffeler to be our heed / by some maner of shyft
To the whiche your papisticall flocke / not longe agoo gaue a lyft.
¶ There sawe we playnly / a myscheuous and detestabell sorte
Of false fayned hertes / that agaynst our good kynge dyd aryse
Sekynge his destruccyon / and all theyrs that him dyd supporte
Beynge armed with customes / and soche fayned lyes
But god (who of his grace) euer prouydeth for his
Gaue soche knowlege therof / that they had not theyr entent
Some fledde / som taken / some were hanged on the galowes and brent.
¶ Whiche thynge I do desyre / all true subiectes to regarde
And to god and our good kynge / to beare a due obedyence
And to all false fayned hertes I wyshe the same rewarde
Euen lyke as the others had / worthely for their offence
And nowe Master. T. .S. marke well this sentence
Consyder that as you be / so haue you vsed your wyt
And I take tyme / as tyme is / though herafter come not yet.
¶ Parauenture Syr. T. S. you wyll yet bragge and bost
As ye do here in that ye wyll dryue me out of the way
But be not to busye I aduyse you / lest you come to your cost
Though in myne owne cause / I wyll but lytell saye
For and yf you worke moche / ye shall perceyue I wyll not playe
Nether holdynge downe my hed / nor yet beare it to moche aloft
For all your braggynge countenance / it wyl become you to speke soft.
¶ Nowe for an ende (Eternall God) I beseche the graunt longe lyfe
With prosperous contynuans, to Henry our most noble kynge
Andd to Katherynge our Quene also, his most Laufull Wyfe
And graunt betwene theym bothe, lyke other braunches to sprynge
(As is Edwarde our Prynce? that most odoriferous thynge
Preserue theym longe together Lorde, and graunt theym all the blysse
Where Angels incessantly, synge (Gloria in excelsis) Amen.

¶ God saue the kynge.

☞ Trolle here, Trolle there, Trolle out, Trolle in
Ye trolle awaye and trolle about, lyke a blynde Sym.

¶ Imprynted at London by Rycharde bankes, Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum solum. And be to sell in Lombard stret / nere vnto the stockes by Rycharde Kele.

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