¶ A short Answere to the boke called: Beware the Cat,
To the ientil reder: harti salutacions,
Desiring thee to knoe: Baldewins straunge faschions
And if in aunsering: I appere sum what quick,
Thinke it not with out cause. his taunts be rive & thick
Where as ther is a boke, called: beware the cat,
The veri truith is so, that Stremer made not that,
Nor no suche false fabels: fell ever from his pen,
Nor from his hart or mouth: as knoe mani honest men
But wil ye gladli knoe, who made that boke in dede,
One Wylliam Baldewine. God graunt him wel to spede
God graunt him mani new yeres, prosperite and helth
As he hath in this thing: farderd the Comon welth
With large lesure, browne studi: he musing all alone
Devised by what meanes: he might win the whetstone
Every thing almost: in that boke is as tru,
As that at Midsomer: in London it doth snu.
Every thing almost: in that boke is as tru,
As that his nose to my dock: is ioyned fast with glu,
Put vp your pipes Baldewine: if you can make no better,
Many talk more wittili: that knoe not one letter,
Put on your cap Baldewine: & kepe your brayn pan warme
Least ye go to Bedlem: if suche toyes in you swarme
Rede this litel short Rime: Baldewinken, til more cum:
And with Stremers excrements: be bold to noint your gum
In stede of Diaglum, in stede of Coloquintida,
In stede of ru barbarum, or casia fistula.
If the maker hereof: had bin at more lesure.
Ye had had from his hande: a more precious tresure
But in the meane season: content your selfe with this,
For your Bagagical boke, a warme a. r. s. you may kys.
O r els a payre of stockes: if officers do wel,
You hurt a harmeles man: which no such tales did tel,
As ye were disposed: loude lyes on him to make,
Which many witti things: writes for his countreys sake.
Alas I wolde to God: your boke were halfe so good,
I wysh you no more harme: nor to your swete hart bloud
The pith of this paper, (if any man in it loke)
Is to deni utterli, that Stremer made that boke
The boke (of ten leaves) was printed every worde
Er Stremer saw any pece, to wipe a way a t. o. r. d.
Tergendis natibus, som thought his boke was good
Or to cari spiceti, to cherische a sick mans bloud.
Therfore ientyl reder: beware what credence thou ghive
The truth here conteyned: thou mayst boldly belive
Baldwins toyes do belong: to thee or any other
As well as they do touche Stremer, his pore brother.
And now Iuge good hirers: whether he be a good man
Of whom I write these things: as truli as I can.
If that be not a grete faute, so to hurt a mans name,
Without sufficient cause: what crime shuld a man blame?
Omnia si perdas: famam servare memento: Qua semel amissa postea nullus eris,
If thou lese all (sayth he) yet reserve honest fame
If that be ones clene gon: go home and suck thy dame.
I am loth for to rayle, as Baldwin hath begun
For so betwine vs both: a fayre threde shuld be spun
This miche I haue writen: that the truith shuld be knowen
And that the falsite: shuld quite be ouerthro wen.
Finis.