I know not why a trueth in rime set out
Maie not as wel mar Martine and his mates,
As shamelesse lies in prose-books cast about
Marpriests, & prelates, and subvert whole states.
For where truth builds, and lying overthroes,
One truth in rime, is worth ten lies in prose.
LORDES of our land, and makers of our Lawes,
Long may yee line, Lawes many may you make,
This careful, kind, and country-louing clawse,
As from a faithfull friend, vouchsafe to take:
Martine the merry, who now is Mar-prelate,
Will proue madde Martine, and Martine mar-the-state.
The wind doth first send forth a whistling sound,
Then ficrce, and fearefull, hollow, thundering threates,
At length it riues the earth, and rents the ground
And tumbles townes and citties from their seates,
So he who first did laughing libells send,
Will at the last procure a wreakefullend.
Women are woed to follow men precise
Young boies without experience hold thè„ Gods,
Yea some for gaine, who are both olde and wise:
Thus merrie Martine sets the world at ods.
The frozen snake for colde that cannot creepe
Restorde to strength a stinging stur will keepe.
Let neighbour-nations learne vs to beware,
Let harmes at home teach vs for to take heede;
When Browne and Barrowe haue done what they dare
Their hellish Hidraes heades will spring with speede:
Such men as Martine caused all these woes:
This poison still encreaseth as it goes.
Somewhat I hearde, and mickle haue I seene
It were too long to tell your Lordships what:
Somewhat I knowe, and somewhat haue I beene,
Yet this I saie, and this is also flat.
Bridle the coltish mouth of Male-part
Or else his hoofe will hurte both head and hart.
Anglia Martinis parce favere malis.
England was wont by auncient rites,
To stand and so endure:
But now new faulkeners make men birds,
And call vs to the lure,
The painted lure the hauke deceaues
Men finde no grapes on painted leanes.
This catching sport will scratching make,
The quarrell heere will grow,
Twixt hauke and faulkener at the last
Each one will make a showe,
I flewe, I caught, the hauke may say,
The faulkener what? Ile haue the praie.
The cleargieman like sillie hauke
Hath flowen at Lai-mans lore
[Page] And nowe perceaues that flying still
Yet flie he may the more.
If ought be caught by flight of thine,
The Lai-man saith all must be mine.
I swoopt at fair'st bothe Church and lands[?]
To lay to Cleargie vse,
But Lai-man laies, Lai-man so calde,
And vowes to lay abuse.
O greedie dirt thy craft I see:
Be hauke and faulkener both for me.
Is this thy sigh, thy hand devout,
Turnd vp with white of eie?
Thy gape, thy grone? to coosen him
That sits in heauen so high?
O greedy dirt, o hellish hart
Thy cunning coven wil make thee smart.
Poore Iohn and Ioane are eaten vp,
The country cleane forlorne,
Men turnd to sheepe, let pecus fight,
Men cannot long be borne.
O blessed Prince looke wel to this,
Twil shorten soone our countries blisse.
Abbots were fat & friers[?] frimme,
The whoresons lov'de their case,
Yet standing house by them was kept,
Which did the poore man please.
Now[?] much of theirs to them is gone,
Who having much yet spend[?] they none.
Thy fly to wood like breeding hauke,
And leaue old neighbours loue,
They pearch themselues in syluane lodge,
And soare in th'aire aboue.
There: magpy teacheth them to chat,
And cookow soone doth hit them pat.
When winter comes our Eues lacke heate,
And cast off Adam olde,
And then hote sprites must needs be had,
To put in heat to colde.
To townes they goe, within a while,
Looke home old Adam. Marke this wile,
The holy whore no fellow hath,
The Pruritane is shee,
That midst her praiers sends her eie,
The purest man to see.
The purer man, the better grace,
[Page] The clearest hue the cherefulst face.
Sprite moues her first to wish him wel.
And discipline decaied
Doth make her seeke so far from wood
To haue Gods word obaied.
Ile tel you plaine, the matter is fresh,
They gin in sprite, but end in flesh.
A displing rod must needs be had.
Good Martins say not so:
This displing rod, will make you nod,
And cause your heads to grow.
Get home, keepe house, ware tounes so pure:
Their zeale is hot, theyle plaie you sure.
When home you come, ioine faith & loue,
Let priest his portion haue,
Let neighbours field be as it was,
Cast off your garments braue.
Loue God and gospel as you ought,
And let that goe, that was il sought.
Must churches doune to maintaine pride
And make your sailes to swel?
Few mighty subiects fit a state:
A few doe verie wel.
Cracke me this nut, thou gentle blood,
Whose father was but Robin-hood.
Shal Prince say no, and pearlesse men,
Detest this wrangling broode,
Who neither Prince, nor peere will knowe,
In this their traiterous moode?
And do they liue, and liue they stil
Their poisoned cup of gal to fil?
Martins farewel, and lets be friends,
And thanke God for his word,
And Prince and peers, and peace and al
And skaping forraine sword.
Yet no mans sword could strike so sore
As Martins would Ile say no more.
Thou caytif kerne, vncouth thou art, vnkist thou eke[?] sal bee.
For aiming thus in coverture at Prelatis his in[?] gree.
Thy spell is borrell, spokis bin blunt, thy sconce[?] rude, rusticall,
But to the hecfor fell and feirce, short hornis done eft befall.
The Sainctis in heavin & earth thou scornst, & selfe thou dost nikname.
It semis thou wert in bastardie a swad begat with shame[?].
In England Sir, tomteltroth is lowd plea at everie barre[?]
Why dar thou not then shew thy scalpe gainst clarkis proclaiming warre.
For thie, thou seemis nought els bot lies, & leasings are thy leere,
[Page] No pitie twere to cut the combe of sike a chauntecleere.
Yclipt thou art, as people sayen, Martin the Mar-prelat,
Better the mought thie selfe benempt, Mar-Queene, Mar-potentat.
The Kirke of God may call that stower, & eke, that time vnblist,
Sith swaines forswonke, & so forswat, moght, sayen what them list.
Siker, thous bot a pruid princock thus reking of thy swinke,
That with thilke irefull tauntes & lies to bleare mens eien dost thinke.
Now God sheild man that wisards al, should daunce after thy pipe,
Whaes wordis bin witlesse, termis bin fond, & tonge is hanging ripe.
Thilke way & trood whilke thou dost swade, is sleepe & also tickle,
To Kesar, King, and people too, the fall warre varie mickle.
This old said sawe, this reede is rife, quha kenneth not this lore,
Whilke has bin taken as a creede of sires that were of yore?
Seem'd sanctitie is trecherie, and newfangled religioun,
Noucht is bot grosse knaverie, and maistres of confusioun.
Quhat zeale were thilke that kingis gwerdons, whae are iclad in clay
Quhilk they bequeathit to the kirke as monuments for aie,
Should be so robd and ransackit, contrair to their behests,
To make new vpstart Iacks Lor-Danes, with coine to cram their chests?
That they whaes fathers wer bot kernis, knauis, pesants, clownis, & booris,
Moght perke as paddocks, ligg in soft, & swath their paramoris?
For thy graund zeale is nought bot that, thou soarest at thilke same:
Thus han purloining slauis thee made an instrument of shame.
Like as a gleede is hovering to catch her younglings praie,
To gurmandize the chicke, or bring the duckling to her bay:
So sootly thou can pipe to them, they deftly daunce to thee
In roundelay, with stolen pelfe to maken mirth and glee.
Quhile sausily quhaire no scape was thou wouldest al amendit:
Tholy annointed one her selfe thy spokis they han offendit.
Thy zeale's petit (Masse Mar-prelat) God knawes, thy purpose euill,
Thy rowtis bin miscreants, & thou a chaplin for the devil.
Thilke men of elde that han from God the sprite of prophecie,
Quhilk thou dost reke, did not as thou, speke scoffes and ribaudrie.
Weil lettred clarkis endite thair warkes (quoth Horace) slow & geasoun,
Bot thou can wise forth buike by buike at euery spurt & seasoun.
For men of litrature t'endite so fast, them doth not sitte,
Enaunter in them, as in thee, thair pen outrun thair witt.
The shaftis of foolis are soone shotte out, bot fro the merke they stray:
So art thou glibbe to guibe and taunte, bot rouest all the way.
Quhen thou hast parbrackt out thy gorge, & shot out all thy arrowes,
See that thou hold thy clacke, & hang thy quiuer on the gallowes.
For Soveraigne Dame Elizabeth, that Lord it lang she maie,
(O England) now full eften must thou Pater Noster say.
And for those mighty Potentatis, thou kenst what they bin hight,
The tout-puissant[?] Chevaliers that fend S. Nichols right,
[Page] Els clarkis will soonall be Sir Iohns, the preistis craft will empaire.
And Dickin, Iackin, Tom & Hob, mon sit in Rabbies chaire.
Let Georg & Nichlas check by iol bathe still on cockehorse yode,
That dignitie of pristis with thee may han a lang abode.
Els litrature mon spredde her winges, & piercing welkin bright:
To heaven from whence she did first wend, retire & take her flight.
O England gemme of Europe, Angells land,
Blest for thy gospell, people, prince, and all,
And all through peace, let Martins vnderstand
The hony of thy peace, abhorre their gall.
Martins? what kind of creatures mought those bee?
Birds, beasts, men, Angels, Feends? Nay worse say we.
The feendes spake faire sometimes and honour gaue,
Curse and contempt in all that Martins haue.
England if yet thou art to learne thy spell,
Learne other things, such doctrine it for bell.
What favor would these Martins? Shall I say
As other birds wherwith yong children play.
Let them be cagd, and hempseed be their food
Hempseed the only meate to feede this broode.
Disclaime these monsters, take them not for thine
Hell was their wombe, and hell must be their shryne.
Many would know the holy Asse,
And who mought Martin been,
Plucke but the footecloth from his backe,
The Asse will soone be seene.
My Lordes, wise wittall Martins thinke.
Your Lordships flie to hie:
Keepe on your flight aloft as yet,
Lest Martins come too nie.
For were your winges a little clipt,
They soone would plucke the rest:
And then the place too high for you.
Would be pure Martins nest.
What is the greefe that most afflictes all Martins broode?
Even selfe-conceite supported with a melancholy moode.
What are the cheefest points whereon they raise debate?
No lesse then chaunging Princes lawes, and altring present state.
And of what sorte are those that to this point are come?
Of rascals more then others, but of euery sort are some.
What age or learning hath the number of their traine?
Children for age, for learning fooles: but fooles & boyes would raigne.
What paines dooth lawe appoint to put the rest in feare?
For treason death, but that her grace is loth to be severe[?].
[Page] Long may she liue, and those long may her grace defend:
That they and other like had thought, ere this t'haue brought to ende.
Men aske whie Martins do almesdeedes, and house-keeping defie:
Their answer is, that house-keeping and almes are poperie.
If any wonder that not onlie men are pure,
But women like hipocrisie do also put in vre,
They vse the helpe of some, that never did them wed:
And learne to prooue such holy dames of Martins in their bed.
New-fangled boies I thought to terme the birdes of Martins nest,
But that I see in getting boies, like men they doe their best.
Wel maist thou marke but neuer canst thou marre,
This present state whereat thou so doost storme:
Nor they that thee vphold to make this iarre,
And would forsooth our English lawes deforme.
Then be thou but Marke-prelate as thou art:
Thou canst not marre though thou wouldst swelt thy hart.
In Ammons land pretended Rephaims dwelt,
That termd them-selues Reformers of the state,
These like Zanzummins, and Deformers dealte,
Among the people stirring vp debate.
But when their vilenes, was espied and knowen:
From Ammons land this Gyants broode, was throwen.
Our England, that for vnitie hath beene,
A glasse for Europe, hath such monsters bread,
That raile at Prelats, and oppugne their Queene,
Whole common wealthes, each beareth in his head.
These Rephaims, for so the would be deemd:
Are nothing lesse, then that they most haue seemd,
Then if we loue the gouernement of peace,
Which true Reformers from aboue maintaine,
And forraine force could never make it cease,
Nor these Deformers, can with vices staine:
First let vs finde pretended Rephaims rowte,
And like Zanzummins, let vs cast them out.
Martin had much a farther reach, then euery man can gesse,
Hee might haue cald himselfe Mar-preest, that hath bene somewhat lesse,
But seeking all to overthrowe, what ever high might be:
Mar-prelate he did call himselfe, a foe to high degree.
The veriest knaves cheefe Pruritans, and Martinists are found:
And why? they saie where sin was great, there grace will most abound.
Now where the father loues the Pope, for private wealth, or gaine:
The sonne is of an other minde, and followes Martins traine.
So that in chaunge of churches rites, what ever may be donne:
[Page] They will be sure it shall advance, the father, or the sonne.
If any mervaile at the man, and doe desire to see
The stile and phrase of Martins booke: come learne it here of mee.
Holde my cloke boy, chill haue a vling at Martin, O the boore;
And if his horseplay like him well, of such he shall haue store.
He thus bumfeges his bousing mates, and who is Martins mate?.
O that the steale-counters were knoune, chood catch them by the pate:
Th'vnsauorie snuffes first iesting booke, though clownish, knauish was:
But keeping still one stile, he prooues a sodden headed asse.
Beare with his ingramnesse a while, his seasoned wainscot face:
That brought that godly Cobler Cliffe, for to disproue his grace.
But (O) that Godly cobler Cliffe, as honest an olde lad,
As Martin (O the libeller) of hangbyes ever had.
If I berime thy worshipnes, as thou beliest thy betters:
For railing, see which of vs two shall be the greatest getters.
But if in flinging at such states, thy noddle be no slower:
Thy brother hangman will thee make, be pulde three asses lower.
Then mend these manners Martin, or in spite of Martins nose:
My rithme shall be as dogrell, as vnlearned is thy prose.
These tinkers termes, and barbers iestes first Tarleton on the stage,
Then Martin in his bookes of lies, hath put in euery page:
The common sort of simple swads, I can there[?] state but pitie:
That will vouchsafe, or deygne to laugh, at libelles so vnwittie.
Let Martin thinke some pen as badde, some head to be as knavish:
Soome tongue to be as glibbe as his, some rayling all as lavish,
And be content: if not, because we know not where to finde thee:
We hope to se thee where deserts of treason haue assignd thee.
Cast of thy cloake and shrine thy selfe, in cloake-bagge, as is meete:
And leaue thy flinging at the preest, as Iades doe with their feete.
The Preest must liue, the Bishop guide:
To teach thee how to leaue thy pride.
If Martin dy by hangmans hands, as he deserues no lesse,
This Epitah must be engravde, his maners to expresse.
HERE hangs knaue Martine a traitrous Libeler he was
Enemie pretended but in hart a friend to the
This bodg is known to be his own.
Now made meat to the birdes that about his carkas are hagling.
Learne by his example yee route of Pruritan Asses,
Not to resist the doings of our most gratious Hester,
Martin is hangd, o the Master of al Hypocritical hangbies.

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