The Contention bettwyxte Churchyeard and Camell vpon Dauid Dycers Dreame sett out in suche order, that it is bothe wyttye and profytable for all degryes. Rede this littell comunication betwene Churchyarde: Camell: and others mo: Newlye Imprinted and sett furthe for thy profyt gentill Reader |
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Camels Reioindre, to Churchyarde. |
 | The Contention bettwyxte Churchyeard and Camell |  |
Camels Reioindre, to Churchyarde.
To Churchiard or Mannarig, or for lak of a name:
To Dicar the dreamer, if you knowe the same.
To Dicar the dreamer, if you knowe the same.
Maye
a man be so bold (an order to kepe:)
To bid you good morow, now after your slepe?
If I may be so saucy, and make no mistaking.
God speede master Dreamer, yf you be wakynge.
But Dreamer or Dicar, or as you saye Dauy:
which shal I now cal you as our Lorde saue ye,
Three names are to many for one man alone:
And two mo makes fyue, for faylyng of one
If you had two other ye men myght you seeke:
Then had you a name, for eche daye in the weeke.
But no man dothe doubte, that so sundrye name:
Shuld haue other lōmyng then out of good frames.
And the fore I thyncke, they come euery chone:
Out of some old house, tho the postes begone
Or els kept in memory, for that they were founde:
In some old stocke, in som noble mans grounde.
And so do remayne, for mynde of our auncestry:
As Syb to Sybbel, sibbes verye properly.
So Iermaines lyps ioynde, and so M. Churchyard:
And Mannaryng met, both in an Orcharde.
And Dauid the Dicar, came in with his spade:
And dolue vp ye Dreamer, tyl the line was made.
And thus percōsequēce, sins your writing doth gre it:
Youre name for my parte: Dauid Dreademer be it.
And good M. dreademer, your reasō lōg sought for.
Hath combred your capax, I se very sore.
Snap of the case, & yong and whot bloude:
Haue all to be fumed you, and moued your moode.
That daunger it were, in you of a feeuer
If heate & coller, shoulde cuple together.
But thankes be to God, a vomet hat rydde:
A culpin of collops, farre inwardly hydde.
And now that your reasō, hath fair brought it fourth
It is a fayre reason, and a reason well wourth.
And fyrst you reply, to myn obieccion:
With wordes of pleasure, as a man of correccion.
Wherbi you would seeme, a learned man of arte:
And yet Master Mome, you are out of your parte
For as your aūswer, doth but tatele and tomble:
So you aunswer not me, but rayle out and romble.
And yet had you markte, my then to your when:
I no more falted you, then I dyd other men.
I meane mad taungers, that so raunge at large:
To medle with matters, not ioynd to their charge.
And such men I bad, as then I had you:
To send such whēs home, theyr vicar vnto.
And leaue dreaminge drames, to busi mens braines:
wyth nedeles matters, & as thankeles paynes.
And thys lytle neded, to haue netled your noddye,
If you were (as you wold be) som prety wise body.
But you wyl choplogick, and be Bee to busse:
but good Master Busserd, be good yet to vs.
And tel me in truth, and lye no whit then:
Haue not I touched, no parte of your when?
If you styl dreame not, as you do yet:
I trowe I haue touched, your when euery whit.
I nede not to byd you, turne my text againe.
But take your owne text, to aunswer your brayne.
I toutch not one poynte, that you wrote you saye:
And yet you cal me, a Daniell strayghtway.
Lo how these two now agree in themselues:
They both sham their master these .ii. eluish elues.
If you gyue me a name wythout an effect:
Your mastershyps brayne is madly infect.
And foule ouershot, to brīg two for wytnesse:
Whiche are in themselues cleane contrarie I gesse.
But if my fyrst aunswer, doo seeme such a mistery:
That you se not your whē, ther aunswer alredye
Then to awake you, and rayse you from slepe.
Good master Dreamer, marke this and take kepe.
your whē hath in it, a meanyng of who say,
which ryghtly to meane, is thus ment I say:
That whē those things be, which these dais be not.
Then knit you your thē vp in such sort as you wot.
But whome you accuse, in whenning so large.
I meane not to open, nor put to your charge.
But way with your self, & sober your braines:
And defend not a when, mighte put you to paines.
I coulde perchaunce, make your when larger.
And serue it before you, as brode as a charger.
And point you your when by lyne and by Leuel.
Againste Iupiters seate, & Iupiters Counsell.
But I list not so narow, to loke to your whanning.
Nor make to your whanning, so open a skanning,
You bid me not slaunder, you I slaunder you not.
If your self hurt you, your owne is the spot.
You ascribe to me, the māners of Gnato.
Full clarkelye applyed good master Thrato
A tytle as meete, they saye that doo knowe me.
As your title of dreame, to the matter of Dauye.
But vices in stage plaies, when theyr matter is gon.
They laughe oute the reste to the lookers on.
And so wantinge matter, you brynge in my coate.
In faithe master dreamer, I borowed it not.
Tho I haue hearde, that good fellowes and so.
Not you (goddes forbod) in borowed geare go,
But whē euery foule, hath puld home his fether.
The soule and the body, may then dwel together
And make a right sommer man, to iet in the heate
For clothes in whot wetther, do but mak mē sweat
whiche you sir perchaunce, er sommer come out:
wyl vse for a medecine, in trauailinge aboute,
And colloure the matter, with a tule of season:
As doutles your mastership, hath very god reason
By which all yt know you, will thinke you well hable
To thrust a poore Camel, to lurke in some stable.
And doubtles if dreaming may eny thinge spede,
I knowe Dauid dreamer, wyl do it in dede,
But tho I haue hearde, a Lyon oft rore,
I neuer hearde asse, so rore oute before.
With bitings & bridellings and raining of necks.
O fine master asse, howe sharpe be your cheekes.
You threatene to bitte me, to trim me and trick me.
With master asse. what wyl you nedes kick me.
Camelles and asses, be both mete for burden
Then gip fellowe asse, then iast fellowe lurden.
No nerer my buthoke, iast iade are you winsyng:
It is mery to see, master asse fal to minsyng.
Dyd you neuer here tell of the asse trapt in golde?
Lo maste asenoll, lo do as you shulde.
You saye I knowe you not, and yet as I trowe:
You caste your olde coat a greate whyle ago.
But if I mistake you, for that a newe springe,
Hath wrought as a work mā, to geue you a new skin
And that I may not, now know you by eare mark.
Then for a mor knowledg to know you in dark.
Tye a Bel at your tayle, to make sometinginge.
And ther goes the asse (I shal say) by the ringing.
But whether I know you or els do not knowe:
Thus muche I knowe, and am certaine I trowe:
An asse bindes no camels, tho he braye neure so loud.
Robin hode so shewed me, out of a cloude.
And when asses forget, to know what they are,
Sir Launcelot then biddes, to nip them more nar.
And Beniz of Hampton, whose clergy I knowe:
Biddes me serue you with the sams sede you sow.
And not to contende, for the asses shadowe.
Whose shadowe I leaue you, and bodye also.
And thus. M. dreamer your folli hath brought me
To followe you further, then first I bethought me
Beineg muche sorie, my pē so to spende.
To answere your follyes, and thus lo I ende.
To bid you good morow, now after your slepe?
If I may be so saucy, and make no mistaking.
God speede master Dreamer, yf you be wakynge.
But Dreamer or Dicar, or as you saye Dauy:
which shal I now cal you as our Lorde saue ye,
Three names are to many for one man alone:
And two mo makes fyue, for faylyng of one
If you had two other ye men myght you seeke:
Then had you a name, for eche daye in the weeke.
But no man dothe doubte, that so sundrye name:
Shuld haue other lōmyng then out of good frames.
And the fore I thyncke, they come euery chone:
Out of some old house, tho the postes begone
Or els kept in memory, for that they were founde:
In some old stocke, in som noble mans grounde.
And so do remayne, for mynde of our auncestry:
As Syb to Sybbel, sibbes verye properly.
So Iermaines lyps ioynde, and so M. Churchyard:
And Mannaryng met, both in an Orcharde.
And Dauid the Dicar, came in with his spade:
And dolue vp ye Dreamer, tyl the line was made.
And thus percōsequēce, sins your writing doth gre it:
Youre name for my parte: Dauid Dreademer be it.
And good M. dreademer, your reasō lōg sought for.
Hath combred your capax, I se very sore.
Snap of the case, & yong and whot bloude:
Haue all to be fumed you, and moued your moode.
That daunger it were, in you of a feeuer
If heate & coller, shoulde cuple together.
But thankes be to God, a vomet hat rydde:
A culpin of collops, farre inwardly hydde.
It is a fayre reason, and a reason well wourth.
And fyrst you reply, to myn obieccion:
With wordes of pleasure, as a man of correccion.
Wherbi you would seeme, a learned man of arte:
And yet Master Mome, you are out of your parte
For as your aūswer, doth but tatele and tomble:
So you aunswer not me, but rayle out and romble.
And yet had you markte, my then to your when:
I no more falted you, then I dyd other men.
I meane mad taungers, that so raunge at large:
To medle with matters, not ioynd to their charge.
And such men I bad, as then I had you:
To send such whēs home, theyr vicar vnto.
And leaue dreaminge drames, to busi mens braines:
wyth nedeles matters, & as thankeles paynes.
And thys lytle neded, to haue netled your noddye,
If you were (as you wold be) som prety wise body.
But you wyl choplogick, and be Bee to busse:
but good Master Busserd, be good yet to vs.
And tel me in truth, and lye no whit then:
Haue not I touched, no parte of your when?
If you styl dreame not, as you do yet:
I trowe I haue touched, your when euery whit.
I nede not to byd you, turne my text againe.
But take your owne text, to aunswer your brayne.
I toutch not one poynte, that you wrote you saye:
And yet you cal me, a Daniell strayghtway.
Lo how these two now agree in themselues:
They both sham their master these .ii. eluish elues.
If you gyue me a name wythout an effect:
And foule ouershot, to brīg two for wytnesse:
Whiche are in themselues cleane contrarie I gesse.
But if my fyrst aunswer, doo seeme such a mistery:
That you se not your whē, ther aunswer alredye
Then to awake you, and rayse you from slepe.
Good master Dreamer, marke this and take kepe.
your whē hath in it, a meanyng of who say,
which ryghtly to meane, is thus ment I say:
That whē those things be, which these dais be not.
Then knit you your thē vp in such sort as you wot.
But whome you accuse, in whenning so large.
I meane not to open, nor put to your charge.
But way with your self, & sober your braines:
And defend not a when, mighte put you to paines.
I coulde perchaunce, make your when larger.
And serue it before you, as brode as a charger.
And point you your when by lyne and by Leuel.
Againste Iupiters seate, & Iupiters Counsell.
But I list not so narow, to loke to your whanning.
Nor make to your whanning, so open a skanning,
You bid me not slaunder, you I slaunder you not.
If your self hurt you, your owne is the spot.
You ascribe to me, the māners of Gnato.
Full clarkelye applyed good master Thrato
A tytle as meete, they saye that doo knowe me.
As your title of dreame, to the matter of Dauye.
But vices in stage plaies, when theyr matter is gon.
They laughe oute the reste to the lookers on.
And so wantinge matter, you brynge in my coate.
In faithe master dreamer, I borowed it not.
Tho I haue hearde, that good fellowes and so.
But whē euery foule, hath puld home his fether.
The soule and the body, may then dwel together
And make a right sommer man, to iet in the heate
For clothes in whot wetther, do but mak mē sweat
whiche you sir perchaunce, er sommer come out:
wyl vse for a medecine, in trauailinge aboute,
And colloure the matter, with a tule of season:
As doutles your mastership, hath very god reason
By which all yt know you, will thinke you well hable
To thrust a poore Camel, to lurke in some stable.
And doubtles if dreaming may eny thinge spede,
I knowe Dauid dreamer, wyl do it in dede,
But tho I haue hearde, a Lyon oft rore,
I neuer hearde asse, so rore oute before.
With bitings & bridellings and raining of necks.
O fine master asse, howe sharpe be your cheekes.
You threatene to bitte me, to trim me and trick me.
With master asse. what wyl you nedes kick me.
Camelles and asses, be both mete for burden
Then gip fellowe asse, then iast fellowe lurden.
No nerer my buthoke, iast iade are you winsyng:
It is mery to see, master asse fal to minsyng.
Dyd you neuer here tell of the asse trapt in golde?
Lo maste asenoll, lo do as you shulde.
You saye I knowe you not, and yet as I trowe:
You caste your olde coat a greate whyle ago.
But if I mistake you, for that a newe springe,
Hath wrought as a work mā, to geue you a new skin
And that I may not, now know you by eare mark.
Then for a mor knowledg to know you in dark.
Tye a Bel at your tayle, to make sometinginge.
But whether I know you or els do not knowe:
Thus muche I knowe, and am certaine I trowe:
An asse bindes no camels, tho he braye neure so loud.
Robin hode so shewed me, out of a cloude.
And when asses forget, to know what they are,
Sir Launcelot then biddes, to nip them more nar.
And Beniz of Hampton, whose clergy I knowe:
Biddes me serue you with the sams sede you sow.
And not to contende, for the asses shadowe.
Whose shadowe I leaue you, and bodye also.
And thus. M. dreamer your folli hath brought me
To followe you further, then first I bethought me
Beineg muche sorie, my pē so to spende.
To answere your follyes, and thus lo I ende.
| The Contention bettwyxte Churchyeard and Camell | |