Churchyards challenge

Churchyards challenge

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Title page

To the right honourable Sir Iohn VVolley Knight, Secretary for the Latin tung to the Queenes Maiestie, and one of her priuie Councell: Thomas Churchyard wisheth increase of honor, blessednes of life, and abundance of worldly felicitie, and heauenly happines.

To the worthiest sorte of People, that gently can reade, and iustly can iudge.

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Heere followes the seuerall matters contained in this booke.

The bookes that I can call to memorie alreadie Printed: are these that followes.

A new kinde of a Sonnet.

THE EARLE OF MVRTONS Tragedie, once Regent of Scotland, and alwaies of great birth, great wisedome, great wealth, and verie great power and credite: yet Fortune enuying his estate and noblenes, brought him to lose his head on a Skaffold in Edenbrough the second of Iune. 1581.

SIR SIMON BVRLEIS TRAGEDIE, who liued in the xi. yeare of Richarde the seconde. Looke Frozard the last part Fol. 108.

THE MAN IS BVT his Minde.

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPfull my singular good friend, Sir Iohn Skidmoer, one of the Liefetenants of Haruordshire.

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TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPfull si• Edward Dimmocke Knight, & Champion by byrth to the Queenes Maiestie.

A Discourse of true Manhoode.

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TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPfull my singular good friend, sir Michaell Blount Knight, Lieutenant of the Towre.

A VVARNING TO THE VVANderers abroad, that seekes to sow dissention at home.

THE HONOR OF A Souldier. TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPful Sir George Carew, Knight, Lieutenant of the Ordinance Thomas Churchyard wisheth worldly felicity, and heauenly blessednes.

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TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPfull, Sir Iohn Sauage Knight, one of the Lieutenants of Cheshire.

A Discourse of Gentlemen lying in London, that were better keepe house at home in their Countrey.

A Discourse of an old Souldiour and a young.

To the right Worshipfull Sir Henry Kneuet Knight, one of the Lieutenants of Willshire.

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A DISCOVRSE OF CALAMITY.

To the right VVorshipfull my singuler good friend Sir William Hatton knight.

A Discription or Discourse, that declareth how that by tasting of miseries, men are become happie: written for that souldiers alwayes beares the burthen of sorrow and suffers more calamitie then any other people.

A Commendation to them that can make gold, shewing that many heretofore hath found out the Philosophers stone.

To the right VVorshipfull my vvorthie greate friend, Sir Iohn Russell knight, one of the Lieuetenants of Worcester Shire.

A Commendation to them that can make gold, shewing that many heretofore hath found out the Philosophers stone.

Mercurius Tres migistus king of the Egiptianes.

Heere follovves the Tragedie of Shores VVife, much augmented with diuers newe aditions.

To the right honorable the Lady Mount Eagle and Compton, wife to the right honourable the Lord of Buckhursts son and heire.

Heere followes the Tragedie of Shores wife, much augmented with diuers new aditions.

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A Story of an Eagle and a Lady, excellently set out in Du Bartas.

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TO THE HONOVRABLE MY LADIE Carie. Sir George Caries wife, one of the Ladies of the priuie chamber.

A TRAGICAL DISCOVRSE OF THE Haplesse mans life.

A DREAME.

To the right worshipfull my good Lady the Lady Paulet, who was wife to the honorable sir Hugh Paule• Knight.

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To the right honourable my Lady Puckering, wife to the most honorable the L. keeper of the great seale of England.

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To the right worshipfull the Ladie Anderson, wife to the right honorable Lord chiefe Iustice of the common Pleas.

A few plaine verses of truth against the flaterie of time, made when the Queens Maiestie was last at Oxenford.

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To the right Worshipfull my Ladie Fortescue, wife to the right honourable Sir Iohn Fortescue Knight.

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This is taken out of Belleau made of his own Mistresse.

This is to be red fiue waies.

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TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPfull, my Ladie Brocket, wife to Sir Iohn Brocket knight, one of the Lieutenants of Hartford Shire.

A FAREVVELL VVHEN I VVENT to studie, written to the VVorld.

A Tragicall Discourse of a dolorous Gentlewoman, dedicated to all those Ladyes that holdes good name precious.

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To the right Worshipfull my Ladie Wawllar, wife to the Souldioer-like Knight Sir VVater Wawllar.

A DOLLFVLL DISCOVRSE OF A great Lorde and a Ladie. Translated out of French into English.

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CHVRCHYARDS Challenge.

LONDON Printed by Iohn Wolfe. 1593.

To the right honourable Sir Iohn VVolley Knight, Secretary for the Latin tung to the Queenes Maiestie, and one of her priuie Councell: Thomas Churchyard wisheth increase of honor, blessednes of life, and abundance of worldly felicitie, and heauenly happines.

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THe long trauell and tracing out of life in this wearisome pilgrimage (right honorable) hauing brought me now almost to the ende of my iourney, makes me glad (with a restles desire) to be rid of the burthens of my minde and the labours of my body, the one neuer free from studie, and the other seldome voide of toyle, and yet both of them neither brought great benefite to the life, nor blessing to the soule: in which small rest and vnquietnes, many sorrowfull discourses in my dayes I haue written, and numbers of bookes I haue printed: and because they shall not be buried with me, I challenge them all as my children to abide behinde me in the worlde, to make them inheritors of such fame & dispraise as their father (which begat them on sweet inuention) heere enioyes or deserues: hoping they shall not be called bastards, nor none aliue will be so hardy as to call them his babes, that I haue bred in my bowels, brought forth and fostred vp so carefully at mine owne charges, and hazard of an enuious worlde. And now indeede for that diuers (of disdainfull disposition) doo or may hinder the good reporte [Page] of those labors which I thinke well bestowed among my freends, I haue set forth while I am liuing a great number of my works in this booke named my Challenge, that after my death shalbe witnesses they were mine owne dooings: not for any great matter in them, but for the iustnes of troth and true triall of all my honest exercises, and so to purchase credit and the more freends and fauourers to prop vp my poore reputation: I not only dedicate this booke (and all therein) to your honor, but haue made also in the same booke diuers dedications to sundry honorable and worshipfull personages, protesting that there is nothing heerein but came from mine owne deuice, which inuencions (spoken as becomes me) shal be in all honest sorte defended by pen or any way I may to the vttermost of my breath or abilitie, ioying much (with all gladnes of hart) that they are presented to so honourable a personage and one of such singuler learning, whose worth and value by a worthy and vertuous Princes is seene into, and throwly considered of, which gracious Queene hath alwaies made her princely choice in such an excellent and vnspeakable maner, as God himselfe should deuinely appoint and direct to our great wealth and his great glory: and in whose r [...]re commendation all the pen men of the world may write. Now good sir vnder your excellent fauour and countenance, I shielde my presumption and boldenes, that hath offred a booke of so many discourses, to the iudgement of such a multitude that quickly can discouer the weakenes of my labors: but hauing ventured so farre as to publishe them in print, I must now of necessitie commit them to the common opinion of the world. So in hope the best will fall out, I present you with my studies and take leaue of your honor, desiring of God what goodnes can be wished, to be alwaies at your commaundement.

Dutifully and loyally in all at commaundement, Thomas Churchyard.

To the worthiest sorte of People, that gently can reade, and iustly can iudge.

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GOod Reader, if my presumption were so great that I thought my booke might passe without your fauourable iudgement, mine error were as much as my ouer-weening: and yet to vse perswasions in purchasing your good liking, I should passe the bounds of common reason, and fall into the danger of adulation: for your good wils are rather won with good matter then bare wordes, and say what I can to gaine your affection toward my worke, you will speake what seemeth best in your owne conceites. For among many thousands are many of deepe consideration, and some vndoubtedly of as shallow iudgement: so that the one or the other cannot nor will not be led and caried away with any deuice of my pen, though all the hye spirits and excellency of Poetry might drop out of the quill I writ withall: wherefore now I must as well abide the hazard of your censure, as I haue boldely vnfolded my selfe to the worlde: there is now no crauing of pardon, nor pleading for your furtherance to encrease my good fame: my works must abide waight, they are thrust into the ballance, and I of necessitie must content me with your allowance, and what price pleaseth you to set on my marchandise: but if they proue too light in the skales, I pray you helpe them with some graine of good skill, that they be not condemned as trifles, because they haue cost me great labour and study, and put me to no little charges. I freely offer them to you for three or foure causes, the one to keep the reputation of a writer, the second to pleasure my freendes with the reading of new inuentions, and thirdly to desire my foes to giue me true reporte of those workes I haue made, and last of all to affirme that euery thing in this my booke of Challenge is mine owne dooing, which iustlye no man can deny. [Page] Not boasting thereof as matter worthy memory, but claiming a better regarde then enuy would giue me, I stand to the praise or dispraise of all I haue done, maruelling much that in my life time any one would take from me the honest laudation I deserue. I striue no further in that point, but commit to God and good people the indifferency and iustnes of my cause, and the best is (which shall beare it selfe) the wise of the worlde and worthiest of knowledge and capacitie, are the only Iudges shall yeeld me my right: the rest are but hearers and lookers on, whose voices may make a great noise, but giues so vncertaine a sound, they can doo no great harme, because of nature and condition they neuer doo no great good. Now my pleading time is past, my booke must appeare in that bare fashion as I haue formed the matter, I hope it shall not walke so nakedly abroade, but shalbe able to abide the coldenes of ill will, and the extreame heate of hatefull mens disposition. God the giuer of goodnes, guide my verses so well that they neuer happen into their hands that loues me not, and make my prose and plainenes of speech be as welcome to the Reader, as it was well ment of the writer. So with double and treble blessing, Farwell.

FINIS.

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My next booke shalbe the last booke of the Worthines of Wales.

And my last booke called my Vltimum Vale, shalbe (if it please God) twelue long tales for Christmas, dedicated to twelue honorable Lords.

Heere followes the seuerall matters contained in this booke.

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THe tragedie of the Earle of Morton.

The tragedie of sir Simon Burley.

A discours that a man is but his minde.

A discourse of the true steps of manhood.

A discourse of the honor of a Souldior.

A discours of an olde Souldier and a yong.

A discourse and commēdation of those that can make Golde.

A discourse and rebuke to rebellious mindes.

A discourse of hospitalitie and consuming of time and wealth in London.

A discourse of misfortune and calamitie.

A discourse of law and worthy Lawyers.

A discourse of the only Phenix of the worlde.

A praise of that Phenix and verses translated out of French.

The tragedy of Shores wife much augmented.

A discourse of the ioy good subiects haue when they see our Phenix abroad.

The tragicall discourse of the haplesse mans life.

The adue the writer made long agoe to the worlde.

A discourse of a fantasticall Dreame.

A tragicall discourse of a dolorous Gentlewoman.

A tragicall discourse of a Lord and a Lady translated out of French.

I hope you look not that I should place euery Knight & Lady in their degree, for I must of necessitie follow my matter.

The bookes that I can call to memorie alreadie Printed: are these that followes.

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FIrst in King Edwards daies, a book named Dauie Dicars dreame, which one Camell wrote against, whome I openly confuted. Shores wise I penned at that season.

Another booke in those daies called the Mirror of Man.

In Queene Maries raigne, a book called a New-yeares gift to all England, which booke treated of rebellion.

And many things in the booke of songs and Sonets, printed then, were of my making.

Since that time till this day I wrote all these workes.

The booke of Chips dedicated to sir Christopher Hatton, after Lord Chancellor.

The booke called Chance, dedicated to sir Thomas Bromley L. Chancellor then.

The booke called my Charge, to my L. of Surrye.

The booke called my Change, in verse and proes, dedicated to all good mindes.

The booke called my Choice, dedicated to the L. Chancellor sir Christopher Hatton.

The book of the siege of Leeth and Edenbrough Castell.

The booke of sir William Druries seruice, dedicated to sir Drue Drury.

The booke called the golden Nut, dedicated to the Qu. Ma.

The book of receiuing her highnes into Suffolk, & Norfolke.

The booke before of her highnes receiuing into Bristow.

The booke of the Earthquake, to the good Deane of Paules.

The book of the troubles of Flanders, to sir Francis Walsing.

The book called the scourge of rebels in Ireland, to my Lord Admirall.

The booke called a rebuke to Rebellion, to the good olde Earle of Bedford.

The book of a Sparke of freendship, to sir Walter Rawley.

The book of Sorrows, to D. Wilson when he was Secretary.

The booke of the winning of Macklin, to my Lord Norrice.

[Page]The book called the Worthines of Wales, to the Qu. Ma.

The book giuen her Maiestie at Bristow, where I made al the whole deuises.

The deuises of warre and a play at Awsterley, her highnes being at sir Thomas Greshams.

The Commedy before her Maiestie at Norwich in the fielde when she went to dinner to my Lady Gerning [...]ms.

The whole deuises pastimes and plaies at Norwich, before her maiestie.

The deuises and speeches that men and boyes shewed within many prograces.

The book of King Henries Epitaph, and other princes and Lords, to Secretary Wolley.

The book of my Deer adue, to M. Iohn Stannop.

The book called a handfull of gladsome verses, to the Qu. M. at Wodstocke.

The book called a pleasant co [...]ceite, a new yeeres gift, to the Queenes Maiestie.

These workes following are gotten from me of some such noble freends as I am loath to offend.

Aeneas tale to Dydo, largely and truely translated out of Virgill, which I once shewed the Qu. Ma. and had it againe.

A book of the oath of a Iudge and the honor of Law, deliuered to a Stacioner, who sent it the L. cheefe Baron that last dyed.

A book of a sumptuous shew in Shrouetide, by sir Walter Rawley, sir Robart Carey, M. Chidly, and M. Arthur Gorge, in which book was the whole seruice of my L. of Lester mencioned, that he and his traine did in Flaunders, and the gentlemen Pencioners proued to be a great peece of honor to the Court: all which book was in as good verse as euer I made: an honorable knight dwelling in the black Friers, can witnes the same, because I read it vnto him.

A great peece of work translated out of the great learned French Poet Seignior Dubartas, which worke treated of a Lady and an Eagle, most diuinely written on by Dubartas, [Page] and giuen by me to a great Lord of this land, who saith it is lost.

An infinite number of other Songes and Sonets, giuen where they cannot be recouered, nor purchase any fauour when they are craued.

A new kinde of a Sonnet.

IN writing long, and reading works of warre,

That Homer wrote and Virgils verse did show:

My muse me led in ouerweening farre,

When to their Stiles my pen presumde to goe.

Ouid himselfe durst not haue vaunted so,

Nor Petrarke graue with Homer would compare:

Dawnt durst not think his sence so hye did flow,

As Virgils works that yet much honord are.

Thus each man sawe his iudgement hye or low,

And would not striue or seeke to make a iarre:

Or wrastle where they haue an ouerthrow.

So I that finde the weakenes of my bow,

Will shoot no shaft beyond my length I troe:

For reason learnes and wisdome makes me know.

Whose strength is best and who doth make or marre:

A little Lamp may not compare with Starre.

A feeble head where no great gifts doo grow:

Yeelds vnto skill, whose knowledge makes smal shew.

Then gentle world I sweetly thee beseech:

Call Spenser now the spirit of learned speech.

Churchyards good will.

THE EARLE OF MVRTONS Tragedie, once Regent of Scotland, and alwaies of great birth, great wisedome, great wealth, and verie great power and credite: yet Fortune enuying his estate and noblenes, brought him to lose his head on a Skaffold in Edenbrough the second of Iune. 1581.

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MAke place for plaints, giue rowme for plagued men,

Step backe proud mindes, that praise your selues too much,

Let me appeale, to some true writers pen:

That doth the life, and death of Princes touch.

For my mi [...]hap, and fatall fall is such,

That gazing world, which heares my woefull end,

Shall maruaile much, to see such matter pend.

The restles race, that mortall men doe runne,

Seemes smooth to sight, yet full of scratting breers:

Here is no rest, nor surety vnder Sunne.

Sowre is the taste, of flowers that sweete appeares,

Our gentle ioyes, are in our tender yeares,

For as the Childe, to wit and reason growes,

So iudgement comes, and seedes of sorrow sowes.

Our wanton time, doth steale away with sport,

But when that care, hath crept in curious braines:

Long griefe beginnes, and pleasure is but short,

For heart and head, is vert with fancies vaine,

Then hord brings hate, and gold breeds greedy gaine.

[Page]Desire of which, with pompe and glory great,

So boiles in brest, it makes mans browes to sweat.

Ambitious minde, the busie bellowes blowes,

The quenchles coales, of R [...]le that burneth still,

And ore the banks, the flouds of folly flowes:

And priuate wealth, [...]o blindes a worldlings will:

That wicked wit, doth banish reasons skill,

Climes vp aloft, cries fame and rare renowne,

Till heauy stone, from top comes tottering downe.

The mounting heart, that daily doth aspire,

With wilfull wings, of pride to cloudes would flie:

And though he feeles, his feathers singd with fire:

He will not stoupe, he holdes his head so hie,

To beare a sway, and alwaies casts his eie,

(With eager lookes) on honors stately throne:

He likes no mate, but all would weld alone.

The simple sort, that sées soore Fawcon rise,

Disdains to death, the bird that flies too farre:

Then as on owle, flocks, crowes and chatring pies,

So at great dogs, the little tikes doe snarre.

Tweene small and great, when spite [...]nes moues the warre,

There is no rest, for rage runnes all on head,

Hate kindleth fire, and loue growes cold as lead.

A greater strife, is when two tides doe méete,

Both of one force, like mighty strugling streames,

I meane when men, doe striue of equall sprite:

The robe is ript, or rented through the seames:

Great troubles grow, in sundry ciuill Realmes,

For whilst the one, in chiefest rowme is plaste.

The other comes, and hales him downe in hast.

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There is no meane, where matches meete at shocke,

The strong shewes strength, the stout stands wrangling still,

About the ball, the finest fellowes flocke,

They winne the goale, that hath the greatest skill.

The force of floud, turns round the Water-mill.

So where two men, doe wrastle for a fall,

Most might preuailes, the weake is turnde to wall.

But why do I, finde fault with greatest band,

My traine was such, as I a King had beene:

In Court and Towne, Earle Murton was so mand.

As euery day, I had a world to winne,

That was the frette, that did the warre beginne.

For those that sawe, me waited on so well,

Did skorne the same, and so like toades they swell

At my renowne, and loe a greater thing,

By chaunce befell, for I had secret foes:

(That daily sought) my fall about the King.

And as on steps, to stately stage I rose,

So my decay, in Court and countrey growes.

For priuy hate, and malice matchth with might,

Tooke out the oyle, that gaue my lampe the light.

Yet through great helpe, and friends as world may wéene,

Whose wisdoms was, wel known both graue & sage:

I regent was, when many a broile was gréene:

And set abroach, in Court by reuels rage,

I ruled all, whilst King was vnder age,

And where I saw, the people make offence,

I scowrgd them sore, which kept them quiet sence.

Some did I hang, and trust them vp on hye,

That slaughters made, or murders did committe:

Some were redeemde, that did for fauour crie,

[Page]And strongest heads, I helde in hard with bitts.

With equall eares, I would in iudgement sit.

Yea bent my braine, to beate out right and wrong,

And conscience bad, deferre not iustice long.

The rich by this, were sory to offend,

The poore did dread, to hang that faulty were,

And yet oft times, when faulters did amend,

I hangd but one, to bring the rest in feare.

To suters all, I gaue a gracious eare,

By gentle waies, and wisdomes modest meane,

From filthy facts, I cleansed Countrey cleane.

By order good, I made them feare the law,

I pincht the purse, and pawsde in sheading blood,

I punisht sore, where great abuse I saw,

Straight rules I sette, to learne rude people good.

By which strong staies, my state in surety stood.

So wealth came in, with goodly gold and geare,

That paide for paines, and did the charges beare.

Yea sure more wealth, and riches I possest,

Then twenty Lords, of Scotland any way:

I might compare (for treasure) with the best.

We call it Poess, in our plaine Scottish lay,

I had the bags, of Aungell nobles gay.

I had the chests, fild vp vnto the brim,

With sondry stamps, of coine and treasure trim.

My houses stood, in gladsom soiles and s [...]ats,

Stuft with rich things, and Arras clothes [...]now:

My table spread, with deare and dainty meates.

My ward robe storde, with change of garments throw,

My corne in stacks, my hay in many a mowe,

My stable great, of gallant goldings good.

[Page]And I like Prince, amidst these pleasures stood [...].

What I would wish, I had with glorie great,

Each knée did bow, and make their bodies bend:

Each: eye stood fixt, to gase on honors seat,

Eache friendlie face, a louing looke would send.

To stately throne, and I againe would lend

A Lordlie grace, to kéepe the worlds good will,

Whereby encreast, my fame and honor still.

I buy [...]t me bowers, sometime to banquet in,

Made plotts for walkes, and gardens of delight:

Sought swéete conceits, (not fowsing soule in sinne,)

With glutted gorge, at pleasures baite to bite.

But pastime tooke, to put off worlds despite.

My streamers stoode, in topp of barke so braue,

That flaggs of ioy, with each good wind wold waue.

For worldly pompe, and worship waites at héele,

Where rule and power, sets out gay glittring showes,

Who folowes not, the swinge of fortunes wheele,

What fish forsakes, the floode that daily flowes.

Both great and small, with course of water goes.

Where sunne doth shine, both beast & birdes repaire,

And what flies not, to pleasaunt weather faire.

But well away, when we haue all we wish,

A house, a home, bedect with gallaunt grace:

A golden net, beguiles a carlesse fish▪

Wee haue no holde, of fortunes flittering face.

For when wee doe, worldes flattring giftes embrace,

Wee groope and gape, for more vaine goodes so fast:

That gracelesse hap, sweepes all away at last.

Our gréedy mind, gaines gold and tyens good name,

[Page]Winnes wealth yet workes, a wicked web of woe:

Breedes déepe disdaine, and bringes a man in blame.

Breakes bandes of loue, makes friend become a foe.

Shutes spitefull shaftes, from malice sturdie bowe,

Strikes dead good name, & reares vp slaunders brute,

Sowes seedes of vice, and brings foorth rotten fruite.

All these de [...]e [...]s, doth follow gréedie minde,

But loe my skill, and sight in publicke state:

For soaking soores, a soueraigne salue could finde,

For where I fearde, sharpe warres & foule debate▪

To cut off strife, great friendes at hand I gat,

And by my wit, to kéepe the King in right,

At my commaund, I fréelie brought much might.

Which strake the stroke, and stoutly rulde the roste,

Spent many dayes, in broyles and making peace:

Bestowde great charge, and carde not for no coste,

So that they could our common quarrels seace.

And euer as, I sawe our brawles encreace,

I helpt the harmes, by worthy wisdomes arte,

So planted peace, & rule in euery part.

For euery years, some brawle was set abroche,

Some treason wrought, some trecherie tane in hand:

Which without stay, would sounde to my reproche,

Such falshood raignde, and raged in the land.

In factions still, did runne a bloodie bande,

About the Realme, as wilde as wolues for praye,

But by my friendes, I set these thinges in s [...]aye.

In greatest stormes, I stoutly stood to sterne,

And turnd about, the shippe to winne the winde:

And what defects, and fau [...]tes I did discerne,

I readie was, a quicke redresse to finde.

[Page]And no man durst, restraine the Regents minde,

For were it good, or bad I would haue done,

Unto that side, would most of people runne.

Yet murmors rose, among the mighty flocke,

Whose hidden hate, huggd close in cankred brest:

To vndermine, my strong and statelie rocke,

That stoode on propps, and did on pillers cest.

For longer sure, in Court I could not rest,

Then King might come, to perfect age and yeares,

As thinges besell, and by my fall appeares.

The secret swarmes, of [...]lie and subtill snakes,

That lurkes in grasse, and vnder fayrest flowers:

The flattering cloudes, that oft faire weather makes,

Great showers of raine, vppon the people powers.

The smiling face, that when it list it lowers.

Betraies the eyes, of them that well beleeues,

When scorners flier, and laugheth in their sléeues.

My hedge stood stackte, with such weake sticks of woode,

That manie a gappe, was made into my grownde:

I trusted much, to freindship, birth, and blood,

But some of those, in fine were faythlesse founde.

Most spake mee faire, but least of them were sounde.

Some sought my ruyne, that waighted hard at heeles.

For time so shapt, the world went all on wheeles.

What is enuid, but rule and high estate.

The seruant seekes, of [...] times his maysters fall:

The subiect beares, to lawe a priuie hate,

The stubborne child, is silde at fathers call.

The froward wiues, findes fault with husbands all.

The scholler hates, to heare his follie tolde,

And each degree, abhors to be controlde.

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Rule wants no foes, the horse hée hates the bitt.

The dogge disdaines, the leashe that holdes him in:

The hauke desires, not long on pearch to sit,

Rule is despisde, Rule doth no fauour winne.

The man that hath, in courtly honor béene.

Can tell how oft, he was with flattry fed,

And some there are, with blinde affection led.

Whose humor weake, the wil [...]e worldlings fede,

They followe fast, and fawn [...] like whelpes a while:

Till great mens meanes, hath [...]erued their turne in déede,

Then gallants goe, awaye and giue a smile.

Thus wa [...]ters on, doe nought but friends beguile.

And slipper lads, as false and fine as those,

For no offence, become most mortall foes.

With curtsie great, and knéeling on the knée,

The harmelesse hartes, of noble states are trapte:

They looke so high, they can no tromperie see,

Untill the [...]lye, in spiders webbe be lapt.

And when by sleight, the simple is mishapt.

The wandring world, but maruels at the case,

And from the weake, the strongest turnes the face.

Who had moe freindes, or yet more wealth than I,

Who sounde lesse helpe, O fie on friendships trust:

My stocke and race, did reach to starrie skie,

Yet world trode downe, mine honor in the dust.

And I was left, alone thinke what I lust.

Weepe sigh or sob, when Fortune gaue checkmate,

Fer [...] friends were fledd, and I in wofull state.

Yet wisdomes grace, helde vp my noble minde.

I scornde to thinke, when sorest tempests blewe:

In face and cheere, my courage men might finde,

[Page]I counted all, and then the worst I knew,

It was but death, (a paiment that is due:)

To yeild to day, or else when date drew néere

To paie the shot, and make the reckning cléere.

What néeds more talke, amid my chéefest ioyes,

A draught was drawne, to driue me out of grace:

The newes whereof, did fill my head with toyes,

But my stout hart, would giue no practise place.

I stifly stoode, in Court with manly face.

And thought to thrust, them out that stroue with mée.

And so in spigt, of world I would goe frée.

Great banding then, began in Borough towne,

And to the view, I had the strongest side:

For on my part, were men of great renowne.

Yea, as the fish, doth follow greatest tide:

So people swarmd, and crucifige cryed.

On Mortons foes, for dayly eurye houre:

In Princes Court, with pompe increast my power.

But when wée met, that seuerall waies did draw,

Sweete words did walke, bespyest with fained cheere:

In dulcet shell, a kernell sowre, I sawe,

That cunning crafte, by cloude conuayd full cléere.

Our powdred speach, most fresh, would still appéere.

Till bitter taste, bewrayd our meanings all:

Then honie combe, in proofe became but gall.

So angrie bées, burst forth from quiet hiue,

And offred stinge, to those that neerest stood:

Then fearefull folke, too féeble were to striue,

They floke so fast, that daily sought my bloode.

Yet to the worlde, I made my quarell good,

And craude no more, but iustice in my cause:

[Page]And so to shifte, by course of common lawes.

In open Court, I was accused streight,

And straightlie chargde, to keepe my chamber still:

Where if I had, but vsed anie sleight,

I might haue scapte, awaie and had my will.

But destnie did, bewitch both wit and skill.

And robd mee so, of spirite and feeling sence:

That I was méeke, and neuer made defence.

But what I thought, and what I hepte for both,

Is knowne to God, and some that liueth yet:

In deede my feare, was small (I tell you trothe,)

For manie things, in compasse of my wit,

Did cleare mee cleane, and so though I should sit.

In prison faste, a time till thinges were tryed:

In duraunce long, I hopte I should not bide.

But loe in haste, I was from thence remoude,

And sent vnto, the Castle there to staie:

And then perchaunce, I was but finely proude,

To see for feare, if I would flie awaie.

For mine owne folkes, had there the whole conuaie.

(Of bodie through, the streetes) such grace I gote,

But woe is me, for then did th'old man doate.

Had I but sayde, I would not be in pounde,

(I would bee franke, and free from daungers doubt:

I might haue turnde, the worlde in Scotland rounde,

Like te [...]nis ball, and thrust myne enemies out.

But who can bring a sternlesse barke aboute.

My wits were gone, that guided all before,

My shipp on ground, and I was set on shore.

Loe, what God doth, to make his glorie knowne,

[Page]Loe, how mans life, is cut off like a bough:

Loe, lookers on, how sone is man oerthrowne,

Loe, where became, my worldly wisdome nowe.

Loe héere a glasse, that shewes your faces throughe.

You greatest Peeres, and Lords of péereles prayse,

Your pride is past, if God abridge your daies.

No sooner I, beléeude I was so well,

But was conuayde, vnto Don Bartyn than:

So all my friends, (that did in Scotlande dwell,

Made sure a shew, to raise vp manie a man.

The King straight waies, before these broyles began,

Fiue ensignes chose, to kéepe the world in awe:

For sure defence, of him and of his lawe.

Those bandes held backe, some forward busines strange,

Yet in good faith, my friendes were twise as strong:

The force of whom, made worlde to feare a change,

But on and of, alas they dalied longe.

And all the while, I thought they did me wronge.

Yet vaine it was, in armes to stande and striue:

For they had not, that waye found me aliue.

Long was the talke, of manie a farlye thoe,

Long did I looke, for that which did not come:

But all those blasts, in sine did ouerbloe,

I listned long, to heere the sound of drumme.

Yet though I had, the great good will of some.

God would not th [...]ell, for one mans sake alone:

That broyles should cause, a million make their mone.

When birde is limde, farewell faire feathers all,

The fish in net, maie bidde the sea adiew:

When world beholds, a man is neere his fall,

It leaues him there, and follows fancies newe.

[Page]When all is saide, the olde prouerbe is true.

Who cannot swimme, must sincke there is no boote:

Who hath no horse, of force must goe on foote.

Thus [...]yed to clogge, and pende in prison fast,

My hope decaide, my hart did heauie waxe:

So souldiers came, and brought me foorth at last,

The butcher then, began to wh [...]t his axe,

All was on flame, the fire was flowne in flaxe.

There was no choise, I must a size abide:

Prooue foule or cleane, and by my Peeres be tried.

To Edenbrough, the captiue man was brought,

Along the fieldes, where flockes of people were:

The sight of whom, did trouble much my thought,

But when in deede, I was ariued there,

Both streetes and stalles▪ and windows euery where,

Were stuffed full, to giue on me the gaze:

But that might not my manly mind amaze.

Yet neither one, nor other, small nor great,

Did me salute, So turnde the moodes of men:

That colde deuice, (nay rather raging heate)

Could not appall; my princely courage then.

For I did looke, as I did nothing ken.

Yet knew the whole, that some in secret bore:

So passed through, the thronge, what would ye more.

A russet cloake, (a garment rude and bare,

For such a state: make what of mee they would:

With foule felt hat, and robes but base I ware,

That people might▪ my great disgrace beholde.

Alas poore lambe, thy life was bought and soulde.

No force of weedes, to couer clott of claye,

Morton was dead, full longe before that daie.

[Page]

Now Lawyers flockte, and swarmde in ilke a place,

Now Lords repaird, and Lardes came daily in:

Now learned heads, did long debate my case,

Now did (in deed) my sorrowes all beginne,

Now was the time, that I must lose or winne,

For I appeard, before the iudgement seate,

And there maintainde, my right with reasons great.

Made good defence, to many matters sure,

Spake boldly still, and did but iustice craue:

My pleading there, did foure long houres endure,

And Lawyers then, to me good leasure gaue,

But to what end, did I long pleading haue,

I was condemnd, the world would haue it so,

A thing there was, but that the Lord doth know.

And I that héere, confesse my former gylt,

A murther than, was laide vnto my charge:

Which I concealde, yet saw a Kings bloud spilt▪

A fowle offence, for which there is no targe:

Nor could not claime, therefore to goe at large:

But byed the sence, and censure of the lawes,

For fowle (God wot) and filthy was my cause.

The iudgement was, a heauy thing to héere,

But what they did, I could not call againe:

The sentence past, too late my selfe to cleere,

Once iudgd to die, condemnd I must remaine.

As silly shéepe, in shopp must needes be slaine.

Then to the pot, or pit our flesh must passe,

All flesh is dust, vaine ashes earth and grasse.

Then thought I on, some friend that absent was,

And spoke some words, but ask [...] not what they were,

So from the bench, to prison did I pas,

[Page]And for to die, did make me ready there,

The Preachers came, and shed full many a teare,

To bring my soule, in perfect patience than,

And make me die, a faithfull christian man.

In secrete sort, the Preachers there I told,

Great things of waight, that in my conscience lay:

And so confest, what right and reason would,

But thereon pawsde, I would no further say,

Aske what they pleasde, I did but troth bewray.

Whereat I knockt, my troubled trembling brest,

And so desirde, the Preachers let me rest.

O brethren mine, your doctrine likes me well,

(Qd. I) good men, bestow some praiers now.

In your beliefe, looke that you daily dwell,

As you beganne, so still continue through,

The bloud of Christ, hath washt my blotted brow,

As white as snow, (I haue no doubt nor feare)

Shall be my sinnes, that red as scarlet were.

The Preachers glad, to bring my soule to rest,

Brought Scripture in, and did the text vnfold:

And many a place, and sentence they exprest,

Towardes the death, to make my body bolde,

O my good Lord, you may not now behold,

The pompe (quoth they) and glory that is past,

But you must thinke, on that which aye shall last.

Both wealth and friends, and worldly wisedome to,

Are banisht quite, and blush to come in place:

When soule goes hence, those things haue nought to doe.

With man that is, then newly borne in grace,

The light of day, hath darkenes still in chase,

The heauenly thoughts, doe hate all earthly things,

And faith to clowdes, doth flie with flittring wings.

[Page]

They praide with me, and wipt their wéeping eies,

My heauy sprite, stood troubled sore that tide:

And as the sighes, from pan [...]ing heart did rise,

My groaning Ghost, O Abba father cride.

The sobs flew forth, the [...]eares I could not hide,

As babe doth wéepe, when he beholds the rod,

So then I feard, the wrath of my good God.

Full soone reformde, I was in godly wise,

Gaue ore the world, forgot all earthly thing,

Heaud vp my hands, and heart, vnto the skies,

To God that did, this plague vppon me bring,

And then I sued, and sent vnto the King.

To scape the coard, by losse of life and breath,

For heading was, for me more Nobler death.

He graunted that, and sad for my mishap,

He let me goe, where God and man assignd,

Now euery fault, lay open in my lap,

Each small offence came freshly to my minde,

The secret sinnes, that we in conscience finde,

A muster made, and passed for their pay,

Before great God, that doth all things bewray.

The wrong I did, to simple people plaine,

Bad heart [...]orethinke, the fury of mine ire,

The gréedy thirst, of glory rule and gaine,

Made soule afeard, of hote infernall fire,

My selfe I blamde, for fleshly fond desire.

But falling thus, full prostrate on my face,

From heauens hie, I felt a sparke of grace.

Which warmd my sprites, that waxed faint and cold,

The last conflict, that in this life we haue,

Then comfort came, and made weake body bold,

[Page]Care not for death, for life mounts vp from graue.

(Qd. knowledge then) when Christ the soule shall saue.

With that I flong, behinde all fearefull dread,

So cald for booke, and many a Psalme did reade.

In lesse then halfe, the time that I haue spoke,

Me thought I talkt, with God whose face did shine,

Who from a cloude, discende as thinne as smoke,

And entred in▪ my breast by power diuine,

O mortall man (said he) come thou art mine,

Be strong and stout, to fight the battell throw,

For my right hand, is here to helpe thée now.

Blush not to sée, the raging worlds despite,

The bloudy are, nor scaffolde full of bils:

My mercy seat, shall be thy chiefe delihte.

And though on earth, thine enimies haue their wils,

I am the God, that stormes and tempests stils,

In quiet calme, passe gently thou away,

And suffer much, yet doe but little say.

Death is the end, of all that beareth life,

Not one shall scape, this world is but a dreame,

The seeds of sinne, brings forth but flowres of strife,

In painted robes, lies many a rotten seame,

It is but griefe, to guide and rule a Realme:

Great charge and care, a great accompt must make,

And when I frown, the whole round world I shake.

I cause one wight, to take anothers place,

To chop off heads, to kill, to hang and draw:

And when I take, from rulers new my grace,

His head againe, shall yeeld to sword and law.

Men blowes the cole, but I put fire in straw,

And where doth fall, the flame of my great [...]e,

[Page]All things consumes, to cinders in that fire,

Come Murton come, and play thy pageant well,

Thou goest before, perhaps a yeare or twaine:

But after thee, shall passe to heauen or hell,

A number more, that mercy now remaine,

World hath no stay, I tell [...]hee all is vaine:

Both raigne and rule, and regall power most hie,

When bastards dreame, in durt and dust shall lie.

My God thus sayd, with that my sprites reuiude,

My wits were armde, my sence redoubled than:

And with my flesh, the holy Ghost he striude.

By Angels force, but not by might of man:

A marulous stirre, in stomacke then beganne,

For to subdue, the [...]arrein corps of care,

And burthend breast, that sinfull body bare.

Now hope in hast, made heauy heart full light,

The feare was fled, that comes by course of law:

Gods promise wrought, (through mercy grace and might,

A noble worke in me, cleare conscience saw.

A fig for death, his force not worth a straw:

(Qd. I) a rush for worlds reproach and shame:

For written is, in booke of life my name.

The Preachers then, began to wéepe for ioy,

Your firme beliefe, my Lord shall make you frée:

(Qd they) and sure, your soule is from annoy,

Both in this world, and where swéete Angels be.

And where right soone, you shall Gods glory see:

Not with bare view, but with immortall eies,

As body shall, at latter day arise.

Then knéeld I downe, and to the cloudes I looke,

[Page]The thought and care, the while of world was past,

And I in God, such ioy and pleasure tooke:

That at my héeles, all earthly pompe I cast,

By this the houre, of death approached fast.

The Gard gaue sign, with halbards bright in hand,

I must prepare, on Skaffold streight to stand.

The stréetes were full, of souldiers armed well,

With shot and match, and all belongs for warre,

I saw in house, I could no lon [...]er dwell:

For people said, the day was spent full farre.

Then ope the doore, (qd. I) draw backe the barre,

I will goe hence, to better home I trust:

Here is no hope, I see, that die I must.

To comfort sence, and strengthen vitall sprete,

I tasted foed, and dranke a draught of wine:

And pawsde a while, as I thought fit and méete,

But sure no dread, of death within mine eine

Was seene, for God by speciall grace deuine,

Held vp my heart, and head as high to shoe,

As when from home, I did a walking goe.

Milde words I gaue, when bitter spéech I hard,

So passed through, them all with manly chéere,

And did no more, this world nor earth regard,

Then though in deede, I neuer had beene here,

But when in sight, the Skaffold did appeare,

My minde was bent, to fight the battle out:

And conquere death, and banish feare and dout.

So stept I vp on Skaffold lightly than,

Where sundry came, to aske me many a thing,

I lookte to God, and made small count of man.

Saue that alowd, I saide God blesse the King.

[Page]God giue him grace, in peace the state to bring,

And shunne the harmes, and dangers ore his head:

To finde on earth, long life when I am dead.

Had I serud God, aswell in euery sort,

As I did serue, my king and maister still:

My scope had not, this season beene so short,

Nor world haue [...]ad, the power to doe me ill.

But loe, I liude, against my makers will:

That feeles my flesh, that feeles my soule alas,

That fault I feare, where now my soule shall passe.

That, that good Lord, forgiue, whilst breath I haue,

It is the sinne, that to this world I brought:

It buried shall, be with my flesh in graue,

It is a sore, and sickenesse of the thought.

It is most vaine, a wretched thing of nought,

A wicked wound, that death doth heale alone,

Dwels last in flesh, and first was bred in bone.

Pray you for me, that sets your sinnes by mine,

And such as doe, professe the faith I hold:

Marke who I am, that here by power diuine,

Am forst this daie, my conscience to vnfolde.

Looke neerely both, to your owne Faults vntolde,

And pray as well, for me with humble minde,

As for your selues, that here I leaue behinde.

My matter stands, before the iudge of all,

Men haue condemnd, my body to the tort,

When that great iudge, will for a reckning call,

Both you and I, (shut vp in sentence short,)

Shall soone be known, who gaines the best report,

There accuse, ne small nor great this day:

My part is plaide, and I must passe my way.

[Page]

The faith this howre that all the Realme doth know,

I die in here, and seale it with my blood:

To other faith, beware bend not your bowe:

The r [...]tten string, will breake and doe no good,

Whilst in this land, such trash a [...]d tromprie stood,

God was not pleasd, the King not serude aright,

And we did walke, in darkenes stead of light.

Good [...]earers all, my babes and children deere,

I brought you vp, full long in this beliefe:

Your regent ones, now preacheth to you here,

Chaunge not (my barns) religion to your griefe,

Serue first your God, next honor King as chiefe,

This lesson keepe, and so good friends, adiew:

The dead from quicke, so takes his leaue of you.

Thus full resolude, temptation to resist,

Great time I stood, and talkte in stoutest shoe,

Of sondry things, as freely as I list:

But waying then, that hence the soule must goe,

And that my necke, must bide the blouddy bloe,

I stretched armes, as hie as I could heaue:

So turnd my backe, and did the audience leaue.

The heauenly hope that heart doth long vphold,

Did hale me hence, and bad dispatch in haste

As firme as rocke I stood, say what they would,

For after this, I spake no word in waste,

Then downe I lay, and balefull blocke embraste.

And there receiude, the blow as are did fall:

That cut me cleaue, from cares and cumbers all.

The gasping head, as in the Lorde I slept,

A vision had, ye may the fame suppose:

I dreamde it saw, how friende, & faurers wept,

[Page]In heade that tide, a straunger fancie rose,

The eyes behelde, before the eyes did close,

A writer there, and Churchyard loe he hight:

Whose pen paints out, mens tragedies aright.

In deadly dreame, my tongue callde on that man,

(As headlesse [...]olke, may fumble out a word)

You must beleeue, the tongue a tale beganne,

Of earnest thinges, and not a trifling borde,

Churchyard (quoth he) if now thou canst afforde

Mee one good verse, take heere thy penne in hand:

And send my death, to thine owne natiue lande.

Which in my life, I loude and honourd much.

(A cause there was, let that passe oer with time:)

Thou man (I saie,) that didst Shores wife so touch,

With louing phrase, and friendlie English rime.

When pen & muse▪ (were in chiefe pride and prime,

Bestow some paines, on him that was thy friende:

Whose life thou knewst, & se [...]st mee make mine ende.

These wordes pronounst, the head gan bléed anew,

My bodie laie, along like lumpe of leade:

The limmes stretcht out, & sti [...]e as stake they grew,

And vnder cloath of blacke was made my bedd.

On thicke hard boordes, that world might see me dead

There did I lodge, till starrs appearde in skye:

And goring bloode, had glutted gasers eye.

Thus Churchyard now, in wandring vp & downe,

(About affaires, perhaps that toucht him nere:)

Saw on Tolbothe, in Edenborough towne,

My sencelesse head, before his face appeare.

Why Morton then, (quoth he) and art thou héere.

That long didst raigne, and rule this Realme of late:

[Page]

[...]

[Page]

[...]

[Page]Then ruine and wracke, oerreacheth each estate.

An Emperors life, puft vp with pompe & pride,

Maie not compare, with plaine ploughman (quoth he)

The climing foote, is apt to slippe and slide,

The studious braine, shall selde in suretie bee,

A bitter blast, sone bites the brauest trée.

At honors seate, blinde boltes men dailie shoote:

And wretched hap, riues vp renowne by roote.

No wit nor wealth, preuailes against mischaunce,

Whom fortune hates, the people doe disdaine:

As wisdomes grace, doth worthie witts aduaunce,

So priuie hate, throwes downe hie harts againe.

The whitest clothe, will take the greatest staine.

It is not strange, to sée great men to fall,

For too much trust, of worlde deceiues vs all.

Why doe wée wish, to weald a world at will,

What follows pompe, but hazard of good name:

Why would wise men, in pleasure wallow still,

The end of toyle, makes soule and bodie tame.

They take no rest, that runnes still after fame,

Great charge breeds griefe, and brings on care apace:

Great honor rules, and lasteth but a space.

Who trauells farre, comes wearie home at night,

The mounting Larke, comes down to foulers hand:

Great birdes are borne, about with feathers light,

All great renowne, on tickle propps doth stand,

All wordlie blisse, is builded on the sand.

Which when a puffe, of winde beginnes to bloe:

In peeces small, the painted postee will goe.

To greatest trées, the birdes doe daily flock,

[Page]On highest hils, wée walke to take the ayre:

And sudden stormes, giue greatest oke a shock,

The ground is bare, where many feete repayre,

All people drawe, vnto a goodly faire.

But where most haunte, is founde with iudging eye:

There is least hope, and doth most daunger lye:

The fayre it selfe, where all is bought and solde,

Showes méere deceipt, to him that buies and sells:

The enemies strength, striues still with strongest holde,

Disdaine doth drawe, where greatest honor dwels.

All flies repayre, to flowers of swéetest smells,

Each wicked worme to soundest kernell goes:

Ten thousand wéeds, do growe about a rose.

Because the seate, of honor standeth hye,

The baser sort, do bend the browe thereat:

And honor is, a moate in enuies eye,

Who vily thinkes, and speaks he knows not what.

By enuies brute, that bitter biting gnatt.

A blister growes, in soft and smothest skinne:

So skarrs arise, where cleerest shew hath binne.

O malice great, thou monster sent from hell,

The heauens hate, to heare thy naughty name:

If world thee skorn, thou knowst not where to dwell,

O fugitiue, O sonne of open shame.

No wisdomes lore, nor men of noble fame,

Can scape thy scourge, it giues so sore a yarke:

And so thy boltes, are shot at eache good marke.

Men may not liue, though great they are of race,

For malice, rage, and enuie now a dayes:

Proude practise proules, about in eurie place,

To breede debate, and cut of good mens praise.

[Page]Where malice sowes, the séedes of wicked waies.

Both honor quailes, and creadit crackes with all:

Of no [...]lest men, and such as feares no fall.

At goodlie fruite, that growes on topps of trées,

The people gase, and somtime kudgels flinge:

Disdaine repines, at all good things it sees,

And so like snakes, doth enuie shoote his sting,

The angrie waspes, are still about a king.

Who [...]eekes by swarmes, to hurt true meaning still:

So workes great harmes, to those that thinks no ill.

True honor may, full long in fauour bée,

If rigors wrath, and malice did not meete:

And malice might, lies not in meane degree,

It closely lurkes, in craft and cunning sprete,

First fine deuice, can kisse both handes and feete.

Then draw the knife, that cuts the harmlesse throte:

Thus honor is, by drifts in daunger gote.

These deadly driftes, drinkes déepest riuers drie,

Sincks greatest grounds, belowe past helpe of man:

Flings flat on floore, the statelye buildings hye,

Shakes downe great harts, (let wit doe what he can.

Fine drift is hee, that mischiefe first beganne.

Against whose force, no reason maie resist:

That awefull worme, on earth doth what it li [...]t.

Then noble birth, and vertues rare must stowpe,

When daie is come, and destines strikes the stroke:

This cunning world, may make great minds to drowpe,

UUhen we are c [...]lde, men needs must draw the yoke.

UUhen life goes out, our breath is but a smoke.

UUhen at the dore, our drerie death doth knocke:

Take key in hand, wee must turne backe the locke.

[Page]

Who would haue thought, Earle Morton should haue fell,

A graue wise man, and gouernde manie a daye:

Rulde all at home, and vsde his wit so well,

In foreine Realmes, hee bare a wonderous swaie,

Of worldes affaires, hee knew the readie waye.

Yet knowledge failde, and cunning knew no boote:

When fortune came, and tript him with her foote.

Loe, lookers on, what staie remaines in state.

Loe, how mans blisse, is but a blast of winde:

Borne vnto bale▪ and subiect to debate,

And makes an ende, as destine hath assignde,

Loe heere as oft, as Morton comes to minde,

Dispise this worlde, and thinke it nothing straunge:

For better place, when we our liues doe chaunge.

FINIS. qd. T. C.

SIR SIMON BVRLEIS TRAGEDIE, who liued in the xi. yeare of Richarde the seconde. Looke Frozard the last part Fol. 108.

AM I of blood, or yet of birth so base,

O Baldwin now, that thou forgetst my name:

Or doth thy penne, want cunning for that case▪

Or is thy skill, or senses fallen lame,

Or dost thou feare, to blase abroade my fame:

O shew some cause, wherefore I sit in shade,

And why is thus, my Tragedie vnmade.

UUho thinkes great scorne, in silence still to sléepe,

[Page]And on whose fall, a world may waile and wéepe.

Did Boccace liue, or Lidgate write againe,

Some hope were left, my lanterne should haue light:

If any one, that had a Poets vaine.

Knew halfe my life, or had my case in sight,

In colours fine, I should bee paynted right.

But gaping graue, and gnawing wormes below,

Snapt Bocace vp, and Lidgate long agoe,

And Poets sleepe, within Parnassus mount,

Where [...]oe! of mee, they make but small account.

O Bauldwin yet, what blot was in my brow,

That made thee blushe, or feare to write my fall:

With what offence, can world come charge me now,

That I maie not, for Baldwins fauour call.

Yea durst I clayme, the helpe of Poets all,

I doubt their skill, could scarcely shew in déede.

In this behalfe, the cunning that doth neede.

Well Baldwin well, if headlesse men might chide,

I know what check, and blame should Baldwin bide,

How couldst thou reade, in storyes any while,

And so skip ore, my life and dest [...]y straunge:

Thou knowst, how hap, on mee full long did smile,

And that my state, stoode free from doubt of chaunge.

I sprong not foorth, of such a simple graunge:

That I should dwell, in dust from minde of men,

While others are, set ou [...] by arte of Pen▪

Thou dost me wrong, wherefore the wounde to heale

Syr Symon Burley complains to him that knowes what sorrow meanes.

(That sloth hath made,) to Churchyard I appeale.

Let him be iudge, of all my doings throw,

Let him vnfolde, my fortune sweete or sowre:

Yea vnto him▪ I tell my sorrows now.

[Page]Whose resteles hand, is writing euery howre,

And so I leaue, thée Baldwin in thy howre.

Of Lawrell leaues, where thou mayst sit and sée,

At open view, what Churchyard writes of mée.

But erre hée takes in hand this worke of mine:

I tell my tale, with wéeping blubbring eyne.

Giue eare good friend, and heare what I shall say,

And for the while, set all affaires aside:

But sure I feare, too short I finde the day.

To shew my griefe, that hardely can I hide,

Yet through I goe, and hope with happie tide,

Though haplesse wind, hath blowne my barke about

And daungers déepe, did driue my day [...]s in doubt.

Since calme is come, and quiet ease I haue:

Heare his complaint, that late crept out of graue.

How should I speake, that holdes my head in hand,

(Which sencelesse scalpe, both life & spéech hath lost:)

Yet out of brest, though headlesse héere I stand.

I may blase foorth, the griefes of groning Ghost:

As from the Seas, that is with torments tost.

Coms roring noyse, when calmes full quiet are:

So breath I out, from breast my boyling care.

Though head be off, a smoaking fume proceedes,

From quaking necke, & gushing vaines that bléedes.

Heare him I saie, whose bowels speakes alone,

And wants in deede, both vse of tongue and wit:

Heare him that must, by arte come make his moone,

And lakes therefore, the members méete and fit,

[...]eare him that groanes, & howles from hollow pit.

Heare him whose voice, doth giue a fearefull sounde,

Heare him that long, lay rotten in the grounde.

Heare him whose plaint, may pearse the lostie skies,

[Page]And for thy ayde, and English verses cryes.

As naked sure, as he was lapt in shéete,

UUith deadly lookes, and grisely staring heare:

Not like a man, but like a monstrous spreete,

Sent from the pit, to whisper in thyne eare,

And make thee muse, of world an other where.

For heere as time, doth softly steale away,

So life and laude, and all things doth decay.

No byrth nor blood, nor flocks of freinds preuayles,

When sturdie stormes, strikes downe our stately sayles.

The ship must sway, aside or sincke in seas,

That shaken is, with shocking surges still:

The gréenest grasse, that growes in goodliest leas.

To partching heate, must yelde by reasons skill,

What stone can stay, that rowleth downe the hill.

What foote can stand, that fortune dayly trips,

What liuing wight, can scape her scorging whips.

No sooner out, of shell or mothers lap:

But subiect straight, to sorrow and mishap.

The life that some, most swéetely do embrace,

To troubled teares, doth turne or wée bee ware.

Wee are in loue, with fond Narcissus face.

And droun'de our selues, in that whereon wée stare,

And feede the flesh, so long with daintie fare.

That belly swelles, or stomacke belcheth vp,

The liquor sweete, that came from spiced cup.

On dayes disgrace, doth breede an endlesse sore:

And payse vs home for all things past before.

Yet climing vp, the trée of tickle trust,

Wee streache the arme, as farre as reach may goe:

Disguis'd, with pompe, and pampred vp with lust,

[Page]We gase alof, and neuer lookes beloe,

Till hatchet comes, and giues the fauling blo,

Then crake it cries, and all in shiuers flies,

That many a day, was mounting to the Skies,

One stroke throwes down, a thousand bowse withal,

And such as clime, are crusht by sodaine fall.

Was I not one, that in toppe Gallant stoode,

And bare great sway, with him that rulde the roste:

Was not my house, sprong out of Gentle blood.

And was not I,

Sir Simon brought vp at Schoole with the Prince of Wales and Aquitayne.

long time in fauour most:

Yes sure I was, and therefore make I boste,

At schoole brought vp, with Prince of peereles race,

A playfeere long, with him in euery place.

My childhood wan, such loue and liking great,

That in mine age, I sat in Senate seate.

Was not my Sire, about a King estéemde,

And highly plast,

Into Galatia to cōduct Don Petro King of Castell Sir Simon was sent as one of chiefest for that purpose.

(whereby he purchast praise)

And néere the King, in fauour as it séemde.

Yea much made of, full long before my daies.

Was not I sent, Embaster sundry waies.

And did not I, my duety euery houre

With paine and purse, as far as stretcht my powre,

The World well knowes, what seruice I haue done,

And by the same, what honor I haue wonne.

My manhood made, mine enimies fly like shéepe,

(Before the Wolfe,

Hee appeased an vprore in the Citty of London.

that watcheth for his pray)

My wisedome did, in peace the Commons kéepe.

When Iohn of Gaunt, they would haue made away,

My presence oft, could quiet many a fray.

My councell coold, the rage of retchlesse heads,

My stoutnesse serude, the state in sundry steads,

My noble minde, could neuer take no rest.

[Page]For publike wealth, I had such burning brest.

In Poiteou long, against the French I was,

Where frontier warre, I held and did full well:

And as I did, through many a perill passe,

In comming home, in Enemies hands I fell.

And when in déede, my Prince thereat heard tell,

He sorry was, and spake of me much good,

But as these things, in waight and ballaunce stoode:

Our Souldiers tooke, a Dutches of great fame,

Who at that time, of Burbon bare the name.

The Dutches of Burbon prisoner, and did raunsome Sir Simon Burley.

The Souldiers swore, that shée should nere bee frée,

(Nor sée her Sonne, nor finde a sparke of grace:

Nor looke for hope,) till she had raunsomde me.

And set me safe, in good and quiet case:

Loe what regard they had, in euery place.

Of me those daies, loe? how I was on height,

Loe? how I was, emploide in things of w [...]ight.

At home embraste, abroad well likt with all,

Yea loude and fearde, among both great and small.

One Pascall was sent from the K. of Nauarhether for sauiour, and Kinge Richarde made Sir Simon answer the Ambasdor the Earl of Salisbury and other in presence

When forraine friends, did send for succour héere,

King Richard bad, me aunswere make therein:

In presence then, there stoode a greater Péere.

But I was he, that did the fauour winne:

To speake and thus, my credite did beginne,

And still increasde, as one whose Lampe in déede,

Could want no Oile, the blase and flame to féede.

My Candle blasde, so cléere, as Starre by night,

And where I came, the Torche gaue little light.

Kinge Richarde sent him to conclude a mariage and the Duke of Tasson was sent hither with Sir Simon from the king of Beam & Almaine aboute this matter.

And when the King, for causes good and great,

Deuisde to match, with one beyond the seas:

Twas I was thought, most fit to worke the feate.

[Page]And in this case, the King I did so please,

Of mariage there, that knot was knit with ease,

And so from thence, a Duke was sent with me:

For this behalfe, the state of things to sée.

Thus still I was, employde in great affaires,

As hap her selfe, had hald me vp her staires.

An office héere, I had of great renowne,

A place neere Prince,

He was Lorde Chamberlain.

and still in Court to be:

That might commaund, the people vp and downe.

And thrust them out, or call them in to me.

Bad I them run, on flockes then would they flee,

Bad I them stand, in déede they durst not sit:

I swaide them all, as Horse is rulde by Bit.

I bare in hand, the Staffe that kept the stur,

And knockt their Pates, that prest too néere the dur.

Lord Warden loe? of the sincke Ports I was,

And Captaine both, of Douer Castle tho:

Through Lordly roumes, and places I did passe,

As easely sure, as man can wish to goe:

I knew no Ebbe▪ my Tide did daily floe,

I kept the traine, I had the liuely troope,

I held vp head, I neuer thought to droope.

I went no where, but I was waited on,

And shone in Pompe, like Pearle, or Precious ston.

Among the chiefe, yea chiefest was I held,

My Prince preferde, me so for vertues sake:

And what he saw, I able was to welde.

I had, for which, I seldome suite did make,

I stoode beneath, whilst he did Apples shake

Into my lap, when least I lookt therefore.

As somewhat came, so daily followed more,

By heapes as though, great mounts of massy Gould,

[Page]In my most néede, should aunswere what I would.

The flouds of wealth, that doth refresh the minde,

With gladsome thoughts, of thréefolde sweet delite,

Came gushing in, against both Tyde and Winde,

On which faire baites, each Fish desires to bite.

A carelesse eie, I cast, of Worlds despite,

That spurnes at such, that Fortune liftes alofte,

A wicked Worme, that waites on worship ofte,

A swarme of Wasps, that vseth nought but sting.

On those that rise, and rules about a King.

O hatefull flies, yée hatcht of wretched broode,

On euery dish, in hast yee blow and humme:

O canckred men, of vile and noughty moode,

You doe infect, all places where you cumme,

You make small shew, yet sound as shrill as Drum,

In peoples eares, and still your Poison restes,

On noble mindes, and tender harmelesse Brests.

Yee mallice much, the high and mighty sort,

To kill good name, by brute of false report.

If poore men rise, in fauour any way,

The rich repines, to see how they are plaste:

As Hounds doe barke, that houlds the Bucke at bay,

The people prate, and spend much speech in waste,

Looke saith the lewde, on new start vps in haste.

Looke who rules now, looke what this man hath found,

Looke how in Lappe, doth Fortunes Ball rebound:

They lookte not how, to climbe for Uertues sake,

But how of World, they may a wonder make.

So lofty mindes, with lothsome lowring lookes,

Salutes the good, that growes in Princes grace:

And watcheth close, in corners and in Nookes.

[Page]How they by wiles, the worthy may deface,

No maruaile sure, it is a common case.

To heare them snarre, whose natures are not like,

What Greiund can rest, by currish countrey Tike?

What Hawke can sit, in peace for carraine Crow?

What tongue can scape, the skolding of a Shrow.

The dolt disdaines, the déepe wise man ye wot,

The blunt abhors, the quicke sharpe Wit in deede:

The Coward hates, the hand that conquest got.

The Iade will winche, to stand by sturring Stéede▪

The Glutton grunts, to see the hungry feede.

Thus things from kinde, so farre can neare agrée,

No more then can, the Catte and Dogge you see

As choise is great, of wealth and worldly goods,

Men differ much, in manners and in moods.

One Iewell staines, an other very farre,

And strife there is, in mettalls grosse and fine:

And sundry happs, belongs to euery starre.

And Planets to, they say that can deuine.

One race and bloud, doe seldome draw one line,

A graine of grudge, is sowne so déepely heere,

That nothing scarce, can scape from mallice cléere.

Thus mallice makes, a murmur where it goes,

And strikes out right, yet giues but secret blowes.

The gréedy Gnat, and priuy eating Mothe,

(A monster small, that skarce is felt or seene:)

Lies lurking still, in plaits of finest cloth,

And little worms, whilst Nuts are fresh and greene,

Creepes in and eats, the kirnell as I weene.

So vnto them, compare these péeuish pates,

That on small cause, doe enuy great estates,

Yea enuy oft, is coutcht and clokt as cleane,

[Page]In mighty folke, as founde among the meane.

The flashing flames, that from great Fornace flies,

Casts forth such heat, as few men can abide:

The rage whereof, doth dimme the dainty eies:

And breeds great griefe, before the harme be spide,

Much mischiefe comes, by pranks of powting pride,

Which puffes and blowes, as it would mountaines moue,

And growes at first, on nought, but lacke of loue

Whose spitefull sparkes, doth spare no speach nor time,

(Nor practise lewd) to plucke them down that clime.

This Enuy is, a mighty Monster great,

That swims like Whale, among the little fry:

Whose gaping mouth, would soone consume and eate,

The Gogions small, that in small corners lie.

His thirsty throate, would drinke all places dry,

And sucks vp all, and so of all leaues nought.

Which should serue all, if all did beare one thought.

O hungry Flie, that would be all in all,

And Maggots brings, when men for féeding call.

As greatest flouds, most Grauell doe retaine,

And strongest Tides, runnes ore the weakest walles,

So highest States, doe nourish most disdaine.

And at rebound, strikes out the tennis Balles.

Yea they who thinkes, them furthest off from falles,

Are watching still, in Court, in Field, or Towne,

Like stumbling stockes, to trip their fellowes down.

And none doe striue, and struggle for the goales,

But such as haue, their hearts most full of hoales.

Yea heapes of them, are harbred héere and theare,

In golden haules, that shines like Phoebus bright:

Where flattrers flocke, who tattles in the eare.

[Page]A thousand lies, that neuer comes to light,

They worke the waxe, with fire both day and night,

They spinne the webbe, that takes the foolish flie.

They baite the Hooke, that bleres the simple eie,

They shoue them out, that should be called in,

They make the match, that doth the wager win.

And they breede strife, where all in quiet stood,

They packe the Cards, and play most filthy pranke [...] ▪

They sharpe the sword, that sheads the guiltles bloud

They least deserue, and alwaies gets most thankes,

They feed the stream, that breaks the mighty banks▪

They are the sheares, that marrs the garment quite▪

They haue the tongs, that spares no speach nor spite,

They are the Babes, still dandled on the knee,

And those are they, rootes vp the soundest tree.

If fawners ded, the house of mighty men,

And [...] folke, would frowne on fawning curres,

Deceipt should shunne, the noble houses then.

And veluet wéedes, should shake off cleaning burres,

But stirring stéedes, are prickt that néeds no spurres.

Th [...] Palfray flings, and flounceth out of frame,

That els of kinde, were curteous meeke and tame.

A iombling iob, doth strike the bowle awry,

Which of himselfe, would close on bias lie.

For noble bloud, must needs haue noble minde,

And f [...]ie the gate, of fawcon gentle milde,

And sure it is, against their noble kinde,

To play the Kite, and cruell Coistrel [...] wilde,

Till tatlers come, with tongues full finely filde,

And change their moodes, and marre their manners cleane,

They skarce doe knowe, what cankred hate doth meane.

But when from best, to worst the good are wrought,

[Page]By busie braines, all sortes of sleights are sought.

Then burnes the brest, as hot as Ethna hill,

And rage beares rule, where reason dwelt before:

The hasty head, is swift to slay and kill.

The hauty heart, hurds vp much hate in store,

The altred minde, doth make the mischiefe more,

The kindled coales, doth creepe in straw so farre,

That quarrels rise, and peace is turnd to warre.

One haleth backe, another drawes aside,

And weakest bones, must needes the brunt abide.

As I aspierd, by vertue and desarte,

And was by Prince, cald vnto credite still:

So some by sleight, did séeke to sucke my heart.

And of my bloud, did thirst, to drinke their fill,

They sought to stop, the Water from the mill.

And turne the whéele, and all the ioints awry.

Loe heare how cloase, the swelling Serpents lie,

Loe how they cast, their venome as they may,

And marke what hate, they gaine that beareth sway.

The Earle of Oxford called duke of Irelād fauored much [...] Simon.

For that I grew, full great with Robert Vear,

A Noble man, full wise and mighty both,

And had the guide, of good Prince Edwards ear,

To show therein, my duety, faith and troth,

Great mallice rose, as grudging daily groth▪

Twéene many men, that cannot rule their rage.

Almighty Duke, there was well stept in age,

That sought to reape, the corne that I had sowne,

And could not rest, till I was quite orethrowne.

My roulmes and rule, and things that I had gote,

My gaine, my wealth, and glory as it grew:

Was in his eie, so bigge a mighty mote,

[Page]That loe this Duke, my plague did still pursue,

UUith open mouth, he so the bellows blue

That sparkes of fire, as thick flew in my face,

As in the sunne, the gnatts do flie at chace.

Or as the ball, rebounds at euerie stroke,

So lo his words,

The band that the duke made against the king, the duke of Yorke, the Earle of Salisbury, the earle of Arundell, the earle of Northumberland, the earle of Nottinghā, & the archbishop of Canterburie.

did smore mée vp in smoke.

The dreadfull Duke, did driue a wondrous drift

To worke his will, with slipperie sleight of hand:

And sought to giue, king Richards friends a lift,

For whom he did, prepare a secret band.

Whose bold attempts, did trouble all this land.

But few could find, the darnell in the corne,

Or iudge aright, the rose from pricking thorne.

So close in cloud, was clokte their cunning art,

That none could know, who plaide the Foxes part.

This Duke did rayse, a brute the king would haue,

A fare most straunge, of all the realme throughout:

And to the Lords,

A noble of euery [...] in England was the taxe that the naughty duke sayd the king did demaund.

and Commons councell gaue,

Against the king, to stand both stiffe and stout,

This practise proude, was patcht with many a clout:

Heere did the wolfe, lead silly lambes amisse,

(And suckt their bloud,) as woluish manner is.

Heere traytrous tricks, and treble trothlesse traynes,

In subiects brests, beganne to spreade their vaynes.

The Duke of Yorke, and diuers noble Péeres

Forsooke the king, and held with this vprore:

By which great strife, was sowne in sundry Shieres,

And corzies rose, that made a running sore.

Bigge viles brast out, where flesh was sound before,

And though some time, the Surgeon salue did find

To heale the wound, (the skarre remaynde behind.)

A common plague, doth creepe along the Realme,

[Page]As skulls of fish, swimmes vp and down the streame.

The greatest townes, and Citties of most name,

As London, Yorke, and many mo beside:

These Dukes did drawe, with folly out of frame.

And made some striue, against both streame and tide,

Where banks be broke, the water cannot bide.

Where flouds flooe out, the fish doe [...]ollow fast,

And then too late, to call againe is past.

The Swallow flies, no swifter vnder winge,

Then mens deuice, that do forsake a King.

For fayth once staynde, séekes straight for starting holes,

As Prisners do, that hath their promise broke:

The seames once ript, of shue farewell the soles,

The Oxe set frée, will séeke to shunne the yoke,

The chimney bruste, the house is full of smoke.

The fleuce drawne vp, downe driues the dregs and all,

The strongest tript, the weakest néeds must fall.

There is no stay, to holde meane people in,

When might with mayne, the mischiefe doth begin.

The Lords alledgd, the King was gouernd still,

By such as came, from base and poore estate:

And sayde he should, no longer haue his will,

By which bolde speach, there grew so great debate,

The land was bent, on murther, ruyne, and hate.

Now seuerall waies, from hiue flue out the Bées,

Now tempests came, and tare vp mightie trees.

Now traytors flockt, and fell to factions straunge,

Whose fickle mindes, still gaped for a chaunge.

O Uipers broode, and bloodie bosome snakes,

O Butchers curres, that would your maister byte:

O Helhoundes rude, of Plutos lothsome Lakes,

[Page]O cursed crue, more cruell then the Kyte,

O cankred hartes, so fraught with frowarde spite.

O Tygers wilde, O monstruous men most vile,

Where was your loue, and duty all this while

How durst you speake, so stoutly to his face

To whom of right, the stoutest ought giue place.

Among brute beasts, that sauage are and wilde,

The Lion raignes, and rules with regall power:

And so great birds, stoupes downe like little childe,

(To fathers becke) if Eagle doth but lowre,

Than on a king, dare people looke so sowre.

That they will force, their soueraigne past their reach

No scholler ought, his learned tutor teach.

No member dare, presume to rule the head:

None raignes & rules, but kings when all is sed.

Note how they shrinke, that shapes to giue a shocke

Against a king, and marke how traytors spéede:

Note how their heads do tumble off the blocke,

That with vaine hope, doe peoples humors féede,

And note from whence, doth princes power procéede.

And note withall, how farre doth stretch his fame,

And faulters quake, that doe but heare his name.

For at the brunt, say héere a king doth come,

Home run poor knaues, & down they fling the drome.

Harke how this Duke, whereof I spake before,

By three estates, vnto accompt did call:

Their king and lord, whose minde they troubled sore

And vext thereby, his friends and fauourers all.

They fill in lash, they felt the bloudy braule.

They l [...]st their goodes, they got a great disgrace,

They fled from Court, they were pursued in chace.

They were full [...]aine, for none offence or cause,

[Page]At open barre, to pleade their case by lawes.

Such are the happes, of those that hould with right,

Such cureles wounds, they haue that sores would heale:

Such hate they heape, in hucksters hands that light,

Such harmes they find, that stands with common weale.

And such know not, to whome they would appeale,

When wrong will rule, and reuell fals to spoyle,

The faythfull flocke, are forst to féele the foyle.

Dread driues desarts, that dayly well haue done:

To slie from foes, or else through fire to runne.

Because the Lords, who lookt to leade the daunce,

The Duke of Glocester and Duke of York with others maligned those the king fauoured.

Saw other step, on stage ere they could rise:

By plaine fine force, they would themselues aduaunce.

And for that feate, this drift they did deuise,

Desire of fame, doth so abuse the wise,

They end like fooles, that erst beganne so well,

And soonest smart, that ringes the larum bell.

For whéeles and all, fals downe about their eares,

(From rotten frames) who first stood voide of feares.

But we who were, besiegd by fortune so,

King Richards best friends were by traytors frowardly handled.

Betrayd I meane, if troth may tell the tale:

Were scourgde & plagude, & faine to fawne on Foe,

And sue to such, as set our liues to sale.

Wée were shut vp, they had the bouncing gale.

That blew their barke, beyonde our compasse cleane:

With sailes as [...]aunt, and had no merrie meane.

They clapt on all, and went through streame & flud:

When true mens feete, stood fast in mire and mud.

I was the man, that most of mischiefe had,

I was accusde, and calde to count in haste:

I founde most cause, to sigh and sit full sad.

[Page]I was layde vp, and thereby cleane disgracste,

Myne en'mies sayd, I did the treasure waste

And held in hand the souldiers money too,

I was so nipt, I knew not what to do.

My friends wext fainte, or ferd the like mischaunce,

But I was he, must leade the dolefull daunce.

A mitred head, a Bishop bolde and braue

Sayd I conuayde,

The Bishop of Canterbury accusde him of sacrilege & conuaying money ouer the Sea by night to the king of Beam.

away Sainct Thomas shryne:

And that I ment, the king of Beame should haue,

The same from me, by priuie practise fine,

To hoyste me vp, he layd both booke and line.

And so by friends, he framde so flat a feate,

That I was cald to straight accompt in heate

For this and more, a libell long and large

(Of forged faultes,) that he layd to my charge.

No Clarke might come, to make my reckning right,

No tale could serue, to show my matter throw

No deepe discourse, could bring the troth to light,

No man of law, could canuas cases now,

Strong hand did all, I must both bend and bow.

The king knew not, of halfe the wrongs I felt,

Nor none could find, how finely cardes were dealt,

A packe was made, and one had got the ace,

And trimely robd, the trumps before my face.

No boote to bid, the Players deale againe,

The game was won, and I had lost the stake:

These Foysters fine, could nick both by and mayne,

And cog out right, when they the Dice did shake,

And of sweete spoyle, a bitter banquet make.

They calde me in, and I the only Gheaste,

Was bidden then, vnto that bloodie feaste,

I was compeld, to taste what dishe they wolde,

[Page]And in great heate, to drinke vp Poyson colde.

I meane my fate, and fortune was so harde

I could not scape, their hands that sought my life,

Who wreakt their wrath, on me without regard,

Yet long in sheath, they kept the murthering Knife:

For on my hap, at first rose all this strife.

And on the freindes, that I by hap had wonne,

This end I had, and mischiefe was begonne,

For taking part, with such as likt me well,

To ground full flat, from top of trée I fell,

UUhen in the tower my Foes had clapt mée fast,

Few friends I found, the world beganne to winke:

And so at length, in Rerage was I cast,

And Poaste alone, was left to swimme or sincke.

And iudgement was, as I was forste to thinke

That I should pay, two hundreth thousand Frankes

For all my toyle, loe! héere is all my thankes

I did possesse, my charges and my losse

And paynes abroad, came home by wéeping crosse.

And wanting wealth, to pay this heauy summe

With Billes, and [...]layues, from prison was I led

And so vnto, the Tower-hill did I come

To suffer death, where soone I lost my head.

The King knew naught, of this till I was dead.

Loe people héere! how things about were brought,

And what disdaine, and mighty malice wrought.

Loe! héere is ende, and sodayne sliding downe,

That was both true, to God and to the Crowne.

As little twigs, ore top of houses grow

Whose braunches big, spredes out a mighty trée:

Or as small brookes, with Seas do swell and flow,

[Page]Yet hath no power, to passe their bounds you sée,

Or as faire flowers, that in gaie gardens bée

Sprouts out a while, and when they are at height,

They fade and fall, & then declineth streight.

So man doth mount, a while on stages hie,

And at the best, shootes downe like starre from skie.

When thinges are growen, as farre as course is set,

And haue attaynde, the fulnesse of their state:

They backward come, and can no further get,

For cleane expierd yee see is then their date,

The life wée beare, of force must yeeld to fate.

The steppes wée tread, weares out by tract of time,

When ladder breakes, wée can no higher clune.

Where fortune sits, so fast, doth grinde the mill,

The Wheele turnes round, and neuer standeth still.

Long is the toyle, or man to triumph commes,

Large is the plot, where wée our Pagantes play:

Swéete is the sa [...]; and sowre are all the Plummes,

That payne pluckes off, the pleasaunt planted spray,

Short is the time, of all our glory gay,

Uayne is the hope, of hazards héere in earth,

Great are the griefes, of life from day of birth▪

No surety growes, of all is heere possest,

All comes to naught, when people feareth least.

Loe! what it is, to stand on tickle staies,

Where hatred heaues, the houshoulde out of square:

And when it falls, the ioynts flee seuerall wayes,

And ioyfull wightes, are clad with woe and care,

The seruants howle, the wife and childe is bare.

The friends wring hands, the foes do laugh and flyre,

Such chaunges chaunce,, to those that do aspyre.

The ground but gapes, who first shall fall therein,

[Page]And who séekes most, at length the least may win.

Loe! Churchyard now, my mirthlesse tale is tolde,

A mourning verse, prepare thou straight for mée:

And in thy r [...]e, some stately order holde,

For that I sprong, not out of base degrée,

Let euery line, a liuely sentence bée,

To wake the wits, of such as world would knowe,

And list to ma [...]ke, how wordly matters goe.

And when thou comst, to touch the gauled backe,

Leape ore the horse, or vse a riders knacke.

Beare euen hand, and holde the bridle right,

Yet whiskt the wande, sometimes for pleasures sake:

Yea spyce thy speach, and tearmes with trifels light,

That lookers on, may not thy mind mistake,

When store is gone▪ yet doe thy budget shake.

Among the best, and féede their fancies still,

No matter though, a mouse créepe out of hill,

Small toyes may bréede, great sporte in great estates,

And in great grounds, men walke through little gates.

Doe wisely warne and warely vse thy pen,

Speake english playne, and roue about the but:

And shoote at will, and flaunt by wicked men,

Shale cut the shell, and bid them cracke the Nut,

Shew some delight, and so the sentence shut.

And bid the world, beholde mee in a glasse▪

That did to ruine, from Pompe and pleasure passe.

Now I am gone, I wish the rest behinde,

(As they desire,) may better Fortune finde.

FINIS.

THE MAN IS BVT his Minde.

[Page]

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPfull my singular good friend, Sir Iohn Skidmoer, one of the Liefetenants of Haruordshire.

I Am not forgetfull good Sir Iohn of a promise made touching The man is but his minde: Which worke now I present you, though not so well penned as the matter requireth, yet as wel ment as any peece of worke in this Booke, written as well to keepe promise, as to show the circumstance of the mistery that belongeth to euery mans minde, and to hope that all I write thereof shall be as well taken as a dutifull writer can meane. I haue plainely set downe mine opinion in that behalf, doubting not but some one man or other shall see a peece of his owne minde, in this my presumption of the same. So wishing your good and vertuous minde augmented in grace, and your selfe encreased in worship and contentation of mind, I betake you to God and fall to my purposed discourse.

§

[Page] AS I was reading in the delightfull discourses of Ieronimus Cardanus his comforts, among many pleasant passages and speciall sentences▪ I founde that he said A man was but his mind either in the value of vertue or vanity of vice. So waying the worth of that conclusion, & knowing that Manhood or Cowardize consistes in the selfe same opinion of the minde, I considered that common quarrels and priuate reuengement of Iniuries receiued, proceeded in a manner from this spring and flowing Fountaine, that euer is fedde and nourished with som setled conceite or other. For the minde is so noble, watchfull, and worthy, that it is neuer vnoccupied whilest the man is awaken, nor taketh any great rest when the body is a sleepe, (as some dreames and visions manifesteth plaine.) For euen as a cunning Carpēter or Smith, is hammering and heawing some péece of wood or iron, to bring the same to such shape and perfection, as the artificer would haue it: So the minde (the harber of all secretes and mouer of all good and bad motions) can at no season be idle or wax weary of deuises. The Imaginations thereof are so many, and the innumerable conceites therein are so mighty, the fire is of such vehement heat and operation, that it must néedes burne or consume any thing that long remaines in it, so the minde is of such force and power, that it leadeth the man any way it listeth, and shapes al the sences and vitall spirites in what forme or fashion it pleaseth. For the longer the fancies of the head (by rouling to and froe are tired) and at length reposeth themselues in the constantnes of the minde, the more is the mans reason subiect to the mindes resolution, and the lesse strength the iudgement hath when it féeles the forces of the body captiuated and compeld to obay the greatnes of the minde. Though learning, education, and good instructions, be a meane and restraint, that a peruerse mind shall not draw the whole body to destruction, yet the minde being [Page] bent to some dangerous determination, hath ouercome all the good causes rehearsed, and brought both the body, reputation, and life, into a shamefull disorder, and made a cruell confusion not onely of the man, but likewise brought a licentious liberty to the minde, experience of proud practises hath proued this argument no fable, but now to talke truely and probably of the minde, what can be named or thought on, (if they be things to be executed) but the minde dare attempt and the man may goe about, it dare aduenture the hazarde of the soule, the losse of life and goods, and the cracking of estimation and credit, if any purposed mischiefe hale the minde forewarde to some odious enterprises, this showes but a weakenes of Iudgement, naughtines of nature, and a most wicked and wilfull disposition of a desperate conceite, diuelishly drawen and enclined and carelesly cō mitting it selfe to euery kinde of practises and dangerous determination.

But now to touch the noblenes of an inuincible minde, that neither Fortune can conquer, power may commaund, nor worldly pompe nor wealth can winne. The true discourse of this minde, craues a writer of a higher knowledge, for the vnspeakeable spirite that keepes life, and breatheth continuall constancy in the brest where this minde makes his mansion house, is to be explained and set forth by the profoundest pen man of the worlde, that can lay open like an Anotomy the hidden and secrete partes of the body, especially the diuine nature (closed vp in flesh and bloud) and secrecy belonging to the vertue of this manly and valiaunt minde. Some men there are (and though they boast not much the nūber may be great) that with a strong heart can suffer afflictions, beare burthens, abide disgraces, and in their most torments seeme careles of all the crossings & counterchecks is offered them, yet they are armed within to withstand all outward assaults as it were a fortresse manned with souldiers and munition, throughly to defend it selfe against the power of Princes, & practises of warlike people, yea as they in peace can vse this approued patience, so in the hottest broiles of [Page] the warre the hope to ouercome the cruelty of their enemies, doth redouble their courages, and so with a resolute minde, the Cannon they approch, the combate they present, and the present daunger is presently forgotten, a present matter of great momēt to be in the presence and presented before the vniuersall people placed vnder the cope of the heauens. But yet I can not leaue out the mind they haue of honour in greatest extremities, for minding the preseruation of Prince and countrey, they clap on such a minde as Mucius Sceuola did, that burned his hande in the [...]ire, for missing the killing of Porcena. They care not in like sort for imprisonment, penury, hunger, torting, racking, but can suffer all manner of misery, as want of meat, lacke of liberty, and open aire, and lie on the hard earth or bare strawe, to kéepe their enemies out of the Fort or hould committed to their charge, yea and in respect of the loue they loyally beare to their Countrey, they suffer many a mortall wound, and in the end offer themselues to the death, manifestly to showe, that a man is but his minde, and the minde is it that makes the man, both famous & immortall. Now to the contrary come to the nature and condition of a Coward, whose minde is neuer to do any noble act, for he that can beare the infamy and blot of that name, to be called a Coward, liues carelesse of all other villanies, and no reproche, slaunder, shamefull report, fowle fact, or what filthines can be rehearsed▪ may make him blushe, his miserable minde is so monstrous, that all soiles, kingdomes, and countries are alike for him to liue in, and as a countrey cur delightes to gnaw a bone on a midding, so he is fed fatte (among wretches of the world) with folly, beastlines, lewd behauiour, and a number of naughty conditions, neither fit to be followed, nor néedefull to be written of. The studient that mindes nothing so much as learning, takes such a pleasure and felicity in hearing and reading new deuises and auncient authors, that his Bookes are onely his companions, and solitary places, the swéete soiles of his repaire, and he holdeth time so precious an [...] deere, that he spends in Idlenes no one howre of the day, and [Page] hath such glory in gaining of knowledge, shal he makes no account of any other Treasure, (knowing that he that hath vertue is next vnto God) nor delighteth in any society or company, but such as are learned, wise, graue and honest, and when long labour and study hath gathered the swéete Sap of Iudgement (as the Bée hath sucked Hony from the flowres) he writeth new volumes, and setteth out such workes and pamphlets, as may merite commendation, and purchase credite and benefite, and be accepted and embraced among all posterities, that mind hath a naturall disposition in all diuine graces, and that mind [...] is as a day watch to the body▪ and stands as a strong Guard to the Soule and euerlasting renown.

The ignoraunt minde that hates education, and despiseth knowledge, is an enemy to himselfe and all common wealthes, most currish and rude of condition, barbarous and sauage, as an vn [...]amed beast, he swels and powts, like a Tode to heare the praise of a good man, and mindes nor loues nothing but blockishnesse, ribawdry, and corrupt manners, and hath so naughty an inclination, and is subiect to so many defectes and deformities, that this naught and lewde minde is not necessary to bee knowen among men, nor made mention of where noble minds are estéemed.

Now in generall, let euery particular man here somewhat of himselfe. There are some kinde of men, made of so fine a moulde, whose mindes may not suffer them to here, beholde, touch, or come neare any lothsome or vncleane thing, such mindes disdaines to offend the sight, (which is a cleare candle of life) with vnseemely shoes, and will not haue the Soule defiled with conceiuing of filt [...]y matters▪ that moues a general misliking in the whole Iudgement, and euery part of the body and minde to abhorre the vnderstanding of any foule and infectious thing, either ministred by talke, or vttered by vew in open assembly.

Another sort of base minded fellowes haue their onely ioy [...] in fruitlesse babble, foolish fancies and offensiue wordes, that [Page] thunders in the aire and corrupts good maners, that fils a house full of clamors and bruite, and makes a fewe Idiots laugh, and many wise men lowre, but these haerbraine tratlers and fantasticall minded mates striuing to haue all the talke themselues, (and glorying to here their owne voice) do sodainly become so audacious and bolde, that they are not onely a trouble to the whole company, but likewise a disquietnes to themselues, as apparauntlye falleth out, for when such vaine glorious minded marchaunts are knowen and perceiued, they are glad that first can be rid of their fellowship and society.

A graue and modest minded man looks into a statelier kind of life, and skornes to open his mouth but in causes of credite, and matter of great moment▪ and then the wel couched spéeches (and swéete spised sentences) comes flowing from his tongue, as the faire water spouteth from the fountain, a man of that aduisednes carries an easy hand ouer the rash multitude, and gathers to his minde a greater knowledge of the course of this world, and euen as the persing songs and musicall harmony of the Nightingale reioyseth the hearts of the hearers, so the sweete tempred talke of a wise Orator, drawes the eares of the audience after him, and leades them in a string that haue anye motion and minde of vertue, or can consider the value & worth of such a well minded man.

The merry and pleasant companion in his kinde, beares another disposition, for his minde is so delightfull, that his tonge is like a Taber and a Pipe, prettily playing and gibing on euery mans mannors, and he that carries this minde is continually tuning him selfe (as a Minstrell were tempring and wresting of his Instrument) to pleasure with sports the dumpishe people, that sits listning to heare some straunge pastime, but in this merry minde are many humors that are fedde with some sharpe and bitter conceits, which often turns to ouer bol [...] boording, and yet a well ordered minde can smoothly cast a clowde cunningly on the matter, to auoide all suspition, and to bringe the world in beliefe, a merry fellow for the solasing of his own [Page] minde, hath free scope and liberty to ride by his neighbours, and yet keepe euery one cleane from dashing, and he himselfe to be taken as a man, whose mind meanes alwaies to make all the company merry.

A greedy minded groaper of this world, lookes solemnly on all thinges he goes about, and in a surly sort and fashion, stands bending the browes, and frowning at a number of accidents he beholdes, his talke is of bargaines, purchases, buildings, and prises of each thing that commeth to the market, and mindeth so much his priuate gaine and profite, that he forgets both common wealth and countrey, neuer merry but when his money and bags be vnder his Elbow, and alwaies sad when hee must depart with any great sum [...]e and payment, though double benefite proceede from the same, a minde ready to doe wrong, and a body neuer apte to doe seruice in warres, nor liue quietly without brabble in peace.

The vnthrift, or more properly called a player at al manner of games sets his minde so earnestly thereon, that he will los [...] meat, sleepe and rest, to winne somewat by gaming, many times practising to packe the Cards, and cogge the Dice, sodenly moued for a little losse to fall into a great fury, a minde that couets al, and makes no conscience if it be at play to beguile his companion, yet many of them haue such minde to be called fair players, that they are as carelesse what they lose, as they are desirous to gaine, but if the losse be great, full many a raw Pigeon lies wambling in their stomackes after their first sleepe, and yet waking, they minde nothing more then a reuenge, eyther to take a further foile, or giue a greater blowe, and of all the mindes that men are subiect to (before mentioned) there is no minde more to be marked then this in any man, for euen as his losse or gaine is, so are his lookes and countenaunce, and so are his outwarde showes of gladnesse, and his inwarde conceites of sorrowe.

The Uenerian, whose minde mastereth his body, and subdues all the good parts of the same, his fancies and imaginations [Page] flies swifter then the Swallow, and seldome or neuer satisfied with no one conquest or other, goeth drawing like a bloud-hound after a stricken Deere, and taking sent of some sute and finding perssy followes with open mouth, secret traps and chargeable expenses, till minde or body, or both be a weary, and credite be brought in question, or cracked so sore, that good name is past recouery. Then desperately he dare enter into any quarrell of a combate, and put in hazarde and daunger life and goods, and he that puts on this minde, dwels not onely in a great ouer weyning of himselfe, but commonly condemnes all others that are not of the like nature and condition.

The Flatterer that frames his minde to all manner of dissimulation, can play the Cameleon, to dazell the ei [...]s and vnderstanding of the wise, and abusing the best sort of people, the base and meanest of degree, are brought quickly to beleeue that subtilty is simplenesse, and great suerty remaines in muffled manners, the Flatterer finding his falshood fauoured, so besturres himselfe like a Wolfe among sheepe, and finely feedes on the fattest flocke, and the wily Foxe carries no more crafte in his head, then the fine flatterer beares in his double and deceiptfull minde.

The theefe that sets his mind wholy on robb [...]ry, spoyle, and ransacking of the rich, or whosoeuer hee may wrong, gropes out a wealthy mans budget, as a Ratt smells out a rosted peece of cheese, and hauing a wretched minde to liue on such cheats that are gotten by such chaunce, hee chuseth no other trade to trie what his villanous mind will bring him to, or what may happen on a resolute roy [...]ing, which comes to no greater regarde but the reward of a gallows, the ill opinion of good men, and the open paltring exercises of a bad mind.

The Shifter that shuffles vp a borrowing life makes a purchase of picking his Creditors purses, his minde is euer to bee néedy because hee minds neuer to pay peece of his det, and still cryes out of Fortune, when his owne folly plagues him, claiming recompence for seruice where no desart (nor ablenes to [Page] doe good turne) may pleade in his behalfe, yet by braggs and boastes hee makes a show to haue done manie wonders, hauing no great courage in warres nor good qualitie in peace, but as a gracelesse Grome, glad to shifte and shéeld his féeble abillitie vnder the title of a Souldier, maruelous is that meaning and mischéeuous is that minde that liues and dies both in want of wealth, wit and all manly reputation, a beggerie base minde scarce woorthy the bearing about or harbor in any honest body.

The Enuious minde hides his malice, as smothring smoke lies lurking in wet stubble or strawe, and when his furie bursteth abroade in flames some whole Famely or houshould is burnt or blemished bee sclaunderous brute, and this stinging & serpenting Snake, being long nourished in the wicked & warme bosome of a hatefull man, bespreads his venome throughout all the vitall parts of the bodie, so that no member nor lyneamīt thereof serues to expresse any goodnesse, and the tongue is alwaies clapping and caueling at euery matter spoken off or ministred only to keepe the cankred mind accustomed in maddnes and malice.

The Princely and noble mind where bounty (the locke and key of loue) is as busie as a Bee in a hiue that brings forth hony for the benefite of others, and the bountifull minde thinketh it selfe dishonored, if it receaue any seruice, good turne, frée gifte or good will, and the same returne not againe with ten times treble fold thankes and reward. For this princelie minde is euer imagining how it may get friendes and make enemies reform themselues from malice, yea furthermore this minde is so honorable, liberall, and desirous to win the fauor of good people, that it studies where it may bestow some acceptable gifte, and fastning the same on a gratefull person, this mind remaynes in such [...]ollitie and gladnes as it had wonne a whole world, and setteth more store by a Friend gotten in this manner, than of a hundred enemies ouercome by perforce.

The sparing and niggardly mind that spies out aduauntage of gathering and whording vp riches, spends manie wordes in [Page] faire promises (whiles hée cunningly hold [...] his owne) meaning small performaunce of many great offers, and yet in a kinde of vaine glory hee intertaines both the time and the people with trifels that makes a great shew of a franke and free hart, when the minde is miserably bent to saue and gather together ill gotten goodes to laie vp in coffer and corners for a prodigall son, or a ryotous heyre, whose mind is as much set on spoyling that hee found as the father was enclyned to spare that hee got, but the nigards minde hath such quenchles thirst to drinke vp the drosse and dong of this earth, that no kinde of good Fortune, wordly wealth, or aboundance can moderate and satisfie his couetous lust that Lucar hath set on fire, in the flaming dungeon and furnace of his nigardly minde.

The prodigall mind that spends without respect, and giues without regard, as pu [...]t vp in such a pride of it selfe, that it waxeth imperious, lordly, and loftie in a conceiued conceit of laciuious charges, bestowed on the fawners and flatterers of our dayes, whose creeping and currying of fauor, makes our young maister beleeue there is no ende of his spending, and that the more hee flings and casts away, the more good fellows will follow him and the lesse his estimation and riches shall waste & diminish. For in giuing either goodes and landes to the dayly féeders of his prodigall humor, hée thinkes he receiues an euerlasting renowne, fame, and credit, among the lustie crue of good companions, and his mind carries him so farre into the altituds that he hopes for vnknowne happs and trusts that mountains of Gold, & the conquest of the verie Indians it selfe is alotted to bée his portion, and whosoeuer restraines him from anye peece of his purpose, enkindleth his minde rather to make a soone dispach of all that hee hath, than to bee long in consuming the mucke and drosse of this world, which a prodigall mind wil neither bee taught how to vse, nor how to consider well off but to his owne liking.

The rebellious minde that séekes but blood, sedition, change of state and gouernement, makes a man runne gadding like a [Page] Gosling to listen after news, and alteration of Religion, as nothing could please him but forrayne follies, and strange tyrranie, murmuring, and finding faulte with Countries quietnesse, and desirous of troublesome seruitude, or at least willing to see some sodaine sturre, and strange accidents. This mischieuous and male-contented mind, is swift to sow discord and shed innocent blood, and slow to saue his owne credit & Countrey, ready and apt to forget God, and most vnwilling to forgiue any iniurie, a beginner of all brable and contention, and a mayntayner of all execrable acts and enterprises. Now passing ouer the rusticall rable of Rogues, Uacabounds, Ruffians, Roysters, and rancke Rebels, (whose mischieuous minds surmounts all the rest in villanie, filthynes, reueling, rudenes, trecherie, and treasons, the fruites whereof are but beggery, banishment, and wretchednesse, that brings the maislers of that misrule to Tiborne, & a shamefull end,) I come to the malicious mindes of our Forrein enemies (many in number) that are so drowned in a deadly desire of hatred, wilfulnes, obstinacie, papistrie, and old worm-eaten Religion, that they cannot see nor well vnderstand what they goe about. There minds carries them headlong into many hellish & damnable deuises, making account of that which neuer shall be there own I hope, and making their boast of conquest, victorie, & triumph, before they dare fight for it, or attempt manly to trie, who shall finde Fortune most fauourable, & what partie hath God & the right of their side. And further to bee marueled at (a matter most mōstruous in iudgement) they were come into our C [...]astes in ships of great burthen, fraught & filled with great riches, munition, and men, hauing in the same shippes to countenaunce their quarrell numbers of Noble houses, Friers, Priests, English Traytors, Spanish Women, and such like people, as were come to possesse a Country & kingdom that easily should bee gotten, which kingdome is so noblie peopled and furnished that I doubt not but the sight and bare vew of this stoute nation shall make the Spaniards abashed, and yet behold (to proue [Page] A man is but his mind) our Enemies haue such minds to doe wrong, and haue such hope that they are appoynted to bée the scourge of God, that they saie openly they haue commission to kill man, woman and child, and to saue none aboue the age of seauen yeare old, loe heere is a goodly mind, a goodly commission, and a goodly sorte of Fooles, that thinks so populous a Countrey as this will be so soone supplanted, a wise companie of wild Geese, that with a little gagling and thrusting out the necke, beleeus to bring to passe so great a matter, you neuer heard of more madder minded men than these are, that came to sit downe in other mens houses, before they knew the good will of their Hosts, and bow déerely they were like to pay for the purchase, ere they shold make their entry, or set their féet on any péece of this Land, and by my troth they goe about a pretty Bargaine to offer the sheeding of so much blood, and especially do bring hither so paltring a Commission, so voide of Christianitie, and shall cost so manie a broken head, before any iott or parcell of the same commaundement be put in execution.

Now heere is to bee spoken and treated of good and godly mindes that peaceably shall possesse their soules in patience, & these patient mindes, are those that sees other men preferd (as the affection of some will haue it so) and beholdes themselues abiects, that neither want, vertue, nor valiance, yea they find few good turnes and suffer many iniuries boastes little of their seruice, and are greatly to be praysed, being men of good years, and experience, and yet of bad Fortune and ability, fauoured of some that can doe but little for them, yet holpen or aided of no one body that haue power to aduaunce them, the men of this minde makes much of a little and seldome comes to any greate portion, and so because mine owne desteny is not the best, and being loath to put on a worse minde then now last I haue spoken of, I knit vp all this discourse in these fewe wordes, and thus I bid you farewell. Hoping that the mindes of men, (though they are seuerall in disposition) will now draw all in one yoke to hold out the enemies of our Countrey, and to stand [Page] together against all forraine inuasions, and forget all kinde of quarrelling among our selues, that often times hath bred in manie kingdomes ciuile warres and sorrowfull dissentions. The plagues and plaine examples therof being well waighed, will (I doubt not) make our noble Nation be not only mindful of their libertie and honor, but in like manner make vs all of one good mind, resolution, courage, and manhood.

FINIS.

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TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPfull si [...] Edward Dimmocke Knight, & Champion by byrth to the Queenes Maiestie.

I would haue searched the bottome of my studies and chiefest of my labors (good Sir Edward Dimmocke) if my leasure had serued, to haue foūd out some peece of worke worthy of your reading, but doubting that verse delightes you not, & Tragicall discourses breeds but a heauie conceit in a pleasant disposition, I thought it more fitter to treat of a Marshiall cause (wherein great honor consists) that may moue many considerations in a noble minde, and so not only stir vp vertue but also beat downe all occasions that hinders the quiet & sweet societie of mē, not meaning that I see any motiō, cause, or action in this age, that may procure [Page] my pen to go beyond the compas of my reach in reforming the same: but to shew there is no greater blessednes on earth then freindly felowship and amitie among men, and all the disturbers thereof are rather instrumēts of dissention, than mayntainers of good will. And for that in your long trauells abroad (where variaunce is moderated with wisdome) manie quarrells you haue seene or heard off, I haue written a little peece of the nature of a quarrell compounded on many accidents, not teaching anye man a newe course & peaceable order to his life, but to nourish gentlenes & kindlie loue among all our noble natiō. So trusting no matter of mislike shal passe my Pen, I present you with this little peece of paper that follows, wishing you the good fame and honor your own hart can desire.

A Discourse of true Manhoode.

AMid the wickednes of a naughtie world quarells, hatred, and headstrong people, a bridled mind knowes not what pace to hotde, nor steppes to tread, and where madnesse shews furie, & world mayntaynes follye, wise 'al [...]mon (were hee heere) could not reforme the defect of this wilful age, which neither regards God, good Gouernours, nor naturall loue or order.

And where libertie in mans wilfulnes is proclaymed good rule and lawe is not known, and rud rashnes runs so farre beyond reason, that euery sencible creature doth wonder at, and stands astonied at the stubberne wickednes of mans vnstayed [Page] mind, which growes so blood thirstie and eager after life, that it seeketh nothing but death and destruction, in a manner of his owne proper brother, which was horrible in Cain, and may bee odious in all kind of Christians. Among beasts (that wants reason) remaynes no such crueltie. For now a dayes men may not meete without snarring, lostie lookes, bitter wordes, haughty fashions, and froward behauioure, on which stoutnes of stomacke, malice is kindled, contention is breed, and quarrells are set abroach. The accustomed curtesie, sweete conuersation, freindle gentlenes, humane manners, and ciuile humblnes in our common societie, is almost forgotten, brought in contempt, and put out of exercise (if Noble Parsonages shew it not) and in place of the commendable vertues are corrupt conditions and newfangled vices closely crept, to the great disquietnes of many, and commoditie of no one person. And now briefly to come to ye cause of this my bold argumēt, my short worke shall only touch ye terrible brawels, that lately (on the shew of manhood) are sprong vp among vs, & nourished to long in the stoute courages of men. A matter more meeter to bee lamented than mayntayned, and a new deuised wilfulnesse that our old Fathers taught vs not, nor scarsely was known, till our youth beganne to trauell straunge Countreys, and so brought home strange manners. It must be graunted and necessarie to bee allowed that weapons shall be worne (alwaies of equall length) and vsed in causes of defence. And further for slaunders, naughtie reports in absence, and present spitfull speaches, men ought for the mayntenance of good name, somtimes vse an lawfull manner of correction (this spoken not of the scripture) for the sharpe sworde makes a blunt blockhead beware how hee vseth his tongue, and if bold bablers were not snibbed for their sawsines, this world would bee full of talkatiue merchants, and no man would care what he spoke, if wordes should not be wisely set to sale, and in the end of an ill market be dearly bought. For it is not fit that euery man should goe to Law (about a trifle) nor necessarie blood should be [Page] shed, whatsoeuer in manhoods behalf I haue spokē: wel: to come to my purposed matter. In the old time the sight of England was daungerous but not deadly, couragious not cruell, valiant but not villanous, and most nobly vsed oftimes without anye great harme, in which season men were as great Conquerors as they be now (let Fraunce and Scotland witnes) as loath to offend as men be at this presens, when rapier fight is more desperate And generally then were as good men, as valiant and venturous, as now can bee found, and yet they stoode not vppon such tearmes, and quarrels as men doe now adayes, a thousand iniuries could then bee forgiuen, if they had eased their hearts a little at the sharpe weapon, now life is sought in England for an Italian lie, and nothing but blood and death can pacifie mens furies, men are become such Cockes of the game, they must fight in a sharppe, scrat out each others eyes, and thirst so much for blood, that nothing can mitigate their wrath till one bee out of the world, and the other bée fled God knowes whither. A prettie quarrell that compells men to bée fugitiues, for playing of beastly parts and bringeth such repentaunce as breedeth both beggerie and extremitie of Fortune, and namely when friends shall forsake you, and weeping can not helpe. For whilst law persecuteth the offender, the world is like a Laborinth, & endles is the labor and trouble of that bodie that thinks euery man follows him.

In the olde world when swords of one length and heartes of equal courage did meet, some in differencie debated the matter, and fewe were put to foile, and many were worthely esteemed for their value. And now when the rapier and dagger dispatcheth a man quickly, neither he liues to heare his owne fame, nor no man liuing can let fall a good word of the quarrell, begun of such trifles, maintaind with such terror, and ended with such madnes, not so manly as miserable nor so much praised among the fool hardy, as condemned in the consideration of the wise. And so to come to the right order of manhood, courage, valiancy, and stoutnes of heart, it lieth more in the Iudgement [Page] then in the iarring, in the fortitude then in the forwardnes, and restes more in the modesty then in the malice. For anger of it selfe is but a sencelesse monster, an vnreasonable rage, a furious franzie, a distemperate imperfection, a priuy passion of choller, and an open enemy of life. The discouerer of the frailty and naughty nature of man, and the discredite of as many as cannot maister that outragious disease of the minde.

Then how should the fury of mallice bring forth any other fruict, but such a pestiferous fire, as shall consume the beginners of hatred, and the last reuengers of wretched wroth.

For reuenge is like a winde ball the more it is stricken (and remembred with force of hand) the higher it mountes, & makes the more rebound, so that endlesse becomes a quarrell, so long as the exercise of mallice is had in vre, and men with euill disposition goe about to store vp mischiefe.

Now is to be decided euery degrée and manner of a quarrel, and to shew how and in what sort an vniust quarrell may bee offered, and a iust quarrel may be taken, both by law of armes and nature, and by a vsuall custome and manner among men, prouing by antiquities and art military, the matter purposed to treat vppon so that with patience you here out that may bée spoken.

As it is vnfit for a Gentleman (that stands on reputation) to play the ruffian and roister, so it is most vncomely for him to stoupe so lowe, as any way to abase his good calling, with the bad conditions of a rude and rusticall fellowe, by which prerogatiue the match is vnmeete, the quarrell may be refused, the strife hath no equality, nor no honesty is gotten in brawling with inferiors or fighting with men of so small temperancy and credit, but because most stoutnes and courage (with hazard of life is betweene Gentlemen) and trifles not taken vp growe to great busines, their quarrels are most requisite to be spoken of, redressed, corrected, and brought to better order.

First yée shall finde among Souldiers, (that are of greate mindes) a kinde of stately consideration in all quarrels they [Page] take in hand. They taking vppon them in the art military (which well becomes their calling) to maintaine honour, defend their countrey and credite, and to fight in no quarrell but Princes right and their owne honest causes, haue set downe by certaine cerimonies, what wordes may touch them, what manner of men they may deale withall, what occasions may force a combate, what scope & liberty pertaines to a iust quarrell, and what restraines a manly minde from doing iniury to others or harming himselfe.

On which resolution the Souldier sets vp his rest, and commonly hazards the winning or loosing, of as great thing as life may be worth, not with presumption procured to this danger, but with estimation of his honor haled forewarde (by daunger of enemy) to leaue good example to those that comes after him.

But beholde how this aduenture happeneth, regard the circumstance of this hazard, way well what difficulty is aboute the matter, and marke the chiefe points (and groundes of aduantage) that breedeth busines, and bringeth forth a combate.

Then must be noted, a simple Souldier (or mercenary man) may not challenge a Captaine, a meane Captaine or Centurion may not challenge a Corronell, a Corronell (though leader of a regiment) may not challenge a Lord Marshall of the Field, a Lord Marshall (hauing charge of life and death) may not challenge the Lord Lieutenant of the Army. A [...]d all these not onely in time of seruice (for auoiding of mutiny) but at all seasons, are bound and ought to keepe themselues from brawling, (yea though any one be neerely touched) and seeking the combat, except a lie hath passed, a slander is receiued, a blow be giuen, a mans name and credite be foiled, and a quarrell be sought so narrowly that no man can auoide. And yet all these degrees (as their office and honour is) one after another, may without reproche refuse in euery place, the daungering of their liues by priuate quarrell, & not meeting one another by chance (whereon may busines growe) looke what so euer be passed, [Page] (villany excepted) There is no kinde of preiudice to any partie, but mallice may surcease, and society may reuiue friendship▪ and quietnes should of all hands be sought.

Now of matter ministred in despight, spoken to strike dead good name vttered for offence and brauery, let fall to disgrace any person, and maintained with threatnings (daring and other open iniu [...]ies a number) the case of quietnes is altered, and surely no nature can so easely disgest those extremities, but shall finde occasion of dislike, and a great motion of quarrell.

Then must be considered, the cause of those spéeches, the persons credite that spake it, & in what presence and place the iniury was offered, for some places are of such honour, that no dishonestye may bee suffered in, and some person that speakes iniuries in base company (out of honourable presence) the speakers meane calling aunsweres himselfe, for wise men ought to make no more account of a badde fellowes babble, then of the barking of an olde dog, whose teeth are gone and can not bite. An all the common kinde of iniuries are but as men do imagine them, as scoulding of a co [...]queane, railing of a ruffian, taunting of a tosseblade, frumping of fine fellowes, and the brags and threatning of a varlette, all these shamelesse rabble and sencelesse sort of shadowes, are of so small substaunce and credite, that their voices makes but a noise in the aire, like a thunder cracke, that neither brings raine, nor argues any constant winde and weather.

There is besides these ordinary causes, (and crooked conditions of people) a number of naughty natures, that neuer will be quiet in countenaunce nor wordes, but either with skrowling like conquerors, or skorning like vices on a stage, they striue with counterfaite courage to ouercome Lions, and to be more terrible then Tigres, snuffing and puffing as all the worlde were too little to containe their great lookes, and disdainefull monstrous manners.

And their tongues are so talkatiue (and filled with follies) that none may speake but themselues, on whose prowde presumptions [Page] are many mad disputes wilfully begon and moste wickedly ended. To contend with those glorious Images, is as a man shoulde sound a Trumpet at the roaring of euery bul.

Thus with extraordinary manners, new fangled fancies, olde stubburne nature, and fresh fine cunning, that wisedome condemneth, a good minde may be ouerreached, and a quiet man may be brought in some quarrelous brabble, for the sight and sufferaunce of these shadowes, (whose substance is all in boasting) and the society or contention with such counter [...]aite conquerors, is an open enemy to all the good dispositions of men, and a priuy worker of disquietnes to those that beholdes and heares any peece or iote of those vices before rehearsed, for nothing bréedes more mislike, or offendeth so much euery company, as the continuall brags and audacious manners of the vnbrideled multitude, who are neuer free from quarrels, voide of villany, nor without naughty brabbles a number.

Come now to generall occasions in Court, Countrey towne and so foorth, but principally of Court we ought to haue greatest regard, where not only the Prince hold residens with a continuall maiestie, but likewise by absolute power commaunds obedience, & restraynes Courtiars many wayes from offering of iniuries. For plainely to speake, in Chamber of presence or any place neere (or about a Princes pallace) mens tongues are tyed either to kéepe silence, or ciuilly with reuerence to vse comly wordes, méete for such a place, and voyde of villanye or vicious intents, chiefely of quarrels that may moue mischiefe, and stirre vp disquietnes among the gentle Bees assembled together in a Hiue for the honoring of their king, and publique profite of their estate. The Court is no Cocke-pit to croe in, no shraep for cocking, no seat to be saucy in, no place of contention, nor no soile for brawlers and braggers, that haue currish conditions, and knowes not their duety, but rather a place of royall dignity, princely entertainements, curteous behauiors, and fine and friendly fashions, that with orderly manner may set forth a Princes regality. And though there some one (wanting [Page] temperance) rashly behaue himselfe and with warme wordes sturre the coales of a wicked quarrell, mens dueties in generall, (by wisedome) should either quench the heat thereof, or cast imbers on the fire, that the fury and flame should not burst out there, nor be disputed of any other where to the preiudice of that place, and looke what is offered in open hearing or secret whispering (that may sow seedes of dissention) shoulde be trodden vnder foote, or passed ouer with sporting, among the best iudgements, for feare least a little braunch of spite doe sproute vp on some rash spéeches, and grow out of order, both past remedy, and beyond the bounds of good manner.

If men in Court were as carefull to keepe peace, as they are desirous to créepe in credite, or common society should attende to no other purpose, but to familiar behauior, friendly affection, brotherly loue, and blessednes of life, you shall behold a mutuall agreement among all kinde of creatures at their first méeting, the birds with their like flées and feedes together, and in theyr manner vse a kinde of reioysing when they encounter one another, yea and taketh part with their fellowes against all that shall offend them, flocking and crying as they may together in multitudes, to shew their naturall inclination, and how they al doe suffer torment, by the disquietnes of one bird in their company. The Bées séeing but one of their fraternity troubled or angry, fly all in a swarme on euery thing offends them, and vseth such fury for reuenge, that they sting and hum out of measure. The Beasts not onely agree in their fashion, but in like sort takes one anothers part vehemently: and chiefly the very Hogs ioyne in a battaile against those dogs that biteth them. The Fish in the floud swim in skulles arming themselues against their enemies, and you shall reade in Plinie that among the Dolphins was such amity▪ that a Dolphin being taken prisoner by a King (and closely kept) there assembled such a number of Dolphins together as is incredible, and they neuer lefte mourning and playning▪ showing by sorrowfull signes the dolour taken for the losse of their companion, by which meanes [Page] they recouered him againe of the King.

Thus if Fish, Fowle and Beast, agrée in vnion with a wonderful league of amity, men may blush to behold their own defects and Serpentine natures, that neuer rests hissing, stinging and casting out of venome, bred in vaine mindes, and nourished in hatefull brests. The reason that man beareth, and the forme and shape of his noble creation, should be an euerlasting remembraunce to moue him vnto quietnes, especially the renowne that is gotten by patience and fortitude, should alwaies kéepe reasonable men from rages, and be a bulwarke and target to beare of quarrels, the destruction of life, the hour glasse of death, and the whole consumer of all good credite.

It is to be presupposed that prowd hearts growes so Princely, and euery one (that is quarrelous) would séeme a King or a conquerour, yet Princes take great aduisement before they breake peace, and cunningly put of causes of warre, waying the innumerable troubles, daungers, and losses that pertaines to a quarrell, but the generall number of men runs headlong into mischiefe, casting neither perill nor hazard, as all our life and fame, stood on slashing, cutting, roisting, and striuing for vain-glory. In our Elders daies fighters were called ruffians, and ruffians were so lothsome, that no honest man could abide their company. If seruing men which alwaies should be ciuile, had quiet & sober maisters, such buckelers with pikes, such swords like spits, and such long great daggers should not bee worne The weapon and countenaunce (by maintainers of quarrels) may cause cowards to be bold, and cause corage to catch copper or creepe closely in cornes. And now in the chiefe and highest degree of quarrelling, where see you iarres, questions, brawls, banding, and the rest of disorders, but where some party is ouer great (playing on aduantage) or weapons are not equall, except it be among noble great mindes, whose valiauncy can neither suffer iniury, nor abide any blemishe of honour. So euen now to them this worke is adressed, the baser sort néedes not my perswasions, nor but of good will and presumption, this needeth [Page] not I speake of. The whole world is fraught so full of malice, that the least occasion can be ministred, bréedes such great busines, that quarrels are so common (the custome thereof so olde) it séemeth nothing straunge to beholde murthers, odious practises, shamefull poisnings▪ and miserable man slaughters.

In Italy, a simple quarrell but once conceiued, neuer endes till death hath dispatched peraduenture both the parties, and so greedily they goe to take away life, that all the mischiefe can be imagined is put in exercises without delay, taking breath, regard of God, feare of law, or shame of the world, so blouddy is the minde, the body sléepes not, till the handes haue done some abhominable outrage. The minde cannot bee in quiet, til open folly & monstruous madnes haue disturbed the whole sences, and brought the life and body in hazard of hell fire, or daunger of worldly shame: these are the fruits of fury. The defects of nature, the miseries of man, and the brutish conditions of the counterfaite finesse in Italy. In Fraunce if a lie may bée brought in by circumstaunces, or a fine quarrell can be sifted out of grosse speeches,, present death followes, or perpetuall hatred is set abroach, wherein murthers are committed, and many a mischieuous act is taken in hand, odious to beholde, and a great horror to heare, but most vnchristianly executed.

And so generally, in all countreys and kingdoms, a quarrell once begon, comes to butchery and bloudshed, and commonly growes after (in many generations and kindreds) to deadly foed, and shamelesse slaughters.

A quarrell in property & nature, may be compared to many bigge barrels of Gun-powder, which once set on fire, flames so vehemently, that euery little corne thereof, is throughout consumed, and the blast and busines it makes, ouerthrowes houses, beateth downe great buildings, and shakes a whole towne and the walles thereof in sunder. Yea euen as a tennis ball, the harder is stricken the further it flieth, and the oftner it reboundeth, the more he labors that strikes it: so a sparke of spitefull hatred, being blowen with the busy bellowes of mallice (that [Page] kindleth coales which can neuer be quenched) encreaseth such a smoothering smoke and fire, that burnes like the hill of Ethna, that neuer goeth out, nor wanteth heate, and fume to trouble a whole countrey.

And one especiall point is alwaies to be noted (in the naughty nature of a quarrell) that whosoeuer hath done any iniury or giuen a wound or a blow, neuer can auoide daunger and vtter destruction, without some amendes made, crauing of pardon, open repentance, or secrete working of friends, that are wearied with the long debating of the matter.

As one good turne doth craue another, so an Iniury demands a quarrell, a quarrell bréedes a thousand offences, offences hardly can bee forgotten, and the more a wrong remaines in minde, [...]he lesse hope is of forgiuing the fault, and the more mischiefe is put in proofe and exercise.

And whosoeuer duely considers the ill inclination of people, he shall finde thousands so apt and ready to take in hand a quarell, that in some sort it is held a cowardise and a kinde of no courage to put vp a trifle, so many desires to sée bloudshed, so many sets men agog in vnhappines, and so many goes about with tales and bad deuises, to stur vp strife and contention.

Well since our imbecillity is much, our fury not little, and disposition so stout, that all thinges must be disputed of and drawen to the vttermost degrée of dangerous quarrelling: I wish peraduenture vpon some experience, that mildnes might moderate the manner of our falling out, and if nothing could qualifie the cruelty of courage, a regard of God, good reputation, iust cause, and honest dealing may be vsed, exhorting all men to looke to life, common society, mutuall loue, and the generall peace of a christian Kingdome. For how so euer the Worlde may imagine of fighting and brawling, the very route and grounde of disorder in a common wealth, is vnreasonable quarels, wherein is maintained a kinde of Turkishe tyranny, and brutish boldnesse.

This not spoken beyond the compasse of dutie, nor to the [Page] preiudice and hinderaunce of any mans manhood, which may bee as well seene, and vnderstood by the conquering of himselfe (and maistring his owne passions) as in hauing the victorie of others. Which triumph and victorie cannot bée gotten without great bloodshed and businesse. Thus Friend worshipfull I haue discoursed a matter worthy treating off, and I hope for the benefite of many: And so farewell.

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TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPfull my singular good friend, sir Michaell Blount Knight, Lieutenant of the Towre.

IN trauailing abroad, & searching some secrets at home that closelie would lurke in corners vnknowen, I found (good M. Lieutenant) manie occasions to write off, but none more greeuous to behold than the wandring minds of this world, & sowers of dissention, hatefull to themselues & Enemies to their Countrey, & for reformation of their follies, & amendmēt of their liues, I drew certain verses fit for those causes, and I hope pleasant to read. And because your good mind and office of worthie credit, is as it were a curbe & musrole to hold in such strong-headed wanderers wilfully [Page] bent, & wickedly disposed: I did on goodwill dedicate this little Volume to your view and good consideration, knowing that therein is no verse, nor meaning of any matter, but that attends only to the aduauncement of vertue, rebuke of vice, and loyaltie to our Countrey. So wishing you much worshippe, I enter into the discourse alreadie heere mentioned.

Yours in all at commaundment T. Churchyard.

A VVARNING TO THE VVANderers abroad, that seekes to sow dissention at home.

MIne eyes they wéepe, my heart it bléedes in brest,

My soule doth sob, my body quakes for feare:

My fancies roule, my minde can take no rest,

My sences blush, as sprites amazed were,

My knowledge shrugges, at rumors in myne eare.

My head doth muse, my reason sore doth rewe:

These quarrels old, that rise on brabblings new.

These bold attempts, that Rebells set abroach,

To Gods dislike, and Countries great reproach.

The rotten seames, that in faire garments are,

Bée not espide, by sodaine view of eye.

The spoyling moath, that eates gay scarlet bare,

In foldes of cloath, full long doth closely lie.

Time is the touch, that trecherous trashe doth trie,

Foule cankred flesh, by Surgeons arte is found,

[Page]And heald sometimes, by searching of the wound.

Worlds sicknesse must, with wisdome well be vsde,

That Doctors may, sée how was health abusde.

For taynted fruit, that is not sound at coare,

Smooth skin doth shew, like apple ripe and good:

A playster faire, may hide a filthy soare,

The painted face, sets foorth no perfect blood.

By proofe the best, from worst is vnderstood.

Faire shews but bleares, the iudgement for a while,

And colours can, not knowledge long begile.

Though salt be white, the sugars taste is swéete,

And gall doth bite, when honey comforts spréete.

Most bitter sowre, doth foule Rebellion taste.

It bréedes on hate, that heart hath harborde long,

And wicked will, that wisheth woe and waste:

Whose raging mind, delights in open wrong,

Stout stomake first, with snakish stinging tongue

Stirres vp the strife, and blowes the blast abroad:

Then malice comes, and lookes like swelling toad,

And venom casts, where mischiefe may be wrought,

From mother spite, so monster foorth is brought.

Rebellion is, the monster that I meane,

A serpent vile, that lines in stinking denne:

A grieslie ghost, a gracelesse sprite vncleane,

That lurketh close, in shapes of vainest men.

When it is bredde, beholde, what does it then?

It sowes discord, and fostreth vp dislike,

Makes sharpe the sword, that ready is to strike.

Lies listning still, for newes and change of state,

And cares not how▪ it bringeth in debate.

A Turke or Iew, a Pagan or a dog,

[Page]A fiend of Hell, or else a sprite of the aire:

A ventrous ladde, that all can set a gog.

A pratling boy, that fawnes and speaks full faire.

When Rebell falles, in rage of rude dispaire.

Rebellion brings: so hée reuenge may take,

The Deuill himselfe, it will a Captaine make.

Rebellion lookes, but how may blood bee shed,

And so vilde mindes, in mischiefe runnes on head.

Rebellion springes, of too much head and will,

That riot runnes, without rebuke too farre,

In suffring harmes, great wronges are offred still.

On little broyles, beginnes a bloody warre,

The willfull man, doth eyther make or marre:

The harebraine head, a witlesse course holdes on,

Till feare of God, and wordly care be gon:

All hope is past, runne dogge or Deuill than,

No reason serues, to rule the retchlesse man.

But what foule shame, brings men to this lewd mind?

What bold abuse is this, that bréedes such bale?

What vile deuice, drawes nature out of kind?

What marres good wits? what makes men pull and hale,

To seeke for death▪ and sets their liues to sale?

Ist will alone? [...]ie on that wayward hart,

That for a toy, makes all the bodie smart:

Fie on that tricke, that turnes all out of frame,

Runnes farre a field, and bringes home open shame.

Wée sée so long, as house together standes,

From raine and stormes, both man and wife doe sit,

So long as horse, remaines in riders hands

Hee keepes his pace, and playes vppon the bitte.

So long as men, be rulde by temprate witte

Draw all one yoake, take part as brethren ought:

[Page]So long, you know, they néede not take no thought,

But when they iarre, and seuerall waies they goe,

They drawe too farre, and breake true friendships bow.

Come home wilde heades, then gad no more abroad,

To breede debate, that workes your Countries wracke,

Lay vp your shippes, and barques in quiet road:

Cast ankor there, where cable cannot cracke,

Runne not to Rhemes, to learne a cumbrous knacke,

That smels of smoake, and sauors of discord.

Obay your Prince, and so yée serue the Lord.

To duties bounds, reclaime your selues againe:

Against the streame, who striues doe lose their payne.

Make Pope your head, the Prince yée do forsake

Obedience bids, a subiect leaue dispute:

Indeede you doe, the scripture cleane mistake,

If that your tree, doe shew no better fruite.

(But bring foorth brawles, and raiseth slaunders brute)

Say what you please, your conscience is not cleane:

Where dutie wants, men doe some mischiefe meane.

And such as speakes, against the Prince, and Law,

Intends no good, but flingeth fire in straw.

And when house burnes, and flame beginnes to gloe,

Your fingers endes, shall surely singed bee:

You smell on smoake: as you the bellowes blowe:

Then put out fire, where rotten wood you sée,

Cleare sight cannot, with smothering sm [...]ke agrée.

Good men are harmde, with wicked bad deuise,

Of naughtie ware, you know full well the price.

Make darke your shoppes, to bleare the buyers eye,

When all is seene, the light each thing shall trie.

If you doe wrong, to Prince and publike state,

[Page]Your conscience shall, accuse you in the end:

If legges and féete, beginne the head to hate,

Sicke are the lims, that should the head defend,

The bodie weake, by medson may amend.

Wherefore doe fall, to phisicke for your gréefe.

From candle cleare, bee sure yee take the théefe:

For if in snuffe, bée crept a little cole,

Through weeke and all, is worne a curelesse hole.

And sothe light, that glad the lookers on,

God wot is spoyld, before his kindely houre:

When oyle, or waxe, or tallow cleane is gone,

The lamp or light, to burne hath little powre:

You would plant wéedes, where growes a goodly floure.

Let practise goe, and play a subiects parte:

Playne troath yee knowe, bids [...]ie on cunning arte.

One God, one law, one mind and manner now,

In double world, shews subiects duties throwe.

All other drifts, doe drawthe wyer awrie,

And backward bends▪ the bow that should bee streight:

Come neere no cloudes, the reach is ouer hie.

Liue safely then, no suretie comes by sleight:

Content below, doth hate to climbe on height.

Who knows his owne, hath wealth and wit ynough:

Hee soundly sleepes, that only lookes to plough.

And such as wakes, to ouerlooke this age,

May sing adew, when foote is fast in cage.

O Countrey swéete, perswade obedience héere,

Reforme the fond, and still preserue the wise:

No plot of earth, more pro [...]ious nor more deere

Than natiue soyle, that for her children cries

And calls for chicks, where kites and puttocks flies,

O Babes well borne, if you will bastards proue

[Page]Bid welcome hate, and farewell Countries loue:

And this be sure, my friends goe where you please,

No goodnes growes, by gadding ore the seas.

Note where you tooke, both breath, warme blood, and life,

Your parents care, and Countries right do waie:

Regarde what broyles, and brawles beginne on strife,

Marke how stout hartes, stand all on tickle staie:

And birdes of th'aire, your follie doe bewraie,

And marke how God, hath opened all your drifts,

And in your pride, hath put you to your shifts.

And chiefely note, how God and man doth knowe,

For want of grace, wilde heades a gadding goe.

Religion Lord, perhaps shall bee your shield,

Nay there a straw, you meane an other thing:

You are so great, you would faine march in fielde,

That world should iudge, you feathers of one wing.

So busie birdes, together all would sing.

Well waking Cockes, yee crow for daie too soone:

Yee neither looke, on starres, ne sunne, nor moone,

But clapping wings, yee thrust out necke and throat,

And cares not who, doth heare your midnight noate.

That sounds not right, of no Religion sure.

Rebellion is, the string you play vppon:

O God forbid, that hauke forsooke the lure

To feede on frog, that sits one euery stone.

I say not much, would God abuse were gone,

Rebellion dead, and all her branches bare,

Faythlesse were fled, and Countrey voyd of care,

But since strange toyes, bréeds humming Bées in braine.

I meane to touch, rebellion once againe.

When mother spight, to world this monster brings.

[Page]A naughtie nourse, vile nature then prepares:

Who cradle rockes and lullabie she singes,

Till retchlesse sence, be brought a sléepe vnwares,

Then as in corne, do créepe wild weeds and tares:

So cockle séede, in common wealth is sowne,

Whereby good graine, is quicklie ouergrowne.

The cause thereof, is cunning craftie wittes,

That still workes woe, and neuer idle sits.

O wretched rage, that riues and rents a Realme

In péeces small, and gaines nothing thereby:

O labour lost, that striues with flood and streame,

And dayly hopes, to drinke great riuers drie,

O cruell plague that, doe for vengeaunce crie.

O priue hate, that open mischiefe bréedes,

O shameles sleight, that honest people dréedes:

Accurst I hold, rebellion is of kinde,

That neuer dies, but liues in cankred minde.

The Countries weale, and Princes honor both

It cleane forgets, and spoyle and hauocke cries,

Takes no regard, to dutie, faith, or oath,

But claps on wood, where fire and flame may rise,

Tels tatling tales, shewes furious angry eies,

Makes brags and boast that all shall lie in dust,

And hath no hope, but treason is his trust:

The wife, the child, the friend and neighbour to [...]

Rebellion hates, for hee will mischiefe doe.

It findeth fault, with peace and ciuill Lawes.

Abhors good men, and such as gouernes well:

Takes toy in head, bolts out when is no cause,

Frames deuilish drifts, to make this world a hell:

And at the length, would King and Countery sell

To wreak his wrath, O vile reuenge most vaine,

[Page]When all is lost, what doth rebellion gaine?

Ioyes it to see, the wracke of natiue land?

Such fowle offence, is whipt with his owne wand.

Their goodes, their rent, their honour and their liues,

Shall vnder foote, be troden euery day:

Their kinde deflourde, their children and their wiues

Made captiue slaues, in bondage many a way.

And when the land, is made a straungers pray,

Like Israelites, poore Iacobs house shall mourne,

Drawe in the yoke, and sée their houses burne.

Beare burthens still, and bend their backs to toile:

While enemies laugh, and triumphs of the spoile.

What can procure, a man to sell his life,

Forsake his Prince, become a seruile slaue:

What cause can be, in state to stir a strife?

What ioy or blisse, by thraldome can we haue?

When men are well, what deuill would they craue?

What makes men mad? why dote they in this age?

To forraine foes, to run in such a rage.

Their language sure, I trowe is not so fine:

Their loue is grosse, and tastes like troubled wine.

Want thou but gilt, where they are maisters still,

There shalt thou starue, for all their goodly showes,

With mockes and skornes, and many another ill:

Poore hewlet stands, among a many of Crowes.

The wandring wight, that long a gadding goes,

Comes home at last (by beggars wéepi [...]g crosse)

Like rowling stone, that neuer gathers mosse,

A straunger doth, but stare in trauailers face,

And smiles in sleeue, at silly soules disgrace.

Rebellion likes, the man he neuer saw,

[Page]If blouddy wars, vpon that league may linke:

As to the sicke, doth euill humors draw,

And from fowle pits, comes smoake and noisome stinke,

So filthy flouds, flow from rebellious brinke,

A troubled streame, of puddle mixt with mire.

Doth quench the thirst, of rebels hote desire.

The water cleare, but skalds a rebels breast:

For cruell rage, and ryot takes no rest.

It runnes with hare, and hunts with blouddy hound,

It stands with strong, and leaues the weake at worst:

In common wealth, it makes a mortall wound,

It brags to fight, and yet retireth forst:

It is a plague, that God himselfe hath curst,

For it deuides, in little péeces small,

Both Kingdomes great, and mighty monarkes all:

Dissention workes, to sowe but Sathans séedes,

And pluckes vp slowres, and plants in stinking wéedes.

It créepes in hoales, and corners close by ribs,

Prouides for friends, to band it out for néede:

It bankets still, and fréely quafs and bibs,

And with lewd words, their wicked humor féedes.

Prates much of Prince, makes boast of doughty deedes.

When feeble hearts, lies quaking in their hose,

Much like bold Cocks, that lowd on midding crowes.

But yet cries creake, when that in sharpe they come:

For rebels can, not bide the sound of Drome.

At May Powl mirth, or at some mariage feast,

Or in a faire, where people swarme like Bées:

These stinging wasps, but new come out of neast.

Doe flie for life, and so together grées,

Like little mites, or maggots in a chéese.

The humming then, that these wood wasps doe make.

[Page]Doth séeme at first, as it would mountaines shake:

But out alas, those lawlesse loytring soules,

Are hid in hast, or crept in Conny holes.

The priuy théefe, that steales away our wealth,

Is sore afraide, a true mans steps to sée:

The fearefull wight▪ that doth misdoubt his health,

Will blushe to come, where that sound people be.

The faithfull stands, the faulty man will flée:

The rebell shrinks, where rule and order swaies.

Troth bides the brunt, the Traitor runs his waies:

Bold practise quakes, when power supplants his pride,

Where biles breaks out, there is rebellion spide.

Among good Ewes, beware of scabbed shéepe,

The Wolfe with Lambe, may not be matcht aright:

The flocke is spoilde, where For the Géese doth kéepe.

The sicke with sound, is sure no comely sight.

What néedes more tearmes, who dares not bide the light?

In darkenesse dwels, a blinde rebellious minde,

Is more corrupt, then any thing we finde.

Then either heale, the member that doth smell,

Or cut him of, before he further swell.

But farre more fit, that flesh should be reformde,

And san [...]de from harme, that else corrupt would grow:

The itching hand, of force must needes be wormde,

Least skinne waxe rough, and pimples rise, ye know.

If knife pare well▪ a corne vppon the toe.

The foote is easde, and man shall march vpright.

Take slime from eies, the blinde receiues his sight:

So cleansing cleane, each part and member well:

The state of man, in safety long shall dwell,

So all thinges meant, that here doth passe the pen,

[Page]Woundes to be heald, and searched as they ought:

All to be done, for health and wealth of men,

And nought amisse, in word, in deede nor thought:

Yea when my verse, so great a worke hath wrought,

To linke in loue, good subiects all in one.

To stand as firme, as rocke or marble stone,

Then shall my mouth, my muse, my pen and all,

Be prest to serue, at each good subiects call.

FINIS.

THE HONOR OF A Souldier.
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPful Sir George Carew, Knight, Lieutenant of the Ordinance Thomas Churchyard wisheth worldly felicity, and heauenly blessednes.

[Page]

IN calling to minde, good Sir George, our méeting in Ireland a long while agoe for the seruice of the Quéenes Maiesty, your good brother then liuing (to whome I was bound in good will,) I penned at that instant by his meanes the life and death of a Pirate, and promised a further worke to your selfe, which now I performe, because your Souldiour-like disposition is aunswered with the aduauncements of Fortune, and your ancient house and bloud is beautified with an honourable place, the Prince hath possest you of a signe and token as I beleeue, that a noble Souldiers profession shall neuer goe out of your remembraunce, for the which cause, I haue dedicated this worke called The honor of a Souldier vnto your protection, in hope that which you haue séene and read for the commendation of Souldiers, shall be a sufficient testimony of their value and worthines, and shall not only procure you and others like your selfe to further their fame, but like wise willing to read that I haue set downe in their behalfe, for as briefely as my small Iudgement can discharge a true discourse thereof, with good probable reasons and auncient authors of famous credite.

[Page]I minde to expresse and set foorth at large, how Souldiours were made off, and honoured in times past: and what prerogatiue they hadde aboue other people. And to declare how Princes held them in admiration, and gaue them liberties, titles, and dignities: farre beyond the rest of any, that liued vnder their lawes and obedience. And this by the waye is to bée thought, that all my former discourse and rehearsall of warres, attended to no other purpose and effect, but for the aduauncement of Souldiours, and to bee as it were a foile to sette foorth the matter, I presentlye mind to publishe out. For nowe I will in a manner shewe, howe Gentility beganne, and where and in what sort honour was first gotten and maintayned, which argument as I hope, shall not onely content the wise and well learned, but also please euery degrée, and make the simple sort plucke vp their courages, and imitate (by some honest exercises) the liues of noble Souldiers.

I trust I néede not in this ready and ripe age (wherein good writers, great learning, and studious iudgements doth florishe) rehearse by particulars euery parcell and poinct, that belongeth to a Souldiers profession. Nor that you looke I should recite when, and where the Romanes, Lacedemonians, Athenians, and other nations, did preferre and extoll men of Marshall minds, and noble courages. For their books and Commentaries, and the innumerable Libraries of great antiquity, are the very recordes of my discourse, and remaine as mirrours for you to looke in. And shall proue a thousand partes more in the commendation of Souldiours, then either my penne or tongue (by sufficient cunning) hath power to expresse. For it can not be, that from a little gutte or Channell of water, you should looke for so great a floud, as from a multitude of springes, from whence mighty Riuers takes originall and recourse.

And so I send you to the Welspring of knowledge (I mean [Page] the auncient Fathers workes) to fetch true intelligence, of the thinges I make mention of, touching the worthy reputation of a good Souldiour, and the antiquity of his credite, triumph and glory.

First, looke in the sacred Scriptures, and search from the death of Abell, comming downe orderly to the birth of Christ: And sée whether Souldiours were made of or no. And doubtlesse you shall finde they were not onely embraced and maintained, but likewise they are of a long continuance and credite. As all the Bible before Iohn the Baptistes time declareth. And Christ himselfe in a sort did vtter, when he saide, he had not found such faith in Israell, as he saw in a Centurion. Yea and in the Apostles Actes, there is a speciall poinct to be noted. Deuout Souldiours were sent to Simon Tanners house to find out Peter. Well, now I committe you to the Scripture, and I will follow prophane Histories: & begin at the very Infidels (a scorne for a Christian to be taught by) which are no small number, nor of no little continuance, people alwayes brought vp in war, and Princes of great fame, power, and auctority. Yea conquerours of the whole world, and Kinges to whom all people did stoupe and doe homage.

These Paganes, or as we may terme them, lost shéepe, to whome the great Shepheard would not be knowen, (and yet among them tormented and crucified) did make such lawes and orders for Souldiers, as the Turke to this day obserueth, and holdeth in great reuerence. Regard but the liberties and auctority of the Ianessaries: and that shall manifestly proue, that men of warre are had in great admiration. But because you shall haue the more beliefe to the matter: read the life of Alexander the Great: The Commentaries of Iulius Caesar, and the noble actes and victories of a number of other notable Princes. And then assuredly you shall be perswaded, that the renowne of Soldiours hath reached, and spread as farre as fame can flie, or good report could haue passage.

[Page]I pray you can any man deny, but it springeth of a great courage, and zeale to the common wealth: when a man forsaketh the pleasure of life, to follow the painefulnesse of warre, and daunger of death: and refuseth no toile nor trauaile, to purchase credite, and attaine vnto knowledge. Yea some such we read of, as Marcus Cursius, and Mucius Sceuola, that refused no enterprises to doe their Countrey pleasure. Yea some haue sold their patrimony, and consumed their Treasure and riches, to enriche their Princes with glory, and euerlasting renowne.

Were not this a madnes, and more then a méere folly, to be a drudge to the world, (and a labourer for those that sits at rest) and to watch and ward, fight, striue, and struggle with straungers for victory: and then to come home and be rewarded as common persons, and walke like a shadow in the Sunne, without estimation or countenance. Would any that had wisedome, vallue, and courage, be ouer runne with vicious fooles and cowardes, or be made a footestoole to their inferiour, when they haue climed vp the steps of honour, and are gotten into the top gallant of worldly glory, and warlicke triumph.

Among children that doe but play at the bucklars, there is a preheminence, and one will acknowledge the other to bée his better, when good bobbes are bestowed: and sodainely a stout taule lobber will lay downe the waster, and yéelde to him that hath more practise, and [...] in the weapon then himselfe. Then shal [...] not a man that hath coped with Champions, buckled with Conquerours, and abidden the hazard of the Canon, stand on his Pantoffelles, and looke to the steps he hath passed. Yes sure, and such a member of the state, (the baser sort are Ciphers) ought to be made of, deserueth place and preheminence, and is no companion for punies, nor méete to be matched with Milkesoppes, whose manhood and manners differs, as farre from the graue Soldiour, as a Donkite in courage and condition differs from a Ierfaukon.

As the duetie to a mannes countrey, and the wages that [Page] hee taketh, bindes him to doe the vttermost he maie: so were there not an other cause, that forceth further matter. Full coldly some would fight, and full slowly some would march to the battell, albeit the Princes quarrell and wages receiued, commaundeth much, and is a thing stoutly and wisely to be looked to. But I tell you, fame and reputation is the marke that men shoote at, and the gréedinesse of glorie and ambition, pricketh the mind so fast forward, that neither the man lookes vpon the multitude of enemies. Nor regards the daunger of death, so he may be eternized, & liue in the good opinion of the Prince and people.

For he that but bluntly lookes about him, and goeth to the warre for wealth (which hardly is there gotten) is led on with a couetous desire of that he shall not haue, and may fight like an Oxe, and die like an Asse. But who so respecteth his credite, and paiseth in ballaunce the worthynesse of fame, that riseth by well doing, doth combate like a Lion, and either conquers like a man, or dieth like a conquerour, as many great Kings & Captaines haue done, whose ensamples (a long while agoe) as yet remaynes freshlye in memorie.

It may bee thought that euery mercinarie man, and common hireling (taken vp for a while, or seruing a small season) is a souldier fit to be registred, or honoured among the renoumed sort of warlike people. For such numbers of bezoingnies or necessarie instruments for the time, are to fall to their occupation when the seruice is ended, and not to liue idlely, or looke for imbrasing. For neyther they tarry long in the f [...]elde, when they are prest to go foorth. Nor are not often called againe to the like iourney, so great is our store of such persons: and so many shiftes they can make, to putte of any paine and hazard. But hee is to bee accounted the couragious Souldier, that is giuen by his owne disposition, to delight and folow the Cannon wheele, whose countenaunce and chéerefull face beginnes to smile and reioyce when the Drumme soundeth, & whose hart is so high, it wil not stoupe to no slauery. But hath a [Page] bodie and minde able to answere that is looked for, and hath often béen tried & experimented in Marshiall affaires: through haunting whereof he is become ignorant of drudging at home, and made a skilfull Scholler in the discipline of warre: which is not learned without some losse of bloode, charges of purse, & consuming of time.

And this maye bée iudged, and playnly presupposed, that manie of that sort of men are not found aliue, to trouble or burthen a common wealth, because they are cut off through daungerous seruices, or forced by séeking of Fame in the field, to sell that they haue at home, and so to trauell abroade, subiect to all miserie, and far from any friendship or prosperous estate. And sometimes through the greatnes of their mindes, that gallopp [...] after glorie, are carried away to séeke out new Kingdomes, and refuse their old habitation. A matter falling out well, worthye to be liked, but otherwise, a heauy tale to be told, and an experience bought with ouer much repentaunce. But euery waye occasions they are, that dispatcheth▪ many a good Souldiour, & makes the number so little, that it is reason such as are left aliue of that profession: should eyther bee rewarded, or at the least reape vp some such credite, as the common sort of people should haue them in admiration, and offer them such courtesie, as the worthynesse of their Experience and Seruice requireth.

If in the old time our Forefathers vsed their men of warre nobly, preferred them to promotions, & dealt honourably with them that serued then Countrey, where warres were not so cruell. Why should not this world, wherein pollicies, murthers, and bloodshed is followed (and hazards are meruelously escaped) to the vttermost of mans power, haue more regard to a Souldiour that shunneth no hazard, nor refuseth no perill. There is no more to say, for the aunswering of this great ouersight, but the hackney horse is vnhappy, hauing borne a burthen all the day on his backe, & is cast off at night to a bare common, there to séeke for foode, and abide a hard fortune.

[Page]There is a worse matter th [...]n this to be treated off, yet nothing but that so farre past remedie to be touched: let any one seruing man get a good Maister, and for following his héeles at an inch, he shall be more spoken & get more benefit, then twenty of the best Souldiers that you can name, that haue followed the warres all their life dayes, and knew not howe to flatter & fawne, or crouch and cours [...]e for commoditie. Yea, such as serues at home, and cannot goe out of the view of a faire house, and smoke of a foule Chimney, snatcheth vp good turnes, and steales awaie preferments priuilie: when those that merites more consideration, oft goes openly a begging, and findeth few among thousands that wisheth them well, or doth them any good.

Some say the cause of this hard happe to the one, and good Fortune to the other, is a certaine deadly dissention, fallen betwéene the sword and the penne. By which mortall malice is bred and nourished in bosome, such a headstrong hatred and parcialitie, that the penne is euer giuing a dash out of order, against the commendation of the sworde, and the sword being disgraced, by a balde blot of a scuruie Goose quill, lies in a broken rustie scabberd, and so takes a Canker, which eates awaye the edge, and is in a manner lost for lacke of good looking to, and consideration of a painfull Cutler.

And the penne (as many people are perswaded) is like the Pensell of a Painter, alwaies readie to set out sundrie colours, and somtime more apt to make a blurre, then giue a good shape and proportion to any inuention or deuise, that proceedes of a plaine meaning. And as all pensels are as well occupied of a bongling Paynter, as a cunning woorkeman. So the scribling Penne is euer woorking of some subteltie, more for the benefite of the Writer, then commonly for the profitte or pleasure of the Reader: yea, and the penne is waxt so fine, and can shew such a florishe, that a Mayster of Fence, though hée playde with a twoo hand Sworde, might bee put to a foule foyle: where the Penne is in place, and is guided by a [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] sleight hand [...], and a shrewde head.

But vnder correcton, if a man may bee plaine, the Penne and the Sword can neuer agree, because the Penne standes in such feare of the sword, it would not come vnder the blow of the blade: & the sword is in such doubt to bee moi [...]ed with inke, by the dash of a penne, that it loues not to come where the pen may annoye it. And so the dissention and quarrell betweene the Penne and the Sworde, is neuer like to bee taken vp: the harmes are so great that growes on their amitie and méeting, and the aduauntage of them both is so much when they bee kept a sunder.

For the Sworde is the best and in his most brauery when it is shyning in the fielde, where bloode may be shed, and honour may bée wonne. And the Pen is in the chi [...]fest pompe, when it lies lurking in the Towne, where pence may bée purchased, and peace and quietnesse may do what it please [...]h. And the Pen is so glad to rest in the pennar, till profite cals him out, that hée cannot abide the hindrers of his commoditie, nor the disquieter of his ease. Which commeth by warres, and proceedeth from the Sword, when the Drum and the Trumpet puts the penne out of credit.

Now to speake roundly to the reason, may bee alledged in the Pens behalfe (and prayses of those that haue the vse of the same) it cannot bée denied, but the penne may both perswade warre, and purchase peace. And those that heere at home maintaine good Lawes: sée iustice ministred, vpholde the publike state: plead controuersies at the barre, studie to vnfold doubtes. Labour at their Booke to bée profitable members, and striue dayly to excell in learning, and quiet the quarrellous people of their Countrey. Such I saye that with Pen or tongue, aduaunceth vertue, and ouerthrows vice, are méete to bée honoured, deserueth great laude, and ought to goe in the rancke and place of commendation and dignitiye. For there is but foure sortes of true Nobilitie, or Gentlemen. The first Gouernours, by whom all States and Kingdomes are guided, [Page] brought to know order, and made to possesse in quietnesse the goodes that eyther good Fortune, or sweate of browes hath gotten.

The second are Souldiers, whose venter and valliance hath beene great, seruice and labour not little, and dayly defended with the hazard of their liues, the libertie of the Countrey.

The thirde are vpright and learned Lawiers, that looke [...]h more to the matter they haue in hand, then the money they receiue. And are neuer idle in doing their duty, and studying for the quietnesse of matters in controuersie.

The fourth are Marchants, that sayles forrain Countreys, and brings commodities home: and after great hazards abroad do vtter their ware with regard of conscience and profite to the publike estate.

And as from the beginning Gouernours and Rulers were ordayned by God, and the rest of Gentilitie came in, and did follow as reason required, and desart did commaund. So ancient birth and blood (ioyned with good conditions) is a thing much to bee honoured and esteemed, and beautifies not only the noble race, but bringes likewise a treable beatitude, to the person so vertuously bent and nobly borne.

And as for the Souldiers and their originall, of honours, titles, and calling, the Romaines (which were the Fathers of all Marshiall affaires, and Conquerors of the world) haue so much spoken of and praysed, that no man can denie, but they are the men of greatest antiquitie, and people that Princes first preferred, and gaue stippendes vnto. Yea, and the chiefest Conquerours that euer were before our dayes: had a great glorye themselues to bee called Souldiours, and Noble Captaynes. For they thought none so worthie as the Souldier, nor none so meete to compare themselues vnto, as the man that stoode on his honour, and would neyther stoupe to no kinde of slauerye, nor yeelde to no villanous action.

But in verie deede, to speake of euery one in their order, there is none [...]o much to bee feared, loued, and honoured as the Rulers [Page] and Leaders of the common people.

For the peaceable Gouernour, and such as are experimented in Wordly pollicies, knowes how to make warre, and howe to auoyde troubles: and as they are loth to fall from rest and wealth, to ruffeling Warre and wickednesse, that bréedes bloodshed and want: So they can breake the bandes of peace, and set men out to the field, when causes commaundes them, and oportunitie doth serue. But since that my purpose is but to treate of Souldiers alone, (and that I lacke skill to set foorth the rest) I will returne to my first Discourse and intent, and leaue the wise to consider, what good matter may bee sayde in the thing I leaue off.

The Souldiour because his life is in ballaunce, and his death is at the dore, hath so many mischieues to passe, & so few meanes to escape daunger: that he is compelled to be honest, and be ready to make an accompt euery houre of the day. For as the Cannon may call him before he be aware, or the pollicie of the enemie may cut off his yeares: so is he assured that the pot, which goeth often to the water, comes home with a knock, or at length is passhed all in peeces. Through which accidents or crosse chances, he is held so harde, and curbed so shorte (if any feare of God be in his breast) that he hath no scope to runne at riot in: nor play the parts of a wanton, or prodigall sonne.

Albeit some hold opinion, that Souldiours be giuen to spoile and offered to insolent life, by a number of inconueniences: yet may they so well bee occupied in warre, that they may bee occasion of great good, and a great hinderer of many harmes. For when houses are ready to be burnt, impotēt persons, poore women and children ready to bee slayne: they may saue what they list, and preserue an infinite number of thinges, that a man at home can doe no good in, nor none but the Souldiour in the fielde, hath power to comfort and succour. And for certame I know Souldiours of that disposition, that hath beene occupied in these honest actions: when some Helhoudes haue beene spoyling and murthering, and founde by their follye [Page] and ouer great cruelitye, a dispatch of their owne dayes, and peraduenture the terrible wrath of God, and damnation to their soules.

My Prince maie bée well serued, and the Enemie not alwayes to the vttermost persecuted: the Lesson that Sainct Iohn Baptist gaue the souldiours, may suffice for this matter, and carrie mens mindes from violence, and doing wrong, to quallifie furie, and maintaine right, with a regard to the innocent, that ought not to bée touched, for the offence of an ambicious Leader, or one whose faultes the ignoraunt may not answers This point though simply it is passed ouer, may containe a large volume: and is to be looked into with a diuine [...], and [...] Christian consideration.

Then if the souldiors (as few there are in number) be honest and is to be proued, they are not to be reproued: it followes that honor and reputation accompanies those souldiours, and that a singular priuiledge and libertie, may be had for those that haue such regard of their fame, that they wil do no any one thing preiudicial to their credite, in the compasse of which regard is knit, valiancy, modestie, pitty, & hope of another life to come: whē th [...] affaires of this world shall dutifully and honestly be finished.

And for that the reader hereof shal not thinke, but that great Princes thought their Souldiours to bee honest, & men that were worthy the making of (whose doings & regarde did argue and shew a speciall hope of another place to go to, or a certaine fame and credite heere to be maintained) I will shew you as I haue gathered by translation, how triumphant kings & princely potentates, did ordaine, set downe, and deliuer a law & rule for souldiours. By the which they had honor, libertie, & prerogatiue aboue, and beyond the Commoners, or common course of people. The translation I speake of is not long and tedious, but bringing willing mindes to heare & know the truth you may read if leasure permit, and you peruse that followeth.

First you must marke (and make a good note of) that Heraldes were at the beginning souldiours, and were called auncient [Page] knights, as well it séemeth to be true: for they (I meant Heraldes) being brought vp in warre, beheld who deserued renowne, and had by their authoritie and experience, a power to giue Armes and signe of honor to those, which for well doing in field or publike state, did merite remembraunce, which power and place of the Heralde doth plainely expresse: that from the fielde, or honourable offices at home, sprong vp our gentilitie, & generation of Gentlemen. For as euery mans blood in a b [...]son lookes of one colour: and when Adam was created, and a long while after, mē were al alike. So vertuous actes that shines to the heauens, hath made them to bee honoured and aduaunced▪ where vicious liuers, and bloodthirsty wretches were accursed of God, and hated of man. And had a marke set vpon them to be known by, and be a testimony to the world, that they were not worthy of honour, and were appointed to reproch. Let Cain that killed his brother Abell (by an vniust warre) be a witnes in this behalfe.

Aeneas Siluius doth derine Heraldes of ab Heroibus, of Noble men:

For Heroes were auncient Knights, otherwise called Souldiours, and an Herauld signifieth Centonicum vocabulum (videlicet) and old man of Armes, or an old Knight, but at this daie (sayd Eneas a long while since) certayne seruile men, feeble and weake messengers, which neuer haue playde the Souldiours, doe professe that office. The priuileges and offices of the Herauldes in auncient time, to this day continuing neuerthelesse. And the first authour of them was Bacchus, which India being conquered, did call them by this name: I absolue you of Warres and trauell, and will that you bée auncient Souldiers, and to bée called Heroes. Your office shall bée to prouide for the Common weale, to try out the originall of causes, and to prayse the wise: you shall call for greater rewardes, in what place or Countrey you shall come. And the Kings shall giue you meat and apparell. You shall bée most honourable to all men. Princes shall offer vnto you many thinges, and shall licence you their apparell. Credite [Page] shalbe giuen to your sayings, you shall abhorre lies. You shall iudge traytors and Adu [...]terers. These infamous persons ye shall punish: and in euery Nation you shall haue libertie, and sure egresse and regresse shall bée vnto you, if any man shall gayne say any of you in worde or déede, let him die with the sword.

Alexander the Great hath annexed to these priuileges of noble men after a long season, that they might vse purple, golden and beautiful garments. And that they should bring in princely and notable Armes at euery place, in any Countrey or Region soeuer it shal bée If any man shal repulse these without respect, or secretely defame in woorde, hée shall bée accounted gilty of death, and deposition of gooddes. And so the same Eneas doth say, Tucidides, Herodotus, Didimses, Magashones, and Zenophon together.

Thirdly, then Octauian Auguste, the Romaine Monarch being established, hath beautified them on this condition: Who so euer (sayd hée) hath played the Souldiour with vs, the space of ten yeares, and be of the age of fourty yeares, whether he be horseman, or els footeman, he shall haue his wages▪ and afterwards be absent from wars, be a noble man and old Souldiers. No man shal forbid thée the Ctity, the Market, the Church, Hospitality and house: no man shall impute any fault to thée, thou shalt be discharged of that blemish or burthen: no man shall aske any thing of thee, if thou make fault in any thing, onely looke thou for Caesars vengeance: for what filthinesse men shall impute, let them feare thée being a iudge and corrector▪ whether they bée priuate, or Princes: what so euer thou sayest, thou shalt affirme, and no man contrary. All iourneis and places shall bée free and plaine to thée: let thy meat and drinke be in the houses of Princes, and take daily of the common treasure, wherewithall to kéepe thée and thine house. Marry thou a wife of comely beauty, and estéeme her aboue all other. Whom thou wilt checke and reproch with infamy, thou shalt say this man is an infamous reprobat. Armes, Ensignee, [Page] names and ornaments of noble men beare thou. Doe what thinges become Kinges, and what thou wouldest doe or say in euery place and Nation, make mention of it: if there be any iniurious person, let him die.

And last of all Cha [...]les the Great, the name of the Empire being translated to the Germaines, after the conquest of the Saxons and Lombardes. Caesar called Augustus, hath rewarded them with this honour, saying: My Knights, you noble men, fellowes of Kinges and Iudges of faultes, liue after your labour, without trauaile, prouide for Kings in a common name. Take away vice. Fauour women. Helpe children. Kéepe councell of the Prince, and of him aske your apparell, & stipend: and if any deny, let him be accounted presumptuou [...] and slaunderous. If any shall doe you iniury, let him acknowledge himselfe guilty of empairing the Empire. But take you héede least you defile such worshippe, and such priuiledge, gotten by iust trauaile of warre, either by dronkennesse, baudry, or any other vice: neither that we giue vnto you, should redound vnto praise, or peace, which is to be taken of you. If perhaps you shall exceede vs, and our successors Kinges of the Romains for euer hereafter.

These before rehearsed woorde for woorde, as I might I translated out of Latine, finding therein a maruailous commendation of Souldiers, and so is thereby to be p [...]rceiued, that in all ages, times, and publique gouernements, Kinges and mighty Monarkes, tooke care as much for their men of warre, as for their Common-weale: and to bring them in heart if any dispaire or mislike, should grow through sl [...]cknes of looking vnto. The Princes of their princely benignity, and méere good will borne to Marshall people, inuested them with titles, names and honours, such as alwaies pluckes vp a mannes courage, and procures thousandes to valiauncy and seruice. For who will not venter boldly a season, when they know for tenne yeares toile and hazard, he shall be honoured, sitte at ease, liue without daunger, and remaine in a [Page] perpetuall priuiledge: neither subiect to the mallice of lewde people, nor worldly want, whose plague persecuteth many millions of men, and throwes downe in the dust the prayses of such, as otherwise should shine like the Sunne, before the [...]ies of all nations.

And as those Kinges and Conquerours many hundred yeares agoe, ordained by decrée and vertue of a Law, that Souldiers should bée made honourable, and possesse great contentation of minde: So fell it out from time to time, theyr seruices were considered. And that Souldier-like King and triumphant Conquerour, King Henry the eight, hauing triall of Souldiers and a warlike heart: to shew the honour belonging to that profession, and to follow his noble predecessours: Made a Law as yee may read in the Statutes, that Souldiers might weare what they listed: And further to the comfort of all men of warre, he left no one worthy Souldier vnrewarded, in what place so euer of his dominion, or affaires the Soldiour had béene emploide.

In Fraunce, our néere neighbours makes so great account of Souldiers (namely those that they call Soldado Vetche) that the greatest Dukes or Princes in the field, Court, or Towne, encountering a Souldier, salutes him with curtesie, takes him to his Table, and vseth him with such entertainement and reuerence, that it is a world to beholde. And when seruice is to bée séene, either in battaile, or at an assault: The greatest Duke or noble man, thinkes himselfe happy to bée ioyned with a knowen Souldier: and commonly both olde and young of their nobility, are formost in the [...]ight, and last that will retire. It is a thing incredible among some ignoraunt persons, to be told how Souldier-like, and manlike in all poinctes they behaue themselues, and how little account they make of life, when death must be sought by seruice, and thereby their honour and liberty of Countrey, is to be preferred.

The Spaniards, a Nation not inferiour to any yet named, [Page] ioyne so in amity at their méeting, make such courtesie, and shew such fastnesse of friendship (especially among Souldiers) that euery one in presence embraceth his companion, and in absence, lets fall good report of the absent. Yea, their loue and constancy by custome and ceremonies, knits them in such an vnion, that no straunger can seperate: and they giue so great place one to another, that it is hard to know by their gestures and vsages, which is the better of them. And they haue theyr own Souldiers in such a liking, that no people in the world, shall be suffered to reape any péece of their glory.

The Italians Souldiers of great antiquity, and of no lesse value with most humility and ciuill manner, enterchaungeth their talke: yéelding for one gentle word, twenty good tearms, smooth speeches, and philed phrases. And happening to come together, either in seruice, or otherwise: they agrée like brethren, and depart without quarrell. And their great men and mightiest in power, if they repaire where Souldiers are, showes them selues of little authority, as a man might gesse by their courtesie: Refuseth to take any thing vppon them, wh [...]re the Marshall man approacheth, and seemeth to be at the disposition of such as haue serued, so great is the reputation of a Souldier among them.

The Scots men, a stout and manly people, beginning to take a sauour in the warre, seekes sundry soiles to serue in: and haue great delight to be in the company of souldiers, and proue them selues worthy of commendation in any place they repair. And for that they would become famous, and attaine to some experience and credite, they shunne no kinde of seruice that is offered: and all the sorts of Gentility among them, estéemeth much a Souldier. Which is a signe that at the length, Souldiers will come to their ancient dignity and admiration, where the sound of Dromme or Trompet may be heard.

Now to speake of our owne Nation were superfluous, (although many haue serued well, and sundry are yet in the exercises of warre) because I haue named before diuerse thinges [Page] wherein our countrey men haue wonne desired fame and renowne, yet for arguments sake, and to enlarge this volume. Further matter may be treated of, neither hurtfull to the hearers, that fauoureth well doing: nor hatefull to any when nothing shall be touched, but that which is necessary for the aduauncement of vertue.

Our soueraigne Lady by Gods prouidence (to make vp the matter) I bring for a testimony of great regard to Souldiers, considering whom they are she hath holpen, in some sort and respect, and what good things haue passed among Souldiers, as her highnesse heard well of, or had intelligence giuen her to vnderstand, the worthinesse of those that haue well deserued. Doe but examine how many since her noble raign, of Souldiers haue had Leases, gotten liuings, béene preferred to gouernment, and gone from Court with full hands, that beganne with empty purses. And then tell the world openly, what secret suits were passed and what open wrong they doe them, that bountifully bestowed good gifts, wher any good cause appeared. Admit some by the report of their friendes, stole away the benefites from the fountaine head: yet looke to the rest of thinges that worthely fell out, and you shall sée the best sort of Souldiers worthely rewarded, and nobly vsed. What care we though some silly soules, or seruiceable Souldiers watch at receipt, or are not spoken for by meane of some hinderers of good happe. Yet since other some, and many in number haue found good Fortune, (say what they can) at her Highnesse handes that now remaineth Quéene ouer our Countrey, we cannot but confesse that the candle is in, and not burnt so far, but may giue a gracious blase and a new light, to lighten the minds of Souldiers, and such as sit in the comfortlesse shadow of darke dispaire.

So to make short and prooue for the purpose, Souldiers in times past haue beene sette by, and dearely estéemed, and presently in all places of the world embraced and made of. From whom sprong Herraldes, the erectours and publishers of Gentlemen, & all true fame and honour did rise: as for example, a [Page] Knight made in the field, especially for seruice sake, hath much more to reioyce of, then he that at home is called to worship, except in causes of gouernement and honourable offices, which are to be preferred before all other dignities and calling. Chéefly for that our whole publike state and princely order, depends on their wisedomes without the which order, and Maiesty of rule, the ciuill would become sauage, and the world wax wild: so that the beastes in the field, and the people in the Towne, should soone for naughty manners be alike in condition.

Now here is to bée noted, that Souldiers in olde time of ten yeares continuance, being forty yeares of age, was suffered to liue quiet, and bore the title of honour. Then reason will graunt, that who hath serued thirty yeares, without reproach or shame (and in a dangerous world and mischiefe) may claime by right a pention of the Prince, and stipend of the common Treasure. But what and if some of good birth and hauiour, haue béene much more then thirty yeares a follower of the warres, and neuer out of warlike exercises, all this long season. And yet are as new to beginne the world againe, as they were the first day they came from their Craddle. For any preferment, fauour of the Prince, or countenaunce and commodity of their countrey. Such Souldiers may say, they were borne in an vnhappy season, or found but could friends in time of regard, and triall of good Fortune.

The affection of this worlde is led with such liking, (and the cunning of the wily can so finely curry fauour) that he that neuer came néere the daunger of the Cannon, with looking bigge, and turning vp his mouchachose, makes men beléeue he is a diuell, who fearing the monster will doe some mischiefe. And carried away by affection (for the goodly shew this kill Cow hath made) speake for him where goodnesse is to be gotten, and so a swad or a swirnpipe is called a good Souldier, (and goeth away with credite and liuing) when he that wants this cunning, and yet lackes no courage nor vallue liues vnrewarded, and consumes his daies in sorrow.

[Page]Yet some holdes opinion, it is but hap that helpes, and neyther cunning nor desarts that compasseth good liuinges, and attaines vnto benefite. Full bare and poore is that argument and reason, and men of such opinions, are as blinde as a béetell: to beléeue he is happy that hath no worthinesse in him, and he vnfortunate that lacketh no vertues. But the worlde is most ignorant and much to be blamed, that helpeth a shadow to great substaunce, and lets the worthy shift for their liuing that deserueth reward. and they are not to be excused, that by a colour of hap, aduaunceth the vicious person, and fauours not the foreward Souldier, and men of vertuous disposition. For gold and siluer are knowen by their weight and goodnesse: The flower by the smell: The horse by his pace, and euery other thing is tried and made of for his value. And must the merites of men be subiect to hap, where men do helpe men, and are the iudgers of mans doings: that case is too cruel, and that hap is accursed gotten by such blindnes, and purchased by such parciality.

In Rome where noble mindes were maruailously extolled, yet when diuerse men came to be preferred: euery Senator a part had [...] many followers, that one wold hinder another: and looke who the best people fauoured, the worst sort would hate. And looke who followed Pompey was misliked of Iulius Caesar, and so by this factious dealing many great Souldiers, eloquent Oratours, and noble members of the Common wealth, were put off from poste to piller. And few that were worthy of cherishing, found good chaunce, or possessed any part of the hap, that they iustly might claime, by which frowardnes and misery of the time, is plainely to bée prooued, that there is no hap certaine. For man him selfe is the maker of hap, and the marrer thereof: euen as his lust is to like, or his hart is bent to lothe. For hap could doe nothing at all among them, their affections were so farre a sunder, and they haled such seuerall wayes, that their followers were left in the lash, or failed of their footing. Then speake not of hap, for God [Page] and good men are the distributers of desired Fortune, and the onely causers of that which betideth, and must fall of necessity on some mens shoulders, as in the Booke of Boetius de consolatione, is manifestly to be tried.

Now leaue of hearing of hap, and note how nobly the Romanes vsed their Souldiers, namely those that at any time had succoured a Cittizen of Rome: and taken him out of the hands of his ennemies. For such souldiers as had done that seruice, was crowned with a garland or hat, made of the leaues of Trées, as I finde written in Plinie the xvi. Booke the fourth Chapter, the chiefest whereof that serueth for my purpose, I haue translated out of French. Plinie bringing many great authors to affirme his saying, the matter followeth.

The greatest honour that could bée done to a Souldier, was to Cro [...]ne him with a Crowne called Ciuiques, and likewise of long time this Crowne Ciuiques was due vnto Emperors, in signe of clemency. For since the ciuile warres had harmed the Romaines, it was thought a singular good deede, to let a Citizen liue in rest and peace. Likewise there was no Crowne compared to that Crowne: For those [...]hat were giuen to that Souldier, that was first at the breach, or first on the walles, or rampars of the ennemies, was not so honourable, no, although they were of gold, and thereby were more rich. We haue séene saieth Plinie in our time, two great triumphes for the Sea seruice, the one was of Marcus Varro (the which Pompey did Crowne, for hauing defeated the Pirates, and making the Sea cleare of Théeues) the second was of Marcus Agrippa, which Caesar did likewise Crowne, for hauing defeated the Cicilians, and purged the sea in like sort of Brigandes and Robbers.

At the first foundation of Rome, Romulus did Crowne Hostus Hostilius with a garlande of leaues: because he was the first on the Walles, at the taking of Fidena. Now before a Burgoies shoulde at any time enioy this Crown [Page] Ciuique, hée must rescue a Romaine Citizen, and kill the Ennemie that ledde the Citizen away Prisoner. It must bée likewise that the Enemie did holde and possesse the place, that same day that the Romaine Citizen was rescued in. It is necessarie that the man which hath béen succoured, should confesse the same before the people: For a Soldiours own witnesse in that behalfe, serues to no purpose. And furthermore it is required, that he that was rescued, be known to be a Burgois of Rome. For if one doe rescue a King, that commeth to serue the Romaines, hée doth not merite for the same the Crowne Ciuique. In like sort, if one do rescue a generall of an Armie, hee gets no more honor therefore, then though hée had rescued a simple Citizen. For they which established this ordinaunce had no regard, but to the conseruation of the Citizens of Rome, whosoeuer they were. The Priuilege of this Crowne shall bée to giue power, to weare a Hatte of broad leaues, as ofte as hée pleased that had béene once Crowned for his well doing. Further all the Senate had a custome, to rise out of their places, and to doe honor to them that haue had this Crowne, when they goe to sée the common playes and pastimes. And it is sufferable and permitted, that they shall sitte in a seate néere the Senatours. And they shall bée exempt from all ciuill charges, not onely themselues, but their naturall Fathers and Graundfathers: And nowe beholde touching their Priuileges, there was one Cicinius Dentatus, according as wee haue sayde, Crowned fourteene times. And one Capitolinus had sixe times beene Crowned, for hee rescued Seruilius, then Generall of the Armie: notwithstanding Scipio Affrican would not suffer them to giue him the Crowne Ciuique, succouring his Father in the iourney of Trebia. O ordinaunce worthye of immortalitie (sayth Plinie) that assigneth no other prayse for such great workes, then this great honour, which surpasseth all other warlike Crownes.

Thus far goes the verie words of Plinie, & many (other auncient [Page] Aucthors that I could rehearse) in the commendation of men of Warre, which neyther in Tholomeus time: Artaxerses dayes: nor any of the mighty Monarkes long raigning before, could bee forgotten, but were so honoured, that lawes [...] orders was onely deuised for the enlarging of their Land, and stirring vp their noble minds.

Yea, Soldiours and Herraldes hadde power to denounce warres, insomuch as the auncient Romaines: who were the Fathers of all Marshiall affaires, and conquerours of the world, held this for a most certaine rule.

Nullum bellum iustum esse nisi pro rebus iniuste ablatis & quod fecialis Romani antea denunciabant. Which rule and order of the Romaines, for the power and honour of soldiours and Herauldes: declareth they are of great dignitie and calling, & may compare by this there authoritie, to be no whit inferiour to the best sort of Gentlemen.

You may read in like manner, that there was a man among the Romaines, that merelie, or peraduenture in contempt, put a crowne Ciuique vppon his owne head: and looking out at a great windowe into the stréete, was espyed. And thereuppon apprehended, and brought before the Senate: where hée was iudged presently to be put to death, for touching and abusing that crowne Ciuique, which was ordayned for the wearing onely of an honourable Souldiour, and for such a one as had béene by desarte crowned with Triumph and Solempnitie in open audience. So this foolish man (albeit hée might meane but little harme) was had to the place of execution, and there lost his life, to the great terrour of those that rashly meddle with thinges that become them not, and to the great honour of those that are aduaunced by vertue, and winneth with courage the wearing of this Crowne called the crowne Ciuique.

Now comming downe to this present age in the time of our peace, where Souldiours haue nothing to doe, there is ynough spoken (and peraduenture too much) for the Souldiours [Page] commendation, yet let mee leade you a little further in that case, For now is to be prooued what degrées of Souldiours (hauing serued long, or borne any office of credit) are gentlemen, and may vnrebukeable bee bold to take that name and title vpon them. First you haue heard, that seruing ten yeares honestly and truly, he is not onely past his prentiship, but also aboue a iourney man, and ought from all ioyrneis to be spared. As a man might saie, (though vnproperly compared) a good frée horse after his long labour, and many great iourneis is to bee ridden but seldome, and kept in the stable till extreme necessitie requireth: and then is to bée vsed gentelie, least his stiffe limmes and olde bodie deceaues the Riders expectation. So a Souldiour comming to this age and perfection, or being past the iollitie of youth and youthfull actions: ought to be prouided for, and may without presumption plead for armes, albeit hee neuer gaue anye before, and can bring no great proofe of his house, gentrie, or dissent, and though he be the first of that house, stocke, & name that gaue armes: his beginning is allowed of al our ancient writers and Princes, and shall put his aduersaries to silence, when in that point they séeke to deface him.

I remember once I saw and heard an Italian (being in the E [...]perour Charles the fifth his Campe) so stand on his reputa [...]ion, that when a meane Gentleman quarrelled with him, and desired the Combate, hee aunswered hee had béene (Soldado Vetche) an old Souldiour, and had borne office, and passed through sundrie Offices by order: and that the Gentleman was but a young man, and but of twoo yeares experience in Warre, and farre vnméete to make challenge with him, that had passed so many steppes of honour, and places of credite. But sayd the Italian to his aduersarie, goe and doe that I haue doone, or passe through the like, and when thou hast mounted vp, and troden on euerye steppe that I haue passed: come to mée and I will fight with thée the Combate. But to say I will stoupe so lowe and abase my selfe (as a Lorde may in fighting with a Ruffian) beyonde the [Page] compasse of my calling, I will not, nor no Law of Armes can commaunde mee. The matter came in question before the Prince of Orrange that now is dead, and the Duke of Sauoy yet liuing, and the challenger had a foule disgrace in the audience of a multitude: and the defendaunt had a rewarde of fiue hundreth Crownes allowed him by the Emperour, for preseruing his honour and estimation so much. This was done and openly seene, a little before the siege of Renttie, and standeth for a good record. Then an old souldiour is a Gentleman, both worthy to giue armes and colours, and méete to be borne withall in causes of quarrell.

An other proofe for the maintenaunce of my matter, I saw at the siege of Leeth, a Gentleman of great courage and birth (called Maister Ihon Soutch) quarrell with Captaine Randall, then Maior of the fielde. And Mayster Soutch did vrge through ill words and stout language, Captaine Randall verye farre: which might haue mooued any manne living. But Captaine Randall in a manner vsed those words that the Italian had done, before expressed: and going further on in communication, commaunded the Souldiours to lay handes on Maister Soutch, and swore hee would execute him, and learne all other by his boldnesse, to knowe their duties. And when Mayster Soutch was stayed, well qouth Captaine Randall since thou hast challenged mee, I will not vse my power and authoritie ouer thee: But by the fayth of a souldier, when I am out of the Sergeaunt Maiors roume I will meete thee, and make thy heart ake for those wordes thou haste giuen: excepte thou repent before of thy lewde demeanour. Mayster Soutch hauing disgested, and wisely waighed this matter: being talked withall of the Captaines in the campe, came like a Gentleman on himselfe, and acknowledged his fault most dutifully, and with great repentaunce: for which submission of his, hee was the better thought on after.

This shewes and declares, that an auncient souldiour and [Page] Officer hath a great Priuilege, and not be compared with, nor offered any iniurie: because hee carries the admiration of the people, and the honour of the field.

Yee shall find written in the Spanish, and the Language of the Portugall (which Portugalles founde out the Easte Indians) that there was a mightie King of Calicute, and many other Kinges in the Indians, whose Souldiours were all Gentlemen, and did liue euer on the s [...]ipend that the King allowed them. And those Souldiours had many Priuileges and titles of honour, and stood so much on their reputation: that they would not touch a Husband mans handes, nor suffer a Rusticall fellowe to come into their houses. And the Husbande men were bounde when the Souldiours goe in the streetes, to crie with a loude voyce, to make place for the Souldiours. For if those Gentlemen did come, and bid the Common people goe out of the waie, and they doe not obay their commaundement therein: It was sufferable for the Gentlemen Souldiours, to kill those obstinate and proude people. And furthermore the King could not make Gentlemen: i [...] they were not borne of some Noble stocke, of the race of Souldiours. They could not take their weapons, nor enter into Combate, before they were armed Knightes. They must at the age of seauen yeares bée put to learne to play with all Weapons, and to the ende they shoulde bee perfect, their Maysters doe hale their armes verie farre out (thereby to stretch their limmes) and afterwarde they teach them such Fence, as is apt for that purpose. They did by an ordinaunce and custome of theirs, honour and salute their Maysters that hadde taught them at the Weapons, (which were Graduates and cunninge menne) wheresoeuer they mett them in the stréete. They were bound twoo Monethes in the yeare to plie their schoole, and take a Lesson at their Maysters handes. By which reason they were verie skilfull of their Weapons, and for that cause they greatlye estéemed themselues. They coulde [Page] not bee knighted, but by the Kinges owne handes, who asked them before he layde his hande on their heades: if they could obserue and keepe the custome and ordinaunce of gentlemenne Souldiours, and they sayde and aunswered the king. They minded to take that profession of Armes vppon them: and so the king caused a Sworde to be girded about them, and after embraceth those Gentlemen so knighted, then they did sweare to liue and die with him, and for him, which oath they would keepe and obserue. For if theyr Lord were slayne in the Warre: they would fight to their last breath, and kill him that had slayne theyr King. Or if at that instaunt they could not bring their purpose to effecte, they would watch and spie out a conuenient season, for the perfourmaunce of their promisse and oath. And vndoubtedlie some of them woulde reuenge their Maysters death. They hadde a great regarde to their duety and endeuoure. They thought nothinge so precious as fidelitie, and their Princes fauour. They cared not for life: so glorye might bee gotten by theyr death. They serued most faythfullye vnder them, that gaue them intertaynemente. They spared nothing, but spent liberally. They applied their onely studies for the mainteinaunce of their king and Countrey. They would not suffer any dishonour, nor offer anye iniurie. They thought it a double death to loose their good name. They made no accompt of their meat, money, sléepe, or ease and little estéemed their owne liues or persons when they should make proofe and shewe of their manhood. Their wages and stipende was so much and so well payde, that euerye one of them might liue gallantlye: and the meanest might keepe to waite on him a man or a boye. The Lawe was that they might not marrie, and yet hadde Lemmans and Women appoynted by order, which they kepte and vsed well, and all quarrells was auoyded by that meanes. For they might not companie with their women, but at certaine seasons appoynted. Thus they past ouer theyr life time, [Page] without the care and trouble of Wife and Children. They might forsake vppon a good cause anye of their Lemmans. And their Women might at their owne willes forsake the menne. All those that accompanied these Souldiours were Gentlewoman, and of good birth, but might not bee married to anie person after shée hadde béene at the Souldiours commaundement. And because many men by their often chaunging, happen to haue the companye of one Woman, they fathered not any Child, though it were neuer so much like them: and therefore their Brothers children did alwayes inherite their Landes and goodes. And this Lawe that those Gentlemen Souldiours should not marrie, was made by a King, that woulde not haue a manne of Warre to fixe his loue on a wife and children, nor thereby to waxe féeble spirited and effeminate. But the king ordained, because these Gentlemen should haue no womannish manners nor minds: that they should haue all thinges at their willes, and liue in such libertie, as no one thing might drawe them from noble seruice, nor commaunde them to seruile drudgerie. And because they should be the more animated to liue in noble order, and encouraged to serue well: they were priuileged, that no man might imprison them for anye cause, nor they might not bee put to death by anye meane of ordinarie iustice. Howbeit when one killed another, or did sleepe with a Countrey Woman, or did speake euill of the king then raigning. Then would the king hauing iuste and true information of the matter, make a Writing and sende the same to a head Officer, commaunding him to cutte in péeces the offendour, wheresoeuer hee was founde. And after hee was deade, there should bee hanged about him the kinges Writing, to shewe the people wherefore hee suffered: but no Law nor Iustice coulde touche him, before the king had iustlye condempned him.

So by this Libertie and honour that Souldiours had, is well to bee séene, that none by: Caesar might meddle with [Page] men of Warre. And it séemeth this libertie was fetched from Alexanders dayes, who called his olde souldiours Noble men, and gaue them noble priuileges and rewardes: to cause the Worlde that did followe, to augmente their renowne, and spreade theire fame to the highest Heauens, that haue beene valliant on earth and Noble of minde. Which great foresight of Alexander and other great Princes to aduaunce Souldiours: hath made menne more like Gods, than earthly creatures, and done such good to the Worlde thereby, that there is no Worlde, but will make of men of Warre, and giue place to the goodnesse of those, that striue by stoutnesse of heart, and labour of bodie to enlarge the limmets and boundes of his Countrey.

The effect of this aboue expressed, was drawne out of Spanish, and remaines among Christians, as a matter worthy noting, though Infidells did obserue them.

Now though a man haue had charge, and borne a number of Offices: yet the name of an old soldiour beautifies his title. But yet perticularly I will goe through the offices, as breefly as I maie, and therein shew who may iustlie bée called Gentlemen among them. A Collonell, a Captaine, and Ensigne bearer. A Lieutenaunt, a Corporall, a Sergeant of the band, and old souldiour though hée neuer bare any office, are all gentlemen, graunting and allowing that none of the officers were made for affection at home. But had their beginning by seruice in the Feelde, and a [...]e knowne of good courage and conduct, and well experimented in Marsh [...]all affaires. The rest of other officers, that haue noble roumes and places in the Campe, néedes no setting out: for all men know such officers as are chosen, (and made by the most noble in any gouernement) are not to bee treated off, for that euerye souldiour giues them due honour and place.

You may not looke for at my hands, the originall & discourse of all gentlemen, albeit I go as farre as I dare in that behalfe. [Page] For I loue not to meddle with thankelesse labour, and would be lothe to roue beyond my reach and knowledge: in a matter that my betters, as yet haue not dealt withall. For a doubtfull attempt, brings a dangerous construction. And with drawing a strong Bow, a weake arme waxeth weary. Wherfore I go no further in this matter, des [...]ring the Reader to bear with my boldnes herein, and regard souldiers as they deserue.

FINIS.

§

§

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPfull, Sir Iohn Sauage Knight, one of the Lieutenants of Cheshire.

MY good and affectionate Worshipfull friend for manie curtesies I promised to dedicat some verses vnto you, and finding no subiect better to write vpon then the maintenance of Hospitalitie, I thought a little to touche the losse of time, and charges that a number of Gentlemen spendeth at London, not anie whit thereby blemishing the good bruite of that honorable Cittie (so I praie you vnderstand me) but shewing the inconuenience that commeth by ouer great charges bestowed and spent where nothing is gathered againe, [Page] nor reaped at the last but repentance, or such colde acquaintance, as when money is gone will scarse knowe a man in time of necessity, this being spoken generally of all the places and Citties in the worlde, where men shall finde but strangenes, when their owne wealth and estate begins to decline.

A Discourse of Gentlemen lying in London, that were better keepe house at home in their Countrey.

I Muse why youth, or age of gentle blood,

Borne vnto wealth, and worldly worship héere:

In London long, consumes both land and good,

That better were, at home to make good chéere.

In London still, they finde all vittells déere,

Hoist vp a height, to bring our purses low,

And send men home with empty bags yée know.

The stréetes with fields, may neuer matched be,

For all swéete aire, at will abroad we finde:

What is it then, in London that they sée.

But Countrey yéeldes, and better glads the minde.

Perhaps some say, the people are so kinde:

And curteous to, in stately ciuill Towne.

As men thereby, wins credite and renowne.

[Page]

First for they séeme, in Citty fresh and fine,

Most gay to eie, and gallant as a rose:

But shall a man, for pleasure of his eien.

And pompe or pride, of painted goodly cloes,

He sees abroad, at home his credite lose.

Our Elders did, not so delight in trashe,

And tempting toyes, that brings a man in lash.

For when they came, to London there to stay,

They sent fat béenes, before them for their store:

And went sometimes, a shooting all the way.

With all their traine, and houshold that is more:

Yet were they not, at no lesse charge therefore:

Kept house in Ins, and fedde the poore thereby.

That in hard world, may now for hunger die.

They taried not, in Towne to card and dice,

Nor follow long, lewd lusts that lothsome are:

Which breedes rebuke, and fosters secrete vice.

And makes tame birds, to fall in Satans snare,

They loude plaine robes, but hated purses bare,

Made much of men, gaue neighbors béefe and bred,

Yet left their aires, great wealth now they are dead.

Their care was still, to kéepe good house and name,

Spend they might spare, yet spare where cause they found,

And librall be, when bounty purchast fame.

And let floud runne, where water did abound.

Rulde all with wit, and wary Iudgement sound,

Not bent in braues, great hauocke for to make.

But drawne and mo [...]de, to spend for vertues sake.

Gaue much to poore, that craude an almes at gate,

Kept buttry dore, for straungers open still:

Made neighbours eate, that earely came or late.

[Page]By which they wonne, the Countreys great good will,

Could serue the Prince, with coundit men and skill:

With their owne charge, and pors a rare thing now,

That seelde is seene, with loue and power throw.

They raisd no rents, to make the tenant whine,

Nor clapt no yoke, on friendly neighbours necke:

Nor made poore folke, find fault with cu [...]hroat fine.

But had the hearts, of people at a becke,

As we haue now, our seruants vnd [...]r checke.

O how plaine men, would follow Landlord than.

Like swarmes of Bees, when any warres began.

Yea glad was he, that might with maister goe,

Though charge and wife, be lest at home behinde,

In this fine world, the manner is not so.

Hard handling makes, men shew another minde,

Then loyall loue, made mens affection blinde.

Now can they sée, and will doe what they list.

Cast of like Hawkes, comes when they please to fist.

What change finde you, yong maisters in these daies,

What hath drawn backe, the forward minds of men:

What makes somtime, pr [...]st souldier run his waies.

What makes this world, much worse then world was then.

I dare not now, expresse the cause with pen.

But lay your hands, vppon your brest and winke.

And you shall gesse, what of these thinges I thinke.

Gay golden robes, and garments pownced out,

Silke laide on s [...]ke, and stitched ore the same:

Great losse and play, and keeping reuell route,

With grosser knackes, I list not now to name.

Hath by abuse, brought world cleane out of frame.

And made them rich, and prowd, that borne were bare.

[Page]Yet liues by lust, and sale of paltry ware.

Our fathers wore, good frées to kéepe them warme,

And kendall gréene, in sommer for a show:

Might better to, take trifles for a farme.

Then these that now, in silkes and veluets goe,

The former age, made tenants duety know:

To Landlords all, and so their cates they sold,

As much for loue, as now they sell for golde.

Now is the case and custome altered cleane,

The tenant he, in deede will part from nought:

For landlords weale, nor lose by him a beane,

Nor sell him thing, that is not dearely bought,

At tenants hand, what euer may be sought.

Beares double price, as though the farmer might,

Liue on himselfe, and set his Landlord light.

This bréedes contempt, in vassall past all cry,

And makes the Lord, racke vp his rents a height:

And take great fines, you see wherefore and why.

And lode the backes of Farmers with great weight.

This makes wise men, vse many a craft and sleight.

To punish churles, and pinch them néere the bone,

That doth small good, yet all would haue alone.

Why plead they want, where plenty is great store,

And God hath blest, the earth with fruite and graine:

They say because, they charged are so sore.

To pay such rent, and take such toile and paine.

Well well there doth, a fault in both remaine.

The one will not▪ let nought in market fall,

The other still, in London spendeth all.

Like one that flings, more water in the seas,

[Page]Or casts away, his gold where it is lost:

The Gentleman, is seldome well at ease.

Till that he ride, to London all in post.

And vp and downe, the dice and cards be lost.

When he a while, about the streets doth rome,

He borrowes pence, at length to bring him home▪

O saieth the boy, or girle that kéepes the barre,

This man is frée, and francke where ere he goes,

And spends as much, as doth a man of warre,

That comes from spoile, and conquest of his foes,

Cries fill the pot, the ebbing water flowes.

The chencks are here, we haue inough to spend,

Set all agog, vntill bad world amend.

O Lord how soone, a man is ore his shooes,

That wades and steps, in streame or water déepe:

How soone from towne, in countrey we haue newes,

That some spends all, for they can nothing kéepe,

If such lads were, at home in bed a sléepe.

Twere better sure, then lie in London thus,

Uppon the score, or like banckrouts iwus.

Fine shops and sights, fine dames and houses gay,

Fine wares fine words, fine sorts of meat is there,

Yea all is fine, and nothing grosse they say.

Fine knaks costs much, costs spoils vs euery where

Spoile is a worme, that wealth away will weare,

A cancker crept, in Court for some mens crosse,

That eates vp lands, and breeds great lacke and losse.

Expense and spoile, waits hard on braueries héeles,

With daily debt, and daunger of disgrace:

A crue of Dickas, as world went all on whéeles,

With swashing Tom, and goodman Maple face,

[Page]In sundry cloakes, and thred bare liueries bace,

That neuer ware, ne badge, nor signe of thrift.

But certaine signes and showes they liue by shift.

And in the necke, of al this retchles band,

Comes thought and care, in sad and mourning wéede,

And sore forethinkes, that he hath sold his land.

Or laide to gage, good leases and old deedes.

No better fruite, we ce [...]pe of ill sowne seedes,

But heauy sighes, or [...] thistels bare,

That doth destroy, good ground where ere they are.

Spoile brings home plagues, to wife & children both,

When husband hath, at play set vp his rest:

Then wife and babes, at home a hungry goeth,

(Thrice euery weeke) where seld good meat is drest.

With rusty broach, the houshold all are blest.

For potched egs, in good howre be it spoke:

Must for a shift, make kitchin chimney smoke.

A fine deuise, to kéepe poore kaett in health,

A pretty toy, to mocke an Ape withall:

No ma [...]tter much, though wife hath little wealth.

Shee hath for n [...]de, a messe of creame at call,

A trim young boy, to tosse and tirle the ball,

A [...], and pretty pus or catte.

And at a pinch, a great deale more then that,

Gay gownes and geare, God wot good store inough,

And faire milke maids, as dainty as a Doe,

That fares as well, as [...]ob that holds the plough,

Yea chéere in bowles, they haue sometime ye know:

Sw [...]te whay and cruds, a bancket for a Croe,

Such rule shee keepes, when husband is farre of,

Whiles children weeps, that séeds on hard browne lofe.

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Thinke you these things, nips not the pye crost néere,

And rubs the gaule, that neuer will be whole:

The maister may, keepe reuell all the yéere,

And leaue the wife, at home like silly soule

What recke of that, who lists may blow the cole,

Though some doe starue, and pine away with want.

Young lusty lads, abroad liues all aflant.

Some come to Court, to breake vp house at home,

Such kéepes a cloake, vntill a rainy day:

Some weaues their yarne, and cloth in other loeme.

At tabling house, where they may fréely play:

Some walk to Pauls, wher some maks many a fray

The greatest summe, are sworne to spend and spoile,

And royot runne, at large in euery soile.

Great chéere is turnd, at home to empty dishe,

Great bounty lookes, like bare foote beggers bag,

Great hardnes brings, to boord ne flesh nor fishe,

Great hast to giue, comes limping lame and lag.

Great shew men make, of house but thats a brag.

For if ten daies, at home they kéepe great fare,

Thrée months abroad, for that they absent are.

England was cald, a librall countrey rich,

That tooke great ioy, in spending béefe and bred:

In déede this day, the countrey spendeth mich,

But that expense, stands poore in little sted:

For they finde nought, where hounds and hawks are fed,

But hard colde posts, to leane at in great lacke:

Who wants both foode, and clouts to cloth their backe.

Almes déedes are dead, and conscience waxeth cold,

World scrats and scrapes, pluckes flesh and fell from bone,

What cunning heads, and hands can catch in hold,

[Page]That couetous mindes, doth séeke to weld alone,

The poore complaynes, and makes a gréeuous mone.

The ritch heares all, and kéepes all safe in fist,

As all were his, to spend it as he list.

Well spend on still, a reckning must bée made,

When hee doth call, that sendes you all the store:

You will be taught, to vse another trade,

Or in the end, full dearly paie therefore

I wish you well, you can desire no more.

Waie all my wordes, as you haue reason still,

I find no fault, but speakes this of good will.

And you deare friend, that in Rocksauage dwell,

For whom I haue, these verses heere set down:

To you no péece, of this Discourse I tell,

For you lie not, at charge so long in towne,

As others doe, that are of like renowne.

Your house at home, you hold in better sort,

Then thousands doe, the world doth so report.

FINIS.

A Discourse of an old Souldiour and a young.

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To the right Worshipfull Sir Henry Kneuet Knight, one of the Lieutenants of Willshire.

THE world cannot wonder, nor the wise thereof thinke strange, that experience commaunds me to keepe friends, and my pen doth what it maie to purchase me fauour, for that is all the fruites of my studies. Which once taken from me I haue neither prop to vphold mee, nor foundation to stand on: so fea [...]ing the weaknes of my feeble buildings that lies open to enuies blast) which soddenly may bee blown downe, I seeke manie staies and craue manie supportations for the maintenance of my honest mind, and workes framed for the world to behold. So good sir Henry among the worthy company of my selected friends I honor you with a smal discourse of age & youth, where a little is spoken of the olde Souldiour and the young, not in dispraise of anie of them both, but in the commendation of knowledge, courage, & conduct, vnder which three vertues consists many noble actions, & so vnder your fauourable sufferaunce I passe to my purposed matter.

§

THere is a strife, a swéete dispute I troe,

Betwene two sorres, of men in these our daies:

On which debate, doth many reasons grow,

That soundes in déede, to each good Souldiours praise▪

Whose fame my pen is ready for to raise.

But my intent is first with flat plaine truth,

To treat a verse, or two of age and youth.

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Age is the fire, and father of great thinges,

That hath begot, both science, rule, and wit:

Brought great renowne, and honour vnto kinges,

And for mans wealth, may well in councell sit.

Youth is for field, and towne a member fit,

To vse the sword, in Countreys cause and right,

In whose defence, youth hath great force to fight.

Age may commaund, because it knoweth most,

And best can iudge, of euery thing it knowes:

Hath mightie mind, yet makes but little bost,

On whose aduice, men may their liues repose,

The worth of youth, standes oft in outward shewes,

That fresh and gay, to worlde it séemeth still,

Like bladder faire, that is blowne vp with quill.

Age lookes like tree, whose barke is rough without,

When winters waste hath made gréene leaues to fall:

But when spring comes, that braunch should bud and sprout,

With threefold fruite, the sprayes are loaded all.

Bare youth lookes like, a picture on a wall,

That stands both mute, and dumme like shadow weake,

To séeke for sence, whom age beginnes to [...]peake.

The brute in world, is how old thinges decreace,

For that sweete sap, at length forsakes the trée:

Yet men will aske, old wittes in warres or peace,

Of this or that, what the successe shall be.

In outward shewes, young iudgements well can sée,

When old mens sightes, that wisely lookes within,

The end beholdes, as s [...]one as they beginne.

A great old Oake, long time will akornes beare,

And small young graffes, are long in sprouting out:

Some say old wine, is liked euery where,

[Page]And all men knowe, new ale is full of growt.

Old horse goes well, young titts are much to doubt,

But sure old gold, is more estéemed than new,

No hauke compares, with haggard in the mue.

Old men knowes much, though young men calls them fooles,

Old bookes are best, for there great learning is:

Old authors too, are dayly read in schooles,

New Sects are naught▪ olde knowledge cannot misse▪

Old guise was good, and nothing like to this.

Where fraude, and craft, and finesse all would haue,

And plainest men, can neyther powle nor shaue.

Old Fathers builte, faire Colleges good store,

And gaue great goodes, and landes to bring vp youth:

Young men loues not, to make of little more,

But spendes away, their thrift to tell the trueth.

Old men were full, of mercie, grace, and rueth,

And pittie tooke, on those that seemde to lacke,

Young gallants gay, from poore doe turne their backe.

Old beaten wayes, are ready still to hit,

These new be-pathes, leades men on many stiles:

An old prouerbye, hath no more wor [...]es than wit,

New fangled heades, at each old order smiles.

Old wisedome farre, surmountes young fondlings willes.

Experience is, the Doctor euerie daie,

That carries close, all knowledge cleane awaie.

Young houndes are fléete, the old huntes sloe and true,

Old dogges bite sore, if all their teeth be sound:

Old auncient freindes, are better than the new,

In younglings loue, there is small suretie found,

For like a top, light fancie turneth round.

Old clothe or silke, made in our elders dayes,

[Page]Wears long and firme, when new thinges soone decayes,

Old souldiers are, the beauty of a state,

Young branches beare, but blossomes many a day.

Old Doctors can, deepe matters well debate:

Young punies knowes, not what old doctors say,

King Harries crue, brought conquest home away.

From Flowdayne field, from France and many a soyle,

And put the proud, by strength and force to foyle:

Old souldiers were, great Allexanders ayde,

And chiefest ioy, in all the warres he had

The white gray head, made beardlesse boyes affraide,

Where graue men ruld, the countrey all was glad:

And where they lackt, the fortune was but bad.

As all thinges doth, to skill and knowledge yeeld,

So old men beare, the honour of the field:

What needs more proofe, of auncient souldiers nowe,

Both old and young, are needfull members heere.

I want both time, and power to praise them throw,

For seruice great, in countries quarrell deere:

When cause requires, ye know the case is cleere,

These champions must, in field and open plaine▪

With shining sword, the right of kinges maintaine.

FINIS.

A DISCOVRSE OF CALAMITY.

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To the right VVorshipfull my singuler good friend Sir William Hatton knight.

IN the remembrance of a sorrowful losse I had by the death of the last Lord Chancelor, (good Sir William Hatton) and considering your great countenance partly declined by that soddaine accident, besides the great soms of money you were left to pay. For the parting from such an honourable friend, I thought (euery peece of cause well waied) you knowe as well what calamitie is as a meaner man, and feeling the smart and weight of that burthen, before you were ready to support it, your care and calamitie could not be little. First for the losse of so great a comfort, & next for the sorrow & trobles that belongs to such a losse, though lands or liuings helps to beare of a peece of the vexasion of mind, yet the body shall alwayes beare to the death a sorrowfull imagination of that hastie mishap, the impression therof shal neuer goe out of your memory, so long as life lasteth. So good sir, in signe of some consolation, I present you a discourse of Calamity, the right path to come to quietnesse, and the very hie way that leades a good mind to thinke of the immortality of the soule, thus presuming your fauorable acception of the same, I passe to the discourse of Calamity, wishing you much worship, hartes ease & health.

T. Churchyard.

[Page]

A Discription or Discourse, that declareth how that by tasting of miseries, men are become happie: written for that souldiers alwayes beares the burthen of sorrow and suffers more calamitie then any other people.

RIght worshipfull, for that calamitie and combersome chances, doe seeme intollerable too beare (and for our first fathers offence, they are the burthens of life, and companions of man till the hower of his death) I being often charged with the heauie fa [...]dle of misfortunes: haue taken in hand to treate of a troubled mynd, and shewe what blessednesse and benefit to the body and soule this worldly in felicity bringeth.

As the common afflictions of mankind are many in number, and seeme at the first feeling so irksome and weightie, that few can suffer them, or support them. So a multitude of miseries accustometh the mind so long, in the sharpnesse of sorrowes, that a sound iudgement is made the more able therby, to abide the brunte of troubles: and attende for a short season a remedie of misch [...]e [...]e [...], by proofe [...]he troth of this is tried. For let the laboryng man, or ordinarie porter (that daily carries great burthens) be often vsed to lift vp packes: he shall better beare a great burthen, then an other that is fine fingered, shall b [...]e able to heaue a small peece of Timber. And there is none that laboureth so sore, but is sure at one tyme or other, to attaine to rest and commoditie. So that all sorrowes are to be compted, but a sharpe sause to season the appetite, and bring the sweete and delicate dishes into such order, that it glut not the stomacke.

[Page]And nowe to consider how all pleasures are possessed, and pro [...]ittes take their begininges. The very issue and originall of those yearthly commodities, springes onely from continuall care and paine: and labourious vexation of body and minde. The greatest glories, and chiefest seates of honour any where, are gotten and compassed by this kinde of calamitie, and the least or most sparkes of mans delite is maintained (and at the length enioyed) by the meane of studious labour, and painefull exersices.

But herein to be briefe, paine and labour is the portion appointed for man in his pilgrimage, and they that are most persecuted (so they be not tempted aboue their strength) are most to be thought in fauour with God, and happiest among men: if heauenly graces and correction, be measured by the yearthly vesselles of vanitie, that we carry about, which without correction and refourming, would growe so full of filthe and corrupt manners, that they neither could holde good liquor, nor serue to any good purpose.

Doe you not behold that the purest mettall, with ill looking vnto, becometh full of cankers and rust: if it be not scoured, rubbed and roughly handled, his beautie decayeth, and the worth and vallue of it is little, because it hath lost his vertue and estimation. So mans corrupt Nature, were it not serched with sundrie instrumentes (that takes away the dead flesh, and toutcheth the quicke) would putrifie, and waxe lothsome to the whole world and to the creature himselfe, that beares it in his bowells. And for the auoiding of such an inconuenience, calamitie must be tasted, and troubles are necessary,, for the keeping cleane of a spotted conscience, and fraile body puffed vp with Pride, and vanitie of curious conceits.

And so I proue aduersitie, is the bringer home of good spirites, and gentill wittes, that wanders after worldly follies, and runnes a gadding beyonde the boundes of measure, to the vtter confines of daunger and destruction. Yea, a little trouble and torment▪ produceth great goodnesse, and bringeth soorth [Page] noble bookes, and goodly workes, which the libertie of life, and wantonnesse of pleasure, denies and hinders. As a thing that drawes man from the coueting of Fame, and true searching of immortalitie.

Mans prosperous estate breedes but idlenesse, nourisheth vice, contemnes vertue, and banisheth good studies and learning: albeit some one among the richest, at one season or other, may looke on a booke, fauor writers and giue good speeches of well dooyng. Yet seldome comes any great worke from their handes that are in prosperity. And none in a manner but the afflicted, did at any time hetherto, yeeld benefit to their countrey: and knowledge to the vniuersall worlde. Let Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Cleantes, and a number of poore Philosophers (yea princes of education) be witnesse of that I speake, from which Philosophers, the fountaine of noble Arts & Sciences did spring, and aboundantly flow.

The body pampered, bedecked with beautie, full of ornamentes, and set out to sale like flesh in the Shambelles: Either would be bought quickly, or will be tainted in hanging too long in the winde. So that as horses doe waxe reistie, for want of good vsage: and cleanest thinges taketh corruption, by lacke of looking vnto (in season). Pleasure and liberty in processe of time, makes a man wild, if callamitie tame not th [...] bodie, and bring the minde in willing subiection.

Sorrow, sadnesse, and other passions of this worlde, that comes by common causes, puttes the wittes and iudgemente to such a plonge, (secret shifte and policy) that all the senses openly makes a muster, to defend the estimation, and vpright body from falling, to which assemblie comes Patience, Reuerence and Modestie, that the matter is so well taken, iniuries are put vppe, and wronges that haue beene offered, woorkes in a wise head, a world of deuises, wherein vertue gettes victorie.

To beare the comfortable crosse of persecution, is the true badge of blessednesse, whereby the seruant is seene to follow [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] his maister, and all the vices of man he maistered, or reformed by the crossyng chances of this worlde, and vertuous operation of calamitie, which miraculously worketh the distempered minde as the hote Fornace tries out the Golde, and the warme fire bringes in temper, and makes softe the hard and coldest Waxe. A deuine secret to them that are chosen, and familiar example to those, that glories in wordly felicitie who knowes the naturall causes of earthly thinges.

If a man might aske wherefore was man made, sent from the highest dignitie of pleasures, to this lowe dongion of sorrowes, and base soile of seruitude. It may be aunswered: Adam was thrust out of Paradice, for offence he had committed, and for that he was formed out of the earth, on the race of the earth he should get his foode and liuing, as a vessell ordained to beare all manner of liquour, that is put into it: and as a Creature condemned to tast and feele tormentes, sorrowes, and troubles, wherein man sees Gods mercie, and his owne infirmities. And refusing to beare and suffer, what is laied vpon him, hee seemeth to holde an other course then God hath appointed, and so seeketh that he cannot attaine. For since the earth was cursed, it neuer could bring forth but cares, and griefe of minde: The onely fruit and painefull portion, that was from the beginning, prepared for al Adams children and posteritie.

Now some will replie and say, that the rich and wealthy of the worlde, that may wallow and tumble on their treasure: Haue builded such bulwarkes against the assaults of fortune, that no troubles can touch them, nor make them yeeld to the common calamitie of our life, but who soeuer so thinketh, is vtterly deceiued. For ritches is not gotten nor kept, but with much care and labour, and where it is possest, it bringeth daunger, dread, disdaine and a thousand euills with it: Tempting man to riot, and lasciuious liuing, and leadeth the soule to perdition, by a number of infinite follies, except a speciall grace doe vphold it, it runneth headlong into hell, and looketh seldome vnto heauen. And commonly when men doe grow ritch, they surfet so often with bankettes or bibbing, that they are [Page] full of deseases, and so shortens their daies.

Which libertie of life, and boldnesse in abuses (that springs on aboundance, the roote of disorder) puffes them vp in Pride, pampers them in pleasures, and blindeth so their iudgements, that they neither can sée who deceiueth them, nor finde out the right way of heauenly felicitie. And yet the [...]latterie of one, and falsehood of an other about them, bréedeth such businesse, and raiseth such stormes (where quietnesse is looked for) that the ritch mans house is neuer without blonder, brabble, and braulinges. So that vnder the calmest shewes & ciuilest manners, lurketh terrible tempestes, and fearefull suspitions, which in that kinde is a domesticall calamitie, and miserie incurable.

And so al the iollitie and pompe of the earth (enioyed by enheritaunce, or purchased by fortune) are accompanied with paine, enterlarded with dolloure, & mixed with vnquietnesse, and may bee compared to a rotten painted wall, that vnder faire collours, hath many a foule fret, which deceiueth the eies of them that lookes on it▪ or giues those a great ouerthrow that leaneth against it. But this is no proofe ye riches is cause of sorrow, but this rather shews that sorrow care, & many misfortunes doth follow riches, & pouertie (so it be not bare indigence) is void of hazard, frée from fortunes mutability, & coumpted most happy, in comparison of the goodnes that belonged to a blessed life.

God, in beholding the vices of many, and sées some bent to estéeme villanie, or offence: doth cut of their dayes by soddaine mischances (or on a set purpose, through the Deuine power) because their euill shall not hurt the good. And regarding the other sort that will, or may amend: leaues them to the touche of their consciences, with good respite and leasure to repente, sending them miserie, trouble, and disquietnesse onely as a restraint and bridle, to plucke them from vices. And so calamitie may bee accompted a precious purgation: and prosperitie may be iudged a Pestilent desease, which encreased, or begun by disordered life, is rather to be called a calamity, & sickenesse of the soule, then a health of the minde, or good renowme to the [Page] bodie.

Many great personages, being ouercome with the casualties of this world, and mutabilitie of fortune, haue after their fall into persecution, taken all thinges in good part, and made but small ado, nor account of their state when aduersitie approched, and béene often time as glad to vse the libertie of minde, in a serui [...]e sort, as they were well pleased, when their bodies tooke most pleasure, and had the world at commaundement. For of necessitie stormes followe calmes: and callamitie either last or first, dooth visitte an earthly vessell. For some come to Kingdomes from induraunce, and some fall to miserie from wealth and honor. Dyonisius was glad to keep a Schole, after hee had lost his Empire, and Andronico of Athens when his Countrey was subdued by the Romans, was faine to serue sundry miserable Maisters: and after led a Lyon about Rome, to the end of his dayes. But though I brought a Tyrante and and Infidell, to shewe that calamitie must bee tasted: so could I rehearse many Christen princes, that calamitie hath touched, and made them as happy by those crosses they haue borne, as some others are blessed that makes boast, that haue neuer suffered torment.

Calamitie is like a supplyng salue that heals a sore Canher. A pretious preseruatiue, to keepe the head from surie of folly. A gentill medicine to reforme an infected conscience. A bitter draught of drinke: that purgeth a stout corrupt stomake: A sowre sirope or sauce that seasoneth a lewde appetite. And the sweete Salte of mans felicitie, without the which no life can be well seasoned.

Who feeles himselfe afflicted, hath cause to conceiue hee is not forgotten (where fauour is most to be desired) and be that is let alone, to followe his owne pleasure, walkes as a caste-away, and hath nothing to reioyce of. For his bad spirite leads him to distruction, and his good Angell hath forsaken his companie, which is a signe he is giuen ouer, to his naughty inclinations, and is suffered to slide or fall downe right, when the [Page] afflicted by a speciall grace, is kept from stumblidg.

The horse that findes the Bridle caste in his necke, runne [...] out of order about the wild field: And such as loueth lewde libertie, and will not be bri [...]e [...]ed, good order runnes from them, and foule reproch wa [...]es at their héeles. And if they chance to happen in any hazard, the sodainnesse of the mischiefe breaketh their hart, or the woundering of the worlde, makes the wicked a wearie of his life. But such as [...]lamitie by cust [...]me hath reclaimed, taketh aduersitie as a qualifier of cursed conditions, and being content to kisse the Rodde of perturbation, are made children of promes, and inheritours of the land they haue long looked for.

So blessed bee those babes then, who in the trouble of their soules possesseth quietnesse, and makes account of calamitie, to be the perfit way and good meane to felicity and good hap. The feeling of such a scourge and visitation, lately sent me (who gatte great benefitte by his trouble) made me write this trifling treatise of calamity.

FINIS.

A Commendation to them that can make gold, shewing that many heretofore hath found out the Philosophers stone.

To the right VVorshipfull my vvorthie greate friend, Sir Iohn Russell knight, one of the Lieuetenants of Worcester Shire.

I am bound in goodwil, detted in ordinarie duetie, and commanded for fauour receiued (good Sir Iohn) to publish openly in some little pamphlet, [Page] the great desire I haue to bee registered in your memory, so that I might merit by desearts, the least part of your affectionate frendship, not common to all but by a free election of minde offered to a fewe you thinke, worthy of it, in the purchase of which good liking I would bestowe a great portion of my studies, accompting my selfe happie in dedicating a peece of my last labours to so worthy a knight. The trueth is (good sir) in the first prime & presumption of the gifte of pen, I followed the fortunate fauourets of this world, as well to be fauoured at their hands as to be enriched by their happes, being learned that witte by those that lackte no wealth in obseruing that custome, but the higher those fauorets were mounted the lower they lefte mee, when some of them flue away I say not with my fethers, and sat on the top of their aduancements, gazing on the basenesse of my fortune, which strange accidente ministred by the mutability of time, makes me chuse faster friends, whose noble disposition, breeds greater regard, whose constancies will longer continue, and whose frendships bringes forth better fruite. So good sir Iohn knowing your good inclination towardes the best sorte of men, and faitfullnesse towardes your country and friendes, I (being tyed by good turns to remember you) haue deuised a discourse I hope delightfull for your reading, because in your sundry trauells beyonde the seas (besides your good exercises at home) you haue heard of many excellent men and artes of diuers natures and qualitie. The worke I present you is a commendation of them that can or hath made gold, if any such bee or hath bin, the art wherof I haue not only commended, but in some [Page] part touched, as far as my simple capacitie can reach vnto, touching & setting downe in verse, with comly termes some sufficient cause how by transmutation of mettals, many men haue aduentured the making of gold. Thus crauing the worlds goodwill and your fauour for the setting forth this bold discourse, I passe to the matter, & wish you much worship, wordly felicitie, and heauenlie blessednesse.

Thomas Churchyard.

A Commendation to them that can make gold, shewing that many heretofore hath found out the Philosophers stone.

WHat wordes of worth, or [...]led phrase of men.

May serue my turne, to shew rare gifts of grace

What percing speech, what toong or flowing pen

Is fi [...] to blase, the valour of this case,

My wits are weake, my sense and skill to base:

To talke or treate, on thinges of such great weight.

That séemes so d [...]epe, and reacheth such a height,

With Uirgills verse, and Homers haughtie style,

In golden lines, should knowledge glorie shine.

Would God one man, were borne in this our Ile:

Could catch from cloudes, great arts and grace diuine.

As he were taught, of all the mu [...]es nine,

To knowe the course of stars and stately skies:

And howe deepe seas, and floudes doe fall and rise,

If mortall man, may robbe the gods of skill.

And rule the son, the moone and planets all.

And easly climbe, the heauens when he will:

[Page]Or make the spirites, belowe obey his call,

Or clap the earth, into a compasse small.

Knowledge is he, nay rather better seed,

A sacred power, hath knowledge in his head:

That from the Lord, of life and glory came,

No earthly gifte, nor worldly wicked knacke.

For world is vaine, most certaine sure I am:

And all foule artes, makes worlolings liue in lacke,

The cleanest mindes, are frée from ruine and wracke.

For vertue raignes, and rules this wretched mould:

And drawes from drosse, huge heapes of massie gold,

They neuer thriue, that workes with hagges of hell,

Bare liues they lewd, bare robes and wéedes they weare▪

They seldome want, that in ioyes doying well.

Great store of fruit, a happie trée doth beare,

A blasted branch, but withers euery where:

A vertuous man, whose hart to grace aspires,

Findes good successe, of all his whole desires,

Great studies gaines, great grace and wisdome too.

Great wisdome lookes, into Gods sacred throne:

And fewe doe knowe, what speciall grace can doe,

Such secrets great, doth rest in God alone.

And God giues man, the Philosophers stone,

Then who hath that, hath all that can be gote:

And needes not care; for all the world a grote.

Some say that knowes, how god is pleased best,

Good life helpes much, to make men blessed héere:

If that be true, God doth bad life detest,

where are we then, where shall soule life appéere.

Who hath faire face, who shewes a conscience cléere:

Such as can purge, themselues with praiers still,

Gets greatest grace, and gaineth greatest skil.

[Page]

Good arts are armes, to all our bodies throwe,

By force to worke, by strength to strike all parts:

To make stife stones, or steele to bend or bowe,

As nothing could, escape the reach of arts.

Schollers in scholes, and merchantes in their mar [...].

Can ply their thrift, so they that maketh gold,

By giftes of grace, haue cunning treble fold.

To catch the heate, of son or fire by light:

And melt and myxe, the mettals as they are,

And put by art, compounds together streight.

As all should yeeld, to fine inuention rare:

When science leaues, all hidden secretes bare,

No mastry then, to worke on waxe newe wrought.

A picture plaine, to answere workmans thought:

Most néerest God, the cleanest hartes doe goe.

They cast of flesh, and Angels nature take,

And than throwe faith, they may moue mountaines so,

Gold by that meanes, a mortall man may make,

God doth great things, for his great glories sake.

That world shall sée, some vessels God hath chose:

To whome he doth his hidden giftes disclose,

vii. of Wisdome.

The wise king said, he saw how world was made:

How things began, and how they end againe,

How fruits and flowers, doe flourish and doe fade.

How vertues rare, in herbes and roots remaine:

How out of stones, comes dewe like drops of raine,

And how dry dust, and earth that seemes nought worth,

Hides gold in hord, yet brings great treasure forth:

He saw what grace, and knowledge could discerne,

What wisdomes eies, could sée in darkest night.

What God himselfe, to his electe did learne,

[Page]What man might doe, by Gods cleere lampe of light,

What might be knowne, by simple sacred sight.

And what poore men, by plainenesse might attaine:

And what fruit comes, by trauell toile and paine,

To gather flowers, and wéedes where ere they growe.

And take vp fruit, from tops of trées that fall,

And mixe these things, with flouds that ebbe and floe:

And at a becke, to change their natures all.

Is art at will, and knowledge we it call.

But to digge out, from drosse the gold most fine.

Is secret skill, and speciall power deuine:

To make fine glasse, and giue it forme and shape,

Was sure an art, that fewe at first did knowe.

A painter made, quicke birds to picke the grape:

That pensell had, most finely painted so,

In dome dead things, life hath bin breathd you knowe.

Who reades shall sée, great knowledge vnder son:

That was with men, by grace and vertue won,

Mercurius Tres migistus king of the Egiptianes.

A king there was, of y [...]er that Hermies hight,

Who fi [...]st found out, the cause how gold was made.

Some at his torch, did there dime candells light:

That earst did walke, for want of Son in shade,

Since that in seas, full many wits did wade.

To sound and sée, how farre weake feete might goe:

And some did find, the depth thereof I troe,

G [...]bar a king, likewise of great estate,

A volume large, of this great art did write.

Throw studie long, Gebar such knowledge gat:

That in his books, great princes did delight,

[Page]Great thinges of him, great actors doe resyte.

Greater then he, some say was neuer none,

For he did teach, how men should make the stone.

In a vision, much matter may you read,

Of this rich art, that thousands hold full déere:

Remundus too, that long liud héere indéede,

Wrate sundry workes, as well doth yet appeare.

Of stone for gold, and shewed plaine and cleere,

A stone for health, Arnolde wrate of the same:

And many more, that were too long to name.

But Ryppley may, not scape my pen as yet,

Nor Nor [...]ons bookes, that are in written hand:

Two famous clarkes, of ripe and ready wit.

Meere Englishmen, borne both with in this land,

In the records, of towre their workes doe stand:

Let this suffice, how ere the matter séemd,

Among the wise, this art was much estéemd.

Heere follovves the Tragedie of Shores VVife, much augmented with diuers newe aditions.

To the right honorable the Lady Mount Eagle and Compton, wife to the right honourable the Lord of Buckhursts son and heire.

GOod madame for that the vertuous and good Ladie Carie your sister, honourablie accepted a discourse of my penning, I beleeued your Ladiship would not refuse the like offer, humbly presented [Page] and dutifully ment, I bethoght mee of a Tragedie that long laye printed and many speake well of, but some doubting the shallownesse of my heade (or of meere mallice disdaineth my doeings) denies mee the fathering of such a worke, that hath won so much credit, but as sure as god liues, they that so defames me or doth disable me in this cause, doth me such an open wrong as I would be glad to right with the best blood in my body, so he be mine equall that moued such a quarrell, but mine old yeares doth vtterly forbid me such a combat, and to contend with the malicious I thinke it a madnesse, yet I protest before God and the world the penning of Shores wife was mine, desiring in my hart that all the plagues in the worlde maie possesse me, if anie holpe me either with scrowle or councell, to the publishing of the inuencion of the same Shores wife; and to show that yet my spirits faile me not in as great matters as that, I haue augmented her Tragedie, I hope in as fine a forme as the first impression thereof, and hath sette forth some more Tragedies and Tragicall discourses, no whit inferiour as I trust to my first worke, and good Madame because Rosimond is so excellently sette forth (the actor whereof I honour) I haue somewhat beautified my Shores wife, not in any kind of emulation, but to make the world knowe, my deuice in age is as ripe & reddie, as my disposition and knowledge was in youth, so hauing chosen a noble personage, to be a patrones to support poore Shores wifes Tragedie againe, I commend all the verses of her (olde and newe) to your good Ladiships iudgement, hoping you shall lose no honour [Page] [...]n the supportation of the same, because the true writer thereof with all humblenesse of mind and seruice, presents the Tragedie vnto your honourable censure, wishing long life, and encrease of vertues fame, to make your Ladiships daies happie.

T. Churchyard.

Heere followes the Tragedie of Shores wife, much augmented with diuers new aditions.

AMong the rest, by fortune ouerthrowne,

I am not least, that most may waile her fate:

My fame and brute, abroade the world is blowne,

Who can forget, a thing thus done so late?

My great mischance, my fall, and heauy state,

Is such a marke, whereat each tongue doth shoote,

That my good name, is pluckt vp by the roote.

This wandring world, bewitched me with wiles,

And won my wits, with wanton sugred ioyes:

In Fortunes freakes, who trusts her when she smiles,

Shall find her false, and full of fickle toyes,

Her triumphs all, but fills our eares with noyse,

Her flattering giftes, are pleasures mixt with paine,

Yea, and all her words, are thunders threatning raine.

The fond desire, that we in glorie set,

Doth thirle our hearts, to hope in slipper hap,

A blast of pompe, is all the fruit [...] we get,

And vnder that, lies hid a sodaine clap.

In féeking rest, vnwares we fall in trap,

In groping flowres, with nettels stung we are,

In labring [...]ong, we reape the crop of care.

Oh darke deceite, with painted face for sho,

Oh poysned baite, that makes vs eager still,

[Page]Oh fained friend, deceiuing people so,

Oh world, of thée, we cannot speake too ill:

Yet fooles we are, that bend so to thy skill,

The plague and scourge, that thousands daily féele,

Should warne the wyse, to shun thy whirling whéele.

But who can stop, the streame that runnes full swift?

Or quench the fire, that crept is in the straw?

The thirsty drinkes, there is no other shift,

Perforce is such, that néede obayes no lawe.

Thus bounde we are, in worldly yokes to drawe,

And cannot stay, nor turne againe in time,

Nor learne of those, that sought too high to clime.

My selfe for proofe, loe here I nowe appeare,

In womans weede, with wéeping watred eyes,

That bought her youth, and her delights full deare:

Whose lewd reproch, doth sound vnto the skies.

And bids my corse, out of the ground to rise,

As one that may no longer hide her face:

But néedes must come and shewe her piteous case,

The shéete of shame, wherein I shrowded was,

Did moue me oft, to plaine before this day,

And in mine eares, did ring the trompe of brasse,

Which is defame, that doth each thing bewray,,

Yea though full dead, and lowe in earth I lay,

I heard the voyce, of mee what people saide,

But then to speake, alas I was affraide.

And nowe a time, for me I sée preparde,

I heare the li [...]es, and falls of many wights:

My tale therefore, the better may be heard;

For at the torch, the little candle lights.

Where Pageants be, smale things fill out the sights.

Wherefore giue eare, good Churchyard doe thy best,

[Page]My Tragedy, to place among the rest.

Because the truth, shall witnes well with thée,

I will rehearse, in order as it fell,

My life, my death, my dolefull destene,

My wealth, my woe, my doing euery deale,

My bitter blisse, wherein I long did dwell:

A whole discourse, by me Shores wife by name,

Now shalt thou heare, as thou hadst séene the same

Of noble blood, I cannot boast my byrth,

For I was made, out of the meanest moulde,

Mine heritage, but seuen foote of th'earth,

Fortune ne gaue, to me the gifts of gold,

But I could brag, of nature if I would:

Who fild my face, with fauour fresh and faire,

Whose beautie shon, like Phoebus in the ayre.

" My beautie blasd, like torch or twinckling starre,

" A liuely lamp, that lends darke world some light,

" Faire Phoebus beames, scarse reacheth halfe so farre:

" As did the rayes, of my rare beautie bright,

" As summers day, exceedes blacke winters night,

" So Shores wiues face, made foule Browneta blush:

" As pearle staynes pitch, or gold surmounts a rush.

" The Damaske rose, or Rosamond the faire,

" That Henry held, as déere as Iewells be,

" Who was kept close, in cage from open ayre:

" For beauties boast, could scarse compare with me,

" The kindly buds, and blosomes of braue trée,

" With white and red, had deckt my chéekes so fine,

" There stoode two balles, like drops of claret wine.

" The beaten snow, nor Lily in the field,

" No whiter sure, then naked necke and hand.

" My lookes had force, to make a Lyon yeeld,

[Page]

[...]

[Page]

[...]

[Page]" And at my forme, in gase a world would stand,

" My body small, framd finely to be spand,

" As though dame kind, had sworne in solemne sort,

" To shrowd herselfe, in my faire forme and port.

" No part amisse, when nature tooke such care,

" To set me out, as nought should be awry,

" To fornish forth, (in due proportion rare)

" A péece of worke, should please a princes eie,

" O would to God, that boast might proue a lie,

" For pride youth tooke, in beauties borrowde trash,

" Gaue age a whippe, and left me in the lash.

My shape some saide, was séemely to each sight,

My countenance, did shewe a sober grace,

Mine eies in lookes, were neuer proued light,

My tongue in wordes, was chast in euery case,

Mine eares were deafe, and would no louers place,

Saue that, alas, a Prince did blot my browe,

Loe, there the strong, did make the weake to bowe.

The maiestie, that kings to people beare,

The stately port, the awefull cheere they showe,

Doth make the meane, to shrinke and couch for feare,

Like as the hounde, that doth his maister knowe:

What then? since I, was made vnto the bowe,

There is no cloake, can serue to [...]ide my fault:

For I agréede, the fort he should assault.

The eagles force, subdues ech bird that flies,

What mettall may, resist the flaming fire?

Doth not the Sun, dasill the cléerest eyes,

And melt the yse, and make the frost retyre,

Who can withstand, a puissant kings desire?

The stiffest stones, are perced through with tooles,

The wisest are, with Princes made but fooles,

[Page]

Yf kinde had wrought my forme, in common frames,

And set me forth, in colours blacke and browne.

Or beautie had, beene parcht in Phoebus flames,

Or shamefast wayes, had pluckt my fethers downe,

Then had I kept, my fame and good renowne:

For natures gifts, were cause of all my griefe,

A pleasaunt pray, entiseth many a théefe.

Thus woe to thée, that wrought my peacocks pride,

By cloathing me, with natures tapestry:

Woe worth the hewe, wherein my face was dyde,

Which made me thinke, I pleased euery eie,

Like as the starres, make men beholde the skye.

So beauties showe, doth make the wise full fond,

And brings free harts, full oft in endlesse bond.

But cléere from blame, my friends can not be found,

Before my time, my youth they did abuse,

In mariage yoke, a prentise was I bound,

When that méere loue, I knewe not how to vse,

But wel away, that cannot me excuse,

The harme is mine, though they deuisde my care,

And I must smart, and sit in slaunderous snare.

Yet giue me leaue, to pleade my cause at large,

Yf that the horse, doe run beyonde his race,

Or any thinge, that kéepers haue in charge,

Doe breake their course, where rulers may take place:

Or meate be set, before the hungries face,

Who is in fault? th'offender yea or no,

Or they that are, the cause of all this woe.

Note well what strife, this forced mariage makes,

What lothed liues, doe come where loue doth lacke,

What scratching bri [...]rs, doe growe vpon such brakes,

[Page]What common weales, by it are brought to wracke,

What heauy loade, is put on patients backe,

What strange delights, this branch of vice doth bréed

And marke what graine, springs out of such a seede.

Compell the hauke, to sit that is vnmande,

Or make the hounde, vnraind to drawe the deere,

Or bring the free, against his will in band,

Or moue the sad, a pleasant tale to here,

Your time is lost, and you no whit the nere:

So loue ne learnes, of force the knot to knit,

She serues but those, that féeles swéete fancies fit.

The lesse defame, redounds to my dispraise,

I was muste, by traines, and trapt by trust:

Though in [...] force, remained yeas and nayes,

Unto my friends, yet needes consent I must,

In euery thing, yea law [...]ull or vniust.

They breake the bowes, and shake the trée by sleight,

And bend the wand, that mought haue growne full straight.

What helpe is this, the pale thus broken downe,

The deere must needes, in danger run astray:

At me therefore, why should the world so frowne,

My weakenes made, my youth a Princes pray.

Though wisdome should, the course of nature stay,

Yet try my case, who list, and they shall proue,

The ripest wits, are soonest thralls to loue.

What néede I more, to cleere my selfe so much,

A king me wan, and had me at his call,

His royall state, his princely grace was such,

The hope of will, that women seeke for all,

The ease and wealth, the gifts which were not small,

Be [...]eged me, so strongly round about,

My powre was weake, I could not holde him out.

[Page]

Duke Hanniball, in all his conquest great,

Or Caesar yet, whose triumphes did exceed,

Of all their spoyles, which made them toyle and sweate,

Were not so glad, to haue so rich a méede,

As was this prince, when I to him agreede,

And yéelded me, a prisner willingly,

As one that knewe, no way away to fly.

The Nightingale, for all his merry voyce,

Nor yet the Larke, that still delights to sing,

Did neuer make the hearers so reioyce,

As I with wordes haue made this worthy King:

I neuer iarde, in tune was euery string,

I tempred so, my tongue to please his eare,

That what I saide, was currant euery where.

Sweete are the songs, that merry-night crow singes,

" For many parts, are in those charming notes,

" Swéete are the tunes, and Pipes that pleaseth kings,

" Sweete is the loue wherein great Lordings dotes,

" But swéetst of all, is fancie where it flotes,

" For throwe rough seas, it smoothly swimmes away,

" And in déepe flouds, where skulles of fish doe play.

" And where loue slides, it leaues no signe nor showe,

" Where it hath gon, the way so shuts againe,

" It is a sport, to heare the fine night-crow,

" Chaunt in the queere vpon a pricke song plaine:

" No musicke more may please a princes vaine,

" Then descant strange, and voice of faurets brees [...],

" In quiet bower, when birds be all at rest.

" No such consort, as plaine two parts in one,

" Whose rare reports, doth carry cunning clean,

" Where two long loues, and liues in ioy alone.

[Page]" They sing at will, the treble or the meane,

" UUhere musicke wants, the mirth not worth a bean [...],

" The king and I, agreed in such concorde,

I ruld by loue, though he did raigne a Lord.

I ioynd my talke, my iestures and my grace,

In wittie frames, that long might last and stand,

So that I brought, the King in such a case,

That to his death, I was his chiefest hand,

I gouernd him, that ruled all this land:

I bare the sword, though he did weare the Crowne,

I strake the stroke, that threwe the mightie downe.

If iustice said, that iudgement was but death,

With my sweete wordes, I could the King perswade,

And make him pause, and take therein a breath,

Till I with suite, the fautors peace had made:

I knewe what way to vse him in his trade,

I had the art, to make the Lyon méeke,

There was no point, wherein I was to séeke.

" I tooke delight, in doying each man good,

" Not scratting all, my selfe as all were mine,

" But lookt whose life, in neede and danger stoode.

" And those I kept, from harme with cunning fine.

" On Princes traine, I alwayes cast mine [...]ine,

" For lifting vp, the seruants of a King,

" I did throw court, my selfe in fauour bring,

" I offered ayde, before they sued to me,

" And promisd nought, but would performe it streight,

" I shaked downe, sweete fruit from top of tree.

" Made aples fall, in laps of men by sleight.

" I did good turnes, whiles that I was a height:

" For feare a flawe, of winde would make me réele,

[Page]" And blowe me downe, when Fortune turnd her whéele.

" I fild no chests, with chynks to cherish age,

" But in the harts, of people layde my gold,

" Sought loue of Lord, of maister and of page:

" And for no bribbe, I neuer fauour solde.

" I had inough, I might doe what I would,

" Saue spend or giue, or fling it on the ground,

" The more I gaue, the more in purse I found.

Yf I did frowne, who then durst looke awry,

Yf I did smile, who would not laugh outright,

Yf I but spake, who durst my wordes denye?

Yf I persude, who would forsake the flight?

I meane, my powre, was knowne to euery wight,

On such a height, good hap had built my bowre,

As though my swéete, should nere haue turnd to sowre.

My husband then, as one that knewe his good,

Refusde to keepe, a Princes Concubine,

For seeing th'end, and mischiefe as it stood,

Against the king, did neuer much repine:

He sawe the grape, whereof he dranke the wine,

Though inward thought, his hart did still torment,

Yet outwardly, he seemde he was content.

To purchase praise, and win the peoples zeale,

Yea rather bent, of kinde to doe some good,

I euer did, vpholde the common weale,

I had delight, to saue the guiltles blood:

Each suters cause, when that I vnderstood,

I did prefer, as it had béene mine owne,

And helpe them vp, that might haue béene orethrowns.

[Page]

My powre was prest, to right the poore mans wrong,

My hands were frée, to giue where néede required:

To watch for grace, I neuer thought it long,

To doe men good, I néede not be desired.

Nor yet with giftes, my hart was neuer hyred.

But when the ball, was at my foote to guide,

I playde to those, that Fortune did abide.

My want was wealth, my woe was ease at will,

My robes were rich, and brauer then the sunn:

My Fortune then, was far aboue my skill,

My state was great, my glasse did euer runne.

My fatall throed, so happely was spunne,

That then I sate, in earthly pleasures clad,

And for the time, a Goddesse place I had.

But I had not, so soone this life possest,

But my good hap, began to slide aside:

And Fortune then, did me so sore molest,

That vnto plaints, was turned all my pride.

It booted not, to rowe against the tide,

Mine oares were weake, my heart and strength did faile,

The winde was rough, I durst not beare a saile.

What steps of strife, belong to high estate,

The climing vp, is doubtfull to endure,

The seate it selfe, doth purchase priuy hate,

And honours fame, is fickle and vnsure,

And all she brings, is flowres that be vnpure:

Which fall as fast, as they doe sprout and spring,

And cannot last, they are so vaine a thing.

We count no care, to catch that we doe wish,

But what we win, is long to vs vnknowen,

Till present paine be serued in our dish,

[Page]We scarse perceiue, whereon our griefe hath growen:

What graine proues well, that is so rashly sowen:

Yf that a meane, did measure all our deedes,

In steede of corne, we should not gather wéedes.

The setled mind, is frée from Fortunes power,

They neede not feare, who looke not vp aloft:

But they that clime, are carefull euery hower,

For when they fall; they light not very soft,

Examples hath, the wisest warned oft,

That where the trées, the smalest branches beare,

The stormes doe blow, and haue most rigour there.

Where is it strong, but néere the ground and roote:

Where is it weake, but on the highest sprayes:

Where may a man, so surely set his foote,

But on those bowes, that groweth lowe alwayes?

The little twigs, are but vnstedfast stayes,

Yf they breake not, they bend with euery blast,

Who trusts to them, shall neuer stand full fast.

The winde is great, vpon the highest hilles,

The quiet life, is in the dale belowe:

Who treades on yse, shall slyde against their wills,

They want no cares, that curious artes doe knowe.

Who liues at ease, and can content him so,

Is perfect wise, and sets vs all to schoole,

Who hates this lore, may well be calde a foole.

What greater griefe, may come to any life,

Then after swéete, to taste the bitter sowre,

Or after peace, to fall at warre and strife,

Or after myrth, to haue a cause to lowre:

Under such props, false fortune buildes her bowre

On sodaine chaunge, her flittering frames be set,

[Page]Where is no way, for to escape the net.

The hasty smart, that Fortune sends in spite,

Is harde to brooke, where gladnes we embrace:

She threatens not, but sodainely doth smite,

Where ioy is moū, there doth she sorrow place.

But sure I thinke, this is too strange a case,

For vs to feele, such griefe amid our game,

And knowe not why, vntill we tast the same.

As erst I sayde, my blisse was turnd to bale,

I had good cause, to wéepe and wring my hands,

And showe sad cheere, with countenance full pale:

For I was brought, in sorrowes wofull bands.

A pi [...]ry came, and set my ship on sands,

What should I hyde, and coulour care and noy?

King Edward dyde, in whome was all my ioy,

And when the earth, receiued had his corse,

And that in tombe this worthy Prince was layde,

The world on me, began to showe his force,

Of troubles then, my part I long assayde:

For they of whome, I neuer was affrayde,

Undid we most, and wrought me such dispite,

That they bereft, me of my pleasure quite.

" Brought bare and poore, and throwne in worldes disgrace,

" Holds downe the head, that neuer casts vp eye,

" Cast out of court, condemnd in euery place,

" Condemnd perforce, at mercies foote must lye:

" Hope is but small, when we for mercie crye.

" The bird halfe dead, that hauke hath fast in foote,

" Lay head on blocke, where is no other boote.

[Page]

" The rowling stone, that tumbleth downe the hill,

" Fynds none to stay, the furie of his fall,

" Once vnder foote, for euer daunted still:

" One cruell blowe, strikes cleane a way the ball.

" Left once in lacke, féeles alwayes want of will,

" A conquerd mind, must yéeld to euery ill,

" A weake poore soule, that fortune doth forsake,

" In hard extreames, from world her leaue may take

" From those that fall, such as doe rise and run,

" The sound with sicke, doe seldome long abide,

" Poore people passe (as shadowes in the Sun).

" Like féeble fish, that néedes must followe tyde,

" Among the rich, a beggar soone is spied,

" When weake Shores wife, had lost her staffe of stay:

" The halt and blind, went limping lame away,

" The poore is pincht, and pointed at in deed,

" As baited bull, were leading to a stake,

" Wealth findes great helpe, want gets no friend at néede,

" A plaged wight, a booteles mone may make:

" A naked soule, in street for colde may quake.

" But colde or hot, when mischiefes comes a roe,

" As falles the lot, the backe beares of the bloe.

" Prefarment past, the world will soone forget,

" The present time, is daily gazd vpon,

" Yf merchant rich, from wealth doe fall in debt:

" Small count is made, of his good fortune gon.

" We feede on flesh, and fling away the bone,

" Embrace the best, and set the worst aside,

" Because faire flowers, are made of in their pride.

" You yonglings nowe, that vaine delights leads on.

" To sell chast life, for lewd and light desires,

[Page]" Poore gaine is gote, when rich good name is gon,

" Foule blot and shame, liues vnder trimme attires:

" World soone casts off, the hackney horse it hiers.

" And when bare nagge, is ridden out of breath,

" Tibbe is turnd lose, to feed on barren heath.

" Of flowers a while, men doe gay poses make.

" The sent once past, a due dry withered leaues,

" Loue lasts not long, prickt vp for pleasures sake:

" Straw little worth, when corne forsaks the sheaues,

" A painted post, the gazars eie deceiues,

" But when foule fauts, are found that bleard the sight.

" The account is gon, of girlls or gugawes light.

" Young pooppies play, small season lasts you sée,

" Old appish sportes, are quickly out of grace,

" Fond wanton games, will soone forgotten be.

" As sowre as crabbe, becomes the sweetest face,

" There needes no more, be spoken of this case,

" All earthly ioyes, by tract of time decayes,

" Soone is the glase runne out of our good dayes.

" My fall and facte, makes proofe of that is spoke,

" Tels world to much, of shadowes in the sunne,

" Dust blowne with winde, or simple proofe of smoake,

" That flies from fire, and fast throwe aire doth run:

" It ends with woe, that was with ioy begun.

" It turnes to teares, that first began with sport,

" At length long paine, finds pleasure was but short.

As long as life, remaind in Edwards brest,

Who was but I? who had such friends at call?

His body was, no sooner put in chest,

But well was he, that could procure my fall:

His brother was, mine enemy most of all,

[Page]Protector then, whose vice did still abound,

From ill to worse, till death did him confound.

He falsely fainde, that I of counsell was,

To poyson him, which thing I neuer meant:

But he could set thereon a face of brasse,

To bring to passe, his lewde and false intent,

To such mischiefe, this tyrants heart was bent,

To God, ne man, he neuer stood in awe,

For in his wrath, he made his will a lawe.

Lord Hastings bloud for vengeaunce on him cryes,

And many moe, that were to long to name:

But most of all and in most woefull wise,

I had good cause, this wrtched man to blam [...].

Before the world, I suffered open shame,

Where people were, as thicke as is the sand,

I pennance tooke, with taper in my hand.

Each eye did stare, and looke me in the face,

As I past hy, the rumours on me ran,

But pacience then, had lent me such a grace,

My quiet lookes, were praisd of euery man:

The shamefast bloud, brought me such collour than,

That thousands sayde, that sawe my sober chéere,

It is great ruth, to sée this woman heere.

But what preuayld, the peoples pitie there?

This raging wolfe, would spare no guiltles blood.

Oh wicked wombe, that such ill fruit did beare,

Oh cursed earth, that yéeldeth forth such mud:

The hell consume, all things that did thée good,

The heauens shut, their gates against thy spréete,

The world tread downe, thy glory vnder féete.

[Page]

I aske of God, a vengeance on thy bones,

Thy stinking corps, corrupts the aire I knowe:

Thy shamefull death no earthly wight bemones:

For in th [...] life, thy workes were hated so,

That euery man, did wis [...] thy ouerthroe:

Wherefore I may, though parciall nowe I am,

Curse euery cause, whereof thy body came.

Woe worth the man, that fathered such a childe.

Woe worth the howre, wherein thou wast begate:

Woe worth the brests, that haue the world begylde,

To norish thée, that all the worlde did hate,

Woe worth the Gods, that gaue thée such a fate,

To liue so long, that death deserude so oft,

Woe worth the chance, that set thée vp aloft.

" Woe worth the day, the time the howre and all,

" When subiects clapt the crowne on Richards head,

" Woe worth the Lordes, that sat in sumptuous hall,

" To honour him, that Princes blood so shead:

" Woulde God he had bin, boyld in scalding lead.

" When he presumde, in brothers seat to sit,

" Whose wretched rage, ruld all with wicked wit.

Yée Princes all, and rulers euerechone,

In punishment, beware of hatreds yre.

Before yée scourge, take héede, looke well thereon:

In wraths ill will, if malice kindle fyre,

Your harts will burne, in such a hote desyre,

That in those flames, the smoke shall dim your sight,

Yée shall forget, to ioyne your iustice right.

You should not iudge, till things be well descernd,

Your charge is still, to maintaine vpright lawes:

In conscience rules, yée should be throwly lernd,

[Page]Where clemencie, bids wrath and rashnes pause,

And further saith, strike not without a cause:

And when yee smite, doe it for iustice sake,

Then in good part, ech man your scourge will take.

If that such zeale, had moud this tyrants mind,

To make my plague, a warning for the rest,

I had smal cause, such fault in him to finde,

Such punishment, is vsed for the best:

But by ill will, and powre I was oprest,

He spoylde my goods, and left me bare and poore,

And caused me, to beg from dore to dore.

What fall was this, to come from Princes fare,

To watch for crumes, among the blind and lame?

When almes were delt, I had an hungry share,

Because I knewe, not how to aske for shame,

Till force and néede, had brought me in such frame,

Than starue I must, or learne to beg an almes,

With booke in hand, to say S. Dauids Psalmes.

Where I was wont, the golden chaines to weare,

A payre of beads, about my necke was wound,

A linnen cloth, was lapt about my heare,

A ragged gowne, that trailed on the ground,

A dish that clapt, and gaue a heauie sound,

A staying staffe, and wallet there withall,

I bare about, as witnesse of my fall,

" The fall of leafe, is nothing like the spring,

" Ech eye beholdes the rising of the sunne,

" All men admire the fauour of a King,

" And from great states, growne in disgrace they run,

" Such sodaine claps, ne wit nor will can shun:

For when the stoole, is taken from our féete,

[Page]Full flat on floore, the body falls in stréete.

I had no house, wherein to hide my heade,

The open stréete, my lodging was perforce,

Full oft I went, all hungry to my bed,

My flesh consumde, I looked like a corse.

Yet in that plight, who had on me remorse?

O God thou knowste, my friends forsooke me than,

Not one holpe me, that succred many a man.

They frownd on me, that fawnd on me before,

And fled from me, that followed me full fast:

They hated me, by whome I set much store,

They ken we full well, my Fortune did not last.

In euery place, I was condemnde and cast,

To pleade my cause, at bar it was no boote,

For euery man, did treade me vnder foote.

Thus long I liud, all weary of my life,

Till death approcht, and rid me from that woe:

Example take, by me▪ both maide and wife,

Beware, take heede, fall not to folly so.

A Mirrour make, by my great ouerthroe,

Defye the world, and all his wanton wayes,

Beware by me, that spent so ill her dayes.

T. Churchyard.

§

§

A Story of an Eagle and a Lady, excellently set out in Du Bartas.

MOunt Eagle vp, with fame and honour great,

By Pellycan, that feedes her young with blood,

(Of her owne brest), make thou thy noble seat:

Thy vertues doe, surmount all worldly good.

[Page]No bird but one, which is a Phenix rare,

Doth thée surpasse, or may with thee compare.

The Story.

A Lady once, in Thraciaas we read,

Two Eagles found, newe hatched in their neast,

The one she tooke, and did that bird so feede,

(And kept it warme, amid her tender brest),

Tha as this dame, fell sicke vpon a day,

This Eagle flue, abroad to get his pray.

And what so ere, this Eagle kild in field,

He brought it home, as choycely as he might:

At mistresse foote, the pray then would he yéelde,

Who mused much, to see so strange a sight.

But mistresse health, by this might not be had,

Which daily made, the Eagle wonderous sad.

But still he flue, to field for dainty fare,

To feede this dame, that long a dying lay:

And when the bird, saw house so full of care,

For mistresse death, whose life was past away.

Upon the bed, he sat and bowd his beake,

Downe to the flore, to heare his mistresse speake.

Oft would he kisse, her mouth as colde as stone,

And spread his winges, abroad to warme her face:

And in his kind, he made such heauy mone,

As man for wife, may doe in such a case.

But when no life, in mistresse might be found,

With his owne beake, himselfe he gan to wound.

Brusd all his brest, and body euery where,

Pluckt feathers off, and flung them flat on flore,

Bled out of frame, and did his flesh so teare:

That he could not, no way flye out of dore.

[Page]Would take no foode, nor rest, but growling lay;

By bare bedstocke, halfe dead full many a day.

At length her corse, a funerall must haue,

Where mistresse must, be burnd as was the gyse,

The Eagle then, did follow her to graue:

And vnder winge, did mount aloft in skyes.

And when in fire, was cast this noble dame,

The Eagle flung, himselfe amid the flame.

With pikes and staues, the people held him backe,

That helpt no whit, the Eagle there would burne,

So bent to seeke, in fire his ruine and wracke,

Into the flame, againe he did returne:

Mount Eagle then, from dust and ashes héere,

Unto the clouds, where vertue shineth cléere.

§

§

TO THE HONOVRABLE MY LADIE Carie. Sir George Caries wife, one of the Ladies of the priuie chamber.

HAuing great desire (good madame) in some seruiceable sort to dedicate to you a peece of such my honest labors as may merit your Ladiships good liking, I find my selfe so vnable for the same, as in a manner halfe discouraged, I doubted what inuencion I should take in hand, but waieng your vertuous disposition, ioyned with a sweet and courteous kind of [Page] behauiour (that wins the worlds goodwill) I presumed that your Ladiship would not thinke amisse of anie that would honour you in good meaning with such workes of the pen, as becometh an humble writer to present to such a worthie Ladie, so searching my simple storehouse of studies, I found fit for my purpose (though farre vnmeet for your reading) a dolefull discourse of a haplesse man, penned long a goe to bee looked on, but cast carelesly aside, therefore nowe reuiued againe to manifest his misfortunes, that willinglie would not depart the world till his whole pilgrimage were well known to the best sort of people, as the verses that followes shal amply declare, which verses I commit to your ladiships iudgement and viewe, wishing you much honour and good Fortune, with encrease of vertue.

A TRAGICAL DISCOVRSE OF THE Haplesse mans life.

COme Courties al, draw néere my morning hers,

Come heare my knell, ere corse to church shal goe,

Or at the least, come read this woefull verse:

And last farwell, the haples penneth so,

And such as doth his life, and manners kno,

Come shed some teares, and sée him painted out,

That restles here, did wander world about.

O pilgrimes poore, presse néere my pagent nowe,

And note ful wel the part that I haue playd,

And wisely waye, my thriftles Fortune throwe,

[Page]And print in brest, ech word that héere is said:

Shrinke not my friends, step forth stand not, afrayd

Though monstrous hap, I daily héere possest,

Some swéeter chaunce, may bring your hearts to rest.

For though the wretch, in cold and hunger lies,

The happie wight, in pompe and pleasure sits,

The weake falls downe, where mightie folke aries:

The sound feeles not, the féeble ague fits.

So world you wot, doth serue the finest wits,

The wise at will, can walke where shins the Sun

And to the streame and floud ech fish will run.

And hap falles not, to euery man a like,

Some sleepes full sound, yet hath the world at call,

Some leapes the hedge, some lights amid the dike:

Some sucks the sweat, and some the bitter gall,

The vse of things, blynd destnie giues vs all.

So though you sée, ten thousand soules in hell,

Yet may you hope, in heauens blisse to dwell.

Let my mishap, a worldly wonder be,

For few can finde, the fruit that I did tast,

Ne leaues nor bowes, I found vpon the trée:

And where I ploud, the Ground lay euer wast.

A man would thinke, the child was borne in hast:

Or out of time, that had such lucke as I,

For loe I looke, for Larkes when falles the skye.

No soyle nor seat, nor season serues my turne.

Ech plot is sowne, with sorowe where I goe,

On mountaine top, they say where torch should burn

I find but smoke, and lothsome smothring woe,

Neere Fountaine head, where springs doe daily floe:

Cold yse I get, that melts with warmth of hand,

[Page]So that I starue, where Cocke and Cundits stand.

I quench small thirst, where thousands drinke & bib,

An empty cup I carry cleane away,

And though as leane, as rake is euery rib

And hollow chéekes, doth hidden griefe bewray,

The riche cats all, the poore may fast and pray:

No butter cleaus, vpon my bread at néede,

When hungry maw, thinkes throate is cut indéede.

The shallow brokes, where little fishe are found,

I shun, and séeke, the Seas to swyin thereon,

Yet vesssayle sinkes, or barke is layd a ground,

Where leaking ships, in safety still haue gone:

The harbour finde, when hauen haue I none,

Hap calles them in, when I am logde at large,

Thus plainnes créepes, in cold cocke Lorels barge.

Full fifety yéeres, both Court and warres I tride,

And still I sought acquaintance with the best,

And serud the state, and did such hap abide,

As might befall, and Fortune sent the rest,

When drum did sound, a souldier was I prest,

To Sea or Land, as Princes quarrell stoode.

And for the same, full oft I lost my bloud.

In Scotland long, I lingered out my yéeres,

When Wilford liud, a worthy wight indéede:

And there at length, I fell so far in briers,

I taken was, as destny had decreede

Well yet with wordes, I did my foes so féede.

That there I liud, in pleasure many aday,

And scapte so free, I did no ransome pay.

Some said I found, in Scotland fauour then,

[Page]I graunt my pomp, was more than reason would

Yet on my band, I sent home sundry men

That els had pynd, in prison pincht with cold,

To French, and scots, so faire a tale I told,

That they beleeud, white chalke and chéese was one,

And it was pearle, that proud but pible stone.

In Lawther fort, I clapt my selfe by sleight,

So sled from soes, and home to friends I past:

The French in hast, beséegd that fortresse streight,

Then was I like to light in fetters fast,

But loe a peace, broke vp the seege at last.

When weary warres, and wicked bloudshed great,

Made both the sides, to seeke a quiet seat.

From thence I came, to England as I might,

And after that, to Irland I did saile,

Where Sellenger, a wise and Noble Knight.

Gaue me such place, as was to mine auaile,

Then teasters walkt as thich as doth the hayle,

About the world, for loe from thence I bore,

(For seruice done), of money right good store.

Home came I tho [...], and so to France did fare,

When that their King, wan Meatts through fatchis fine,

So on the stocke, I spent al voide of care,

And what I gate. by spoyle I held it mine,

Than downe I past, the pleasaunt floud of Ryen,

And so I serud, in Flanders note thesame,

Where loe at first, my hap fell out of frame.

For I was clapt, in prison without cause,

And streightly held, for comming out of France,

But God did worke, through iustice of the cause,

And helpe of friends, to me a better chaunce,

[Page]And still I hopte, the warres would me aduance

So trayld the pike, and world began a newe,

And lookt like hauke, that lately came from mue.

Three yéere at least, I saw the Emprours warres,

Then homeward drewe, as was my wonted trade:

Where Sun and Moone, and al the seuen starres,

Stode on my side, and me great welcome made,

But whether fayre, and flowres full soone wil fade:

So peoples loue, is like new besomes oft,

That swéepes all cleane, whiles brome is greene and soft.

Well once againe, to warres I drew me fast,

And with Lord Gray at Giens I did remaine,

Where he or his, in any seruice past,

I followed on, amyd the warlike traine,

And sometime felt, my part of woe and paine▪

As others did, that Canon wel could like

And pleasure tooke, in trayling of the pike.

At length the French, did Giens beséege ye wot,

And little helpe or succour found we thoe,

By which foule want, it was my heauy lot:

To Paris streight with good Lord Gray to goe,

As prisoners both, the world to wel doth knoe,

By tract of time, and wonders charge indéede,

He homeward went, and tooke his leaue with spéede.

But post alone, I stoode alacke the while,

And country cleane, forgot me this is true,

And I might liue, in sorrow and exile.

And pine away, for any thing I knewe,

As I had bakt, indéede so might I brue:

Not one at home, did seeke my griefe to heale,

Thus was I cleane cut of from common weal [...].

[Page]

Yet loe a shift, to skape away I found,

When to my faith, my taker gaue no trust,

I did deuise, in writing to be bound:

To come againe, the time was set full iust,

But to returne forsoth I had no lust,

Since faith could get no credit at his hand,

I sent him word, to come and s [...]e my band.

He came himselfe, to court as I did heare,

And told his tale, as finely as he might,

At Ragland then, was I in Monmouth shiere.

Yet when in court, this matter came to light:

My friends did say, that I had done him right,

A Souldier ought vpon his faith to go,

Which I had kept, if he had sent me so.

Well yet my mind, could neuer rest at home,

My shoes were made, of running leather sure,

And borne I was, about the world to rome,

To sée the warres, and kéepe my hand in vre:

The French ye knowe, did Englishmen procure,

To come to Leeth, at seege whereof I was,

Till French did seeke, in ships away to passe.

A little breath, I toke then after this,

And shapte my selfe, about the Court to be,

And euery day, as right and reason is,

To serue the Prince, in Court I settled me:

Some friends I found, as friends doe goe you sée,

That gaue me words, as swéete as hony still,

Yet let me liue, by head and cunning skill.

I crucht, I kneeld, and many a cap could vayle,

And watched late, and early rose at morne,

And with the throng, I followed hard at tayle:

[Page]As braue as bull, or shéepe but newly shorne,

The gladest man, that euer yet was borne,

To wayt and stare, among the states full hye:

Who feedes the poore, with many a friendly eye.

But who can liue, with goodly lookes alone,

Or merry words, that sounds like tabers pype,

Say what they will, they loue to keepe their owne:

And part with nought, that commeth in their gripe,

You shall haue Nuts, they say when ploms are ripe.

Thus all with shalls, or shalles ye shal be fed.

And gape for gold, and want both Gold and lead.

The proof thereof, made me to séeke far hence,

To Anwerp then, I trudged on the spleene

And all in hast to get some spending pence,

To serue my turne, in seruice of the Quéene:

But God he knowes, my gaine was smal I wéene.

For though I did my credit still encrease,

I got no wealth, by warres, ne yet by peace.

Yet harke and note, I pray you if you please,

In Anwerp towne, what Fortune me befel:

My chance was such, when I had past the seas,

(And taken land and thereon rested wel)

The people iard, and range a larum bel,

So that in armes, the towne was euery where,

And few or none, of life stood certaine there.

A Noble Prince I saw, amid that broyle,

To whome I went,

The Prince of Or [...]nge.

and sware his part to take,

The commons came, al set on rage and spoyle,

And gaue me charge, to kéepe my wits awake:

The Prince for loue, of King and countries sake.

Bad me doe wel, and shed no guyltles bloud,

[Page]And saue from spoyle, poore people and their good.

I gaue my fayth, and hand to doe the same,

And wrought the best, that I could worke therefore:

And brought at length, [...]he commons in such frame,

That some were bent to blow the cole no more,

Yet some to rage, and robbery ran full sore:

Whome I refor [...]de, so that no harme did fall,

To any wight, among the commons all.

The keyes I had, of towne and treasure both,

And Captaine was, of thousands three daies than,

And ruled all, our foes to tell you tro [...]h,

And saud indeed, the life of many a man.

And many a péece, of goodly ordinance wan:

Tooke prisoners two,

M. Candeler maister of the assuraunces in the Royall Exchange is aliue, witnesse to this.

and of the brauest sort,

I clapt in hold, and held the enemies short.

Fiue thousand shot, I sent behind their backes,

To dant their pryde, and plucke their courage downe,

And quicke with speede, deuisd such cunning knackes.

As in thrée howres, we conquerd all the towne.

The enemies durst, no drum nor trumphet sowne,

For feare of blowes,

M. Iosephe Loupo & his Brother Peter two excellent musition [...], are aliue witnesse to this in like sorte.

for such a campe they sawe,

In armes at hand, that held them all in awe,

The enemies drew, the Martinests from me,

By such false brute, as subtil people rayse:

The Caluenists, that did this trechery sée,

Loud quicke dispatch, but hated long delayes.

They sawe the world, was wandring sundry wayes,

So bad me store, to stay the réeling state,

That soone would fall, and breed a strange debate.

Ten thousand men, by this deuise we lost▪

[Page]But ere they could make head against vs there,

We hould them all, and to the Prin [...]e in post,

I past to put▪ the people in such feare,

That w [...] in hast, vnarmd them euery where,

Then did we march, with fiftéene thousand more,

Along the st [...]eetes, and thankt the Lord therefore.

Ech man in peace, and safe in lodging so,

The gospell free and preachers well at ease,

To England streight, indeede I thought to goe

When this vprore, with peace I did appease.

In surety so, I could not passe the seas,

A drift was drawne, to take me in a trap,

But God prepard, for me a better hap.

In stréete we stoode, and brake ne huose nor dore,

And for thrée dayes, made no mans finger bleed:

I dare auouch, that neither rich or poore.

Could say they lost the valour of a thréede,

Well what of that, you know an honest deed,

Is soone forgot▪ of such as thankles be,

For in the end, it fared so by me.

The towne I kept, from cruell sword and fire,

Did seeke my life, when peace and all was made,

And such they were, that did my bloud desire:

As I had saude, from blowes and bloudy blade,

I crept away, and hide me in the shade,

But as the day▪ and Sun began to shine,

They followed fast, with force and practize fine.

In priests atyre, but not with shauen crowne,

I scapte their hands, that sought to haue my head,

In forckid cap, and pleycted curtal gowne:

[Page]Far from the Church, stode me in right good stead.

In al this while, ne masse for quicke nor dead,

I durst not sing, a posting priest I was,

That did in hast, from post to piller passe.

In Briges then, the persons breatch did quake,

For there a clarke, came tinging of a Bell,

(That in the towne, did such a rumbling make)

I could not walke, in vickars garments well:

So there I wisht my selfe in cockle shel,

Or sea man sloppes, that smeld of pitch and tar,

Which robes I found, ere I had traueld far.

A Marshall came, and searcht our whole fléete than,

In boate I leapt, and so through Sealand went,

And many a day a silly weary man:

I traueld there, and stode with toyle content,

Til God by grace, a better Fortune sent.

And brought me home in safety as you knoe,

Great thankes to him, I giue that serude me so.

In Court where I, at rest and peace remainde,

I thought vpon, the part that Flemings plaide,

And for goodwil, since I was so retainde:

I thought to make, those roysters once afraid,

So hoist vp sayle when I had anker waid,

And into France, I slipt with much adoe,

Where loe a Net, was making for me to.

Yet past I through, to Paris without stop,

When ciuile broyles were likely to begin,

And standing there, within a merchants shop,

I heard one say the Prince was comming in,

To Flaunders fast, with whome I late had bill,

Before you wot, thus hauing merry newes,

[Page]I stole away, and so did France refuse.

But by your leaue, I fell in daunger deepe,

Before I could in fréedome goe or ride,

Deuouring Wolues, had like to slaine the sheepe:

And wipte their mouthes, vpon the muttons hide.

Nought goes amisse, where God wil be the guide,

So through the place, where perril most did séeme,

I past at will, when danger was extreme.

The Prince I found, from Collen at his house,

And there I saw, of Roitters right good store,

Who welcomde me, with many a mad carouse:

Such is their gise, and hath bin euermore,

To Haunders thus, we marcht and God before,

And neare the Rhine, our Campe a season lay,

Till money came, and had a generall pay.

In Flaunders long, our Campe remained still,

And sweete with sowre, we tasted sundry wayes

Who goes to warres, must feele both good and ill

Some likes it not, and some that life can prayes

Where nightes are cold, and many hungry dayes

Some will not be, yet such as loues the drom

Takes in good part, the chaunces as they com.

Perhaps my share, was not the swéetest there,

I make no bost, nor finde no fault therein:

I sought my selfe, the burthen for to beare,

Among the rest, that had ore charged bin.

If smart I felt, it was a plague for sin,

If ioy I found, I knewe it would not last,

If wealth I had, so wast came on as fast,

When Prince did passe, to France and Flaunders last,

[Page]I licence sought, to sée my natiue soile,

He told me than, the French by some fine craft:

On me at lenght would make a pray and spoyle,

I tooke my leaue, not fearing any soyle.

But ere the day, the skie had cleane forsooke,

I fell in snare, as fish on baited hoke.

A woefull tale, it is to tell indéed,

Yet heare it out, and how God wrought for me,

The case was such, that I a gide did neede,

So in the field, full neare a willow trée.

I found a carle, that néedes my guide must be

His hand I had, his heart did halt the while,

And treason did, through trust the true beguyle.

We held the way, vnto S. Quintance right,

As I did thinke, but long two leagues I lost,

To ease my horse, he bad me oft a light:

But I thereat, séemd dumme and deaffe as post,

Of stomacke stout, the way of [...]imes he crost:

And sought to take, my bridle by the raine,

That sleight I sound, and so he lost his paine.

Had I turnd backe, the pesants were at hand

Who mounted were, on better horse than I,

A village neere, there was within that land:

Where loe my guide, would haue me for to ly [...].

Not so my friend, I answerde very hie,

Whereat he knewe, the pad in straw was found,

So tooke the ball, and stroke it at rebound:

Thou canst not scape, (quoth he) then light a downe,

Thou art but dead, thy lyfe here shalt thou lose,

And there withall, the carle began to frowne:

And laid his hand, vpon my leather hose.

[Page]Through signes he made, the towne by this arose,

And some by warres, that lately lost their good,

Sought to reuenge the same vpon my bloud.

My guide leapt vp, vpon the horse I rode,

And flang away, as fast as he could driue:

Downe was I halde, and on my face they trode,

And for my robes, the tormenters did striue.

My guide did crie, O leaue him not aliue:

An English churle, he is his tongue doth showe,

And gold he hath good store, ful wel I know.

They stript me streight, from dublet to my shurt,

Yet hose they left, vntoucht as God it would

No power they had, to doe me further hurt:

For as the knife, to throate they gan to hold.

To saue my life, an vpright tale I told,

They hearing that, laid all their weapons downe,

And askt me if, I knewe saint Quintains towne.

I past therby, when to the Spawe I went,

(Quoth I) and there, my pasport well was viewd,

If that be true, said one thou shalt be sent:

From thence in hast, and so they did conclude.

To towne I should, from sauage countrey rude,

So in they hey, they laid me all that night,

Yet sought my life, before the day was light.

But as with weedes, some suffrant flower groes,

So in that soile a blessed man was bred,

Which vndertooke, to keepe me from my foes:

And saue my life, by fine deuice of head.

He cald me vp, when they were in their bed,

And bad me goe, with him where he thought best,

Least in that place, full small should be my rest.

[Page]

I followed on, as he did lead the trace,

He brought the safe, where I in surety stood,

Thus God through him, did shewe his might and grace,

Which ioyde me more, than all this worldly good:

The other sort, were butchers al for bloud,

And daily slue, such stragglars as they tooke,

For whome they lay, and watcht in many a noke,

That hazard past, I found more mischieues still,

But none so great, nor none so much to feare:

With toyle and payne, with slight of head and skil

From Fraunce I came, (and left all mischief there)

Now heere what fruit, my natiue soyle doth beare,

See what I reape, and marke what I haue sowne:

And let my lucke, through all this Land bée knowne.

First let mée tell, how Fortune did mée call,

To Garnesey thoe, to staie my troubled minde:

Where well I was, although my wealth was small,

And long had dwelt, if destny had assignde,

But as the ship, is subiect to the winde,

So we must chaunge, as checking chaunces falls,

Who tosseth men, about like tennis balles.

This chaunce is shée, some saie that leades men out,

And bringes them home, when least they looke therefore,

A dallying dame, that breedes both hope and doubt,

And makes great woundes, yet seldome salues the sore,

Not sure on sea, nor certaine on the shore,

A worldly witch, that deales with wanton charmes,

For one good turne, shee doth ten thousand harmes.

A figge for chaunce, this Fortune beares no shape,

The people fond, a name to Fortune giue:

Which sencelesse soules, doe after shadowes gape,

[Page]Great GOD doth rule, and sure as God doth l [...]u [...],

Hée grindes the Corne, and sifts the meale through s [...]ue,

And leaues the bran, as refues of the flowre,

To worke his will, and shew his mightie power.

Promotion comes, ne from the East nor West,

Ne South nor North, it fals from Heauen hie:

For God himselfe, sets vp whom hee thinkes best,

And casts them downe, whose hearts would climbe the ski [...].

Thus earthly haps, in wordlings doe not lie.

Wee trudge, wee run, we ride and breake our braine,

And backward come, the selfe same steps againe.

Till time approch, that God will man prefarre,

With labours long, in vaine we beat the ayre:

Our destnies dwell, in neyther moone nor starre,

Nor comfortes come, from people foule nor fayre,

Small hope in those, that sits in golden chayre.

Their moodes, their mindes, and all wee goe about,

Takes light from him, that puts our candle out.

This argues now, all goodnesse fréely groes,

From him that first, made man of earthly mold:

And floodes of wealth into their bosome floes,

That clearely can, his blessed will behold▪

As sheape heardes doe, kéepe safe their shéepe in fold.

And Gardner knowes, how flowres should watred bée,

So God giues ayde, ere man the want can sée.

Helpes comes not sure, by hap, or heads deuice,

Though wits of men, are meanes to worke the waxe:

And cunning handes, doe often cast the dice.

All these are toyes, trust vp in tinkars packes,

No [...]lame will rise, till fire bée thrust to flaxe.

No braunch may bud, till he that made the plant,

[Page]With dew of grace, indeede supplies the want.

Can earth yeeld fruit, till Spring time sap doe shoe?

Can ayre be cleere, till [...]ogges and mists be fled?

Can seas and flouds, at euery season floe?

Can [...] giue life, to sha [...]es and bodies dead?

Such secrets passe, the reach of mans vaine head,

So looke to reape, no corne for all our toile,

Till haruest come, and God hath blest the soyle.

The potter knowes, what vessaile serues his turne,

And therein still, he powreth liquor sweete:

The Cooke wel notes, what wood is best to burne,

And what conceipts, is for the banket meete:

The Captaine markes, what Souldier hath most spréete.

And calles that man, to charge and office great,

When he thinkes good, and seruice is in heat.

Dare any wight, presume to take the place,

Of worthy charge, till he thereto be cald?

Dare subiect brag, before the Princes face?

Or striue with states, that are in honour stauld?

Dare village boast, with Citie strongly wauld?

Dare children clime, till they good footing finde,

No al things yeelds, to him that leads the mind.

He lifts aloft, he flingeth downe as fast,

He giues men fame, and plucks renowne away,

Hap doth not so, for chaunce is but a blast,

An idle word, wherewith weake people play:

Hap hangs and holds, on hazard euery way,

And hazard leanes, on doubt and daunger déepe,

That glads but few, and maketh Millions weepe.

I vse this terme, of hap in all I write,

[Page]As well to make, the matter large and long,

As any cause, or dram of great delight

I take th [...]rem: But here I doe you wrong.

To lead your cares, with such a sencelesse song,

From hearing that, I promisd haue to ende,

The [...]are discourse, the haplesse man hath pend.

So comming home, and crept from toyle abroad,

(With charged brest, and heauy heauing hart)

I thought in Court, my burthen to vnloade:

And cast away, the cares of former smart,

But there alas, my chaunce is so oreth wart,

I sit and sighe, and fold mine armes withall,

And in old griefes, afresh begin to fal.

Yea there where most, my hope and haunt hath bin,

Where yeares and dayes, I spent vpon the stocke:

And diuers doe, good hap and frendship win.

(And duetie makes a World of people flocke)

And thousands Loe, drawes water from the Cocke,

I scearse may moyst, my mouth when thirst is great

And hart is cleane, consumde with scalding heat.

A spring of kind, doth floe aboue the brim,

Yet cannot stoppe a Fountaine if you would:

For through hard rockes, it runneth cléere and trim.

And in some Ground, it casts vp grayne of Gold,

It bursts the Earth, and deepely digges the Ground,

It gusheth out, and goes in sundry vaines,

From mountaines top, and spreadeth al the playnes.

The Spring créepes vp, the highest hil that is,

And many Wells, thereon are easly found,

And this I wot, where doe you water mis,

Small fruit doth grow, it is but barraine Ground

[Page]The soyle is sweete, where pleasaunt springes abound,

The Cowslop sproutes, where spring and fountaines bée,

And floodes beginne, from fountaine heades you sée.

The laboring man, thereat doth cole his heat,

The birdes doe bathe, their breasts full brauely there:

The brutest beastes, therein find pleasures great,

And likes not halfe, so well another where,

What cause in mee, what doubt, what fault, or feare.

That I may not, in this so weake a plight:

Go drinke my fill, where ech thing hath delight.

The more wée drawe, the water from the well,

The better farre, wee bring the spring in frame,

The seas themselues, of nature rise and swell,

The more the wind, and weather workes the same.

The fire burnes best, when bellowes blowes the flame.

Let thinges stand still, and stirre them not in time:

They shall decay, by meane of drosse and sl [...]ne.

I sée some streames, with stickes are choked vp,

And Riuers large, are marde with beds of sande:

I sée some bring, from Doels an emptie cup,

Yet craue an almes, and showes a néedie hand.

I see bare boyes, before the banket stand,

And no man sayth, loe poore man if thou wut:

Take heere a dish, to fill thy hungrie gut.

Of cormorant kind some crammed Capons are,

The more they eate, the more they may consume,

Some men likewise, the better that they fare,

The worse they bee and sicker of the rume,

And some so chafe, so frowne, so fret, and fume,

When others féede, they cannot God hée knows:

Spare any time, the dropping of their nose.

The bordes are spread, and feasts are made thereon,

And such sits downe, that hath their bellies full:

Whose greedy mouthes, from dogge would snatch the bone.

Which snudges swell, and looke like greiste wull:

[Page]They puffe, they blowe, yea like a bayted bull.

And shoue them backe, that on small crumes would féede,

Whose patient heartes, makes vertue of a neede.

The Glutton thinkes, his belly is too small,

When in his eye, a dayntie morsell is:

Hee grines and gapes, as though no crum should fall

From him: and lookes as all the world were his.

Thus such as want, are sure the post to kis.

For poulting pride doth presse so fast in place,

That poore plaine Tom, dare scarse come shew his face.

Ech one doth seeke, for to aspire and rise,

Yet hate wee those, that doth by vertue clime:

The foole hee scornes, the worship of the wise,

Yet dolts presume, beyond the wise sometime,

And all this strife, is but for drosse and slime.

That out of earth, we dig with daungers deepe:

Full hard to winne, and much more wordes to keepe.

This makes me muse, when some haue heapes in hord,

They will not helpe, the neerest friend they haue:

And yet with smiles, and many a friendlie word,

They graunt to giue, before a man doe craue,

Such Barbors fine, can finely poule and shaue,

And wash full cleane▪ till all away they wash:

Then good sir Grime, like lob they leaue in lash.

What should men loose, when they enough haue had,

If that they part, with thinges that might be sparde?

A little peece, out of a golden gad,

For seruice long; might be a great reward,

No no as steele, and flint is stiffe and hard.

So World is waxt, and no good turne is found,

But where indeede, doe double gifts rebound.

We make a legge, and kisse the hand withall,

(A French deuice, nay sure a Spanish tricke)

And speake in Print, and say loe at your call,

I will remaine, your owne both dead and quicke▪

[Page]A Courtier so, can giue a lobbe a licke,

And dresse a dolt, in Motley for a while,

And so in sléeue, at silly Woodcocke smile,

If meaning went, with painted wordes and shoes,

It might suffice such courteous cheare to tast;

But with the same, disdaine and enuie goes.

And trumpry great, with wind and wordes in wast,

Then arme in arme, comes flattery full in hast,

And leads away, the sences out of frame,

That vpright wits, are thereby striken lame.

This lowting lowe, and bowing downe the knée,

But gropes mens mindes, to créepe in credits lap,

Like malte horse then, he holdes vp head you sée

That late before, could vaile both knée and cap,

The Nurse a while, can feede the child with pap,

And after beate him on the bréech full bare.

A swarme God wot, of these fine Natures are.

There be that bites, yet gronts and whines withall,

There be that winnes, yet sweare and sayth cylose,

There be that stops, and steales away the ball,

There be that plantes, a weede and plucks a rose,

There be pleads want, to whome the fountaine floes

Such hides their haps, to make the world to thinke,

At faire well head, they need not for to drinke,

The whales you see, eates vp the little fish,

The pretie Penk, with Sammon may not swime,

The greatest heades, are fed with finesh dish,

The foulest piss, saire water runneth trime.

He gets the gaine that standeth néere the brime,

He blowes the cole, that hath cold fingers still,

He starues for bread, that hath no corne at mill.

A world to see▪ the course and state of thinges,

Some would get vp, that knows not where to light:

Some soer the skies, that neuer had no winges,

Some wrastle well, by cunning not by might.

[Page]Some seemes to iudge, faire coulours without sight.

And euery one, with some odd [...] shift or grace,

In world at will, runnes out a goodly race.

But to be plaine, I lag and come behinde,

As I were lame, and had a broken leg:

Or else I cannot, lye within the winde,

And hearken still, what I might easely beg,

I neede no: say, in mouth I haue geg.

For I haue spoke, and sped in matters small,

By helpe of him, that hath my verses all.

But farre God wot, I am from that to seeke,

And misse the marke, that many men doe hit:

Wherefore salt teares, doe trickle downe the chéeke,

And heart doth feele, full manie a woefull fitt.

And so aside, in solempne sorrow sit.

As one indeede, that is forsaken cleane,

Where most he doth deserue, and best doth meane.

No matter now, though each man march and treade

On him that hates, the life he beares about:

Yet such as shall, these heauie Verses reade,

Shall finde I blame, my fortune out of doubt,

But since on hope, no better hap will sprout.

I yeld to death, and vpward lift the minde,

Where lothsome life, shall present comfort finde.

Since hope can haue, no honey from the Hiue,

And paines can plucke, no pleasure for his toyle:

It is but vaine, for wearie life to striue,

And stretch out time, with torment and tormoyle,

Get what we can, death triumphes ore the spoyle.

Then note this well, though wee winne neere so mitch,

When death takes all, wee leaue a mizer ritch.

To liue and lacke, is double death indeede,

A present death, exceedes a lingring woe:

Since no good hap, in youth did helpe my neede,

In age why should, I striue with Fortune so,

Old yeares are come, and hastes me hence to goe.

[Page]The time drawes on, I hate the life I haue,

When heart shall breake, my griefe shall ende in graue,

Should I seeke life, that findes no place of rest,

Ne soyle, nor seate, to shroude me from the ayre:

When cramping cold, beclyps my carefull breast,

And dolour driues, my hea [...]t in deep [...] dispayre,

For such foule dayes, darke death is wonderous fayre.

As good to make, the scrawling wormes a feast,

As please the world, where mischiefe makes her neast.

Hie time it is, to haste my ca [...]kasse hence,

Youth stole awaie, and felt no kinde of ioy:

And age he left, in trauell euer since,

The wanton dayes▪ that made mee nice and coy,

Were but a dreame, a shadowe and a toy.

Sith slauerie heere, I find and nothing else,

My home is there, where soule in freedome dwels.

In warres and woe, my yeares are wasted cleane,

What should I see, if Lordly life I led:

I looke in glasse, and finde my cheekes so leane,

That euery houre, I doe but wish mee dead,

Now backe bendes downe, and forward falls the head,

And hollow eyes, in wrinkled brow doth shroude,

As though two starres, were créeping vnder cloude.

The lips waxe cold, and lookes both pale and thin,

The teeth fals out, as nuts forsoke the shale:

The hare bald-head, but shewes where hai [...]e hath bin,

The liuely ioyntes, waxe verie stiffe and stale,

The ready tongue, now folters in his tale.

The wearish face, and tawney colour showes,

The courage quayles as strength decaies and goes.

The sweete delights, are drownde in dulled mind,

The gladsome sportes, to groning sighes are bent,

The frisking limmes, so farre from frame I finde,

That I forethinke, the time that youth hath spent,

But when I waigh, that all these thinges were lent,

And I must pay, the earth her dutie throw,

[Page]I shrinke no whit, to yelde these pleasures now.

Had I possest, the giftes of Fortune héere,

A house, a wife, and Children there withall:

And had in store, (to make my friendes good chéere)

Such common thinges, as neighbours haue at call,

In such dispayre, perchaunce I would not fall.

But want of this, and other lackes a score,

Bids mee seeke death, and wish to liue no more.

The thatcher hath, a cottage poore you see,

The sheapheard knowes, where he shall sleepe at night,

The dayly drudge, at night can quiet beē,

Thus Fortune sendes, some rest to euery wight.

So borne I was, to house and land by right.

But in a bagg, to Court I brought the same,

From Shrewsburie towne, a seate of auncient fame.

What thinkes my friendes, that there behind I laft,

What fault findes shée, that gaue me life and sucke:

O courting fine, thou art too cold a craft,

The Carter hath, at home much better lucke,

Well▪ well I say, adue all worldly mucke.

Ne house nor Land, we beare away I knoe,

I naked came, and naked hence must goe.

The greatest King, must passe the selfe same way,

Our day of birth, and buriall are alike:

Their ioy, their pompe, their wealth and rich aray,

Shall soone consume, like snow that lies in dike,

No Buckler serues, when soddaine death doth strike.

As soone may come, a poore mans soule to blis,

As may the rich, or greatest Lord that is.

Well ere my breath, my body doe forsake,

My spri [...]e I do, bequeath to God aboue:

My bookes, my scronies, and songes that I did make,

I leaue with friendes, that freely me did loue,

To slyring foes, whose malice me did moue.

I wishe in hast, amendment of their waies,

And to the Court, and courtiers happy daies.

[Page]

My fortune straunge, to straungers do I leaue,

That straungly can, retaine such straunge mishap:

To such as still, in world did me deceaue,

I wish they may, beware of such like trap,

To slaunderous tongues, that killde me with a clap.

I wish more rest, than they haue giuen to mee,

And blesse those shreawes, that curst and crabbed bee.

To such as yet, did neuer pleasure man,

I giue those rimes, that nips the gawled backe:

To such as would, doe good and if they can,

I wish good lucke, long life, and voyde of lacke,

To currish Karles, a whyp and Colliers sacke.

And to the proude, that stands vppon their braues,

A wainscot face, and twentie crabtree staues.

To surlie sirs, that scornes the meaner sort,

A nightcap furd, with Foynes I them bequeath:

To such as scowle, at others good report,

(And sets much store, by their owne paynted sheat)

In signe of lucke, I giue a willow wreath,

To such as are, vnnamde, and merits much,

The stone I leaue, that tries the Gold by tutch,

To gentill race, with good conditions ioynd,

I wish more ioy, than man imagin may:

And since for poore, I haue noe mony coynd,

God graunt them all a mery mariage day,

To such as doth delight in honest play.

I wish the Gold, that I haue lost thereby,

And all the wealth, I want before I die.

Now friends shake handes, I must be gone my boyes,

Our mirth takes end, our triumph all is done:

Our tykling talke, our sportes and merry toyes,

Do slide away, like shadowe of the Sun,

Another comes, when I my race haue run.

Shall passe the time, with you in better plite,

And finde good cause, of greater thinges to write.

FINIS.

A DREAME.

[Page]

To the right worshipfull my good Lady the Lady Paulet, who was wife to the honorable sir Hugh Paule [...] Knight.

AMong the manifold works in print, pamphelets, bookes, volumes, and deuises, I neuer addressed my pen to your Ladiship till now, though bound for many courtesies better to consider of so good a Lady, and now worst able to redeeme duty forgotten, I bring my selfe backeward to behold my great ouersight, but presing forward to win ground, I leese the keeping of a writers credit, for no one thing is left worthy your view and looking on, such hast haue I had in the spoiling of my selfe & inuentions: a prodicall point of bountie rather than the part of a wise bountiful writer, especially to bestowe the best matters on others, and present but a dreame to your Ladiship, shewing thereby the shallownes of my iudgement: but yet some such substaunce of matter as I trust is more delightfull than dainty. For my Dreame hauing many significations, may grow on many causes, and hit on a nomber of Accidents fit for my humour, but skarse meet for your graue consideration, yet such fancies as a dreame brings [...]orth, I of necessitie must offer (because my store is not great) and such fancies as I haue, I hope your Lad. amongst the rest of my friends wil stand pleased with, til better matter fall out. So in heart, seruice, and goodwill, I betake you to the sweet blessing of the Almightie.

§

[Page]

A Dreame I had the straungest thing,

that euer man might meet:

Me thought I bore amid a King,

a faire familiar spréet.

A Lady like the Fairie Queene,

that men behold but s [...]ld:

Who daunceth round about the greene,

by Moonshine oft in field.

This Ring on little finger worne,

did mysteries vnfold:

And made me walke from Eauen to Morne,

in s [...]cret where I would.

Among the Dames and Nymphes most chast,

when greatest glee they make:

And where sweet darlings are embrac'st,

and greatest pleasure take.

I came sometime where loues delight,

was drownd in deepe disdaine:

And fancie reapt but froward spight,

to counter-pace his paine.

Not sound a sléepe in slumber so,

this busie dreame I had:

That tossed senses to and fro,

with heauie motions sad.

That waits vpon a troubled mind,

that seldome taketh rest:

But wanders with each blast of wind,

and breath of panting brest,

[Page]

And in this Dreame a world of toyes,

and trifles led me on:

Some of new cares, some present ioyes,

and some of pleasures gone.

And some of gladsome haps to come,

those were dumme sights and showes▪

Not worth a philip of my thombe,

if I should all disclose.

But as those fancies past like shade,

that followe man full fast:

Or brightnes of a shining blade,

whose glaunce small while doth last.

I came me thought into a caue,

where all the Sibbils dwel:

Asumptuous pallace builded braue,

not like a little Cell.

Or Cottage poore of small account,

for at the outer gate:

There stood a stately mighty mount,

wheron a Lady sate.

All clothed in white, and wore a hoode

of red, round shapte indeed:

At sight of whom amazed I stood,

to see so strange a weed.

Why man quoth she, feare not a whit▪

A woman sure I am:

That doo among my neighbours sit,

as milde and meeke as Lamb.

[Page]

And spend the goods that God hath sent,

in worthy liberall sort:

With merrie meane and sad content,

that winnes a good report.

The poore I f [...]d, the rich I feast,

and welcome hie and low:

And spent thus thirtie yeares at least,

more wealth than world doth know.

The wéedes that body doth disguise,

vpon vaine earth a spare:

At latter day when soule shall rise,

shall giue me greater grace.

I woondred at the words she spake,

she did discend withall:

So by the hand she did me take,

and led me through the hall.

Unto a pretie parlour fine,

where I beheld and saw:

A trifling counterfeit of mine,

that Arnold Oens did draw.

There sat of guests a table full,

that auncient friends had beene:

For the held house for them that wull,

make of her house their Inne.

Not for to pay as trauelers do,

for euery thing they take:

But feed and find great welcome to,

full free for friendships sake.

[Page]

Sometime the chiefe and greatest sort,

of Dames and noble peere:

Unto her table doth resort,

to tast of her good cheere.

Yea most of all the worthie men,

that beares good name and sway:

Comes freely thither now and then,

to passe the time away.

It were a world to shew and tell,

what worthie dads she doth:

For world will s [...]a [...]ce beleeue it well,

that I do know forsooth.

Let passe in silence that a while,

my Dreams breeds greater doubt,

For some there at may chance to smile,

it fa [...]es is strangely out.

The r [...]ping thoughts of idle braine,

and [...] in the head:

That feede the mind with humours vaine,

when body seemeth dead.

Are trustles [...]oyes cleane voyd of truth,

which rise on meat and drinke:

Or weake con [...]a [...]s of age and youth,

whereon the heart doth thinke.

Well be thy vizions good or bad,

or sweauons of the night:

Such idle s [...]akes as fancy had,

now shall you heare aright.

[Page]

Me thought a troupe of Dames I saw,

a thousand in a roe:

They would not tread vpon a strawe,

they minst the matter so.

All hand in hand they traced on,

a tricksie ancient round:

And soone as shadowes were they gone,

and might no more be found.

And in their place came fearefull bugges,

as blacke as any pitche:

With bellies big and swagging dugges,

more lothsome then a witch.

All these began to chide and charme,

as hellish hags they were:

And went about some secret harme,

as seemed plainely there.

For in a circle stoode they still,

and starde like Bull at stake:

They did no good but wisht much ill,

to them that sleepe or wake.

From these foule féends I thought to flye,

but I was quickly staide:

And in the twinckling of an eye,

was made full sore afraide.

For they with frownes and froward lookes,

did threaten my decay:

And said they had such counting bookes,

that should my sins bewray.

[Page]

Thy filthy faults of youth quoth they,

shall now corrected be:

For plagues and scourges euery way,

there is prepar'd for thee.

First for thy soule offence to God,

in secret corners doone:

Thou shalt be whipt with many a rod,

of euery mothers Sonne.

Some shall thée wound with edged swoord,

and let out thy wilde blood:

And some shall shoot such bitter woords,

shall neuer doo thee good.

The Prince shall dayly speak thée faire,

but neuer thée preferre:

The people driue thee in dispaire,

and make thee open warre.

Thy fréends with flattery thée deceaue,

thy foes about thée flocke:

And in great mischéefe shall thée lead,

beset with many a mocke.

And ech disease that life abhorres,

shall dayly on thée steale:

With botch and blaines and stinking sores,

that no sweet salue shall heale.

So marked man passe where thou wilt,

Gods wrath shall follow thée:

As guerdon for thy wretched guilt,

which God alone dooth sée.

[Page]

These words pronounc'st, these hags of hell,

inhast and horrour both:

From thence did take a quicke farewell,

and downe those hell-hounds goeth.

Where Pluto dwels and darkenes is,

a place of endles paine:

And where foule Féends full far from blisse,

in torments still remaine.

Now sat I sadly all amaz'd,

to thinke on follies past:

And vpward to the heauens gaz'd,

from whence comes helpe at last.

Where at the Clouds a passage made,

to Angels as I weene:

That than discended downe in shade,

to come to world vnséene.

My ring disclos'd that secret straight,

and tolde me what they were:

Fye man (quoth they) vse no such sleight,

thou needst not now to feare.

We come to comfort féeble sence,

that all things takes awrie:

And not to punish mans offence,

that doth for vengeance cry.

God doth in mercy more delite,

than in his iustice still:

His anger is forgotten quite,

when men fore-thinke their ill.

[Page]

The deuill driues men in dispaire,

by threatnings now and th [...]n:

And laies his snares in earth or aire,

to trap some silly man.

He is the Father of vntroth,

that hath great wits beguilde:

And still about great mischiefe goeth,

like roaring Lyon wilde.

Those bugges that late before thée stood,

are fancies of thy head:

Or on thy hart some heauy blood,

that haunts thee in thy bed.

This said, the Angels vanisht all,

for I saw them no more:

Then for the Lady gan I call,

of whom I spake before.

She came with crootch now lymping on,

in garments white as snowe:

For pleasure, pride, and pomp was gone,

from her full long agoe.

What meanest thou man to call me thus?

quoth she thou homely guest:

For I was halfe asleepe I wis,

my yeeres requires some rest.

O curteous dame, of fauour yet,

heare what I haue to say:

I seeke but councell at thy wit,

of things I shall bewray.

[Page]

My life is tost and troubled long,

with sorrowes from my birth:

With many gréefes and ma [...]y a wrong,

and wretched cares on earth.

I droup and drop away like lincke,

whose light is soone burnt out:

And still the more of worlde I think,

the more I liue in doubt.

The more I wish, the lesse I haue,

and where I merite most:

There iust deserts doth dayly craue,

and there is labour lost.

Youth hath consumde his yéeres in wa [...]e,

and gathers nought but gréefe:

Age is but scornde or cleane disgraste,

and starues without releefe.

O tell no more of this quoth she,

these fortunes many finde:

As heauy haps doo follow me,

if thou didst know my minde.

I meane as well as any wight,

that I by loue beare life:

And dare shew face for dooing right,

with widow, maid or wife.

Yet worlde deceiues me euery day,

my good turnes haue no proofe:

No faith nor promise any way,

falles out for my behoofe.

[Page]

In world there is such falshood vs'd,

the iust can neuer thriue:

A Saint himselfe might be abus'd,

if heere he were aliue.

But earth and ashes, dung and stinke,

is all that héere we haue:

Men haue not one good thought to think,

from birth vnto their graue.

Uaine are the woords and déeds of all,

all is but scornes and lyes:

And all to dust and drosse shall fall,

thou seest before thine eyes.

She saide no more, but pausde and staid [...]

to heare how I replyed:

When I her words full well had waied,

and time to speake I spied.

These things are true quoth I, gooddreame,

I know the wrongs you feele▪

And how mishap turnes, out of frame

falles Fortunes fickle whéele.

And how vile world shall make an end,

and what short season héere:

We haue before from world we wend,

all that see I full cléere.

A greater gréefe stickes in my minde,

that none but God he knowes:

Which in my hart my freends shall finde,

when hence my body goes.

[Page]

This shall I shrine in secret thought,

as it some tretcherie were:

Or might against great God we wrought,

to bring my soule in feare.

If my right hand knew that indéed,

I would cut of the same:

And bite my tung and make it bléed,

if tung those greefes would name.

No eare nor any liuing soule,

is fit to heare it thorow:

My head doth craue to stand on pole,

if I disclose it now.

The aire alone shall heare me sound.

the smart I beare in brest:

In hollow caues it shall rebound,

to breed me more vnrest.

Yea like a man bestraught of wit▪

amid wilde woods and groues:

Where Howlets in dark nights doo sit,

and Hawkes for pray he houes.

There shall my hart his gréefes vnfolde,

there will I cry and yell:

To starres and cloudes it shalbe tolde,

that now I dare not tell.

Fye man, be not so brute like beast,

to rage and run abroad:

From foes doo kéepe, to freends at least,

thy conscience doo vnloade.

[Page]

Some of those gripes that gréeues thée so,

good councell maiest thou take:

Swéet plaisters God prouides I know,

for men that mo [...]e will make.

A fréend deere dame, what words are those,

where dwels so true a wight?

No sooner secrets we disclose,

but then adue goodnight.

A stranger hath that he hath sought,

and newes is hard to kéep:

When freends are maisters of thy thoughts,

they laugh when thou doost weep.

And quickly loe behinde thy backe,

thy secrets must be knowne:

Shall freends a burthen beare in pack,

when thou holdst not thine owne,

That close in brest was locked fast,

a blabbing tung beware:

Strange tales flies euery where like blasts,

that sure vncertain are.

Perchaunce I seeke some secret drift,

that none should know but I▪

Or practise some dishonest shift,

wheron my life may lye.

Or loue some Lady of estate,

a toy past hope in age:

A fancy that may purchase hate,

if reason rule not rage.

[Page]

Should these things be put out to nurse,

where Wolues and Tigers feede:

And where things growe from ill to worse,

and men catch harme indéed.

Nay, better swallow sorrows vp,

and dye in great distres:

Poyson drinke in spiced Cup,

then secrets so expres.

If matter of such weight you haue

goodman, doo what you please:

I doo no such great knowledge craue,

to finde out your disease.

And as for loue, both you and I

me think we should it leaue:

The moistnes of olde vaines wax dry,

if wit not me deceiue.

You may as well make madmen wise,

or clime beyond the Sun:

Or builde faire Castles in the Skies,

as such a course to run.

As follow loue that knowes you not,

when siluer haires doo shine:

And hath the pranckes of youth forgot,

and will no more be fine.

O toutch not me with no fond loue,

nor nothing therby ment:

For I did but your iudgement proue,

of secret sweet content.

[Page]

Which I in s [...]lence carry still,

as my olde yeeres alow?

As much of hart, as of goodwill,

I troe I tolde you now.

Perchaunce I may doo this or that,

as fancies men beguile:

But sure I neuer tolde you what,

I meaned all the while.

For I had rather dye then tell,

what makes my sorrow great:

My greefes the wise doth know full well,

that knoweth colde from heate.

Colde fortune may torment me sore,

and so may shifts some time:

Hot hatred troubles men much more,

then Uenus in her prime.

Loue lasts no longer as you say,

then whiles gaie flowers growe gréene:

In age then all delights decay,

which few or none haue séene.

For age knowes what true loue is worth,

and hath in loue great stay:

Youth brings light loue like blossoms forth,

that fades as flower in May.

Loue is not lost if loue be set,

past reach of common men:

Though for great loue, small loue we get,

loue is not hated then.

[Page]

Which shewes good loue wins fauour still,

if loue be placed right:

Loue gets grea [...] thanks, or gaines goodwill,

where euer loue doth light.

Some say that loue is oft disdaine,

that is where loue doth lack:

those folks are weake and feeble brainde,

that thinks loue but a knacke.

For through the world loue leads the Daunce,

where loue wants, growes no good:

But springs vp spite and foule mischaunce,

and mischeefe flowes like Flood.

Though loue I praise, this shewes no sparke,

of my close care and woes:

I hide my secrets in the darke,

that none but God it knowes.

Inough for me to suffer smart,

such lot doth destine giue:

And so with sorrowes breake the hart,

that hath no will to liue.

Good fréend (quoth she) haste not thine end,

with passions of the minde:

Hope after hap, the world may mend,

thou maist good fortune finde.

No sure my glasse of life is runne,

Death drawes on me so fast:

I see my daies are almost done,

life may no longer last.

[Page]

My haples yeares and aged bones,

desires no being heere:

To graue I go with sighs and grones,

I buy bad life too deere.

With losse of blood, of time and youth,

and all that precious is:

With loyall seruice toile and truth,

and hope of earthly blisse.

All in one ballance now goes downe,

since guerdon get I none:

Nor no account in Court nor towne,

now I may hap vpon.

Adue day light, shut close mine eies,

too long you stare for nought:

So farewell friends, and you be wise,

for me take you no thought.

By this our ships were wend about,

and Cannons gan to rore:

As they to Brytaine passed out,

with bounsing shot great store.

At noyse whereof I wakned straight,

and calling for my close:

And saw the Sunne on such a height,

that sodainly I rose.

And so put all my dreame in verse,

would God a dreame it were:

For many things I now rehearse,

wil prooue too true I feare.

FINIS.

§

§

[Page]

To the right honourable my Lady Puckering, wife to the most honorable the L. keeper of the great seale of England.

GOod Madam, strange it may seeme, that a meere stranger to your Ladiship▪ [...]are aduenture to dedicate any peece of vvorke, vvhere bold attempt and labour may be but strangely vnderstood, if a greater hope in your goodnes exceeded not the greatnes of my matter, but my [...] your most honorable husbands bountifull dealings with me of late, makes me the bolder, (because I must be thankful) in this presumptio [...] [...] present some acceptable pe [...]ce of that small talent God hath giuen me to your good L. as vvell to be knovven of you, as to keep [...] me in my L. fauour, and though that vvhich I o [...]fer be skarce vvorthy the taking, Yet I trust first my seruiceable present hall not be misliked▪ because the receiuing vvell thereof, may procure a further peece of vvork better penned, such as shall best become me to present, as knovveth God, [...] novv, and at all times augment his good gifts of grace in your good Ladiship.

§

LOng time in sute, and seruice gets some grade,

Long crauing gaines, both crust and crome ye know:

Long walking rids, great ground away apace,

Long vse of legs makes traueiler easly go.

Long watching t [...]d, brings ebbe at length to flo [...],

So loyall loue, and dutie long in vre:

Full many waies doth great good will procure.

Whereon good turnes springs out as from a flood,

Runnes gushing waues, that waters euery soile:

Whose moisture doth, both fruit and flower much good,

And profite bring [...] to Plowmans painefull toile.

This faire land flood, kept barren field from foile,

For if no deaw, of heauen I had found:

Hot sommers drouth, had soone dried vp my ground.

The fountaine had, her course no sooner run,

With golden streames, that cordiall is of kinde:

But straight began, to shine the gladsome S [...]n,

That sucker sends, to tree, to root, and rinde.

The frost did thaw, with milde warme westerne winde,

And all the springs and conduits of the towne;

Ran Claret wine, in honour of the crowne.

When bill assignd, by sute from Prince had past,

Lord how the world, [...]lood therewith well content:

[Page]The Clearkes they wrote, and fréely laboured fast,

The seales were wonne, when purse no penny spent.

The waxe was wrought throw grace that God had sent,

So seale and waxe, and all that name I can:

Came franckly of, to me from euery man.

Lo how hard world, by meanes is easie made,

And mens good wils, with tract of time we gaine:

In spring it sprouts, at fall of leafe did fade,

The grasse grows greene, with little showres of raine.

I reapt the crop, and fruit of others paine,

What néeds more words, each place where I did go:

For Princes grace, did me great fauour sho.

They knew that Court had cleane consumde my youth,

And plead mine age, with pretie pension now:

If so they thought, in déed they gest the truth,

For youth and age, perforce is pleased throw.

Saue that they bid me make my pen my plow,

And prooue awhile, what printed bookes will doo:

To helpe old Tom, to get a supper too.

But blest be her that did the dinner giue,

With too much meat we may a surfeit take:

Long with good rule, and diet men may liue,

Full belly oft, an emptie purse may make.

He feedeth best, that eats for hungers sake.

Than porcion poore, makes men ne proud nor rich:

Yet one good meale a day doth please me mich.

Where am I now, I speake of liberall men,

That fréely gaue the seales and all the rest:

Which déed deserues both thankes and praise of pen,

For that is all from me they haue possest.

This course would make the learned Lawyers blest,

If of poore men (they tooke no fee at all:)

Whose wrongs are great, and riches is but small.

To trot and trudge two hundreth miles or more,

And spend their goods in toyling too and fro:

And be long pincht with paine and labour sore,

And then compeld to costly tearme to go.

[Page]Craues great regard of them that conscience know.

Than wise graue heads that looks through euery cause:

Defend the poore with fauour of your lawes.

Their plaints may pearce through highest heauens all,

Their praiers brings great blessings to your dore:

Your fame doth rise, where they good words let fall,

For happie are the hands that helpes the poore.

This sentence should be written on the floore,

Who can do good to those that stands in need:

Shall reape much corne, where sowne was litle séed.

When iustice flowes from liberall noble mind,

Good turns in world wil make men liue like Saints▪

When good cheap law, poore silly soules do find,

The Court is not long troubled with complaints.

Franke heart goes throw where feeble courage faints,

Bountie winnes loue, and lasts for euer more:

Who doth great good and little takes therefore.

The poore are more in number euery where,

Then are the rich that haue the world at wil:

Wherefore the more we ought with them to beare,

Because they liue in lacke and sorrow stil.

The Lord that sits on his hie holy hill,

Lookt lowly down on Lazarus the poore:

That humbly askt an almes at Diues doore.

Most precious are the poore to God aboue,

Though heere below they walke like lambes were lost:

And one good turne to them doth get more loue,

Then fortie things we doe for worldly boast.

Who saues a ship that is with tempest tost,

And brings the barke where helpe and harbour is:

For thankful paines shall purchase heauen blisse.

[Page]

When that great Iudge shal come to iudge vs all,

Such as did helpe the poore shal happy be:

For then that Iudge wil for those people call,

Who to the poore were alwaies franke and free.

Though world waxe blind, the Lord doth daily sée,

Who helpes who harmes, and who in hope and trust:

Laies vp their gold where riches cannot rust.

The wise no doubt doth so by gift of grace,

That gouernes man in euery honest cause:

Those noble minds that vertue doe embrace,

Are plac' [...]t by Prince the Iudges of our Lawes.

At that wel head the poore cleare water drawes,

Yea poore and rich doe tast that running streame:

That spreads her vaines throw al this stately Reame.

Who could enioy a yard or foot of Land,

If Law did not decide true titles right?

Or who could holde his purse in his owne hand?

If Law brought not darke dealings vnto light.

Good Law doth see cléere day from clowdy night,

Discernes the troth from falshood finely cled:

Whose glorious grace deceaues each simple head.

Law lookes on all and sifts the flower from bran,

Law sets that straight that craft would crooked make:

Law is a stay to state and life of man,

Law with a word makes guilty conscience quake.

Law with the sword from shoulders head doth take.

Law forceth loue, where hatred séeketh blood:

And Law mong men in world doth greatest good.

Where Law is none, there ciuill order dies,

Both brute, and rude, and sauadge people groe:

Like Canibals they liue in beastly guise,

And naked too like mad wilde goats they goe.

[Page]The Féend they serue for God they do not know,

Where Law doth lacke and Iustice hath no place▪

There neuer comes ne goodnes, rule, nor grace.

O God how glad the hungry is of food,

The heauie heart that woe hath wasted long:

To feele and find the Lawyers in such mood,

That they by Law redresse a poore mans wrong.

O sweet consort O pleasant well set song,

Where all the parts the singers haue by rote:

And out of tune is placed nere a note.

O noble Law where Iustice voyce doth sound,

Concordance right the prop of publicke state:

And where no iarre of musicke may be found,

Nor discord comes amisse to bréed debate.

Who loues no law doth all good order hate▪

Law holds the ioynts to gather firme and fast:

That makes the house and timber long to last.

With equall waights in ballance all is tried,

By measure iust the world doth buy and sell:

A little graine in golde is quickly spied,

When in true skales good coyne is waied well.

Rest so I haue a further tale to tell,

God graunt my muse be in so good a vaine:

That I deserue but thankes for all my paine.

FINIS.

§

§

[Page]

To the right worshipfull the Ladie Anderson, wife to the right honorable Lord chiefe Iustice of the common Pleas.

MY boldnes being much, may passe the bounds of duty, but the goodnes of your honourable husband (good Madame) passeth so farre the commendacion of my penne, that vnder his iudgement and shield (that is so iust a Iudge) I make a sauegard to this my presumption, that hazardeth where I am vnknowen to present any peece of Poetrie or matter of greater effect, yet aduenturing by fortune, to giue my Lady your sister somewhat in the honour of the Queenes Maiestie, in the excellencie of her woorthy praise that neuer can decay. I haue translated some verses out of French, that a Poet seemed to write of his owne mistresse, which verses are so apt for the honouring of the Phenix of our worlde, that I cannot hide them from the sight of the worthy, nor dare commit so grosse a fault as to let them die with my selfe: wherfore and in way of your fauour in publishing these verses, I dedicate them to your good Ladishippe, though not so well penned as the first Authour did polish them, yet in the best manner my muse can affoorde, they are plainly expressed, hoping they shalbe as well taken as they are ment, so the blessed and great Iudge of all daily blesse you.

[Page]

A few plaine verses of truth against the flaterie of time, made when the Queens Maiestie was last at Oxenford.

SIth silent Poets all,

that praise your Ladies [...]o:

My Phenix makes their plumes to fall,

that would like Peacockes goe.

Some doe their Princes praise,

and Synthia some doe like:

And some their Mistresse honour raise,

as high as Souldiers pike.

Come downe yee doe presmount,

the warning bel it sounds:

That cals you Poets to account,

for breaking of your bounds.

In giuing fame to those,

faire flowers that soone doth fade:

And cleane forget the white red rose,

that God a Phenix made.

Your Ladies also doe decline,

like Stars in darkesome night:

When Phenix doth like Phoebus shine,

and leands the world great light.

You paint to please desire,

your Dame in colours g [...]y:

As though braue words, or trim attire,

could grace a clod of clay.

My Phenix needs not any art,

of Poets painting quil:

She is her selfe in euerie part,

so shapte by kindly skil.

That nature cannot wel amend,

and to that shape most rare:

The Gods such speciall grace doth send,

that is without compare.

The heauens did agree,

by constellations plaine:

[Page]That for her vertue shee should bée the only queene to raigne,

(In her most happie daies) and carries cleane awaie:

The tip and top of peerlesse prayse, if all the world say nay,

Looke not that I should name, her vertue in their place,

But looke on her true well-won fame, that answers forme & face

And therein shall you read, a world of matter now,

That round about the world doth spread her heauenly graces throw

The seas (where cannons rore) hath yelded her her right,

And sent such newes vnto the shore, of enemies foile and flight.

That all the world doth sound, the glorie Phenix gote

Whereof an eccho doth rebound, in such a tune and note,

(That none aliue shall reatch) of Phenix honor great,

Which shall the poets muses teach, how they of her shold treat

O then with verses sweete, if Poets haue good store,

Fling down your pen, at Phenix féet, & praise your nimphes no more.

Packe hence she comes in place, a stately Royall Queene:

That takes away your Ladies grace, as soone as she is séene.

FINIS.

§

§

[Page]

To the right Worshipfull my Ladie Fortescue, wife to the right honourable Sir Iohn Fortescue Knight.

THe good turne and great labour good Madam, your Honorable husband bestowed in my behalf bindes me so far, as I must not be ingrat, to him nor non of his, & chiefelie to remember your Ladishippe, with some matter acceptable, I than thinking of the great griefe that manie Soldiours found by the absence of the Queenes Maiestie in time of the plague, when she laie last at Hampton court, drew out some sadde verses of the sorrowe among Soldiers conceiued, and presuming you will accept them, I became so bolde as to present them to your handes, had I anie worthier worke to offer I would bring better, but hoping these fewe lines shall duetifullie show my good will, I am to craue your fauour, in presenting these verses vnto you, desiring God to multiplie his benefites and blessinges in your good Ladishippe.

§

[Page]

Verses of value, if Vertue bee seene,

Made of a Phenix, a King, and a Queene.

MY Phenix once, was wont to mount the skies,

To sée how birdes, of baser feathers flew:

Then did her Port, and presence please our eies:

Whose absence now, bréeds nought but fancies new.

The Phenix want, our court, and Realme may rue.

Thus sight of her, such welcome gladnes brings,

That world ioies much, whē Phenix claps her wings

And flies abroad, to take the open aire,

In royall sort, as bird of stately kinde:

Who hates soul storms; and loues mild weather fair,

And by great force, can bore the blostring wind,

To shew the grace, and greatnes of the minde,

My Phenix hath, that vertue growing gréene,

When that abroad, her gracious face is séene.

Let neither feare, of plagues nor wits of men,

Kéepe Phenix close, that ought to liue in sight:

Of open world, for absence wrongs vs then,

To take from world, the Lampe that giues vs light,

O God forbid, our day were turnde to night,

And shining Sunne, in clowds should shrowded be,

Whose golden rayes, the world desires to sée.

The Dolphin daunts, each fish that swims in Seas,

The Lion feares, the greatest beast that goes:

The Bees in Hiue, are glad theyr King to please,

And to their Lord, each thing their duety knowes.

But first the King, his Princely presence showes,

Then subiects stoopes, and prostrate fals on face,

Or bowes down head, to giue their maister place.

The Sunne hath powre, to comfort flowrs and gras,

[Page]And purge the aire, of soule infections all:

Makes ech thing pure wher his clear beams do passe

Draws vp the dew, that mists and fogs lets fall,

My Phenix hath, a greater gift at call,

For vassals all, a view of her doe craue,

Because thereby, great hope and hap we haue.

Good turnes it brings, and suiters plaints are heard,

The poore are pleasde, the rich some purchase gains,

The wicked blush: the worthy wins reward,

The seruant findes: a meane to quit his paines:

The wronged man, by her some right attaines,

Thus euery one, that helpe and succour néedes,

In hard distresse, on Phenix fauour feedes.

But from our view, if world doe Phenix kéepe,

Both Sunne and Moone, and stars we bid farewell,

The heauens mourne, the earth will waile and weep.

The heauy heart, it feeles the paines of Hell,

Woe be to those, that in despaire doe dwell.

Was neuer plague, nor pestlence like to this,

When soules of men, haue lost such heauenly blisse.

Now suters all, you may shoote vp your plaints

Your Goddes now, is lockt in shrine full fast:

You may perhaps, yet pray vnto her Saints.

Whose eares are stopt, and hearing sure is past.

Now in the fire, you may such Idols cast.

They cannot helpe, like stockes and stones they bée,

That haue no life, nor cannot heare nor see.

Till that at large, our royall Phenix comes,

Packe hence poore men, or picke your fingers endes.

Or blow your nailes, or gnaw and bite your thombs,

Till God aboue, some better fortune sends.

[Page]Who here abides, till this bad world amends,

May doe full well, as tides doe ebbe and flow,

So fortune turnes, and haps doe come and goe.

The bodies ioy, and all the ioints it beares,

Lies in the head, that may commaund the rest:

Let head but ake, the heart is full of feares,

And armes acrosse, we clap on troubled brest:

With heauy thoughts, the mind is so opprest.

That neither legs, nor féete haue will to goe,

As man himselfe, were cleane orecome with woe.

The head is it, that still preserues the sence▪

And seekes to saue, ech member from disease:

Deuise of head, is bodies whole defence:

The skill whereof, no part dare well displease,

For as the Moone, moues vp the mighty seas,

So head doth guide, the body when it will.

And rules the man, by wit and reasons skill.

But how should head, in déede doe all this good,

When at our neede, no vse of head we haue:

The head is felt, is seene and vnderstood.

Then from disgrace, it will the body saue.

And otherwise, sicke man drops downe in graue.

For when no helpe, nor vse of head we finde,

The feete fals lame, and gazing eies grow blinde.

The lims war stiffe, for want of vse and aide,

The bones doe dry, their marrow wasts away:

The heart is dead, the body liues afraide,

The sinnowes shrinke, the bloud doth still decay,

So long as world, doth want the Star of day,

So long darke night, we shall be sure of h [...]re,

For clowdy skies, I feare will neuer cléere.

[Page]

God send some helpe, to salue sicke poore mens sores,

A bore of baulme, would heale our woundes vp quite:

That precious oyle, would eate out rotten cores,

And giue great health, and man his whole delighte.

God send some sunne, in frostie morning white.

That cakes of yce may melt by gentle thaw:

And at well head, wee may some water drawe.

A Riddle.

Wée wish, wee want, yet haue that we desire:

We freese, wee burne, and yet kept from the fire.

FINIS.

This is taken out of Belleau made of his own Mistresse.

Sad sighes doth shew, the heat of heartes desire,

And sorrow speakes, by signes of heauie eyes:

So if hot flames, proceed from holly fire,

And loue may not, from vicious fancies eyes,

In tarrying time, and fauor of the skies,

My only good, and greatest hap doth lie:

In her that doth, all fond delight dispies:

Than turne to mee, sad sighes I shall not dye▪

If that bee shee, who hath so much mée bound,

And makes me hers, as I were not mine owne:

Shee most to praise, that maie aliue bee founde,

Most great and good, and gracious througly knowne▪

Shée all my hope, in briefe yea more than mine,

[Page](That quickely maie, bring life by looke of eye)

Than come chaest sighes, a close record diuine,

Returne to mee, and I shall neuer dye.

If from young yeares shee gainde the garland ga [...]e,

And wan the price, of all good giftes of grace:

If princely port, doe vertuous minde bewraie,

And royall power, be found by noble face,

If she bee borne, most happie graue and wise,

A Sibill sage, sent downe from heauens hie,

O smothring sightes, that faine would close mine eyes,

Returne to mee, so shall I neuer die.

If most vpright, and faire of forme shée bee,

That may beare life, and swéetest manner showes,

Loues God, good men, and Countries wealth doth sée,

A queene of kinges, all Christian princes knowes,

So iustly liues, that each man hath his owne,

Sets straight each state, that else would goe awrie:

Whereby her [...]ame, abroad the world is blowne,

Then seace sad sighes, so shall I neuer die.

If shée the heart of Alexander haue,

The sharpe esprite, and hap of Haniball:

The constant mind, that Gods to Scipio gaue,

And Caesars grace, whose triumphed passed all,

If in her thought, do dwell the iudgement great,

Of all that raignes, and rules from earth to skie:

(And sits this houre, in throne and regall seate),

Come sighes againe, your maister can not die.

If she be found, to tast the pearcing ayr,

In heat in colde, in frost, in snowe and rayne:

As diamond, that shines so passing faire,

That sunne nor moone, nor weather cannot staine:

[Page]If blastes of winde, and stormes to beautie yelde,

And this well springe, makes other fountaines drye,

(Turnes tides and floodes, to water baraine feeld,)

Come sighes then home, I liue and cannot die.

If her great giftes, doth daunt dame fortunes might,

And she haue caught, the hayres and head ot hap:

To others hard, to her a matter light,

To mount the cloudes, and fall in honours lap.

If shee her selfe, and others conquers too,

Liues long in peace, and yet doth warre defie:

As valiaunt kinges, and vertuous victors doe,

Then sighe no more, o heart I cannot die.

If such a prince, abase her highnesse than,

For some good thing, the world may gesse in mee:

And stoupes so low, too like a sillie man,

That little knowes, what Princes grace may bée.

If shee well waie, my faith and seruice true,

And is the iudge, and toutch that gold shall trie:

The colour cleere, that neuer changeth hue,

Heart sigh no more, I liue and may not dye.

If I doe vse, her fauour for wy weale,

By reason off, her gracious countenance still:

And from the sunne, a little light I steale,

To keepe the life, in lampe to burne at will.

If robberie thus, a true man may commit,

Both I and mine, vnto her merits flie:

If I presume, it springes for want of wit,

Excuse mee than, sad sighes or else I die.

If she do know, her shape in heart I beare,

Engraude in breast, her grace and figure is▪

Yea day and night, I thinke and dreame each where,

[Page]On nothing else, but on that heauenly blisse,

If so transformde, my mind and body liues,

But not consumde, nor finde no cause to cry.

And waite on her, that helpe and comfort giues.

Than come poore sighes, your maister shall not die.

If she behold that here I wish no breath,

But liue all hers, in thought in word and déede:

Whose fauour lost, I craue but present death,

Whose grace attaind, lean soule full fat shall féede.

If any cause, doe keepe her from my sight,

I know no world, my selfe I shall deny,

But if her torch, doe lend my candle light,

Heart sigh no more, the body doth not die.

But if by death, or some disgrace of mine,

Through enuies sting, or false report of foes,

My view be bard, from that sweete face diuine.

Beleeue for troth, to death her seruant goes,

And rather sure, than I should ill conceiue:

Sighes mount to skies, you know the cause and why.

How here below, my lusty life I leaue,

Attend me there, for wounded heart must die.

If shée beléeue, without her presence héere,

That any thing, may now content my minde:

Or thinke in world, is sparke of gladsome cheere,

Where shée is not, nor I her presence finde:

But all the ioyes, that man imagine may,

As handmaides wayt, on her héere vnder sky,

Then sighes mount vp, to heauens hold your way,

And stay me there, for I of force must die.

If I may feare, that fragill beauty light,

Or semblance faire, is to be doubted sore:

[Page]Or my vaine youth, may turne with fancies might,

Or sighes full falles, [...]ains griefe or torment more:

Than heart doth féele, then angry stars aboue,

Doe band your selues, gainst me in heauens hie.

And rigor worke, to conquer constant loue,

Mount vp poore sighes, here is no helpe I die.

And so sad sighes, the witnes of my thought,

If loue finde not, true guerdon for good will:

Ere that to graue, my body shalbe brought,

Mount vp to clowds, and there abide me still,

But if good hope, and hap some succour send,

And honor doth, my vertuous minde supply,

With treble blisse, for which I long attend,

Returne good sighes, I meane not now to die.

Translated out of French, for one that is bounde much to Fortune.

FINIS.

This is to be red fiue waies.

IN hat a fauour worne, a bird of gold in Britaine land,

In loyall heart is borne, yet doth on head like Phenix stand.

To set my Phenix forth, whose vetues may thē al surmount,

An orient pearle more worth, in value price & good accounnt,

Thē gold or precious stone▪ what tong or verse dare her distain.

A péerelesse paragon, in whom such gladsome gifts remaine.

Whose séemly shape is wroght, as out of war wer made ye mold

By fine deuise of thought, like shrined Saint in beaten gold,

Dame nature did disdaine, and thought great scorn in any sort,

To make the like againe, that should deserue such rare report.

[Page]

Ther néeds no Poe [...]s pen, nor painters peniel come in place,

Nor flatring frase of mē, whose filed spech giues ech thing grace

To praise this worthy dame, a Nimph which Dian holds full déer

That in such perfect frame, as mirror bright & christal cléer

Is set out to our view, thréefold as faire as shining Sunne,

For beauty grace and hue, a worke that hath great glory won,

A Goddes dropt from sky, for causes more then men may know

To please both minde & eie for those that dwels on earth below

And shew what heauenly grace, and noble secret power diuine.

Is séene in Pr [...]ncely face, that kind hath formd & [...]amd so fine.

Loe this is all I write, of sacred Phenix ten times blest,

To shew mine own delite, as fancies humor thinketh best.

FINIS.

§

§

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPfull, my Ladie Brocket, wife to Sir Iohn Brocket knight, one of the Lieutenants of Hartford Shire.

A Promise made to the good Ladie you Sister, who died in the Towre (good Madā) cōmands me to shape somwhat of good will & labour of pen, to present your La, withall, & for that I can not long liue in this world & must needs take leaue therof sooner than I looke for. I haue found out an old farewell that maie breed some new consideration, and [Page] such a running and rouing rime it is (I hope without offence) as rather shall procure laughter than lowring, it is enterlarded with conceits, and mixed with familiar termes, shortlie knit vp, and without all curious circumstances▪ as briefe to the Reader, as vntedious to the writer, hauing passed the censure of the world thirtie yeares agoe, and is now put in print againe for a passing of the time, and a farewell to the world. So hoping your La▪ receiues it in good part, the matter beginneth I trust to your content and good likeing.

FINIS.

A FAREVVELL VVHEN I VVENT to studie, written to the VVorld.

FArewell thou world, that me betrayde so long,

Too dearly bought, I find thy follies all:

Who shall thée serue, is sure to suffer wronge:

Who scornes thy haps, may shun thy sodaine fall

Who fauwnes on thee, shall drinke thy bitter gall:

Who flies thy toyes, thy painted face shall finde,

Who sooner slides, than those which at thy call,

Liues like thy slaues, in bodie, soule, and minde.

First from a child, with fancies was I fedd,

All at thy handes▪ till I to manhoode grue:

Than in the darke, loe blindfeld was I led

So that my God, my selfe, nor man I knew,

[Page]Wild wit, young blood, olde vice, new bred in bones,

Made mee forget, my dutie all at once.

Faire thinges, foule thoughts, fond workes & flattring ease,

Had muffled mee, and hoodwinckt so my wits

That in the stormes, I drade no Sillas seas,

Nor in the calmes I fearde no frowarde fits

UUhich were to come: thinges present pleasde me best

Those gone I made no mirror to the rest.

Bed soft, full mouth, gay backe and foolish fame,

Was all I sought, like Lord to liue at lust

At my nown shape, and shadowe had I game,

A looking glasse, a plaifféer trim at trust

To prie vppon, my life thus did I frame

Cleane out of tune, I sée it now full well

So that my life, was carelesse eury dell,

Yet founde I haue, a heape of other harmes

Therereby: what then, I cannot them amende,

When deade they seeme, than spring they vp by swarmes▪

Such mischiefe ript, will haue a rotten ende

Though at the full, the tide of them is now,

The Ebbe may come, when God a time shall send,

Leaue that to him, and I shall tell you how,

I learnde to know, the kind and course of man,

His nature new, his fashion halfe disguisde,

And how for shame, at length loe I beganne

To follow that, which I afore despisde.

Full welcome ought, that learning bee to mée

Which taught me wit, when wildnes weaude the loeme

Of wanton wayes, and blindnesse ganne to see

The path hee mist, the waie that led me home

Unto the Port, where I would harboured bee.

And rather dwell, with quiet setled minde,

Then roue abroade, to seeke vncertaine lucke,

Or subiect bee, to filthy worldly mucke.

I would not sure, be bound to suhc a clogge,

[Page]That would mee rob, of reason and good skill

And in the ende, but fish and catch a frogge,

As some haue done, and some doe vse it still,

Which snatch the bone, before the hungrie dogg [...]

UUho will not parte, from that hee hath in hold [...]

Althoug in deede, his mayster would it haue:

Unto this ende, this tale now I haue tolde,

To shew him wise, that knoweth what to craue.

And askes of those, that freely giues for nought,

But hee most wise, that hath no greedie thought.

And can content, him with those little scraps,

That fals by lot, vnto him for his share,

And findes no fault, at others wordly haps,

But hath a head, as free from inward care.

As babe new borne, yea such a one may smile,

And laugh his fill, where some cries woe the pye:

Hee shall see much, that hath a simple eye:

That man shall sée, the stronge the weake beguile,

The poore by ritch, and mightie swallowed vp,

The harmelesse drinke, out of the poisoned cup.

The needy lacke, that greedy raueners gripe,

The theeues let goe, that robbes in veluet weedes:

And sits on bench, when truth feeles many a stripe.

How feare is dubd, a knight for simple dedes,

How manhood begges, and none are helpt that néed [...]

How créepe in holes, that did no hurt at all,

Are valiaunt cald, such are the peoples brute:

The quiet man, these thinges beholde he shall,

And see them passe, and learne thereby some fruite.

As I haue done, though farre from quiet minde,

In any case, my selfe God wot I finde.

Saue that to toyle, and burthens for to beare,

I framed am, and lettes the world alone:

Amid my foes, that fawnes and speaks full feare.

I liue aloufe, and will not bee aknowne.

[Page]There hate I haue, I must dissemble there,

As doth those mates, which play at fortunes ball:

Do not some halt, that well may goe vpright:

Who can denie, but wee dissemble all

In some one point, and wisdome wee it call

Thinges are not found, as they doe seeme to sight.

Some laugh in heart, yet shewe a weeping eye,

You haue hard say, the blinde eates manie a flie.

How should the sad, with wantons mirth agree,

The whole with sicke, the wise with foolish dwell:

The proud with meeke, the meane with mightie bee

If all these sortes, could not dissemble well.

And euen so, it fareth nowe by mee

I wincke at thinges, that I would not be holde.

And see those fall, that profits mee no whit,

I heare likewise, that I can wish vntold:

I shoote with them, that neuer marke may hit:

But mee beléeue, yet winne the game I would.

Among that sort, that giuet ayme to sit.

I like not sure: I rather wish to bet

Then looke vppon, and lay on nere a sled.

Set doubts a part, it is good sport to get.

But he that winnes, must hazard néedes abide,

(I leaue you there) I would so make my game,

It were halfe won, before the match were tride,

And make him thinke, that hits the marke is wide.

And say himselfe, he roueth out of frame,

I pray you now, who would not doe the same,

To gaine thereby, or else at least to saue,

Then graunt me this, dissemble sure ye must,

As I may doe, or in time past I haue.

And made some blinde, that better saw then I.

And saw full oft, that I would not perceiue,

When that thereon, did life or daunger lie:

And yet I lookt, and l [...]er [...]d by your leaue,

[Page]What might befall, and sought to shun the shock [...].

And as I fled, ill fortune followed fast,

When shée should strike, I scaped many a knocke,

By donking downe, I knew so well her cast,

With cap and knée, her fauour soone I wan.

So in a while, shee tooke me as her man.

But when I thought, most hold of her to take,

Away shée went, the whirle winde in her taile.

Yet with her friends, faire weather did I make.

Whose helpe was good, when world began to faile.

And if you aske, how I acquainted was,

With such sure props, that holdes vp house and all,

And how that I, could bring such things to passe.

To keepe me vp, when diuerse sought my fall.

(His fall not great, it cannot be I trow,

Whose climing vp, was neuer much you know)

This by the way, I speake yet aunswere loe,

To you I make, that this demaunds of me,

To court I came, where I could heare and sée,

As others did, and with the strong I stood,

As world did wag, I wound my barke about.

And leand me there, where I could finde most good,

In deede this was, the way to beare it out,

And there I found, of euery sort inow:

Would I be braue, I knew where mates were had,

Would I be stoute, I saw who will not bow,

Hie lookes was he, that still I saw goe throw,

That ship made way, that all the sailes could beare.

Small sprite sate low, with finger in his eare,

Great curchy crept, full hie among the best.

He made them laugh, that lookt as he would sweare,

He carried coales, that could abide no gest.

Plaine life the lout, was little set by there,

Fine t [...]unting tongues, brought many a foole in fear

Make loue the méeke, was ready at a call.

[Page]Faine would be séene, was fisking euery were,

Set foorth to sale, was markt beyond them all.

Uaine glorie smilde, and lookt for much adoe,

New-fanglenesse, shakt off old friendship past,

Fine fall at foote, could whine and bite you toe,

Proud blind conceit, would not bée placed last.

Small wit would laugh, at wiser than him selfe,

Disdaine that dwarft, lookt like a péeuish elfe.

Straunge nature fround, when homely folkes sate downe,

Full purse found friendes, that came to late to towne.

Set by himselfe, would not salute but sewe:

Small worth made boast, still mouth was all the shrewe.

Tell all that blab, was calde a royster than,

False semblaunce thriude, that could two faces beare.

Happie was hee, that was a turnecoates man,

They sped not worst, that counterfayted weare,

Do as world did, draue off the longest time:

He had the landes, that was Dicke shifters eare,

He caught the birdes, that best could set the lime,

Yet broken shinnes, some gate that vsde to clyme.

Spite spurnde at those, that better sped than hée,

All busie heades, could not on shoulders bide:

They met full oft, that seldome could agrée,

Who fell so soone, as wit orematch with pride?

Who rose but such, as ruffled foorth their yeares,

Yet change of sutes, brought many in the bryers.

White plummes cost pence, apparell pickt the purse

All worne in Court, was not in Citie payde,

Sharpe set, said oft, backe cloutes made belly worse.

Bare cloake he ware, whose credite was decayed,

Catch nought poore knaue, could Court and Courtiers curse,

Spend all s [...]te still, and looked like a maide,

Hope well made spoyle, and waighted for a day,

Unthrift would sweare, and dice it all away.

Tosse blade would snuffe, and shake a swinish heade,

[Page]Dare do lookt bigge, as butcher in his shop:

Saue-grote smeld out; where hunger may be sped,

Proude would not speake, that sate not at the top.

When lurch was out, some knew not where to dine,

Who kéepes the barre, was asked euery houre,

Some speake full faire, to get a cup of wine,

God saue yée sir, will please you take a flower.

A swéete red Rose, hée had that kept good chéere:

And many a cap, and courchy to the grounde,

An officer still, was made of all the yeare,

Old stagers knew, where such a friend was founde.

Young frie might fast, for any thing they gate,

New commers walkt, abroad for taking colde:

Full paunch did martch, as hee had béene a state,

Who lookes like me, thought he that chippings solde

UUhen Christmas roobes, were brusht & that day worne,

Well was that man, might bid that sainct good morne.

Beare rule stood stiffe, and kept his betters out,

Boldface thrust in, throw thickest prease and throng,

Hoffe haue at all, full hie could hold the snout,

Speake as hée thought, was not in fauour long,

Find fault the soole, would flyer in each mans face,

Rich rulde the rost, lacke friends felt all the wrong,

Bare life knew not, to whom to shew his case,

Wast all the wield, might sing a heauy song.

Hoyst vp in ha [...], forget from whence hee came

Hie office scornde, to looke backe how hee clymde,

Hogge Norton br [...]d, disdaine to know their dame,

Pride scarde no fall, till foote full fast was lymde,

Snatch scratched all, and giue his fellows none,

Neede lickt the plates, and gnawed bare the bone,

Mounch present crept, in corners all alone▪

Hau [...]cke was made, where meat was little séene:

Unworthy of bread, fardewell God saue the Queene.

Spoyle would not spare, his charges was but small,

[Page]Make feast fild in, the King did paie for all.

Seeke helpe, spake faire, yet sloly sped his sute,

Giue bribes was heard, his money tould his tale,

Lacke nought had more, but want could find no fruite

Neede blew his nailes, and looked verie stale.

Skill for a shifte, was glad to teach for pence,

Old hangers on, would not be beaten thence.

Wit did inuent, but wealth bare all the brute:

Boldnesse did speake, when bashnes was full mute.

Cunning wrought much, but craft beyond him crept,

Poets made rimes, but roysters praises rept,

Wisedome would waite, on many a woodcock oft,

Old broomes were good, but new all cleane they swept,

Loue ease sate long, and lookt to lie full softe.

Eate much would boast, he serud our suffrant long,

Fat browes Knightes, I tell you tooke great payne,

Some went full gaie, that was not worth a thong.

Some threw at all, and nicked euery mayne.

Hée talkt of warres, that had small wit in peace,

Scarse knew himselfe, would common wealthes debate:

He spake great thinges, that swelted in his greace.

Witlesse wel di [...]de, would be a Lordes checke mate,

Loe croucht vnto, a sore Discourse would make,

Make roume my friends (quoth he) that kept the gate

Craft had a care, to all hee did or spake,

Unwelcome guestes, stept in and a [...]t no leaue,

Some pleasde the prince, yet had the peoples hate.

Some serude them both, and did them both deceiue.

He neare sate still, that courried fauor well:

Some playde the foxe, that like a goose could looke,

Some askd what newes, and yet could wonders tell,

Small mind of God, would often beare a booke,

He went to masse, that would the Challice sell,

Some loude the Church, for the swéete relickes there

Some made of saincts, brought vp another where:

[Page]Some neyther sainct, nor Deuill fearde at all,

Some like this world, more than the world to come:

Some in their ruffe, would iet about the hall,

Some spent such nights, they dread no day of dome,

Some watch their time, and yet their time they lost,

Some banquets made, and weare banckrout at last:

Some learnde to bee, fine Courtiers to their cost.

Some had small helpe, and yet spent all full fast.

Some sought to spend, vppon anothers charge,

Some carelesse liude, and walkt abroad at large,

Some craude apace, and caught some crummes by craft,

Some could not aske, they thought desarts should craue,

Some made faire sale, of blades louse in the haft.

Some neuer wanne, nor could deuise to saue.

Some wayted hard, but gate small fruite therefore,

Some had ill happe, and yet no vertue lackt:

Some saude odde endes, and made of little more,

Some had their bagges, as full as could bée thwakt.

Some made colde mirth, yet fauoured for such vice,

Who Fortune liket, was euer most in price.

All this in Court, I saw of them good store

F [...]ll twentie yeares, as trial good I haue,

Not of Court now, as Court hath béene of yore,

I write, I speake, and treat so God mee saue.

To show wherefore, from thence I mee withdrew,

What harme it did, vnto my betters farre.

What good likewise, hee gate that Court well knew,

How some did make, and some therein did marre.

But to bee playne, where I such chaunges founde,

I list not dwell, let them that will bee bounde

To that short rayne, I choose the quiet soyle

The Countrey large, to haue free scope to walke,

To bee in Court, I count it but a toyle.

Where harte much thinkes, and tongue dare little talke.

Where some must site, and looke vppon the walles:

[Page]And beat their héeles, against formsides all day,

And subiects are, to others becks and cals,

That life is weake, wherein their is no stay,

A péece of bread, is better had with eas.

Then bankets swéete, vppon such bitter bordes

Some say there is, no fishing to the Seas,

Yet many Troutes, are caught on little fordes,

That shallow séeme, with other pretty fishe.

That at the length, will make an honest dishe,

On little brookes, men angle safe and dry.

In leather bootes, and dread no drowning there,

On these rough Seas, the least winde in the sky.

Tipes vp the Barke, or brings a man in feare,

Some haue no hearts, with roaring waues to striue.

Full gréene to sight, and vggly to the eie.

Which on the rockes, the silly vessels driue.

And knocks their Kéeles, and makes poore Pilots cry

Hale in the saile, let goe the bowling mate.

Now in good faith, such soddaine shocks I hate,

Yet some will thinke, I am not setled so,

But I will séeke, to try the Sea againe,

Why is the Earth, so narrow would I know,

I cannot finde, where I may well remaine.

The world is wide, and men must burthens beare,

That ordaind are, vnto no better chance.

That growes not here, takes roote an other where,

Some shooteth ill, yet hapneth by a glaunce,

To hit their game, men ought to doe their best.

And séeke their lucke, and let God worke the rest.

So for my part, I shall likewise procéede,

And though I bid, the Court and world farewell,

I meane to vse, them both as I haue néede.

But for to say, in Court I wish to dwell,

I minde it not, as God me helpe and spéede,

And for the world, his yoke still draw I must.

[Page]But sure I serue, him all against my lust,

For in the same, is neither hope nor trust,

Wherefore my leaue, I take as powre I haue,

From him and his, though course of life saith no.

A worldling here, I must be to my graue.

For this is but, a May game mixt with woe,

A borrowde roulme, where we our Pageants playe.

A skaffold plaine, whereon we reuels make.

A crooked path, a parlous false high way,

A toilesome soile, where we much trauell take,

Good Reader now, doe neither sting nor hisse,

At any thing, that in this verse is pl [...]est,

Where fault is found, for fauour mend the misse.

This rouing rime, was slubberd vp in hast,

And nought thereby, the simple writer ment,

But neither Court, nor world could him content.

FINIS.

A Tragicall Discourse of a dolorous Gentlewoman, dedicated to all those Ladyes that holdes good name precious.

YOu wiues that wish, to liue with worlds renowne,

And wisely way, the worth of precious fame:

Come heare the voice, that giues a woefull sowne.

Come heare her tale, that dare not shew her name▪

Come Countrey youth, come noble Courtly Dame.

And marke my words, whose workes in wondring daies,

With double blotte, redounds to my dispraise.

From tender yeares, till twenty two were past,

[Page]I nourisht was, at pompe at pleasures pap [...],

But who can tell, how long our ioy shall last:

For greatest calmes, comes oft to thunder claps,

And swéetest hopes, doe change to sowrest haps,

O tickle time, that wanders swift as winde,

With haire before, and bare and bald behind.

No gripe nor hand, can take sure hold of thée,

Thou flitst so fast, and leaues the world at worst,

Looke what time brings, time takes away you sée.

Good time is blest, bad time we hold accorst.

Time hurts them oft, that time did helpe at forst,

Looke what we haue, when youth is most in prime,

That shall we want, in age by course of time.

My fresh delights, doe fall and fade like flowre,

The blossomes gay, from beauties buds are gone,

Our state of life, doth alter euery howre,

As pleasures passe, come sorrowes pacing on,

The world it selfe, is like a rowling stone,

And on such whéeles, our tombling haps doe runne,

They slide as swift, as shadow in the Sunne.

Whiles carelesse witte, doth carry youth about,

(To sports and plaies, that doth from pastime rise)

The merry minde, is voide of feare and doubt,

And all the powres, are glad to please the eyes,

But when wilde head, or wanton waxeth wise,

The waighty thoughts, that déepe foresight retaines,

Brings troubled sleepes, and breaks the quiet brains.

In childishe daies, I made no count of chaunce,

When friends tooke care, to match me to their will,

So hoping long, good hap would me aduaunce,

I kept me frée, from wedlockes bondage still.

[Page]But parents wise, that had good worldly skill,

With open checks, rebukt the causes chief [...],

The more they stirde, the greater grew my griefe.

As when a sore, is rubde and handled hard,

The lesse it heales, because yée touch it néere:

O Fathers graue, if that you tooke regard,

How that with checks, you vse your children déere,

(Or in your moodes, you would some reason héere.

They should be ioynde, where they great ioy should haue.

And you of them, enioy the thing you craue.

But wilfull men, (that wealth may wrest awry)

Will force poore babes, to marry or to morne:

What father wil, the childe may not deny.

He hurts his shins, against the pricke shall spurne,

When match is made, it is past time to turne.

When silly Lambe, is to the slaughter led,

The Butchar brags, the simple Sheepe is dead.

And yet in déede, twere better children smart,

(And match in time, as cause and matter moues).

Then childrens choise, should breake the fathers hart

Or bréede debate, as wilfull marriage proues,

Short is the ioy, of them that longest loues,

When want comes on, and woe begins to wring:

For lacke is thrall, and slaue to euery thing.

Loue is not now, as loue hath béene of old,

(A gamesome babe, to dandle on the knée)

Loue cares for nought, but land and bags of gold,

That keepes both man, and horse in stable frée,

They haue no witt, that other louers be,

Wealth maister is, and porter of the gate:

That lets in loue, when want shall come to late.

[Page]

Well as it was, my friends could doe no good,

My fortune bore, the sway and ruled all,

And I full long, on will and fréedome stood:

Till flesh and bloud, must néeds to fancy fall.

And then though hap, and worldly wealth was small

I lighted where, I likte and loued well;

And where I vowde, for terme of life to dwell.

My choise was likte, for many gifts of grace,

He had, though wealth, sometime was not at will:

And for his sake, in many a noble place,

I welcome was, and purchast fauour still.

My candle blasoe, like torch on top of hill:

And for content, of minde where loue doth rest.

Mine owne poore choise, might passe among the best.

Long liude we thus, at home and eke abroad,

When kindred cleane, in déede forsooke vs both.

What burthen fell, I helpt to beare the load:

And glad in world, to taste how Fortune goth,

The minde I had, to God and sacred othe,

Made me refuse, no trauaile for his sake▪

Whome of frée will, I choose to be my make.

The Seas we sailde, the land we rode about,

The Court we saw, the towne we dwelt long in:

The fields we walkt, the gardens gay throughout,

We went vnto, where many a feast hath bin,

We could not sincke, for hap held vp the chin.

He prosperd well, and looke what God had sent,

With louing wife, at home the same he spent.

He tooke great paines, to come by that he had,

And trauailde sore, through many a forraine soile:

To bring that home, that makes the houshold glad.

[Page]And kéepe the wife, and houshold folke from [...]oile,

And I tooke care, that nothing went to spoile,

And looke in deede, what things that I did lacke,

Was seene in face, or found vppon my backe.

The world might sée, I went in garments good,

Though small I brought, to him as I confesse:

I spent him much, and at great charge I stood.

Which brings strong harts, somtime to great distres▪

But neuer that, might make his loue the lesse.

For looke how he▪ his liking first beganne,

In fine for troth, he proude the selfe same manne.

I could not sléepe, but where in bed he lay,

I could not eate, but where he sate at boorde:

I could not laugh, when liking was away,

I silent sat, gaue he but halfe a woorde.

Ill newes of him, strake me with mortall sword,

His minde and mine, did draw so in one yoke,

The selfe same sittes, he felt where of I spoke.

Full seauen yeares, this constant course we kept,

Though often times, there happened houshold iarrs,

And tratling tales, that in betweene vs crept.

Made many wounds, where yet remains the scarrs.

Yet alwaies peace, tooke vp our brawling warrs,

And we did seeke, to salue each others sore:

And passe old griefes, and thinke thereon no more.

Swéete is that peace, that patcheth vp great harmes,

Sharpe is the warre, that teares a house in [...]waine.

Woe worth those words, that brings in braule [...] by swarms.

Darke be those cloudes, that alwaies threatens raine.

Curst be the cause, that breedeth woe and paine,

And damnde in Hell, those subtill spirites shalbe:

[Page]That councell gaue, to part my choise from me.

Well as our chaunce, together was to ioyne,

And dwell long while, as here in briefe you hard:

So happe came on, (through hope of wealth or coine)

And drew my choise, where he might be prefarde▪

To warres, and I, that had a great regard:

To him that time, when I his minde did know:

Gaue my consent, that he to warres should goe.

With sighes and sobs, and bitter teares among,

We parted tho, with promise surely past:

That one should heare, from other ere twere long,

And sadly so, we seured at the last,

His goods, his gold, his friends both firme and fast.

He left me then, to comfort me withall,

But nere a childe, as Fortune so did fall.

He past the seas, and sent me tokens still,

And money such, as might supply my néede:

And for to shew, his faith and great good will,

Long Letters large, he made that I might réede.

Of promise past, and to come home in déede,

But to what end, should serue this businesse great,

My minde was turnde, warme loue had lost his heat.

A new fine man, both young and apt for chaunge,

I those, and cleane, forgat my former ioy:

And in a while, I was become so straunge.

As Hagard Hauke, that takes in head a toy,

And flées from Lure, and wa [...]eth nice and coy.

My wedlocke now, not hearing of these newes,

Made no hast home, till I was ore the shewes.

Yet knacks I wrought, to bleare my husbands eies,

[Page]I made a bruite, be blowne that I was dead:

When that he heard, he did his life despise:

And so forsooke, sléepe, rest, and tast of bread,

He rent his haire, he sadly shooke his head,

He walkt the woods, and shunned all repaire,

As one would be, deuourd with fowles of thaire.

He daily bledde, when little foode he tooke,

He would not come, where woemen were in place,

And he so leane, and like a Ghost did looke.

That Death it selfe, was seene amid his face,

A noble Earle, as he beheld this case:

Brake with the man, that thus tormented was,

And so in sports, the troubled time did passe.

But ague [...]its▪ and sicknesse followed on,

That in poore plite, came home my husband thoe,

Not leane in purse, but bare and néere the bone,

The bodye then, was worne with warre and woe,

And yet full sound, as al the world might know,

His limmes I saw, but I so nice did waxe:

There was no flame, of fire might come to flaxe.

For I could wéepe, and quench by cunning art,

The hottest loue, that euer husband bore:

And so two yeares, I plaied a Foxes part,

Which ere I die, I may repent full sore,

My husbands bedde, I shund, and furthermore,

I fainde I had▪ a sickenesse let it goe,

I neuer minde, that folly forth to shoe.

A finer [...]ricke, to compasse that I [...]ought,

I plaide through fleight▪ and casting figures trim:

To my good man, a bastard g [...]rle I brought,

And from my friend▪ presented her to him:

[Page]Hée saw thereby, the find runne ore the brime,

Yet kept it close, and sayd nothing at all:

Till out by chaunce, might further matter fall.

And alwayes would, my husbande tell mée plaine,

I did him wronge, to keepe mee from his bedde:

But I could vse, him in a pleasaunt vaine,

And make him soone, forgett that hee had sedde.

My doore was lockt, howe ere I layde my head,

My maydes and I, kept solempne cheare alone:

How euer playne, poore husbande made his mon [...].

Two yeares this wise▪ I shoeffled Cardes full cleane,

Till husband spied, a Letter of my hande:

Whereby hee found, what follie I did meane,

But I was bent, against my déede to stande.

So faest him down, and swore when all was scande

It was not mine, but as hee soundly slept:

To his beds side, my mayde and I wee stept.

And heaude him vp, and so from bolster than,

Wee tooke his purse, wherein the Letter laye:

When that wée had, wee left the sillie man,

As saffe as hee, that sléepes in Cocke of haye,

Well, when he lookt, in purse the other daye,

And found my fraude, and falshood as it was:

Out of the doore, in furie did hee passe.

Yet came againe, that night and so fell sicke,

(The cause whereof, soone after you shall here:)

Full long hee lay, and toucht so neere the quicke,

That he was like, to buy that sicknesse dere.

But when on foote, hee stept and all was cleare,

He had farewell, fal [...] wife, God send thée grace▪

Thy wicked wayes, mak [...]s husband giue thee place.

[Page]

I saw how world, would wonder at this act,

And straight new tales, on husband ganne I rayse:

With forged lies, and rayling reasons rackt,

That still should sound, vnto his most disprayse.

I faynde one while, hee vsed wanton wayes,

With euery mayde, that hee might touch or see:

And then he was, to sicke a soule for mee.

Then poore hee was, I sayde to cloke my pride,

When this serude not, I [...]wore the man was madd,

And in his rage, would beate mee backe and side,

So euery daie, a new deuice I had.

To make the world, beléeue hee was too bad,

And at the length, when all I had was sold:

My mayde and I: goe trie the world we wold.

So shutting doore, and trusting vp my pack [...],

I flang from home, not bidding friendes farewell:

But I had not, no sooner turnde my backe,

But husband heard, how all this matter fell.

And yet alone, awhile hee let mée dwell,

Till that hee saw, I was so farre past shame:

I carde not what, became of honest name.

Indeed the house, where I my residence made,

With [...]ustie Lads, was haunted euery houre,

And I had those, that well could tosse the blade,

To take my part, if husband ganne to lowre.

His friendes were weake, and I with strongest power,

Beganne to bragge, and threaten him full sore:

And had preparde, a bloodie band therefore.

I sought to bring, my brethren to this braule,

But they were wise, and would no quarrell take:

And putting off, the harmes that might befall,

[Page]They wisely wrought, a fraindly peace to make.

But euer I, good counsell did forsake,

And thought to make, my husband hide his heade:

By practise still, till he poore man were dead.

Yet in a moode, when least I lookt therefore,

He came and tolde, me all was much amisse:

Whereat I cried, alas and lowde I rore,

For neighbours helpe, who quickely hearing this,

Came thrusting in, as ofte the manner is,

How now good folke, quoth he with bended brow:

Twéene man and wife, dare you bee sticklars now.

No in good fayth, quoth they and so retierd,

But still I lookt, for other succour there:

And for that thing, that husband then desired,

I tooke no care,

For poisning her maister▪

I ment a further feare.

To bring him in, yet maide in giuing eare,

To honest wordes, fell downe on knées at last:

And pardon craude, for priuie knauerie past.

My husband then, forgaue her and tooke leaue,

In hope my mind, would gentle waxe thereby:

But I that ment, my husband to deceaue,

In better place, beganne a greater crie.

Where women were, that markt my weeping eye,

And thought indeed, I had béene handled ill:

So stayde me there, perforce among them still.

My husband swore, I should receiue no harme,

And home againe, I should be safely brought:

But I had taught, the women such a charme,

They would not then, depart from me for nought.

That could be sayde, thus hee like wa [...]e was wrought,

And tempred so, that home without his wife:

[Page]He went awaie, the more my shamlesse life.

When shamef [...] lookes, forsooke my modest face,

I waxt so bold, I blusht no more than blocke:

Then clapt on Robes, of gaie vaine-glories grace,

With colours faire, to paint a foule blacke stocke.

Yet calde I was, a Henne for each good Cocke,

A morsell sweete, a whetstone fine forsoth:

To set on edge, on euery daintie tothe.

I carde not how, my husband murthred were,

By Magicks force, or any Diuilish arte:

I shoude his sight, and presence euery where,

As one that lodgde, disdaine in hatefull harte.

And still I playde, full many a filthie parte,

To rid him hence, and take awaie his life:

Who God preserude, to plague a paltring wife.

And for to hide, those brainesicke prankes of mine,

I had a knacke to breake the marriage bande:

And so a dragme, or draught of poyson fine,

I did deuise, to hap in husbands hand.

And as that cuppe, on tables ende did stand,

With feruent thirst, he came and so it raught,

And in that heat, dranke of the mortall draught.

When guiltie heart, should make my face to blushe,

I braude it out, in silkes and Ueluets gaye:

And carde not what, world sayde of mee a rushe,

For I tooke time, e [...]e time would weare awaye.

(At gracelesse games, and many a shamelesse play [...])

And sowing seedes, that Nettle flowers brought foorth:

I reapt but weedes, or thistles nothing woorth.

I rufled long, when husbande barely went,

[Page]And faste him out, in stréets or ciuill towne,

My freends did force the man to stand content,

It was no boote, to striue or sweare me downe.

For I had made the world on him to frowne,

And raisde a brute, that he was bedlem mad:

Thus loe, of him the conquest still I had.

My haunt was such emong the noblest sorte,

That I was calde a sober Sibill sage:

And worthy wits would build on my reporte,

For I knew how to flatter euery age.

And alwaies wrought to make my husband rage

Wherby his life in hazard hard might fall:

And I the while run cleane away with ball.

I loued not one but lusted after all,

The puddell [...]oule, was fittest for a gigge:

The fountaine faire did drinke like bitter gall,

In filthy mud I wallowd like a pigge.

About the streets was gadding gentle rigge.

With clothes tuckt vp to set bad ware to sale:

For youth good stuffe, and for olde age a stale.

A louing looke could make a Gudgeon bite,

A fine du gard could fetch in scoles of fish:

A cunning knacke could stir vp colde delight,

A glittring girle could feede a wantons wish.

And who doth not desire a dainty dish,

Whose sugred taste breeds secret eger moode:

That faine would feed, & findes most fearfull food.

I could in stréet bestur and stretch my limmes,

As though some sprite were vnder outward show

Who angleth not for fish that smoothly swims?

At pleasant mark who doth not bend the bowe?

[Page]Small shafts are shot at many a cerraine Crowe,

Then if faire birds doo hap to come in way:

Blame not the Hauke that makes of foule a pray.

Not beauty here, I claime by this my talke,

For browne and blacke I was God blesse the ma [...]ke:

Who cals me faire dooth scarce know Cheese from chalke,

For I was formd when winter nights was darke.

And Natures workes tooke light at little sparke,

For kinde in scorne had made a moulde of Iette:

That shone like cole, wherin my face was set.

Thrée yéeres I straied like waffe that waxeth wilde,

Two more at least I lay from husbands bed:

And all this while I vsde him like a childe,

For at no time I neither wrote ne sed.

Ne sent to him, such toyes I had in head.

That stomacke [...]iffe thought not to stoupe a whit:

For stubborne Colte in teeth had got the bit.

He let me run oer hedge, oer hill and dale.

And would not plucke the raines of bridle back:

I could tell why, but therby hangs a tale,

Would make me blush and shew of grace great lacke.

I had my will, whiles all thing went to wracke,

What néeds more words, I ran so rude a race:

I neuer thought againe to turne my face.

What sleight scapes frée, from subtill searching head,

What wit workes not to serue lewde womens wyles:

What practise flies the foile of stained bed,

What is not wonne with words or worldly guiles.

What will not yéeld and faune where Fortune smiles,

What time is lost to gaine that women craue:

And all procéeds from waiward will we haue.

[Page]

If that we loue, the fury lasts not long,

If once we hate, our malice hath no end:

If that we minde to offer husband wrong,

We want no wit the quarrell to defend.

Our stuborne hart had rather break then bend,

And custome hath among vs made such lawes:

That all our sexe will take our part and cause.

And where the floud and streame of strife doth runne,

In comes the tide of dayly troubles great:

Yea where a storme or braule is once begun,

All bitter blasts repairs and breathes out heat.

the eyes will stare, the face will frowne and sweat,

The tung must clap, the head wil shake and nod:

And hart within hath cleane forgotten God.

Fréends must be wrought with blades to band it out,

Foes must be whipt and scourged in their kinde:

Worlde shalbe tost and turned round about,

Still to maintain the mischeefe of the minde.

Tale bearers then shall lye within the winde,

To bring bad newes and set the house a fier:

That flamde before with sparkes of spites desire.

My practise strange can all these plagues vnfolde,

That better were lapt vp in silence héer [...]:

Too late to call againe that tung hath tolde,

The wise should sell their words and worship déere.

But since in world my selfe I cannot cleere,

I wil goe through this heauy tale of mine:

That world may well at wicked waies repine.

Long after this he heard that I lay sicke,

And then from Court he comes with right great spéed:

Do comfort me that was both sound and quick,

[Page]To play the Fox or knaue againe for néed.

But though that time I would not be agréede,

I tooke his wine and sent him so away:

With scorne enough in signe of parting day.

For since that time he neuer saw my face,

Nor had no minde to come where was my haunt:

And since that storme I had so little grace,

In euery soile I make my boste and vaunte.

I conquerd him and so I doo you graunt,

For three yéeres more I haue doon what I please:

And liue at large in lust and lordly ease.

And these fiue yéeres I haue doon what I can,

By tung and art and figures that I cast:

And euery way to shame my plaine good man,

which shame I feare will sure be mine at last.

I am so learnd I can play loose and fast,

My skill is such in Planets hye and low:

I rule the Skies and heauens where I goe.

Good Fortunes sure some say that I can tell,

And many things by figures I vnfolde:

I say no more but wish that all were well,

For he that doth this wicked world beholde.

whose Godhead séeeth into this massie moulde.

Knowes well how oft I tread my shooe awry:

And in what plight my sinfull soule dooth lye.

And if this God regarde with angry chéere,

The vice on earth that vainely we commit:

And straitly looke vnto my dooings heere,

And like a Iudge in trembling conscience sit.

I am condemd, there serues ne force nor wit,

Out is my Lamp, the oyle hath lost his light:

[Page]And my faire day is turnd to foule blacke night.

The searching heads that sifts my manners throw,

Will shrinke aside when I draw néere their view:

The wiuely dames that seeth my blotted brow,

In my behalfe will blush and change their hue.

The gentle harts that others harmes doth rue,

Will much lament my life so lewdly runne:

And cleane vntwist the threed good name hath spun.

The basest dame (whose faults are borne in brest)

Wil scorne to heare my folly blazde abroad:

The frumping flocke at me will make a iest,

The spitefull swarme wil poulte and swell like tode.

My guilty minde that beares moste heauy lode,

Will sinke downe right when worlde shall talke of grace:

And shame her selfe will slubber all my face.

The two braue boies I had from husbands bed,

That Stoner got, staines now my honest name:

And witnes beares to world when I am dead,

Of secret sins that purchast open shame.

I kept that close long like a cunning dame,

Till husband had found out my paultring life:

Then he at Bathe forsooke his cogging wife.

The foule reports that dayly I giue him,

Rebounds like ball to mine owne bosome straight:

Yet I with craft fac'te out the matter trim,

But still I beare the blot for all my sleight.

My backe so crackes vnder this heauy weight,

That all the ioynts and bones I beare about:

Uofoldes my faults and filthy manners out.

The sober sorte that sets by noble brute,

[Page]Will shake their heads as they my boldenesse spie:

The clapping tungs will neuer sure be mute,

Shreawd people all, will shewe alowryng eye.

But still I feare, the Lorde that sits on hye,

Will loke more strange, on me so late disgraste:

Then all the worlde that here beneath are plaste.

The Church wherin both faith and hand I gaue,

Shall witnes beare of breach of promise due?

The spousall bed and mariage day so braue,

Shall make me calde▪ forsworne and most vntrue.

the holye booke, the olde law and the new,

Against my soule shall such sharpe sentence giue:

In other worlde where sprite desires to liue.

Let matrons chaste, and modest wiues eche one,

That falshood hates, and loues their troth to kéepe:

In fury come, and fling at me a stone,

And let no wight my death bewaile nor wéep.

Let daies vnrest and dreadfull dreames in sléepe,

Pursue me still and bring me to my graue:

Since God and man I so offended haue.

The steps I tread shall tell me my offence,

the féelds I walke shall bring my fault to minde,

The harmes I did in worlde shall haste me hence,

The wealth I wish shall waste and weare with winde.

The fame I séeke shall fling me far behinde,

And all good things that vertuous wiues enioy:

At my most need shal turne to mine annoy.

The wise that weighes my wiles in ballance right,

Shall see my wit want weight and be but ba [...]e:

The foole himselfe shall finde my iudgement light,

In making choise to chop and change my race.

[Page]The poore shall point at me in euery place,

The rich, and those that sway and rule doth heare:

With curbe of Law shall bring lewde life in feare.

The freends I had shall froune and shun my sight,

The foes I haue shall follow me with shame:

The neighbour loue that pleasde me day and night,

Shall now draw backe and looke on losse of name.

The merrie mate and homely countrey dame,

And all the towne and soyle where I was borne:

In Parish Church shall laugh my life to scorne.

The bande once broke that God himselfe hath blest,

Brings worldly woe, and curses in by swarmes:

The mariage marde that God made for mans rest,

Turnes vpside downe, from happie helpe to harmes.

The Bridall bed defiled with lothsome charmes,

Breedes wicked smoke, and smoothing slanders base:

On whose foule sume a worlde of people gaze.

The knot of loue vnknit by hateful cause,

Calles greefes to count, and cries to clouds for aide:

The lewde contempt and breach of sacred lawes,

Makes euery howre offendour sore afraid.

The fickle faith that is with scourges paide,

Bids falshood flie the plague that is preparde:

For those who lookes to life with small regarde.

No rouffling troupe that s [...]ash and swill vp wine,

Can ward the blowes that wrath of God sends downe:

No cunning knacks nor knacking fetches fine,

Can conquer troth and thrust him out of towne.

No treasons traine can take way true renowne,

No cloud can cloke the craft that all men findes:

No salue but grace can heale infected mindes.

[Page]

My hollow heart hath lost the hope I had,

What drops in now, doth doubt and daunger bring:

In husband [...] cares, I spake that made me glad,

With newfound friends, I talke that makes me wring.

The first good will, from vertuous loue did spring,

The last delite, and all that since fell out:

Began on lust, and néeds must end in doubt

Now open stréets, by Dule flight must I walke,

And secret nookes, and shifts must shadow fleight:

Except I care not what the world doth talke,

And mind to frame a crooked matter streight.

And then though pride, holdes head a wonders height,

Shame pluckes downe heart, and makes mee blush at last:

But well away, that signe of grace is past.

Though in the téeth, I haue the bridle got,

And that I run beyond my riders reach:

I dare not sing, in queere too hie a note,

For feare of checke, and tuter do me teach.

I play boe péepe, least people me appeach,

I séeme a Saint, when diuelish things I meane:

Yet much adoo, I haue to carrie cleane.

O wretched change, that brings repentance oft,

O bitter sweet, whose tast deceiues vs all:

O poysoned lust, that puffes vp pride aloft,

O gracelesse game, full farc'st with sugred gall.

O tripping trust, that swiftly giues a fall,

O spitefull sport, that spends thy youth in shame:

And brings thine age, in horrour and defame.

O greedy will, that gaines but griefe of minde,

O gnawing worme that frets the conscience still:

O wicked Art, that strikes the senses blind,

[Page]O leude desire, more hote than Ethna hill,

O beastly blisse, begun on bold consait:

And doth bewitch, them all that bites the bayte.

O paultring playe, and péeuish pastime vaine,

O sliding ioy, that sinckes where suretie swims:

O perlous toye, and pleasure mixt with paine,

O Peacocke proude, that still fond feathers trims.

O lustie blood, nay wanton lothsome limes,

That stoupes to filth, and costly carrein gaye:

That giues bad gold, and steals good name awaye.

My merry mates, and minsing minions fine,

Speakes faire a while, to winne their leude desire:

But wilely world, can let me starue and pine,

And for reward, can giue a flout or flire.

So lead mee on, and leaue me in the mire,

And blab all out, that hath béen closely wrought:

O prankes of youth, O painted thing of nought.

O puddell soule, that séemes at first full faire,

O cause of care, and source of sorrow sowre:

O deadly hope, and ground of deepe dispaire,

O pleasant weede, and stincking rotten flowre,

O rauening wolues, that doth poore wiues deuoure,

O smiling théeues, that robbs the chastest harte:

O trayterous tongues, that can play Iudas parte.

You layd your traynes, as Foulers laies his nette,

You bosome Snakes, your sting hath me vndone:

By louing you, at length what shall I gette,

When you me lothe, where shall the cast off run.

Wo worth that wight, that woing first begun,

Curst be the crast, that causeth clamours ryes:

And vengeaunce fall, vppon your staring eyes.

[Page]

A plague consume, your songes and subtell sutes,

A wildfire catch, your combrous knauish braynes:

A murrein take, your foule vntimely fruites,

A canker eate, your handes and azure vaines.

The Haggs of Hell, reward you for your paines,

Both pen and ynke, and all that helpt desire:

(And you your selues) I wish in flaming fire.

Fie on your scroules, and Pistells full of lies,

An Oten strawe, for all your stately stiells:

Your frisled haire, and noughtie new-fond guise,

Your Lordly lookes, your simpring shameles smilles

Your wanton talke, and priuie wincking willes,

I here bequeath, to Sathan and his crue:

Good fellows fitte, for such false ladds as you.

You are the frothe, and scumme of worldes delite,

The dalling whelpes, that can with feathers playe:

Of mischiefs all, the marke, the butte, and white▪

The iolly Frie, that followes flood each waie.

The gallant flocke, the stately starres of day,

The busie Bées, that can no honey make:

But spoylers of, each fruit and flowre yée take.

The waiting dogges, that bite before they barke,

The couching currs, that snatch at euery flie:

The figboies fine, that iuggles in the darke,

The cunning crue, that at receit can lie.

The sooking sponge, that drawes faire fountains dry,

The greedy houndes, that follows eurie game:

The blott and staine, of each good womans name.

A robe or ring, or trifling token bare,

You giue for that, you neuer can restore,

Then are you [...]one, you haue your wished fare,

[Page]In straunger streames, you loue to stire your Ore▪

If honest wiues, but knew your prankes before,

They would as soone, sée of your suttle heds:

As by your drifts, goe staine their husbands bedds.

In marriage house, is friendly fastnesse found,

Though fare be meane, content fills vp the dish:

In bordell bowre, swéete banquets are vnsound,

Though dainties there, wee haue at will and wishe,

At home we take, in worth cold flesh or fish,

For warme good will, doth season so the chée [...]e,

That with small coste, we banquet all the yéere.

Abroad wee sit, as though we were affearde,

And scarce dare feede, or talke for taunts and nipps:

At home we rule, in spight of husbands bearde,

And play the Cooke, and so may licke our lipps.

Abroad for nought, our tongue is tane in tripps,

And then great hart, can neyther drinke nor eate:

Thus deere is bought, abroad our borrowde meate.

Looke what is sayd, at home in cloth is lappt,

There speach is frée, and honey sports wee vse:

O well awaie, that this misfortune hapt,

And that I did, my husband so abuse.

That I haue brought, my selfe into a muse,

Lost home thereby, lost God and good mens praise:

And now must run, a gadding all my daies.

A plague most fit, for them that vse to change,

A scourge wherein, the wrath of God is seene:

A staffe of strife, for pilgrime nothing strange,

A bléeding wounde, that makes my sorrow gréene.

A sore rebuke, for wits that ouer wéene,

A heauy crosse, and sent me for the nones:

[Page]To breake my will, and yet to bruse no bones.

But since my will, did weaue this wofull webbe,

That nee [...]s must make, a weede for wantons weare

And that my flood, is like to fall to ebbe,

By want of will, that ought low saile to beare.

To punish Soule, that else some other where,

Might suffer smart, I vow in hand to take,

A better life, and so false world forsake.

Away proud pompe, and costly garments nice,

Come mourning gowne, [...] clothe the careful wight:

Awaie vaine showes, and open signes of vice,

Come vertue now, and giue my Lampe more light▪

Come Summers day, adue darke winters night,

I loue to liue, and looke about mee farre:

When wound is heald, time may amend the scarre.

Away young Frie, that giues leawd Counsell nowe,

Awaie old trotts, that sets young flesh to sale:

Awaie foule sluttes, whose filth doth blott my browe,

Away trimme tongues, that néere told honest tale,

Awaie bold beastes, whose brabble bred my bal [...],

Away rude Waspes, you stong me through the brest.

Go [...]ite your heades, and let me liue in rest.

Awaie wild giggs, that bounceth like a topp,

Awaie ta [...]e louts, that fawne like whelps for nought:

Awaie light heades, that loues to chaunge and chopp,

Awaie fine witts, that many mischiefs wrought,

Awaie slee Snakes, that my destruction sought,

Away [...]alse shrewes, that neuer none may trust:

But such leawd girls, as are beguilde by lust.

Awaie faire speach, that me bewitch to long,

[Page]Away fowle workes, that fild my face with blurs,

Come home poore sence, that led my fancy wrong:

And packe from me, you priuy biting curs,

That sticketh still, together like wilde burs,

And where ye touch, ye bring away the wull.

So from fine cloth, pure honest name yée pull.

Tis time to looke, how good report was lost,

And prop vp house, that now is néere to fall:

A wretched bruite, flies through the aire in post.

A whirling winde, may come and trip downe all,

And though I list, not come at husbands call:

I may not fly, from God and follow man,

That still deuours, like Wolfe what shéepe he can.

The swéetest wine, at length will ware full sowre,

It proues sharpe sauce, that once had sugred taste:

Fond fancies freaks, will fade as fast as flowre,

And wantons loue, with sports will weare and wast.

When hard in armes, new commers are embrast.

Farewell old friend, goe play you where you wull:

The Hauke hath praide, the Haggards gorgs is full.

Loue staies not long, it is but one yeares birde,

A foolishe fitte, that makes wilde wits goe madde:

A gallant Coult, that runneth for a girde,

A lime rod fine, to catch a lusty ladde:

A youthfull prancke, that makes age looke full sadde,

A merry mate, so long as money lasts,

Good for a flight, then of her bels shée casts.

Loue tarries not, it is a pesting game,

That hath such hast, it goes we know not where,

Now faire and fatte, then crooked leane and lame,

Now plaies boe péepe, now asking here and thers.

[Page]Now balde as Coote, now trim with fresled heare,

Now gay and glad, now shrewd and scarce wel pleas [...]

Now sound as Chicke, now sicke and soone diseasd.

With dalling much loue will be easly tierd,

When loue is cloyed, the roile at gresse must ronne:

When hoofe is whole; the hackney may be hierd,

When corne is solde, the market cleane is done.

It ends with hate, that was with loue begonne,

It may be loathd, that long on liking lay:

Lust lacks no wings, when loue wil flie away.

Loue must haue change, to season swéete delite,

Loues minde wil range, like Spaniel in the field:

Loue lookes like Doue, when she wil proue a Kite,

Loue séekes to rule, shée hath no minde to yéelde,

Loue will haue scope, loue is restrained seelde.

If loue lack a ought, she showes a lowring eye,

And then for nought, the babe wil pule and cry.

Loue must be kolld, and kissed round about,

Loue must goe gay, and painted like a poste,

Loue must be péecst, and patcht with many a clout,

Loue is a sprite, a shadow or a Ghost:

A néedelesse charge, that seldome quits the cost,

A practise bought, with many a thred bare purse,

A wretched blisse, that I and mine may curse.

It is the skum, and onely drosse of youth,

That brings booth soule, and body in decay:

A kinde of talke, wherein there is no truth.

A Courting trade, that doth much craft bewray,

A wily Foxe, a wanton full of play:

A Sainct to show, a Deuil God he knose,

That me betrayde, and made me fréedome lose.

[Page]

The Horse runs farre, that neuer turns againe,

The beaten childe, is learnd to feare the rod:

The double minde, may fall to meaning plaine:

They may amend, that féeles the feare of God.

The clouds may cléere, that long hath threatned rain

The time ill spent, if reason will redéeme:

Cals home wild wits, from toies that are extreme.

Youth takes his course, and followes fancies freakes

Age all reforms, and sore repents tune past:

The bow long bent, ye know in processe weakes,

Hard things at first, may gentle waxe at last.

Who often fawls, is taught to stand full fast.

And few there are, but flides or fawls down right,

In youth or age, our iudgements are so light.

When wit is bought, (and folly throughly wa [...]ed,)

An ounce of skill, is worth a pound of drosse:

Till body smart, the minde is neuer staied,

Gaine is not likt, till we haue tasted losse.

Some say ech one, is borne to beare his crosse,

My heauy faults, now burthens breast so sore:

That heere or hence, I must be scourgd therefore.

Swéete are those stripes, that breaks ne bone nor lim

(And yet sets sound, the soule and body both:)

Sowre are those ioyes, and worldly braurie trim,

That downe to hell, with damned people goth.

Sweete are sharpe words that tels leud life the froth

Sowre is sweete sauce, that cloyes the stomacke still

Swéete are those nips, that doth restraine the wil.

The pempred horse, that still in stable stands,

Will waxe a iade, if spurre ne wand he taste,

The wild-hed Colt, is tamde by riders hands.

[Page]Ane so through bitte, is made well traind and past,

Al hedstrong things, are not reformde in hast:

But when regard, lookes back where blindnes went

The perill past, bids pompe and pride repent.

Great is the scope, that gréedy wil desires,

Smal gaine or grace, doth grow by gadding out,

With heauy lode, the weary legs retiers:

And heartfull fraught, of worldly dread and dout.

And sure the ground, from whence al vice doth sprout

Is gadding geres, that loues abroad to gase:

Who shame sends home, in great sad muse and mase.

And when in dores, dame dalliance close is drawn,

And notes what blot, she did escape without:

Shée thinkes in stréete, she put her name to pawne,

Or went abroad, to play the bare banckrout,

Where wanton eyes, did naught but stare about,

Where all a flant, at full like shippe with saile.

Fine minions march, as braue as Peacocks taile.

The crooked backe, must bolstred be by arte,

The tawny skinne, must shine by some trim knack,

The twinkling lookes, for sport must play their part

The per wickes fine, must curle wher haire doth lack

The swelling grace, that fils the empty sacke:

And ietting pace, with lims stretcht out ful streight,

To patch out pride, are matters of great weight.

Then fle on al, such trashe and trompry vile,

That sets forth shades, in Sunny day to shine:

My youth is past, I cannot world beguile,

Men wil not looke, for babes in hollowd eyen.

A witherd grape, hangs now on rotten vien.

From blasted branche, the berry round is gone,

[Page]A dosky glasse, is little lookte vppon.

Wherefore I vowe, to weare a sory vaile,

To shrowd the face, that few or none will like:

And get some shell, to holde in head like Snaile,

For former faults, in conscience so doth strike.

That I doe feare, I shall my selfe mislike:

If shadowes doe, not cloke defects I haue,

Or death dispatch, and send me to my graue.

Now note my tale, you dames of gentle blood,

Now waile with me, al such as playes my part:

Now let my harmes, doe harmelesse people good

Now bid al wiues, defie this deuilish arte,

For my conceite, is such a deadly darte,

That where I goe, or walke in any place,

Me thinkes my faults, are written in my face.

This discarded Gentlewoman went awalking twentye yeares, and yet cannot finde the waie home to her husband.

FINIS.

§

§

To the right Worshipfull my Ladie Wawllar, wife to the Souldioer-like Knight Sir VVater Wawllar.

I Had almost (good Madam) forgotte what I promised, of my self, touching a Book to be Printed, yet at the kniting vp of a tedius tale I remēbred how to keepe promise and a friend, & bethought me of som matter pertaining to that cause, waying that light and [Page] slender discourses became not me to offer, nor your Ladishippe to heare. So happening on a dolefull and tragicall Treatise I preferd it to your reading, knowing that some humor of sorrow or sorrowfull penned matter would be answerable to your graue consistderation, in which discourse following, are numbers of heauie causes t [...]eated on, and touched so narrowlie (with a cleare conceite of the writer) that no one point or other pertaining to a ruefull rehearsall of troubles, is forgotten. And though the tale seemeth long, the varietie and life of words it bringeth, shall I doubt not shorten the time that is spent in reading, for that euerie passion of mind, trouble of bodie, and disquietnesse of the Soule, is amplie and plainelie explained and vnfolded by that which followeth, translated out of another language & taught to speake English to those that vnderstandeth the heauie haps of such, as haue fallen into misfortune, so knitting vp my Booke with this discourse, I expresse the matter I haue spoken of.

A DOLLFVLL DISCOVRSE OF A great Lorde and a Ladie. Translated out of French into English.

DRaw néere good mindes that sadly markes,

the sway of worldly broyles.

And heare what I at large can say,

of troubles tumbling toyles.

[Page]Which did befall, in forraine Land,

tweene two of Noble race:

To whose mishap, and hatefull fate,

a world it selfe giues place.

Not long agoe, the case so stood,

a Lord of great estate,

(In natiue Soyle, by destnies lo [...].)

a Ladies fauour gate.

With whom he ioynde, a hazard great,

his liking led him so:

That neyther feare of frowning Gods,

nor dread of earthly [...]oe

Could make him staine his plighted troth,

such constant mind▪ hee bare:

For which this noble Fawkon may,

with turtle true compare.

But well away alas for woe,

his griefe thereby beganne:

In Prince displeasure throw this prank,

fell [...]o this Noble man.

And Cesar frowing on the fact,

there was no other boote:

But flie the Realme, or prostrate fall,

Full flat at Cesars foote.

O states by this come learne to stoupe,

no stoutnesse can preuayle:

When from the Heauens stormes do blow,

and striketh downe your sayle.

From thunder cracks both man and beast,

yea Sunne and Moone doth flie:

The Earth and all that liues below,

doth feare the ratling skie.

When Gods are moued, in lowring clouds,

like dusky Mantles blacke:

The troubled ayre to mortall men,

[Page]doth threaten, ruine, and wracke.

I turnde my talke from such Discourse,

and treat of that turmoyle:

Which long this Knight and Ladie felt,

at home in Countrey soyle.

And somewhat of the cares abroade,

that hee perforce did taste:

I meane to write so that as troth,

my verses bee embraste:

For troth and time that tries out Gold,

[...]ath tempre [...] so my talke:

That penne nor muse no pleasures takes,

on doubtfull ground to walke,

Now when these states with linkes of loue

were tyds together fast,

And many a sad and heauy thought,

betweene them both had past,

Of Princes grace and fauour great,

(to which regard they▪ tooke:

As chiefest thing and onely cause)

Whereon they ought to looke.

They wayde in ballance of their breastes,

what [...]ittest serude their turnes:

And like as wood takes flame of fire,

and so to Sinders burnes.

So through the heape of this mishapp,

they felt such sorrow thoe,

As though hard destnie swore they should,

consume themselues with woe.

The Ladie lost her fréedome straight.

the Gods had so decréed,

Her knight by sodaine flight abroad,

made vertue of a néede.

And liuing there with lingring hope,

in forraine Countrey straunge,

[Page]Where absence might through present toyes,

in some men worke a chaunge,

Hée stoode as firme as marble stone,

and kept both troeth and toutch.

To her who found few friendes at home,

and heartes disease was much,

Yea though this knight with offers great,

and treasure tempted was:

(As they full well can witnesse beare

which saw this matter pas)

Yet small account of Fortune new,

hee made for still in breast.

Was shrinde the Sainct that stonie walles,

and prison had possest.

No feere nor friend, nor fellow-mate,

this Troylus mind might moue:

This Fawcon scornd to pray abroad,

at home hee left his loue.

Full many a sigh and heauie looke,

hee sent along the Seas:

And wisht himselfe, in fetters fast,

to doe his Ladie ease.

What griefe of mind, and torment strange

shée suffred all that while:

Is knowen to those, that bondage féeles,

whose friendes are in exile.

Could mischiefe fall on both the sides,

more harder then it did?

The one from ioy and worldly pomp,

in prison closely hid.

The other forst, by fatall chaunce,

to seeke his fortune out:

And shonning daunger found [...]ispayre,

in wandring Worlde about.

But waying well a Subiectes State,

[Page]and what was duties boundes:

Hee yeelded straight to open harmes

for feare of secret woundes,

And ventring life, yea Landes and goodes,

to heepe his name from blot:

(And to requite with hazardes hard,

the loue that hee had got.)

From Spaine with speede he did returne,

and setting foote on Lande:

Hee put his cause in Iustice dome,

and Noble Princes hande.

Though in the yoke with free consent,

the humble heart did fall,

The heauens stoode so out of tune,

hee gate no grace at all:

And clapped vp full fast in hold,

a Prisoners parte hee playes:

Where griping griefes & gréeuous grones,

consumde his gladsome dayes.

Whiles hee aloofe full long remaynde,

and out of daunger crepte:

The dolfull Dame, in great dispayre,

his absence sore bewept.

Yet great regard to promise past,

shee had as world well wist:

And therefore often wrong her handes,

when that her Knight shée mist.

But now began the boistrous blastes,

to blow in bloudy brest:

And now the gulfe of sighes and sobs,

burst out with great vnrest.

For lo, one house held both these wights

yet both a sunder were:

And b [...]th in like displeasure stoode,

yea ech of both did feare.

[Page]Of Princes wrath and worlds disgrace,

a heauy tale to tell:

A plague past hope of heauens blisse,

a torment and a hell.

That is without redemption sure,

but what should more be saide:

Thus vnder locke and barred dores,

these Iewels safely laide.

They must abide the happy hours,

that God appoints in skies:

And drinke vp water swéete or sowre,

or what shal happe to rise.

The prison then did plead their case,

the wals both deafe and dum:

Did show by signes of fréedome gone,

what sorrowes were to come.

The skréeking Owle in silent night,

at window clapt his winges:

To threaten death or badde successe▪

of sundry doubtful thinges.

No ioyfull sound was heard with eare,

no newes of happy yeares:

No pleasure to the pinched heart,

in prison strong appeares.

Admit the Lute with touch of hand,

a heauy dumpe doth shoe,

A cooling comfort Musicke brings,

to wretches wrapt in woe.

No mirth with mourning moue may matche,

for mischiefe measure lacks:

And care consumes the minde of man,

as fire melts Uirgin Waxe.

In silly Sell, and seuerall place,

these two estates did sit:

Whose comming out, did far surmount,

[Page]the compasse of our wit.

As long they spent their tickle time,

in teene and terrour great:

So oft God wot of matters harde,

in head did hammers beat.

Now hoping that the clouds would calm

and storms would stand at stay:

Then looking when the Planets turnd▪

their course another way.

But shaken ships in Seas doe sincke,

when surges rise aloft:

And vnder waues (for want of aide)

weake vessels welter oft.

So that no hope of succour seemes,

to come when tempests rage.

Except the gods draw back the plagues,

and winde and weather swage.

The present panges and parlous thoughts,

that pearceth troubled minds:

Is knowne to none but such I say,

that lacke of fréedome findes.

A prisner beares a simple port,

most glad to please and ply:

As subiect to the kéepers becke,

and iellouse Gailors eye.

Now tracing out a weary walke,

now whisht and quiet stands:

Now down on knées, now to the clouds

lookes vp with stretched hands.

Now listning after happy newe [...],

now nipt with sorrowes old:

Now sore abasht and brought in muse,

now merry stout and bold,

Now ripe and ready for to speake,

now dombe and dare not store:

[Page]Now fearfull of each sodaine sound,

and clap of euery dore.

Now bent to beare and suffer wrong,

now full reposde on right:

Now faine to fawne on féeble folke,

now setting all thinges light.

These passions still awakes their spryets,

that carefull captiues are:

Such smart they tast, such bread they bite,

that feedes on loaues of car [...].

Yea some are serude with change of meats,

yet touch they neare a dishe:

But sits like Tantalus in Hell,

and wants that most they wishe.

These twaine I troe were not so vsde,

but yet when best they sped:

On heauie morf [...]els mixte with mone,

their hungrie stomackes fed.

No day stoode free from Fortunes foyle,

no houre but nourisht feare:

No season serude to salue the sores,

of soking sorrowes there.

No drinke could coole the furie hote,

of thraldomes thirstie throte:

No pleasant verie nor dittie framde,

to dolors dolfull note.

No booke nor story might reuiue,

their drowping dead delite:

For through the thoughts of thirled hartes,

are pleasures banisht quite.

To slowth, to sléepe, and mirthlesse moodes,

their dompish daies enclinde:

As from the clue of worldly cares,

should threde of life vntwinde,

Dispiesd the night, abhord the daye.

[Page]and hated houre of birth:

Thought scorne of foode, and cleane forsooke

the pleasures of the earth.

Would faine haue lost both speach & breath

and looke when hearts would burst:

Beleude they were in mothers wombe,

or else in cradell curst,

Though drousie dreed, did death desire,

and griefe sought quicke dispatch:

There was no parting from the place.

till day discharge the watch.

Wee cannot pay our borrowed breath,

before th [...]appoynted houre:

The end of strife, nor staie of state,

stands not in peoples power.

The God that guides the heauens high,

in secret doth beholde:

The fine and fléeting féeble course,

of earth and massie molde.

The heart may heaue, the breast may bl [...]e,

the bodie sigh and swelt:

The face by open sinnes may show,

of priuy pa [...]hons felt.

But all the stormes haue little force,

to rid mans wretched dayes:

As by these [...] playne I prooue,

through torments sundrie waies.

Well those from whom the Gods restraine

the scope, and vse of will:

Must bend the backe, and bow the ioyntes,

to beare the burthen still.

And yet no toyle nor griefe so great,

but findes at length some ease:

There follows after swelling floodes,

a quiet calmie seas.

[Page]By meane of sute and labours long,

and gracious Prince indeede:

A swéeter soyle these Prisoners sound,

that better blood did breed.

But kept apart as Fortune shapt,

and so in silent shade:

(As place and time did licence graunt)

a fresh complaint they made,

Of crooked chaunce and straunge extremes,

that so [...]dred faythfull hartes:

Whose sugred loue was euer mixt,

with ba [...]e and bitter smartes.

And neuer after like to méete,

nor set no eye nor vewe:

The one vppon the other Lord,

a matter much to rew.

Long in the broyle of this conflict,

and battle of the mind:

They past their time with bare beléefe,

of better happ behind.

And wearing out with wailings long,

their weary liues God wot:

And finding hauen chooked vp,

where passage should be got.

At ankor vnder watch, and ward,

in tossed Barke they laye:

From whence there was no quiet meanes,

nor hope to scape awaie.

The Lady now for last farewell,

betooke her selfe to teares:

And of dispaire in pearsed brest,

a double portion beares.

Her hollow chéekes and daseled eyes,

declarde her death was néere:

And bad her kéepers to prepare,

[Page]both shrowding shéete and Beere.

For nature did denie her life,

her hart was taynted so:

That cankred thought should come ful soone

and make an ende of woe.

Her colour changde her chéerfull lookes,

and countenaunce wanted spréete.

To [...]allow ashes turnde the hue,

of beauties blossomes sweete.

And drery dulnesse had bespred,

the wearish bodie throw:

Ech vitall vaine did flat refuse,

to doe their dutie now.

The blood forsooke the wonted course,

and backward ganne retire:

And left the limmes as cold and swar [...]e,

as coles that wastes with fire.

The moysture taken from the trée,

the leaues droppe downe apace:

When sap dries vp and fayles the roote,

the braunches loose their grace.

Some bowes you see doe florish fayre,

and groes a goodly height,

And some by frost, and cold ayre nipt,

and so are blasted streight.

As euery fruite and flowre in fielde.

to yéelde to sodaine claps.

So all that breathes with liuing soule,

are subiect to mishaps.

How should this dame desire to liue,

that hourely wore awaye:

Who would not shed some teares to sée,

this tender twig decay.

What stonie hart could suffer more,

and beare with euen hand:

[Page]The wearie wight of worldly woes,

and whiske or whipping wand?

And when she saw her hour [...] approche,

and death his dutie crau [...]:

And shee amid her chiefest prime,

must goe to gréedie graue.

Shée tooke of World a noble leaue,

and calling for a friend:

(Who liueth yet and can report,

how she did make an end)

Shee sayd with loude and comely voyce,

O world I thee forsake:

I haue béene here a Pilgrime long,

and now my leaue I take.

Of all thy pompe and pleasures vaine,

that makes my sences blinde:

Whose glorie doth beginne with payne,

and ends with griefe of minde.

In dungeon déepe of dayntie thoughtes,

thou holdest euerie wight:

And féedes their foolish fancie still,

with toyes and trifles light.

Thy prisoner was I borne to bée,

and Adams children all:

(Like Captiues here condemnde to die)

must suffer for his fall.

But now the chaines and lothsome lincks,

that lay on shoulders weake:

(And all the bandes and clogges of care)

in shiuers small shall breake.

And I from cage shall mount the skyes,

more swift then bird with wing:

And flickar like a simple doue,

where shining Angels sing.

I bring a badge and liuery both

[Page]that my good mayster CHRIST:

Did leaue for such as beares his crosse,

through fogges of wordly miest.

Yea shaking off this sinfull Soyle,

mée thinke in clowdes I sée:

Among the p [...]rfit chosen Lambes,

a place preparde for mée.

Héere is no home, nor harbring house,

but Cabbens built on sand:

That euery pirrie puffeth downe,

or still on proppe [...] doe stand.

Our Fathers spreets possesse in peace,

the Countrey that wee craue:

Wee are but straungers, farre from home,

that nothing certaine haue.

These were her wordes and many moe.

which followes as shée spoke:

I did (quoth shée) by brittle life,

O Lord thy wrath prouoke,

For which I now repent mee sore,

and trusting to receaue,

Free pardon for my former faultes.

eare soule shall bodie leaue.

My faint and feeble vessell fraile,

so feares thy iustice great:

That it appeales from curse of Lawe,

vnto thy mercy seate.

I am but wormes meat well I wot,

all flesh is nought but grasse:

To earth and ashes out of hand,

must all my pleasures passe.

I want the force, thou hast the might,

to striue with Death and Hell:

Thou art the Rocke, the corner Stone,

the fountaine, and the Well.

[Page]From whom the springes of life must run,

and vnto whom againe:

The thirstie soules, and hungrie heartes,

for helpe doe trudge amaine.

Who hath beene washed in thy blood,

is whiter than the snow:

O let the streames and floud of grace,

with fauour on mee flowe.

In booke of life, let write good Lord,

my name among the rest:

That ordaynde were, eare world was made

to sleepe in Abrams brest.

Blot out the blemish of my brow,

that at the latter daye:

May strike the conscience with dispaire,

and cloaked crimes bewraie.

Giue boldnesse to the bashfull sprite,

that feares from hence to flitte:

Make hope, and fayth now fl [...]me to sée,

great God in glorie sitte.

Wi [...]h closed hand, than brest shee knockt,

so gaue a sigh▪ and stayd:

And then conceiude some inward ioy,

with cheerfull face shee sayd,

Do mourne no more, O trembling soule,

that knowes not where to staye:

Come from the kaytiffe carraine corpes,

and cabben [...]ade of clays.

And looke vppon the Lambe of God,

whose death thy raunsome payde▪

That blessed babe the virgins Sonne,

that borne was of a maide.

Come silly bud out of the Den,

where naught but darknesse is:

And looke on euerlasting light,

[Page]

[...]

[Page]

[...]

[Page]and louing Lord of blisse.

The lusts of flesh and worldly pompe,

I hope are quentch in mée [...]

Through fayth alone from sinne and bo [...]d,

I haue escaped frée.

And with that word in signe of ioy,

a Psalme full loud shee sang,

The solempne noyse and sound thereof,

thorowout the chamber rang.

And ending that to prayer straight,

of her owne mind shee fell:

The standers by whose teares burst out,

at this her last farewell

Beganne to giue her comfort than,

of life and welfare both,

Yea liue I shall and doe right well,

(quoth shee) I know for troth.

But that is in another world,

the hope of this is gone:

And reason is it should bée so,

for heere there liueth none,

But sées the vainesse of our state,

and tastes such torments still:

That sundrie times, they wish themselues,

from hence with right good will.

Héere is but toyle, and sweate of browes,

and endlesse labour [...]ound:

And nothing reapt but wretched wracke,

and broken sleepes vnsound.

Where I shall goe I cease from payne,

and so such ioy possesse:

As hart scarse thinkes, nor head conceiues,

nor tongue may well expresse.

Then hold your peace, knit vp your talke,

and trouble not the spréete,

[Page]That drawes from hence and hopes it is,

for better place more méete.

A Ladie thoe that vertue likte,

and there some credit had:

[...]eplyde and sayd O noble dame,

indeed you are too sad.

These panges shal passe, these [...]ts shall fade

and all these passions die,

As they haue done when you full oft,

in such like sort did lye.

O Madame speake no more of that,

my time draws [...] (quoth shée)

I shall not die, but make exchaunge,

of breath and life I sée,

The glasse is run, the Clocke will strike,

death doth approche apace:

My course is done, the Iudge draws néere,

to sit vppon my case.

No longer héere I may abide,

the packing day is come:

Death bids me now vnarme my selfe,

and heare the mortall Dr [...].

That cals me hence, as naked sure,

as to the world I cam:

The course of Nature shewes me too,

that Earth and Dust I am.

The Harrolde of long home is sent,

to summon mée in hast:

Then stay me not, for in that poynt,

both teares and wordes yée wast.

Yet eare I part, good friendes (quoth shée)

behold what hope I haue:

And note what fayth, and badge of Christ,

I carrie to my graue.

And marke, how I confesse with mouth,

[Page]that Christ hath shed his blood:

For me, and those that earst in state,

of deepe damnation stood.

And by his passion I am saued,

and not by my desarts:

But by the helpe of him that knowes,

the thoughts of secret hearts.

Now staying héere, shée lookt about,

and to a Knight shee spake:

And him desired with humble wordes,

that he the paines would take.

To show the Prince what past her mouth,

O tell him sir quoth shée:

This is the sute, and last request,

that must be made by mée.

Unto his highnesse whose estate,

our blessed Lord maintaine:

And pray him to forgiue me now,

for I confesse it playne.

I made a fault and sore offence,

when I against his will:

Estrangde my selfe from his good grace;

for any hope or skill.

But from my breath vnto this day,

my heart and thought was cléere:

From breach of subiects dutie sure,

and I protest it héere.

I neuer ment nor purposed yet,

in word, in deed, nor thought:

No harme (nor lodgde one il conseit,

nor sparke of euill sought)

To him as God may witnesse beare,

to that which now I speake:

Saue now alas by ouersight,

of feeble fancies weak [...].

[Page]I féele and finde the price thereof,

and suffer for the same:

An open checke and priuie plagu [...],

and pinching publik blame.

I hope his highnesse hath forgot,

the fault I did commit:

And as he is a noble Prince,

in Regall throne to sit.

And iudge his subiects causes all,

so hope I of his grace:

Hée will receiue my children poore.

and helpe their heauy case.

O God forbid for Mothers fault,

the Children should abye:

No graine of grudge, nor ground of guil [...],

in guiltlesse babes doe ly [...].

I doe bequeath them now quoth shée,

vnto the Princes handes:

In hope the fauour that they finde,

shall ease the fathers handes.

My nature shows a mourning chéere,

to part from them God knowes:

For children finde small comfort héere,

when hence the mother goes.

If God moue not the Princes minde,

to pittie their estate:

Now as the Ladie did at large,

about her Babes debate.

Uppon her déere bought iewell than,

shée cast her onely thought:

Yea for whose sake and great good will,

shee was in trouble brought.

And pausing on this matter through,

a heauie sigh she gaue:

O good sir Knight sayd shee to one,

[Page]a thing of you I craue.

Commend me to my worthy friend,

and bid him comfort take:

And hope in God and Princes grace,

though I doe world forsake,

He may doe well and freedome get:

but mée hee shall not méete:

Till from the caue of pampred flesh,

departes his groning spréete.

Whiles life I had, I honoured him,

and safely kept my vow:

As life did bind mee his in all,

so death doth loose mée now.

From him and all my worldly ioyes,

but though my friend I leaue.

On high where dwells a greater freind,

(if hope not mée deceau [...].)

I trust to sée his babes and him,

and though much griefe it is:

To leaue them heere in bitter bale,

yet note I goe to blisse.

Where is no mind of combrous cares,

nor cause of sorrow knowne:

O tell him that aboue I hope,

these stormes shall be ore blowne▪

And as a scroule is [...]apped vp,

yea so shall all thinges héere:

(When soule shall be immortall made)

vnto our view appeere.

No sooner of the soule shée spoke,

but sodaine chaunge beganne:

A right figure of death.

In lookes and limmes of deadly show [...];

with colour pale and wan.

The eyes did stare, the bodie stretch,

the strength and force did faile:

[Page]The teeth they chattered in the Cheekes,

the handes did quake and quayle.

The mouth did some, the head did shake,

the flesh it quiuered fast:

The feet waxt cold, the face did sweate,

full swift the pulses past.

The heart did heaue and beat in breast,

the breath like earth did sent:

At eares, and nose the stiffled Ghost,

and vitall life sought vent.

A patterne of Death.

Though gasping breath brought passiōs on

and grip [...] h [...]r heart full hard:

Yet showd she through those sharpe assaults

to [...]rend a great regard.

And calling for a bo [...]e of Kinges,

among them chose shee one▪

In which was set by cunning Art,

a rich and precious stone.

Hold carrie this quoth shee good Sir,

to my deere noble Knight:

He can remember what that stone,

presents vnto his sight.

The other token that I send,

it is a waightie ring:

Best likt and dearest bought God wot,

of any earthly thing.

And when you shall giue him this gift,

desire him well to minde:

The little Impes the pretty soules,

the babes I leaue behinde.

And bid him bring them vp in feare,

of God and Prince I saie:

L [...]e! that is all I doe require,

of him my dying daie.

I haue no gold to send my Babes▪

[Page]but blessing I them giue:

Which God confirme with grace good stor [...]

as long as they shall liue.

O yet there is another ring,

which loe my lone must sée:

Where is my picture: death I meane,

and tell my friend from mee,

That I as colde and sencelesse too,

shall be in little space:

As is that shaddow dum and deaffe,

and spritelesse shape of face.

This done shée turnde her head aside,

and bad them all farewell:

Twere good quoth shee in signe of death,

I heard the passing bell.

For such as liue may pray the while,

and know when bell doth toule:

Into the bowells of the earth,

the bodie parts from soule.

Yet meete they shall when trumpet sounds

and that the dead arise:

And both together shall ascende,

I hope to starrie skies.

With this beganne the battell fierce,

betwéene her life and death:

Like Ghost shée lay, whiles heart did grone

and mouth gepte wide for breath.

Then sayd shee Lord into thy handes,

I doe commend my sprée [...]:

And so her selfe closde vp her eyes,

and hid her head in sheet.

And went awaie like infant young,

cleane voyde of storme or rage:

Or like a bodie falls a sléepe,

that cannot speake for age.

[Page]Thus breathlesse lay this Lady now,

like weightie lump of clay:

(That earst had life and feeling force)

and past like floure away.

But when the newes of this was brought,

vnto her Playffeers eares:

With roaring voyce, and blubbred eyes,

there gushed out such teares,

That witnest well with outward signes,

what woe he [...] felt within:

And truely tolde when shée did ende,

his delour did beginne.

Be rest of sleepe, and robde of rest,

hée romed vp and downe:

And cast of wéedes of worldly pompe,

and clapt on mourning Gowne.

No ease nor pleasures could possesse,

nor féele the taste of meate:

Resolude to pine and sta [...]e himselfe,

his griefes they were so great.

No councell could him comfort long,

and still alone he drue:

To mourne, to m [...]ane, to houle, and cry,

and make complaint an [...]e.

And worne away with woefull sighes,

when sorrow helped not:

At length the life must be sustaynde,

with some reliefe yée wot.

But how he takes this mischiefe yet,

and how the matter goeth:

It passeth farre my reach, and wit,

to iudge I tell you troth.

His Ladie gene, as you haue heard,

when dayes and yeares were spent▪

In thraldome long, yet after that,

[Page]was better fortune se [...]t.

For into Princes grace againe,

hee came by blessed chaunce,

And so he liues in open Worlde,

where vertue may aduaunce:

Both him and many thousandes more,

that Noble liues doe leade,

And wisely walke with vpright mindes,

and steps of honour treade.

Loe héere you Dames of high renowne,

a Ladies death set out:

Whose life for faith, full few shall finde,

that seekes wide world about.

To God and Prince repentaunt sure,

to worlde a mirrour bright:

Wherefore with tongue, and true report,

resounde her prayse a [...]ight.

FINIS.

Information about this book

Title statement

Churchyards challenge

Churchyard, Thomas, 1520?-1604.

Edition statement

1593

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2003-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A18722

ID [STC]

STC 5220

ID [STC]

ESTC S104961

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99840691

ID [PROQUEST]

99840691

ID [VID]

5218

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This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A18722)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 5218)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 192:06)

Source

— Churchyards challenge, Churchyard, Thomas, 1520?-1604..

Extent

[12], 135, 126-170, 175-198, 209-232, 231-278 p.

Printed by Iohn Wolfe,. London :: 1593.. (Dedication signed: Thomas Churchyard.) (Partly in verse.) (The first leaf is blank except for signature-mark "A".) (Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.)

Creation

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Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.

Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.

Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.

The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.

Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).

Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site.