University of Virginia Library

[Q. HORACE FLACCUS HIS FYRSTE BOKE OF SATYRES.]

[The fyrst Satyre.]

Right drad Mecenas whats the cause
that none contente abyde
In trayned trade, that whylome choyse
or chaunce to them affyed?
But loues, and lykes, an others lote,
and nouell lyfe pursues.
Still flotes and flyts, from former fate
Ne brookes the same to vse.
Thunwyldye warryer waste with toyle
wyth grouelyng elde for spente,
O makelesse marchaunte mumbleth he
O state with blisse Yblent.
The fearefull marchaunt he again,
When waltring wyndes amayne
With plunging puffes, from Sothren coste
and hydiouse hissing rayne,
Torments the Sea, hoistes vp the waues
that doth surmounte the sayle,
Saunce pere doth deme the souldyers guyse
for why, they tugge, they hayle
They prease in plumpes on mortall yron
where eftesones eyther bayne
Is prest: or gladsum trumpets clang
dooth blase tryumphante gayne.
The counsailer for Meede, or fee
that parles, and pledes the lawes
When at cockes crow, his gats are pushte
with hastinge Clyentes pawes.
Then happye farmer ofte sayth he
for thou in golden sleepe
Arte soust: of mout or suite vndreamde
of barre thou beares no kepe.
The chubbyshe gnof that toyles and moyles
and delueth in the downe,
If happlye he a suertie be,
so sente for into towne:
Who gapes, who gawes, who pores, who pries
who proggs his mate but he?
Perfaye (saith he), hers all things ryse,
these people blessed be
The resydue that rests vnroulde,
the remnaunte that remayne,
Of this new fanglde fickle flocke,
woulde pose and put to paines

Fable a common pratler.

The fabling Fabies tatling toungue:
to deskaunte and descriue
The route, and rabble, all a rowe
(a draughte to longe to dryue)
But that no tracte neede trouble thee,
nor ambage breede delaye,
Harke well how I will coutche this gere,
put case som god woulde saye
Your lykings all, allowde shalbe,
and thou that erste in feilde
The maces keene, the grounded sworde,
the Tucke, the targe, the sheilde,
Was wunte to wilde, wyth passage moyst
shall cutte the frothie playne,
A merye marchaunte shalte thou row,
and thou that didste disdayne
To lyue and leade the Lawyers lyfe
shalt mucker in the grounde.
Be trudgging hence, your trades are turnde,
why stande you still in stounde?
They wyll not tho, although they mighte
accepte this blisfulle boune.
Then whats the cause that Ioue thus mockd
may not condinglye soone
In irefull mode, and dyre reuenge
engourge his puffed cheekes
Gaynste all this sorte? and spreed no eare
to them that hensforth seekes
And suies with pratlynge prayer to chop
and chaunge their proued plighte.
But leste som man shoulde houlde me in hande
my tretys is to lyghte,
To muche with laughter interlasde
(albeit the gester may
Harpe on a soothe, (ells God for byd)
and toyes may kepe and staye
Sumtimes the reeder veray well,
as those that teache in schooles,
With buttred bread, or featusse knacks
will lewre the little fooles,
To learne a pase theyr A. B. C.
I will be at a poynte
Wyth nyfles now. Ile turne the leafe
and waightye thinges disiointe.
The Churle that shreds the earth, with share,
and wreakes the yeeldynge leas,
The marryner that shaues the streame
and furrouse vncouthe seas:
The Tauerner that falsethe othes
and litle reckes to lye,
The souldyer that doth deale the battes
and makes his foes to flye
They say the cause they trauayle thus,
that thus they care and carke
Is this: That when vnnimble age
hath refte them of their warke:
When fumbling foote denyes to meeue
when hande nil houlde or hente
That then they might suffisaunce haue
leste easles neede them shente.
Not muche vnlyke the lytle ant
(a beaste of tydye toyle)
Who drawes and dragges her delycates
orewharte the hillie soyle
By myghte of mouth, in all she may
and placed in her cell,
She stickleth, and bestirres her selfe
She huswyfes it right well.
She carues it fyne, and mings it thicke
and shroudes it vnder roofe
As one, that of the wynters wrathe
Were not to learne the proofe,
Ne yet to care for after clappes.
Whereby when Ianyuere
That myrethe all the costs wyth slete
and saddes the ginning yeare.
With aspere shours dooth cause the cloudes
and welken aye to wepe
Then Ladye Pismyer stirrs no where
shees claspde in closset deepe.
Shee keepes her Chrystenmasse in caue
and there they make bone cheare.
They feede and feele the fruit of that,
which once they gott yfeare:
And wyselye to, but the (alas)
not Phebus flaminge brande,
Nor greuouse, mumming could that maks
the chillyng sencelesse hande
Nor fearefull fyer, that flusheth vp
and fumes to pitchye smoke:
Nor stormye seas whose oppen iawes
suppes vp wythout all choke
The straglinge shippes: nor weapon whet
Nor oughte canne the deterre
From huntynge after hurtfull horde
for whilste som such there are
That swimme in wealthe, and the surpasse
in rytches or in robes,
Thy glutton mynde will neuer staye
still, still thy stomake crobbs.
What vayles it the so quakinglye
to grubbe and grip the moulde,
And there in hucker mucker hyde
thy Idalle God thy goulde?
If that thou spende and sparple it
no dodkin wyll abyde:
The deuille may daunce in crosslesse purse
when coyne hathe tooke his tyde.
And if thou snudge, and saue it sounde
and cofferte from the sonne
What shewe then hathe thy hidden hepe
what luste is therebye wonn?
Admit on flore thou haste in store
an hundreth thousande mets
Of corne dehuskde: what cums thereby?
thy belly houldes nor getts
No more then myne: as if in case
to feelde thou shouldeste fayre
With scrippe on backe, fulle frayghte with foode
and straighte as thou cums theire
The hungrye hunts muste haue it all,
what makes thou by this matche?
As much as he that carryeth noughte
(certes a woorthye catche.)
Or els per frendship answer this,
to him that doothe propounde
Nature his guyde, and treads her steppes,
what booteth him of grounde
Whether an hundreth acres he
or els a thousande tills:
Thou saiste he feddes the eye the more,
that from the huge hepe fills?
Well syr no force, if that you will
but condescende to this
That our repaste doth ryot shun,
and reasonable is
To kepe the soule and Carcas cheynd
to stynte the pyning stynge
Of hungers gnaw, and that we haue
a meane of euery thynge:
Why thē what doste thou boste so much,
thy plumes why doste thou spreade?
What better is thy barnes, then our
smale sackes that serue our neade?
Muche lyke for southe, as if that thou
a potte or pitcher muste
With lykor lode, and mights it fille
at fountayne hereby iuste,
And yet for fonde affection, thou,
to please thy gredye eye,
Shouldste wende vnto the flowing streame
where greater gulfes do flye.
At whiche whilste som haue reached farre
and proferde ouer faste,
The bācke hath burste, that down they lush,
and so be drente at laste.
But he that leanes to temperaunce,
and anchoures on her lore,
And takes so muche as serues his turne,
and gapes to grype no more,
Him needes not draw the drubbled dreggs
of fawle by durtye poole,
Nor yet for deuelishe thirste to haue
(as one from vertues schoole
Exempted quite) fetche from the brim
and ouerwhelming waues,
Where now and then (O iust rewarde)
in raginge surge sum taues.
The Cristalle springe shall woorke his will
and syluer channelde wells
Shall yeelde ynoughe, where lurcks no dreade,
where slyme ne slabber dwells.
But out (alas) the greater parte,
with sweete empoysned bate
Of welthe bewitchde do weeue their wants
aboundaunce in eache state
For monye maks and mars (say they
and coyne it keepes the coyle
It byndes the beare, it rules the roste
it putts all things to foyle.
A mannes his money and no more,
wherin confused is
An heauen of happs, a worlde of weeles,
an hunnye bath of blisse.
O dottrells dome, and is it so?
what guardon for these doultes
Shall we deuyse? lets suffer still
the foolishe frantycke foultes
To wallowe in their wilfulnes,
whose vnder eating myndes
Is neuer crainde, but prools for more
and swarues not from their kyndes.
Such one we reade of in olde tyme
that dwelte in Athins towne
A man in substance passinge rytche
nathlesse a niggerde cloune,
At whose scarceheade and couetyce
the worlde did outas make,
But all in vayne, he forcst it not
he sought not howe to slake.
Blacke fame, that frisked euerye wheare
and bounsed at ytche eare,
A figge for them (quoth brasen face)
I force not howe I heare.
They hauke, they hem, they hisse at me,
I weygh it not an hawe,
Whilste I may harbor in mine arke,
and lodge wythin my lawe.
My darlynge goulde, my leaneste gueste,
my solace and my glee,
He is the bone companion,
its he that cheares vp me.
Ah simple cheare consyderynge all,
graue Tantale in thyn hearte,
His fee dyd feede his fatalle falle,
his mucke procured his smarte.
Whose lippes as drye as any kykkes
dothe ofte assay to taste,
The licker, to allay the droughte
that hathe nye, all to waste
His intralls sterude for lacke of moyste,
the fluds to be his paine
They clim vnto his veray chinne
and then declyne againe.
He catcheth and he snatcheth aye,
and stille he grates in teene,
And stille shall do, for panges stille springe
and freatinge sorowes grene.
I pray the now what cause haste thou
to sporte and pleasaunce take?
To faune vppon thy foolishe goulde
whiche endlesse greefe doth make.
For thou induriste Tantalls fate,
and takynge but his name,
This tale maye well be toulde of the
thou arte the veray same.
Thy house, the hell, thy good the flood,
which thoughe it doe not starte,
Nor stirre from the, yet hath it so
in houlde thy seruyle hearte,
That though in foysonne fulle thou swimmes,
and rattles in thy bagges,
Yet toste thou arte with dreadefulle dreames,
thy mynde it waues and wagges,
And wisheth after greater things,
and that, thats woorste of all,
Thou sparest it, as an hollye thynge,
and doste thy selfe in thralle
Unto thy lowte, and cockescome lyke
thou doste but fille thine eye
With that, which shoulde thy porte preserue
and hoyste thyne honor hye.
Thou scannes it, and thou toots vpponte
as thoughe it were a warke
By practysde painters hande portrayde
with shaddowes suttle darke.
Is this the perfytte ende of coyne?
be these the veray vayles
That money hath, to serue thy syghte?
fye fye thy wysedome fayles.
Tharte misse insenste, thou canste not vste
thou wotes not what to do
Withall, by cates, bye breade bye drincke,
in fyne disburse it so,
That nature neede not moue her selfe,
nor with abetments scant
Distrainte, and prickd, passe forth her dayes
in pyne and pinchinge want.
To wake all nyghte, with shiueringe corpse,
both nighte and day to quake,
To set in dreade, and stande in awe
of theeues, leste they shoulde breake
Perforce thy dores, and robb thy chests,
and carue thy weasaunte pype:
Leste flickeryng fyer shoulde stroye thy denne,
and sease wyth wastefull grype,
Uppon thyne house leste runagats
should pilfer ought from thee,
Be these thy gaines, by rytches repde?
then this beheste to me.
O Ioue betake, that I may be
deuoyde of all those gooddes
That brewes such banefull broyles, or brings
of feare suche gastfull fluddes.
But if so bene the pauling colde
thy limmes dooth ouergo.
Or els sum other worse disease
hath daunte thy body so,
That downe thou must, and byde in bed,
thy vauntage then is great,
At elbowe preste thou hast thy frendes
who will prouide the meate.
And tender the euen as them selues,
confections sweete or tarte
Theylle minge for the, such as beste lykes
thy quasye wamblynge hearte.
Theyle treate the fyne physition
with potions sounde and sure,
By force and vertue of his skill
thy corps for to recure,
And to restore thee to thy sonnes
and kyndely fryndes againe.
Alas the whyle its no pointe so,
thy wyfe she workes thy vayne,
Thy sonne he inlye lothes thy lyfe,
his regreate and his plainte
Is euer freshe, because that death
doth linger to attaynte
Thy hatefull heade, thy neyghbours, and
thy cheefe acquaintaunce all
Thy iacke, thy gille, thy kith, thy kinne
doth prosecute thy fall.
What maruayle ist, when thou hast loude
thy syluer as thy lorde,
If none loue the, whose loutishe lyfe
deserude no louinge worde?
But if thou thinckes thy alyes to linke
in frindshippe and in faythe,
And wenste thou maiste with smale a do
from breache and folishe wrathe
Kepe tyde the knot that nature knit:
Ah sillye manne, in vayne
Thou doste surmise this fruitlesse fetche,
its farre beyonte thy brayne:
Perseueraunce in amitie,
and duraunce still in loue
Discordeth muche from fickle man,
thou maiste as well aboue
The sluggishe asse a saddle couche,
with golde and perle befret,
And strayne his iawes, with brydle braue
with goldsmithrye ybet,
And so to make him praunce, and plunge,
to friske, and gamballs fetche,
To chewe vppon the spewinge bit,
and at his foes to retche,
With harneste houfe: as thou canste learne
the fraile retyryng man
To treade in trace of trouthe outryghte
in truth as he beganne.
In fyne, suppresse thy lewde desyre:
the more thou haste in store
The lesse passe thou for pouertye,
do trauaile for no more
Sence thou accomplishde haste thy wille,
and purchesde wealthe at ease:
O be not lyke Vmidius,
whose rauenouse disease.
It is not longe for to discourse,
he that he myght vpturne
His coumed coyne, with shoules wyde,
him selfe durste not adorne
With any weede that wealthe besettes,
but lyke a miser ryghte,
More ragged then a tatterde coulte
did passe the poreste wyghte
In peces and in tatter wagges:
whylste that he had his wynde,
And drewe his breathe: he spent no iote,
afraide that he shoulde fynde
Neade in oulde age: but (loe his wyfe
of greakishe dames most stoute:
With grounded axe cutte him in twaine,
and rifted him throughoute.

Couetouse

What? is it beste lyke Meuius

prodigall personne.

the make away, to lyue?
Or shalle I lyke Nomenianus

prodigall personne.

my gooddes to giglotts geue?

Poet.

A goodlye dishe, who taughte the this?
why doste thou thus compare
Extremyties? Is there no shifte,
all spende, or els all spare?
I woulde the not a nipfarthinge,
nor yet a niggarde haue,
Wilte thou therefore, a drunkard be,
a dingthrifte, and a knaue?
There is a difference betwixte
the gelded Eunuke Paue:
And Herniosus, hote as coles
that rancke vnclenly swaine.
A meane there is in matters all,
and certaine bondes be pyghte,
On this syde or beyonde the whiche
no thinge thats good canne lyghte.
But after longe vagaryes fetchde,
to come to my requeste,
How happeneth it, his owne estate
that no man lyketh beste?
But teenes if that his neyghbours goate
a bygger bagge doth beare
Then his, or yeeldes her mylke sum deale
more flowyng and more cleare:
Nor euer will compare him selfe
vnto the greater sorte,
Whose state is base, and bad as his,
who lyues in meane apporte.
But roues, and shoots at further marks,
now him he doth contende
To passe in coyne: now him again,
and so there is no ende.
For he that thincks to coate all men
and all to ouergoe,
In runnyng shall sum ritcher fynde
who still will bid him hoe.
Suche posters may be likened well
vnto the carters oulde
Of forayne worlde, on mounte Olimpe
whose carts when they were roulde
With gyrefull sway, by course swyfters,
to winne the glistring branche.
They ierted vp their horse with whippes,
that forth they made them launche,
With boysterouse noyse, lyke thunder clappes,
they made the quaueryng soyle
To dindle and to shake againe,
in hope of lawrell spoyle.
They neuer had respecte to those
that once were caste behynde,
But scourde to geue the reste the slip,
wyth course as wyghte as wynde.
Ryght semblablye, this carkynge kynde
of men, doe neuer eye
The route that they haue ouerrun
in goodes but haste, and hye
To retche the resydue and soe
do ayme aboue theyr strengthe
To pricke, and pearse those marks, and whyts
that lye withoute their lengthe.
Loe this is euen the veray grounde,
this is the perfytte cause,
That most mislyke them selues so muche,
and can no season pause
In blesfulnes: and this is it.
why very selde we fynde
A man so cloyed with the worlde
as he that new hathe dynde
Is with his meate, and that thers none
which in their extreame dayes
Will parte from lyfe, as full from feaste
to goe theyr homewarde wayes.
To bannish all excesse of talke,
let this suffyce as now,
And leste thou shouldste suppose by space
my talke myghte ouergrow

Crispine a writer against couetouse to excessiue in talke.

In bulke the bleare eyde Crispins roole
whose tounge on pattans free
Did retchlesse run, euen here I cease
not one worde more of me.

The seconde Satyre.

The stewes, and stained house of drabbes,
thappotycaryes neate,
The beggers, and the tumblynge trulle
the horehunters, the greate
And flockynge rakehell rabblement
of ragges and raskals all
Be pensife, and throughe plungde with panges
to see the funeralle.
Of Tygille, trustye frinde of theires,
who whilste he lyued here,
Dyd carolle shrille, and trimly tune
his sonets sweete, and cleare.
Their cause of greafe is sone expressde:
he was both free and francke,
They hanged on him, his purse kepte them
so croustye, and so crancke.
But this man, cleane contrarye wyse.

Couetous.

teschue, and shun the name
Of spendall, and of scatter good,
and fearyng such lyke blame
That doth ensue outragiouse spence,
he will not geue nor lende
One crosse of coyne, to clothe or feede
his nedie naked frende.
An other, if thou question him

Prodigall.

why that he doth deuoure
His syre, and gransyres goodes,
and turneth towne, and tower
All into noughte, throughe greedynes
and foule delyting throte:
And why that he by gluttanye,
and stomake raging hote
Miscounsailed, doth make assayle
of landes, and lordshippe wyde
To bye such curiouse cates, as beste
will done his gullet glyde:
His answer is not farre to fetch,
posthaste he will the saye,
That he doth thus set cocke on hoope
and lauishly outlay
This mucke, & drosse the worlde hath sent,
because he woulde not seeme
Lyke one of carlish abiecte minde,
so vyle a thing testeme.
That answer say the neuer thriftes,
was geuen in the Cue,
Well fare his hearte: the chuffes the same
with deepe disprayse pursue.
Fusidius, a landed man,
a man whose fertyle feyldes,
Whose medowes fayre, & glebye groundes
reuenues ample yeeldes:
A man by art of vsarye,
by guyle, and treachers trade,
By fraude, and couin full of goods,
is veray sore afrayd
To spende amongste good companie,
leaste on such prankes might springe
A iauall, or a ruffins name,
or sum such heynouse thinge.
This Fulsidie, to fille his purse,
and to enritch his store,
What soeuer cums by vsers skylle,
to get, and gender more,
He lays it to the captaine heape,
whereof it rose, and grew:
He takes by yeare the fiftes of all,
and so he bredeth new.
And if a man through negligence,
perhapps be caste behynde,
At partyng he shall pay for that
such fetches will he fynde.
Heild go me lyke a craftye coulte,
and listen euerye where,
To vnderstande the names of those
that late delyuered were
From gouernment of masters sharpe,
and ginnes to weare the weede,
That onlye manhood doth beseme:
there there, he sowes his feede.
He mings deceite, he plyes the boxe,
he strues me suche a trayne,
That straighte he is with them to bringe,
(God wotes) vnto their payne.
Thunbrydled brutes, the younckers that
are paste the cure and charge
Of Tutors graue, lyke lustye laddes,
do loue, to roue at large,
To roiste, and reuell wyth the beste,
in suits of silkes to flaunte:
The harde headed fathers they denye
such spences vaine to graunte:
Then cums this foxe, this Fusidie,
wyth money preste in hande,
He byes before their fathers death
their lyueloode, and their lande,
Who hearynge such malingen wroughte
doth not abrade, and crye,
Uppon the greateste God of all,
that flings the fates from hye?
But they, the sillye fonded fooles,
(suche be the youthfull braines)
Do feaste him, for his louesom loue,
and highly praise his paines
Certes, a man shoulde scarse beleue,
how much this louelye wighte,
Whome others loue, doth loue him selfe,
how he doth decke, and dighte
His surlye corps in rytche aray,
what table he doth kepe,

Menedemus.

Almoste as greate as did the snudge,
whome Terence toulde to stepe,
And syncke in sorowes, and in sobbes,
for that he chaste his sonne
To Asie, there to pyke his crums,
which deed vnkynde ons donne:
He brake vp house, put myse to grasse,
him selfe fed nothing fyne,
With colewortes, and such carters cates,
ofte woulde the caytife dyne.
But here, if sum precysly aske,
what doth this processe meane?
It is to shew, that whilste sum men
take care to kepe them cleane,
From blame, & blotte of one grosse sinne,
incontinente they are caughte,
Intangled with the contrarye:
lyke dullerdes neuer taughte.

A new fāgled minion of that age.

Malkin, to make him singuler,
a fashion freshe hath founde,
He swings and swoupes from streete to streete,
with gowne that sweepes the grounde,
And thincke you Malkin wants his mates?
no fye, that were a misse,
An other pleasaunte headed chylde,
in no sauce lyketh this.
To proue himselfe a pretye man,
and quaynte in his deuyse,
He maks his garmente to be shapde,
not of so large a syse:
For wote you what? he coortalls it,
it hardlye hydes his rumpe,
Rufillus, he is perfumde with muske
Gorgomi, smelles oth pumpe.

Sweate and fyne.

Meane, hath no mantion in this flocke,
they kepe no steedy stay
In matter, and in nouell shape,
they varye euery day.
Sum one, or other lode starre stille,
and what that he doth vse,
The resydue may not ne will,
for fashion sake refuse.
Fashions in all our gesterings,
fashions, in our attyre,
Which (as the wyse haue thoughte) do cum,
and goe in circled gyre.
Fashions, in nottynge of the heare,
in parynge of the nayles,
In Otho, and mustacho beardes,
thus fashions neuer fayles.
In thother sexe, who woulde rehearse
their fashions, as they be,
Myghte euen as well by augrisme tell,
the grauell of the See.
Those curiouse croustinge courtly dames,
whose spangled vestures sheene,
With stones and pearles, of pryde, and pryse,
and emrades heauenlye greene,
Doth geue the glimmeringe, gloriouse shewe,
that feedes the gasers eyes,
And dasles quyte the simple lokes,
with leames, that from them flyes:
The worlde perchaunce doth thincke them gay,
and in a chiefe degree:
They be no better creatures,
then other people be:
Noe outwarde thinge doth better vs,
no not our noble kynde:
Not pearles, or golde: but pearlesse giftes
be praysed in Godlye mynde.
All els is toyes, and all is vayne,
and all when they haue tryde,
Will once confesse these things to be,
but nutriments of pryde.

The third Satyre.

It is a faulte, a common faulte,
that all our minstrels vse:
The more you seme to craue a songe,
the more they will refuse.
Requeste them not they neuer cease:
righte so woulde Tygille fayre,
A singer of Sardinia,
thoughe Cesar shoulde not spare,
For his, and for his fathers sake
sum musyke to requyre.
Yet woulde his humble suite ofte tymes
cum shorte of his desyre.
He myghte haue forsde him therunto:
but Tygille, if it had
Cumde in his braine, woulde of him selfe,
take on, as he were mad.
He, Bacchus ballets woulde recorde
sumtymes the trible parte
Sumtymes, the quauerynge deskantdure
sumtymes, to vaunte his arte,
A boysterouse basse he bounsed out,
and iumbled on his stringes,
No dram he had of constancy:
so fickle in his things.
Ofte tymes, he ran, as fled from foe
oftetymes in solemne pace
He woulde proceade, as thoughe he were
in seruynge Iunos grace.
Sumtymes, an hundreth wayting men,
sumtymes he kepte but ten:
Sumtymes he spoke of potentats,
and on his honour then
Was all his talke: sumtymes, let me
one dishe well dighted haue,
(Thus would he say), and one course gowne
my corps from coulde to saue.
To this good husbande, that coulde be
with pittance smale content,
If sum good frendly man, of hope
ten hundred crownes had lent.
Within fyue dayes, no groate he had,
in purse, ne yet in cheste:
All nighte he wakde, whilste morning came,
all day he tooke his reste.
Was neuer man so litle stayde.
but sum, will say to me,
And what are you, sum selye saincte?
nay, halfe as ill as he:
One Meuius, did frumpe and floute
at Neuie, then awaye:
A frende of his, a stander by,
what serray what I say?
(Quod he): doste thou not know thy selfe,
nor thincke that we the knowe?

Meuius.

My selfe, yes, I wincke at my selfe:

Po.

Po therfore, a wincking dawe.
This is, a wicked, witlesse, loue,
not to be wincked at:
Synce, thou doste know, and see thy sinne,
and vse to wyncke at that:
What meaneste thou, in others faults,
so pearsantly to prye

Epidaure taken for all kynde of serpents.

With Egles syghte, or Epidaurs
that suttle serpentes eye?
But if in case, an other carpe
sum cryme, he sees in thee,
He is too rashe, and vndiscreete,
and no good fellowe he.
A sheepe, a verey gestynge stocke,
he treades his shoe awrye,
His gowne sitts slacke, his heade vnkempte,
vnciuyle, by and by.
But he his good, and godly to,
and one that wills the well,
And thoughe his bodye be not braue,
greate witte may in him dwell.
Well, ryfle thou thy conscience,
and looke thou be not led
With any vyce, which nature hath,
or custome in the bred.
In feildes vnforowde frute is none,
for brakes all ouer growes:
To blowe retreate, and to returne
from whence my matter flowes:
If we doe strongly loue a thing,
and lyke verey muche,
Thoughe faultes in it be euidente,
Yet we will see none suche.
I woulde, in race of amytye
such dotage we might vse,
And that vertue, by honeste name,
such curtsye woulde excuse.
For as the father for ill shape,
his sonne doth not disdayne:
So frendes, at times, must beare with frendes,
though faultes in them remayne.
The sonne he squynts, the father saythe

Sysiphus.

he hath a pincking eye,
His legges misshapde, the father sayth,
his legge but standes awrye.
The parents pleasure much, to prayse,
and prattle to the ladde,
Thy foote is verey greate (sayth he)
thy foote is swelde to badde.
Haste thou, a frende, that dyets harde?
Well, call him thriftye than:
Haste thou, a frende, a bragging lout?
call him a iollye man:
The king of fellowes, amongste frendes,
for hym no better name.
Haste thou, a frende, with face of brasse,
that bragges without all shame?
Compte him, of stearne, and haughtye hearte,
that, well dare speake his mynde:
That will not flatter, nor yet feare,
how soeuer blowes the wynde.
If, he be suttle, call him sage,
if wylye, call him wyse:
This, this is it, that winnes thy frendes,
and wun, in frendship tyes.
But we, full ill construction,
of vertue selfe, do make
And eftsones, do eclipps the praise
thats due for vertues sake.
For, if wyth vs be conuersaunte
sum humble, lowly soule
We calle him goose, and disarde doulte,
and fowlye fatted nowle.
And, if a man deale warylye,
and beare him selfe vppryghte,
Amongste such folke, as fosher fraude,
and practise slylye sleighte,
For name of skilfull, wyttye man,
and one that takes good heede
He is a deepe dissemblyng man,
and craftye for his meede.
If, that a man can not conceale,
but tell his verdicte free,
(As I Mæcenas patrone myne)
haue done full ofte to thee:
If, that he speake to one thats whishte,
or looketh on his booke,
Or talke not all in printe or tune,
(say we) this coddes heade, (looke)
This asse, doth wante his comon sence.
woes me, and oute, (alas)
How doe we aggrauate such lawes,
as gainste our selues doth passe?
For, faultlesse (doubtles) borne is none,
and he, is euen the beste,
Whose, lyfe syncere admitteth fewe,
and with the leaste is preste.
A frindly man, (as meete it is)
the good, with bad will wey,
If much be bad, and more be good,
let soulderde frendship stay.
Let vs, in equall ballaunce paise,
and do as we woulde haue:
Wouldste thou thyne owne offences cloke?
in others faultes not raue.
It is but ryght, that mum, shoulde mum,
and perdon, perdon craue.
For shorte, in that, the vyce of wrathe
will be our tenaunte still,
And brutishe parte of moodie mynde,
will lodge fections ill:
Why do we not, by reasons rule,
and by proportion iuste,
Deme of the cryme, as it is done,
and mulcte it as we muste?
If, that the maister byd his man,
from borde to take a dishe,
The man, doth sipple vp the brothe,
or feede on broken fishe:
His maister, hangs him straighte vpponte:
who will not houlde him mad
As Labec? and why not thou

Labio a lauishe toungued lo sel. who still was barkyng at Auguste.

as frantyke, and as bad?
Thy frende offendes, and graunts his guilt,
thou, wilt him not forgeue,
What arte thou then? a testye churle,
greate pittye thou shouldste lyue.
If thou him hate, and shun his syghte,
(as Drusos detters doe)
Thou shalte be dresde, lyke Drusos selfe,

A creditours.

he, for to lend to moe,
Doth sheare, and shaue and powle, and presse,
well, when his audit cums,
When he most hopes of best recepte
and to suruewe his sums.
Then, gawlye wordes (for feare of strypes)
(when he his coumpts hath red)
He doth put vp, with cap, and knee,
at those which from him fled.

A good felow.

Euander cums vnto my house,
perhapps, he drincks to much,
Or breaks a iugge, or staines my gowne,
or, eats my dyat, suche,
As was preparde, and plasde for me,
is he, the lesse for this,
A merry grigge, a iocande frende,
for euery sillye misse?
Shoulde I, go baull a maine at him,
as he had pickte my purse,
Or me discryde, his pledge denyed
or done sum thinge, thats woorse?
Who, almost hath at any tyme
thoughte faltes of equall weyghte?
Philosophers, (that bookish broode)
may, teache the thinge by sleighte
But skille, and practyse counterplea,
and profit it denyes,

Iustice rather by profyte then nature.

Profyt, the nurse of iuste, and righte,
as tyme, and sequele tryes.
When man, abandon firste the earth,
and scraulde out of the moulde,
(A dum vnwyldye creature)
through hunger, and through coulde,
For foode, and harboure gan they fray:
at firste, with tooth, and nayle,
And then, with clubbes, and then with swords
which vse, had taughte tassayle:
Whilste wordes, ambasdors of the heart
(for to bewray the mynde)
Were put in vre: and names applyed,
then, to conserue their kynde,
They seaste from warres: made reare vp walles:
and poundinge lawes did make,
That none should filche, nor any robbe,
that none shoulde wedlocke brake.
For, or that cytyes had their walls,
or, Helen, came to Troye,
Haue women, bathde the worlde in blood,
(the cause of dyre annoye)
But, of the slayne was no recorde.
they raunged, in eatche where,
No spousailes knowne, more brute, then beastes,
the make, knew not his feare.
The mightieste man, lyke Bulle in herde,
did wreake, the meaner sorte:
Thus, graunte you must, that feare of wronge,
set ladye lawe in forte.
If, thou wilte calender in mynde,
the consequents of tydes,
By notinge, longe dyssente of tyme,
in what effecte, it glydes:
Well maiste thou see, that nature telth,
What lyke, what leaue, we muste,
Yet, nature, hath no pollycye,
to seuer wronge, from iuste.
But reason, bearing stroke in that,
for profit patrons ryghte
If, reason reele, thē, profytte paynts,
reason, saues both, by mighte,
And, as she dothe: so, will not shee,
vse argument, that he,
Which stealthe from hedge, and stealthe from churche,
in lyke offence shoulde be.
Let, discipline alleuied be,
in measure, to the vyce,
When, lyghte correction may take place,
fare not, in tyraunts wyse:
Ne yet, when greate outrage, is wroughte,
with ferule, doe not stryke.
Where iustice slakes, there feare decayes,
when, thou makste all faults lyke,
As purloyninge, with burglarye,
or robbinge by the way,
Trespasse, with cryme, doth not thy doume,
fordome to vs, and say?
That, thou, indede, in lyke effecte,
wouldste execute, the thinge,
If choyse, by voyce, had hoyste the vp,
inuested, once a Kynge:
A kyng, eche stoicke, is kynge,
for, stoicks all, be wyse:
And, wysdome, is it selfe, a wealthe:
throughe wealthe, do princes ryse:
Wysedom, is all: but, thou arte wyse:
then, safelye, be of cheare,
Thou art fayre, stronge, and eke, a kinge,
a cobler, though thou were.
What, wilte thou more?
Sto:
yes, Chrysip sayes,
the wyse man, mends no moyle,
Nor, soles no shoes:

Poe:
lo, thus, thou weanes,
to turne me, to a toyle.
The wyse man, thoughe, he leaue the acte,
reteynes the arte, as how?
Hermogines, sings not, at all:
Yet, musyke, he doth know.
Alphenus, made away, his tooles,
broke, shop vp, longe a goe,
Is he, not, an artyficer,
or not, a craftes man, thoe?
The wyse knowes moste, who, knoweth moste,
muste, beare awaye the name
Of facultye: de barre, them not,
but, let them, haue the same:
To rule a realme, is facultye,
which, none, but wyse, can tell:
If they can rule, though, they rule not,
Kynges, are they, by this spell.
The stoicke, wyse: the wyse, can rule:
to can, is, full as muche,
As, though he did: a Realme, he can:
then, let his name, be suche.
Can rule, is rule: none can, but wyse:
the stoicke, only wyse:
The stoicke, therfore, only kinge,
by this, so strayte a ryse.
Yea, stoicke, arte, thou create kynge,

Witte alone insufficiaunte in regalitie, if it be bereft of other solemne and laudable appertinente.

then, must thou, mainteyne porte:
Els, wagges, in streets, will twitche, thy bearde,
and make, at the, a sporte.
Excepte, thou take the, to thy handes,
and fence the, with a stick:
Theille, make the braste, for agonye,
in crowding, the so thicke.
And, thou, a wyse, wit puisaunte kinge,
that, houlde thy crowne, by witte:
Shalte, be enforste, to howle, and crye,
(for suche a state, vnfitte.)
In briefe, when, thou, a king, at meales,
doste ryse, or, syt thee downe,
So, sore precyse, thou arte, that, none
will byde thee, but, sum clowne.

Cryspine.

But, if, that I, miscarye oughte,
my frendes, will make, the beste,
So, I, to them, so, they, to me,
and this, ingendreth reste.
Thus, doe I passe, my pleasaunte dayes,
and feare, no stormye thinge,
This priuate lyfe, I woulde not chaunge,
with the, pretensed kynge.

The fourth Satyre.

The Poet Aristophanes
Eupolis, and Cratyne,
And auncients moe, whose interludes,
are sauste, with sayinges fyne,
If any person were mislyude,
in thefte, or leachers lore,
Or were a roisting quareller,
they woulde display him sore,
Hence, Lusill boroud all his vaine,
those presidents, he tooke
The matter sharpe, the feete, but chaungde,
the forme, full sleke, did looke.
In deed, the sence was too to tarte,
within an howers space,
Two hundreth verses he woulde make,
thoughte he, a gifte of grace.
And woulde not moue his foote withall,
But, huddle he would roule,
To halfe, mighte wellbene scummed of
an ydle chatting soule.
A milke sop long to pen a woorke,
much more to pen it well,
The lengthe is not materiall,
the scapes he muste expell.
Crispinus, that greate length louer
with finger, doth me call,
And darreins combats, if I dare,
should Crispine me appall?
Nay, thers my gloue, geue velom here,
geue iudges tyme and place,
Lets see which one can more indyte,
and with a better grace.
Well haue the godds appointed me,
of no corragious witte,
And speakynge seelde that I ne shoulde,
confounde the foule with it.
But thou (syr Crispine) in thy mynde,
assembles fansyes ofte,
As bellowes sup and beltch out wyndes,
to make the yron softe.
O learne not so to puffe and blowe,
saincte Fannie followe well,

Fannie an arche Asse or blockheade in whose memoriall was erected a block.

That thou bestowde in surlye tombe
thy statues here may dwel
As for my workes obliuion.
will raze them out of minde:
A fewe or none that will, or dare,
behoulde them can I fynde.
Wote you not why? corrosyue style,
is corsey to the eye.
They dreame a thing that blamed here,
their counterfette should lye.
They dreame a truth for fynde me one,
amongste the sonnes of men:
But loue of goods, or loue of rule,
doth fonde him now and then.
Sum, lyue catesnd in cupids chaines,
and sum loue blasinge golde,
And sum a sum of syluer whyte,
or curraunte metall woulde.
Sum, kepe exchaunge, from Easte, to Weste,
and sore vpon the Seas:
Toste and retoste, (lyke wherlywynde duste)
ekynge theyr owne disease,
For mainteynaunce, of gotten stocke,
or els to make it more.
All these do stande in awe, of rymes,
and hate the Poets sore.
The Poets proyne, beware (say they)
that they may ieste their fill,
They spare no speache, they spare no frende
fooles lauishe, and to ill.
And if their toyes, in letters lymde
be printed once in booke:
Then all the worlde muste take the vewe
and all sortes on them looke,
If this be true: then harke againe,
I am no Poet, I.
No Poet, such as is discryude,
am not I so? and why?
Not he a Poet, that can make
an haltinge hudlynge verse:
Nor he in paltrye daylie talke
that can his tale reherse.
Him Poet dub, whose wit is sharpe,
whose mynd doth mounte on hye
Whose throat is shyrle in trumpet wyse,
to coutche mennes acts in skye.
Therfore demaunde hath once bene made,
if comedies myghte be
A poecye, sythence in them
the spirit puffes not free.
No gorgiouse sounde in worde or sence,
saue that in verse it runs:
From prose in differs but by foote,
but (lo) the father burns
In pelting chafe, for that his sonne
on wantons madded is,
And leaues a spouse of noble dowre
this breedes a tempeste, this.
And that with torche in twylightinge
he treades the romye streets.
How say you haue not comedies
theyr vigors, and their spreets.
Olde Pomponie, if he had lyude,

Pomponius an impacient nygard.

what stirre now woulde he keepe,
(Thinge comicall because his sonne,
is drente in debte so deepe?
And what thoughe father Pomponie,
should grate his gaule in twaine,
Affection makes no poecye,
but lustye, loftye vayne.
Its not inough to pen a verse,
in vernishde wordes and pure,
Eche worde alone, muste haue his sounde,
and seme not to demure.
Those simple wordes, playmakers vse,
those vse Lusille and I.
So nyse, so neate, so numberouse,
that alls not worthe a flye.
Disorder but the glydinge gate,
the wordes appeareth tame,
No glose there is of maiestie,
not such as in this same.
Foule moodie Mars broke brasen bars,
bare boulstred boulwarkes backe.
These wordes transposde, yet eche one hath
of Poesye a smacke:
And thus much now an other tyme
if rymes allowde may be.
But now, why shoulde this kynde of style,
be so suspecte in me.
Promoters seeke, and pere eche where,
and vse to woorke much woe,
Accusynge and molestyng men,
wheresoeuer they do goe.
Feared, and muche addrad of theues,
and losels loose of lyfe,
Not fearde, of those that pilfer not,
nor broche no brabling stryfe

Birrus and Cellus, for all naughtie packes.

Admit, thou warte a naughtie packe,
as dyuers other be,
I am not one that doth promote,
why arte thou frayde of me?
My verses geue no gase from walls,
ne yet in tauernes flye,
Not Tygille nor such alecunners
my woorkes do ouerprye.
I shew them but to veray frendes,
and at their greate requeste:
Not to eche hobb, nor euery where.
sum be that thincke it beste,
Their quaynte deuyses to proclame,
in market fayre, and marte:
To reade them graue, & sounde them braue,
and to vnfoulde their arte.
Such pleasure, haue pryde practisers,
who do it not to mende,
Nor learne a decencie in thinges,
for no such honest ende.
A malliperte, a merchaunte I
of mallyce (thou wilte say)
I vse this talke: whence issude this,
gainste me that thou doste lay?
Or which of my companions
hath this instilde to the?
Who pincheth at his frende, not preste,
or if he burdned be.
Doth not alleuyate his blame,
who scoffes to make men smyle,
Who plyes for to be plausible,
and doth his flowtinge file.
Who can inuente things neuer mente,
who nothynge can conceale:
Such one is naughtes, beware of him,
and naughte to him reueale.
Sumtymes, at table thou shalte see,
a dosen more or lesse,
Eche seekynge eche, ortwharte the thums,
with tauntes and tearmes to dresse.
Their hoste they spare, for manner sake,
till Bacchus tyde be vp:
Then out muste all mine hoste, myne hoste
is scande at euery cup.
Rayling thou hates, yet doste thou coumpte
raylers but mery men,
Good felowes, francke and free of speache,
If I haue iested then,
A Rufills taste, Gorgonies smell,
(two paragons of pryde)
I am no freatinge ghoste therfore,
nor slaundrouse: all things tryde.
If chaunce we talke of Petills pranckes
how he from tower stole,
A massye peece of bullion golde,
(to twyne thy tale in hole)
Thou shapes it thus: (as is thy trade)
Petille I know him well,
I haue sum cause, to speake for him,
for he and I did dwell
Of childerne little, in one house,
my fellow and my frende,
Much hath he done, for me at tymes,
I founde him euer kynde.
And yet I maruayle how he coulde
rub out this trespasse so.

Logille a fishe whyte without & blacke within.

(Lo) here a craftye postles parte,
loe here a Logille lo
Ha, false malignaunte wreaking minde,
this vyce I do expell,
As cancre freate, from hearte and booke,
moste true it is I tell,
For certaintie I lyke it not,
then lycence me the more,
To gesse aloufe, not hard to scratche
but clawe about the sore.
My father, he did vsuallie,
dehorte me from this sin,
By manifolde examples, which,
through talke, he woulde bringe in.
Still warning me not to ingrate,
nor seeke not much to lyue

Olde Horace his talke. Albie and Barns Scatter gooddes.

But thryftylie contentedly
enioye that he would geue.
Maiste thou not see younge Albie now
how he is cumde to naughte,
Backbyting Bar most beggerlike?
Ingrayle them in thy thoughte.
Two presidents, that thou ne shouldste,
thy fathers good mispende,
But when he woulde dehorte from loue,
his talke was to this ende.

Sectan wanton amourouse.

Dissemblable to Sectans sorte,
no brothelmonger be,

So Trebon.

Kepe wedlocke chaste, let Trebons name,
be warninge vnto thee.
The wyse men with their moralls sage,
by reason coulde the guide,
Suffyseth me that I can geue,
such counsayle as I tryde.
And if my sawes, in time take place,
for teacher haste thou none,
When groweth, and yeares shall make the man,
youthes shipwracke, will be gone.
Thus woulde he turne my plyant youth,
and what he wilde in worde,
For patterne, he woulde bid me marke,
the lyfe of sum good Lorde.
So, if he woulde inhibit me,
this is no godly deede
My sonne (sayth he): and here vppon,
sum foule reporte will breede.
For euen like, as when neighbours dye,
the sickmans chaunging luste,
For feare doth stay, and is contente,
to cum to dyet iuste:
So skillesse youth to see defame,
of others, may take heede,
And slip not into vyces snare,
nor listen to her reede.
Hereby I stayed my tempting age,
and did no haynouse sin
In easye crymes, and veniall
I haue bene trapped in.
And these, (no doubte) wil wayne awaye
and ebb as they did ryse,
By helpe of yeares, by frendes reproofe,
and by myne owne aduyce.
As I lye in my bed sumtymes,
on matters thus I muse,
Thrifte, would do thus, righte doth diswade,
that I shoulde thus me vse.
Thus coulde I make my chearfull frendes:
this was a foolishe parte:
Was I so fondlye ouerseene?
a foole sone flings his darte
Thus do I mutter in my mynde,
Ere whyle at cardes I play,
(A faulte, amongste the meaner faultes)
forgeue me. Thou saieste nay.
Then Poets all, preas on, preas on
helpe at a pinche: no dreede,
We be so ryotouse a route,
who sayes but we shall speede?

The multitude can not be led frō their fancies, no not for truthes sake.

As Iewes do measure all by myghte,
that none dare them forsake:
So we by number will men force.
in league with vs to take.

THE FIFTE SATIRE, whiche the Poet had written of his iorneying to and fro, wholye altered by the translator.

Pertinax.
God saue you gentyll Commodus,
howe haue you fared longe?

Commodus.
Na, veryly euen as you see,
well lykyng, fatte, and strong,
Of credite neuer better I:
what vrgent cause doothe make
You at this tyme from sacred soyle,
your iourney for to take?

Pertinax.
When we went to the holy towne,
from Englyshe flocke infecte,
Our want was wealthe, and coyne at wyll,
we were an happye secte.
But our long staye, was oure decaye,
men grudgde to geue vs more:
And Sarum with hys subtile booke,
hath cropte our credite sore.
Before, we gaue a countenaunce,
to all the worlde so wyde:
That our intent was wholly bent,
to haue our quarell tryde.
Suche cautels had we to beare of,
that who gainst vs dyd wryte,
We swore he was falne from the Churche,
of gyddynesse or spyte.
We bare them down that they wer nought,
rashe, raylyng, and yll spoken,
Lewde, and vnlearnde, but nowe our stythe
of forgery is broken.
Sarum hath walkde so waryly,
(it greuthe me to name hym)
That moste of men doo see his truthe,
we wote not why to blame hym.
Nowe they dispaire oure prostrate cause,
and of our safe retourne:
And suffer vs in beggery,
(Ah silly case) to mourne.

Commodus.
Ah silly case, nay silly fooles,
you myght haue lyued here,
In wealth and blisse, and euen as there,
haue kepte your conscience clere.

Pertinax.
In deede your letter writ to me,
dyd signifye no lesse:
But howe that you can vse it so,
I woulde you shoulde espresse.
Synce I came laste into the realme,
it was toulde me of trouthe,
That you aboue the rest of men,
vse to be freattynge wrothe
With ceremonies, is it so?
Iesu, what shoulde one hope?
They say that you doo caste them of,
as brought in by the Pope.
Can you speake so precisely here:
and beare vs so in hande?
You are no doubte no Catholike
as now the case doth stande.

Commo.
No Catholyke: Ah Pertinax
thou arte a mery man.
I speake, I graunte against the pope
and speake the worste I can.
And profitte him yet more then you.
(perhappes ye gin to muse)
But harke to me and listen well
what practise I doe vse.
When you did cut the salte sea fome,
with framed timbre borde,
And yeade to Louaine there to heare,
the Latine Romishe worde,
Then stormynge in my thoughtfull breste,
and sharpe beset with cares,
In mortall waues I wandred still,
in maze of my affayres.
Feare caste in all extremities
what shoulde I do thoughte I?
To sanctuarie of papistes
to Louaine shoulde I flye?
That were a way to begger me
to bringe me vnto neede:
And in so doinge, I shoulde woorke,
the mother churche smalle meede.
Aeneas came into my mynde,
that feynde him selfe a greeke,
And by that meanes made manye soules,
Lorde Dytis hall to seeke.
He can not hurte his foe the moste
that kepes the furste away:
I was resolude to keepe me close,
and see a furder stay.
I sayde my wounded conscience
did prickle more and more,
And wyshed after some of skyll
to remedye my sore.
I sayde my doubte was dangerous,
and therfore fayne woulde haue
Some clarkly man of eyensyght deepe,
within the same to raue.
Thys was the tenour of my tale,
that I woulde common fayne,
If some learnde man on thother syde,
woulde take on hym the payne.
The Protestants be mercyfull,
and glad to wyn vs all:
In brefe the chiefe woulde me at length
to common with them call.
Theyr reasonyng was to and fro,
to wyn me yf they coulde:
And I began as debonayre,
to render vp the houlde.
Nowe hearken (oulde frende Pertinax)
what was the spedy key:
To ope the locke of credits forte,
for me to beare a swey.
He that was counted too to fearse
and angry wyth the Pope,
I went to hym, and prayde hym ofte
my conscience for to grope.
Parted from hym, I woulde proteste,
and openly woulde saye:
That suche one was the greatest clarke
that was on lyue thys daye.
He that was holden moste of zeale,
and to the worlde the best:
Hym woulde I prayse aboue the sonne,
and so I purchast reste.
No more demaunde made of my faythe.
I faynde me very ielous:
Of other men, and sayde they were
drawebackes, and nothyng zealous.
And styll I praysde my confessours,
and made them so to swell,
Suche pulpit hornetts by my meanes,
That none durste with them mell.
And what that they to feede theyr mynde,
Or coloure ells woulde speake:
I mayntaynde it with toothe and nayle,
in all that I coulde creake.
Then was I dubde as true precise,
and faithfull by and by,
And none was compted hoate enough,
saue he and he and I.
I whysperde to and fro a pace,
and playde my parte so free:
That quarells, stept vp faste and faste,
A noble game to see.
And that the reste myght learne to stoupe,
and I myght growe vp styll:
An other fetche by peecemeale, I
into them dydde instyll.
My maysters lysten well (quod I)
take kepe what I shall saye.
Me thynks this church; this englishe churche,
is clogged at this daye,
With ceremonies more then nedes,
to tell you at a worde,
I would haue all thyngs iuste as they
were left vs by the Lorde.
This knewe I was the deyntye dyshe,
that so theyr passions fed:
I am not nowe to learne I trowe,
to bryng a babe to bed.
Nowe, whether for true conscience,
or els that they myght seeme
Sole gospellers, and that the worlde,
mighte so of them esteme:
Or els through our suggestions,
they gnawed so this bone,
That O good God, I woulde to God
they had bene let alone.
Nay truste me truly Pertinax
men woulde haue bene ful fayne,
To thruste out all those gospellers,
and sende for you againe.
How say you, was not this a drifte,
and that a drifte of hope?
Am I not nowe, as lege as you,
to our good lord the pope?
If there were talke of gospels grace,
of francknesse of our lybertie,
Then woulde I whet my tongue to speake,
againste the gifte of pollycie.
And that our seruice was consumde,
onlye in adoration:
Wheras the pryme church, vsde one prayer,
the reste in exhortation.
That ministers, why shoulde they not?
mighte goe euen lyke the reste
In suits of silke, in cheynes of golde,
apparelde with the beste.
That ministers mighte take and leaue
their orders when they woulde:
I wente about to make all naughte
by all the meanes I coulde.
This was my greateste anchoure hold,
I euer caste it thus:
The worse it fared with their churche,
the better much for vs.
Untowarde case, vnluckye case
Ah Pertinax I say
(As erst I sayde) a trumpe a trumpe,
was caste downe in our waye.
And he that caste it, hath surueyde,
and markde our cardes so well,
That all oure driftes is nowe fordone,
and you abrode muste dwell.
As for my selfe, who but my selfe
I neuer felte lyke ease:
Not stoutest of the protestants
dare me in ought displease.
I made my matche I trowe with suche,
as dare not but vpbeare me:
What yf I knowe their giltie prankes
and therevppon they feare me?
Those wryng and wreste the meaner sorte,
whose myndes and tongues are free,
And so imbecill all theyr strengthe,
that they are naught to me.
I nowe can dubbe a protestant,
and eke disdubbe agayne:
And make a Papiste graduate,
if he wyll quite my payne.
Liuinges are myne, geuynges are myne,
the countenance is myne:
Promotions come to me alone,
or where I will assygne.
Yea Pertinax if thou wilte come,
of Laberinth ne dreede.
I can conducte thee safe and sounde,
by vertue of a threede.
I knowe who plaies the catte, and howe
her ioly krttles mouses,
I and my patrons leaue small lore,
in some right famous houses.
And if there be not speedie healpe.
against me and my fooles.
Ile driue their Gospell from the churche,
and learnyng from the Schooles.
In deede I studye harde my selfe,
but to what ende or why?
That I myght gette the greatest fee,
and put all others by.
As nowe I am, I coulde not wyshe
almoste a better staye:
If the precyse crepe vp agayne,
I knowe my wonted playe.
In the meane tyme I tell them playne
they are the greatest clarkes,
And that for theyr greate constancie,
the totall worlde them markes.
Yea I can tell them clawyngly
(but that is in their eare.)
That those whiche haue deposde them thus,
are persecuters cleare.
And if that some by pollicie,
in tyme doo not preuent them,
Ile egge them on to speake some thyng,
whiche spoken may repent them.
Well yf that those get vp agayne,
I kepe my iolly stay:
And if sir Pertinax you come,
I wyll not go away.
So that come papist, or precyse,
or formall conformable,
The precisde Papist kepes his roume,
lyke promontorie stable.
And yet, yf thou as palpable,
my conscience couldst grope,

Shaklockes profession.

Of honestie, I am full true,
vnto my lorde the Pope.
May happs when I haue filde my purse,
with takyng all this payne.
I wyll go turne from Commodus
to Pertinax agayne.

Pertinax.
What Commodus thou turnes they selfe
as one shoulde turne the groate
Turne rounde, or else thou will be spyde
in turninge ofte thy coate.
Becawse, you talked of gropinge erste,
howe chauncde it heretofore,
That you agaynst the blessed pope,
so solemnlye haue swore.
Speake oute man, are you in a dumpe?
howe durssst you so farre go?

Commodus.
Iuraui lingua, sed mentem
non iuratam gero.
I tould them then, I spoke with tongue,
but neuer mente it so.

Pertinax.
Why do you heare their seruice still,
a thing of such abusion?

Commodus.
I could not els abyde with them,
to helpe them to confusion.

Pertinax.
What say you to the precyse stocke,
are they resolude that waye?

Commodus.
Sum parte of them is lyke my selfe,
the conformable say
That halfe of those whiche busylye
against those orders clatter,
Are Papistes ranke: as those may see
whiche wyll suruey the matter.

Pertinax.
Why doo they make so straite accompt
of thynges that bee but meane?

Commodus.
Pythagoras, why dyd he put
mans soule within a beane?

Pertinax.
What if your selfe for not wearyng
hereafter may be wrounge?

Commodus.
Tushe man I made them longe ago,
a verey Aesops tongue.

Pertinax.
Synce you agaynst these churchly rites
so longe and sore dyd wynche,
Howe coulde you nowe resume agayne
so bucksome at a pynche?

Commadus.
A sayde (as ofte I vse to say)
that I was very poore,
Nathlesse woulde geue tone halfe I had
that I myght weare no more.

Pertinax.
I go to healpe a papist nowe,
that ginnes for to recant,

Commodus.
And I go nowe, for to moleste
a silly protestant.
O noble force of flattery,
Farewell olde fellowe myne,
But so farewell that you kepe close
and come to me to dyne.

Translatour.
Farewell a payre of hellyshe impes
of cankred Sathans race:
For you are enmies vnto God,
And his in euery place.
The true precise, none doo despise,
but all men knowe it well,
That they in learnynge and good lyfe,
moste commonly excell.
Not one of vs, but wylls them well
to keepe their godly name.
Nor euer thought to preiudice,
or to eclips the same.
Some be so wyse by Papistes guile,
they can not be abusde:
Yet Commodus hath fonded some,
it can not be excusde.
If I shoulde wryte of Commodus
the craftes of suche lyke men,
The tricklynge teares for hearty griefe
woulde ouerlode my pen.
But none wyll looke to Commodus,
he beares the bell awaye,
Some guardon due for his deserte,
The Lorde wyll sende one day.
The worlde is blearde with duskyng shoes,
and daselde with a glose:
But I appeale vnto the wyse,
and craue redresse of those.
Come what can come, howe muche can come,
I am at staye in mynde:
Theyr net of zeale, wherwith they steale,
for euer to vnwynde.
Since God and our liege Soueraigne
bulwarkes to Truthe doo stande:
We feare not Commodus his crafte,
nor Pertinax his hande.

The sixte Satyre.

Not due discent from haughtie house,
nor thyne Hetrurie lande,
(Myne owne good Lord) dothe cause thy name,
and honour styll to stande.
Not fathers syre, not mothers syre
to cheuetant in fielde:
(About whose banners suche a route
of lustye bloods bare shielde.)
Induce thee to be insolent,
(as moste of gentrie be)
To make a mocke of meaner men,
for thou acceptest me.
Whose mother was infranchised,
and sayste, it dothe not skyll
Of petigree, so that oure owne
demeanour be not yll.

Tullus as suppressor of vertue.

Of this full well thou arte resolude
before kyng Tullie gan
So tyrannous a monarchie
imbecelyng freedome than
By vertues spray, the basest borne
myght be the noblest man.

Leuynus agreate gentleman hated of the people for his naughtynes notwithstandinge the great admyration they haue to gentry.

Leuinus, he whose ancestours
kyng Tarquine droue away:
Through lyfe corrupt, and rainlesse youth
dyd worke his fames decay.
Neglected of the commoners,
who onely doo admyre,
Nobilitie, and none but them
to honors would aspyre.
If it be so that lawlesse prankes
Yea nobles, discommendeth:
Who will prayse vs of baser blood
except our lyfe amendeth?
For what if Leuyn were estemde
and Decie were not so?

Decius base borne.

Leuyn a lowte, and Decie stoute,
Yet Leuins kyndred tho,
Myght be induction to the rude,
to deeme of hym so well.

Appius.

If that the counsayles President,
perchaunce should me expell,
From Senate house, for vulgar stocke,
This colour woulde he make,
That base must byde in baser roume
for ciuile profites sake.
But glitterynge glorie rauysheth
the poore and princely state:
And pleasurs not aiote at lengthe:
lette Tullie spell his fate.
He myght haue past, hys tyme in peace
declinyng lordly lyfe,
His royall robes rasde rancour vp,
and rancoure termelesse stryfe.
Suche is the worlde, who beares the swey
assuredly is scande,
Howe he came vp, what parentage,
what was his fathers lande.
For, as the yonger that would seme
moste hansome and moste braue,
Dothe make the mo to marke the more
if he suche features haue:
So, who so thinks to rule in realmes,
and aufull swey to beare,
To place, displace, to dubbe disdubbe,
to kepe the costes in feare:
The riflyng of his petigree,
muste thynke erewhyle to heare.
Durste thou (say they) a beggers brat,
in suche outtakyng rage,
Take on thee thus, to heade the peare,
to hang and drawe the page?
Nouie, woulde be a counsayler

Nouie a pety robber Paulus et Massala,

in lawe I passe hym farre.
Though not lyke some of fyled tongue
to parle a case at barre,
But, he can sett a face of it,
with his forpenned tayle,
In solemne syghtes, he thunders so,
that fauters neuer fayle.
Lette me speake well, speake what I can,
They laugh me styll to scorne:
He is to base to rule saye they,
in deede to basely borne.
Nowe grudge they me, because I am
becomde your houshold guest:
Before, because in warre and fielde
my rule was nexte the beste.
Thyngs muche vnlyke: for be it so,
that honours enuyde be,
As fortunes gyftes, yet maye I well
be suppliaunt to the:
Whiche art by choyce of ponderyng witte,
of frendes prouided (lo)
Not roumerakers, nor rente rackers,
nor staynde with vices mo.
I dare not saye that fortune coulde
haue wrought me suche a blisse,
Not loreles chaunce, but Uirgils lore,
dyd helpe me vp to this.
Fyrst Uirgils voyce, then Uaries prayse,
your presence dyd procure:
At myne income, I lowted lawe,
And muttred full demure.
For bashefull shame dyd styll my voice
and muche abridge my talke:
Therfore in blasing of my bloode,
my tongue it dothe not walke.
Nor howe that I doo mount on mule,
in countrey gawyshe games:
I platly power out my mynde,
thou answere also frames.
In briefe and fewe, suche is thy wont
and after certayne dayes:
Thou calls me home, and calls my frende,
and this my griefe alayes.
A ioy, to haue Mecene my frende,
who good from bad dothe parte,
Not by dissente, but lyfe well led,
and ballaste breast with arte.
For if with slender single sinnes
and those but very few,
My vpright nature be infecte,
(as if in cumlye hue
A warte or twayne be euidente)
it is not muche to rue.
If gamegroper or muckmunger,
I can not proue it be,
Nor spente my youth in daliaunce,
the case is well with me.
And be in charitable lyfe,
withall and euery frende:
I thancke my father for this gere,
he sente me to this ende.

Flauius.

He sente me not to lawyers shop:
to learne accoumpte to caste,
To be recorder, auditor,
to know to fetche in faste.
Nor as the gentles sende their sonnes,
to chatter in a plea,
Professing law, learne lawlesse lyfe,
and sayle in reade Sea.
But lyke the babes of noble birthe,
to Rome I was conducted
With lordly artes, that might be seene,
the beste I was instructed.
My garments suche, retynue suche
that most men did beleue,
My gransyres goodds, did stay the route,
that hangde vppon my sleue.
My maister graue, well studied,
and much vnlyke a sorte,
Who dissolute at eche smale suite,
do let their youth go sporte.
For few, (as tip of all good name)
he taughte me shamfastnes,
That shendful shame through worde or fact
did neuer me oppresse
Not fearing, though I wente to lawe,
on him I shoulde complaine,
Nor doe: I can him hartye thancke,
and praise him, for his paine.
Except I mad, I may be glad,
eke, of my parente base,
And do milyke such kynd of skuse
which sum vse in this case.
Pardie (say they) not our faulte is,
our parage is so meane:
Pardye, say I, my voyce and heart
doth go against that cleane.
For, if that nature woulde and coulde
reclayme my dulcet dayes,
And bid me picke my parents out,
mongst those, that beares the swayes,
Sum would no doubte bid me take one,
that liftes the loftye mace,
And praunceth in the purple throne,
contented with my place.
I woulde not chaunge: the moste of men,
wil thincke me straughte of witte,
But you, can wey the waightie state,
and iudge a ryghte of it.
For, as auctoritie is greate,
so substaunce must be greate
My viaundes greate my charges greate,
my frendes I muste, intreate,
Som, one, or other, must I haue
where so that I be gone,
To towne or countrye farre or neare,
a shame to be alone.
My many muche, my traine of men,
my geldings fatte and fayre,
My waggons, coches, horselitters,
for coste I muste not spare.
In cytie, I must set vppon
my golde bespangled mule,
In deeper way, a trounsinge steede,
whome vneth ought can rule.
Els sum will checke me for my thryfte,
Lorde Tullus so woulde thriue,
Who Pretor woulde ride through the streetes,
his trayne no more but fyue.
Fyue peltinge laddes, (good senator)
at least must wayte on the,
And I may rome my mastership,
wheresoeuer lyketh me.
My selfe alone can chepen things,
and make my market well,
At euen and morne in fayre or marte
from thence to where I dwell:
So suche pore cates, as I well lyke,
my supper reddie set,
A pot of drinke, a glasse of oyle
my housholde stuffe not greate.
From that to bed not crampte with care,
of that whiche may betyde,
Nor bente to go a pilgremage,
for my greate stryfe or pryde.
I ryse at ease walke forth at ease,

Nouis

and then a caste at booke,
All secretly, (a ioy of ioyes
at it to syt and loke)
For weryed with my bookishe gase,
I noynte with supple oyle,
My loytrous limmes, and when sir Phebe
with brande beginnes to broyle:
I washe my corps in cooly shade.,
my dyat smale and thin,
Of pretie pittuance, not so muche,
as stomacke woulde let in.
I calculate the coursinge starres,
how eche doth run, and rayne,
When noysom dogge doth flame in rage,
I cum not at the bayne,
But sytt at home: this is the lyfe,
so iollye, and so free,
That cherisheth, and cheareth vp,
and so recumforts me.
As though my father grandfather,
and vncle erste had bene,
Lordes treasurers, and lefte me knighte,
and ryche in chyldhood grene.

The seuenth Satyre.

The fellone tongue of Rupilie,
that traytor mungrill king,
How Persius hath dreste in kynde,
it is no nouell thing.
As common as the carts way that.
This Persie for the moste,
Did make his bode at Ginnia:
with Rupilie at hoste.
With gybes, and glickes, and taunting stryfe
a brawler sharpe and sore
Rashe, arrogante, and by vse had
of ribaldrye suche store:
That from a dosen cacklinge drabbes,
the bell he mighte haue bore
Well, to the kinge, lyke dogge, and catte,
these two did then agree,
Lyke champions fell, their toylesum tongues
they vsde as weapons free.
For eche man seekes to noy his foe,
(the olde sayde saw doth tell,
With prowes, and those martiall feats,
wherein he doth excell.
Twixte Priams hautie Hector, and
corragiouse Achill,
So keene and mortall was their wrathe,
that he did Hector kyll.
And for no other cause I trow,
but that, in those same twayne,
Lyke force in principallitie,
and parfytnesse did raine.
Dasterds will quickly parte them selues,
vnequall if they be,
(As Glaucus was to Diomede)
the weaker shrinketh, he
Departs in peace, as recreante,
his ransom maks him free.
Lorde Brutus was lyeutenaunte, then
of Asia the lesse,
When Rupilie, and Persius,
to combat do addresse.
Lyke as two masters of the fence,
vnshathe their blades of mighte,
So, these same two, tongue puisaunte knyghts,
with scoulding, ginn the fyghte,
The auditorye numberouse,
the Persye onset gaue,
The people laugh, he praiseth Brute,
and his retenue braue.
Duke Brute, the sonne of Asia,
his men, he cals the starres,
Balde Rupilie, he rattles vp,
to combat, if he darres.
He calde him hurtefull hatefull dogge,
to earthe, a greeuouse sine,

Flowte.

Lyke pleasaunte streame beset with woode,
so flowes his talke diuine.
Then Rupilie let issue out,
his well ycouched wordes,
Through seasonde, as the drubled lakes,
that keepeth aye in fordes.
So perfyt and exacte a scoulde,
that women mighte geue place,
Whose tatling tongues, had won a wispe,
to stande before theyr face.
The Persie see, his foe so fell,

A raylers tōg insupportable, therefore not to be aunswered by wordes, but repressed by rigor of the maiestrate.

and how he did him snape,
Thoughte impossible to resiste,
ne wiste he how to scape.
Lorde Brute (quod he) my liege lord Brute,
for all the gods aboue,
Thou, that arte wonte to hasserd all,
to win, thy countryes loue,
To wringe the maces forth their handes,
to daunte the dukes a downe,
Be wrekde, be wrekde (thy onely prayse)
vpon this doggishe clowne.

The eyght Satyre.

I was sumtimes a very blocke,
the bodye of a tree,
The wryghte vncertaine what to make,
a stoole or God of me,
His pleasure was to make me God,
mine office is to fray,
Both birdes and theues that wolde cum filtche
our fruite from hence awaye.
As images (most commonly)
the woorkemen vse to make,
To purchase ease or wealthe to men,
and for their lucre sake.
This orcharde was a sepulchre
indeede, a publique graue,
For Nomentane and Pantoble,
and euerye rascall slaue.
The plat of grounde, was brode and square,
and of a mightie lengthe,
Sum tombes there were righte beautifull,
and of a during strengthe.
This place that was a dampishe soyle,
and whyte, with dead mens bones,
Is now a pleasaunte paradise,
to walke in for the nones.
The veluet grasse, the holsom herbes,
the trees, in motley lyuerie,
Both arte and nature haue bestowde,
abundantlye their tapestrye.
I am molested very muche
with fowles, and cleekynge theues,
Yet moste these charmynge sorcerers,
vndoubtedly me greues.
Who doe with poyson, and with spells,
bereue men of their witts
I can not stay these mother mabbes,
but they will charme by fyttes.
When as the moone beginnes to shew
her younge and cumlye face,
They cum to gather, deade mens bones,
and hurtefull herbes a pace.

Canadie a witche,

I saw my selfe olde Canadie,
about twelue of the clocke,
Bare foote, hyr lockes about her heade,
Ytuckde in pukishe frocke.
She howled with an other hagge,
a color sallow wan
Made them to looke, lyke gastefull goosts,
(good for to curse and ban)
These two with teeth, did rente in twaine
a lambe of blackithe hue
The blood resorted to an hole,
purple, and smoking new.
Thence did they scyte, the damned soules,
from Plutos pallace large:
The soules, that al things should expounde,
as it was geuen in charge.
Stode statues two, the greate of wull,
of wax was made the lesse,
The greater gurnde with visage grim,
as thoughe he woulde oppresse
The lesse which lowred lowtishlye,
dispairinge all redresse.
The one she calde of Heccatye,
Kinge Plutos chamber feare,
The other calde Tisephonie,
that hath in spite no peare,
Fyndes, serpentes, furyes, hellish impes.
the moone inflamde to reade,
Thou mightes haue seene, the witches couch
behynde the tombes of deade.
For beinge spyde, If that I lye,
the dawes defyle my noule,
And all the theues of Rome cum in,
and of my fruite take toule.
What shoulde I shew particulers?
by course how they did speake,
The witche and goosts how they did houle,
againe how they did squeake,
How they enterred in the grounde,
a speakled serpentes hyde:
And hare of woolfes, and by and by,
a flame there out did glyde.
And as the flame did grow in bulke,
and gan for to increase:
So did the waxen image (lo.)
by smale and smale decrease.
I markte the drabbishe sorcerers
and harde their dismall spell
The matter, went so harde with me,
(there was no other boote)
I let a scape? Dame Cannadie
she moude her aged foote,
And trotteth on her way so harde,
that all her teethe out fall:
The other trot loste her read hyue,
she hid her bushe with all.
There mightes thou fynde their coniurde hearbes,
their threades and knackes of arte
And, for to see the beldoms scarde,
haue laughed out thy parte.

The nynthe Satyre.

I chaunced , to roome me in the streets,
(as ofte I vse to doe)
Musing, I wate not, of what toyes,
but scanninge to and froe.
Runs, vnto me a certaine man,
whome erste I vnneth see,
Imbracing me, oh pleasaunte lad,
how mightes thou fare (quod he?)
Horace,
Well at this tyme, and wishe to the,
all that thou canste require.
When as I see him haunte me still,
I askde him his desyre.

Str.
Why pardye, syr, know you not me?
I am a greate lernde man.

Horace:
If it be so, I deme of you,
so muche the better than.
Lyues fayne, I woulde haue lefte him there,
and hereuppon, I wente
Now swifte, now slow and told my boy,
tryfles to none intente.
In faith I was through bathde in sweate,
and thoughte them in good ease,
That were well in their chambers set,
or in sum secret place.
When he woulde prayse, the towne, or streets,
I answerde nought againe.
I see, (quod he you woulde, that we
were parted verye fayne.
But all for naughte, it may not be,
Ile wayte vppon you now.
(Quod I) syr, spare your coortesie,
I haue no neede of you.
I muste go see, a frende of mine
whome you did neuer know,
Nye Cesars Orchardes, yonde Tyber,
he dwelleth farre below.

Strange.
No busnes I, needes muste I walke,
haue with you for this day,

Horace.
Then, (lyke the heuye lodened asse)
myne eares downe did I lay.

Str.
Syr, if you knew my qualityes,
there is no reason, why,
Or Uiske, or Uarus shoulde be more,
enteire to you then I.

Uiske, & Uarus two iolye Poets.

For who, for number or for grace,
dare mell with me in ryme?
Or who can daunce so footinglye,
obseruing tune and time?
I can singe so melodiouslye,
that verye Hermogene,
Woulde enuye me or if he harde
woulde yeelde to me I wene

Ho.
I thoughte to interchaunge a worde,
thy mother lyueth she,
Or any of thy kynsfolke els,
that standeth neede of the?

Str.
In good time they are broughte to stay,
and I remaine alone,
Dispatch thou me, so it must be:
for many yeres a gone,

Sabella aProphetes.

Sabella, (I a very chylde)
did reede, my dreyre fate,
In folowynge forme, with tendre hande,
pressed vpon my pate.
Not poyson keene, nor enmies sworde,
this babe away shall draw,
Not stitch or coughe, or knobbyng gowte,
that makes the patiente slaw,
A prater shall becom his death,
therfore, let him alwayes
If he be wyse shun iangling iacks,
after his youthefull dayes.
We came to Lady Uestas churche.
the fourth parte ot the day
Whilste language passed to and fro,
was passed cleane away.
He stode in bondes, (as he toulde me)
in courte for to apeare,
Or sentence els definitiue,
shoulde passe againste him cleare.

If thou doste loue me frende (quod he)
to tharches with me draw,
Horace:
Nor can I stande, vpon my feete,
nor knowe the cyuile law.

Str:
I doubte if I shoulde leaue my cause,
or els thy frendlye companie.

Horace,
I pray the me, not yet (quod he
before me, by and by
He preseth on: my victor guyde
I did succeade a pace,

Str.
How doth your lorde Mecenas now,
how stande you in his grace?
It is a rare and wyttye parte,
in frendship long to dwell,
Horace, I tell the as a frende,
thou haste vsde fortune well,
If that thou woldste plante me in once,
(in forfitte of my heade)
Thou shouldste no doubte, haue me a frende,
woulde stande the in good steade.
Within a monethes space or twaine,
Mecenas I woulde claw
That all the reaste mighte blow their nayles,
or go to shough the dawe.

Horace.
We lyue not so, as thou doste thincke,
no house, more pure then this,
Nor none, that from those mischeues vyle,
more cleane and spotles is.
His, riches, or his learning is,
no preiudice to me:
There is a place accordingly,
for eche in his degree.

Str.
A thinge thou tells vncredible:

Hor.
I tell a sothefaste tale.

Str.
Thou makes me glow faine woulde I cum
to be of his counsaile.

Hor.
If that you will, you haue a grace,
his fauour for to win
The first assaulte is very harde,
by suite thou maiste get in.

Str.
I will not fayle, brybes shall corrupte,
his cheefist seruinge men
Though once or twyce the gats be shut
I will not cease yet then
Ile wayte my opportunitie,
to meete him in the way.
To leade him home, to curtsey,
and cap him when he stayes.
There is no good for to be done,
whilste we are lyuing here:
Excepte we lye, faune flatter, face,
cap, kneele ducke, crouche smile, flere.
He pratling thus, a frende of mine
one Fuscus Arisie,
Met me, who knew this chatting syr
almoste as well as I.
Stocke stille we stande, he askde me whence,
or whether, that I woulde,
I halde him backe, and by the hande,
of frendship did him houlde.
Squintinge his eyes, he gan to nod,
to call me thence away,
And yet dissemblingly he thoughte,
to dallie and to play.
My harte in choller perboylde was,
I wis my frende (quod I)
You sayd, that you a matter had
to tell me secretly.

Fuscus.
An other tyme, I muste go see
the circumcised Iues
In keeping of their Sabot day,
what holye rytes they vse.

Horace.
I loue not that religion.

Fuscus.
I, of infirmitie
Am scrupulouse: and therfore syr,
I pray the beare with me.
Hereafter I wilbe your man,
both when and where you will,
This day dismis me to go roume,
throughout the streets my fill.

Hor.
The churle departes, and lefte me stille
to feele my sharpe distresse.
By chaunce there cums this fellowes foe,
who, now had got redresse,
At him by law: varlet, (quod he)
I charge the for to stay,
And pray you (Horace) geue me leaue,
my mynde to him to say.
Contente, (quod I), you may be boulde,
to worke your will for me,
My troublesum companion
arested then I see.
Both partyes crye, the croude growes greate
throughe greate Appollos grace,
It was my lucke for to escape,
so comberouse a case.

The tenthe Satyre.

Forsoth , I sayd, (Lusill) I sayde,
your verses run not rounde.
Doth any loue Lusill so well,
to praise his Iarringe sounde?
But he, through ticklinge vp the towne,
with mirth, hath wun a name:
And yet this doth not proue him lernde,
though I shoulde graunte the same.
So mighte our minstrell Laberie,
be coumpted learned then,

Laberie delectable in minstrelsey, & yet not learned.

If merye mirthe and onlye mirthe,
coulde make a learned man.
To make the reader laughe a pace,
is not a Poets parte:
I meane not all: though therein be,
a prety peece of arte.
He muste be quick to make his pause,
and sentence, fall in time
Els tracting longe, to weryed eares,
will make a lothesum ryme.
His treatice interchaungeable:
now merye and now sad,
In Poets puffe and now againe,
in Retorique florishe clad.
Sumtimes, a fable trymlye toulde,
doth worke in better force,
Then if the plaintife Poet shoulde
besing his musies horce.
Sumtime to spare his eloquence,
and speake not what he can:
Such were the auncient interludes,
so were they lyked than.
And so farre to be imitate,
but neyther Hermogen,

Demetrius.

Nor other, who woulde seeme to be,
so gay deuysinge men,
Did euer reade (I dare make good)
those lettred Poets woorkes,
Saue Catull, and Caluus, wheras
such paltrye baggage lurkes.
Tush, now I glaunce, and blame amis
for Lusill hath deuised,
A tricksye worke in Lattin coate,
and greakishe gardes comprysed.
An auntrus ade, I promise you,
O thou that knowes not muche,
Cease to admire a man for that
the matter is not suche,
As it is thoughte, to sprincle here,
and there a worde of greeke,
Sum assehead doultes in baggish style,
of greeke are not to seeke.
Excepte thou thincke that diuerse tongues,
are better when they meete
As mixed wynes, (what els?) become
more wholsome and pure swete.
Well, in thy verse vse Greke at wyll
beware, that when at barre
Thou pleadest for thy clyent, there

Petillus.

thou goest not ouerfarre.
I meane as yf some passyng man
shoulde stande in plea thy foe,

Poblicula or Coruinus.

And sweate agayne to grauayle thee,
and worke thy clyent woo.
Use not thy two tongude phrases then,
lyke one of Canues towne,

Canues, a towne where was spoken both greke and Laten.

Thou mayst perchaunce become nonesuite,
thou and thy cause borne downe.
Once on a tyme, a Greke poeme
I dreamed to indite,
(A Romayne I disioynde by sea,
vnured so to write)
Lorde Romulus dyd byd me stinte,
in pitchye silent nyght,
At mydnyght, when suche vysions
are coumpted moste of myght.
In grekyshe tongue (sayeth he) to write
write vpon writyng styll,
Is as to powre on fatted sowe,
more draffe drynke and more swill.
Therfore whylst Alphin shriketh out

Alphin, a tragicall Poet.

the murdred Memnons bayne
And reigne descriues I leauyng Greke
am of my Satyre fayne.
Whiche neyther shall in Guyld hall once,
be iudged of the Mayre:
Nor fede the eye on stately stage,
to make a meyny stare.
Fundanus may at his good luste,

Fundanus, A Comical poet,

of nyncetie fynceties wryte,
(I say) of harlots heedfull guyle
of Dauns what a spyte,
He wrought to Chremes by his crafte,
That facultie therfore
I leaue to hym as capitayne
in scoffyng comyke lore.
And Polleo, the princely iestes,
in loftie Iambiques maye
By vertue of that gracious verse,
in tragike wyse displaye:
So Uarie makes his Elegies,
of quicke and lyuely myght,
And Uirgile, well in rurall ryme,
His gamesome Muse can dight,
A Satyre, I more sauerly,
and with more lucke attempted
That Uarro, and a number suche,
(all arrogance exempted.)
I doo not say, before my tyme,
But Lusille dyd deuyse,
Nor euer ment to preiudice
his crowne in any wyse

Lawrell Crowne.

But nowe and then outtakyngly.
he wyll be ouerseene,
And bryng suche stuffe, wherof the moste
omitted myght haue bene.
I pray you (Lusille) saye me soothe,
nor be you not offended,
Hath not your wysedome sayd or now,
that Homer myght be mended?

Actius.

And hath not ioly Lusill to,
the dolefull Actie chaunged?

Ennius.

And for to carpe hym for his phrase
all ouer Ennie raunged.
Yet, when he speaketh of hymselfe,
He speakes not, as he were
A better clarke, then those he blamde.
Why maye not we inquyre
In ways of talke? yf his harde style,
a matter good hath marde:
Or if the matter to vntoward,
hath made his style to harde.
If that a man thynke it enough,
and for a poet mete,
Twixt meale & meale, two hundreth times,
to reare vp on their fete:
Lyke Casse, whose lauyshe eloquence,

Cassus burned for his folishe bokes.

was rushyng as the streames:
Therfore were burnt, his corps, his bokes,
(his hastye trauaylde dreames.)
If this be good, Lusill is good,
in suche respecte may he,
Of pleasant head, and depe deuice,
and clarkly iudgement be.
He may be thought to haue enritchde
Greace, with his Satyre verse,
Muche better then an elder sorte,
whiche I coulde nowe rehearse.
Ryght happye Lusill, that dydst see
so plausible a tyme:
If he had ben in these our dayes,
he muste haue razde his ryme.
And parde of all that was not trym,
and so haue bent his brayne:
That bothe he should haue scratchde his heade,
and bitte his thombes for payne.
For nowe, who lookes to beare the bell,
his doyngs he muste cull,
At home with hym, and better adde,
then he dyd erste out pull.

Horace.

Contented, to haue pleasde the wyse,
lette go the skyllesse hobbes,
Who woulde esteme the clappyng of
a flocke of luskyshe lobbes.
(Not I in soothe: the iudgement of
one worthy personage,
In learnyng rype, in vertue iuste,
in verdite sharpe and sage:
Geue me before a thousande lowtes,
and all their lowde suffrage.
Tygille he kepes a prattlynge stylle,
his pages doo me pynche:
Prate what they can, the worste they can,
I mynde not once to wynche.
Suche carelesse, brainlesse, senslesse shrubbs,
suche sucklyng maultwormes, who,
Dothe take their woordes, but as of course,
and so can lette them go?

The wise clerkes of that age.

The lorde Mecenas and Uirgill,
Plotie, and Uarius,
Ualgie, and or drad soueraigne
the great Octauius,
And Polleo (I fawne not nowe,
not flatter, thankes to pyke)
Fuscus, and eke the Uiscie bothe,
I woulde they should me lyke.
Thou Messala, thy brother to,
You Bubilie also,
You Seruie, and thou Furnius,
bothe you and suche lyke mo,
Frendly and learnde, whiche nowe for hast
vnnamed I lette go,
Your praise I saye, fayne would I haue
full sorie and full sad:
If I ne can fulfyll the hope,
whiche of my selfe I had.
Sir Tygill, and syr Demetrie,
Your dumpishe domes in schooles,
You may bestowe where as you lyste,
emongst your flocke of fooles.
As for the wyse, they wynke at them,
nor will not on them looke:
Go boy, go note these sayinges well,
and put them in a booke.