¶ Camelles Reioindre, to Churchyarde.

To Churchyard or Mānaring, or for lack of a name:
To Dicar the dreamer, if you knowe the same.
MAye a man be so bolde (an order to kepe:)
To bid you good morow, now after your slepe?
If I may be so saucy, and make no mistaking:
God speede master Dreamer, yf you be wakynge.
But Dreamer or Dicar, or as you saye Dauy:
Whych shal I now cal you▪ as our Lorde saue ye?
Three names are to many▪ for one man alone:
He hathe .v.
  • Dreamer.
  • Dicar.
  • Dauid.
  • Mannaring.
  • Churchyard.
And two mo makes fyue, for faylyng of one.
If you had twoo other▪ that men myght you seeke:
Then had you a name, for eche daye in the weeke.
But no man dothe doubte▪ that so sundrye names:
Shuld haue other loomyng, thē out of good frames.
And therfore I thyncke, they come euery chone:
Out of some olde house▪ tho the postes begone.
Or els kept in memory, for that they were founde:
In some old stocke, in some noble mans grounde.
And so do remayne▪ for mynde of your auncestry:
As Syb to Sybbel, sibbes very properly.
So Jermaines lyps ioynde, & so M. Churchyard:
And Mannaryng met, both in an Orcharde.
Aske him where he na­med hym self Lorde Mannarynge, and howe he vsed it.
And Dauid the Dicar, came in wyth hys spade:
And dolue vp the Dreamer, tyl the line was made.
And thus percōsequēce▪ sins your writing doth gre it:
Youre name for my parte: Dauid Dreamer be it.
And good M. dreamer, your reasō long sought for
Hath combred your capax, I se very sore.
Snap of the case, and yong and whot bloude:
Haue al to be fumed you, and moued your moode
That daunger it were, in you of a feeuer:
If heate and coller▪ shoulde cuple together.
But thankes be to God, a vomet hath rydde:
A culpin of collops, farre inwardly hydde.
And now yt your reason, hath fair brought it fourth
It is a fayre reason▪ and a reason well wourth.
Parturiunt montes. Nascetur ridiculus mus.
And fyrst you reply▪ to myne obieccion:
Wyth wordes of pleasure, as a man of correccion.
Wherby you would seeme, a learned man of arte:
And yet Master Mome, you are out of your parte.
Churchards aunsware doth but rail.
For as your aunswere, doth but talke and tomble:
So you answer not me, but rayle out and romble.
And yet had you markt▪ my then to your when:
I no more falted you, then I dyd other men.
I meane mad raungers, that so raunge at large:
To medle with matters, not ioynd to their charge.
And such men I bad, as then I bad you:
To send such whens home, theyr vycar vnto.
And leaue dreaming dreames, to busi mēs braines:
Wyth nedeles matters, and as thankeles paynes.
And thys lytle neded, to haue netled your noddye:
If you were (as you wold be) som prety wise body.
But you wyl choplogicke, and be Bee to busse:
Churcharde will bee the bussinge be.
But good Master Busserd, be good yet to vs.
And tel me in truth, and lye no whyt then:
Haue not I touched, no parte of your when?
If you styl dreame not, as you do yet:
I trowe I haue touched, your when euery whyt.
I nede not to byd you, turne my text againe:
But take your owne text, to aunswer your brayne.
I touch not one poynte, that you wrote you saye:
His replica [...]on.
And yet you cal me, a Daniell strayghtway.
Lo how these two now, agree in them selues:
They both shame their master, these .ii. eluish elues.
If you gyue me a name wythout an effect:
your mastershyps brayne, is madly infect.
And foule ouershot, to bryng two for wytnesse:
Whych are in thēselues, cleane contraries I gesse
But if my fyrst aunswer▪ doo seeme such a mistery:
That you see not your whē, ther answered alredye.
Then to awake you, and rayse you from slepe.
Good Master Dreamer, marke thys & take kepe.
your when hath in it, a meanyng of who say,
Hys when.
Whych ryghtly to meane, is thus ment I say:
That whē those things be, which these dais be not
Then knit you your thē vp, in such sort as you wot
But whome you accuse▪ in whenning so large.
I meane not to open, nor put to your charge.
But way with your self, and sober your braines:
And defend not a when, mighte put you to paines▪
I coulde perchaunce, make your when larger.
And serue it before you▪ as brode as a charger,
And point you your when, by lyne and by Leuel.
Againste Jupiters seate, and Jupiters Counsell.
But I list not so narow, to loke to your whanning
Nor make to your whanning, so open a skanning
You bid me not slaunder you, I slaunder you not.
If your selfe hurte you▪ your owne is the spot.
You ascribe to me, the manners of Gnato.
Full clarkelye applyed good master Thraso.
A tytle as meete, they saye that doo knowe me.
As your title of dreame, to the matter of Dauye.
But vices in stage plaies, whē theyr matter is gon
They laughe oute the reste, to the lookers on.
And so wantynge matter, you brynge in my coate.
In faythe master dreamer, I borowed it not.
Tho I haue hearde, that good fellowes and so.
Not you (goddes forbod) in borrowed geare go,
Graculus ornatus est Plumis Pauonis
But when euery foule, hathe puld home his fether
The soule and the body▪ may then dwel to gether
And make a right sommer man, to let in the heate
For clothes in whot wether, do but make mē sweat
Whiche you sir perchaunce, er sommer come out:
Wyl vle for a medicine, in trauailinge aboute,
And colloure the matter, wyth a title of season:
As doutles your mastership, hath very good reasō
By which al yt know you, wil thinke you wel hable
To thrust a poore Camel, to lurke in some stable.
And doubtles if dreaming, may eny thinge spede,
I knowe Dauid dreamer, wyl do it in dede.
But tho I haue hearde, a Lion oft rore,
I neuer hearde asse, so rore oute before,
With bitings & bridellings, and raining of necks
O fine master asse, howe sharpe be your checkes.
Churchard is a fyne asse.
You threaten to bitte me, to trim me and trick me:
Wehe master asse, what, wyl you nedes kick me.
Camelles and asses, be bothe mete for burden.
Then gip fellowe asse, then iost fellowe lurden.
No nerer my buttocke, iost iade are you winsyng?
It is mery to see, master asse fal to minsing▪
Did you neuer here tell of the asse trapt in golde?
De Asino aureo. The french almes, per­chaunce hath altred him.
Lo master asenoll, lo do as you shulde.
you saye I knowe you not, and yet as I trowe:
you caste your olde coat, a greate whyle a go.
But if I mistake you, for that a newe springe,
Hath wrought as a workmā, to geue you a new skī
And that I may not, now know you by eare mark
Then for a more knowledge▪ to know you in dark
The asse wolde haue a Bell to be knowen vp
Tye a Bel at your tayle, to make some tinginge.
And ther goes the asse (I shal say) by the ringing.
But whether I knowe you, or els do not knowe:
Thus muche I knowe▪ and am certaine I trowe:
An asse bindes no camels, tho he bray nere so loud
Robin hoode so shewed me, out of a cloude.
Churchards Poetes. Robin hoode Sir Launce­lot & Beuis. Qualia vis metere: talia graua sere▪
And when asses forget, to know what they are,
Sir Launcelot then biddes, to nip them more nar,
And Beuis of Hampton, whose cleargy I knowe:
Biddes me serue you▪ with the same sede you sow.
And not to contende▪ for the asses shadowe.
Whose shadowe I leaue you, and bodye also.
And thus▪ M dreamer▪ your folli hath brought me
To followe you further, then first I bethought me
Beinge muche sorye▪ my pen so to spende.
To answere your follyes▪ and thus lo I ende.
Domine saluum fac Regem & da pacem in diebus nostris.
Thomas Camell,

¶ Imprinted at London by Hary Sutton, dwellyng in Poules churchyard.

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