A Letter of comfortable aduise to a Friend.

HOnes • Alexander, I heare thou art of late tallen into an extreame melancholy, by reason of the suddaine departure of Pannella out of this life: for thy sake I am sorie shee hath left her passage on this earth, though being too goo • • or this worlde, she be surely gone to a better; now, if thy mourning could recouer her from death, I could willingly beare part of thy passion, but when it doth her no good, and thy selfe much hurt, let not a wil • ull humour leade thee into a wofull Consumption. Thou knowest she is senceless • in the graue, and wilt thou therefore be witlesse in the world? Say thy loue is extreame, and l • t me beleeue it, wilt thou therefore depriue nature of reason? God forbid it: well, thou knowest I lent thee, and in my loue let me adu • se thee, not to goe from thy selfe, with an imagination of what was, to looseth it which is: because she is in heauen, wilt thou be in hell? or if sh • be h • lfe an Angell, wilt thou be more then h • lfe a diuel? •• spend thy spirit in a better humour: let not the rem • mbrance of her perfection driue thee into unperfections: nor make loue hatefull to oth • r, by seeing the vnhappinesse in thy selfe. O • let not sancte shew folly in thee, howsoeuer vertue deserued honour in her: Leaue thy solitary humor, and come and liue with me, we will d •• nse some good meane • for the remoue of this melancholy: In the meantime make not too much of it, least it proue to a madnesse: Loue thy selfe, and belee •• thy friend, and what is in me to too thee good, commaund as thin • owne: glad I would be to see thee, as he who defy entierly lous thee: and so desirous to heare from thee, to the Almightie I leau • thee. Farewell.

Thine as his owns. D. F.

His Answere.

KInde Francke, I haue receiued thy friendly Letter, and note thy carefull loue: but pardon me, if I do not answere thee to thy liking: Alas, how can he truly iudge of life, that neuer kindly was in loue? or know how soundly to help a sorrow, that neuer inwardly felt it? reading makes a scholler by rule, and obseruation I know doth much in the perfecting of Art, but experience is that which toucheth knowledge to the quicke; My mistresse beautie was no Moone shine, whose vertue gaue light to the harts eye, nor her wisdom, an ordinary wit, which put reason to his perfect vnderstanding: and for her Graces, are they not written among the vertuous? Thou sai • st well, she was too heauēly a creature to make her habitatiō on this earth, & is it not then a kind of hell, to be without her in the world? Imaginations are no dreames, where substances are the obiects of the sences, while the eye of memorie, is neuer weary of seeing. Oh honest Francke, thinke thou hast not liued, that hast not loued, nor canst liue in this world to haue such a loue to die in: It is a dull spirit that is fed with obliuion, and a dead sence, that hath no feeling of loue: thinke therefore what was, is with me: and my selfe as nothing, without the enioying of that something, which was to me as all in all. Is not the presence of an Angell, able to rauish the sight of a man? And is not the light of Beautie the life of loue? Leaue then to burthen me with imperfections in my sorrow for her want, whose presence was my paradise, and whose absence, my world • hell: thou doest misconstrue my good, in languishing for her lacke, and knowest not my hurt, in thinking of any other comfort: • o Francke, let it suffice, though I loue thee, I cannot forget her: and though I liue with thee, yet will I die for her: haue patience then with my passion, till time better temper my affection, in which most diuoted to thee of any man liuing, til I let thee, which shall be as shortly as I well can, I rest.

Thine as thou knowest. D. E.

A Letter of aduise to a yong Courtier.

My good Cousen, I heare you are of late growne a great Courtier, I wish you much grace, and the continuing of your best comfort: but for that your yeares haue not had time to see much, and your kindnesse may hap to be abused, let me intreat you a little now and then to looke to that which I tell you: Keep your purse warily, and your credit charily, your reputation valiantly, and your honor carefully: for your friends, as you finde them, vse them: for your enemies, feare them not, but looke to them: for your loue, let it be secret in the bestowing, and discreet in the placing: for, if fansie be a wanton, wit will be a foole: Scorne not Ladies, for they are worthy to be loued: but make not loue to many, left thou be beloued of none: if thou hast a fauour, be not proud of thy fortune, but thinke it discretion, to conceale a contentment: goe neat, but not gaie, left it argue lightnesse, and take heed of lauish expence, left it begger thy state: play little, and loose not much, vse exercise, but make no toyle of a pleasure: Reade much, but dull not thy braine, and conferre but with the wise, so shalt thou get vnderstanding. Pride is a kinde of coynesse, which is a little too womannish, and common familiaritie, is too neare the Clowne for a Courtier: but carry thy selfe euen, that thou maist fall on neither side: so wil the wise commend thee, and the better sort affect thee: but let me not be tedious, left it may perhaps offend thee: and therfore as I liue, let it suffice I loue thee, And so wishing thee as much good, as thou canst wish to be wished, in praier for thy health, and hope of thy happines, to my vttermost power, I rest, in affectionate good will.

Thine euer assured: H. L.

His Answere.

SWéete Cousen, I thinke you haue either some Court in the Country, or else you are much studied in the Courtier, that you can set downe such rules, as are no lesse worthy the reading, then obseruing: beleeue me, they shall be my best leizures studies, and in my daily courses my counsellors, my solicitors in loue, and my Judges in honor, my guiders in greatest hopes, and my admonitions in greatest dangers: for your paines in them, I thank you, and for your kindnesse, I loue you: your care of me, I see by them, and wil not vnkindly forget them. I must confesse, I finde Courtiers close people, and Ladies strange creatures, and loue so idle an humor, that I am afraide to loose time in it: but the better by your aduise I hope to carry a hand ouer it. For apparel, I wil keepe my stint, and care for no fond fashion: and for exercise, nature is so giuen to ease, that good qualities are almost cut of vse: and for vertue, poore Lady, she is scarce able to liue with her pension: but for study, I haue litle time, so much company withdraweth me • a • d for a booke, next the Bible, your Letter shall be my Library. And thus smiling at such G • lls, as think no grace, but in a gay coat, nor wit, but in a stale Iest, noting many a begger like a king, and many a Lord like a poore gentleman, seeing the truth of Salomon, in his conclusiō of all earthly comforts that all vnder yt Sun is vanitie: meaning not to be a seruant to a base humor, nor to reach higher thē I may hold 〈◊〉 thankful kindnes for thy carefull Letter, and faithfull affection to thy worthy selfe, wishing thee so neare me, that I might neuer be from thee, I rest.

Thine what mine owne. N. B.

A mournfull Letter to a brother.

GOod brother, the misery of my home life, the crosnesse of my cruell fortune, and the vnkindnes of my vnnatural kin, haue made me so weary of this world, that I long for nothing but my latest houre, and yet loth to dispaire of Gods mercies, willing, to take any good course for my commoditie, I haue of late bin perswaded by some of experience in their trauailes into those parts, that my trauaile into the lowe Countries would be much to my commoditie, as wel for my language as my skil in such traffique, as I wold make vse of in those places: but my state being so down the wind, that I know not how to get vp the weather, hauing no stock to laie out, to giue me hope to bring in, I wil euen set vp my rest vpon my resolution o • sc • une, and thrust my selfe into some place of seruice, where I will either win the horse, or loose the sad • ell as If J d • , mercie is my comfort, if I liue, desert is my hope: but to the h • lping forth of this my forlorne spirit, good brother put too your hand, assuring your selfe, that I wil not liue to be vngratefull: for as my heart loueth you, my soule shall pray for you, and when I haue time to see you, I wil not be from you. And thus agreeued to charge you, neuer more meaning to trouble you: beseeching God to enable me to requite you, in the true loue of a naturall brother: I rest.

Yours as mine owne. N. B.

His Answere.

DEare brother, as I grieue at your crosses, so would I that I could as wel procure your comforts. But my state much inferior to my wil, makes me vnable to satisfie your expectatiō: & yet wil I hurt my self, rather then you should perish: for you shal receiue by this bearer, what I am able, and more, as I shalbe better able. But touching your courses for the low Countries, I fear your traffiqu • wil be but litle gainfull, the warres so eate vp the wealth of the country: and for your intent touching armes, I feare your forwardnes is too great for your experience. Yet do I so farre allow of your good mind herein, as I should lesse grieue to heare of your honorable death abroad, thē see your discōtented life at home: and therefore for winning the horse, or loosing the saddle, leaue that to Gods blessing, who wil bestow honor as it shall please his diuine prouidence: but good brother, haue patience with thy crosses, attend mercie for thy comforts, & haue a care of home, howsoeuer thou farest abroad: I know thy mind is great, but take heed of pride lest it be a bar to all thy fortune, and ouerthrow of all thine honor: I see thou art weary of ye world, make thē thy way toward heauē, that God, who hath tried thée with calamities, may blesse thée with eternall comforts. In hope whereof, willing in all I can to helpe thée, praying hartily for thee, with my vnfained hearts loue vnto thee, to the Lord of heauen I leaue thee.

Thy louing brother, D. S.

A Letter of a Iealous husband to his wife.

WIfe, in as much kindnesse as I can, I aduise you to leane such courses, as are neither to your credit, nor my contentment: you know, much company, causes many occasions of Idle spéeches, and yong men are not in these daies, giuen to speak the best of their kind friends: trifles and toies, were better refused, thē accepted, and time i • lely spent, brings but beggery, or a worse blot: of all the birds in the field, I loue not a Cu • koe in my house: truly I do not dissemble with you, your light behauiour doth much dislike me, and how glad I would be to haue it reformed, you shall know when I s • e it: shall I make you fine, to please an other, and displease my selfe? shall I leaue you my house, to make an hospitalitie of ill fellowship? • it me not so with the foole, how euer you feed your selfe with a foule humor: shake off such acquaintance, as gaine you nothing but discredit, and make much of him that must as well winter you as sommer you: Looke to your house, haue a care ouer your children, set your seruants to worke, and haue an eye to the maine chance, leaue tatling gossips, Idle hus wiu • s, vaine headed fellowes and néedlesse charge, so wil God blesse you, and the world wil thriue with you, your neighbours speake well of you, and I shall truly loue you. And thus, hoping that you wil by this my secret admenition, haue a care of your good carriage, I rest in hope of your well doing.

Your louing husband▪ T. F.

Her cunning Answere.

HUsband, with as much patience as I can, I haue red ouer your vnwise Letter, wherein Iealousie kéepes such a stirre, that loue doth but laugh at such Iolenesse: much company driues away idle thoughts, and for fooles it is good to be afraide of had I wist: Ill thoughts beget ill speeches, and an olde dog bites sorer then a yong whelpe: for beggery, let it fall vpon the slothfull, I know how to worke for my • uing: and for blots, speak to scribblers, for I haue no skil in writing. Now for the Bird, to answer you with the Beast: I thinke a Calfe in a Closet, is as ill as a Cuckoe in a Cage: If I were sullaine, you would sure suspect my humor, and doo you mislike my merrie behauiour? wel, your conceit may be deformed, in being so wrongfully informed, to haue me so suddeinly reformed. My finenesse, is your countenance, and my conuersation, your credit: and therefore do you shake off your lowzie humors, I wil make choyse of better company: your house wil stand fast, if it fall not, and your children be quieter then their Father, your seruants earne their wages, and the maine chaunce, is nicked w • ll inough: Wemen must talke when they méete, and men not be scorned, though not entertained: and hée that kéepeth a house, must seeke to defraie the charge. And so hoping that you wil leaue your Iealouzie, and thinke of some ma • ter of more worth, as carefull of my carriage, as you of your credit, meaning to • o as well as I can without your teaching, and as well, as if you were at home. I rest.

Your too much louing wife. I, F.

A Letter of kind Complements to a Friend.

WHere I loue much, I speak little, for affection hath smal pleasure in ceremonies, your kindnesse I haue found, my desert I dare not speake of, least it more offend my selfe to thinke on, then you to looke on, but since you haue made me happie in your acquaintance, let me not too long lacke your company, for though I liue among many good neighb • urs▪ yet do I much want the comfort of so good a • riend, by wh • m I should not only gaine the vse of Time, but fin •• the pr • fi • of my desire: which ioyning issue with your humors, cannot • ut so concurre with your contentment, that if there be a paradise on the earth, I hope to finde it in the faire passages of our loues, which grounded on vertue, and growing in kindnesse, cannot chuse but be blessedly fruitfull. In briefe, til I see you, I will mourne, and if not the sooner, I shall languish: for, my wishing and want cannot be satisfied with absence: hasten therefore your comming, and make your own welcome: for what I haue or 〈◊〉 , enter in the • owle of your possession, where in the freehold of my loue, I assure the substance of my life. And so leauing compliments, to t • ngue spirits, in the truth of an h • nest heart: I rest.

Yours as you do and shall euer know me. N. B.

His Answere.

S •• , I haue receiued your kind Letter, and I finde you ver • e fine at your corner, you wil speake, and say nothing: be eloquent in plainnesse, but you must not speake in the cloudes, to them that are acquainted with the Moone: and say what you wil, I must beléeue of my selfe what I list: for indeed, I know mine owne vnworthinesse, of your commendation, in which, I will rather beare with your affection, then be conceited with your opinion. Yet, not to be either disdainful, or vngratefull, be not so farre deceiued in my disposition, that wherein my presence may pleasure you, I wil answere you with • ine absence, nor long delaie your expectation: for excuse, is but cold kindnesse, and too much haste is not fit: therefore assoone as I conueniently can, I assure you, you shall séeme, and in full measure with your affection finde me, to the vtterm • st of my power, rather in action then prot • station, during life: in faire weather or fowle.

Yours 〈◊〉 mine owne. W. R.

A Letter of Loue to a Gentlewoman.

FAire Mistr • ss • , to Court you with eloquence, were as ill as to gréeue you with gross • humors: let it therefore please you, rather to beleeue what I write, th • n to note how I speak, for my hart being fired in your eies, hath vowed my seruice to your bewtie: in which, finding reasons admiration, can think but of nature in her perfection: in which, being rauished about it selfe, cra • eth of your fauour to be instructed by your kindnes: I meane no further then in obedience to your commaundement: for if I be any thing my selfe, it shall be nothing more then yours: and lesse then nothing, if not yours in all. I could commend you aboue yt skies, compare you with the Sun • e, or set you among the Starres, figure you with the Phoenix, and imagine you a Goddesse: but I will leaue such weake praising fictions, and thinke you onely your selfe: whose vertuous beautie, and whose honorable discretion, in the care of a little kindnes, is able to command the loue of y• wife, and the labours of the honest, with the best of their endeuours in the happinesse of your imployment, to seeke the height of their fortune: thinke not therefore I flatter you in hope of f • uour, but honour you in y• desert of worthinesse: in which if you wil vouchsafe to entertaine the seruice of my affection, what you shall find in my loue, I wil leaue to your kindnes to cōsider. In the care of which comfort, crauing pardon to my presumption, I rest humbly and wholy,

Yours directed to be commaunded. E. W.

Her Answere.

SIr, I haue heard schollers say, that it is Art to cōceale Art, and that vnder a face of simplicitie, is hidden much subtiltie: of which, howe sillie Women neede to be afraide, I will leaue to wise men to consider. And though I cannot in fine nor fitte tearmes, aunswere the humour of your writing, yet after a plaine and homely fashion, I will entreate you to accept of my writing: Perfection and corruption, cannot méet • together in one subiect, and therefore my imagined •• a • tie, bring but a shadow of deceit, beleeue not your eyes, til they haue a better speculation: and for the inward parts of commendations, I am perswaded, that wit is not worth any thing, that is drawne into admiration of nothing: only this, not vnkindly to requit your good thoughts of little worth, leauing fi • i • ns • o idle fansies, let me intreat you not to mistake your figures, and to honour a better substance then my vnworthie selfe. And yet, so farre to assure your desert of my contentment, that wherein I may conueniently counter • aile the care of your kindnesse, excuse my indiscretion, if I faile of my desire, in which, wishing you more happinesse, then to be commaunded by my vnworthinesse, I rest as I may.

Your louing poore friend. M. W.

A Letter of scorne to a coy Dame.

MIstresse Fubbes, if you were but a little faire, I see you would be mightily proude, and had you but the wit of a Goose, you would surely out hisse the Gander: but, being with as bad qualities as can be wished, as rich as a new shorne sheepe, I hope, fortune is not so mad, as to blesse you further then the begger: It is not your holy-day face put on, after the ilfauoured fashion, can make your halfe Nose, but ougly in a true sight: and but that you are exceedingly beholding to the Taylor, you might be set vp for the Signe of the Sea Crabbe. Now, for your parentage, to helpe out the hope of all the rest, when the Tinkers sonne, and the Coblers daughter, met vnder a hedge at the milking of a Bull, within forties wéeks after, what fel out you know. Now, not too plainly to laie open the • owle members of a filthie carkass • , but, as patiently as I can to kéepe Decorum, in your description, l • t me tell you, that all this, and much more, being true in your disgraces, I cannot chuse but ma •• aile, that you mourne not to death in imagination: to thinke, that a monster in na • ure, can haue any grace in reason, but, let it be as it is: I haue • ut lost a little breath in talking to a deaffe eare, for I meane • o take no more trauell to the subiect of so ill an obiect: and therefore meaning to make my farewell and beginning with you, both at one instant, leauing you to loathe your self, as one, whom no creature can well be in loue withall: sorie that I euer sawe you, and neuer more entending to trouble you. In recompence of your course entertainment, I rest in all vnkindnesse: this present and alwaies.

Yours as much as may be. T. E.

Her Answere.

MAister Swash, it is not your hustie rustie, can make me afraid of your bigge lookes: for I sawe the pla • e of Auncient Pistoll, where a craking coward was well cudgeled for his knauery: your railing is so neare the Rascall, that I am almost ashamed to bestow so good a name as the Rogue vppon you▪ but for modesties sake, I will a little forbeare you, and only tell you, that a hanging look • , and a hollow hart, a cunning wit, and a corrupted conscience, make you so •• t a mate for the diuel, that there is no Christian wil desire your company: now for your state, it is much vpon fortune, which brings many of your fellows to a deadly fall, when the paine of their heads is only healed with a halter: and for your linage, when the Bearewards Ape, and the hangmans Monky met together on a hay mowe, what a whelp cam • of such of such a litter, let the world iudge, I say nothing: now for your stumpe feete, and your lame hand, suting kindly with your wry necke, who would not make of their eyes, that could endure the sight of such a picture? now, your wealth being but in a fewe words, which you haue almost all spent in idle humors, hoping that the Tortus wil not quarel with the Crabbe, and that when you haue slept vpon your Al • , you will get a medicine for your madnesse, till the Woodcocke do tell you how the Dawcocke hath caught you, leaning further to thinke on you, more then vtterly to • oathe you, glad that your entertainment was so much to your discontentment: In full measure with your malice, I rest.

Yours as you see. A. W.

A Letter to a fowle Dowd • e.

MIstresse, I heare that you thinke your selfe faire, but you are much deceiued, for the Curriers Dyle, is but a cours • kinde of painting: and for wit, howe farre you are from vnderstanding, the wise can tell you: now, for qualities, where you learned them I know not, but if you could leaue them, • wer • well: I wonder not a little, what madnesse hath possessed your braines, that you can make so much of your selfe: are your eyes your owne: or are they so sealed they cannot sée? get you to your praiers, and leaue making of loue, for age and an euil fau • ur, ha • néed to be helped with a good purs • : I heare you study Musique, indeed, when an Owle sings, the Nightingale will hold her peace: but for shame learne not to dance, for a barrell can but tumble: but if you would vse a medicine for your téethe, you might be the better to speake with in a morning: what ailes you to buy a • anne, except it be to hide your face? and til your hande • be whole, you s • ould weare but dogs leather for your gloues: In truth you abuse your selfe, that you keep not your chamber, for none sees you but laughes at you, or at least loatheth to looke vpon you: be therefore content to do as I wish you, speake with none but by Atturney, leaue the Painter to better Pictures, and rather grieue at nature for framing of you, then thinke of any thing that may helpe you: your goods bestow on me for my counsell, and make sute to Death for your comfort. And thus hoping that being weary of your selfe, you will hasten to your graue, I end.

Yours as you see. H. I.

Her Answere.

SIr you may thinke your selfe wise, but you do not shewe it, for railing words, are the worst testimonies of a good wit: for good qualities I thinke you know them not, nor can goe from the euil: but for madnesse, I thinke it sorteth best with your humor. For the helpe whereof, it were good that you were let blood in the braine: but for ill sight, who is so blind as bold ba •• rd, that wil not sée his owne folly? my prayers I will not forget to God, to blesse me from such foule spirits on the earth, and for loue, more then Charitie, I hold you the furthest off in my thought: now knowing your pouertie, I wonder you will speake of a purse, and for an ilfauoured face, goe to Parish garden to your good brother, indeed your Croidon sanguine, is a most pure complexion: but for your Tabacco it is a good purge for your rewine: for my Fanne it keepes me sometime from the fight of such a vizard, as your good face: and for my hands I keepe my nailes on my fingers, though you cannot keepe your hayre on your head: now for laughing at fooles, you are pr • uided for a Corcombe, and for loathing an ill countenance, let the hangman draw your picture: be therefore contented to be thus answered, speake wisely, or hold your peace, and be not busie with your betters, least you know the nature of had I wist: so, hoping that you wil be so wearie of the world, that you will hang your selfe for a medicine, to heale your wits of a melancholy, I will bequeath you a halter vpon free cost, at your pleasure: and so I rest.

Your friend for such a matter. E. P.

A Letter for the preferring of a seruant.

SIr, knowing your necessary vse of a good seruant, and remembring your late speech wt me touching such a matter, I thought good to commend vnto you in that behalf the bearer hereof W. T. a man whose honest secrecie, and carefull diligence, vpon a reasonable trial, wil soone make proofe of his • ufficiencie: his parentage is not base, nor his disposition vile, but in all parts requisite in one of his place, such a one, as I am perswaded will fit your turne: if therefore at my request, you will entertaine him. I doubt not, but you wil thank me for him: for I was glad to get him for you, and hope to heare he will much content you: and thus loth to trouble you with longer circumstances, leauing his seruice to your good regard, and my loue, to your like commandement in affectionate good will, I rest.

Yours euer assured. N. B.

The Answere.

SIr, I haue receiued both your Letter, and the bearer, both which I wil make much of for your sake: for in the one I will often see you, and in the other remember you: your commendatiō of him, argueth your knowledge, a sufficient warrant for his worth, which I wil as kindly, as thankfully think on: his countenance I like wel, and his speech better, and for the performance of my expectation, am the better perswaded of his discretion: when I see you, you shall know how I like him, in the meane time, hee shall find that I wil loue him: for all things necessary for his present vse, I find him sufficiently furnished: but if I find his want, it shall be soone supplied. So thanking you for sending him, and wishing you had come with him, remaining your kind debter • il a good occasion of requital, with my hartie commendations, I commit you to the Almightie.

Your verie louing friend. R. T.

A Letter of counsell to a friend.

MY best approued, and worthiest beloued Philo, I heare by some of late come from Venice, that seeme to be somewhat inward in thy acquaintance, that thou art of late, fa • nt into an amorous humor, especially with a subiect of too much vnworthines: a newes, that (knowing thy spirit) I could hardly beleeue, but vpon solemne affirmation, I was sorie to beare: for, beautie, without wealth, is but a beggerly charu • e, & honor without vertue, is but a little for a Title: hath she a glib tongues it is pittie she hath no better wit: is she witti • , it is a sorrow, it is n • better best • wed: for the craft of one woman, is the confusion of many a man: doth she say she loues thee? beléeue her not: nay, doth she loue • hee? regard it not: for it is a Iewell of so little worth, as wil giue but 〈◊〉 in the buying: I feared the plague had taken hold of thy lod • in • : but thou art peppered with a world of infection: thy studie 〈…〉 with • oleness • , thy braine with dizinesse, and thy spirit with madnes: O • leaue these follies, think loue but a dreame, and beautie a shadow, and folly a witch, and repentance a misery: wake out of thy sleepe, and call thy wittes together, be not sotted with an humour, nor slaue to thy selfe will, leaue courting of a Curtizan, and keepe thy breath for a better blast: saue thy purse for a better purpose, and spend thy time in more profit: let not the wise laugh at thee, and the honest lament thee: for my selfe, how I grieue for thee, I would I could tell thee: but let thus much suffice thee: beleeue nothing that shee saieth, care for nothing that she doth, nor giue her any thing that she wants: see her, but to purge melancholy, talke with her, but to sharpen wit, giue her, but to be ridde of her company, and vse her but according to her conditiō, so shalt thou haue a hand ouer those humors, that would haue a head, ouer thy heart: and be maister of thy sences, by the vertue of thy spirit, otherwise, Will hauing gotten the bit in his téethe, will runne away with the bridle: and Reason, being cast off, may neuer sit well againe in the saddle: but why do I vse these perswasions for the remoue of thy passions? If thou be soundly in, thou wilt hardly get out: but if thou be but ouer shoes, thou maist be saued from drowning: well, whatsoeuer I heare, I hope the best, but to a •• • d the worst, I haue presumed out of my loue, to send thee this fruit o • my affection. In which, if my care may doo thee comfort, I • h • l • thinke it a great part of my happinesse: howsoeuer it 〈◊〉 , I co •• it the consideration to thy kindnesse. And so till I • eare from thee, which I daily long for: I rest.

Thine as his owne. N. R.

His answere.

Gentle Millo, I haue receiued thy most kinde and carefu •• Letter, a messenger of the most honest loue, who hath tolde me no lesse then I wholy beleeue: that loue in idlenesse, is the very entrance to madnesse: but yet, though I will thinke on thy counsell, giue me leaue a little, to goe on along with conceit: whereof let me tell thee my opinion. Beautie without wealth is little worth: but being a riches in itselfe, how can it be poorely valued▪ and honour, beeing but the state of vertue, how can you plucke a little out of her • tytle▪ the tongue is the instrument of wit, and wit the approuer of discretion: where it Reason b • grauelled, nature may bée admyred: now for words they hau • their substance, and loue is not to bee abused: for it is a Iewell well knowne, that is worthy his price: Intrations are cuerie where, and Iealousie a most cruel plague, but rid thy selfe of that disease, and feare not my health in the other: conceit is a kinde of dizinesse, which worse formented then with idlenesse, is troubled with too strong a madnesse: but he that is unwise had need to be reformed: and he that laughes at an imperfection, may fall himselfe vpon the foole: now for a mad dreame, or an imagined witch, a conceited sleepe, or an intreated waking, I must confesse they are pr • tie humours, and will thinke of their errors: now for lotting and slauerie, and for courting in • nauerie, be perswaded, that time will employ my purse to better purpose: then grieu • not for mee, but onely loue mee, and let that suffice mee: and for thine aduice in seeing, talking, and giuing, feare not the had • wist of my folly: for he that is master of himselfe, shall not need to his mistresse: and therefore hee that cannot ride, let him leaue the saddle: for Reason hath a power ouer 〈◊〉 , where 〈◊〉 is but a seruant to Nature: in the certainty of which course, intending so to lay my hand on my heart, that I will feare no ho • nes on my head, with many thankes for thy kinde perswastons, hoping thou will take no exceptions at my constructions, intreating thee to bel • ue of me no more then thou needest, and to loue me as thou doest, in the faith of that affection, that holds th •• beare to my loue, I rest: during life.

Thine obliged and diuoted. W.B.

A Letter of comfort to a sister in sorrow.

DEare sister, I heard lately of your husbands departure for the Indies, when with no little sorrow I considered your heauie case: in which, finding his wants to be grieuous, and your friends colde in comfort, I could not chuse, without unkindnesse, but remember these fewe lines of my loue unto you: I knowe your state is weake, how faire so euer you make your weather; but the more is your patience worthy honour, that can so nobly conceale your discontentments; for my selfe, I would I were able to doo you good, but what I haue, or can procure, shall not faile to doo you pleasure: but if your minde be too great to stoupe, to be beholding, what I am able to doo, take a dutie in my brothers loue: good sister therefore be of good cheare, and put your care upon me, I will soe you often, and loue you euer: for a creature of your worthinesse is seldome found in your sere: that for her husbands loue will aduenture the state of her liuing: your children are not many, but such as are shall be mine, and you to me as myselfe: take therefore as litle thought, and as much comfort as you can, no doubt but God that trieth his seruants, will blesse them: hope then of my brothers happie returne, and fill he come, commaund me, shortly God willing you shall see mee, in the meane time let me entreat you kindly to accept this little token of my greater loue, which is but an assurance of a beginning of my affections neuer ending, in which predicament of true friendship, I rest euer assured.

Your very louing sister, E.W.

Her answere.

SWéete sister, I haue receiued your kinde Letter and louing token, for both which, I am your thankefull debtor; but to • ching which husband, though his wants were grieuo • s, yet to want him, is my greatest sorrewe, for in the stay of his loue was the state of my liuing: I am sorie that you know my weakenesse, and with it but in strength to • unswere your kindnesse: but good sister, though I am willing to conceale my crosses, to be beholding to so honourable a spirit, I count i • not the least of my happinesse, Therefore, though I haue diu • ted my selfe to solitarinesse in his absence, your company shall bee to me as light in darknesse and no • ing the nature of your kindnesse, will euer be beholding to your loue: come then to me when you will, and commaund me what you will, for I will be as goe and you will: my children are my worlds ioyes, and my hearts Iewels in whose faces I will behold their father, in whose loue I will spend my life: so in a merrie goe sorrie, grieuing for his ab • ence, and wishing your presence, praying for his happie returne, your health, and mine owne patience, that in too much passion of affection, I fall not upon indiscretion, with most heartie thankfull loue, I commend my life to your commaundement.

Yours affectionately bound. E.G.

A Letter of loue to a faire Mistresse.

Farre Mistresse, to trouble you with a long circumstance, • might perhaps feare you with the losse of time, and to make an end ere I begin, might argue little care in my conceit; but to auoyd both suspitions, let me a little entreat with your patience, to peruse in a fewe words, the summe of a long tale, in which, the truth of loue, to the latest houre of death, protesteth the ioy of • i • life, but in the fruite of your fauour, of which the thought of his unworthinesse, toth too much shewe his unhappinesse. Time makes me too briefe, but in your wisedome is my hope of understanding, that in my tryall you may trust me, and by desert esteem me: in which, if I deceiue your expectation, let me die in the misery of your disdaine. Thus not to flatter you with a faire •• le in the state of your worthie commendation, beseeching to be commaunded by the kinde care of your discretion, in the handes of avowed seriuce, I humbly rest.

Yours alwaies assured, R.O.

The Answere.

SIr, as I would be loth so be thought proud, I would as v • willingly be found idle: either to beleeue too well of my selfe, or, not to haue a respect of other: Truthe is sildome marked with smoothe words, and loue is not bredde, but upon great contentment: your lyking may be greater then my desert, and so alter vpon a better consideration: but mistake not your happinesse, in my fauours unworthinesse, where the best of my commaundement, may be the least of your contentment. Your consideration of time may excuse my shortnesse of writing, where in a word you may understand, that in deed I intend: that Truthe in honourable in loue, and vertue the fairest ioy in affection: in which, it I not misconstrue your conce •• , I will answere the care of your kindnesse: in which, according to the due of desert, you shall finde the effects of your desire. And so for this time I rest.

Your poore friend. A.T.

A Letter of counsaile from a kinde Father.

MY deare sonne, you must not from your father looke for a flattering loue, no • take it unkindly, that I suspect your • ll courses: for I haue passed the dangereus tune y• you now are in, and haue hardly go • e through the briers: and therfore in a iealous feare, from an inward care, I cannot • h • se but giue you w • rning of what may pre •• dice your good. Beautie is a bewitching obied, and • anto • nes is the ruine of wit: prodigality quickly makes a poore man, and he is only rich that liues contented. But my good sonne, aboue all things serue God, and keep a cleane conscience, passe not the limits of allegeance, nor build Castles in the aire, take h •• d of extremities, for they are out of the course of discretion, and the fruite of Ignorance, yeelds but the sorrow of repentance: young men may be wittie, but •• ldome wise: and sometime, though • rt be a great perfecter of Experience, yet obseruation, is better then conceited • unning. • rpence is necessary upon occasion, and hope, is not amiss • upon desert: but Reason sometime is more regarded, then rewarded, where • ill is too powerfull to be resisted. I heare that you are much giuen to Alch • mistry, it is a studie of great charge to many, and profiteth • ewe: yet I forbid you no good labour, so that you loose not by the bargaine: •• e therefore a care in the imployment of your time, and wherein my helps may further your good, seeke no other friend for your comfort. For though I would not wish you to disda • ne any kindnesse, yet would I haue you as litle as you may to be beholding to any man: for the prodigall are commonly talkatiue, and the couctous negatiue: and what a griefe it is to want, • pray God you neuer knowe. Any qualitie in a mediocritie, • g •• dly allow you, but let not your loue be carried away with ang i • le imagination. I haue sent you a hundreth Crownes, w •• may you vse them, and when you need any moe, send to me for them: for your affection touching marriage, I would it were bestowed as I could with it: howeuer it be, it shall be much amisse, it I mi • k • ke • . I haue sent you likewise a Horse, now and than to manage in a morning, but I pray you forbeare to use him as a • ackney to ride up and downe the streetes in idle humors. Conuerse with no fooles, for you shall loose time with them: and take heede of knaues, for there is much to be feared in them. Long not after newes, least you be gu • d with a • east: and take heed of drunkennesse, for it is a healthy humor. Make much of thy money, and abuse not thy friend: be carefull of thy selfe, and forget not thy Father, whose earthly ioy is but in the hope of thy happinesse, and whose deadly sorrowe would be to soe thee 〈◊〉 amisse. What shall I say more to thee • thou knowest I loue thee, and only in my loue am I thus carefull ouer thee. Accept then my admonitions, and ponder vpon the constructions, they may happe to 〈◊〉 thee good, but harme they can doo thee none: • se them therefore for thy best auaile. After the Terme, the bacation will call thee into the Countrey, where knowing thy Fathers house, thou maist make thine owne welcome. • ill when, and alwaies, I will pray for thee, that God will so blesse thee, that I may haue ioy in thee.

Your louing Father, H. W.

A kind Answere of a louing sonne.

My deare Father, as I wil not flatter myselfe with your loue, so can I not but ioy in your kindnes: whose carefull counsell within the compasse of so fewe words, I will lock up in my hart, as the best iewel of my life: for to serue God, is the dutie of a Christian, and no longer let me line, then in the care of that comfort. A cleane conscience I finde like a cleane paire of sheetes, where the soule after labors may take a safe place of rest: to passe the limits of allegeance, merits the losse of life, and he is borne •• happie that is unnatural to his country: and a • ery castles, are but mad mens imaginations: I know extremes are not durable, nor often prefitable: and repentance, a paiment, that pincheth the • art of understanding.

I finde the instruction of the aged to be the best direction of the youthfull, and obseruation with Experience to make the perf • ction of Art: the necessitie of Experience cannot be a • yed, but the hope of desert may be deceiued: for, while will standes for iudgement, there is no holding of argument: touching Al • hamistry, I heare much, but beleeue little: and for the charge, I will not waste your Lande, to make a new mettall: but if by my industry I can doo good, I will take the benefite of Time: for qualities, I thanke your large allowance, the best meanes with labour to attaine them, for Teachers, are worthie their rewards: to be beholding I loue not, and hate to be ungratefull: But as I follow not the prodigall, I haue little pleasure in the courtous: and for idle imaginations, I can vse them as fictions: for your Crownes, I humbly thanke you, and hope to bestow them to your 〈◊〉 . Your • orse will doo me much pleasure, and cause me to see you the sooner. For gallopping the streets, it is like children upon • obby horses, but gi •• ie heades haue such humours, that God knoweth what will become of them: for mariage, though the course be honourable, yet could I be content to forbeare it, though in the •• re • ion of my affection, I wi • l be much ruled by your discretion: Fooles c • nnot understand mee, and knaues wil but trouble me: but from the company of 〈◊〉 conditions, the Lord of heauen deliuer mee: good newes come neuer too soone, nor badde too late, and therefore as they are, I wil est •• me them: For drunkennesse ne • er doubt mee, for it is most l • athsom • to my nature: and for my mony, though it being seruant, I will hold it as my good friend: for my friend he shall be my selfe; but my father my hearts loue, and my lifes comfort: in whose carefull admonitions, how kinde I f •• de the ininstructions, the obedience of my dutie, shall make knowne to your contentment: the vacation is neare, and I will not be long from you: where finding you well, shall be my best welcome: so thinking my selfe bless in the heauens, to haue so good a Father on the earth, beseeching God to make me ioyfull in your eyes, by the graces of his mercies, in praier for your long health, with your hearts euer happinesse; In all humble thankes, I take my leaue.

Your obedient sonne, T.W.

A Merchants Letter to his Factor.

As I haue reposed trust in your care, I looke for your performance of my credit: your abilitie in managing such matters as I haue committed to your charge, I make no doubt of: and therefore hoping in your discretion to heare of my expected contentment, I will looke by your next Letters to heare of the summe of my desire: in the meanetime, let me tell you, that I haue sent you ouer foure score broad cloathes, and thirtie Car • ies, with such other commodities as I thinke fit for your use in those parts, I pray you make your best market, and take heed of your Creditors: for I heare there are men reputed of great wealth, in suspition to play banquerup • s, haue therefore a care of your businesse, your trauels shall not bee unconsidered: your French Wines I heare this yeare are very small, and your Gascoigne Wines very deare, Prunes cheape, but you know your markets, and so I hope you will haue care in disbursing your money, for it is hardly come by, and as this world goes, • ooth much in great matters: if there boe any Newes of woeth, acquaint me with them, and in any wise, doo not trouble me with untruthes: your Cou • en telles mee that you are in good regard with the Gouernour for certaine cloathes that you lately bestowed on him, hee tolde mee the cause, and therein I commend your discretion: for sometime it is better to giue then to saue, when it turneth to aduantage. In summe, let this suffice you without further circumstance, you haue my loue, and my purse, I pray haue a care of them both: so till I heare from you, I rest.

Your loving Maister▪ W.H.

His answere.

S •• , I beseech you mistrust not your trust, nor haue any fear • of my care, for, hauing both your loue and your purse, how can the one let me forget the other: • o sir, bee you assure • howsoeuer banquers play banquerou • , sure pawnes will dece • ue no credite: and touching such affaires as I haue in charge, doubt not your expectation of my dispatch: your cloathes • haue receiued, and like them very well, year Car • ies are verie good, I would you had sent more of them, for they are much in request, and well sol • e. I haue by good happe met with a hundre • Tunne of Gascoigne Wines, upon a good market, as you may knowe by my note. Prunes are good, and good cheape, and therefore I haue sent you the greater store of them, on the • a • tes you shall finde my marke, with two letters of your name. I haue sent you likewise, a Tunne of Cuchiniles, which I bought by a great cha • nce, the price you shall find • in my note with the rest. By the next Poste you shall heare what I neede, in the meane time hauing no intelligence of worth, • oth to trouble you with •• • tle • , glad to perform • that 〈◊〉 that your kindnesse hath bounde me too, wishing to liue no longer, then to discharge the office of an honest care, praying for your long health, and euerlasting happinesse: I humbly take my leane.

Your faithfull seruant▪ C.B.

A Letter of chalenge.

My wrongs are so many, as may no longer be dige • ted, and your excuses so idle, as I will beneforth despise them: for your words are but winde, and therefore I am wearie of them: and therefore if you bee not of so cold a complexion that you bare not maintaine your reputation, méete me to morrow early in the morning in some • elds a mile out of Towne, and bring with you such Armes as you doo ordinarily carrie, assigne your place, a • d houre, and fa • e not your appointment, that God the Iudge of 〈◊〉 , may determine of our wrongs, and the point of the sword may put a period to our discourses, Thus, hauing blowne ouer an idle paper, with a fewe last words of my intent, answer • me as I expect, or • eare of me as it will fall out. • n haste.

Your enemie to the death. T.P.

The answere.

What you haue written to me, I returne upon your selfe, as loth to loose time in answere of such idlenesse: if you burst goe alone, I would goe with you, but let it suffice you, that I know •• u, and therefore meane not to trust you, but bring a friend with you, and I am readie for you: come to my lodging as early as you wil, and though I would be loth to breake a sleepe for you, yet I will take a little paine to answere you: and for the field, wee will cast lo •• es for the place, where God, and a good conscience, will quick • y determine t • e quarell: but I feare the point of the sword will make a comma to your • unning: which if it doo, you shall finde wh • t will follow, And so leauing further w • rds, wishing you to be as good as your word, I end.

Yours as you mine. H.W.

A merri • Letter or Newes of complaints.

HOnest George, mine olde schoolefellow, and kinde friend, glad to heare of thy home quiet, how euer I fare w •••• y farre trauell: whereas thou writest vnto me, for such Newes as this place • eelds, let me tell thee, that there are so many, and so fewe of them true, that I dare almost write none; onely this, vpon my knowledge, I dare deliuer th •• : that of late in this Cittie, there are a number of complaints, euery houre in the day, but all to little purpose. The Souldier complaines either of peace, or pe •• rie: the Lawier either of lacke of Clients, or cold f • es: the Merchant of small trafficke, or ill fortune▪ the Trades man of lacke of Chapmen: the labourers of lacke of worke: the poor • men of lacke of charitie, and the rich men of lacke of money: the th • efe of lacke of booties: and the hangman, that his trees are bare: in brief • , if I should tel th • e of all the complaints that I heare of, as well among the Feminine, as Masculi • e gender, how so • e old women crye out of young vnth • ifts, and some young wenches complaine • f olde misers: How some complaine of their customers, and some other of their neighbours, it were such a world of idle sto •• e, as would but trouble thee in the reading: but since their complaints are all to little purpose, for that S • uldiers are but for e • tremities, though honourable in their erploy •• , and Lawiers are some tr • ublesome, except vpon agreement of controue • s • es, though Iudges are worthy honour in execution of iu •• ice: and Merchants may beare with fort • ne, when their Coffers are full of coyne, though in respect of their trafficke, they are the maintenance of the Common-wealth: and Trades men may sell cheape, when their best wares are all vttered, though it is necessarie, that they bee set on worke for the maintenance of the state: and labourers may rest, when their Haruest is in, though it be needfull to set them to worke for the auoyding of idlenesse: beggers m • y hold their peac • , when they haue filled the patches of their profession, though it is not amisse to relieue them for the exercise of charitie: now the rich men may shrugge their shoulders, when they haue no vse for their bagges, though sometim • it be requ ••• t rather to be sparing, then prodigall: and for th • Th • efe, let him •• gh till the hangman doo help • him: and for th • hangman let him mourne, for hee i • sure the diuell lie • in wait • for him; and therefore let the old • me • ill munch, and the young titte mourne, I cannot helpe them, but as I h • are of their complaints, I haue written thee the contents, which being scarc • worth the reading, I l • aue to thy worst vsing. And so sorrie that I haue no matter of worth, wherewith better to fit thin • humor, in as much kindnesse as I can, I commend my loue to thy com •• • ndement: and so I 〈◊〉 .

Thine euer 〈◊〉 his 〈◊〉 . W. P.

The answere of the l • ugh.

MY good wagge, I see trauell hath not so altred thine humor, but thou wil • euer be thy selfe with thy •• ien • s: for thy kind Letter I thanke thee, and as kindly as I can, will requi • e thee: as you are there full of sorrow, we are here full of mirth: for in euery place there is nothing so cōmon as laughing: one laughs at an other: the wise man laughes at the •• • le, to see the nature of his imperf • ctions: and the foole laughes at the wise man, becaus • nature lets him know none of his sorrowes: the rich man laughes at the poore, to see the maner of his life: and the poore man laughe • at the rich, to s • e the miserie of his care: the faire laughes at the sowle, to see how they are despised, and the fowle laugh at the faire to see how they are troubled: the honest laugh at the knau • , to see how he shifts with the world: and the knaue laughes at the honest, to see how his simplicitie is abused; for particulars, how any one laughes at the other, eyther the old at the youthfull, or they at the aged, I dare say nothing: but w • rt thou hare, and had I not the more cause of sorrow, we would laugh a little together to loo •• at the laugher of this world: but they say, he may laugh y• wim • es, at least till he loose againe: but the natures of their laughing are diuers and very strange, for some laugh so loude that they are noted foolish: some laugh so wide, that they shame their mouthes with lacke of teeth: and some laugh so cunningly, that they •• • ther it vp in a smile: but let them laugh till they be wearie, it is a good world whē men are merry. Which hoping thou art, or praying thou maiest be, that when we kindly me • t, we may commune better of these conceits, wishing thee all contentment, and my selfe the pappinesse of thy good company, till I see thee and euer, I rest: one and the same.

Thine as thou knowest. R. W.

A Letter to a friend for Newes.

COuzen, I know you that liue abroad in the world, cannot but heare of newes euery day, which we here in the Countrey would be glad now and than to • ee acquainted with: your labour will not be much in writing, and for your kindnesse, it shall not be vnrequited: we heare much murmuring of many things, but little truth of any thing: but from you that know, I would be glad to learne. There i • a speech among some idle Astronomers, that the man in the Moone hath fal • e in loue with a Starre, and walking through the cloudes, was almost • rowned in the water: and that the Tomblers of y• forrest haue spoiled a number of black Conneys, so that Rabbots are so deare, that a poore man may bee glad of a peece of mutton. It is said heere with vs in these parts, that you of the Citie are much troubled with a new disease, truly we haue reasonable good health, but that there are such plagues in diuers houses, what with shrewd wiues, and euill husbands, stubborne chil • ren, and wicked seruants, that many honest men cannot liue in quiet with their neighbours. Though the Spring be not very forward, yet there is great encrease of many things, especially of children▪ which how they may answere the • awe, I will not greatly stan • vpon. Thus hauing no matter of moment wherwith at this time to trouble you, entreating you that I may •• ortly heare from you, I • est, in much aff • ction.

Assuredly yours. R. T.

His Answere.

MY good Cousen, to answere your kinde Letter, if there were any thing heere worth the writing, I would not haue beene so long silent, but such are the occurrents in these places, as are either not worth the noting, or better vnspoken the • written: for loue in youth is • o full of idleness • , and malice in age so malicious, that vertue is so hid vp in corners, that there is little or nothing spoken of her account. For the man of the Moone, I leaue him to waite on the Sunne, but if he haue a mind to any Starre, I leaue him to follow his owlight: for his watery element, since it is all in cloudes, let it hang in the Ayre, I will not meddle with his louing Astronomy. For Connies, I am no Warrener, and therefore let them that haue the keeping of the groundes, looke to their game: I haue small sport in such idlenesse: but for a peece of mutton, a young lambe is worth fiue old Connies, and he that is not glad of such a feast, let him fast for his dinner. For our new disease, it is with many men in the head, • women in the tongue, seruants grow great libertines, and children are sicke of the parents: and for neighbours, there is so much loue in the streets, that there is almost none in the houses: and therefore besides other ordinarie diseases, we want no plagues to make vs looke into our sinnes. But God amend all, for one s • arc • mend an other: and therefore entreating you to haue patience with me till the next weeke; when you shall heare of the best Newes that come to my hands, I rest: in bounden good will.

Yours as mine owne. N. R.

A disswading from marriage.

SWeete Cousen, I am sorie to heare, that being so well at ease, you wil coosin your self of your quiet: and for want of a worlds hell, you will put your selfe into a purgatorie with a wife: but if it may be that I speake in time: heare what I s • y, 〈◊〉 shee be faire, it may b • eed iealousie: if foul • , dis • ike, • nd chau • ge: if rich, take h •• d of prid • : if poore, mis • rie: if young, bew • re the w • nt •• : if • l • , take heed of the • eldame: if wise, sh •• will gouern • thee: i • foolish, she will fret thee: how deare soeuer she loue thee, she will sometime or other, either crosse or fl • tter thee: and therfore, if thou wilt be ruled by a friend, let neither old nor young, faire nor • eu' • trouble thee: beleeue me, as I haue read, these are ye properties of most wiues: to weaken strrin • th, to trouble wit, to e • ptie purses, and to breed humors: but if I be deceiued in my reading, or mine Author in his writing, either in altering your course, or prouing your comfort, tel me your minde when we meete. Till when, wishing you continuance of that quiet, wherein you now liue, or the true contentment of the best loue: leauing to your discretion, the mannaging of your affection, I commit you to the Almightie.

Thine euer • s his owne. T. W.

The answere.

GOod Cou •• n, I find your kindnesse aboue your knowledge, in mistaking paradice for purgato • ie: for, a wife is y• wealth of the minde, and the welfare of the heart: where the best iudgement of Reason findes Discretions contentment. May b • is a • oubt: but what is, must be regarded, in which • ence I an • pleased: where youth with beautie, and wit with • ert •• , haue power to command, where kindness • must obey. Pouertie I feare not, and wealth I seeke not: but it sufficeth • e to seeke no other fortune • o: the summe of my worlds happinesse: where the auoyding of euill, and the hope of good, makes me know more comfort then you are able to cōceiue, till you enter into that course, wher • in the • oy of loue is the second blessednesse of this life. What shall I say, but that I know not what to say, to expresse the perfection of this pleasure, that puts downe all idle imaginations: from which, hoping to see thee remoued, when I next see thee. Till then and • uer I rest.

Thine as thou knowest. B. D.

A kinde Letter of a Creditor for mony.

SI • , I pray you take it not vnkindly, that I write thus earnestly vnto you, for more necessitie, then will hath v • ged me vnto it: my m • ny is not much, and you well able to discharge it, the day of paiment is past, and I haue great occasion to vse it, my losses by sea, and ill Creditors by land, make me strain curtesse with my friends, for their good helpe in an extremitie, yet d •• I desire nothing but my due: but as I was readie to lend, I would be glad to receiue, with that fulnesse of good will, that may continue our kindnesse. I write not this, as doubting your discretion, but t • intreat your patience, if your purse be not in tune: for were I as I haue bene, and hope to be, I had rather beare • oo long, then as •• too soone, especially of so good a friend, as I haue alwaies found of your selfe. Consider therefore of my case, and in your kindnes answere me: Time is pretious, and therfore least by disapointment, I be disfurnished, and so perhaps discredited, I pray you speed • your answere: which, howsoeuer, shall be welcome: and therfore, • arnestly intreating you, to helpe me now, that I may the better • uil your kindnesse hereafter, with many thankes for your great fauours, which cannot be forgotten to be deserued: I take my leaue further at this time to trouble you, but will rest in what I shall be able euer to pleasure you, to make you know how much I loue you.

Your louing friend at commaund. T. R.

The debters Answere.

SIr, your request is so reasonable, and your kindnes so much, that for a greater matter then your demand, if my purse were not in tune, I would strain my credit very farre for you: • eare then with my a little forgetfu •• es of my day, and thinke it • o trouble to my patience, to be put in minde of my credit: your sea losses I am sor •• for, and wish your recouery by land. Debters that will not pa • e, make Cred •• ors they cannot lend: but for my selfe, to make you know, how much interest you haue in my affection, let me tell you, that though by some inexpected expences, I am short of my hoped reckoning, yet vpon the receit of your Letter, I haue bene th • s carefull for you: your money I haue sent you, and as much more for so long time, I will lend you, which you shall rec • i • e of this bearer: and in my Letter, the day of paiment, which if it may pleasure you so much as I wish you, I am glad I had it for you: how • oeuer it fall out, vse it to your owne discretion: and so far be alwaies assured of my loue, that my word and deed shall be all one in your comfort. And so leauing ceren • on • ous complements, in vnfained good will, I rest; Alwaies to my vttermost power.

Yours as mine owne. D. W.

A Letter of Newes.

TO performe my promise in my last Letter, my kinde, and best Couzen, you shall vnderstand, of such occurrents, as I heare goe currant for truth: I heare there are certaine olde people, that speake much of Prophecies, where they set it down • for a certaine rule, that this yeare, and many to come, he that wants mony in his purse, and a friend in the Court, may walke into the Country, and picke strawes for his comfort: for the lawe is verie daungerous for begging, and Charitie is so cold, that the poore must starue, rather then the rich will want. Old men shall neuer be young againe in this world, and beautie in a young woman, will not let her know her selfe. Honestie without wit, will die on the foole, and craft without credit, will labour to little purpose. In summe, there will be a great plague among the poore with lacke of mony, among fooles for lacke of wit, and knaues, for lacke of honestie: but it may be, Nature may alter her course in many things, and Prophecies may fall out in contrarieties. Howsoeuer it be, welcome that comes on Gods name: and so, hoping thou louest no legerdemaine, nor wil • • e led away with blind Prophecies, writing this only for exercise of a merry humor, I rest.

Thine what mine. P. R.

The Answere.

SUch idle Prophets as you méete with, haue such kind of matter as you write of: but let the world wagge as it list, there is not a truer wagge in the worlde then thy selfe: and were it not, that I feare my Letter would come to light, I would answer you in your kinde. But to be short, let me tell you, that lawes are good to take order with such outlawes, as after prodigalitie, put themselues vpon Charitie. And yet to crosse your rule of little experience, old men may haue young humors, faire wenches, put wise men to their wittes, and honestie, may thriue with a mean trade, when a craftie knaue may loose by his c •• • ing broking. As for the plague, I feare me it is neuer from you: for if neighbors agree, yet their wiues may fall out: and while the poore fret, and the riche frowne, there is little hope of health, where the world is so out of quiet. And therefore hoping that you haue wit inough, to beware the knaue and the foole, and to make your choise of best company: wishing your continuance of your good humor, with thankes for your waggish Letter, I rest, in our old league.

Yours as mine 〈◊〉 . R. W.

A Letter of perswading to marriage.

DEare Couzen, I • oo not a little wonder at your solitary life, and more at your little care to match your selfe in marriage with some virgin worthy your loue: wil you leaue the world without memorie of your name, your inheritance to no issue of your owne honour, and runne a course of too little comfort • Me • thinketh, that your knowledge of the diuersitie of • ariet •• s should settle your content vpon some especiall vertue: what if some women be aged, some are youthfull, and some fr • war • , other may be kinde: and some wanton, there are better stayed: and some sullains, some are louing: and is there n • n • can fit your humor? God forbid: the lawe of Nature, the lawe of Reason, the lawe of God doth wil it, that loue breed encrease by a vertuous coniun • tion, which cannot be performed, without the honor of this course. Bastards wil be witnesses of their parents wickednesse, when natural children are the ioy of their Fathers: and • a true louing wife, is worth a thousand wilde walkers: her care in the house, her kindnes at the Table, and her comfort in the bed, are pleasures better conceiued then expressed: fall thē ab •• rd with such a Bird, as you may hold for your Phoenix, and thinke thy mind at best libertie when it is • ree fr • m the bandes of folly. In • ne, let me intreat thée to make thy house a home, thy wi • e thy worldes loue, and thy children thine earths ioy: which as I hope • hou wil • be glad to haue, I shall be glad to see. For good spéede whereof, in hartie praier I rest.

Thy louing Co •• en, R. W.

His Answere.

MY kinde Couzen, I sée you are better redde then experienced: for Batchellers wiues, and Maidens chi •• ren, are pretie things to plaie withall: but he that knowes many daungers, wil take héed of all. A wife is an euerlasting substance, which if it be not of the better nature, is a perillous thing to meddle • ithall: for if it catch hold of the hands, it may put the heart to a fore paine: and the Phoenix is such a figure, as if I must find hee in a woman, I feare me I must séeke a great way for her. For the lawes that you speake of, I yéeld to truth, but loue is so nice an humor, that he • l • ome settles in a place: for Bastards, I loue not the bréed: and better children wil doo well when they come: For bed and boord, and those trickes, let them ioy in them that haue them, when I f • nd time I wil thinke on them: in the mean time, more at quiet in my lodging with a friend, then perhaps I may be at home with a wife, not forswearing marriage, nor peasting to purgatory, in stead of a mistaken paradise: wishing thy prayers for my better happinesse, then loues idlenesse, and if I doo marry to be kindly matched: I rest.

Thine a • mine owne. D. L.

A Letter of vnkindnesse vpon a deniall of a Courtesie.

IF my deserts had not excéeded my desire, I would haue hate • the nature of my humor, which loues nothing lesse then to be too much beholding: my request was not much, and the grant but easie: howsoeuer for ill fashion, the excuse • ay be cunningly framed: but though I conceiue vnkindnesse in this course, I can rather grieue then be angry: for I wil mistrust my wit, til I sée too much of my sorrow: and loue my friend, though I be plaine with his patience: be content therefore rather to let me tell you of my discontent, then to couer a dissimulation, and to wish your better regard of my affection, then to giue me iust cause to touch the care of your discretion, which in denying a triflle, may loose a greater benefit: but not to goe too farre in impatience, let me thus grow to an ende: Friendship once grounded is not easily remoued: and therefore being assured of my loue, beare with my dislike: and wherein I may better pleasure you, doubt not the ill requi • all of vnkindnes, for I can chide and not be angry, and better loue you, then tell you so. And so intreating your reasonable answere for my satisfaction, I rest: all displeasure set apart.

Your louing friend. N. S.

His answere.

YOur humorous kind of writing, puts me to studie for an Answere: for your anger without cause, may moue caul • of anger: you know you might commaund what I am, and will you haue mor • ? Conce • t may be deceiued, and so kind •• sse abused, and suspition of impatience hath the least part of dis • r •• on. Excuses are idle among fr •• nds, and therefore words shall be deferred till our meeting: when s •• ing your owne f • ul • , you will not thinke amisse of your friend, grieue not then without cause, nor be carried away with conceit: and as you know my nature, commaund my loue, which is farre from the thought to make a friend beholding: be not discontent with a den • all, till you haue better reason of displeasure, but measure me with your •• lfe, and you shall finde smal cause of difference: if there be any, let kindnesse dispute it, reason confesse • t, an • patience b •• re it, so shall friends be themselues, and you and I shall not fall out. So hoping that you wil sat •• fie your selfe with this answer • , ti • we m •• t to talke further of the matter, I conclude with your kindnes, and rest euer.

Yours, as you kn • w, T.W.

A Letter to an vnthankfull person.

I Haue heard that a Prince sometime ordeining a punishment for all offences, le • t Ingratitude to the gods to plague, as p •• • man • power to punish •• ough: the Tale may well be true, con •• dering the vilenesse of such a nature, as I thinke the •• ke liueth not in the shape of man. Couldest thou not only forget, but abuse my kindnesse, and so make a monster of a wicked shadow: I could not haue beleeued it, had I not too we • l proue • it: but I wish you would leaue the humor, least it make a lo • thsome nature: and though I wil not reuenge a wrong vpon a 〈…〉 to much basenesse, yet wil I learne to know the condition of so much vilenesse, and as well warne my friends from an enemy, as further abuse mine own wit with so mistaking of a friend, In briefe therefore, let me tell you, as I know you, I regard you, and as I found you I leaue you, as one fit, if there lacked a Card, to put in the stock for a wicked help. And so sorie to haue lost so much time to write to you, I wish all the world that knowes you, to hate you.

Your enemy from the heart. D. M.

His answere.

HOw straungely men will write, that impatience doth put out of order? a good turne is lost, when it is cast in the receiuers teethe: and abuse misconceiued, can hardly be well excused: consider better of what is done, then wrong the meaning of a good minde, and you shall finde without excuse, no true cause of displeasure: If the information of malice haue moued choller without iudgement, poore men must endure the misery of euill fortune: against my selfe I wil confesse nothing, but referre time to decide all doubts, when Truth shall put the differences betwixt a shadow and a better substance. So leauing ill humors to like mindes, and good thoughts to better natures, hoping to finde you your selfe, which wil be farre inough from that you write: In spight of the diuel I commit you to God: and so rest.

Your friend whether you will or no • . D. R.

A Letter to laugh at, after the old fashion of 〈◊〉 :to a Maide.

AFter my hartic commendations, trusting in God that you are in good health as I was a • the writing •• r • o • , with my Father and my Mother, my bro • hers and sisters, and all my good friends, thankes be to God. The cause of my writing to you at this time is, that E • len, I do hear since my •••• ing from Wakefield, when you know, what ta • ke • re bad together at the sign • of the ble • Cuc • oe, and how you did gi • e me your hand, and swear that you would not forsake me for all the wo •• de, and how you made me buy a Ki • ng and a • art, that cost me right •• • e pene • , which I left with you, and you gaue me a Napkin to wear • • n my •• t, I thanke you, which I will weare to my dying day •• nd I 〈◊〉 if it be true as I heare, that you haue alt • red your minde, and are made sore to my neighbour Hob • ins younger sonne, truly Ellen you do not wel • in so doing, and God wil p • a •• e you for it, and I hope I shall liue and if I neuer haue you: for there are mo • e maides the • Maulkin ▪ and I count my selfe worth the whis • ing. And therefore praying you to write me your answer by th • s bearer my friend, touching the truth of all, how the matter • t • nd • with you, I com •• • you to God. From Ca • lo • gr •• ne.

Your true Lo • er. R. P.

Her Answere.

T • uly Roger, I did not looke for such a Letter from your hands, I would you should know, I scorne it: Haue I gotten my Father and Mothers ill will for you, to be so vsed at your hands▪ I p • rceiue • you be so Iealous alreadie, you would be somewhat an other day, I am glad I finde you, that you can beleeue any thing of me: but tis no matter, I care not: send me my Napkin, and you shall h • ue your King and your Hart, for I can haue enough and I neuer see you more: for there are more Batchelers then Roger, and my peny is as good siluer as yours: and therefore séeing you are so lustie, euen put vp your pipes, for I will haue no more to do with you: And so • nsaying all that euer hath bene said betwixt us, make your choyse where you list, I know where to be loued: and so I end. From Wakefield.

M. R.