MORIO­MACHIA.

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Imprinted at London by Simon Stafford. 1613.

TO THE MOST HAPPY AND GLORIOVS constellation of brotherhood, together with the trinall knot of the most honourable family of the Howards, Robert Anton sacrificeth this new borne babe of his humble duty, wishing an e­uerlasting motion of happynes both the them, and that Ho­nourable house (*⁎*)

RIght Honourable branches of a fayre and spreading faily, vnder whose shades my best fortunes ruminate, I haue thought good to vnite you all in a whole peece, whom en­uious time cannot make marchandise in parcels. (to conioyne you:) which to disioyne, were a sinne as deepe as a Lawyers pate in Terme time, that sings no song but De profundis. I honour that musicall consent of frater­nity, and hold it not inferiour to Pithagoras his harmony: let this modicum of superfluous minutes craue but the pri­uiledge of a Seruingman, and weare the cloth of your fa­uour. Semel in anno ridet Apollo: Serious houres and graue designes must needes laugh, and amongst them, my studyes at this time, are turned merry Greeke. I writ them in Dog dayes, and they must needes bite: but what? not vertue, not honor, not nobility: but error, ignorance, and that pesthouse of the time (foppery.) But what I would speake, silence shall be my Attourney, and pleade both for times reformation, and your perpetuall happynesse.

Your Honors deuoted seruant, Robert Anton.

To the vncapable Reader.

GIue place, Ass-crapart,
Start backe,
A noysome Gyant, whom A­nus King of Pedolia, beat out of his King­dome.
Tatifart,
Colebrond, be a by-stander:
For here comes to fight
The Fayryes faire Knight,
ycleped Pheander,
To conquer full soone
The man of the Moone,
Sir Archmoriander.
The truth of which Battell,
This Booke well can that tell
to each Vnderstander,
Vnlesse that he be,
As some men are, (wee see)
a Goose or a Gander.
By which his rare workes
He giues secret iurkes:
he one day shall wander,
Though yet he priuy lurkes:
Against the big Turkes
to be a Commaunder.
I meane, thou shalt worke-ny
To conquer the Turke-hy,
Notorious Pheander.
Vntill when, let no man,
Of this Knight of the
For being without a wife, he may be as honest as honoura­ble.
woman,
speake euill or slander.

¶Moriomachia.

ABout that time of the yéere, when siluan Pan pipes Roundelayes, and nimble Sa­tyres friske about the timely Palmes, old Tytan turnd swaggerer, and reueld in the Tauernes of the earth so late, that he durst not appeare to a Lanthorne, (fearing the rough exami­nation of a Rugged watch, and the dogged authority of a common Iaylor) before the fresh Aurora fetcht him foorth with a fiery face, and alayd his high colour with the coole mornings dew. Then Fayry Nymphs turned Milke-maydes, and tooke pleasure in dandling the dug. The Fayry Queene herselfe at that time dispos'd to re­creation (and to try her huswifry) accompanied her at­tendant trayne to their accustomed haunt: which was to a rare and delicate pleasure-fitting meddowe, most copious, & neately furnisht with diuers proper bellow­ing Bulls, and many comely courteous gentle Cowes, where euery pretty Elfe betooke her to her seuerall taske, to prouide Milke for Ale possets, to welcome home at night their ouerwearyed Knights in Armes.

No Arte in armes giues Fayry Knights content,
Vnlesse they haue their Ladyes sweet consent.

The Fayry Queene not acquainted with such rus­tick Dayry, most vnfortunatly (but more Cockney like) by chaūce hapned on a meeke and louing Bull. Shee (poore Lady) thinking he had bin a reasonable creature, made him lowe cursy, and fayrely intreated him, to yeelde his consent to be quiet and gentle, vntill shee had finisht her Milking. And so takes the Teate in her slender hand, [Page] (which was somewhat too grosse for her fine fingers,) shée (kind Madam) drew many a dry draught.

Good Lady shee did seldome vse to milke,
Or touch s things as were not clad in silke.

The poore vnderstanding beast proud of his Milke­mayd, séemed not so much as once to stirre, fearing to hinder what she did intend, but stood most loying and kindly to her.

When she began to perceiue her owne mistake, and withal obseruing the strange and vnvsuall curtesie of the beast towards her, she pittyed his present estate, and im­mediatly called a councell of her Nymphs about her, where all generally yéelded their voyces, and concluded, to haue him transformd into the habite and shape of a man, but still to retayne his braue beastly courage, wherwith he might in time (by ye assistance of his starrs) be ranckt in eminency with the gallant séeming Cour­tyer, the valorous heyre of a gowty Vsurer, or at least, with the Farmors proper Gentleman-like son. And for his qualityes and maners (hauing so excellent a Tutres) he already was able to kéepe the company of a Meere Scholler, a bold Bayliffe, or a brawny fisted Mechanicke: so being prouident of his welfare in pursute of Knightly aduentures, she suited him in an Asses skinne impe­netrable, made after the newest fashion, and intitled him, Tom Pheander, the mayden Knight her Champion.

The Asse did weare a Biggin being young,
Which kept his eares from growing ouerlong.

And for that she would at first let him vnderstand the generall dangers of a Knight errant, she put him in a weather-beaten Barke with totter'd sayles, fraighting it with a whole firkin of valour, and so expos'd him to the Sea and fortune, who with the fauourable wind of her Fan, droue him with safety vpon the coasts of Mo­rotopia, euen at the mouth of a riuer, where grew a goodly Viniger tree, which was very sharply besieged [Page] with fat & large ourgrowne Salmons (betwéene whom for this long time, hath bin mortall warre, and waste, by fire and knife) where he so valiantly bestir'd himselfe, that he rays'd the siege, and recouered the trée, which he carefully preserues with a garison of Fayryes, by reason of the aboundance of Viniger it yéeldes, which he found would be very commodious in his Turkish warres, as wel to coole his double dags, as also to make sauce to eate the hearts of all such Turkes as he should chance to kill.

So trauelling vp into yt countrey, as he passed through a Uillage, he espyed two men threshing out Corne in a Barne, which strooke him into amazement, so that hee stood as mute as a politike Drunkard, to see them beate one against the other with their flayles; But taking them to be Knights inchaunted, he addressed himselfe towards them, and sayd, Fayre Knights, remember your selues, and call to mind your former estates, resume your noble spirits, and be not thus ouerborne with Nicromanticke spels. One of them looking vp, sayd, Honest man, be gon: for thy fole spéeches hinder our worke, and our Dame will be very angry, if our dayes taske be not finished at night. (Quoth ye Fayry Champion) Mistake me not, gen­tle Sirs: for fortune hath sent me hyther, to ease and release you both from these Magicall charmes, if I may but see or speake with that damn'd Magician. Mary Sir, my Dame and Marian are both within, and Marian is euen iust now a charming: and if you will go in & speake with her, you shall. (Quoth the Fayry Champion) With all my heart. So in he leades him to the Milke-house, where Marian was charming butter. As soone as he espi­ed her, he sayd, Aha, haue I found thée at thy charme, thou fowle Inchauntresse? I speake to thee that keepest Knights in seruile slauery. Ile dissolue your Charmes and Circles, your Inuocations and Incantations: and so takes the Charme & Cheesefats, and throwes them about the house. Which Marian séeing, she cryed out for helpe, [Page] to saue her from the madde man: when presently one of the seruants of the house came with a cudgell, and there began a fearefull fray.

Why dost thou beate this courteous Knight, thou swayne?
Chud ha him catch his (woodcocke) wit againe.

But Marian, like a wise Stickler or moderator, recon­ciled them with a composition of sowre whay, where each dranke to other, and so parted louing friends.

Now being in a strange countrey, and altogether vn­acquainted with the wares and passages, or how to bend his course, straggling here and there (the weather be­ing exceeding hot,After honour. and he extreme thirsty) at length hée enquired of haruest people, intreating their directions where he might get drinke: who very courteously shew­ed him a playne beaten way, leading to a Noblemans house not farre off.

The Fayry Champion put on a bold sharpe face, went to the Noblemans house, and desired the Butler to giue him a cup of his giuing drinke. But the Butler (as the custome is) churlishly denyed him, and bid him be gone, for that he had not any charity, much lesse commission, to giue any thing to such an able wandering fellow as hee was, bidding him go looke for worke amongst haruest folkes, and take paynes for his liuing.

Whereupon ye Fayry Champion, like a valiant sturdy Begger, tooke the Butler by the braines, & dasht his heeles against the wall, made corkes to stop Ale-bottles of his bones, & threw them into his Buttery, for al succeeding Butlers (yt were not boon cōpanions) to, take example.

He tooke his braines from foorth his head before,
Else sore Kibe-heeles, perhaps, had made him rore.

So he dranke vp all the beere in the Buttery, before he could quench his intolerable thirst: for the house was not then so well furnisht as at other times, by reason there was no houshold: for the Lord and his Lady were gone vp to Moropolis to take phisicke, & see the newest fashi­on at Court.

[Page]Thus he procéeded on his intended iourney, and after hee had gone twenty miles or thereabouts, he began to finde a fainting in himselfe, and felt his guts shrinke together like burnt parchment, yet he tooke as good courage as necessity vseth to driue men to, in such a case, and ere long, by good hap he espied not farre off, a very fayre new built house, with many goodly turrets and battlements, and whole clusters of chimneyes more then néede required, for that he could not see any vse of those that were néedfull, in regard there was not any Tobacco stirring amongst them, which argued there was but little good fellowship: therefore his heart wax­ed cold; yet he went and knockt at the gate, but all in vaine: for there was not any within to giue him answere, but one­ly Spyders: for all the Rats and Mice were eyther gone, or else staru'd with that extreame dearth.

O Champion fayre, what ill did thee befall,
To be deceiu'd? it was no Hospitall.

It fortuned, as he was thus standing at the gate, a hus­bandman of a néere neighbouring village, came by and as­ked the Fayry Champion what he would haue there. Sir, qd. the Fayry Champion, I am a traueller without money, and altogether without any acquaintance, but onely Hunger and Thirst, & this place afarre off promised reliefe to such want­full trauellers as I am. O Zur (quoth the husbandman) the see how you ma be desseyu'd: but come and goe along with me, to such vittles as old Madge my wife has puruided vor my dinner, and cham suer yée shall be welcome to hur with all hur heart. Sir (quoth the Fayry Champion) I rest much bound to your loue, and will imbrace your kind of­fer to go along with you.

The honest playne countrey man in charity milde,
Tooke vp at the gate, this poore fatherlesse child.

But I pray, sir, tell me: what Gentleman owes this faire house where you found me knocking? (quoth the husband­man) Zuerly sur, he is no Gentleman, vor he is a Knight, and my Londlord too, mary, and now both he and my Lond­lady [Page] lye in the zitty, a vollowing a lawing matters, and they zay a haz zitch an intercate troubling vowle zute, tis a shame to zée it, and that it is great chance whether a conere get out on't or no: vor a has not bene here in our countrey this tweluemoneth and more, burlady, come the time: but I wudd to God a were here vor me, vor we miste a great deale of good cheare, and dauncing, and sport at Kursmas, zince my old Lond-lord his vather dyed. Well, God rest his zoule, vor a was the best hondler of a long whip in all our countrey: nay I may tell you, a has not left his mate be­hind him: and cham zore a veard we zhall nere ha zuch ano­ther man as he was, vor a wud be zo yarly vp a mornings to vother his zhéepe himzelfe, as twas wondervull: and Lord, a wud tell zich a company of old vables, a mon wudd be the better to be in his company. Chée ha heard him zay, that his vather turn'd him out a doores when a was a little boy, to zéeke his vortunes, with one poore single groat, all in three Hapences, in his purse: but by my vaith chée know not how a got it: but cham zuer a dyed a mizerable rich mon.

I wonder (quoth the Fayry Champion) much, that your Land-lord being no Gentleman, could come to be a Knight! (quoth the Husbandman) Chee ha oftentimes heard him zay, that it cost him well and vanordly vor it, I may tell you.

When the Fayry Champion vnderstood, there were more wayes then one to attaine to a Knightship, he held himselfe in the most fortunatest place of ye earth; for in the Fayry land they onely haue it by desert: & on the sudden he grew to such an excéeding height of ambition, that with all haste he would be gone, and to that purpose tooke leaue of the Husbandman, who (as it appeared) was high Constable of the hundred, by reason he went to the parish Clarke, & caused him to make a passe for the security of Tom Pheander ye Fayry Champi­on in his trauels, wherein he charged all the petty Constables within the hamlets of his hundred, to ayde and resist the Fayry Champion against any one whatsoeuer, that should [Page] séeme to stay, defend, or any way distribute him in his iour­ney, but suffer him to passe quietly without any of their tolerations.

And although the Pasport was written by the hand of an old Wood-hen, (one would haue thought) if Hennes had had hands, yet the countenance of a Magistrates hand at it bore it out, & made it carry meate in the mouth. So he than­ked him for all his good chéere and much kindnes, and de­parted in pursute of the fortunes he aymed at, which was to be a Knight at the least.

When he began to come néere the heart of the Iland, hée heard of the rich and flourishing City of Moropolis; thither­ward he repayred with what expedition he could deuise, and drawing within sight of it, he met in the way a proper tall trading Gentlewoman, set out after the finest fashion of new deuices, with a white loose body in a straight blacke Gowne, hooped about with the flexible bones of a slender Whale: the crowne of her Cap was so déepe in band, that it durst not scarce peepe out to be seene: her Maske came downe to the tippe of her nose, and her chin tyed vp with a lac'd clout (or handkercher,) as if shee were iawe-falne.

Her obsequious Vsher, was a little leane fellow, with a fayre smooth cloake, whose fine threed was not ashamed to shew it selfe to the vttermost: by his side he wore a long sword, which was so quarrelsome, that it would draw vpon any thing it me withall: for the chape was worne out in drawing on the ground, not much vnlike a Munkey going vpright on his hinder legges, drawing his tayle af­ter him.

You do not much in your simile fayle:
For he was an Vsher vnto a Wagtayle.

This Sir Pandarus, was vshering his Lumpe of foode and rayment,For he had no wages. three Miles from the City, to­wards the diseased broken Chambers in a Brothell, to giue méeting with the wise profuse first fruits (or heyre) of a rich Broker, whose extorting Intrest money did so trou­ble [Page] the Vse of his memory, at the very last houre of his death, that he dyed without bequeathing the least sparke of wit to his soone, amongst his great patrimony; for he had not the time to remember the least Colledge of poore Schollers, nor the meanest Hospitall of diseased people.

He might haue left something, although but little,
To cure his sonnes diseases in a Spittle.

This parcell of Sinne, going towards the place of action, to meete her Money-Paramour, had an Izeland dogge new­ly shorne, which was going along with her, and being in the fields, the dog fetch't his courses to and againe afarre off, so that she was fearefull of losing him, and with a loud shrill voice, she called him by the name of Lyon. Which the Fayry Champion hearing, and withall séeing the dog runne to­wards her, he thought she had cryed out to saue her from the Lyon, and therefore drew his sword, and spéedily ranne to ayde the ouerpressed virgin, according to the othe and office of an arrant Knight.

When Tom Pheander espy'd this dogged Lion,
He drew his sword, and ran, till he was ny on.

And comming to her, he sayd, Feare not, fayre Swéeting, the outrage of this cruell rauening beast: for I will keepe you from any euill whatsoeuer may betyde you, that hereaf­ter, Historyographers shal, Romanlike, stuffe out my valiant acts, with the bumbast of their perpetuall Inkhornes.

The dog comming néere her, began to leape and fawne, and lickt her hand: which the Fayry Champion seeing, sayd, Now do I well perceiue, that you are a most spotlesse mira­culous mayde: for that you are armed with the armour of pure honesty, against the insatiety of this all-deuouring Ca­niball.

Pheander shewed his iudgement was but poore,
To call her mayd, that was a common ()

Although he spoke seriously to his owne vnderstanding, thinking indéed it had bin a Lyon: yet she (who scorned the name of a mayd at those yeres) thought (as well she might) [Page] that he had laughed her to scorne, & derided her with scoffes; and therefore with her hand, she suddenly basht him on the lips, that the very bloud sprang from his teeth: which flirt he accepted as a token of great fauour from her bounteous fist, and with his handkercher spung'd the blood from his mouth, which he sayd he would kéepe as a perpetuall remem­brance, giuen by the hand of a faire vertuous virgin. With which spéeches she grew so excéeding angry, and was so high­ly incensed against him, that she commanded Sir Panderus to set vpon him with his long sword: which he refused to doe, being daunted with the feare of hauing his profession questioned.

A guilty conscience sometimes keepes in awe
That thing, which else would not be curb'd by law.

The Fayry Champion séeing there were no further aduē ­tures, fitting the worths of a Knight errant, he quietly de­parts, & addresses himselfe into that much renowned City of Moropolis, where he purposed to spend some time about the City, to learne a generous carriage of himselfe: and, for that he would auoyde to be déemed an Intelligencer to some forrayne State, he altogether abandoned Ord'naryes, and Tauernes, and would not at any time séeme to intrude himselfe into the company of those that vnderstood much, but tooke a Poeticall Sculler, (whose swift Muse borrowed the Poets pretty Nagge Pegasus to ride poste: and comming short of his Iourney,Mari­ners sel­dome good Horse-men. he brought him home pittyfully Spur­gal'd) and so crost the water to visit the Beares, and Puppet playes, the tall Dutchman, the woman Tumbler, the dead skin of a strange liuing Fish, the Calfe with two heads, whose two mouthes had deuoured more hay, then his one stomacke could disgest, so that it lyes yet in his belly as fresh, as when he first eate it, without putrifaction, as may be seene. Hee likewise noted a very strange thing, which was, a Blind man led through euery street of Moropolis by a staffe, which had eaten so much Garlicke, that he could follow it by the smell. And truely, many more great obseruations [Page] he had gotten from amongst the Motion-mongers of Niniuy and Babylon, so that now hee had sufficient experience to mayntayne an argument by Parrattisme after dinner or supper, with such ord'nary company, as vse to make great talke of their small trauels.

As their Iourney by Land from Burmooda to Tunis,
And their Voyage by Sea, o're the Alpes to Venice.

And now hauing furnished himselfe with some reasona­ble store of coyne, which he had wonne at the excellent, and most ingenious games of Pigeon-holes, and Trap, he put his fortunes on towards the Morotopian Court, where it pleased the Pages of the Nobility to do him much fauour, and the Ladyes to grace him with the honour of Knight­shéepe.

The Lady layd the sword vpon his shoulder:
He arose, and swore to beate her foes to poulder.

For which he was (Anabaptistically) created or nomi­nated (at thyrty yéeres of age) Sir Tom Pheander, the Mayden Knight, or Fayry Champion, otherwise, The Knight of the Sun, otherwise, The Knight of the Burning Pestle. And but that he was most notoriously knowne to be a meere naturall subiect, the mutiplicity of his names & additi­ons might haue brought him in suspition, to be apprehended for some seducing Spye, or at least, a Knight of the Poste.

When the Fayry Quéene vnderstood by the inuisible At­tendant, which shée sent with him in his trauels, of his grace in Court with Lords, his sometimes desired compa­ny of Ladyes, and the generall loue and laughter of his iol­lity, and Naturall conceits from the vulgar,

He oftentimes shewed good pastime of body:
The whole Globe did thinke him a counterfet Noddy.

She foorthwith prouided him a rich Coate-armour in­chaunted, which had these propertyes: that whatsoeuer he was (at any time) that put it on his backe, should not néede to feare any terryble thing whatsoeuer, vnder the degree of a Crabtrée Cudgell, & whensoeuer he should looke in a glasse, [Page] with the Helmet on his head, he should be instantly so wise, that he should be for that time alwayes opposite to a foole.

This Coate-armour was of a singular proofe, checkerd Motley, Vert and Argent, party per Pale, ribd with rowes of Gules and Or▪ from the very Gorget to the skirts. The Helmet was of the same, on which was a deuice of foure faces, resembling the foure windes. In the midst of those faces were rays'd little mounts, appearing like Noses, on which stood pretty conceited Windmills, which in the going made as pleasant a soūd, as curious Fawlcons Bells. On the Crest was aduaunced the Necke, Head, & Combe, of a blou­dy crested Cocke, betokening true valour euen after death.

Wit eb'd from his Noddle like floods from a Rocke,
Which made her prouide him the combe of a Cocke.

This complete Coate-armour was committed by the Fayry Queene vnto the trust and care of Madame Moriana (a Fayry Lady) to be with all spéedy expedition conuayde to her worthy merry Champion, the (now) Knight of the Sunne.

Madame Moriana séemed to hasten, and with all possible spéed dispatched messengers with the greatest expedition that might be, and (Lady-like) made a goodly shew of that shee neuer purpos'd, giuing the Messenger direction to hasten to the Morotopian Court, and there enquire after one Sir Archmoriander Dunce-ll dell Cinthya, the Knight of the Moone, her Knight, to whom true reason had farre ingag'd hor loue and due respect, in fréeing her from the outrage of Andromago a monstrous, strong and terrible little Gyant: and thus it was.

Madame Moriana, vpon a time, walking in an euening (as the custome is in Fayry Land) downe in a greene valley, wherein Nature had seated a most pleasant Groue, so fit for priuate recreation and delightful excercise that Arte it selfe could not deuise a more curious frame: thither she often wal­ked without neglect, or missing ye least minute of her accusto­med houre, who (by her often recourse thither) was espied by [Page] Andromago, a mighty huge and chollericke Pigmey Gyant. He was a full halfe yard broad betwixt the eyes, and almost eightéene ynches by the rule (wanting but the breadth of a super-fine wyer) from the crowne to the héele, and the rest of his body proportionable accordingly.

This monstrous grim-looking Gyant, knowing Moria­na's vsuall houres of resort to the Groue, ambushed him­selfe in a very great Thicket, (in the middle way) growing on the side of a high cloud-pearcing Mole-hill.

The fashion of the countrey is, that the Nobles and Gen­try of ancient houses, haue their Armes portrayed in a small Escuchion, which they euermore beare before them, to the end they may be knowne from priuate persons, and that the thronging multitude may giue way, when they ap­proach neere; whereas otherwise, they could not haue that due respect which belongs to them, in regard it is a war­like nation, and subiect to Insurrections: THerefore for that they may be euer in a readynes vpon any domestick warre, all go ready arm'd with Maskes and Mufflers.

Now had Andromago the Gyant, with his Fawchion, lopt downe the great arme of an Eglentine trée, where hee (Salisberry playne like) looked through, to sée the passing by of Moriana, whom at length he espyed comming alone a­farre off, towards her wonted place of recreation. And draw­ing néere within the apprehension of his eye, he was well assured it was she, and knew her by the Escuchion she cary­ed before her, wherein was charged in chiefe, a halfe Moone Gules, in a iagged cloud Sables, and the lower (or backe) charge was, thrée Drops Or, vnder a Fess Argent. This coate she gaue, which was the most ancientst in al the Fayry Land, and euer continued hereditary to the heyres female of that house.

When she was come néere the Thicket, Andromago watched his fit opportunity, and suddenly rushed out like a Snake from a hedge, leaping thirty ynches by the rod, and caught her in his armes, and with very ioy of his prey, ror'd [Page] like a Bull of eight dayes old, This hideous yell so af­frighted the poore Lady, that she was euer after troubled with a kind of Falling sicknesse. So leading her along as his prisoner, towards a Castle he had not farre off, which was double grated with huge Iron barres, not much vnlike the mighty strong Baracadoed windowes of a monstrous ouergrowne Mouse-trap: wherein he had imprisoned many ancient tooth-wanting Ladyes, and fed them with nothing but hard candied sweete­meates, and the sowrest iuyce of the sweetest Grape.

It was Sr. Archmorianders good hap, to take his way through the Fayry Land, homewards from his trauels, who had bene amongst the barbarous Brasillians, to sée the fashion of the countrey, & also to learne the nature of the people, by a most happy chance, he met the poore cap­tiu'd Lady, led by the hand of his vgly Monster, who was néere as high as the Ladyes girdle, which compast her delicate waste seuen times, besides the knot.

The sudden appearance of the Gyant to Sir Archmo­riander (for he had neuer séene in all his trauels and ad­uentures the like creature before) stroke him into such a shaking palsey, that he could very hardly stand still on his legs,Hee would haue bin gone. yet he tooke an indifferent strong heart, and addressed himselfe towards the Gyant, with a swéete quauering voice, saying:

Thou most monstrous and huge diminitiue of nature, which hast alwayes bene an enemy to Ladyes, I aduise thée surrender thy prisoner into my hands, or else by the light of this marshall hand, thou shalt well vnderstand the price of her: for thou hast done her such skuruy pal­try wrongs, as thy weake state cannot counteruayle to make her satisfaction; for reason induces my worthy selfe to wey both your causes in my vpright ballance of vnequity.

Andromago staring at Sir Archmoriander, like a wild Goose, ready to fly vpon, sayd, Thou foolish [Page] Knight, thinkest thou I will so easily part with the thing I haue so long stood and wayted for? No; I aduise thée be gone, or else I will wyther thy very face, and confound thy smelling sence with my breath: for I scorne to stand to thy vnequall Chaundlers weights.

The Gyants threats could not discourage Sir Arch­moriander one iot more then he was before, (although surely the Giants breath was very strong, by reason he was so short wasted, and his two ends were so néere neighbours, that their friendshipp were alike, and the one did participate the others strength and sauour) But Sir Archmoriander well backt with hope to winne the Ladyes fauour, and his affection to iustice, made him looke so néere to his busines in hand, as an old purblindePurblind men are good hus­bands, and looke neere to their bu­sines. Counceller (or rather concealer) whose veluet Ierkin is sufficient to make a Iustice of peace without a commis­sion, that will not suffer the smallest caracter of a fault to runne at randome vnpunished: but binds it fast in recognizance, to receiue eyther corporall or pecunier punishment. Euen so he consideratly bare in mind the execution of some seuers iustice vpon a homicide, and with warme courage betooke him to his sword; which Andromago perceiuing, he likewise prouided to defend himselfe against his aduerse Assaylant.

The Iustices law did so assist his Clyent,
As Morianders sword, the Lady from the Gyant.

Sir Archmoriander, in the first encounter, had made an end of the fight before they began, but that (being mad with fury) he mist the Gyant, and runne the poynt of his sword into the ground. Andromago (léering like a Sargeant) espyed that aduantage (seeing him tugging to pull it foorth againe) omitted no time, but aduanc'd his club, and with one blow pasht Sir Archmorianders head all into a lumpe: which euer after looked like a Bee­tle: so that afterwards, when he came to be drest, the Surgeons opinion was, that he was very likely to carry [Page] that marke to his graue.

But Sir Archmoriander recouered himselfe so well as he could, and turned about as swift as a Windmill sayle in a hot Summers day, (with strong agility of bo­dy, and resolution withall, to giue a finall period to the battayle) and most valiantly vntrussed his poynts, put off his Doublet, snatcht vp his breeches by the sides, and with his sword cut off the Gyants right hand, so that it onely hung by the very bare bone and sinewes.

With this blow, Andromagoes Club fell out of his hand: which Sir Archmoriander suddenly tooke aduan­tage of by closing with him▪ and with a nimble strength threw him flat on the earth with as much facility, as if the Gyant had bene a childe of two yéeres old.

Sir Moriander cut the Gyant on the hand,
And hurt his little Toe, he could not stand.

The Lady Moriana standing by all the time of the fight, perplexed with an extreame feare of danger, and now séeing a hope of victory attend her Champion, shée began to take comfort in a pretty Medley, betweene weeping and laughing.

Sir Archmoriander hauing gotten Andromago vn­der him, lay vpon him with such a heauy weight, and pressed him so sore, that till then,Archmoriander lay very heauy vpon the little Gyant. Andromago felt not Sir Archmorianders heauy displeasure fall vpon him: which caused Andromago to cry out to the Lady, for pardon, and craued mercy of Sir Archmoriander, with a great shew of sorrow, for the excéeding iniurious wrongs offered to the Lady, and the heauy vnsuffera­ble iniuryes intended against Sir Archmoriander: All which was now fallen vpon himselfe, and the burden did much bruise his conscience.

Upon this submission, with penitency for his faults, Sir Archmoriander most honourably (befitting his worth) cut off his head, & set it on his doublet brest (where [Page] a button was lost in this fray) wearing it in token of his valour and victory, and so set him at liberty to go whi­ther he would.

Although the Gyant would haue giuen a groate,
Yet Moriander vow'd, to see his naked throate.

Sir Archmoriander hauing thus freed the Lady Mo­riana from the outrage of Andromago, hee went to comfort her, who was then suddenly falne into a déepe passion of sadnes.

Swéete Madam (quoth he) you see your dangerous enemy héere lye slaine: therefore, fayre Lady, I much scorne your thoughts should be possest with any future feare. Let me be the example of your courage, to take a strong heart, and valiantly beare vp your Escuchion and Armes without feare: for vnder your coate will I fight, whilest I can sland or breathe: for nature hath taught man to be an agent euen to brute Animals, much more to fayre Ladyes, as for example: The heauy Oxe, hee lightens with the Goade; the sullen Horse, he quic­kens with the spurre; and the Melancholy dull Lady, he stirrs vp to mirth, with the pricke of witty inuenti­on from a good brayne.

At these pretty Similes Moriana smiled, and bid him knéele downe, taking his sword, which was yet bloudy with cutting the Gyants throate, and layd it on his shoulder, bidding him rise vp, Sir Archmoriander, other­wise, Dunce-ll dell Cinthya her Knight of the Moone, (dubbing him in the ordure of the Escuchion she bore, and intitling him by her halfe Moone) which bargayne he seal'd with his lips,Not on the Es­cuchion, on the backe of her hand, with a smacking impression, and kindly sayd, Fare you well, sweete Lady, and so departed.

Moriana thus was freed from the Gyant,
And gaue him thanks, with tongue which went most plyant.

This well deserued affection from Moriana to Sir Archmoriander, possest him with the Armour, which of [Page] right belong'd to the Knight of the Sunne, when he (as many Gallants vse) neglected not the least opportunity that occasion could minister, to crake and bragge of his Mistris fauours most, when (if truth had béene knowne) they least concern'd him.

Sir Tom Pheander, For he was euer a great dreamer of Fayry busines. the Knight of the Sunne, had a vision, wherein he had intelligence of a Coate-armour, that was sent vnto him by the Fayry Queene, which Coate-armour was likewise shewed to him in this dreame, whereof he tooke especiall obseruation for the markes and tokens, so that hee could not fayle in the challenging of it.

It was likewise told him in this vision, that Moria­na, a Fayry Lady, had most trecherously betrayde it in­to the hands of the Knight of the Moone, who wrong­fully delaynde it from him.

Sir Pheander had the Armour shewed in vision,
Which made him hold Moriander in derision.

This vision put the Knight of the Sunne into such a passion of anger, that like a foolish mad man he tore his hayre, and vowed a reuenge against the Knight of the Moone, which he should be well assured to heare of, and hastens with all spéed towards the Court, to sée whether he could méete with his iniurious aduersary.

That very morning the Knight of the Moone was ready armed in the Knight of the Sunnes armour, and almost vpō taking horse, to ryde abroad for some strange aduentures, euen at the instant, when the Knight of the Sunne came to Court.

Archmoriander was arm'd, I know not how,
To ride abroad to slay the sauage Sowe.

And méeting the Knight of the Moone, he was well assured (calling his memory to aduise, and summoning the remembrance of the markes) that it was his armour: therefore he stept to the Knight of the Moone, and sayd,

Sir Knight, my simple opinion cannot iudge any of [Page] your actions lesse then abominable honest, yet this Coate-armour (and clapt him on the shoulder) belongs to me, although you most ignobly detayne it from mee, yet I am sure tis my right, and by Cockes and Combes (the badge of my honour) I looke to haue it.

The Knight of the Moone, thinking that he had struc­kē him in earnest, most valiantly blurted out his tongue, and bade him come by it how he could.

This now likely to grow to a dangerous quarrell, the freinds of both parts vsed their mediations, and perswaded them to haue the matter put to arbittermēt, and not fight, or go to lawe like brabbling fooles, which arrest one another for Moone-shine in water: and so with much adoe they both yéelded to haue the matter de­cided by two indifferent honest men.Not too honest by no meanes.

So they were both bound, each to other in generall acquittances of a hundred pounds a péece: and the Knight of the Moone vnarm'd himselfe, and deliuered the Coate-armour and Helmet, (as he was inioyned) into the custody of the Arbitrators then chosen, which were two Headborrowes of a Hamlet neere adioyning to the City Moropolis:

The one had no wit, the other had no land,
But botcht vp his liuing by patching with Holland.

These Headborrowes being altogether vnskilfull in deciding controuersies of such nature, retaynde a com­mon Lawyer, as an Vmpeere to assist them.

The Lawyer, when he had séene the Coate-armour, tooke a very great liking to it, insomuch that he purpos'd to giue the two Knights satisfaction by money, and kéepe the Armour to himselfe, if it would fit his body (although his conscience told him it belong'd but to one, yet he would please both parties to serue his owne turne. So putting it on to try the fitnes, he felt it giue him such a shrewde pinch in the Gues, (by reason it was too little) that he could neuer after graze any where, but on bare [Page] Commons.

O Gaffer Lawyer, stay, how do you looke?
Sir Pheander will note downe your name in his book.

So the Lawyer séeing his purpose preuented by mis­fortune, and no benefit like to rise towards himselfe, he would take no further paynes in the busines, but left it to the discretion of the two Headborrowes: who now hauing the whole and absolute power of determining the cause, and withall the Coate-armour in their owne hands, they made no great haste to beate their heads together about an award, but (like subtill Foxes) made good vse of the Armour for the most part of their whole yéere, to Watch and Ward in, and (hauing learned a tricke of the Lawyer,) fed the two Knights with de­layes, till their owne turnes were serued, and in the end, (because neyther of them could write or read) they return'd an Ignoramus.

When the matter was vnderstood to bée so difficult, that such Understanding men (as they were taken to be) could not decyde the controuersie, it was held fit, that they should try out their owne rights in single combate, by reason both challeng'd with like proofes, and the one would not indure the other, to bee riuall in eythers absolute right: where indéed, necessity ad­mits no plurality in such a Case.

You say very true, the weather growes hot:
And two fooles at once were too much in one coate.

The day for Combate was appoynted, and the two Combatants had warning giuen them, to pro­uide themselues sufficiently for the mayntenance of their iust claymes.

Now does the Knight of the Sunne lye rumina­ting euery night, tossing and tumbling in his bed without sléepe, bethinking himselfe (being of a timorous nature) what the issue of this dangerous quarrell may come to, and (oftentimes) heartily wished, [Page] he had neuer challeng'd so worthy a Knight, for so small a trifle.

On the contrary part, the Knight of the Moone sée­med to be very vnwilling to expose his body to such an eminent danger, especially against a Knight of his owne order, but rather could wish him to sléepe in peace, till he did awake him, which he would not do for a world; but that his Knight-sheeps word was so farre ingag'd.

Alas, poore Knights, I much bewayle their case,
To see how meager both looke in the face.

The Knight of the Sunne armed himselfe in a new white armour, which he neuer tryed before, and (for de­cencyes sake) went into his chamber, to his looking Glasse, to sée how his Armour did fit and become him, and finding it to his liking, he called his Page, and asked his opinion.

The Page answered, that the Armour did not fit or become him, in his opinion. (Quoth the Knight of the Sunne) No, my pretty Page? Why, the Glasse in my chamber tels me, it is very proportionable and fit.

Sir, beléeue not the Glasse, (quoth the Page) for the knquish Opticke made it to reflect many faire figures on fowle faces, and they will flatter many, and make them séeme farre better then they are. But, master, content your selfe: for you looke very well, especially when your Beuer is close lockt, that a man cannot sée your face. Which answers pleased the Knight so, that he rested passing well contented. But now the time is come, and the Combatants ready to enter the lists.

Soft, who comes heere? I pray can you tell?
The Knight of the Sunne, what can you not smell?
For there was ciuil warres in his bel­ly, and some run from the campe.

First came in the Knight of the Sunne, richly acow­terd in a white Armour, adorn'd with a white and azure Plume in the crest, with blacke beaten buckrum bases, glistering like the purest blacke Iet, beautyfied all ouer with paynted deuices of Sunnes and Starres.

Iacke (towering) Daw that tops the lofty tree,
On a Swines backe, sits not so vpright as hee.
His blacke Bases glistred like a Crow on a Hogs backe.

On eyther side were Emblemes of T P K, figured in Escuchions, farre more fayre then the Shelfe-clothes in a new Grocers shoppe.

Direct before him, at his Saddle pummell, hung a Battle-axe, which had endured the brunt of many a deepe danger, shadowed vnder the mystery of a Burning pestle, flaming out of a Common morter, most artificial­ly wrought in Naturall colours vpon Holland.

By his side was clasped a dangerous payre of Han­gers, wherein was wrought with subtill imbrodery, of Mosse and Peacocks feathers, a Landskipp of strong grated Castles, high growne Woods, and large fieldes of Hempe: in which hung a sword wrought with such cunning, that a man could very hardly iudge which end should hang downwards. In his hand he carried a proper tall slender Lawnce, so straight as a bent-Bow, (against which, the Knight of the Moone did except, fearing to be ouer-reacht with a crooked measure) and it was so sharpe at the end, that it would sticke to a coate of stéele like a piercing Burre.

He was mounted on a browne-bay Courser, of such a strange vnderstanding, that he would apprehend more then himselfe [...] could deuise to teach him.

The Horses wit did worke, as I suppose,
Ouer the Tubbe, and Barme dropt from his nose.
It was not a Brewers horse for all that.

For when he but presented his foote to the Stirrop, he would stand so gentle as a blocke: but being vp and surely seated, one very whiske of a birch rod would make him fling out his héeles like a Schoole-boy, and runne with such swiftnes, and wonder full spéde, that the very stuffing of his head would drop out at his nose like Turpentine.

The Caparisons of his horse were of the same péece that his bases were of, and wrought all ouer with rich [Page] colours of painted Néedleworke: which made a more de­lightfull shew, then the braue Buceplialus of a Whitson­tide Lord in his Morrice daunce.

Hee had such small Spurres, that a man could very hardly discerne the Rowels: for they were no bigger then the little fore whéeles of a small ordinary Coach.

His Launce the whip, his spurrs the wheeles, the capa­risons the Carre, and him­selfe the Carter.
His Rowels bore compasse, extending so farre,
He looke like a Carter, with whip, horse and Car.

Before him was carryed by strength of man, a morall deuice of wind-Instruments, figuring a man troubled with the wind-chollicke, which could neyther haue ease, or take pleasure, till he heard the wind breake from him with a melodious sound. These Instruments in the Fay­ry Land, are called Poke-whistles; but héere, the vulgar most deprauingly doe giue them the playne attribute of Bagpipes.

At length his sullen pipes began to squeake:
For he cannot hold his water, when he heares a Bagpipe.
To saue his breech, he did alight to leake.

On eyther side went a Squire in the habite of Turkes, with red Turbants on their heads, wreath'd about with white Shashes, and Trunchions in their hands, betoke­ning Bandettors, or sturdy high-way standers, captiu'd to the mercy of his victorious sword.

He was come into the Lists, (I meane not, of thréed­bare broade cloth,) and had ridden so often about, to shew himselfe to the people,He al­most tyr'd his horse, be­fore the combate that it would haue tyr'd a horse, before the other Combatant came in. But hee is not long that comes at last.

Then came in the Knight of the Moone, making no great shew, who was likewise in a milke white Armour newly scowr'd: he bare a plume in his crest, as white as a Goose feather, signifying his innocence (for that the Lady Moriana was neuer had before any Iustice, to be examined how she came by the Armour, nor did the Mes­sengers that brought it, acquaint him that it did belong to the Knight of the Sunne.)

[Page]He had party colour'd silke bases of a rich Mercers stuffe, but the name I doe not well know.

His Sword and Launce were pattern'd by the Knights of the Sunne.

His Horse was blacke, and so frée-spirited, that hee rid him without spurres.

He came in,I meane not Knights, that dyet in Ord'­naries. like a plaine ordinary Knight without Attendants, saue onely his horse—had rich trappings.

Sir Moriander's come, grim look't, as sharp as vargis,
Without Attendants▪ fie vpon this charges.

A brother of their order, hearing of this combate, made his personall appearance, with a blue flat Cap, wherein stucke a feather-bush, of all the colours in the Rainebow.

He had a déepe ruffe band with wide sets, so great, as if the Lawndresse had mistaken the steele, and poak't it with the Band-blocke. It bare a circumference like the whéele of a Brewers Dray-Cart.

He had a long dropping Nose, like the pipe of a Still, to which, his leane Chin, in curtesie (turned backwards) to giue méeting halfe way, at the signe of the Mouth.

No iesting foole, but a playne dealing Lad,
That speakes his mind, be it good or bad.

At his sudden comming in, the two Knights stomacks began to rise (but not at one another) for they thought he had brought a Calues head & bacon (in aRuffe Band. Charger vpon his shoulders) couered with a blue (Blue Cap. Chinay) dish, and aHis feather. bunch of Reddish: but it fell out otherwise: for he came like a voluntary Trumpet, at his owne proper costs and charges, to sound the terrible Alarum.

He blew allarme, so sweete as any figges:
Which pleas'd the eares, as Iewes loue rosted Piggs.

So taking his Cow-Trumpet from about his necke,Horne. he soūded a charge: which the two Knights hearing, they put on couragiously, with as swift speed as their horses could goe,Not run to the very shocke, where both their horses most vnfortunately started off so farre, that the one could not come neere to touch the other with his [Page] Launce, and running out their full caréere, the Knight of the Moone, for want of Spurres, could not stay his Horse, Or Pi­cadilla. which put him in such a madde standing Choller, that he forgot to beare vp the poynt of his Launce, in so­much that the Burre had like to light vpon the skirts of some of the standers by, and made them cry, Beshrewe them that beare Burres.

The Knight of the Sunne (premeditating the danger, and withall respecting the meanest subiects safety, as also his owne) most grauely let fall his Launce, and tooke hold of the Saddle pummell with one hand, and checkt in his Courser with the other, so fiercely & short, that he made a sudden stand, in lesse then a quarter of an houre, to the great pleasure, and wonderfull applause of all the beholders.

In the second course, the Knight of the Moone vsed his Launce for a Iacobs staffe, and winking with one eye, tooke the iust height of the Knight of the Suns brest, to which height, he most politikely glided his Launce, all along on the top of the Barre, the whole careere to the very shocke, where (by great chaunce) he broke his staffe with such a counterbuffe, that the Knight of the Sunne was halfe way behind the saddle, before he could catch hold of his horses mayne, which otherwise had kist his tayle to the very ground but his sure hold so nimbly recouered him, that he brake his Launce athwart the Knight of the Moones brest with such fury, that the Knight of the Moone was extremely troubled with the passion of the heart: wherewith he was so grieued, that the next course he was fully resolued, to seale the Knight of the Sunne his Quietus est. And for that pur­pose, he called for a stiffe Launce, with a full resolue, ey­ther to breake the Knight of the Suns backe, or at least, to dismount him ouer his horses crooper.

The Launce was deliuered to him, which was a great deale too big for the graspe of his hand, and there­fore [Page] he put it vnder his arme, and tooke fast hold with both his hands on the Pummell of the Saddle: and run­ning his full course, he hit the Knight of the Sunne, a­gainst the thumbe of his Gauntlet, which beat backe the Launce quite from vnder his arme, and withall, neere turnd the Knight of the Moone out of his Saddle to the ground, but that the buckle of a girt catcht hold of his Bases, and so sau'd his honour from the dust.

But recouering himselfe, and halfe mad with fury, he ranne his horse about to the same side of the Barre, where the Knight of the Sunne was, and most cowardly (against the law of legges) set vpon the Knight of the Sunne, Or, armes. with both his armed fists, when the Knight of the Sunne had nothing in the world to defend himselfe, but his Sword and Launce (which he so dearely loued) that he carefully preserued it from breaking that course.

In this their last course of Tilting, Al­though they were not ale-tubs. the very dregges of their malice began to appeare, & therefore they were resolued to runne no more, but to try it out with their single swords at the Barriers. So both of them drew, and layd on such heauy loade, that the very fire it selfe did not dare to appeare from their valiant swords, for feare of being quencht with the drops of sweate, that fell from their Knight-sheepes hyde-bound faces.

In this conflict they were both so farre spent and tir'de, as euer was Hackney horse vnder prodigall Ci­tizen, and the pride of their eager swords (now hauing their bellyes full) were so rebated, that neyther of them would bite:They threw away their swords without scab­bards. And therefore (like old ouerworne Seruing­men, whose prime of youth was spent in their masters seruice) had at last both their coates pul'd ouer their eares, & dismissed their masters seruice without wages.

The Knights of the Sunne and Moone now be­ing both on foote, made a pawse to breathe themselues, staring in opposition one against the other, with full bigge faces swolne with anger, foming or slauering at [Page] the mouth, like two sucking sauage Bores, whetting their tushes against a dugge.

And on a sudden they closde together, and so fell to wrastling, to trye their strength of armes:14. daies soone come a­bout; for the Sunne and Moone are in coniunc­tion. but the Knight of the Moone (being the elder Courtyer) was too cunning for him in the Gripe, and threw him downe,The Moone ouer­came the Sunne. but so, as both were downe together, and the Knight of the Sunne vndermost, which seemed ominous, portending strange things to come.The E­clipse of the Sunne.

Why is it so darke? that I can tell soone:
The Knight of the Sun is the Man in the Moone.

The (Knight of the) Sunne, and the (Knight of the) Moone, continuing thus in coniunction, caused such an Eclipse, as hath seldome béene mentioned in any hysto­ries of your greatest (Almanacke) writers for the inter­position of the body of the (Knight of the ) Moone, did so darken and obscure the light of the (Knight of the) Sun: that it made a pitch-blacke darke day, and wrought such confusions and mistakings on earth, by reason of the darkenes, that in Moropolis, where the houses stood thicke, one honest Citizen could very hardly sée another, without the helpe of Lanthorne light.

He was a happy man that could kéepe his wife to him­selfe, for feare of losing her: for many wiues tooke other men in their husbands stead, for want of light.

It was so extreame darke, that Collectors for the poore could not see to distribute the monyes, gathered to charitable vses, but were glad to put it vp in their owne purses, and imploy it to their owne vses till this Eclipse was past.

The poore Constables were glad to take money of Malefactors to buy them fire-light, to sée the peace kept, whereas oftentimes before, many of them were for­sworne, by reason they could not sée to bring in true Pre­sentments.

The Lawyers could not sée their briefes, not to make [Page] so much as one motion for his (rich oppressing) Clyent, without three double fees for his motion & Torch-light: but for his poore Client, if his cause were good, his charge of torch-light was saued, by the presence of Angels.

And although Attournyes swarm'd like the Grashop­pers in Egypt, yet they kept so close, and were so hard to be seene, (by reason of this darknes) that a man could ve­ry hardly haue any one appeare, not scarce for ten groats.

The fogging Solliciter could not see to follow a cause, as in honesty he ought, but neglected the busines of him that first retayn'd him, & for want of Candle-light, tooke fées of the contrary party, which (after the Eclipse was past) came to light, and he called coozening Knaue for his labour, though sore against his will.

In this darke Eclipse, the Bankrupt could not sée to pay his debts: but his creditors were glad to grope out halfe a crowne in the pound, and thanke him for it.

The miserable Iewish Vsurer would not be at charge, for so much light as would search the odde corners of his Counting-house, to find out, and deliuer vp Morgages of Land, and old bonds that were formerly payd: but put off the debtors with releases, and acquittances, with hope that time might neglect them, or cast them aside to be los [...]: then would he but forsweare the payment, and all is his owne.

The extorting Broker, (that suckes the very marrow from the bones, worse then the fowle disease) for want of candle-light, could not sée the Deuill at his elbow with one pawe on his shoulder, ready to teare in in a thou­sand péeces, for oppressing the poore pawning borrower with threescore in the hundred, and in missing but one houre of his pay-day, he should be sure to lose more, then thrice the value he borrowed.

Some wicked Mothers, after they came home from their Reuelling cheere and Musike, for want of Candle-light, became Bawdes euen to their owne Daughters.

In this darke Eclipse, the Peaking Pandar sneakt out with his bundle of rotten commodity, which by candle-light made such a fayre shew, that he held it at a Pockey deare rate; but the world was growne so cun­ning, that none but young Heyres, and Fooles would deale with him in Hole-sayle, and yet hee made shift to retayle it out to many Gallants by the yard, because they were his common Customers.

The Tapster could not sée to doe any man right, it was so excéeding darke in his Celler, that he thought the De­uill had bin there, (so that he came running vp affrigh­ted, before his Pot was halfe full.

By reason of this Eclipse, the Oftler could not giue the horse hay, nor sée the age in his mouth, without a greazy candle in his hand.

O, 'twas a lamentable time with Dyers & Picture-drawers: for the one could not sée by candle-light to put in those true ingrediences that would hold colour, and kéepe from stayning: Nor the other by candle-light, could not take the true picture of Man or Woman, without great faults.

This darke Eclipse was more beneficiall to Tal­low-Chaundlers, then thrée darke Winters before, wherein Prentices to the trade tooke such paynes, and withall were so carefull; that many of them were made frée, which before were but Screalings, and euer craw­ling in the Tallow, with their blacke flat Caps like Maggots.

And this Eclipse did not much hinder Haberdashers of small wares, by reason they kept so many lights: for by so much light, a man might well discerne small wares in many Shops.

It was a merry time with Carrmen, Watermen, & Porters: for in this Eclipse, many of them did nothing but drinke, domineere, and swagger in Alehouses; but the often going to and fro of the Pot, made them talke [Page] of that, which they had nothing to doe withall, and many times their obtuse apprehensions would be med­ling with the warres betwixt the great Turke and Pres­ter Iohn, how it was likely to end; because they heard [...] neighbour goodman Iobson say, they were now growne friends, and had put the matter to a bicker­ment. So that State businesses (which nothing con­cern'd them) and the pot together, so stupified their braynes, that many of them went raling out of doores. But if money began to fail out somewhat short, before they came to the heyght of their State matters, then many of them, (like a company of fowle-mouth'd fel­lowes) would sweare, curse, and rayle, euen against those men that set them on worke, from whom they had their chiefest meanes of liuing.

This darke Eclipse was almost the vndoing of ma­ny Bayliffes and Sargeants, and the impouerishing of Marshals-men so much; that their Mercenary depen­dances (whom they authorize to arrest) made men more fearefull of their purses, then of putting in bayle to their actions; by reason their exacting fees, (for want of bu­sinesses) came not in roundly, so that they could not better their apparell, but went like Runegado Bacca­nalians, be dropt all before with greale and ale, whose long continuance begot a glistering substance, which made such a coogning shew, that a man would haue thought his preface had béene all Sattyn, although his Doubblet was not worth a Button, Not one button on his Doub­blet. and pind ouer be­fore, as if he had bin in his swaddling clouts, or els borne with those clothes on his backe.

This darke Eclipse prou'd dismall to the chiefe Mil­ler of a Wind-mill; for he hauing beene abroade amongst [...] companions carowsing, was so extremely typpl'd [...]ith drinke, that he had much adoe in the darke to finde [...] Mill, although it was but a coytes cast from the [Page] Ale-house where he got his liquor. At length finding the Mill, by the noyse it made in going, he groped fo [...] the stayrs to go vp, which he could not find, but wen [...] vnder the Mill, amongst the Sacks of Wheate that we [...] standing there ready to grinde. Amongst these sa [...] he found good easie elbow-roome, and leaning again [...] them, fell fast asleepe: This Malt-sacke now among [...] the Wheate-sacks was so dead in sleepe, that indéed he was as sencelesse as his bed-fellowes. The Millers man aboue in the Mill, had put vp almost the last hop­per full of all the wheate that was then ready cran'd vp▪ Therefore hee let downe the rope to crane vp more, and afterwards came downe himselfe in the darke (like a foolish knaue without a candle) so féeling for the sacks of corne, the first that he lighted on, was the Malt-sacke his master, whom he tooke for a Sacke of Wheate. Then the wicked hangman put the ryding deuice ouer his masters head, where he felt a handkercher (which his master did vse to weare, with lace and buttons) about his necke, (after the effeminate fashion, forsooth A Ca­ueat for Clownes in fashion.) tyed with a knot, which his knotty-ioynted numbd fingers could not distinguish from the strings of a sacke: there he fasten'd the rope, and away he goes vp into his Mill to wind vp the supposed sacke, (his master towards hea­uen against his will) and hauing cran'd him vp halfe way, hee heard the stones of the Mill begin to touch each o­ther, for want of corne, whereby he was enforced [...] fasten the wrench of the Crane with an Iron pinne, an [...] so let his master hang whilest he went vp to put more corne in the hopper, (wherein he shewed his carefull diligence, to looke to his masters businesse, although h [...] were hang'd.) After ye Millers man had fild hi hopp [...] he betooke him to his old worke, and cran'd (by fauo [...] his Master to the height of his ambition (but pride [...] haue a fall.) So he tooke ye supposed sacke of corne in, [...] went to fetch the candle, to see to vnloose the strin [...] [Page] and comming néere, he perceiu'd it was his dead master: then did he wring him by the nose, and boxt him a­bout the eares, to recall life, but all was in vaine. So he stayd his Mill, although he durst not stay himself, lock't vp the doore, and put the key in his pocket, fearing his master should follow him to rayse the towne, and away he runne, and was neuer heard of to this instant day.

The (Knights of the ) Sunne and Moone, thus con­tinuing their long coniunction together, made the spec­tators weary by reason of this Eclipse: for it was so darke, that those which stood néerest to them, could not possibly see any of their valiant déeds, but onely they might heare them puffe and blow, and therefore it was thought fit to haue them parted. So they felt them out, who lay so still (being both ouerwearyed) as if they had béene in a sound sleepe.

When they were both vp, and had breathed them­selues a while, the Knight of the Sunne was very earnest to be at the Knight of the Moone againe, to try whether he could regaine the light which so Eclipst his honour: but he was held backe (which made him the more eager) and might not be suffred, because the combate was already adiudged to be lost on the Knight of the Suns part, and the award giuen vp, which was:As the custome is.

That the Knight of the Moone should haue and in­iuoy the Coate-armour and Helmet, and his owne pro­per right, without the least trouble or molestation of the Knight of the Sunne, and to weare the same, where, and when he pleas'd, according to his discretion. Pro­uided alwayes, that the Knight of the Sunne, vpon rea­sonable warning, should haue the vse of the Armour and Helmet, so that at any time he could alleadge some great cause, without yeelding any reas [...]n for the same but to redeliuer the same againe to the Knight of the Moone, as true and lawfull owner, without detayning [Page] it by delayes, any longer then his present vse requi­red, vpon the forfeiture of his Knight-sheepe and Armes.

So the Knight of the Moone had the Coate-armour and Helmet deliuered to him, wherewith hee was immediatly arm'd,Boyes. and so departed the Lists, with a great applause (especially of the younger sort of people) as Victor.

The Knight of the Sun, hearing the award proclay­med, and withall séeing the Knight of the Moone beare away the Bell: he stood like a body without a soule▪ or a man whose heart was falne into his hose, or indéed like King Belins armed Stake in the fieldes, which Ar­chers shoote at.

So this (little dangerous) Combate was ended, which since the battell betwéene Clineasse and Dame [...]asse the like hath not bin heard of, saue onely that of Don Qui­shotte and the Barbor, about Mambrinoes inchaun­ted Helmet.

Thus endeth the Legend of this fearefull fight,
Twixt Pheander the mayden, and Moriander the Knight:
Which parted betweene them, their indifferent dealings
Did proue them to-meane Knights, not Gyants, nor Screalings.
FINIS.

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