¶ Philargyrie of greate Britayne

[woodcut of Philargyrie]
i. Timoth. vi,
The rote of al mischife yt euer dyd spring
Is carefull Couetise, & gredy Gathering

☞ The Contentes of thys boke.

  • Howe Philargyrie came into greate Brytayne
  • ¶ Hys Oration to the people that resorted to hym
  • ¶ Howe the peopl [...] submitted them selues to hym
  • ¶ Hypocrisies Oration.
  • ¶ Howe he cōmitted the gouer­nance of ye people to Hypocrisie
  • ¶ Howe Philargyrie deuoured all the treasure that Hypocrisie had layde vp in store
  • ¶ Howe Hypocrisie wēt about to wythstande Philargyrie
  • ❧ How selfe loue vttered Hy­pocrisie his intēt to Philargyrie
  • How Philaute went to Nod­noll and what he dyd there
  • ¶ How ye people forsoke Hypo.
  • How truth tolde al to ye kynge
  • How the kynge draue al these oute of his realme

¶ To the Readar

IF Poetes maye proue
and trye theyr owne wytte
In feyneyng of Fables
greate Vices to blame:
And if they be blamelesse
although they do hytt
The Treuth▪ in theyre Treatyse
vnder a straynge name
Then maye I by ryght
(me thyncke) do the same
Wherefore though I touth the
take it in good parte,
For I wyll the none Ill
as God knoweth myne herte.
I graunte I haue feyned
and wrytten a lye,
And yet not so lowde
as I woulde it were,
For treuly thys Gigant
greate Philargyrie
Is present in greate Brytayne
euen euery where
Not one man is free
From hys Tyrannie there,
For all men he polled
fyrste by Hypocrisie,
And nowe by selfe Loue
he doeth all destroye.
The Hypocrites had gotten
into theyr owne handes
All placis of Pleasure
in euery coaste
So had they the good
and profitable landes
Which nowe by selfe loue
are spoyled and loste
No good thynge at all
remayneth welmoste
The thyngis that were best
are nowe made so bad
That where much thynge is
there nought can be had.
The Hypocritis were Ill
but worsse is selfe loue
Wherefore gentle Reader
I praye the hertily
Make ernest petition
to the Lorde aboue
To delyuer greate Britaine
from Philargyrie
Who hath brought that rich Iland
into such miserie
That thyngs of greatist plentie
are scantist to be had
And al thynge that good was
is nowe made to bad.
‘Vnto suche as be yet wythoute All thyngis shalbe spoken in Parables. Marke. iiii.

¶ The fable of Philargyrie ye great Gigant of great Britain, what houses were [...]uilded and landes appoynted for his prou [...]i [...]ns, and how all the same is wasted to content his gredie gut wythall and yet he rageth for honger

GEue eare a whyle
And marke my style
You yt hath wyt in store
For wyth wordes bare
I wyll declare
Thyngs done long tyme before
Sometyme certayne
Into Britayne
A lande full of plentie
A Gyaunte greate
Came to seke meate
Whose name was Philargyrie
He was so stronge
That none emonge
That brutyshe nation
Durst take in hande
Him to wythstande
In any station
That curssed ladde
A fre course had
That Ilande ouer all
Boeth vale and hy [...]
Were at his wyll
Wyth townes both great and smal
Then let he crye
That lowe and hye
That woulde to him resort
Shulde styll endure
In all pleasure
And lyue in playe and sporte
So that they woulde
Do as they shoulde
And honoure him as God
Wyth Baggis of golde
In many folde
In number euen or odde
Come vnto me
Who so wyll (quoth he)
There shall no lawe him bynde
I wyll him make
Free for to take
All thyngis that he can fynde
Force and stronge hand
By sea and lande
Shall be his lawe and ryght
He shall be bolde
To take and holde
Al thyngis by force and myght
So that he bryng
To me some thynge
I wyll defend him styll
None so hardye
Him to deny
Or to saye he doeth Ill
When this was knowne
And a broade blowne
Throughout that Iland wyde
From euery porte
Men dyd resorte
To him on euery syde
So that anone
A Legion
Were redy at hys wyl
To do all thynge
At his byddynge
Whether it were good or Ill
Then forth he stode
Wyth full mylde mode
Desyrynge them silence
Tyll he had tolde
All that he wolde
Vnto that Audience

Philargyries Oration.

GOod syrs (quoth he)
Full well I se
That ye haue ben opprest
Longe tyme wyth lawes
Not worth two strawes
But that shal be redreste
Henseforth there shall
No lawe at all
Restrayne your Libertie
But that you maye
Boeth nyght and daye
Do your owne wyll frely
Catch what you can
From euery man
And hold it for your owne
Reape, let me se
And brynge to me
That other men haue sowne
And when you fynde
Ought to your mynde
That force can not brynge in
Then beate your brayne
Aboute some trayne
Whereby you maye it wynne
Se nothynge let
You forto get
All thyngs into your hande
Whych other men
Must nowe and then
Nedes haue by sea or lande.
Then set the price
Aboue all syse
Your bagges therwyth to fyll
Make the vile slaues
And paysant knaues
Paye you at your owne wyll.
And where you spye
Ther plant your dwelling place
And then employe
Your whole study
To get it vp apase
And by eche porte
Where is resorte
Se that ye do conueye
All maner thynge
Whereof myght sprynge
Profyte to this contrey
For so shall ye
Enriched be
And haue money in store
For you shall sell
Thyngis twyse so wel
As men dyd heretofore.
The woule, the lead
The corne for breadde
The bere butter and cheese
Wyll be well solde
Wherefore be bolde
By them you can nought leese.
Metalle of Bellis
Lether and fellis
And woulsted yarne also
Are redye golde
Let them be solde
Wyth thyngis a thousand moe
And if you maye
Conuey awaye
These thyngis beyond ye fome
Then shall the pryse
Of that aryse
That shal be lefte at home
You muste therfore
Haue euermore
All those thyngis in your hande
Wherin the sprynge
Of euery thynge
And fyrst encrease doeth stande.
The pasture grownde
That feadeth sound
You must in no case lacke
All maner mynes
And myllis that gryndis
Must helpe to fyll your sacke
Copsis of wodde
Be verye good
For you to haue in hande
You must nedes haue
Greate fermes a thraue
Wyth all good fruitfull lands.
Shorte tale to make
You muste all take
And whorde vp styll in store
Tyll that be scant
Whereof no want
Was euer sene before.
Draffe is plenty
Yet certenly
If it were handled well:
It woulde be solde
For redy golde
And that some men can tel
The tyme hath byn
That men coulde wynne
By smoke and by Vryne
And why shoulde nat
Gayne ryse of that
Wher with mē fede their swine?
Se to all thynge
Wherof maye sprynge
Any Lucre or Guyne,
For Gayne doeth smell
Excedynge well
In euery thynge certayne.
I wyll therefore
Nowe saye no more
But se you do apply
Your busynes
To get rychesse
My mynde to satisfie.
You muste me fede
Aye at my nede
Wyth bagges of moste pure golde
For I coulde eate
None other meate
Sence I was two dayes olde.
A God am I
That can not dye
Wherefore I muste be fed
Wyth golde most pure
That wyll endure
And not wyth bryckle breade
Brynge, bryng bryng, bryng
Alwaye some thynge,
And then you shall me please.
All that is solde
For redie golde
Doeth my stomake much ease.
And as you wyll
Continue styll
Al your dayes in pleasure
Euen so applye
You busily
Wyth golde me to honoure
I am your God
And haue the rod
Of honger in my fyste
Wherefore take hede
Ye do me fede
Wyth golde that is fynest
And him that can
Best playe the man
In gettynge golde and fe
I wyl promote
And set aflote
In wealth and hygh degree
And in the ende
I wyl him sende
To Plutos dwellynge place
Were he shall be
Next vnto me
Wherefore, gather apase
Dixi, quoth he
And bowed his knee
Vnto his audience
Thankyng them all
Boeth greate and smale
For theyr quiere scilence

How the people of Britaine beca [...] subiect to Philargyrie.

THen wyth one voyce
All dyd reioyce
And clapt theyr handes apas [...]
And after that
They fell all flatte
Prostrate before his face
Then rose they vp
And in a cup
Of golde, they dyd him brynge
Moe thousandis than
Any man can
Well expresse by wrytynge
Then gan they synge
Beholde we brynge
Oure mornetydis sacrifice
Desyrynge the
That it maye be
Pleasant before thyne eies
Then forth he raught
His hande, and caught
The cup ful of pure golde
shud at one sup
He drancke it vp
Thankyng them many folde
Henseforth, quoth he
Loke that you be
Wyth me thryse in the daye
Wyth such a sup
In such a cup
That I do not decaye
And be ye bolde
To get the golde
As I haue sayde before
No lawe shall let
You forto gette
So much, and ten tymes more
All tremblynge then
One of his men
Fell flatte vpon his face
And desyred
To be pardoned
To speake his mynde a space
Stand vp quoth he
What so thou be
And tell to me thy name
Thou shalt haue grace
To speake a space
Thou shalte sustayne no blame
Deare Souerayne
Quoth he agayne
I am Hypocrisie
There is on mould
No man that woulde
Serue you leuer then I
But thys one thynge
My Lorde and kynge
If I myght be so bolde
To saye my mynd
A faute I fynde
In that which you haue tolde
Saye on, quoth he
I pardon the
Let me knowe all thy thoughte.
If thy counsell
Do lyke me well
It shall in dede be wroughte
Then manerly
He made curchy
As one that coulde his goode
Wyth mylde wordis than
Thus he began
Before them as he stode

Hypocrisies Oration.

MY Lorde and kynge
This is the thynge
That doeth my mynde offend
And causeth me
Thus bolde to be
Trustyng you wyll it mende
You haue vs tolde
We shulde be bolde
To take all at our wyll
And spoyle the ryche
And pore alyche
Our baggis wyth golde to fyll
But well I wotte
This thynge wyll not
Be suffred anye whyle
Except that we
Worcke subtyltee
And get theyr goodis by gyle
We muste pretende
Some holy ende
That maye the people please
And so we shall
Be Lordis of all
And fyl oure baggis wyth ease
Sende me to preache
And I wyll teache
The people ouer all
That they shall lye
In purgatorye
After theyr death fatall
I will them tell
That paynes in Hell
And paynes there are a lone
Saue that of this
An ende there is
But of the other none
Then that they maye
Be sure alwaye
To crepe oute at their wyll
I wyll them tell
We haue to sell
Pardone of all theyr Ill
So they wyll brynge
To vs althynge
Whereof we shall stande ned [...]
Houses to buylde
Boeth thackt and tylde
And bye vs fode and wede
Then wyll I proue
It doeth behoue
That we haue land and rent
That we maye praye
For them alwaye
To God omnipotent
And when they lye
Redy to dye
Then wyl I be at hande
Forto declare
Howe harde we fare.
For lacke of rent and lande.
Then wyll I tell
The paynes of Hell
And purgatorye fyre
And what greate payne
They shall sustayne
Vnlesse they do vs hyre
For we are they
That fast and praye
For them that geue vs ought
And our doynge
Is worth nothynge
Onlesse it be deare bought
Nowe when they se
Them selfes to be
Set in so greate distresse
Wyth all theyr herte
They wyl departe
Wyth much of theyr ryches
In hope that we
Wyll factours be
For them, when they begone
And by thys trayne
We shall obtayne
Great landis and goodis anon
For what is he
That wyll not be
Glad to redeme wyth golde
Hys soule, which he
Shall thyncke to be
Dampened a thousande folde?
And specially
When he shall dye
And leaue all thyngs byhynde
For if he wold
Then whorde vp golde
He can not haue his mynde
I wyll I trowe
In some eares blowe
So terrible a blaste
That they shall quake
And for feare make
Vs theyr heyres at the laste
Yea Kyngis wyth crownes
Shall geue vs townes
And Cities to be sure
That we shall praye
For them allwaye
Whylse the world shall endure
Thus shall we haue
All that we craue
And much more at oure wyll
Oure selfes to fede
As we shall nede
And geue you golde your fyll
Dixi, he sayed
And then he prayed
Philargyrie of grace
And then wyth that
He fell downe flat
Prastrate before his face

Howe Philargyrie committeth the Gouernaunce of all hys Subiectes to Hypocrisie.

FVll myldly than
This God began
And bade his man arise
Stand vp, quoth he
For well I se
Thou arte prudent and wyse
Wherefore wyth me
Thou shalte chiefe be
I wyll worcke by thy reade
And all that be
Subiect to me
Thou shalte gouerne and leade
Then let he crye
That lowe and hye
That woulde take him as kyng
Shoulde wyth all spede
Fulfyll in dede
Hypocrisies bydynge
For he is wyse
And can dyuise
Wayes to get golde and fe
And make men fyll
Wyth ryght good wyll
Your baggis to brynge to me
Then all that were
Present to heare
That proclamasion
Shewed them content
Wyth full assent
And thus they sayed eche one,
Is most worthy
To rule vnder oure kynge
For he can preach
And men so teach
That they wyll gladly brynge
Then went there out
A full greate route
From Philargyries place
And by and by
Began to preach apace
All maner men
Were redie then
To geue euen what he woulde
They were so madde
They thought he had
Saluation to be solde
Then builded he
A greate Citie
Nodnoll he dyd it name
It was all one
Wyth Babylon
If it were not the same
In that Citie
Then Bylded he
A temple to his God
Settynge therein
Of his owne kyne
An hundred Knights and odde.
The Arch knyght was
Byshope Chayphas
Who rode with spear and shyld
Haueynge his corse
Armed wyth force
To cause all men to yelde
Then in ech place
That pleasante was
He planted houses sure
Of lyme and stone
They were echone
Because they shoulde endure
Bulwarkis also
A thousande moe
Then any man can tell
To beate them downe
That ware the crowne
If they dyd once rebell
So was that lande
Whole in the hand
Of Philargyries men
No wyght was free
From them if he
Were worth pore shyllyngs ten
But to couloure
His endeuoure
He dyd those places name
Houses for clarkes
And the bulwarckes
Lodgyngis for blynde & lame
Then poynted he
That there shoulde be
Leches of wondrous skyll
In euerye plare
Whoe in short space
Should helpe theyr bags to fil
At Walsyngehame
Was Noterdame
At Elye good Audrye
And at Wylsedon
Were greate cures done
By bolstryng of Baudrye
At Hayles there was
One in a glasse
That wrought wounders full great
And at Wynchcome
Were cured some
That coulde Keuelme intrea
There were also
A thousand moe
Leaches of his poyntynge
That coulde heale all
Boeth great and small
That woulde any thyng bryng
They woulde not stycke
To heale the sycke
In bodye and in soule
They had suche wytte
They coulde do it
By drynckynge of a bole
When this was done
Then was al wone
They nede to seke no more
They had all thynge
At theyr lykynge
To spende and kepe in store
Thought then to stye
Vp to Nodnoll anone
To se what was
There brought to passe
After he was thense gone
But ere he went
More gold he sent
To his God Philargyrie
Then thousandis ten
Of brutysh men
Coulde bare, to make hym mery
Wych he eate vp
All at one sup
And yet was not content
But sayde that they
Had by the waye
Spent some of that was sent
Al ragynge than
This God beganne
On them his wrath to wreake
He layed aboute
Emonge the route
Tyl none of them colde speake.
☞ And when he had
Lyke one halfe madde
Slayne all that companye
In all his rage
He calde his page
Whoe came forth by and by
☞ Come on (quoth he)
I wyll go see
What prouision thereis
They shall it bye
Full deare if I
Fare not better then this
¶ Fetch forth my steed
Trustie at nede
For nowe I am in haste
I muste go trye
And se if he make waste
☞ His lad was preste
Wyth his steede dreste
Redy For hym to ryde
And ryght anone
He leapt theron
And would no longer byde
He ryd forth faste
Tyllat th e laste
He came to I gralk place
Where he dyd spye
Fyllynge his bagges apase
Then laughed he
And sayde I se
Hypocrisie is iuste
Nought can him let
Treasure to get
To satisfie my luste
Hearde by and by
His Lorde and maisters voyce
And ganne to synge
To leape and sprynge
So muche he dyd reioyce.
All smylyngly
Then gan his man embrace
And sayde my sonne
Howe haste thou done
Sense thou wast at my place
My Lorde sayde he
And bowed his knee
I haue had good successe
For all this lande
Is in my hande
Wyth infinite rychesse.
Then sayde he come
You shall se some
Of that I haue in store
Take you your fyll
Of what you wyll
There cometh in dayly more,
Then wyth a keye
He made his waye
Into his treasurie
Where was more golde
I dare be bolde
Thē wold in poulis church ly

❧ Howe Philargyrie deuored all the treasure that Hypocrisie had layed vp in store.

Full hungerly
Began then forto eate
Euen as he had
Ben more then madde
For lacke of nedefull meate.
Goblettes of golde
Went downe twofolde
So dyd owches and ryngis
Tablettis wyth stones
Made for the nonce
Wyth many other thyngis
So faste he eate
That he ganswere
As it had bene a bull
Ten tunne I wote
Went downe hys throte
And yet he was not ful
Then carefully
Bethought him of his store
And wyth wordes wyse
He dyd aduise
His lorde to eate no more
It shall, quoth he
Ryght healthfull be
To leaue wyth Appetite
For all fulnes
Doeth cause syckenes
As Phisickes maisters wryte
Yea syr, quoth he
But when I se
That sycknes doeth me pricke
I can be bolde
For redy golde
To haue present Phisicke
Wherefore I wyll
Nowe eate my fyll
There shall nothynge me lette
Therefore be gone
Let me alone
I must lyue by my meate
Full Heauily
Then toke leaue to departe
And sayed Adiu
Much good do it you
But thought it not in herte
Wyth boeth handis than
This God began
To crambe into his crawe
Tyll all the golde
Whereof I tolde
Was mowed vp in his mawe
Than sate he downe
And gan to frowne
As not content in mynde
Because no more
Was lefte in store
And he had not halfe dynde
Then vp he rose
And caste the nose
Alofte into the wynde
Euen as a swyne
Holdeth vp the groyne
When he woulde fedyng fynde
Come on, quoth he
For well I se
Here is no meat in store
Wyll him aply
I thyncke to get in more
Then home he went
Halfe mysse content
And layed him downe to rest
But he could get
No slepe quiete
To fasten in his breste

¶ Howe Hypocrisie went about to wythstande Philargyrie,

IN this meane space
Hypocrisie was
At Nodnoll, full busy
Some waye to fynde
Hym selfe to wynde
Out of that miserie
Thus dyd he caste
Then at the laste
In his disceytefull thought
I wyll, thought he
Liberall be
Of that which coste me nought
As many as wyll
Shall haue theyr fyll
Of meate and drynck wyth me
Boeth lowe and hye
Shall haue plentie
Of fode, wyth golde and fe.
So shall I kepe
Wyth them frendshype
And haue them on my syde
Wyth al theyr herte
To take my parte
What so shall me bytyde
Full well I knowe
That hye and lowe
Wyll take parte of my chere
For in ech coaste.
Boeth sodde and roste
Are waxen very dere
And it is lyke
That they wyll stycke
To me alwaye at nede
For houndis are wont
Freshly to hunte
For them that do them fede,
And so I saye
I shall alwaye
Be able to wythstande
That wycked wyght
If he wyll fyght
Either by sea or lande
Then by and by
He dyd employe
Hym felfe to make good chere
And for to spende
By the yeres ende
All that came in by yere.
This dyd allure
I am ryght sure
The hertes of thousandis ten
To be redy
To lyue and dye
Wyth him lyke faythfull men
Then was he bolde
And thought he could
Withstāde his maisters myght
He dyd therfore
Kepe nought in store
For hym as he had plyght
Greate fees he gaue
An hundred thraue
To men that had no nede
For well knewe he
That it must be
Such that muste do the dede

Howe selfe loue vttered Hyyocrisie his intent to Philargyrie

THen was there one
That dyd anone
Conceiue his wole intent
And in a nyght
He dyd him dyght
And to Ppilargyrie went
He went so faste
And made such haste
For feare to come to late
That longe ere daye
He rydde the waye
And was come to the gate
Full fiersly than
To knocke he gan
As one that woulde come in
Tyll the wycket
Was open set
To knocke he would not blinne
Then came forth one
To him anone
And sayde what haste is this?
Saye on quoth he
Declare to me
What thy busynes is
Syr, quoth the freke
I muste nedis speake
Wyth my lorde Philargyrie
I can him tell
All is not well
About Hypocrisie
Then ranne the page
As one in rage
Vnto the chaumber dore
And at one pushe
He dyd it rushe
Downe flat into the flore
Wyth that awoke
That God and shoke
Hys lockis yt were full thynne
What maye this
Syr knaue (quoth he)
That thou comest so faste in:
Vpon hys knee
Then kneled he
(So well he could his good)
And myldly than
Thus he began
Wyth a moste heauy mode
My Lorde, he sayde
I am a frayed
Oure heauie newes to tell
For feare that ye
Shoulde angry be
And take it nothyng well
Newes? quoth he than
And bade his man
Tell him wythout delaye.
Speake man, quoth he
What ayleth the
Why dost thou make this stay?
Then at the laste
His man out braste
And in fewe wordis he sayed
Surely there is
Some thynge amysse
Some man hath you betrayde
Betrayed, quoth he,
Howe maye that be?
And then in hande he toke
Hys bostarde bryght
So goodly dyght
And gan fiersly to loke
Tell me quoth he
Who it shuld be
That hath this treasō wrought
That I maye wreke
Me on the freke
And bryng his stocke to nought
I thyncke treuely
Quoth Philargyries men
For one came nowe
To speake wyth you
And thus the freke began.
I muste, quoth he
If it maye be
Speake wyth Philargyrie
I can hym tell
All is not well
Aboute Hypocrisie
Than the God bade
Fech in that ladde
That I maye here hym speake.
Full lyghtly than
Hys saruant ranne
And brought to him the freake.
Full manerly
He made curchie
And lowted to the grownde
Than sayde the lad
I am ryght glad
I haue your lordshipe founde
For I haue spyed
And throughly tryed
Thingis by Hypocrisie
Which do declare
That he doeth beare
Grudge to your maiestie
For certenly
Hath nowe in his owne hande
The halfe welmoste
In euery coaste
Of this pleasant Ilande
And doeth employe
Hym busily
There wyth forto optayne:
All mens good wyll
That he maye styll
In thys ryche Ilande raygne
He goeth aboute
To haue a route
Knytte to hym in frendeshyp:
And to that ende
He doeth intende
A ryght greate house to kepe,
He wyll therfore
Kepe nought in store
For you to fede vpon,
He wyll all spende
By the yeres ende
That he maye laye handes on
And if you woulde
Do what you coulde
To recouer your ryght
The loselles shall
Be redy all
In his quarrell to fyght
Wherefore I saye
Inuent some waye
Betyme, for this myschyefe,
Els certenly
You shall shortely
Lacke your nedefull relyefe
Then curtesly
Thanked this man and sayde
Ten thousande pounde
In nobles rownde
Thou shalt haue treuly payede
Tell me thy name
And I shall frame
My wayes after thy skyll
For I se well
Thou canste me tell
Wayes to escape thys Ill.
Deare syr quoth he
My name hath be
Philaute sence I was borne,
Is clombe so hye
That my stocke is nygh worne
Well sayde he than
Be content man
I wyll thy stocke restore
For thou shalt be
Chiefe vnder me
As Hypocrisie was before
I haue no dreade
But by thy reade
I shall brynge it to passe
That, that vyle slaue
And wycked knaue
Shall be brought downe full base
Tell me therfore
If any store
Of counsell doe remaye
What waye we maye
Beste porue and saye
To subdue this vylayn
My Lorde, quoth he
If it so be
That ye wyl, as you saye
Take my counsell
Then knowe ye well
I thyncke this the beste waye.
Let me be sent
To preach in Lent
And out of Lent also:
And I shall drawe
Them from his awe
I truste wyth small adoe
I wyll declare
Howe madde they are
To gyue him of theyr good
To be made iust
Sens all men muste
Be made iust bi Christis bloud
For though he rynge
Greate belles and synge
A thousande masses and moe
Yet must Christis bloude
Shed on the rode
Delyuer all men from woe
Then you shall geue
Ech man good leaue
To wytholde what he can
From that vyle slaue
That doeth styll craue
A flyse of euery man.
They must be bolde
All to wytholde
And eke to take hym fro
Boeth lande and fee
Where so it be
And rych Iewelles also.
When this is tolde
You may be bolde
All men wyll be full preste
Your parte to take
And him forsake
And then the knaue is dreste,
☞ Let me alone,
There shall not one
Holde on hys syde I trowe
After they do
Once hearken to
The blaste that I shal blowe.
☞ Wyth wordes myry
Then Philargyrie
Sayde, be it as thou hast told
To vse thy skyll
At thyne owne wyll
Thou mayst hensefore be bold
Be thou, quoth he
Next vnto me
And eke my cosen deare
Henseforth certayne
In al Britayne
There shall not be thy peare
And all that be
Kynne vnto the
Be it neuer so small
I wyll promote
And set aflote,
Cosens I wyll them call
Nowe swete Kynsman
Do what you can
That Vylaynes wyll to let
And get me golde
Either newe or olde
Else shall I starue for meate
For I had not
My fyll I wot
This hundred yeres and moe
Whych causeth me
So leaue to be
That scarsely I can goe
☞ Holde you content
It is nowe lent
You must nedes fast a whyle.
Lenten quoth he
Lent let it be
And then he gan to smyle
☞ Wyth that began
Philaute his man
To demaund wt wordes mild
What thyng myght be
The cause that he
Whē Lent was named smyld
¶ Oh Couse qouth he
The tyme hath be
That I haue eate more golde
In one shorte lent
Then some haue spent
In fyftie wynters colde
¶ For certenly
Dyd in lent most prouide
Good golde to fede
Me at my nede
In euery tyme and tyde.
But let that go
He doeth not so
Nowe, well he shall repent
You wyll I trowe
Couse brynge him lowe
Before an other Lent
Yea syr, quoth he
Sure ye shall be
I wyll so brynge hym downe
That the vyle knaue
Shall nothynge haue
In fielde nor yet in towne
Let vs therefore
Nowe talke no more
I muste this mater plye
It shall be beste
For you to reste
Whylse I to Nodnoll stye
Go you to bed
And laye your heade
Vpon a pyllowe fyne
I truste to gete
You golden meate
Ere it be tyme to dyne.
Couse go thy waye
That God gan saye
God pluto be thy spede
My sprite shal be
Present wyth the
To helpe the aye at nede
My lorde, quoth he
It shall beste be
That no man doth is knowe
Wherfore let not
Your seruants wot
Lest they some rumours sowe
For I must preach
And al men teach
That gods sonne hath me sent
For so shall I
Haue by and by
My purpose and intent
Couse, thou shalt se
I warant the
All shall be kept secrete
For counsells knowne
And abroade blowne
Wyll oure procedyngis let
Departe therfore
And saye no more
For I knowe al thy mynde
Thou shalt well se
That I wyll be
As reasone doeth me bynde
Then louted he
Wyth either knee
And sayed, my lorde Adiu
The God of slepe
Vouchsalfe to kepe
All that belonge to you

Howe Philargyrye went to Nodnol and what he dyd there.

THen forth he went
As he was sent
Tyl he to Nodnoll came
Where by and bye
He made outecrie
Agaynst Hypocrisies name
Geue eare to me
All you, quoth he
That do your owne welth loue
For gods owne sonne
Dyd byd me runne
Your enmie to remoue.
Hath dealt flasely
Wyth you full many a yere
To gather pelfe
And kepe him selfe
In ease and bealy chere.
Do you not se
Howe greasye he
And his be, and how fat?
His chekes be bolne
And for fat swollen,
His nose is cowched flat
He walloweth in
That fylthy synne
Of gredy glottonnye
He wyll not swynke
For meate nor dryncke
But lyue styll Idellye
Yet wyll he eate
Nought but fyne meate
And drincke of the best wyne
Who so hath bene
Wyth him hath sene
His fare to be ryght fyne
I graunte he wyll
Your bealies fyll
Tyl your backis can not bowe
But all that is
Nothynge of his
But byggis of your owne sow
Open your eies
If you be wyse
And se to your owne gayne
Let not thys slaue
The ryches haue
That you haue gote wtih payn
You nede not passe
For his vayne masse
Hys diryge and prayars longe
For well we see
All those thyngis be
But laboure of the tonge
Your selfe can praye
As wel alwaye
As he, and also feede
All such as ye
Shall knowe to be
Pore and nedie in dede
His prayars shall
Helpe none at all
Christis bloude hath paid the price
You nede therefore
To do no more
That one price doeth suffice.
What madnes than
Is in that man
That wyll so much bestowe
Vpon a thynge
Worsse then nothynge?
No man is so madde It rowe

Howe the people forsoke Hypocrisie.

THe people anone
Much mused on
These words that semed straynge
Yet dyd they embrace
Them, in shorte space
Because they loue to chaynge
And naturally
You knowe pardie
Ech man wyll loue him selfe
Then a small thynge
Maye him sone brynge
In loue with this worlds pelfe
The brutes therfore
Toke Philautis lore
And lefte Hypocrisie
Then range the bell
To a Counsell
That thynge to ratifie.
In this Synnodde
Ten score and odde
Toke Hypocrisies parte
Yet all they loste
For all theyr boaste
In dispyte of theyr herte
It was decreed
There and agreed
That Philaute should possesse
For euer more
Hypocrisie store
Hys landes and his ryches.
Then Philaute sent
In contient
Ten thousande tunnes of gold
To Philargyrie
To make him miry
Therwith, what time he wold
In shorte tyme than
His store began
To waste and weare apase
For he eate styll
And coulde not fyll
Hys paunch, in .vii. yeres spase
Then Philaute fedde
Hys God wyth leade
With stones, and wyth tymber
And tolde hym that
Golde was to fatte
For men that faste Imber.
You muste, quoth he
Contented be
Wyth such as doeth remayne,
Ye must forbeare
Thys preciouse geare
Yet for a yere or twayne
Then Philaute solde
For redy golde
Fortes that were builded strōg
And made so sure
Forto endure
That they had stande ful long
Greate landes also
Philaute let go
For golde that was full fyne
And sent it all
To Philargyries hall
For him therwyth to dyne
But all was gone
And spent anone
And he loked for more
But yet in vayne
For nought certayne
Remayned then in store
Well thought he than
I trowe I can
Make ryght fyne golde of bras
And so he dyd
But it framed
Full euel as resone it was
Well, yet he sent
And raysed rent
From fyue grotes to a pounde
Yet was there nat
Much wone by that
For more was lost then founde
Well thus at the last
All hope was paste.
His God he coulde not fyl
Vnlesse he shoulde
Be founde so bolde
The kynge & hys reame to syl
Then gan this God
To take the rode
Of hunger in his fyst
And sayde that he
Woulde fylled be
No man shoulde him resiste.
Then wyth strokes sore
He smote the pore
And then they gan to crye
To god almyght
For them to fyght
Agaynst Philargyrie

Howe Trueth tolde all to the kynge.

BVt then toke trueth
Pitie and ruth
And to the kynge he went
And sayed syr kynge
Amende this thynge
Thy realme else wylbe shent
And Philaute haue spent all
Thy people are
So full of care
That nowe to god they cal.
Vengeaunce therfore
Is at thy dore
Redy the to destroye
Onlesse thou wyll
Purge out the Ill
That doeth thy flocke anoye
An horrible thynge
It is syr kynge
To fall into godis hande
Thou maist trust me
No man can be
Able him to wythstande
Take hede therfore
Suffer no more
These fell felons to raygne
Leste God almyght
For thy stock fyght
And thou thy selfe be slayne
What though they be
Myghtie to se?
Yet feare not thou at all
For (God no doubt)
Wyll rowte them oute
If thou wylt on him call
For he hath sayde
He wyll the ayde
Agaynste his enimies
If thou wylt go
Forthe streyght and do
Thyngis pleasant in his eies

¶ Howe the kynge draue that wycked sort oute of his realme

WYth that the kynge
For feare gan sprynge
Vnto the Bible boke
And by and by.
Ryght reuerently
That swerde in hand he toke
No wyght, quoth he
Shall spared be
That doeth my flocke oppresse
God hath me set
Such thyngis to let
And all wrongis to redresse
Then let he crye
That lowe and hye
In whom gods feare did dwel
Shoulde neuer rest
But do they best
Gods enmies to expell
Then fell he downe
And cast his crowne
And diademe asyde
And lokyng on hye
Vp to the skye
To God aloude he cryed
Lorde God, quoth he
Thou hast chosen me
Ouer thy flocke to raygne
Make me of myght
All wrongis to ryght
And make all well agayne
Then God him sent
Men that were bent
Oppression to expell
Whoe chased oute
This gygante stoute
And then all thyngs were w [...]

¶ Impryn­ted at London by Robert Crowly dwellinge in Elie Rentes in Holburne Anno Dmini M.D.L.I.

¶ Cum priuilegio ad imprimendu solum.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. Searching, reading, printing, or downloading EEBO-TCP texts is reserved for the authorized users of these project partner institutions. Permission must be granted for subsequent distribution, in print or electronically, of this EEBO-TCP Phase II text, in whole or in part.