University of Virginia Library

To Parker.

My Parker, paper, pen
and inke were made to write,
And idle heads that litle doe,
haue leysure to endite
Wherfore respecting these,
and thine assured loue,
If I would write no newes to thee
thou mightst my pen reprooue.
And sithens fortune thus,
hath shoued my ship from shore:
And made me seeke another Realme
vnseene of me before.
The manners of the men,
I purpose to declare
And other priuate points beside,
which strange and geason are.
The Russie men are round
of bodies, fully fast
The greatest part with bellies big,
that ouerhang the wast.
Flat headed for the most,
with faces nothing faire.
But browne by reason of the stoue,
and closenes of the ayre.
It is their common vse,
to shaue or els to sheare,
Their heads: for none in all the land,
long lolling lockes doe weare.
Unles perhaps he haue
his soueraigne Prince displeasde
For then he neuer cuts his heare,
vntil he be appeasde.
A certaine signe to know
who in displeasure be:
For euery man that vewes his head
wil say, loe this is he.
And during all the time,
he lets his locks to grow:
Dares no man for his life,
to him a face of frendship show.
Their garments be not gay,
nor handsome to the eye:
A cap aloft their heads they haue
that standeth very hie.
Which (Colpack) they doe tearme
they weare no ruffes at al
The best haue collars set with pearle
Rubasca they doe call.
Their shirts in Russie long
they worke them downe before
And on the sleeues with coloured silkes,
two ynches good or more.
Aloft their shirts they weare
a garment iocket wise
Hight Onoriadka, and about
his bourly wast he ties
His Portkies, which in stead,
of better breeches be.
Of linnen cloth that garment is
no codpeece is to see
A paire of yornen stockes
to keepe the cold away:
Within his bootes the Russie weares,
the heeles they vnderlay.
With clouting clamps of steele,
sharpe pointed at the toes:
And ouer all a Suba furde,
and thus the Russie goes.
Wel butned is the Sube
according to his state
Some silke, of siluer other some
but those of poorest rate
Doe weare no Subes at all
but grosser gownes to sight:
That reacheth downe beneath the calfe,
and that Armacha hight.
These are the Russies robes,
the richest vse to ride
From place to place, his seruant runnes
and followes by his side.
The Cassocke beares his fealt,
to force away the raine:
Their bridles are not very braue,
their saddles are but plaine.
No bittes, but snaffels all,
of bryche their saddles be:
Much fashioned like the Scottish seates,
broad flaxs to keepe the knee.
From sweating of the horse,
the pannels larger farre
And broader be than ours
they vse short stirrops for the warre,
For when the Russie is
pursude by cruel foe
He rides away, and sodenly,
betakes him to his bowe.
And bendes me but about
in saddle as he sits
And therewithall amid his race,
his following foe he hittes.
Their bowes are very short,
like Turky bowes outright:
Of sinewes made with byrthen barke,
in cunning maner dight.
Small arrowes, cruel heads,
that fel and forked be:
Which being shot from out those bowes
a cruel wayes wil flee.
They seldome shooe their horse,
vnlesse they vse to ride
In poast vpon the frozen floode,
then cause they shal not slide
He sets a slender calke,
and so he rides his way:
The horses of the countrey goe,
good fourescore veorsts a day
And all without the spurre
once prick them and they skip,
But goe not forward on their way.
the Russie hath his whip
To rap him on the ribs
for though all booted be
Yet shal you not a paire of spurs
in all the countrey see,
The common game is chesse
almost the simplest wil
Both geue a checke and eke a mate,
by practise comes their skil.
Againe the dice as fast,
the poorest roges of all
Wil sit them downe in open field
and there to gaming fall.
Their dice are very small,
in fashion like to those
Which we doe vse, he takes them vp,
and ouer thumbe he throwes,
Not shaking them a whit,
they cast suspiciously:
And yet I deeme them voyd of arte,
that dicing most apply.
At plaxe when siluer lackes,
goes saddle, horse and all:
And each thing els worth siluer walkes,
although the price be small.
Because thou louest to play,
frend Parker, other while
I wish thee there, the weary day,
with dicing to beguile.
But thou were better farre
at home, I wist it wel
And wouldst been loath among such loutes
so long a time to dwel.
Then iudge of vs thy frends,
what kind of life we had.
That neere the frozen pole to wast
our weary dayes were glad.
In such a sauage soyle,
where lawes doe beare no sway
But all is at the King his wil,
to saue or els to stay.
And that saunce cause God wot,
if so his minde be such
But what meane I with kings to deale
we ought no Saints to touch.
Conceaue the rest your selfe,
and deeme what liues they leave:
Where lust is law, and subiectes liue
continually in dread.
And where the best estates,
haue none assurance good
Of lands, of liues, nor nothing falles
vnto the next of bloud.
But all of custome doeth
vnto the Prince redowne:
And all the whole reuenue comes
vnto the king his crowne,
Good faith I see thee muse,
at what I tel thee now
But true it is, no choyce
but all at Princes pleasure bowe.
So Tarquine ruled Rome,
as thou remembrest well:
And what his fortune was at last,
I know thy selfe canst tell.
Where will in common weale,
doth beare the onely sway.
And lust is law, the prince and realme
must needs in time decay.
The strangenesse of the place is such
for sundry things I see:
As if I would, I cannot write
such priuate point to thee.
The cold is rare, the people rude,
the prince so full of pride:
The realm so stord with monks & nunnes,
and priests on euery side.
The maners are so Turkylike,
the men so full of guile:
The women wanton, temples stuft
with idols that defile.
The seats that sacred ought to be,
the customs are so quaint:
As if I would describe the whole,
I feare my pen would faint.
In summe I say, I neuer saw
a prince that so did raigne:
Nor people so beset with Saints,
yet all but vile and vaine.
Wild Irish are as ciuil as
the Russies in their kind:
Hard choice which is the best of both,
each bloodie rude, and blind.
If thou be wise, as wise thou art,
and wilt be rulde by mee:
Liue still at home, and couet not,
those barbarous coasts to see.
No good befals a man that seekes,
and finds no better place:
No ciuil customs to be learnd,
where God bestowes no grace.
And truly ill they do deserue,
to be beloued of God:
That neither loue, nor stand in awe
of his assured rod.
Which (thogh be long) yet plagues at last
the vile and beastly sort
Of sinfull wights, that all in vice
do place their chiefest sport.
Adieu friend Parker, if thou list,
to know the Russies well:
To Sigismundus booke repaire,
who all the truth can tell.
For he long earst in message went,
vnto that sauage king:
Sent by the Pole, and true report
in each respect did bring.
To him I recommend my selfe,
to ease my pen of paine:
And now at last do wish thee well,
and bid farewell againe.