University of Virginia Library

Churchyardes Charge.

A storie translated out of Frenche.

In old tyme paste in Picardie, there dwelt an honest man,
Whose name the storie doeth not tell, what he was called than:
A wife he had, a house he helde, as Farmers vse to doo,
And lacked little for thesame, that did belong there too.
And as God sent hym suffisance, to rubbe for the life here lent,
So for to chere vnweldie age, faire children God hym sent:
Of whiche he had one moste in minde, a lad of liuly spreete,
Who with great care he kept to schoole, as for his youth was meete.
This boye to glad his fathers harte, in bookes set his delite,
And learnd to make a Latine verse, to reade and eke to write:
And for his Nature was enclinde, to studie learnyngs lore,
The better he aplied his schoole, he profited the more.
To make his schoole the sweeter seem, with Musicke mixed was,
The studie that he followd then, the tyme awaie to passe:
Good bookes were bought and instruments, greate charge was but smal let,
If that thereby the father might, the sonne some knowledge get.
In seuen yeres (as tyme it was,) this striplyng gan to taste,
Tyme well emploied, tyme driuen forthe, and tyme ill spēt in waste,
And made no small account thereof, but still sought more to haue,
Wherewith he to his father came, on knees this did he craue.
I haue quoth he defe father now, my childishe daies ore ronne,
And as I thinke, and you beleue, my boyes delites are donne:
And as my witte and grace hath seru'd, some learnyng haue I gote,
And as I knowe you loue me well, on me you should not dote.
I meane I should not still at home, vnder my mothers wing,
Be brought vp like a wanton child, and doe no other thing:
The worlde is wide, I want no witte, your wealth is not so greate,
But you maie thinke in some dere yere, I scarce deserue my meate.
And though your kinde and custome is, full fatherlike alwaie,
Yet should your sonne discretion haue, to ease you as he maie:
Wherefore to make your burthen lesse, let me goe seeke my happ,
And let no longer now your sonne, be lullde in mothers lapp.
The father wise well vnderstoode, his childs request at full,
And that the fethers of his youth, he thought awaie to pull:
(Before he gaue hym leaue to parte) by councell graue and sage,
Well boye quoth he now art thou come, vnto thy flowryng age.
Now art thou like the little wande, that bent and bound will bee,
Unto his hande or to his skill, that liste to maister thee:
Now are ripe yeres soone rotten made, now art thou apt to take,
Bothe good and badd, but cheefly things, that age bidds thee forsake.
And now large scope shall sone forget, what short rein learnd in schole
And thou that wisely wast brought vp, shall plaie the wanton foole.
Abrode as wilde harebrains are wont, newe taken from their booke,
And in a while laie all aside, nere after their on looke.
In eury place of thy repaire, thou shalt no father finde,
Nor scarce a freende to whō thou maiest, at all tymes sho thy minde:
But on Gods blessyng goe thy waie, thy wilde Otes are vnsowne,
Hereafter time shall learne thee well, things to thee now vnknowne.
The ladde his leaue and farewell tooke, well furnisht for the nonce,
And had about hym as I trowe, his treasure all at once:
To court he came all maisterlesse, and sawe what likt hym beste,
Of runnyng Leather were his shues, his feete no where could reste:
His bookes to blade and bucklar chang'd, he gaue ore scholars trade,
Where reuell roysted all in ruffe, there he his residence made.
This rule had soone his purse so pickt, that princoks wanted pence,
And oft he sawe some trussed vp, that made but small offence:
His father farre from seyng this, he come of honest stocke,
He hoffryng forthe a hatefull life, in many a wicked flocke.
And pricked oft to slipper shifts, yet some regard he tooke,
To be a sclander to his kinne, that kept hym to his booke:
And in a better moode to thriue, to seruice did he drawe,
He must goe that the deuill driues, ye knowe neede hath ro lawe.
A maister of no meane estate, a mirrour in those daies,
His happie Fortune then hym gate, whose vertues must I praise:
More heauenly were those gifts he had, then yearthly was his forme.
His corps to worthie for the graue, his fleshe no meate for worme.
An Erle of birthe, a God of sprite, a Tullie for his tong,
Me thinke of right the worlde should shake, when half his praise were rong:
Oh cursed are those crooked crafts, that his owne countrey wrought.
To chop of sutche a chosen hed, as our tyme nere forthe brought.
His knowledge crept beyond the starrs, & raught to Ioues hie trone
The bowels of the yearth he sawe, in his deepe breast vnknowne:
His witt lookt through eche mās deuice, his iudgemēt groūded was,
Almoste he had foresight to knowe, ere things should come to passe.
When thei should fall what should betied, oh what a losse of weight,
Was it to lose so ripe a hedde, that reached sutche a height:
In eury art he feelyng had, with penne past Petrarke sure,
A fashon framde whiche could his foes, to freendship oft alure.
His vertues could not kepe hym here, but rather wrought his harms,
And made his enemies murmure oft, & brought them in by swarms:
Whose practise put hym to his plonge, and loste his life thereby,
Oh cancred brests that haue sutche harts, wherin suche hate doth lye.
As told I haue, this yong man seru'd, this maister twise twoo yere,
And learnd therein sutche fruitfull skill, as long he held full dere:
And vsd the penne as he was taught, and other gifts also,
Whiche made hym hold the capp on hed, where some do croch full lo.
As credite came he carefull was, how to maintaine the same,
And made small count of life or death, to kepe his honest name:
His father not a little glad, of his good happ thus founde,
And he forgot no duetie sure, to whom he ought be bounde.
From court to warrs he wounde about, a Soldiours life to leade,
And leaned to the worthiest sort, their stepps to marche and treade:
And followd Cannon wheele as fast, to learne some knowlege then,
As he afore at maisters heeles, did waite with seruyng men.
But those twoo liues a diffrence haue, at home good chere he had,
Abroad full many a hongrie meale, and lodgyng verie bad:
All daie in corslet caled faste, whiche made his shulders ake,
All night vpon a couche of strawe, right glad his rest to take.
Through thicke & thin a thriftlesse tyme, he spent & felt mutch greef,
And euer hopyng for thesame, at length to finde releef:
No small while there as ye haue hard, in colde sharpe winter nights,
Where he did feele strange plags enowe, and sawe full vgly sights.
Some dy for lack, some seke for death, some liue as though ther were
Ne God nor man, nor torment here, or hence we ought to fere:
But yet he markt some of that sort, whose estimation stood;
Upon eche point of honest name, and things that semed good.
He sawe likewise how Fortune plaied, with some men for a while,
And after paid them home for all, and so did them begile:
A wearie of these wastyng woes, a while he left the warre,
And for desire to learne the tongs, he traueld very farre.
And had of eury langage part, when homeware did he drawe,
And could rehearsall make full well, of that abroad he sawe:
To studie wholie was he bent, but countreis cause would not,
But he should haunt the warrs againe, assignde thereto by lot.
And eke by hope and all vaine happ, procured to the same,
As though eche other glorie grewe, on warrs and warlike fame:
Without the whiche no worlds renowme, was worth a flye he heeld,
For that is honour wonne in deede, once got within the feeld.
Thus in his hed and hye consaite, he iudg'd that beste of all,
And thought no mouth for Suger mete, that could not taste the gall:
Good lucke and bad mixt in one cup, he dranke to quenche his thirste,
And better brookt the second warrs, then he did like the firste.
And lesse found fault wt fortunes freaks, time had so well him taught
At chances sowre he chāg'd no chere, nor at swete haps much laught:
In prison thrise, in danger oft, bothe hurt and mangled sore,
And all in seruice of his prince, and all awaie he wore.
In meane estate in office too, somtyme a single paie,
Some tyme fewe had so muche a weeke, as he was loude a daie:
When worlde waxt wise, & wealthe did faile & princes pride appald,
And emptie purse, and priuie plag's, for perfite peace had cald.
And kings and kingdoms quiet were, this man to court he came,
Newe from the giues with face and lookes, as simple as a Lame:
Freshe frō his enemies hands came he, where for his countries right,
He prisned was and forste to grant, a randsome past his might.
Sent home vpon a bande and seale, whiche is to strange a trade,
There to remaine till he for helpe, some honest shifte had made:
All spoiled cleane bare as the bird, whose feathers pluckt haue bin,
Bothe sicke and weake his colour gon, with cheeks full pale and thin.
The sight so strange or worlde so nought, or God would haue it so,
This man had scarce a welcome home, whiche made him muse I tro
His countrey not as he it left, all changed was the state,
But all one thing this man deseru'd, therein no cause of hate.
A carelesse looke on hym thei caste, savyng a fewe in deede,
Through warrs brought lawe for seruice sake, & felt therby his neede
Of suche as could a diffrence make, of drom and trompetts sounde,
(Frō tabber pipe & Maipole mirth,) their helpyng hands he founde:
And those that fauord feats of warre, and sauour tooke therein,
With open armes embraste hym hard, and said where hast thou bin.
But none of these could doe hym good, to set hym vp I meane,
His freends decaied his father dedde, and housholde broke vp cleane:
Craue could he not, his hart so hye, it would not stoupe to steale,
He scornde to serue a forraine prince, prefarryng common weale.
Aboue all other things on yearth, his countrey honourd he,
At home he likt more poore estate, then thence a lorde to be:
Where should he sue where rā those springs, could cole his feuer hot,
Where durst he mone or plaine for shame, where might releef begot:
But at the fountain or well hedde, yea at his Princes hande,
And in a fewe well couched lines, to make her vnderstande:
His cace his scourge, loe so he did, and boldly did he tell,
The same hym self vnto the Prince, who knowes the man full well.
And gracious words three tymes he gate, the fourth to tell you plain
Unfruitfull was things were straite laest, faire woords maks fooles full fain:
When prince nor countrey made no count, of hym nor of his cace,
And none of bothe would help hym home, of whō he sought for grace.
For whom and for their cause alone, in enemies hands he fell,
And for their right to warrs he went, as all men knowes full well:
And loste his blood for their defence, and for their quarell fought,
And for thesame full slenderly, lookte to and set at nought.
When he his duetie to his powre, did eury daie and yere,
Sutche vnkinde gwerdon had receiu'd, as well before you here:
He saied let Marcus Regulus in fame of Romains stande,
Whiche kept his othe and did retourne, againe to Carthage lande.
If Tullie were a liue to write, his praises, more at full,
Yet since I scapt my enmies hands, at home abide I wull:
He should not me perswade to goe, where nought but death is found,
My countrey cares not for my life, then why should I be bound.
To toies or any other bande, that I haue power to breake,
Whiche I was forced by my foe, in persone for to speake:
And for the hope of countries helpe, and freends that there I had,
In any sort to please my foes, I was bothe faine and glad.
Not mindyng if my countrey would, release me from his hande,
To breake good order any whitte, or violate my bande:
For iustice bids eche man doe right, which God doeth know I ment,
But now a captiue yeeld my self, it maie not me content.
For where that Tullie doeth affirme, men ought to keepe their othe,
Unto their freends in eury point, and to their enmies bothe:
And bryngeth Marcus Regulus, example for thesame,
With other reasons many a one, whiche were too long to name.
He shewed that the Senats all, would hym haue staied at Rome,
And as in counsaill then thei satte, their iugemeut and their doome.
Was that the prisners should be free, whiche thei of Carthage held.
And he should staye, full oft his freends, this tale to hym thei teld:
Thei proffred helpe, and offred still, this Marcus to redeeme,
But Marcus for a further skill, did little that esteeme.
I finde no succour hope nor aide, then bounde why should I be.
More to my countrey in this case, that countrey is to me:
These wordes this heauie man rehearst, so bade the warrs adue,
And thought he would no raunsome paie, for any thyng he knewe.
Wherefore from court he tournd his face, and so an othe he swore,
As long as he his fiue witts had, to come in court no more:
He kept that othe and cut his cote, as clothe and measure wold,
And doune to Picardie he comes, some saied at thirtie yere old.
And for his lands and rents were small, a maister lent he too,
Who vs'd his seruaunt not so well, as maisters ought to doo:
He was not made out of that mould, that his laste maister was,
These twoo in vertues were as like, as Gold was vnto Glasse.
Upon a daie alone he satte, and saied these words right sadd,
Are soldiours cast at carts arse now, that long faire words haue had:
Shall kyngs nere neede for helpe againe, is fortune so their freende,
Haue thei a pattent of the Gods, this peace shall neuer ende.
God graunt yet will I shift I trowe, for on or happ shall faile,
And in the stormes my ship shall learne, to beare a quiet saile:
And cleane forget braue daies agoe, that fed my youthfull yeres,
Full glad that I haue gotten home, and scapt the scrattyng Breers.
Of warrs and other worldly toiles, adue I see their fine,
A wife shall now content my mynde, suche as the Gods assigne:
A wooyng thus this haplesse man, rode forthe not set to sale,
Thought none like hym in this his suite, was meete to tell his tale.
And as the heauens had agreed, the Planetts well were bent,
He sone descended from his horse, and boldly in he went.
Where dwelt a sober widdowe then, bothe wise and wifly too,
Late fallen sicke, vnknowne to hym, that tyme vnfitt to woo:
But her discretion was so greate, and his behauiour bothe,
These straungers fell acqueinted thus, if ye will knowe the trothe.
He faind an other ernd to make, dissemblyng yet a space,
Till he might spie a better tyme, to shewe her all his cace:
So takyng leaue for freends he wrought, to bryng this thing about,
In suche affaires some spake full faire, that are full well to doubt.
For commonly men take no cars, of others sutes for why,
Their profite as thei gesse themselfes, in hindryng that maie ly:
Some promise helpe and see no gaine, maye spring to them thereof,
Waxe cold and slowe for lacke of spurre, and vse it as a scoffe.
An other sort with stingyng tongs, saie maistres take good heede,
This man will sone your feathers pull, and cast ye of at neede:
Will you that haue bothe wealth and ease, to yong mens cursie stand,
And let an other maister be, of that is in your hande.
Some seekyng rule of that she hath, and fleecyng from her first,
Doe faune and flatter all the daie, and guide her as thei liste:
And liue on her, and hate her life, and waite her death to see,
And well can please her while she liues, her sectors for to be.
Suche instruments these widowes haue, about them eury howre,
Perchance this man perceiu'd the like, and had good cause to lowre:
But as he knewe the fatall chance, of things comes from aboue,
So he began and sought to knowe, the fine of all his loue.
And found a daie full apt therefore, at large thesame he told,
And flatly this her aunswere was, she neuer marrie would:
If no newe thoughts fell in her minde, whereof no doubt she made,
Except she chose a wealthie man, that had a grounded trade.
To liue and had a hourd of gold, to keepe them bothe from dette,
Good sir quod she on riches sure, my minde is fully sette:
I can with ritches vertues make, vertue with want is bare,
I praie you come no more at me, thus answerd now ye are.
I would be lothe to hold you on, with wordes and meane in deede,
That neither you for all your sute, nor any yet shall speede:
He hearyng this hangde doune the hedde, and smilde to cloke his woe
A worde or twoo he after spake, and parted euen so.
The waie he rode, he curst hym self, for cruell death he cried,
And saied oh wretche thou liuest to long, to long here doest thou bide:
Not onely for this froward happ, but for all other chance,
At any tyme thou tookst in hands, thy self for to aduaunce.
Thy vertues ought if thei maie be, serues thee no whit at all,
Thy learnyng stands thee in no steede, thy trauell helps as small:
Thy knowledge sought in warrs abroad, at home doth thee no good,
Thy lāgage is but laught at here, where some would sucke thy blood
Thy Poetts vaine and gift of penne, that pleasurde thousandes long,
Hath now enough to doe to make, of thee a wofull song:
Thy freends that long a winnyng were, in court and countrey plain,
Doeth serue thee to as good a ende, as mirth doeth sicke mans pain.
Thy youth though part be left behinde, whose course yet is to ronne,
With bragge of showe or seemly shape, what bodie hath it wonne:
Thy honest life or manly harte, that through eche storme hath paste,
Thy reputation hardly wonne, what helps thee now at laste.
Thus to his chamber in his heate, he comes with fomyng mouthe,
And in his bloodie breast he felt, full many fitts vncouthe:
And on the bedde he laied hym doune, and for his Lute he raught,
And brake a twoo those giltlesse strings, as he had bin bestraught.
And ere he flang it to the walls, my plaiefeere fare thou well,
Saied he as sweete as Orpheus Harpe, that wan his wife from hell:
You Instruments eche one of you, keepe well your cace of woode,
And to the scrallyng eatyng wormes, I you bequeath as foode.
Up stept he to his studie doore, all that stoode in his waie
He brake and burnt bothe booke and scroull, and made a foule araie:
Some authours saie that could not be, his wisedome did asswage,
The inward passions of his minde, and heate of all his rage.
But well I wotte he did prepare, to part from freends and all,
And staied but till the Spryng came on, for leafe was at the fall:
Now all these stormes and tēpests past, this man had sutche a vaine,
When matter mou'd, and cause requierd, he went to warrs againe.
And studyng Fortune all a like, as haplesse people doe,
He fell straightwaies in enmies hands, and was sore wounded too:
But taken prisnar, promesd mutche, though little had too paie,
(A subtell shift to saue the life, and scape a bloody fraie.)
Yet still because he gallant was, and had some charge of men,
He held vp hedde, and in strange place, tooke mutche vpon hym then:
The enmie seyng this yong man, bothe well brought vp and trainde,
As one that kept sutche state and grace, as he deceipt disdainde.
And to be plaine (in eury point) vpon sutche termes he stoode,
As his dissent and ofspryng came, of hie and noble bloode:
Of gentill race he might make boste, but of so greate a stocke,
He could not vaunt for that deuice, was but a scorne and mocke.
Well by this meanes he was so likt, and made of eury where,
That all that lande rang of the fame, and brute that he did bere:
And so the Princes of that realme, to court did call hym tho,
Where he with feasts and triumphs greate, and many a courtly sho.
Past of the tyme, and grewe so farre, in fauour with the beste,
That he would plaie at Dice and Cards, and so set vp his reste:
For he had money when he would, and went so gaie and braue,
On credite that he finely wan, as mutche as he could craue.
And when to takers house againe, this prisner should repaire,
The greatest lords of all that soile, when he would take the aire:
Would in a maner waite at hande, to doe this prisner ease,
And well were thei of all degrees, that best this man could please.
A nomber of his nation then, of right greate wealthe and state,
By this mans worde & onely band, straight waie their fredome gate
For he was bounde for eury one, that taken were before,
And so did for their raunsome lye, and runnyng on the score.
And brauyng out the matter through, a Ladie of greate race,
In honest sort, and freendly meane, his freendship did embrace:
Who promesd hym, to set hym free, and helpe hym thence in haste,
But still about this prisner loe, a priuie gard was plaste.
Yea sutche a bande and daiely watche, as he might not disceiue,
Yet he had hope in spite to scape, awaie without their leaue:
And shapt to flye, and giue the slipp, if Fortune would agree,
The watche and ward, should be begilde, and prisner should goe free,
And as these things a doyng were, a man of mutche renowne,
Was taken after in the feeld, and brought so to the toune:
Where hearyng of this other wight, was askte if he did knowe,
The former persone namde before, that daiely brau'd it so.
He is quod he that last was caught, a lustie Soldiour sure,
A man that mutche hath felt of woe, and greate things can endure:
Of gentill blood and maners bothe, and wants but wealth alone,
What what sir knight, haue you said trothe, and is he suche a one,
Then shall he bye his braury dere, and paie therefore so well,
He shall not boste of that he gains, in heauen nor in hell:
So all in fuerie flang he forthe, and to this man he goes,
That was in deede so farre in debt, for meate for drincke and close.
And thrust hym in a prison strong, where feeble foode he had,
And heauie Irons whiche might make so sillie soule full sad:
His mistres knowyng of the cace, her promes thought to kepe,
So makyng in a Mooneshine night, when neighbours were a slepe.
She drue her nere the prison doore, and at a windowe wied,
Where planly full before her vewe, her seruaunt had she spied:
To whom she spake and told her mynde, as closely as she might,
And gaue hym councell in good tyme, to steale awaie by night.
And left hym files to sette hym free, and robes to doe hym good,
With some hard eggs and bread in bagg, and told hym nere a wood:
There was a brome, where she would wait, for him whē time drue on
That doen she toke a freendly leaue, for then she must be gon.
The prisner did deuise his beste, and bent to doe or dye,
Prepaerd eche thing in order well, as he on strawe did lye:
The tyme approcht, of his adue, and she was come in deede,
Unto the place appointed right, with gold and wealth for neede.
But breakyng doune a rotten wall, the prisner was in feare,
For out of bedde his keeper stept, and asked who was there:
With that the prisner stumbled on, a hatchet sharpe and keen,
And raught the gealer suche a blowe, that long was felt and seen.
He cried and rored like a bull, where at the vissage throwe,
Was vp and streight to horsebacke went, but loe the prisner nowe:
Was at the wood, where he had found, his mistres all a lone,
Who wept and blubberd like a child, and made so greate a mone.
For that thei bothe in daunger were, but what should more be saied,
The man pluckt vp his harte and sprites, the woman sore afraied:
Ran home againe to fathers house, and he that now was free,
Had neither minde on gold nor gift, but to the Brome goes he.
And there abode a happie howre, yea twoo daies long at least,
He laye as close on cold bare ground, as bird doeth in warme neast:
His mistres well escaped home, and in the house she was,
Before the crie and larum rose, so blamlesse did she passe.
And her poore seruaunt, had wide worlde, to walke in now at will,
Although he was in hazard greate, and long in daunger still:
For he had three score mile to goe, emong his enmies all,
Whiche he did trudge in foule darke nights, and so as happ did fall.
He scapt a scourge and scouryng bothe, and came where he desierd,
And finely had deceiu'd his foes, what could be more requierd:
Yet long at home he could not rest, to warrs againe he went,
Where in greate seruice sondrie tymes, but half a yere he spent.
And loe his Deastnie was so straunge, he taken was againe,
And clapt vp closely for a spie, and there to tell you plaine:
He was condemde to lose his hedde, no other hope he sawe,
The daie drewe on of his dispatche, to dye by Marciall lawe.
The people swarmyng in the streats, and scaffold readie there,
A noble Dame, his respite crau'd, and spake for hym so feare:
That then the maister of the Campe, his honest answere hard,
For whiche he came in credite streight, and was at length prefard.
To right good roome and wages too, then ritchly home he drewe,
And left the warrs, and in greate heate, he for a wife did sewe,
But haste makes waste, an old prouerbe, for he was wivd in deede,
God sende all Soldiours in their age, some better lucke at neede:
Now he bethought hym on the woords, the widdowe tolde hym of,
Whiche long he held but as a ieast, a scorne and merrie scoffe.
She saied that witte and wealth were good, but who a wiuyng goes
Must needs be sure of wealth before, els he his sute shall lose:
For want but breeds mislikyng still, and wit will weaue but woe,
(In louers lomes, where clothe is rackt, as farre as threde will goe)
And whē the threede of wealth doeth breake, let wit and wisedom too
Doe what thei can to tie the threede, the knot will sure vndoo.
The storie treats no morethereof, yet therein maie you see,
That some haue vertues and good witte, and yet vnluckie bee.
In winnyng wealth, in worldly happs, whiche common are of kinde,
To all and yet the vse thereof, but to a fewe a finde:
For some haue all their parents left, all thei them selues can catche,
And tenne mens liuyngs in one hande, and some haue nere a patche.
And some not borne to sixteene pence, finde twentie waies to get,
By happe yet some as wise as thei, no hande thereon maie sette:
I heard a white hoare hedded man, in this opinion dwell,
That witte with wealth, & hap with witte, would gree together wel.
But for to chuse the one alone, he held that happ was beste,
He saied witte was a happie gifte, but wealth made all the feaste:
Witte with the wise must companie keepe, then cold oft is his chere,
Wealth hath companions eury where, and banketts all the yere.
Wealth hath the waie the cappe and knee, and twentie at his taile,
When witte hath nere a restyng place, no more then hath a Snaile:
Wit is compeld to be a slaue, to wealth and serue hym still,
Yet wealth is naked wtout witte, nought worthe where lacketh skill.
But if that wealth maie match with hap, then bid fine wit goe plea,
Our old Prouerbe is giuen me hap, and cast me in the Sea:
Unhappie must I iudge this man, in sondrie sorts and waies,
Yet fortunate I call hym then, in true report of praies.
The cheefest Iewell of our life, is vertues laude well won,
Whiche liu's within the other worlde, when fame of this is doen:

Churchyardes farewell from the Courte, the seconde yere of the Queenes Maiesties raigne.

Though Fortune casts me at her heele,
And lifts you vp vpon her wheele:
You ought not ioye in my ill happe,
Nor at my harms, your hands to clapp.
For calmes maie come, and skies maie cleare,
And I maie chaunge, this mournyng cheare:
To gladsome thoughts, and merrie looks,
Although you fishe, with golden hooks.
And make the worlde, bite at your baits,
And feede your selues, with sweete consaits:
Myne anglyng maie, at length amende,
My rodde it can, bothe bowe and bende.
As causes falls, for my behoofe,
I leaue you Courtiers in your ruffe:
I will goe liue, with plainer menne,
And vse my booke, and plie my penne.
Perhapps that I, asmutche haue seen,
As thei that braues, it on the Spleen:
Where Cannon roard, and Dromme did sounde,
I did not learne, to daunce a rounde:
And vaunte I maie, my happe the woorse,
I haue with many, a threede bare pursse.
Been glad to serue, in Countries cause,
When you at home, were pickyng strawes:
Since you did spite, my doynges all,
And tosse from me, the tennis ball.
By woords and woorks, and priuie nipps,
A man maie saie, beshrewe your lipps:
And vse a kinde, of ridyng Rime,
To sutche as wooll, not let me clime.
Where euery one, would Apples sheake,
Though at the hiest, the bowes are weake:
The Crowe bilds there, full saffe ye wotte,
And neare the topp, the fruite is gotte:
Well I full lowe, must beare my sailes,
In climyng often, footyng failes.
Watche you the ball, at first rebounde,
So I maie stande, on euen grounde:
And plaie at pleasure, when I please,
I am not greeued at your ease.
Although that you, with shiftyng braine,
Doe reape the profite of my paine:
And thrusts your hedds, tweene hap and me,
Whose hands doe plucke, the barke from tree.
So greate and greedie is your gripe,
You eate the fruite, ere it be ripe:
And none maie feede, but you a lone,
You can not spare, a dogge a bone.
Ye cleaue together, so like Burres,
Perhapps in winnyng of the Spurres:
You maie the horse, and saddle lose,
When that her hedde, whose vertue flowes.
Shall see the deepnesse of your sleight,
And sette your crooked dealyngs streight:
And all your painted sheathes espie,
And waie what stuffe, in shadowes lye.
Thinke you she smiles not once a daie,
To see how many vices plaie:
Uppon the stage, where matter lacks,
You doe no soner tourne your backs,
But greater laughying riseth there,
Then at the baityng of a Beare:
Me thinke you chuse, your shopp not well,
In Court your follies for to sell.
That shopp stands full, within the winde,
Or els so muche in peoples minde:
That if one fault be in your ware,
Tenne thousande eyes, thereon doe stare.
And when thei finde, a counterfeite,
Or see, fine Merchaunts vse a deseite:
Thei crie a loude, wee smell a Ratte,
Some haue more witte, within their hatte.
Then in their hedde, that sells suche stuffe,
Well euery man, vnto his ruffe:
And I into, my coate of Frees,
For I in Courte, can hiue no Bees:
The Honie there, is bought so deare,
I were as good, with countrey cheare.
Sitte free in mynde, and farre from stats,
And daiely matche, me with my mats:
As waite emong, the hautie breede,
Whose humourss are, full hard to feede.
Where small is wonne, and mutche is spent,
And needlesse hands, doe stoppe the vent:
That well might serue, a thousands tourne,
Tushe at the pricke, to kicke and spourne.
I should but hurte, my shinnes ye knowe,
From Court to Countrey will I goe:
With mutche ill happ, and losse with all,
Now maie my boule, to byas fall.
In alleys smothe, where it maie ronne,
I see in Court, shines not the Sonne:
But on a fewe, that Fortune liks,
And there a man, shall passe the Piks.
Care he maie purchace that he craues,
As one doeth poole, an other shaues:
And marquesotts, the beard full trimme,
Yet nothyng runneth ore the brimme.
Till pursse be full, and then perhapps,
When strings doe breake, there falles some strapps:
Into your hands, watche that who liste,
A birde is better sure in fiste.
Then flue in feeld, keepe that thou haste,
Where wealth and witte, and tyme doeth waste:
Looke not to dwell, what drawes thee there,
But gaine or glorie, loue, or feare.
If gaine to Courte, doeth make thee goe,
Thou art no freend, but flatteryng foe:
That daiely seeks, thy self to helpe,
And couchest like the faunyng whelpe.
Till Prince hath filde, thy purse with pence,
And then sim subtill getts hym thence:
If thou in Courte, for glorie iette,
As vizard vaunseth in a nette:
The worlde shall thee, rewarde with praise,
Was neuer Courtier in our daies.
So braue as he, then will thei saie,
And all not worthe, a trusse of haye:
At home thy loue, as well is seen,
And better, then in Courte I wene.
If like a subiecte, there thou liue,
And often good example giue:
To suche as stands thereof in neede,
If feare drawe thee, to Courte in deede.
The Prince can finde sutche quakyng soals,
She knowes whose harte is full of hoals:
And seeth what lucks in hollowe stocks,
And treads vpon sutche tremblyng blocks.
From sutche is bounties larges bard,
And then is bountie laced hard:
From suche the well hedde stopped is,
A volume could I write of this.
As large as any Chequer rowle,
But I the plaine, and sellie soule:
Must thinke and wishe the beste I maie,
And little of these matters saie.
Yet he that stands, and giueth ame,
Maie iudge what shott doeth lose the game:
What shooter beats the marke in vaine,
Who shooteth faire, who shooteth plaine.
At little hoales, the daie is seen,
Some in this cace, maie ouer ween:
And thinke thei see in Milstones farre.
And take a Candle for a Starre.
Passe ore sutche toyes, and aunswere me,
What cause hast thou in Court to be:
If gaine ne glorie, feare nor loue,
To Courtyng doeth thy fancie moue.
What drawes thee thether hedlong now,
Giue eare, and I shall shewe thee how:
Thei sitte and stare in Courte some while,
Yea on the other doeth beguile.
With fairest semblaunce that is sure,
And euery craft, is put in vre:
To snatche or compasse that thei seeke,
Although it be not worthe a Leeke.
The finest hedds, haue furthest fatche,
The deepest sight, doeth neerest watche:
To trapp the vpright meanyng man,
And eche one doeth the beste he can.
To helpe hym self, by others harme,
These Courtiers haue so fine a charme:
I graunt there is honour wonne,
And thether ought the subiects ronne.
To shewe their dueties by some meane,
But why haue some consumed cleane:
Their liues and lands in this desire,
Ye knowe a man maie loue the fire.
Full well, and leape not in the flame,
Some thinke thei winne a goodly name:
When thei at home are Courtiers calde,
It is full gaie, if he be stalde.
An almes knight ere that all begon,
His happ is hard, that hopes thereon:
Yet sith I fauour Courtyng well,
Would God I had more lands to sell.
To be at their commaundement still,
If that a man haue their good will:
He hath enough, what needeth more,
Old ladds maie shifte vpon the score.
And let their garments ly and sweate,
Or with their Ostes woorke a feate:
To sette the horse in stable free.
But now the wiues so hongrie bee.
And housbands looke so nere their gaine,
A man as sone on Salsbrie plaine:
Shall haue a cheate, as by that trade,
The daie hath bin, who could with blade.
And Buckler square it in the streets,
Had bin a minion fine for sheets:
But now the pence doe make the place,
And worlde is in an other cace.
Well let the matter passe a while,
And heare my tale, but doe not smile:
I hapt in Courte (as newe Brome maie,
That sweepeth trimely for a daie.)
To be desierd to plaie and syng,
And was full glad in euery thyng:
To please the Lordes, and lordely sorte,
For that ye knowe with chaunge of sporte.
These Courtiars humours should be fedde,
And glad I was to bende my hedde:
And be at becke when thei did call,
In hope that somme good happ would fall.
To me for that apt will of myne,
Although my doyngs were not fine:
A Tabber with a Pipe full loude,
To better noyse is but a cloude.)
Well as the Hackney is desierd,
And ridden till the Iade betierd:
I did continewe long me thought,
And still I spent the small I brought.
And neuer got I one denere,
Then thought I to beginne the yere:
On Newe yeres daie with some deuice,
And though that many men be nice.
And blushe to make an honest shifte,
I sent eche Lorde a Newe yeres gifte:
Suche treasure as I had that tyme,
A laughyng verse, a merrie ryme.
Some thinke this is a crauyng guise,
Tushe holde your peace, world waxeth wise
A dulled horse that will not sturre,
Must be remembred with a spurre:
And where there serues ne spurre nor wand,
A man must needs lead horse in hande.
So I was forste on causes greate,
To see in fire where laye the heate:
And warme their witts that cold did waxe,
But thrust the fire into the Flax:
It will not burne if flaxe be wette,
The fishe these daies can shonne the nette.
And hide them in the weeds full ofte,
Thou knowest that waxe is tempered softe:
Against the fire, so frosen minds,
Must be assaied by many kinds.
To bryng them to a kindely thawe,
Who thrusts a candle in the strawe:
Shall make a blase, and raise a smoke,
An honest meane there is by cloke.
To sturre the noble harts from sleepe,
Whose coffers, custome makes to keepe:
Faste lockt, that should be opened wide,
To helpe the poore at euery tide.
Thei saie that knewe our elders well,
That often tymes thei hard them tell:
That larges linketh loue full faste,
And hardnesse loseth harts at laste.
And honour leanes on liberall waies,
And fame and honour nere decaies:
Till hoorde in horie mucke doeth holde,
The free and worthie vse of golde.
Oh sentence hye of Fathers wise,
I sweare by all the gods in Skies:
These woords deserue immortall fame,
And nothyng is so mutche to blame.
As pintchyng hands that should be franke,
Admit the taker yeelds no thanke:
To hym that giues, the gifte doeth binde,
Eche vertuous man and honest minde.
As captiue in all good respects,
To be a freende in full effects:
As farre as powre maie stretche vnto,
And thei that haue in warres to doo.
Can saie, what bountie bryngs about,
Where that is not, the fire goeth out:
And dyes as coale to ashes falls,
As Fouler taks the birde by calls.
In strawyng corne and chaffe by heapes,
So bountie as a sickle reapes:
The harts and all within the brest,
No perfect loue can be possest.
Where francknesse makes no place before,
Though force of earnest loue is more:
And looks not on the gifte a whit,
If man in neede and daunger sit.
And finde their freends bothe cold and drye,
Then loue will shewe a lowryng eve:
And halte with you, as you with hym,
Although that some can cloke it trim.
I tell you loue is easly loste,
If you on loue bestowe no coste:
Thus as before I did rehearse,
I sent eche Lorde a merrie vearse
A iollie libell long and large,
And therein did good will discharge:
But nothyng did retourne to me,
That I could either feele or se.
Saue from a brooke, set penne before,
Ranne dropps of gold, what will ye more:
Thus in this withred age of ours,
The smell is gone from goodly flowrs.
And golden worlde is tournd to brasse,
Or hardnesse dwells where bountie was:
There is no waie to gaine nor saue,
Then learne to keepe the thyngs we haue.
For he that wants shall hardly gette,
Except he fishe with finer nette:
Then either rime or reason knitts,
This worlde yeelds not to pleasaunt witts,
To basest mynds sometymes it bends,
For all the happs blinde Fortune sends:
Doeth light on those she fauours mitche,
Some man you see can nere be ritche.
Though twentie yere he toyle and tosse,
For he is borne to liue by losse:
And some that neuer taketh paine,
In worldly wealthe doeth still remaine.
Ne Court nor Countrey seru's some man,
To thriue in, doe the best he can:
Then finde thou faut with none of bothe,
With blinde affection eche thyng gothe.
Happ lyes not in mans ronnyng still,
Nor Fortune follows finest skill:
Nor he doeth not the wager win,
That in the race hath formoste bin.
In Iudges mouthe the sentence lyes,
So whether men doeth fall or ryes:
Looke vp to hym that ruels the Skies,
The ritche the poore, the foole the wise.
And thei shall finde my woords are true,
Thus for a while, now Courte adue.

Of a mightie greate personage.

When Phebus tooke his Purple bedd, to rest from daies disease,
Naie seemde to dippe his golden hedde, vnder the Ocean seas:
And faire Lucina ganne to shine, and mount in starrie Skies,
Then crepte the sweete and kindely slepe, a long my slombryng eyes.
And prickt me so to take a napp, that as in coutche I laie,
I dreampt that Natures little babes, about my bedde gan plaie:
And bad me rise, and vewe a worke, that kinde a newe would frame,
For that she thought bothe gods & men, would help to forge the same
You speake but like yong girles quoth I, she hath all ready doen,
Sutche works as now her hands would misse, if thei were vnbegon:
With that dame Nature had, I spide with angrie visage redde,
And in her furie satte her doune, full right against my bedde.
Why foole quod she is Nature not, so perfite of her skill,
That she can giue to fleshe and fell, what shape and forme she will:
Thou seest eche woorkman finer growes, eche wit doeth riper ware,
And knowledge can amende at full, the faults where cunnyng lacks.
The Goldsmith and the Caruer bothe, and all that works with toole,
Doe mende their hands and daiely are, vp Nature set to schoole:
The Princes pallace made of old, lookes like a sheepe coat now,
So if this tyme and Nature liste, to shewe their connyng throw.
Wee can set forthe a Candle blase, beyond the shinyng Sonne,
And take the light frō twinkling starrs, whiles Moone her cours shal ron:
Can I not call for Beautie whom, that I haue lent at large,
Haue not the hye immortall Gods, giu'n Beautie to my charge.
And maie not Nature breake eche mould, yt once her hand hath made,
And worke this yearthly drosse againe, vnto a finer trade:
Yes sure saied she, and I therewith, did humble pardon craue,
And at one instaunt by a signe, that mightie Nature gaue.
A thousande woorkmen all with tooles, came thrustyng in a rout,
And eche vnto his labour falls, as tourne doeth come about:
Thei blewe and puft and smoke out sweate, as though in thē did lye,
To shape a mould, or shew through cloude, that Venus dropt frō skie
Haue doen quod Kinde it shalbe thus, too long ye trifle here,
Then Cunnyng by her curious art, deuisde suche collour clere:
That did the ruddie Rose disdaine, and passe the Lilie white,
If that a medley of those twaine, were made to please delite.
The woorkmen in this hastie broile, had raised vp a mould,
And eche one in his office fine, had doen the beste he could:
Now satte thei still in silence sadd, and rested for a space,
With that dame Nature by her skill, set forthe so trimme a face.
That Sonne and Moone and seuen starrs, did seem therein to shine,
In whiche the pleasant gods had plast, a paire of gladsome eyne:
Yea euery God one gift her gaue, as Pallas for her parte,
Possest her with a noble hedde, to iudge or talke by arte.
And Iuno made request to Ioue, that Uenus Queene of Loue,
Should neuer with false fonde desiers, her modest maners moue:
Dan Cupid brake a bowe for ioye, when this faire dame was made,
In signe ye she we Dians Nimphes, should walke in grenewood shade
The silly woorkmen seyng this, that seruaunts were to Kinde,
Trust vp their tooles and stole awaie, yet left the mould behinde:
Whiche as I gesse of diuers stones, was wrought by deepe deuice,
For therein Iazings might you see, and pearles of passyng price.
The Rubbie ritche, and pretie sparkes, of Diamonds clere & bright,
The Emerald greene, and Margarets faire, & Turkes blew to sight
Whose vertues passeth farre my penne, or yet my tong to tell,
Demaunde ye that of skilfull men, that knowes their Natures well
Loe foolishe man, loe here thou dolte, quod Kinde to me aloude,
How saiest thou is not this new worke, more faire then star in cloude
Doeth not this worke make all thē blusse, yt I haue wrought before,
Yea sure, for Nature is in minde, to make the like no more.
By this tyme was the Larke aloft, loude chirpyng in the aire,
And eche one to their daiely toiles, gan busily repaire:
So rose I vp and rold in thought, where this faire wight doeth dwel,
And at the length I founde in deede, I knewe the worthy well.

Of Beutie and Bountie.

When Beautie Uenus doughter deare, from Ioue descended doune,
To reigne on yearth an Empresse here, with scepture and with Croune:
To Pleasures pallace she repairde, where with a Princely porte,
She helde an open housholde long, in feasts and royall sporte.
The fame whereof rang through the worlde, so shrill in euery eare,
That well was him, & glad was she, that might come banquet there:
The lists were made, the scaffolde deckt, eche thyng in good arraie,
The Lords full braue, the Ladies fine, the Courtiers trim and gaie.
And as these states in triumphe were, all plaste in their degrees,
And to beholde the shiuerd staues, the people swarmde like Bees:
In stept a goodly armed knight, on courser white as Snowe,
And twise he paste the Tilte about, as soft as horse could goe.
And when he came where Beautie satte, he pausde with bowed hed,
And loude in open audience then, all haile faire Queene he sed:
I came quod he from Manhoods court, the worthiest prince aliue,
Who keepes his kyngdome all by sworde, and doeth for honor striue.
By battaill and by breakyng launce, who sent me hether plaine,
To chalenge for my mistresse sake, the stoutest in thy traine:
No soner he his message saied, but in there rusht a bande,
Whose clattering harnesse causde their steeds vpō no groūd to stād.
The dust flewe vp, the preace did shrinke, the fomyng horses naied,
The trumpets blewe, the launce in rest, the spurres on sids thei laied:
Fie cowarde knight quod Courage then, can all you fight with one,
So thei retierd, and to the shocke, came youth all armde alone.
These chāpions met as yearth should shake, so fierce thei seemd to be
As man became a Lyon woode, and horse in aire should flie:
At eche encounter crasht their slaues, and fell amid the throng,
The buffetts were so freely dealt, the blood through Beauer sprong.
The Queene cride hola, cease quod she, you turne your sport to spite,
Some cause your collour doeth encrease, & Mars the pastime quite:
A cause quod Youth (moste worthy dame) and my leege Ladie dere,
Came euer yet before a Prince, so stoute a chalenge here.
Who dare with Venus doughter boste, dame Beautie iustly calde,
That came from Skies, and satt next Ioue, in sacred honor stalde:
Though Beautie sprang frō yearthly cause, & had but shape of kinde,
And did no heauenly gifts possesse, nor vertues lodge in minde.
Yet Boldnesse churlishe chalenge braue, too sawsie is you knowe,
And Beautie hath too many freends, to see her handled so:
When Boldnesse hard this taunting tale, & markt the peoples chere,
He thrusted through the thickest throng, and drewe the scaffolde nere
And all on knees he crau'd to speake, and aunswere to this cace,
On whom the Queene for honours sake, did shewe a gracious face:
Speake on quod she, so stept he vp, and thus to her he saied,
O puisaunt prince, thinks Youth of braggs, yt boldnes stands afraied
I am a braunche of Manhoods blood, that stoute conceite begate,
The hope and helpe of hie attempts, and staie of euery state.
That hether came for that no Courte, can be where I am not,
No Tornay seen, no triumph made, no fame nor glorie got:
And wotte you well, a Princesse too, in Court I serue this howre,
That is as greate in some respects, as she is small in powre.
If stately honour can be gest, by goodly graces trime,
Or perfect beautie be possest, where Bountie swimes at brime:
Or wisedome vnder seemly shaeds, maie shine or yet be seene,
My mistres is a worthie dame, though Beautie be a Queene.
Report hath blowne to Manhoods eares, the trothe of that I tell,
Then Boldnesse needs not blushe to boast, yt Bountie beares the bell
And sith you licence me to speake, I dare deuoide of blame,
Light suche a torche vnto your eyes, shall shewe this Ladies name:
When Skie is clere, and Sommer set, to shewe the weather faire,
I meane when calmie blowes the winde, and pleasaunt is the aire.
A Marie gold then maie you finde, full nere an Eglantine,
Whose flowrs within the North new buds, & yet in court doth shine:
Her countenance carries sutche a state, full right amid her face,
As though therein the Muses nine, had made their mansion place.
A ratlyng sounde vnto your eares, of her now here I showe,
Now racke & wrest my meanyng out, and you my mind shal know:
This saied eche one on others lookt, and he on horsebacke leapt,
And some that dwelt in their concept, full close in corners creapt.
The glorious sort that gapte for fame, where no deserts could be,
Did drawe a backe and preast a pace, with plaine reproche to flee:
The hautie minds held doune their heds, hye looks gan blush for fere,
As Youth beheld this sodaine chaunge, he thought no tariyng there.
The Gods regardyng from the starres, what strife by Beautie rose,
Bad Venus call her daughter home, and homewards so she goes:
Then sawe I Boldnesse turne againe, who gaue for Boūties weare,
A garlande of the goodliest flowres, that ever yearth did beare.
And foarst her for to take the same, in signe of glorie wonne,
As Beautie mounted to the Gods, and all the triumphe doen:
The people seyng Beautie gon, with one assent did crie,
That Bountie pleased more their mindes, then Beautie did the eye.

Of one that by dissemblyng, fedde his desire.

If loue be luste, the more my lacke, and lesse I thinke your lucke,
Yet love I not for leude delight, nor gaine of worldly mucke:
But for a finer freake, be you the iudge thereof,
When craft to cloke some secret smart, beginns to scorne and scoffe.
Witte workes with words and wiells, a waie to winne his will,
And where ye fleight shewes gladsom smiles, ye world cōceius none ill
Mirthe blears the peoples eyes, and makes the matter light,
And sadnesse breeds suspect to sone, in hedds of deepe foresight.
And worlde mislikes no toyes, that mirrie laughter bryngs,
God knowes what care the bird doeth feele, in cage that swetly sings
Some weepe in weddyng weeds, and laugh in mournyng gounes,
And sure I smile my self sometyme, when froward fortune frounes.
Where is moste cause of care, moste signe of ioye I showe,
For pleasure is redoubled oft, where men dissemble woe:
Who bluntly bites a baite, and swallows vp a hooke,
Is caught like Gogon in a nette, or conquerd by a looke.
But sutche as warely feedes, and pikes out bones full cleane,
Shall eate their fill, & learne to knowe, what daintie morsells meane
Thus restyng at your will, I feede my hidden thought,
With fancies merrie sweete conceipts, a foode full dearly bought.

Of stedfastnesse and constancie.

Of one that founde falshed in felowship.

If faithe take foile, and plaine good will be loste,
Let fained loue, seke Larks when Skie doeth fall:
If triall greate, be made a double poste,
No practise seru's, to shoffull Cards with all.
If waityng long, can winne but cold reward,
Bid wilie witts, goe warme his hands at fire:
If trothe want happ, for toile and greate regade,
There is no hope, that workeman shall haue hire.
If letters large, but little likyng winne,
Your bablyng tongs, in fine small boste shall make:
If seruice paste, a sute must newe beginne,
Newe hangers on, in haste their leaue maie take.
Since suertie shrinks, and freendship smells of gile,
Adue badd worlde, thy fauour lasts no while.

VVritten to a vertuous gentlewoman, whose name is in the verses.

Deme all my deedes by true desarts, that sheweth eury frute,
And paise my woords, and proue my woorks, and so esteme my suite:
My trothe vntried bids me retire, and bryngs me in dispaire,
Passe on saith hope, good hap maie come, the weather maie be faire.
Prease not to faste saieth Danger then, for feare thy foote doe slide,
Of hastie speede greate harmes doe rise, as often hath bin tried:
Repentance comes eare men beware, for want of perfite skill,
Therefore let reason rule the raine, and wisedome master will.
Thus in myne hedde a battaill is, betwene my hope and dreed,
Hope pricks me forthe, feare driu's me backe, my fancie thus I feed:
Though hope be farre aboue my happ, good lucke maie me aduance,
And this great warre maie be a peace, as al things haue their chance.
The tossed shipp maie hauen it, that anker holde hath none,
As rainie dropps by length of tyme, maie pearce the Marble stone:
What fort or holde is halfe so strong, that euer man could make,
But poulders force and Cannon blast, can make it doune to shake.
The pelletts all that I must bryng, vnfained faithe must be,
The ladder for to scale the walls, is trothe when tried is he:
This aunswere maie the captaine make, to whom my siege I laie,
Whose fort is wonne by sutche a fault, or by none other waie.
With Ensigne spred, and battrie set, I hope to make a breache,
And trust to winne by suite at length, that now is past my reache.

A farewell to a fondlyng.

VVritten to the good Lorde Maior (of London now in office) called Sir Nicholas Woodroffe Knight.

The tyme showes all, as fire woorks waxe, in tyme greate thyngs are doen,
Tyme weau's the web, and wrought the flaxe, that paine through tyme hath sponne:
Tyme must be sought, tyme must be vsde, tyme must be tempred well,
Els out of tyme, in any sorte, the tale is that we tell.
So tyme moues pen, & sturrs the muse, (that time had lulld a slepe,)
To write of tyme and matter sutche, as maie good credite kepe:
Then my good Lorde, to former tyme, I doe referre my verse,
And auncient yeres, with elders daies, that can great things reherse.
Tyme brought the sworde (that eche one fears) to rule the rurall sort,
Tyme wanne this Citie hye renowne, and gatt it good report:
Time made the chosen Maior a knight, and time did greater things,
For tyme made subiects loue the lawe, and honour rightfull Kyngs.
Thus tyme was nours, and mother bothe, to chosen children here,
And tyme out worne, takes life of trothe, so showes like candle clere.
Whiche time my verse reuiu's againe, and bringeth freshe to minde,
The tyme that long is paste before, and thousandes left behinde:
For those that in this present tyme, list looke on Elders daies,
Who in their tyme did some good deeds, and reaped peoples praise.
As gwerdon for the tyme well spent, and vertues right reward,
That giuen is to graffs of grace, that God doeth mutche regard:
As tyme hath taught, good men to rule, and made the bad obaie,
So tyme hath rooted vp all weedes, that made good flowers decaie.
This Citie claimes by tracte of tyme, a stately Ciuill trade,
And is a Lampe, or shinyng Sunne, to Countries sillie shade:
For Ciuill maners here began, and Order roote did take,
Whē sauage swaines in rubbishe soiles, did ciuill life forsake.
Here wit throwe wisedome weldeth wealth, & worlde good tyme attends,
And God through trafficks toile & paine, a worlde of treasure sends:
Here states repaire, and lawes are tried, and noble customes shine,
Here dwells the Sages of the worlde, and all the Muses nine.
The Court it self, & Innes of court (where wit & knowledge floes,)
Haunts here as terme and time cōmands, and people comes & goes:
Here are Embastours feasted still, and forraine kynges haue bin,
Here are the wheeles of publike state, that bryngs the pagent in.
And here is now the Maiden toune, that keepes her self so cleane,
That none can touche, nor staine in trothe, by any cause or meane.
Then here ought be no member left, that maie infecte the reste,
Whip faultors hence, and plage the worst, and make but of the beste:
Let stubburne route be taught to worke, bid paltrars packe awaie,
Giue Idell folke no lodgyng here, cause wantons leaue their plaie.
Searche out the haunts of noughtie men, & break the nest of theues,
Yea plucke their liurey oer their eares, and badges from their sleues:
That breeds misrule, and rudenesse showes, so shall the Ciuill seate,
(As Lanterne to all Britaine lande) remaine in honour greate.
Demaūde how thredebare figboies liue, & swearing dāpned spretes,
Reforme those blading desprate dicks, that roiste aboute the stretes:
Disperse that wicked shamelesse swarme, that cares not for reproch,
Purge eury house from gracelesse geastes, that setts all vice abroche.
Rebuke those common alehouse knights, yt spends awaie their thrift,
And aske on Benche where Iustice sitts, how roges & beggers shift:
Teache railyng tongs to tune their speeche, and talke of that is fitte,
Holde in the rashe and harebraine hedds, by Lawe and Orders bitte.
Knowe whence these sausie libells come, yt faine discord would make,
And woorke by art and crafte to pluke, the styng from subtil Snake:
This Citie is no harbryng place, for vessells fraught with vice,
Here is the soile and seate of kyngs, and place of precious price.
Here worthies makes their mancions still, & buildeth stately towers
Here sitts the Nobles of the realme, in golden halles and bowers:
O London looke to thy renowne, thy fame hath stretched farre,
Thou art a staie in tyme of peace, a help in cause of warre,
A feare to foes, a ioye to freends, a Iewell in our daies,
That well maie matche with any Toune, or seate of greatest praise:
Here people are so meeke and milde, that forraine nations throwe,
In Ciuill sort, with wealth and ease, maie liue in quiet nowe.
What Citie can make hoste and saie, (greate God be blest therfore)
It doeth so many straungers feede, and so maintaine the store:
For here the more the number is, the lesse of want we finde,
Of corne and cates, sutche store is here, it answers eche mans minde.
Waye well the hearth of other realmes, and you shall see in deede,
The plentie of this little Isle, supplie our neighbours neede:
In worlde who trauailes any where, and then repaireth here,
Shall finde eche thing good chepe at home, that is abroade full dere.
And none but London note it well, doeth keepe one stint and rate,
Of vittailes in the market place, looke throughout eury state:
Yea, here when God for wicked life, his bountie will withdrawe,
The Maior and brethren shonneth dearth, by rule and noble lawe.
Here is prouision for the poore, and who that markes the same,
Shall see that worthie Sages graue, deserues a noble name:
My boldnesse now (O my good lorde,) excuse through my good will,
That euer in my Countries praise, is prest and readie still.
And where the noughtie liues of some, are touched by my penne,
It is for Londons honour spoke, that can reforme sutche menne:
Whiche in this stately shepheards folde, like rotten shepe doe liue,
And who for want of lookyng too, doe ill example giue.
God graunt whiles worthie Woodroffe rules, (& euery other yere,
There comes no Mothes emong good men, nor Caterpillars here:
Thus wishyng well, in Londons laude, my penne I must excuse,
To Printer sent these verses plaine, of this laste mornyngs muse.