AN Halfe-peny-worth of Wit, in a Peny-worth of Paper. ALIAS. ¶The Hermites Tale.
VVAlking by a Forrest side,
An ancient Hermite I espide,
White was his head, old was his face,
Pale were his lookes, obscure his place,
And in his hand I might behold
A booke all torne and very old;
I willing both to see and know
His place, and why he liued so,
Went to salute him, as vnknowne,
To be a partner of his moane,
He being of an humble spirit,
As one that heauen would inherite,
[Page 2]A friendly welcome to me gaue,
And brought me to his homely Caue,
VVhere he had liu'd full twenty yeares,
And for his sinnes shed many teares;
Thinking euery howre to die,
Knowing the worlds vnconstancie.
Then sate he downe, and to me told:
I once was yong, but now am old,
And welcome is mine age to mee,
That no more changes I may see;
For I haue seene from time to time,
The highest fall, the lowest clime:
Contray to that we expect,
To make vs know the worlds defect,
How time and death doth still presage
The ficklenesse of euery age
Like to the Moone that hath no power,
Louing to change, both day and howre.
Vnhappy men that liue therein,
VVhere nought is found but death and sin.
[Page 3]Then gentle youth, if you would know
Heauens delight, the world forgoe,
For wordlings, very seldome can
Two Maisters serue, both God and man.
For if a man your Maister bee,
You then must sinne as well as hee,
To smooth his taste, and please his vaine,
How much so ere the sinne containe.
If he a Tyrant do professe,
Then must his seruant be no lesse;
Or if an Athiest hee bee knowne,
So must you be, or else be gone:
For I haue heard a prouerbe old,
Be rul'd by him that hath the gold.
Such are the errours of our age,
VVhen soules for gold are laid to gage:
A substance that wise men besot,
A pleasure full of paine, God wot.
VVhen I was yong, as you are now,
I spent my youth, I know not how,
[Page 4]Rating my pleasure at such a price,
More worth, then Heauens Paradice.
These worldly pleasures are but toies
Vnto the high celestiall ioyes,
Where God doth sit on Syon hill
To giue the doome of good and ill,
Then if you knew how sweete it is
To meditate on heauens blisse,
You sure would leaue all worldly strife
And liue with me, an Hermites life.
Answere.
FAther or friend, what ere you bee,
A happy man you seeme to mee,
The happiest man this day on earth,
Blest in your age, and at your birth;
Whose heauenly words my heart hath wonne,
To liue with you, and be your sonne:
[Page 5]Leauing the world, too full of woes,
VVhere sinnes and errors daily flowes,
And take me to your homely Cell,
VVhere sweet content doth euer dwell;
Then if you please to take the paine,
For Christes sake, a soule to gaine,
Your counsell graue on me bestow,
That true religion I may know:
For all Kings Christned are at warres
For Conscience, and religious iarres;
And controuersies now haue made
One King on other to inuade,
VVith warre, with death, and famishment,
Each other still they do torment;
VVith Christians bloud they die the ground,
Piercing sweet babes with many a wound,
And aged men with siluer'd haires,
There groueling lie, in blood and teares;
VVhat sinne, what death, so-ere befall,
They make Religion cause of all.
[Page 6]A grieuous thing, when they shall come
To giue account for all and some
Before that God that knowes their thought,
If they for true Religion fought:
Or whether for ambitious pride
They meant Religion to deuide;
And so to kindle Gods displeasure
For Kingdomes, Crownes, and worldly Treasure;
Knowing them all to be illusions,
To bring our soules into confusions,
And make vs wish, ere we haue done,
Such warres had neuer beene begun.
Where Christians seeke each others blood,
Their meaning seldome can be good.
But if our warres were like to them
Which were before Ierusalem,
Against the Turkes, which there abod,
Sworne enemies vnto our God,
VVhat happy men then had we bin,
So to haue dy'd, and cleer'd our sin?
[Page 7]VVhereas (God wot) we now do goe
To seate our Brothers ouerthrow.
Alas! if they in warres that die,
Did not confesse a Trinitie:
Or if that Heathen men they were,
VVithout all knowledge, faith or feare
Of Christ that dy'd to saue mankind
From death and hell, to him assign'd;
Then without any offence at all,
They might take pleasure in our fall.
Hermite.
MY sonne of warres you haue complain'd,
VVhich is a plague for sinne ordain'd;
A plague that God himselfe hath chose,
His wrath and iustice to disclose:
And for my part, I must confesse,
Our sinnes (my sonne) deserue no lesse.
[Page 8]Christ knowes we haue deserued more
Then euer our fathers did before:
And yet we say, they neuer knew
VVhere true Religion euer grew.
For they were still instructed then
By Friers and Monks, old ancient men,
Such as did then attribute all
Vnto Saint Peter, not to Paul.
Saying that Christ had chose alone,
Him for the Rocke, and corner stone,
And vnto him the keyes resign'd,
To open, shut, to loose and binde.
Taking the word as it was spoken,
And not the sence it did betoken:
And so by Peters superioritie,
The Pope doth chalenge his authoritie.
But come my sonne, time doth vs call.
Wee'l leaue our Christ to iudge of all.
And go with me, Il'e teach thee how to spend
The Sommer day in solace with thy friend,
[Page 9]Where thou shalt see the pleasure of this wood,
Exceeds all other, were they nere so good.
Heere dwels poore men that neuer vse to sweare,
But yea and nay, and by the weedes they weare.
Farre be it from them to wrong his holy Name
That gaue them life, and leaue to vse the same.
To him they call; and still for mercy crie,
Because they know in iustice all must die;
They liue secure, and free from any strife,
And thinke Content to be the sweetest life:
And so it is, to such poore men as these,
That looke for nought, but how their God to please.
See how they labour all day till they sweate,
And take great paines, and all to get them meate.
Sauing your Tale, good Father, what be those,
That in their lookes decipher many woes,
And many times they seeme to make a show
As though frō whence they came, they faine wold go,
Impatient of the crosses God hath sent
Them for their good, because they should repent.
[Page 10]Well said (my sonne) thy iudgement I commend,
For Man hath crosses to none other end,
And he is happiest that can suffer any
For his sake, that for vs hath suffred many.
Hast thou not heard a song of Phillida,
Of Herpilus, and eke Coren?
why these, my sonne, be they.
The one is Coren, that once tooke
delight his Hawkes to lure,
Th'other Herpilus, (poore man)
that all paine did endure
For Phillida, and that is shee,
which oft did flowers twine,
And Garlands make of Violets,
to please her Corens mind.
But he regarded not her loue,
nor when she frownd or smild
It mou'd not him, he neuer car'd,
for once he was beguild.
[Page 11]And yet shee was the fairest Maide
that euer nature fram'd,
And all the Shepheards would reioyce
when Phillida was nam'd.
But Time, the enemie to Youth,
sent Sickenesse, Beauties crosse,
As messenger, to tell her now
shee is not as shee was:
Her golden haire, her for-head smooth
her quicke full speaking eie,
Her comely nose, her lips
where loue did banquet royally,
Haue chang'd their hue, for what can last,
or hold that will away?
Like Iudas fatall Elder-tree,
so lookes poore Phillida.
Her haire with Daffadillies dight
Ewreth'd with purple-silke,
Is now within a night-cap tide,
vnkemb'd, as white as milke.
[Page 12]Her fore-head all with furrowes fild
that was so smoth and white,
Her eies (the Cabinets of loue)
haue lost their wonted sight;
Her nose is sharpe, her iawes are falne,
her lips that were so red,
Now lookes like Siluer-ore vntried,
and no teeth in her head.
Ah sonne, if they in Court that liue
did once but thinke of this,
They soone would finde amongst themselues
how they had done amisse,
In pampring vp their filthy flesh
which is a slaue to time,
An enemy vnto the soule,
a masse of filth and slime.
But come my son, we'le now go home
vnto our homely Caue,
And leaue poore Phillida to mourne
that wisheth for her graue.
of whom the Muses song,
They vow'd to die with Phillida,
because they lou'd so long.
Father, I neuer heard a Tale
to moue a man to ruth,
And make him thinke of all his sinnes
committed in his youth
As this which you haue told;
A terror vnto those
Which in their beauty, wit, or strength,
do confidence repose.
It is no terror (sonne) to those
which meane not to repent,
They neuer thinke of crooked age,
nor of their youth mispent;
But head-long runne from sin to sin,
like sheepe that go astray,
[Page 14]Yet now and then for fashion sake
they make a show to pray;
And come to Church, and knocke and kneele,
because they may be taken
For honest, good, and godly men,
that haue the world forsaken.
'Tis true Sir, I haue heard of those
that vnder shew of zeale;
Would hate the time, & curse the state,
and at the Clergy raile;
Ill minded men, enuious, and proud,
discentious, full of wroth,
Monstrous dissemblers, fild with sin,
in whom there is no troth;
These zealous men, meane to erect
a Church, ere it be long,
Where Papist neuer set his foote,
nor neuer Dirge was song;
Meane while, for feare their faction breake,
[Page 15]they thinke it best behoues them,
To meete in Barnes, and there to Preach,
euen as the Spirit moues them,
And there they pray, before they Preach,
in heart, with one accord,
That they may neuer laugh, for feare
they do offend the Lord;
Then starteth vp a brother straight
vpon a wicker Chayre,
And talkes of sinne, and how it raignes
amongst vs euery where;
How euery state is discontent,
How many sinne, how few repent:
What May-poles, and what Whitson-ales,
What ringing, and what old-wiues tales,
Are now beleeu'd to be the way
To saue vs all another day.
My son, these men will nere endure the touch,
They know too little, and they speake too much,
[Page 16]Their lookes are smoth, like Siluer purifide,
They will proue Copper, when they shall be tri'd.
I neuer heard of these which seeme so pure,
Which for Christs sake wold Martirdom endure,
And yet no doubt, as long as peace remaines,
Their conscience will endure any paines.
But if the God of warre abroad should range,
And catch these men that long to see a change,
You then should see them all within one day,
For very feare of death, to turne Turke-way.
But come my sonne, sit downe and let vs eate
These homely cates, in steed of better meate,
And leaue these men that enuy so the state,
To die like dogs, that can do nought but prate.
I'le tell you, Father, of a Tale
that is in Skeltons rime,
A foolish Tale, but yet a Tale
to driue away the time;
Of a very pleasant lad
[Page 17]my Tale I must beginne,
That came into a house, by chaunce,
where Sectaries did Inne,
And being in their company,
not knowing what they were,
He was as merry as a Pie,
still skypping here and there,
Till at the last a ciuill Sire
came mildly towards him,
And like a man of God, rebuk'd
this yong-man for his sinne.
This merry Lad, mus'd at the man,
as one loath to offend,
Saying, if he had done amisse,
he would be glad to mend.
Night drew on, Supper came in,
they all with one consent
Desir'd this yong-mans company,
and he was well content.
He sadly sate all Supper while,
[Page 18]and not a word he said:
And as they did, so would he do.
They after supper prayed,
And Chapters read, and sung a Psalme
all to instruct the youth,
What great delight he ought to haue
in reading of the truth.
VVhen that the Lord was serued thus,
they cald a reckning presently,
And would not let this yong man pay,
but thank'd him for his company.
This pleasant Lad muz'd at the men,
yet being farre from scorning,
Intreated them to breake their fast
with him the next day morning.
They thank'd him all with one consent,
but especially Maister Powes,
Desired him to bestow no cost,
but onely Beefe and Browes.
You shall haue nothing ese (quoth he)
[Page 19]welcome shall be your chiefe,
And so good-night, vntill we meete
all at a peece of biefe,
The morning came, & there they met,
the boy that knew his time,
Set them downe to breakefast straight,
and then began his rime.
You are welcome heartily, vnto lusty Humphrey,
VVelcome here must be your chiefe
To a friendly peece of Biefe,
Such as was vs'd in ancient time
VVhen house-keeping was in prime;
VVhen the Biefe and Brewes flourisht,
VVhen the silly soules were nourisht,
Then 'twas a wonder to the poore
To see a Porter keepe the doore,
Then were silly harmelesse folkes,
Plaine chimneyes then were full of smoakes:
Euery table then was spred,
And furnisht out with Biefe and bread,
[Page 20]Euery man then tooke a pleasure
In his house to spend his treasure.
Who was then the Gentries Guest?
The Widdow poore, that's oft opprest,
The Souldiers with their wounds and skarres
Bleeding for their Countries warres.
Then in the Country dwelt true pitty,
Now Christmas is but for the Citty;
A Gentleman of small reuenew,
Had then the poore for his retinew.
Wast not then a merry time
When thy neighbour came to mine,
Canst thou lend me twenty pound
For to buy a peece of ground?
Without statute, or a bond
Their word as good as any hand.
Then men of ancient calling
Loued no pride for feare of falling,
Country Russet was their wearing,
And Kendall greene, for feare of tearing.
[Page 21]The Clothier scarce the Mercer knew,
Now Silke-wormes make the Sheepe to rue,
The Plough-man liu'd, sweete was his paine,
The Taylor now sweepes vp his gaine.
If any now do take compassion,
'Tis to checke the oldest fashion;
Yet paying for new fashions gold,
In spight of all, the new is old.
But what meane I to runne so farre?
My foolish words may breed a skarre,
Let vs talke of Robin Hoode,
And little Iohn in merry Shirewood,
Of Poet Skelton with his pen,
And many other merry men,
Of May-game Lords, and Sommer Queenes,
With Milke-maides, dancing o're the Greenes,
Of merry Tarlton in our time,
Whose conceite was very fine,
Whom Death hath wounded with his Dart,
That lou'd a May-pole with his heart.
[Page 22]His humour was to please all them
That seeme no Gods, but mortall men,
For (saith he) in these our daies,
The Cobler now his Last downe laies,
And if he can but reade, (God wot)
Hee talkes and prates he knowes not what,
Of May-poles, and of merriments
That haue no spot of ill pretence.
But I wonder now and then,
To see the wise and learned men,
VVith countenance grim, and many a frowne
Cries, Maisters, plucke the May-pole downe.
To heare this newes, the Milke-maide cries,
To see the sight, the Plough-man dies.
'Tis a iest to see when they beginne
For to plucke downe such wodden sinne.
Foolish men, and faith-lesse too,
That still professe, and nothing do.
The Sectaries were in a rage,
and knew not what to say,
[Page 23]They spit, and chafd, and stampt amaine,
and would haue gone away.
This merry Lad began to laugh,
and to them thus replide,
You see it stands not with my youth
from pleasure to be tide,
I loue to sit and laugh,
not to offend the wise,
I care not for their company
that honest mirth despise:
Those that be Saints abroad,
whose substance shadowes bee,
Let them go seeke Precisian-sects,
they are no mates for mee.
And when you are at home,
thinke of this prouerbe told,
The Tree is still knowne by his fruite,
if it be nere so old.
The poore men went away,
all discontent in minde,
[Page 24]And had no pleasure to their meate,
but left it all behind.
Now, Father, be you iudge
who plaid the better part,
They with their zeale, or else the boy
that spoke with all his heart.
In sadnesse my good sonne,
I neuer yet did heare,
A Tale to that effect,
so much to please mine eare;
My iudgement I will stay,
vntill our better leisure,
I'le show thee heere a booke my sonne,
wherein thou maist take pleasure:
Heere shalt thou reade my sonne
a volume of dispaire,
The death of many a conquering king,
their liues, and what they were,
The wisedome of this world,
[Page 25]the frailty of our age,
Our present time now acting sinne
like Players on a stage.
I writ it with this hand
that once could guide a pen,
And set my Launce into my rest
as well as other men.
But (oh) those daies are past,
and now I wish to haue
For all my seruice done,
a white sheete and a graue.
My Caske of steele is to a night-cap turn'd,
My shining Armour to a gowne of gray,
My youthful heart, which once with beauty burn'd
Like dreames illusions, vading passe away,
Euen as the night doth from the glorious day.
My Naples Courser is a banke of earth,
Whereon I sit to manage all my sinnes,
Twixt life and death, which are borne mortall twinnes.
My bridle now must be my Beades,
[Page 26]The golden bosses bookes,
And all my Sonnets must be prayers
VVhereon deuotion lookes,
My Launce turn'd to a Palmers staffe
VVhich once was painted braue,
And all my followers be my sinnes,
To bring me to my graue.
The shield which now my Page
Vnto my Prince must giue,
Is (time mispent) An aged man.
that can no longer liue.
Beleeue me sonne, I would not liue
For to be yong againe,
To be great Emperor of the world
The world I so disdaine.
Iudge you if I say true,
Reade this, and know my mind,
They that haue eyes, may see the world,
Or else they are borne blind:
It is a world of care,
[Page 27]The greatest Prince that raignes
Hath not halfe pleasure in his Crowne
To equall all his paines.
And he that liues in Court,
And can but fauour win,
VVhat ere he was, he may be sure
That all will follow him.
The surly Vshers then
VVill do him any grace,
That told him but a weeke before
He did not know his place;
His fellowes of the Guard,
VVhen he comes to the dore,
VVill all stand vp and make a legge,
That would sit downe before.
But if this man be proud,
And full of high disdaine,
Caring for nothing else at all
But for his priuate gaine.
Then Enuy mou'd in heart,
[Page 28]A Iury straight doth call,
Inditing that vsurping man
Conspiring his downe-fall.
And straight he doth informe
The Iury what he was,
That now vsurpes, and hates the poore
And doth his betters crosse.
The Poet hearing this,
Puls forth a booke of Tables,
And makes a subtill rime,
Much like to Esops fables;
Then being fore-man, tels a Tale
That was not much regarded,
How men of vertue and of worth,
Did wander vnrewarded:
So he that liues in Court,
And doth not seeke to haue
The loue of euery priuate man,
And of the poorest slaue,
Let him be sure of this,
[Page 29]If Fortune chance to frowne,
Enuy in time will turne the wheele
And throw him head-long downe.
Who would bee such a man
When Time his fortune reades,
That he must leaue his Offices,
And take him to his beades,
And in a shirt of hayre,
Repent his time misled,
And giue his treasure to the poore,
Whom hee hath iniured.
This were the way to go
In peace vnto his graue,
For none without they do repent,
Can any mercy haue.
But liues there such a man?
No sure there can be none,
We all are Lambes, no Foxes now,
The deuil's dead and gone,
No sure: if he were dead,
[Page 30]The Poets then would leaue
To write of those that follow him,
And all the world deceiue.
But fare-well to the world
Vnlesse I come by stealth,
It neuer cares to grace such men
As want both wit and wealth.
I cannot kisse my hand
Nor lout below the knee,
Nor take a feather from your gowne,
You know such men there be.
In world one vndermines
another to no end,
And worst they speed,
who most in hope do spend,
Enuide they are,
on whom but Fortune smiles,
Though those smiles turne
to nothing other-whiles.
The mighty, seeking
[Page 31]to enlarge their might,
Into contempt oft tumble
downe out-right.
The Lawyers Clyent
crouching on his knees,
Preuaileth nought,
except he bring large fees.
The Cittizen, the Scholler,
and the Boore,
Without a largesse,
are thrust out of doore.
Brauery, the gallant nouice
thinkes doth all,
When it consum'd,
his credite is but small.
Valour and Wit,
proud on their tip-toes stand,
And thinke chiefe dignities
they may command.
When that a foole,
[Page 32]a Parasite, a Pander,
Betwixt them steps,
and they are set to wander.
So from the head
vnto the foote it fares,
Each one supplanteth
other vnawares.
The wisest builders,
against after stormes,
Fishing for honour,
baite their hookes with wormes;
Wormes that do dig
and delue for them all day,
Yet to all rauenous birds
are left a pray.
In Common-wealth
how many vainely dreame
Of Indian Mines,
that fish against the streame?
How many, that but hauing
[Page 33]one good bite,
A nodde, or least glaunce
from their Mistres sight,
Cost vpon cost, clap thicke
and three-fold on,
And neuer cease,
till they be quite vndone.
How many that do fish before the Net,
VVho offices before they fall do get,
And count all fish into their Net doth chaunce,
VVhom nought so vile, but serueth to aduance.
All these pursuing gaine, not true content,
Fish for their bane, their toile is fruitlesse spent.
This is the world my sonne,
Then now some comfort giue
To me poore man, my time is come
I can no longer liue
Mine age, my blessed age,
VVherein I do reioyce,
Hath lent me time for to repent,
[Page 34]And sing with Angels voyce,
Hymnes, Anthems, Laude, and Praise
Vnto the King of Kings,
Which out of this vilde wretched world
Poore soules to heauen brings.
You Poets all and some
That write of Esops fables,
Conceiting plots to please the world
Notes from your booke of Tables;
Me thinkes that A-iax should you call,
To make wast-paper of you all
That spend your time to please the time,
With fictions, tales, and idle rime,
Leauing the marke that should be hit,
To praise Gods glory, and your wit.
Oxford and Cambridge was erected
For Vertue, not for vice protected.
Ah, sonne, I faint, mine age and I
Are striuing now who first should die:
[Page 35]My will is made, I haue no wealth,
But wishes, prayers, content, and health,
To thee my sonne, and all my friends
That credite to this vaine world lends.
My swolne-sicke heart, with death is tost,
Like to a foote-ball in a frost;
God blesse thee sonne, now close mine eyes,
I hope my soule to heauen flies.
And thus I end my Hermites Tale
Which is of mickle ruth,
It proues there is no hope in age,
Nor certainty in youth.
As for this homely Tale,
And hee that made the same,
Hath neither learning, wealth, nor wit,
And scarce can write his name.
FINIS.