University of Virginia Library

Brother, both of your selfe, and of my friend,
I faine would know this doubts vncertaine end:
Whether the Court thinks of vs as we be,
Or in obliuion drownes our memory.
Whether my Lord accuse my staying heere:
Or if I haue a friend so nobly deere,
As in mine absence will excuse my blame,
And gainst mine imputations, reasons frame:
That all be others follow him, yet I
May stay behind with ample honesty.
Or whether all of you most learnedly
Read in the wealthy rules of flattery,
(That Goddesse of great Courtiers) rather augment
By your soft smoothings, his high discontent:
And so lift vp the fury of his heart,
Beyond both reason, sense, and my desart.
Well: if you do so, you are then most wise:
For so in these dayes Courtiers onely rise.
He is a foole that striues to liue by losse,
And t'is wits madnesse when our Prince we crosse:
Not though he said he saw the mid-day bright,
Couered with starres as in the darke of night;
No, he that will by great mens fauours liue,
To sooth and flatter, must by no meanes grieue.
Let greatnesse either praise or discommend,
Do we not see how his attendants send,
Their verdicts forth, to iumpe with what he saies
Like Echos, or the Actors of stage plaies?
And from their lips send vollies of consent,
(As ift'were done by Act of Parliament.
And if by chance, any amongst them be,
(As t'were most strange in such a company)
That dares not speake so much for bashfulnesse,
Yet shall his looke applaud it nerethelesse:
And his oyld shining countenance tell, that he
In silence doth commend their flattery.
Though this in others you do discommend,
Yet me it doth much reputation lend:
Because what euer my resolues haue moulded,
I plainly without flattery haue vnfolded,
And vtterd forth my reasons in such sort,
That no disgrace could to my fame retort:
The least of which in this extremity.
I hold of worthy strong validity.
As first my life, which nature bids me prize,
Aboue all wealth thats vnderneath the skies:
Nor will I it by folly shorter make,
Then fortune or the heauens predestinate.
If I should spend in trauaile my best times,
And sucke th' infectious aire of forraine climes,
Being already sickly, I should die,
Else Valentine and Posthumus do lie.
Againe, men say I know my bodies state,
Better then any other can relate:
Can iudge what for my selfe is good or ill,
And therefore am referd to mine owne skill;
Which being so, I know my natures strength
Can not endure your cold climes: as at length,
Your selues haue prou'd, and found that Italy
Doth farre exceed the North in dignitie.
Besides, the cold doth not offend me more,
Then doth their stoues, whose heate I much abhor;
My nature being such, that euen the sent
I loath as't were a plague maleuolent.
Nor in the winter breathes with you a man,
Without his hot house, bath, or warming pan;
Where here with vs, nature doth order keepe,
We drinke vntill we sweat, sweat till we sleepe:
Eate til our iawes ake, game til our bones are wearie,
Kisse till our lips smart: all things make vs merrie.
Then who that comes from vs, with you can liue
In health, or to himselfe contentment giue?

When like Riphaan snowy mountaines hie,
Many through sharpnesse of the aire doe die.
As for my selfe, the vapours which exhale,
And from my queasie stomacke rise and fall,
Breeding Catarrhes, and my sicke braines vnrest,
Which soone from thence fal downe into my breast;
Would quickly rid me, in one night I know,
Both of my life and sicknesse at a blow.
Adde vnto this the strength of fuming wine,
Which boyles like poyson in these veines of mine,
Which custome makes them quaffe and to carowse;
Who doth refuse, is sacrilegious.
Their meate with pepper, and with spices hot,
Is mixt, to make them relish more the pot:
Which diet Reason my Physitian saith,
Will make my sorrow long, and short my breath.
But you will answere me, that if I please,
My selfe may be the Steward of mine ease,
And both prouide warm lodgings and sound friends,
Who will not tie me to those drunken ends,
Which custome and the countries liberty,
Hath knit to men of place and quality.
You'le say I may prouide my selfe a Cooke;
Whose care might ouer my prouision looke:
And that my selfe according to my pleasure
Might with my coyne, my conduit water me asure,
Whilest you and your associates with delight,
Should make of one iust length both day and night:
And I like to a Charterhouse close Fryer,
Sit in my chamber, and attend my fire,
Eate mine owne breath, and most impatiently,
Like Timon liue without mans company.
And yet this is not all, behinde is worse,
I must haue houshold stuffe, to plague my purse:
Both for my kitchin, and my chambers grace,
As fathers furnish brides in such a case.
Besides, if master Pasquin, from his loue,
For once or twice, should daine but to approue,
To dresse my meat alone; yet in the end,
He would my seuere humour discommend,
And say, if such particulars I hold,
I must prouide a Cooke of mine owne mould.
And truely were my wealth strong as my will,
Such counsell I would earnestly fulfill.
Or if I had Francisco Steuiars wealth,
No Prince should be more followed then my selfe:
But this great charge, I can no way support,
My meanes doth yeeld my minde so little comfort.
Besides, if to my Steward I should say,
(What best these watrish humours doth alay)
That buy, and buy (what ere thou paiest) the best,
Because such things my stomacke doth disgest:
If once or twice to please me he do frame,
Foure times at least, he will forget the same.
Not daring sometimes buy them from this feare,
Lest I should loathe it cause the price is deere.
Hence comes it, oft I feed on bread alone,
Which breedes in me the cholicke and the stone.
Hence I liue priuate; hence I am subiect much;
To choler, and to euery peeuish tuch:
Fretting and fuming with such peeuishnesse,
That in my best friends, I leaue doubtfulnesse.

Apollo thee I thanke, it is thy will,
And you faire Muses of the learned hill,
I find that for your sakes I not possesse
Apparell that will cloath my nakednesse.
But say, my Lord doth (as it is most true)
Each seuerall yeare make me apparell new:
Yet for your sakes that he performes the same,
Tis most vntrue, or so to thinke a blame.
Himselfe auowes as much, and well I may
With reputation write what he doth say;
Yet am no nearer my cares to rehearse,
Sith he respects strawes better then my verse.
All creatures can commend sweet poesie,
But none respect the Poets pouerty.
That famous worke which I in painefull wise
Compos'd to raise his glories to the skies,
He doth deny the merit of all fame,
Learning must beg; but rich men are to blame.
To gallop vp and downe, and post it hard,
My Lord auowes t'is he deserues reward,
Who keepes his banquet-house and banco sweet:
And like a Spaniell waites vpon his feet.
That nicely playes the secret Chamberlaine,
And watches euery houre with great paine:
Or he that to his bottles cleanly lookes,
And cooles his ale or wine in running brookes:
Or else his Page that dares not close an eye,
Vntill the Bergamiskes industriously
Doe beat on their anuils, whose very sound
Brings the poore sleepy boy into a swound.
To these he giues his great beneuolence,
And doth approue their worthes by recompence.
He saith if in my bookes he praysed be,
T'is nothing or to him, or vnto me,
And that it was the seede of idle time,
Nourisht by vanity and foolish time;
And from my seruice he might more haue gained,
If I in other sort to him retained.
What if within the Millan Chancery,
Vnder the shew of some authority,
He hath bestow'd not fully out a third,
Of that true gaine the place might well afford
Vnto my labour? yet what was done therein,
Was, that my trauell might his profit bring;
And that mine endlesse trauell and my cares,
Might bring an end vnto his great affaires.
Wel: Virgil if thou wilt be worldly wise,
Let my too deare bought counsell thee aduise;
Thy harp, thy bookes, thy verse with darknesse shade
And in thine old age learne some handy trade:
Or if thou hopest in this world to gaine,
Some office get, or to some Prince retaine:
For worse plague I neare wish mine enemy,
Then to be famous for sweete Poetry.
Yet this be sure, thy liberty is lost,
Vncertainty of place so deare doth cost.
Nor thinke although thou liuest vntill thy haire
Like flakes of snowie Apenins appeare,
Or that thy Lord as many old daies haue,
As aged Nestor bore vnto his graue:
Thinke not, I say, that thou shalt euer come,
By him or by his meanes to higher roome.
Or if once tierd with seruitude thou please
But to looke backe or turne vnto thine ease;
Blest maist thou be if he vouchsafe to take,
But from thee what he gaue for vertues sake;
And so without more thought of iniury,
Send thee away with threed-bare charity.
As for my selfe what euer he hath giuen,
If he backe take and make my fortunes euen,
Because that Buda neither Agria I
Would see, or follow him in Hangarie:
Yet I mislike not, force makes me content,
And shall doe, since against me he is bent;
Although away those prosperous plumes he bring,
Which euen himselfe did fixe vnto my wing;
Although he doe exclude me from all grace,
And will not smile on me with chearefull face
Although he say I am disloiall proued,
Respectlesse, base, vnworthy to be loued;
And that his publike speeches doe declame,
How much he hates my memory and name:
Yet patience shall within my bosome sit,
And thinke that I was borne to suffer it.
This was the reason that I haue remoued
My best obseruance, since I was not loued:
Knowing it was effectles to approue
To bring incensed greatnes backe to loue.

Rogero, if thy royall progeny,
From their disdaine blast me with obliquie,
And I from them haue nothing got, altho
Their worthy valours and braue deeds I shoe,
Spending my time and wit most studiously,
To raise them tombes vnto eternity;
Then what should I doe with them? tis well knowne
I am no falkoner, all my art is flowne
From such light vanities: I haue not the skill,
To make my spaniels noses please my will:
Nor was I euer brought vp to the same,
Or can thereto my worst indeauours frame:
For I am big, vnwieldly, grosse and fat,
And such strong motions gree not with my state.
I haue no curious taste, or eye of fire,
To please the tongue or the vnchast desire.
Steward nor Cater to a noble man
I was not borne to be, I nothing can
In those low offices. It had bin good,
I then had liu'd when men eate homely food.
Gismunds accounts, I will not one me take,
Nor vnto Rome an idle iourney make,
Posting with all my reasons to asswage
The fiery heate of great Secundus rage.
But say, my fortune at such ods should runne,
That needes by me such seruice must be done:
I feare me in the businesse would be found,
Dangers more great, and able to confound.
Besides, if such hard seruices must be,
And that men must attend with slauery,
As doth Arctophylax vpon the Beare:
He that desires to purchase gold so deere
Let him enioy it freely; for my selfe
I will not at so high rate buy my wealth.
Before aduancement in such sort shall please,
Ile only study how to gaine mine ease:
Rather then cares shall compasse me about
And from my mind thrust contemplation out:
Which though my body it enrich not tight,
Yet to my mind it addes such rare delight,
That it deserueth in immortall stories,
To be enrold with all admired glories.
And hence it comes, my pouerty I beare,
As it on earth my best of best things were.
This makes that brothell wealth I doe not loue,
Or that great name or titles doe me moue:
Or any State allurements so adore,
That I will sell my liberty therefore.
This makes me neuer to desire or craue,
What I not hope for, nor am like to haue.
Nor choler nor disdaine doth me assaile,
Nor inward enuy shewes my count'nance pale;
Sith Maron or Celio are Lords created,
Or from low basenesse into greatnes stated
Nor doe I care for sitting at great tables,
Soothing the humour of these pufpast bables;
But hold them as the scum of foolery,
Whom rymers taxe in idle balladry.
That I without attendants am content,
To walke on foote, and make my selfe consent
To follow mine affaires; and when I ride,
To knit my cloake-bag to my horses side,
As much doth please me, as at my command,
A world of mercenary knaues did stand.
And sure I thinke my sin is lesse each way,
In this (for I respect not what men say)
Then when in Court I am infor'st to bribe,
And euery scornefull proud delay abide;
Ere our most lawfull suites vnto the Prince,
We can preferre, and be dispatch from thence:
Or slander honest titles, or subuert,
Right without reason, conscience or desert;
Only to shew our malice, or whats worse,
(Because thereon doth hang a heauy curse)
To make poore Parsons buy their tenths so deare,
That they are double forc't their sheepe to sheare.
Besides, it makes me with a pure deuotion,
Thanke my good God for my lowe safe promotion,
And that where ere I come I this haue proued,
I liue amongst the best, and am beloued.
Tis knowne, though I no seruice had, I haue
Goods to maintaine me, and to buy a graue.
That which to me from birth and fortune came,
Is such as I may boast without my shame:
But for I will not worke your too much paine,
To my first song I will returne againe;
That I no true occasion haue to grieue,
Because in your commercement I not liue.
I haue already strenght of reasons showne,
And yet if more should be vnto you knowne,
It would be to no end; sith I doe see,
That our opinions warres will not agree.
Yet with one other more I will contest,
Because I hold it stronger then the rest:
If I from my poore house should start away,
All would to wrack, I being all their stay.
Of fiue of vs (all which now liuing are)
Three are remoued into Regions farre:
As Charles, who in that kingdome meanes to stay,
From whence the Turkes Cleanthus driue away:
Gallasso for a Bishopricke in Rome,
Doth daily gape and lookes when it should come.
Thou Alexander dost with my Lord remaine,
Making thy seruice purchase of thy gaine.
Onely poore Gabriel's here, but what wouldst thou
That he should doe hereafter? or what now?
He as thou know'st, of hands and feete is lame,
And so into this wretched world first came.
Abroad he hath not gone, which cannot goe;
Little hath seene, and lesse then that doth know:
Only at home he doth securely bide.
Now he that takes vpon him for to guide
A house, as I haue done, must haue respect,
That they doe not the impotent neglect.
My mayden sister is with me beside,
Whose dowry I am bound I shall prouide:
Till which I haue effected honestly,
I cannot say nor thinke that I am free.

Lastly, th' vnwieldy age of mine old mother
Doth all my other cogitations couer:
She must not be forsaken of vs all,
Vnlesse to ruine we will head-long fall.
Often I am the eldest, and am growne
An old man full forty foure yeares knowne:
My head is bald, and for I sicknesse feare,
My braines to comfort, I a night-cap weare.
The small remaynder of my life behind,
To keepe it curiously is all my minde.
But thou whose issue from my mothers wombe,
After me fully eighteene yeares didst come,
Goe thou and serue my Lord, and spend thy breath
In heate, in cold, in danger and to death.
Go view the world, high Dutch and Hungary,
Attending on him most obsequiously.
Serue for vs both, and where my zeale doth lack,
Make thou amends and bring my fauours back.
Who if he truely please of me to thinke,
The seruice I can doe him is with inke
To giue his fame large wings not in the field;
To prooue my force, in such assaults I yeeld.
Say vnto him, Great Lord at thy commaund,
My brothers seruices doe humbly stand,
Whilst I at home with a shrill trumpets sound,
Will spread his worthy name vpon the ground;
That it shall goe as farre as sea or land,
Yea and beyond the Gadean pillars strand.

To Ariano and Filo it shall fly,
But not so farre as flowes swift Danuby:
For my weake Muse can hardly iumpe so farre,
So wet (alasse) my feete and body are.
But could the glasse of time to me restore,
Those fifteene yeares which I haue spent before,
Then would I neuer doubt but that the fire
Of my quick braine through all worlds shold aspire,
But if he thinkes because he giues to me,
Each foure monthes twenty fiue crownes for a fee:
Which pension is not alwayes duely payd,
But many times by many humours stayd:
I therefore shall such bondage to him owe,
As if I were his villaine, and not know
Ought but his will, my health and life neglect,
Enter all dangers without all respect:
If so he thinke, his greatnesse is mistaken,
Nor shall he finde my liberty for saken.
Tell him ere ile liue in such slauery,
Ile entertaine most loathsome pouerty.
Once there an Asse was, of his skinne and bone
So leane, that vnder them he flesh had none,
Who stealing through a hole that broken was,
Into a barne well stuft with corne did passe,
Where he so cloyd his stomacke and his hart,
That he grew fat and full in euery part;
His body growne to such a shapelesse masse,
That like a tun his huge proportion was,
But in the end fearing if he should stay,
His bones too dearely for his meat should pay;
Intends to issue forth where he came in,
But is deceiu'd, for why his bellies sinne,
Hath made his bulke so great with that he stole,
His head can hardly now peepe through the hole:
Nearth'lesse he striues and struggles much in vaine,
Lost is his labour and his bootelesse paine.
A little mouse which spi'd him, thus did say,
Asse if from hence thou wilt thy selfe conuay,
Thy body thou must bring to such poore case,
As when thou first didst come into this place.
Leane and like carion must thy carcasse be:
Else ne're expect safe harmelesse liberty.
Hence I conclude, and boldly dare impart,
That if my Princely master from his hart
Thinke with his gifts that he hath purchast me,
It shall not to my selfe ought grieuous be,
That I restore them backe to him againe,
So I my former liberty may gaine.
Freedome I onely loue, since I did heare,
That men doe many times buy gold too deare.

Sith mine affaires, not my desires, become
The causes why I goe to visite Rome,
When Card'nals change their skins like to the Snake,
And for their god do better choices make:
Now when no dangerous sicknesses abound,
To infect mens bodies that are weake or sound;
Although a greater plague afflicts their mindes,
Whilst that same wheele or Rota turnes and winds:
O not that wheele, which doth Ixion scourge,
But that which doth in Rome so shrewdly purge
Mens purses; whil'st through long and vile delaies,
Lawyers on them (As fowle on carion) praies:

Gallasso pray thee take for me (not far
From that same place where thy cōmercements are,
I meane neare to that sumptuous Temple braue,
Which ancient Fathers that stout Priests name gaue,
Who Malchas eare from off his head did cleaue,
And more had done might he haue had but leaue)
A lodging for foure beasts: by which I meane,
Account me with my man (old Iohn) for twaine.
The other two a Moile and Gelding is,
A tyred iade, that all his teeth doth misse.
Let it be lightsome, but not mounting hie,
I cannot brooke this climbing to the skie.
A chimney let it haue that will not smoake,
For such perfumes doe both me blind and choake.
Of our poore iades, thou likewise must take care,
For should their prouender be scant or bare,
Little the stables warmth would them auaile,
And in my iourney I should hap to faile.
My bed and bedding of the best I craue,
That so my rest might sweeter quiet haue.
The matter cotton of fine wooll and thinne,
By no meanes let it be within an Inne.
My wood to burne, I would haue old and dry,
That it might dresse my meate conueniently.
A bit of Mutton, Beefe, or Lambe, or Veale,
For me and for my man doth full auaile.
No curious Kitchin cooke I doe desire,
With sauce to set mine appetite on fire:
Making me haue a stomacke gainst my will,
Or being full haue still desire to fill.
Let those proud curious Artists vse their braine,
To keepe their pots and vessels siluer cleane,
And tend on Ladies, or for recompence
Striue to content Vorranos glutton sense:
Whilest I with a poore Scullion am content,
And being cleanly, thinke him excellent.
He that by eating, seekes still how to eate,
And makes not hunger sauce vnto his meate,
Let him goe cast his vomit farre from me,
Ile neither hold his rule nor company.
Cookes now on euery vpstart fellow waite,
Who but ere while did Cheese and Onions eate,
And in a russet frocke was glad to keepe,
On barren hils his masters flocks of sheepe;
But now (this Bore) growne rich by fortunes grace,
Shames euen to heare of his first fortunes place.
His Pheasants, Larks, and Black-birds haue he must,
Who erst was glad to leape euen at a crust:
Alwaies to feede vpon one dish of meate,
Doth cloy his stomacke, and he cannot eate.
He now the wild Bores taste doth truly know,
Which vp and downe the drier mountaines goe,
From th' other which rich Elizean fields,
(Fatned) vnto the Roman market yeelds.
I seeke no water from the fountaines cleare,
But that which comes from Tyber, and is neare,
So it be setled well and very pure;
For troubled waters hardly I endure:
For wine it skils not, yet good wine I loue,
And mixt with water many times doe proue.
(Though very little) and the Tauerne still,
Will yeeld as much or little as I will.
The wines which grow vpon the marrish brinke,
Vnlesse delayed, much I neuer drinke.
The stronger wine my braine doth make the worse,
Offends my stomacke, and my voice makes hoarse.
What then will these do, which are drunke with you?
I doubt the proofe I shall but finde too true.
The Corsicke wines, and those of faithlesse Greece,
Nor the Lygurian, though all of one peece,
Are not so vile as these: these are so strong,
That to the best conceits they doe much wrong.
The Fryer that in his study priuate sits,
Is with this liquor thrust out of his wits,
The whilest with expectation and much doubt,
The wondring people gaze and looke about.
When he the Gospels blessed truth should show;
Who comes no sooner forth, but vp doth goe
Into the Pulpit with a fiery grace,
A red-rose cheeke, and a distemperd face:
Making a noise with violence of passion.
And swearing out the scriptures in strange fashion,
Threatning with iudgments and such damned Fate,
That all his audience he makes desperate.

This also troubleth Messier Moskins head,
Whilest he is caried drunke vnto his bed,
And Frier Gnaling with his company,
Faining to hate Vernachia mightily:
Who once but got out of their cloyster doore,

To th' Gorgon or the Aethiopian More
They go, and there Pidgeons and Capons fat,
They eate vntill they breathe and sweat thereat:
So likewise vse they, when as all alone,
They forth from their Refectory are gone.
Prouide mee bookes to passe those houres away,
In which Romes Prelates onely feed and play.
Who once at board, they giue a strait command,
None enter at their gates in any hand:
As Friers doe vse, who bout the mid of day,

(Although your ring the bell, cry loud, or pray)
Yet once set at the table, they'le not moue,
Were it to gaine more then a Princes loue.
My Lord Ile say (for brother is to base,
Since Spanish complement troke plainnesse place,
And Sr. is sent to euery bawdy house,
Tis now so common and ridiculous:
Signior Ile terme the basest Rascall now,
And making curtsie low vnto him bow)
For Gods sake pray your reuerend Lord to daine
To lend his eare whilst I of wrongs complaine.

Agora non se puede, will he say,
Et megiore, (good sir) to go your way.
E vos torneis a la magnana. Then
If you reply vpon him fresh agen,
And say; yet let me trouble you once more,
Tell him I doe attend him at the doore:
Then surly Cerberus growes Peacocke proud,
And this rough answere thunders forth aloud.
I tell thee friend, my Lord is at repose,
And will not troubled be with suters woes:
He will not speake with Peter, Paul, nor Iohn,
Nor heare the embassie of any one:

No though his master Nazareth were here,
He would not daine to moue out of his chaire.
And therefore thou nor manners hast nor shame,
Thy suites at such vnfitting times to frame.
But had I Linx his eyes on them to pry,
As with my mindes eyes I them full espy,
Or were they but transparent like to glasse,
That through their inmost thoughts my sight might passe:
Such deedes I then (perhaps) should see them act
Within their priuy chambers: that the fact
Would giue them iuster cause themselues to hide
From heauens Sun, then any man beside.
But they in time I hope will quite forsake
This loathed life, and better vertues take.
This as an Item is to their transgression,
To shew I wish and pray for their conuersion.
But sure I am, thou longst to know why I
Desire to visite Rome thus speedily.

Well I will tell thee: Tis because I seeke
A liuing small by patent safe to keepe:
An office tis, which I in Millan hold,
(Although but small) yet more then lose I would:

And to prouide Saint Agaps parsonage,
I might possesse, if th' old Priest worne with age,
And much expence of time, should hap to die,
During the time, my fortunes there should lie.
Thou wilt suppose I run into the net,
Which I was wont to say, the diuell did set
To catch those fooles, whose ouer burning hearts
Swallowes their makers bloud without desarts:
But tis not so, my thoughts did ne're agree,
To loue this cure or callings soueraginty:
My meaning is, the liuing to bestow
On such a one as mine owne thoughts do know
Fit for the same, for his liues grauity,
His learning, manners, vertue, honesty.

To be a sacred Priest I will not proue,
Cope, Rochet, Surplice, nor a Stole I loue:
Nor will I haue a shau'd annointed crowne,
Or weare the ring which bishops do renowne.
In vaine I goe about to take a wife,
If I should aime at a religious life:
Or hauing taken one but to suppose,
That for the Church t'were fit my wife to lose:
But both these callings are of such desart,
That all be I adore them in my heart:
Yet when I thinke how full they are of care,
Of neither (with resolue) I venture dare.
Priest-hood and mariage, who so doth obtaine,
Saue but by death, no freedome can attaine.
But here (perhaps) thou maiest demaund of me,
My reasons fault and insufficiency:
Wherefore so great a burthen I do take,
And instantly the same away do shake,
Seeking to giue mine honours to another.
Well; though thy selfe, my friends and euery other,
Shall blame, nay hate me, sith I doe let goe,
And will not take my fortunes when they floe;
Yea since at bounties hands Ile not accept
The gifts of greatnesse, but doe all neglect;
To shriue my soule to thee, and shew the cause,
Which me to such a course of folly drawes:

Tis thus. The old Priest hauing vnderstood,
By the best friends both to his age and bloud;
That vnder hand his death was closely wrought,
By one that for his holy liuing sought;
Fearing by poyson to be made away,
He sends for me, and humbly doth me pray:
That I into the open Court would come,
And there take resignation of his roome:
Thinking this meanes to be the onely best,
By which his life might in most safety rest.
I thankt him for it, yet did all I could,
That he to thee or Alexander would,
(Whose nature in no opposition stands,
With holy Orders or with holy hands)
His right and interest passe; but't would not be,
Nor to my motions would his sense agree.
Nor you, nor his owne kindred would he trust,
But (like himselfe) thought all men were vniust:
Onely my selfe aboue a world he chose,
And on my faith did all his trust repose:
But when I saw from him I could not haue it
To doe you good; vnto a third I gaue it.
Many, I know, will me condemne therein,
Sith (carelesse) I refuse such good to winne.
The rather, sith preferment in it is,
Whose pathes who treads can neuer honour misse.

Those poore religious wormes, scarce profitable,
Simple, vnlearned, weake, vnfit, vnable,
Base and despis'd, contemd of greatest part,
Haue got on best deserts so much the start,
As greatest kings are glad they may adore them,
And blest is he that most may fall before them.
But who so holy or so wise hath beene,
As in his life no fortune hath o'reseene?
Either in little or in much I know,
There's none that can himselfe so perfit show,
Each man his humor hath; and this is mine,
Before I will my liberty resigne,
The richest hat in Rome I would refuse,
Though King or Cardinall they should me chuse.
What good to me is got by highest place,
Or at the Table to receiue most grace?
If thence I rise no better satisfi'd,
Then he which in the meanest roome doth bide:
So though my head with waight downe burdned be,
Of Miters stor'd with pretious Iewelrie,
What doth it me auaile, if for all this
True ioy and quietnesse of minde I misse?
Let others thinke it a beatitude,
That they are sought vnto, obseru'd and su'd,
That armies of attendants doe them grace,
Treading their steps through euery publike place,
Whilst all the people with astonisht eyes,
Stare to behold their flattred Maiesties:
Yet I suppose them idle vanities,
Yea worse, euen worst of earthly miseries.
I am so foolish mad, that oft I say,
In brothell Rome the Lord is euery way
More slaue then is his slaue, man to his man;
And tis most true, deny it who so can.
The bondage wherein Seruing-men doe stand,
Is bare-head to obey each slight command,
To runne or ride with him; which once expir'd,
There nothing else is at his hands required.
This being done, he may goe where he please,
Frolicke or game, reuell, or rest at ease.
Only his care is, that at euery leasure,
He cannot see his wench, or haue that pleasure.
Else as he list, he may goe sport about,
Either with company, or else without,
On foote or horse-backe (if he money haue)
Be ciuill, or else swagger like a knaue.
In Market, in the Tauerne, in Th' exchange,
Or in the brothell if he lift to range.
Clothes he may weare of colours light or darke,
Goe as he please; he is not enuies marke,
None take exception gainst him, he may goe
Naked, if naked he himselfe will show;
Whereas his Lord (because he will haue place,
To suite his ranke, and giue his glories grace)
Doth leaue the safer seate, and though he gaine
More honor, yet doth lesser wealth retaine.
With profit lesse, and yet with greater charge,
He steares the helme in vaine expences barge.
Many he feedes, sith many on him tend,
Though his reuenues are but small to spend:
For count his first fruits with his bribes and all,
Many yeares profits doe to ruine fall.
Adde vnto this, how he in debt doth stand,
For furnishing his house at second hand:
His gifts to Courtiers (but in courtesie)
Chiefly to that great Patron Simonie,
Who is his chiefest Saint and Aduocate,
Because he best doth know his purses state.
But all the sport is, when his Holynesse
Sends to imploy him in some seriousnesse:
O then, if any of his followers misse,
He cannot goe, the way forbidden is.
If that his Coach be not in sight at hand,
Or if his Moiles doe not most ready stand,
If any thing be orderlesse displac't,
He rages straight, his honor is disgrac't:
If one rude wrinckle in his gowne be found,
Tis to his place more then a deadly wound:
His seruants must in comly equipage,
March two and two according to their age:
When if the basest groome in all his traine,
His very Scullion but behinde remaine,
He sweares as though he gaue the world this touch,
That hee's diuine, he nameth God so much.
Out doth he cry, he is discredited,
If by such slaues he be not followed.
On no Euangelist he now doth looke,
(Good man) his age cannot endure his booke.
Onely he doth deuise how he may spend
Little; and how his liuing he may mend:
To drawe the bowe too far breakes it in twaine,
And thrifty sparing is the Lord of gaine.
I will not say but diuers there may be,
That haue both offices and lands in see.
Who liue at hearts ease far beyond the best,
Free from disturbance, tumult or vnrest:
Nor horse, nor beast, nor man he scarcely keepes,
Whilst with a full purse he securely sleepes:
But there are few of those; for in these dayes,
He's blest that liues content with his owne ease.
Now he that's plum'd with sterne ambitions wings,
And vp to heauen his cogitations flings,
He neuer with his owne estate is pleased,
But shapes new scales by which hee will bee raised;
From Bishop straight he hath a wishfull hope
To climbe to be the second next the Pope:
When he hath that got, will he then be quiet?
No, for his stomacke must haue choicer diet.
He now aimes at the seate Pontificall,
To tread on Kings, on Emperours and all;
But when he hath obtain'd this blessed chaire,
Will he be pleased then and free from care?
Neither: for now his children and his friends
To places of great honour he commends;
When he was poore he scarce was knowne to any,
Now being Pope he is a kinne to many:
Yet from the Epirots nor from the Greeke,
To giue them kingomes doth he euer seeke,
Neither of Affricke nor of Barbary
Plotteth to giue them any soueraignty;
Nor will he striue to pull the Pagans downe,
And to impale his kinsmen with their crowne;
To purchase which all Europe is at hand,
Furnisht with men and money at command,
Whilst he but acts what doth to him belong,
Weakning the Turkes, making the Christians strong.
He rather seekes by treachery and by art,
The Noble Colonessi to subuert,
Or to extirpe Vrsinos princely name,

To gaine all Talliacorzos worthy fame;
As from the other he got Palestine,
By royall policy surnam'd diuine:
Whilst in the meane time drunk with Christiā bloud,
He sits and triumphs in his ample good;
Some he sees strangled, some their heads doe lose,
And euery thing quite topsie turuy goes.
Nor will he sticke to giue all Italy,
A prey to France, to Spaine or Germany;
And making a confusion of each thing,

It shall goe hard but one halfe he will wring
Vnto his bastard bloud; nor doth hee care
Tho th' other part fall to the Diuels share.
Then flies abroad excommunications,
Like vollies of great shot, in strangest fashions:
Then roares the bulles worse then the Basan host,
Whilst Belles and bookes and candles curses boast.
Hence indulgence and pardons haue beene found,
To be of warres the instruments and ground.

From hence with gold the bearded Muffe is prest,
Of all his valours power to show the best,
And hence the drunken Dutchman who for pay,
Is hir'd in right or wrong, or any way:
These must haue gold (without which thei'le not fight,
And all this charge doth on the subiect light,
Oft haue I heard (and doe beleeue the same)
By those which know the truth of euery fame:
That neither Bishop, no nor Cardinall,
Nor yet the Pope, who is the head of all,
Had euer money to supply their want,
But that the end grew niggardly and scant.
But let this goe; times now are at such passe,
That though one be a foole, a dolt, an Asse,
Base of conditions, and (if't may be) worse,
Yet if he haue a well fild heauy purse
He may doe what he list, nor neede he care
What others of his actions shall declare:
Yet those which hoard most, and haue most to giue,
Most commonly most wretchedly doe liue.
Witnesse the starued houshold, who with griefe
Complaine their ruines, yet find no reliefe.
The more the wealthy witty courtier holds,
The lesse vnto the worlds eye he vnfolds.
Of foure parts of his liuing, three he will
Be sure (all charges borne) to coffer still.

A mans allowance or of bread or biefe,
Is halfe a pound of either for reliefe:
And that (God's knowes) is either tough or crusty,
Or hardly mans meate, being old and musty.
Now as his bread and flesh is of worst sort,
So thinke his drinke deserues as vile report;
Either it is like vinegar most tarte,
Or Rasor-like it makes the pallat smart;
Either in tast or relish tis so small,
That it hath lost both colour, strength and all:
Or to be briefe in ilnes tis beyond
The pudle water or the stinking pond.

Yet had a man sufficiency of foode,
And at his pleasure drinke to doe him good:
Though they were homely and indifferent,
His griefe were lesse, and time much better spent:
But both being bad, and of that bad no store,
Needes must the heart breake, or else couet more.
But thou wilt say, a seruant that is wise,
Will beare with this and smoothly temporise,
Because that scale which raiseth vp his Lord,
Doth some aduancement to himselfe affoord;
And as the master mounts the man shall rise,
If with discretion he his wrongs disguise.
But such like fortunes are not generall,
For they like blazing comets seldome fall.
Honors change maners, new Lords makes new laws
And all their seruants to their purpose drawes.
Old seruants like old garments are cast by,
When new adorne them with more maiesty.
Seruice is no inheritance we know,
For he and beggery in one base rancke doe goe.
A chamberlaine, a steward, and a cater,
A secretary, a caruer, and a waiter,
Thy Lord must haue to beautifie his dayes,
When thine age can supply not one of these.
Then maiest thou thinke that thou art highly loued,
If from his seruice thou art not remoued:
Tis well for thee if thou canst find that grace,
To liue as thou hath done still in one place.
A liuery once a yeare, and nobles foure,
Is a braue price for seruing till foure score:
And then tis ten to one that beg thou must;
Therefore vnto thy selfe, not others trust.
How rightly spake that honest Mulitar,
When comming into Rome from regions far,
He in the euening heard as he did passe,
That his owne Lord for Pope elected was.
Ah (quoth the slaue) to speake vnpartiall,
Twas best with me when he was Cardinall:
My labour then was little or else none,
Hauing but to poore moiles to looke vpon.
Now shall my toyle be double or else more,
And yet my wages paid worse then before.
If any thinke because my Lord is Pope,
That I on great aduancements ground my hope,
Let him but giue me one chicken or lesse,
And all my reasures he shall full possesse.
No no, the wealthier that the maister proues,
So much the lesse his oldest slaues he loues.

In Naples where Nobility doth flowe,
(Though little wealth doth with their greatnes goe)
There was of good descent a pretty Lad,
That from his tender yeares still followed had
A Lordly caualier, who promis'd him
(As courtiers breathes can smoothly speake & trim)
That he no sooner should aduanced be,
To any place of worth or dignitie,
But that his page should rise as he did mount;
And for the youth had spent the first account
Of his liues glories, sith since he presumed
Vpon this hope, full thirtie yeares consumed;
His Lord now bids him be of merry cheare,
For nothing that he held should be too deare.
The honest seruant thinking all was gold
Shin'd in such words, himselfe content doth hold.
Now whilst the hungry master and the man,
Gaze to behold which way preferments ranne;
It hapt the Naples King (through some request)
Him of his priuy chamber did inuest.
No sooner was he in his wisht for roome,
But he forgot his ancient trusty groome;
And prided with his fate, now entertaines
New gallants with braue cloathes & better meanes:
His old true page was in obliuion throwne,
And nought saue nouelty was to him knowne.
Which he perceiuing, taking time and place,
Vnto his Lord he breakes his heauy case,
Humbly intreates him that he would remember
His honest seruice, and some merit render
To his expence of time, and wasted store,
As he with earnestnesse had vow'd before.
To whom the surly Neapolitan,
Taking him sharply vp, thus briefe began:
Fellow, the world is chang'd from that it was,
When I was scarce my selfe, then thou mights passe
And ranke with my dependants: but as now
Thou canst not doe it, nor may I allow
Thy basenesse so high place; sith it is fit,
My men be of more meanes, more doome, and wit,
Yet ne'rethelesse since thou hast seru'd me long,
And that I will not doe thy labours wrong,
Countnance, but no reward thou shalt possesse,
Sith thou art old, and euen seruicelesse.
The honest man being gald thus impiously,
Returnes his Lord (with griefe) this short reply:
Could I your best imploiments serue before,
When (saue my selfe) you kept no creature more?
And now that you haue many, may not I
My place with as great diligence supply?
Hath all my practise and experience
Brought me no wit, but tane away my sense?
Now when my paines expected their aduance,
Must my reward be nought but countenance?
Haue I consum'd my liues best floures with you,
My youth and man-hood, to reape this poore due?
But youle abandon me I doe perceiue:
Well, me you shall not, for tis you ile leaue.
Nor you, nor others, nor no time shall say,
You me dischargd. Loe I put you away.
“No greater plague can hang on seruitude,
“Then to be chaind to base ingratitude.
And here withall away poore soule he went,
Mourning his seruice, and his time mis-spent.
By this true storie wit may plainly see,
What seruants are, and what these Courtiers be.
“Youth spent in Court, oft brings age to poore state
“Past seruice, past reward; that's seruants fate.
I rather would be King of mine owne graue,
Then vnto greatest greatnesse be a slaue.
“To liue of others lendings is most base,
“In Court to dance attendance is disgrace.
I like not prison musicke, nor such mirth;
Free was I borne, free will I liue on earth.
“He is truly rich that hath sufficient,
“And hating enuy liueth with content.
Yet liberty exceedes the gaine of wealth,
And therefore I will only serue my selfe.

Since (noble Haniball) thou wil'st me write,
How I of Duke Alphonsos seruice like:
Or whether hauing laid old burthens by,
New-weights presse on my back as heuily:
Or if they lighter be. For I doe know,
If you shall heare creations of new woe
Proceed from my complaints, you will conceiue,
That I am barbarous, and to me cleaue
Vlcers which will not heale; or like a iade,
That I am dull, (though n'ere so much of made.)
Then to speake freely with infranchis'd mind,

Both of my burthens I like heauy find,
And thinke I had bin blest, if vnto neither
I had beene subiect, sith I lose by either.
Say then (since I haue broke my backe with all,
Like a good Asse, that's laden till he fall)
Say that my spirit's heauy, dull, and ill;
Say both in iest and earnest what you will:
Yet when you haue said what you list or can,
I will speake truth, and be an honest man.
But had I playd the parricide or slaue,
And brought my father to an early graue,

In wealthy Regio; or but that haue thought,
Which Iupiter against great Saturne wrought:
Onely that I alone within my hand,
Might hold his wealth, his liuing, and his land:
Which now 'mongst brothers and 'mongst sisters be
Diuided into ten parts equally:
In e're had plaid the foole as did the frog,
That for the Storke did change his kingly clog;
Nor had I wandred to seeke forth my fate,
Or crept for fauour to each great estate;

I had not learnt the Apes duck with my head,
Nor crooked cringing curtsie should me stead.
But since I was not borne heire to my sire,
Nor that his lands fell vnto me entire:

Since I perceiue that subtill Mercury,
Was ne're my friend, but rather enimy:
And that (against my will) I am ne'reth'lesse
Compeld to liue on others bounteousnesse:
I thinke it better, that I doe retaine
Vnto the Duke, and be of his great traine:
Then to a lower fortune make my moane:
Although my meanes and rising are all one,
Hardly so much, as his who is most poore,
And askes the misers almes from dore to dore.
Few I doe know are of my thoughts or mind;
And fewer of mine humours I doe find.
Most thinke, to be a Courtier is most braue:
I say a Courtier is a glorius slaue,
Let such be Courtiers, as by Courts can rise,
To me they are bright suns, and blind mine eyes.
Farre will I liue aloofe from these great fires,
If strength of fortune strenghten my desires.
“Neuer one saddle on each horse we place,
“Nor doth one garment euery body grace.
“Beasts are not for on vse in generall,
“For some we see beare much, some nought at all.
The cage is to the Nightingale a hell,
The Thrush and Black-bird both doe loue it well:
The Robin red-breast rob'd of liberty,
Growes sad, and dies with inward melancholy.
Who seekes to be a Cardinall or Knight,
And that great honours on his house may light,
Let him go serue the Pope or some great King,
Whil'st I liue safe, and hunt no such vaine thing.
I am as well contented with the meate,
Which (though but grosse) in mine own house I eat:
And thinke a carrot root doth tast as well,
Which doth of vinegar or pepper smell:
As if of fowle or fish, or other bables,
I had euen glu'd my selfe to great mens tables.
And I as well can rest my drowsie head
Vpon a quilke, as on a downy bed:
And vnder rugs, as much safe quiet hold,
As vnder Turky workes, Arras or gold.
Rather had I at home stay with my rest,
Saue my poore skin from scars, and know me blest,

Then vaunt that I had seene the India land,
Or frozen Scythia, or the Æthiop strand.
So many men, so many mindes we say,
Each one delighting in his seuerall way:
Some will religious be, some martiall bent;
Some trauell, some at home liue with content.
Yet he that's pleas'd to be a traueller,
Let him behold each country farre and neere:

Rich France, sweet England, fruitfull Germany,
Proud Spaine, Greece spoild with Turkish tyranny:
As for myselfe, at home Ile liue alone,
And like no country better then mine owne.
Yet haue I seene how Lombardy doth stand,
And all Romania, and the Tuscan land:
Besides that mountaine mighty huge and tall,
Which locks vp Italy as in a wall:
And both those Oceans beating on each side,
I haue beheld, and yet no danger tride.
And this contents me well; for other coast,
Or greater trauels whence mine ease is lost,

I can with Ptolomy behold them all,
In euery sort, vnite or seuerall.
All seas I likewise can behold and see,
(without vow making in extremity,
When heauen threats with speaking thunder claps)
More safely in our moderne painted maps;
Then when I shall a rotten vessell enter,
And my poore life to certaine danger venter.
The Dukes seruice I take it as it is,
Which ift'be good, tis better much by this,
In that he seldome from his Court doth part,
And so is friend to study and to art.
Nor doth he seeke to draw me from that place,
Where my lodg'd heart doth liue in its best grace.
But now me thinkes I see you all this while,
How at my words and reasons you doe smile,
Saying, that it is neither countries loue,
Nor study, which incites me not to moue:
But tis my Mistris eye that onely blinds me,
And in these euerlasting loue-knots binds me.
Well, I confesse the truth, tis so indeed,
(And then confession better proofes not need)
Tis most true, I list not to contend,
Or any falshood with my sword defend;
What ere the reason be, I stirre not out,
Or like a pilgrime walke the world about.
It is sufficient that it doth me please,
Nor would I others haue themselues disease
About mine actions, since my selfe knowes best,
Why I doe heere with homely quiet rest.
Some will obiect, and in their wisedome say,
That if to Rome I had kept on my way,
And aim'd at Church promotion, Is might then
Haue farre exceeded many other men:
So much the rather, as I was approued,

To loue the Pope, and was of him beloued:
As hauing of his first acquaintance beene,
Long ere he had his daies of glory seene;
Which came to him for vertue, not through chance;
And therefore reason he should me aduance:
Yea long before the Florentines set ope
Their gates to entertaine him, or that hope

Moued worthy Iulian his ennobled brother,
In Vrbins Court his losses to recouer.

Where with learn'd Bembo and Castilian sage,
Apollos haire, flowers of that formall age,
He spent the dayes of his first banishment,
In great delight of thought and hearts content.
And after when this subtill Medicy
Ouer their Country vs'd his tiranny;

When the Gonfalconer forsooke the Court,
Leauing his place, his honours and his port,
Till Leo vnto Rome did make repaire,
And was installed in Saint Peters chaire.
In all which time to none he shewed such grace
As vnto me, whom he did euer place
Next to himselfe, affirming I, and none
Was else his friend and best companion:
So that in ranke of fauour, I alone;
Stood still vnseconded of any one.
Besides, when he as Legat first did passe
To Florence, this his protestation was:
That I as deerely in his fauour stood,
As did his brother, or his best of blood.
These circumstances well considered,
And euery fauour rightly ordered,
Though some of little value will esteeme them;
Yet others of more better price may deeme them.
And thinke if I would daine to Rome to goe,
And to his Holinesse my fortunes show:
Doubtlesse I might obtaine for recompence,
Any faire suit of worthy consequence.
And that at my first motion or request,
A Bishopricke were granted at the least.
But they which think, such great things so soone got;
With iudgment nor with knowledge reckon not.
And therefore with a pretty history,
I will to such men giue a short reply:
Which hath in writing put me to more paine,
Then any man in reading shall attaine.

Long since, there was a scortch Sommer seene,
Wch burnt the parcht earth with his beames so keen,
That it was thought Phœbus once more had giuen
His Chariot to his bastard to be driuen.
For euery plant and hearbe was dead and dri'd,
Nor any greennes on the ground was spi'd.
No fountaine, spring nor poole, or low or hie,
But had his veines stopt vp, and now stood dry:
So that through riuers, channels and great lakes,
Men their long iourneies safely dry-shod takes.
In this hot time a wealthy swaine did liue,
(Or rather stile of poore I may him giue)
Who had great store of cattell and of sheepe,
But wanted moisture them aliue to keepe;
Who hauing long searcht euery hopefull ground,
(Although in vaine) where moisture might be found,
He now inuokes that God omnipotent;
(Whose eares on faithfull orizons are bent)
And he by inspiration in a dreame,
Grants ease vnto his griefes that were extreme:
Telling him that not farre from that dry land,
Within a certaine valley neere at hand,
He should such store of wholesome water find,
As should giue ease and comfort to his minde.
The swaine at this, takes children and his wife,
And all his wealth (the second to his life)
Leaues neither slaue, nor houshold stuffe behind,
But hasts the blessed vallies helpe to find;
Where he no sooner came, but in the ground
He caus'd to dig, and water did abound.
But now he wants wherewith to take it vp,
And therefore is inforc't to vse a cup,
A little cup, whose little quantity,
Hardly did serue one draught sufficiently.
Which as he held, he said, now my hot thirst
Ile coole, sith it is reason I be first.
The next draught doth vnto my wife belong,
Next to my children (if I doe not wrong:)
When they haue done, my seruants shall begin,
Each as his merit and desert doth winne.
And as they haue bestird themselues with paine,
To make this Wel, from whence this good we gaine.
This said, he then vpon his cattell thought,
The best whereof, he meanes shall take first draught:
And those which leanest were should be the last,
(He thus his damage and his profit cast.)
When euery thing was ordred in his fashion,
He tasts the water first, and cooles his passion;
Next him his wife; his children followed than,
(As he had made the law) man after man.
Now euery one fearing the waters losse,
Began to presse about him, and to crosse,
His fellowes merit where most worth was cast;
All would be first, none willingly the last.
When this a little Parrot had suruaid,
With whom this wealthy shepheard often plaid,
And had in times past made it all his ioy:
Taking delight onely with it to toy:
And when it well had vnderstood their strife,
It clamord forth, Ah woe is my poore life.
I nor his sonne, nor of his seruants am,
Nor for to dig this well I hither came:
Nor can I other profit to him bring,
Then foolish mirth, and idle wantonning.
And therefore must be quite forgot of all,
And made the last on whom last lot must fall.
My thirst is great as their, my death as nie,
Vnlesse I can to better safetie flie:
Therefore I must elsewhere seeke my releefe,
And so away he flies with all his griefe.

My Lord I doe beseech you, with this story,
Packe from your eares, those fooles that from vaine glory,
Thinke that his Holinēs will me raise before,

The Neri, Vanni, Lotti, and some more.
His bastards, Nephewes, kinne and other such,
Shall quench their thirsts ere I the water touch.
Nay there shall step betwixt me and my hope,
All those whose helping hands did make him Pope.
When these haue drunk, their steps forth to be serued,
Whole bandes of martialists half pinde and sterued,
That gainst stout Soderny did weapons beare,
Making his passage into Florence cleere.

One boasts that he in Cassentino was
With Peter, when he scarce from thence could passe,

With his lifes safetie; whil'st Brandino cries,
I lent the money which his honours buyes.
An other doth approue, t'was onely he
Maintain'd his brother with a yearely fee:
And at his proper charges did prouide,
Both horse and armour, and what else beside.
Now if whilst these drinke I stand gazing by,
Either of force the well must be drawne dry:
Or else my thirst my bodies health must slay,
Sith still such violence brookes no delay.
Well, tis much better to liue as I do,
Then to approue if this be true or no:
Or whether fortunes fooles which waite vpon her,
Doe drinke of Lethe when they rise to honour.
Which though it be most true that few doo climbe,
But they forget the daies of former time,
Yet can I hardly say his Holinesse,
Hath drunke much water of forgetfulnesse.
No, I may well protest the contrary,
Since I did find that in his memory
I held my place, and when his foote I kist,
He with a smiling countnance prest my wrist,
Bow'd downe his fore-head from his holy chaire,
And gaue me wordes of grace, and speeches faire,
He gently stroakt my cheekes and did me blisse,
And on them both bestow'd a sacred kisse.

Besides he did bestow that Bull on me,
Which Bibiena after seriously
Dispacht, and got, although I yet did pay
Some bribes before I was dismist away:
But being done, and I ioy'd therewithall,
(All wet through raine & stormes wch then did fall)
Vnto Montano fast I rode that night,
Where I repos'd with merry heart and light.
Thus curteous words and speeches I had many,
But other fauours I possest not any.
But say twere true the Pope should keep his word,
And to me all his promises affoord,
That I might reape the fruits which I did sow,
Both now and elsewhere many yeares agoe:
Imagine with more Miters and red hats
He would adorne me, and with greater states,
Then euer at the Popes great solemne masse,
Hath or beene seene or euer giuen was,
Nay, say he fild vp all my bags with gold,
And cramd my chests as full as they could hold:
Shall yet th' ambition of my greedy mind,
Enough contentments for her humours finde?
Or shall this quench my thirsts consuming fire?
Or will my thoughts take truce with her desire?
No; I from Barb'rie to Catay will goe,
From Dacia, where seuen-headed Nile doth flow:
Not Rome alone must hold my soueraignty,
So of my affections I might master be;
And so I might haue power and both be able,
To tame my thoughts, and hopes vnsatiable.
But when I shall a Cardinall be instald,
Or what is more, seruant of seruants cald,
Nay when I shall aboue the Pope be spi'd,
And yet my minde rest still vnsatisfi'd:
To what end then should I so much disease me,
Or toile my selfe for that which will not please me?
Tis better priuatly to liue, then thus
To vexe and grieue for titles friuolous.
I speake not this, as though my selfe were he,
Whose nature could with no content agree:
But to this end, that sith all greatnesse euer,
Doth in this endlesse Auarice perseuer,
(Who though they all possesse, yet more doe craue.
As if they would imploy them in the graue.)
I thinke its better liue a priuate life,
Then wealth to hold with vnabated strife.

A Tale.

Then when this world in her infancy,
And men knew neither sin nor treachery;
When cheators did not vse to liue by wit,
Nor flattery could each great mans humour fit,
A certaine nation (which I knew not well)
Did at the foot of an high mountaine dwell)
Whose top the heauens counsailes seem'd to know,
(As it appear'd to them that liu'd below)
These men obseruing how the moone did rise,
And keep her monthly progresse through the skies:
And yet how with her horned forehead she
Altred her shape, her face and quantity,
They straight imagin'd if they were so hie,
As the hils top, they easly might espy,
And come where she did dwell to see most plaine,
How she grew in the full, how in the waine.
Resolu'd thereon, they mount the hill right soone,
With baskets and with sackes to catch the moone,
Striuing who first vnto the top should rise,
And make himselfe the master of the prize.
But mounted vp, and seeing that they were
As far off as before, and nere the neare,
Weary and feeble on the ground they fall,
Wishing (though wishes are no helpe at all)
That they had in the humble valley staid,
And not like fooles themselues so much dismaid.
The rest of them which did remaine below,
Thinking the others which so high did show,
Had toucht the Moone, came running after then
By troopes and flockes, by twenties and by ten:
But when the senselesse misconceit they found,
Like to the rest they weary fell to ground.

This lofty mountaine is the Wheele of fate,
Vpon whose top sits roialliz'd in state,
(As ignorance and folly doth suppose)
All quietnesse, all peace, and sweet repose.
But they (alasse) doe all mistake the ground,
For there nor ioy is, nor contentment found.
Now if with riches or with honours went
(Like louing twins) the minds desir'd content:
Then had I reason to commend that wit,
Which were imployd and spent to purchase it.
But when I see both Popes and mighty Kings,
(Who for they soueraignes are of earthly things,
As gods within this world esteemed are)
That they of griefes and troubles haue their share,
I needes must say, content they do not hold,
As long as they haue sorrowes manifold.
Should I in wealth the mighty Turke outgoe,
Or boast more glories then the Pope doth know,
And yet still couet higher to aspire,
I am but poore, through that my more desire.
Well, tis most reason and our best wit,
To liue of things are competent and fit,
Whereby we may not pine away with want,
Nor of our needfulst needments to be scant.
For euery one all strength of reasons haue,
To nourish life, and not liue as a slaue:
But if a man be so sufficient rich,
That he too little hath not, nor too much,
That hath enough his nature to content,
And in desire is not o're vehement:
He that can ease his hunger at his pleasure,
And giue each appetite his equall measure:
He that hath fire to warme him when hee's cold,
A house to shelter him when he is old:
That when he should ride forth is not compeld,
To lacky spaniel-like through euery field,
But to command a horse is alwaies able,
And keepes a man to waite vpon his table:
Besides a cleanely houswife that will keepe
His house in comely order neate and sweet:
If this I haue, what neede I more request?
For hauing thus much I haue all the rest.
Enough is neuer then aboundance lesse,
He that all couets nothing doth possesse.
Besides this duety, reason doth demand,
That on strict termes of honor we doe stand,
Yet in such sort that we be neuer found,
T'exceede the golden meane in any bound;
For nothing is on earth more dangerous,
Then to be noted as ambitious
This is true honour when the world doth cry,
Thou art an honest man, and so dost die:
Which if thou beest not, it will soone be knowne;
And as thy faults are so thy fame is blowne.
Hypocrisie is wouen of fine thrid,
Yet few in these daies can in nets be hid.
Because each one right Reuerend doth thee call,
Or Earle or Baron, Knight or Generall,
I would not haue thee thinke they honor thee,
Vnlesse more in thy selfe then titles bee.
But when I see thy merits worth doth moue
From vertue, then thou shalt enioy my loue.
What glory is't to thee when I behold,
How thou apparel'd art in silkes and gold?
Or that the wondring people with amaze,
As vp and downe thou walk'st vpon thee gaze?
If afterward, assoone as thou art gone,
And thy backe turn'd, they sing this hatefull song:
See there the man who for a bribe in gold,
The gates of Rome vnto the French-men sold,
Which gates to keepe, he had of speciall trust,
Yet sold the same, an art base and vniust.
Fie, fie, how many Knight-hoods here are bought,
How many Bishoprickes desertlesse caught?
Which after being knowne abroad become
The foule disgrace and scandall vnto Rome.
To be an honest man in word and deed,
Though on my backe I weare a course plaine weed,
As much doth please me, as if I did goe,
Royally clad in roabes which kingly shoe,
Let him that will or gold or veluet buy,
For I will not with spots of infamy.
But now me thinkes base Bomba doth reply,
And vnto mine assertions giues the lie:
Saying, let me haue riches, I not care,
Or how they come, or how they purchas't are:
Come they by villany, or by drabs or dice,
Riches are euer of most worthy price.
Vertue is riches bastard, nor doe I
Respect, against me what the vulgar cry.
“All men of no man speaketh reuerently,
“And some haue rail'd against the Deity.
Husht Bomba, husht, doe not flie all so fast,
But flag thy wanton Peacockes traine at last,
I tell thee none blaspheme the Deity,
But such as are more damn'd in villany
Then those who naild their maker to the Crosse,
Whose woes eternally doe mourne their losse:
Meane space the good and honest sort one word,
Will not of goodnes to thy fame affoord.
They say false cardes, false dice, and falser queanes,
Purchast thy liuings and thy large demeanes.
And thou administrest to euery tongue,
Matter to talke of, as thou walk'st along:
VVearing and tearing out more cloth of gold,
More silkes and Tissue from Arabia sold,
Then all the worthy gallants Rome doth breed:
So much thy pride and ryot doth exceed.
Those thefts and cousenages thou shouldst conceale,
Vnto the world and me thou dost reueale,
Making euen fooles and silly Infants know,
That cottages where hardly thatch did grow,
Thou in these few yeares Pallaces hast made,
By thy smooth cheating and thy cousening trade:
The world doth see thy banquets and thy feast,
VVherein thou surfet'st like an o're-fed beast.
Yet thou conceiu'st that thou a gallant art,
And all that smile on thee doe take thy part.
Foole, those same smiles are like the serpents hisse,
And they would kill thee faine which doe thee kisse.
Borno (so no man tell him to his face,
How vile he is) beleeues it no disgrace:
Although behinde his backe he heare men cry,
He hath nor faith, nor loue, nor piety:
And how that worse then bloudy-handed Caine,
He his brother tyrant-like hath slaine:
Although an exiles life he hath endured,
Yet all agree'd all euils now are cured:
And he the whole inheritance hath got,
Without vexation of a Partners lot.
Therefore let all men say what all men can,
Hee'l walke the streetes (sith rich) an honest man.
Another that's as vile as is the best,
Tires out his dayes with labour and vnrest:
Till he haue got a Miter in such fashion,
As shames himselfe, his kinne, and all his nation:
When he no worthier is to beare the load,
Then a base asse is of a purple roabe.
But knew the world how to this height he came,
The very stinke would poyson them with shame.
O times corrupt, O manners worse then nought,
Where nothing but what's vile is sold and bought!
Too true it is which all the world hath told,
All things at Rome, euen heauen for coine is sold.

A Tale.

William surnamed Rufus, when in hand,
He swaid the English Scepter at command,
It chan't a wealthy Abby voide did fall,
Whose great demeanes being rich in generall,
Many came to the King the same to buy,
(For he did money loue exceedingly.
Now when Church-chapmen all were com'd vnto him,
And with their vtmost summes did amply woo him,
He spide a Monke stood halfe behinde the dore,
Whom straight he cald, and bade him come before:
Imagining he came as did the rest,
With full filde bagges, to make his offer best:
And therefore thus the King most graciously
Speakes to the Monke; Tell me man willingly,
What thou wilt giue; great the reuennues are,
And thou free leaue to offer for thy share.
My gracious Lord (the old man did reply)
I came not hither this rich place to buy:
For I am poore: or had I wealth at will,
I would not load my conscience with such ill:
As to ingrosse Church-liuings aboue other,
Making me rich by robbing of my brother.
Besides, I were an Asse to vndertake,
To lay too great a burthen on my backe:
Which to support, I know I am vnfit,
Both for my learning, industry and wit.
Onely I hither came in humble wise,
To beg of him which to this place should rise,
That I this petty fauour might but haue,
To be his Priest, his Beadse-man or his slaue.
The King who heard this olde man gratiously,
And finding in him true humility,
Whence his rare vertues sprang so curiously,
That they exceld his ranke in dignity:
Freely and franckly without recompence,
Gaue him this Abbey and dispatcht him thence.
Saying he it deseru'd most worthily,
Sith he so well could brooke his pouerty.
Neither such gift nor King I ere shall know,
Yet such a minde and thoughts within me grow.
I haue a minde which harbours calme content,
Voide of all lucre, and from malice bent.
And would I fish for liuings, there's no doubt,
But I should easily bring my wish about.
“But home is homely, I am best at ease,
“When I haue none but mine owne selfe to please.
“Riches are still the children of much care,
“Who couets nothing, onely rich men are.
“Great is the labour which doth purchase gaine,
“Greater the sorrow which doth it maintaine.
But once to lose it, euen death doth bring:
I'le no such Bees which haue so sharpe a sting.
Sufficient for my selfe is my small store,
And greatest Monarches doe enioy no more.

I hear by strangers, friends, the world & al,
(Except thy selfe, thrise noble Hanibal)
That thou art now about to take a wife,
Knitting these worlds cares to a better life.
I not mislike that so your fancie stands;
Onely I take vnkindely at your hands,
That vnto me you would not tell your minde,
Since in my counsailes you might comfort finde.
Perhaps thou hast conceal'd it, from this Feare,
Lest I should hap t'oppose what thou hold'st deare;
Thinking because my selfe vnmarried am,
Therefore I marriage will in others blame.
If so thou censur'st me, thou dost me wrong:
For though I neuer knew what did belong,
To wedlocke: yet I neuer haue withstood,
Those which chuse marriage as their chiefest good.
Oft haue I grieu'd, and yet I sadly mourne,
That then to marry, I haue chose to burne.
My selfe excusing that I still was crost,
By hand of Fate, and so my fortunes lost:
For though vnto it I was fully bent,
Occasion still my meaning did preuent.
But this hath euer mine opinion beene,
Nor euer shall there change in me be seene:
That man cannot in perfect goodnesse stand,
Vnlesse he liue within the marriage band:
Nor without women can liue free from sinne.
For he which thrusts such guests out of his Inne,
Is either forc't to borrow of another,
Or thiefe-like without conscience robs his brother.
Besides, who vnto stranger sheetes doth cleaue,
Turnes Cormorant, and temperance doth leaue.
For if to day he feed on Larke or Quaile,
Next morne, heele haue the Phesant or the Raile:
And which is worse, he loseth sense of loue,
And that sweet touch which charity should moue.
Hence comes it, Priests of all men are the worst,
Biting like dogs, with madnesse made accurst.
The whilest no common Palliard, Baud or Slaue,
Carries more viler surfets to his graue.
Borrow of all they doe, but none they pay,
Base are their deedes, how well so ere they say.
Againe, in publique carriage and in show,
They are so voyde of iudgement, and doe goe
So farre from vertue, that I wonder much,
Women will daine but to be toucht by such.
You know tis true, who doe in Regio dwell;
But that all truths, for feare you dare not tell:
Bug-beare confession whispring in your eare,
It is damnation to tell all you heare.
Well, though you nothing say, yet from your eyes,
I reade the depth of all your mysteries,
Of stubborne Modena I speake nought at all,
Who though this great plague did vpon it fall,
Yet it deserueth to be punisht worse,
May on her and her Priests light heauens curse.
But now to you. Elect betimes your mate,
Better too soone to marrie then too late.
And since perforce thou needes this life wilt trie,
Aduenture on it most couragiously.

Doe not as did Doctor Buon Lee old;
Who tooke a wife when all his bloud was cold:
When age had made him for a graue more fit,
Then or for wife or youthfull appetit.
Deferre not thou till age come creeping on,
Lest strength consum'd, thy body suffer wrong.
“Old ages Herbingers are snow-white haires,
“Warme drinks & cloaths are good for many years:
A cup of wine in withred Hermons head,
Is better then a faire maid in his bed:
Age with such liquors often is well eas'd,
Venus with gouts and palsies is not plea'd.

Faire Hymeneus is not painted old,
But youthfull, fresh, with saffron haire like gold:
The old man feeling but some sparkes of fire,
Which with much labour doth but warme desire,
Begins to rouse his ycie spirits vp,
As if he had caroust on Æsons cup:
Much he imagins he can do, when loe,
Strength doth forsake him, ere his strength he know:
And he poore soule euen in his height of pride,
Is conquer'd ere th' encounter he haue tride.
Yet so he must not thinke his wife will yeeld,
Her better spirit better ioyes the field.
“Fire with water, neuer will agree,
“Nor nature will not lose her soueraignty.
But say it were not so; yet in these dayes,
The world being rather giuen to disprayse,
Then to speake well of any, who are they,
Will marry Winter vnto youthfull May?
But they will wish Saint Lukes badge on his head,
And that in horne-bookes he be deeply read.
And thus although they merit not this blame,
Yet can they not escape all poisoning fame,
Who for the most part doth of falshoods prate,
But be it false or true, 'tis then too late
To call it home againe, if once the vent,
About the bussing busie world be sent:
And who his honour or good name doth loue,
Must patient be, for he this crosse must proue.
Yet this bad passion nothing is at all,
But that which we damn'd iealousie doe call:
Although 'tis ill enough when we behold,
An infant whom the cradle doth infold:
And two or three crope newly from the shell,
Who in their clamors do their grieuance tell.
Adde vnto these a pretty girle or twaine,
Whom thou in vertues manners seek'st to traine:
Yet hast not any whom thy soule can trust,
Will honest be to them, or to thee iust.
But rather will allure them by all meanes,
To vitious liuing, and to shamelesse straines.
Chuse wisely then, since thou dost know this curse,
And like our Gentlemen be not found worse.
Many of which buried in cloisters low,
Lie hid, whil'st grasse doth o're their graue stones grow:
On marriage their mindes did neuer set,
Because they meant not children to beget,
And so be forc't that little to disseauer,
Which scarce would serue, when t'was vnite together.
That which in strength of youth they did refuse,
Now growne in yeares most shamefully they chuse,
Shewing themselues to be so base of minde,
That euen in Borish villages they find,
And in the Kitchins greasie scullerie,
With whom to sport themselues lasciuiously.
Boyes are begot, which as in yeares they grow,
Such abiect vile behauiours from them flow,
That they are forc't to marry them perforce,
Vnto Clownes daughters, or to creatures worse;
Euen to crack't Chambermaides broke vp of late,
Because they would not haue their sonnes in state
Of bastardy: and here hence doth proceed,
That noblest houses in Ferara bleed,
With wounds of tainted honour, and with shame,
As all eyes do behold which view the same.
This is the cause the worthies of this towne,
Are seldome seene to flourish in renowne
Of vertue, or of valour, or of artes;
And hence it is their ancestors best parts,
I meane those of the worthy mothers side,
Are of their generous qualities so wide.

My Lord, to marry you doe passing well,
And yet attend these precepts I shall tell.
First thinke thereof, lest when you would retire,
You cannot, being slau'd vnto desire:
In this important matter, most, most great,
Although my counsaile you doe not intreat:
Yet I will shew you how a wife to chuse,
And which mongst women wise men should refuse.
But you perhaps will wondring smile at me,
And place it with impossibility,
That I this waighty charge should vndertake,
Yet neuer knew what meant the married state.
I pray you tell me; hath not your Lordship seene.
When as two gamsters haue at Tables beene:
The third man, which (as looker on) stood by,
More to haue seene in play then they could spy?
If you do finde I shoot neere to the white,
Follow my rules, and hold my iudgement right:
But if you see I roue farre off and wide,
Then both my counsailes and my selfe deride:
And yet before I further do proceede,
Tis meete that first this caution I do reed.
If you to take a wife haue strong pretence,
Yet build your ground on nought but lustfull sense,
'Twere madnesse to perswade you from her loue,
Though reasons gainst her honour I could proue.
If she doe please you, then she vertuous is,
Nor any gift of goodnesse can she misse:
No Rhethoricke, reason, nor no strength of wit,
Can make thee loath when lust rules appetit:
So much thou art besotted on her face,
That reason must to pleasure yeelde her place.
I for a wilfull blinde man am no guide,
But if in lists of wisedome thou wilt bide,
Then scholler-like examine what I say,
And I shall merite thankes another day.

Who so thou art that meanest a wife to take,
(If of thine honour thou account dost make)
Learne what her mother is, that step begin,
And how her sisters liue, how free from sinne:
If we in horses, kine and such like creatures,
Desire to know their lineall race and natures,
What ought we then to doe in these, who are
Then other cattell, more deceitfull farre?
A Hare you neuer saw bring forth a Hart,
Nor do from Doues nests Eglets euer part.
Euen so a mother that is infamous,
Hardly can beare a daughter vertuous.
From trotting races, amblers seldome breed,
From selfe-like natures, selfe-like things proceede.
Besides the branch is like vnto the tree,
And children keepe what first they learned be,
“Ill education spoileth manners good,
“Corrupts best natures, and infects the blood.
“Home-bred examples and domesticke ils,
Grafts errors in cleane brests, & good thoughts kils.
If she perceiues her mother to possesse,
Many faire seruants, she will haue no lesse:
Nay she will more haue, or her better skill
Shall leaue to be the agent of her will:
And this she doth to shew in courtlinesse,
That (then her mother) she is nothing lesse,
And that heauen did with equall bountie place,
Within them both one beautie and one grace.
To know her nurse, and how her life she leades,
What her commercements are, and how she trades:
Whether her father brought her vp or no,
If she can play the cooke, weaue, work or sowe;
Or if in idle courts she haue remainde,
And there in song and musique hath beene trainde.
To iudge the better of her vertues, this
And all the rest to know, most needfull is.
Seeke not a wife, whose stile and noblenesse
Shall fill thy veines with much vaingloriousnesse:
Such oft their husbands vnto wrath prouoke,
Whil'st they to him are nothing else but smoke.
'Tis good to match with one that's nobly borne,
So she her husbands birth hold not in scorne.
Such one take thou, great Lord, as fit shall bee,
Both for thy liuing and thy pedigree:
For hardly thou thy better shalt content,
Vnlesse on her dependance much be spent.
A brace of Pages, seruing Gentlemen,
And for her state a flocke of Gentlewomen;
To keepe their Lady from all faults offence,
Without the which there is no patience.
Nor so content, a Dwarfe she needes must haue,
A Foole, a Pander and a iesting knaue,
With Dogs and Munkies, Parots and such toyes,
Whose idle seruice, idle time destroies:
With other company for cardes and dice,
Whose wits can sort with Courtiers that are nice:
Nor when she takes the ayre, will she forth tread,
Without her rich Caroch well furnished.
But this last charge is nothing to that cost,
Must on more priuate toyes be vainly lost:
Now if thou no such prodigall fond part,
(Who for of birth and liuing chiefe thou art
Within thy natiue home) shalt proue, then know,
The poorer sort such glories dare not show.
If hackneymen do round about the towne,
Run for to let their Coach-horse vp and downe,
What then will he do? who at his command
Hath of his owne, which euer ready stand?
If others two horse keepe, the rich will still
Haue foure at least, yet thinke the draught but ill.
With such an one thou shalt possesse more care,
Then mine Orlando in his madnesse bare.
If she should braule with thee maliciously,
Gouerne with patience her extremity.
And as Vlysses 'gainst the Syrens song,
Made himselfe deafe to shelter him from wrong;
So her expostulatings do not heare,
But 'gainst such clamorous noyse glew vp thine eare.
“When she speaks most, do thou least speech afford;
“For silence cuts a shrow worse then a sword.
“A froward wife for very spite will crie,
“When thy neglect doth scorne her tyrannie.
Haue speciall care that with no foule-mouth'd speach,
Thou mak'st into her fury any breach;
For then thou all confound'st, and one small showre
Will on thy head a world of new stormes powre;
Which with such bitternesse she will declare,
That stings of wasps not halfe so noisome are:

Let her as neare as arte or wit can finde,
Agree with euery humour in thy minde,
That ancient customes in thy house remaine:
And that no danger lurke within her traine,
In being greater then thou can'st support,
For things do fall to ruine in that sort.
I doe not like that beauty whose rare merit
Will praise beyond all excellence inherit;
Nor such a one whose Court audacitie,
Beares her beyond all comely modesty.
T'wixt faire and foule there is a golden meane,
Vnto which path I faine would haue you leane.
A louing maide, not louely striue to chuse;
The faces beauty for the mindes refuse.
Please thy best iudgement; 'tis no matter then,
Though she seeme foule or blacke to other men.
Her to possesse whose beauty doth exceede,
Doth to all curious eies much sorrow breede:
For she euenfrozen hearts doth set on fire,
Making men languish in vnchaste desire.
A world will venture her faire fort to spoile,
Wherein albe she giue some few the foile:
Yet at the last comes one with bribes and praies,
Who so in peeces all her forces teares,
That at the last hauing no more delay,
She yeeldes, and he her honour beares away.
A wife that's more then faire is like a stale,
Or chanting whistle which brings birds to thrall.
Yet on no sluttish foulenes fixe thy minde,
For so perpetuall penance thou shalt finde.
Beauties which are indifferent most me moue,
Faire which is still most faire I doe not loue.
Pure of complexion let her be and good,
And in her cheekes faire circled crimson blood.
Hie colours argue choler and distaste,
And such hote bloods are seldome made to waste.
Let her be milde and witty, but not curst,
Nor foolish, for of all breedes that's the worst.
None so deformed are, or vgly foule,
As fooles, which more are gaz'd at then the Owle:
For if she any fault abroad commit,
Her long-tong'd gossip straight must know of it:
Nothing so priuate can be done or said,
Which through the whole world shall not be conuaid.
Thus she her husband and her selfe doth bring,
To be a scorne to euery abiect thing:
VVhereas the witty wench so carefull is,
There's none shall know albe she doe amisse.
Like to the Cat who buries vnder ground
Her ordure, lest by men it should be found.

Let her be pleasing, full of curtesie,
Lowly of minde, prides deadly enemie:
Pleasant of speech, seldome sad or neuer,
And let her countenance cheerefull be for euer,
A viniger tart looke or clowdy brow,
Furrow'd with wrinckles I doe not allow,
And so to pout or lowre through sullennesse,
Is a strong signe of dogged peeuishnesse.
Let her be bashfull and of modest grace,
Heare, but not answere for thee when in place
Thou art; for 'tis extreamest obloquie,
When she doth prate and thou must silent be.
No idle hous-wife let her euer be,
But alwaies doing something seriously.
Let her well loued selfe, her selfe preserue,
And from all goatish sents her skinne conserue.
Women do oft like golden tombes appeare,
Worthy without when naught within is faire.

Some ten or twelue yeares yonger then thou art,
Elect thy wife, for that's a wise mans part:
Because a womans glories euer faile,
Long ere the mans strength doe begin to quaile,
And so within thine eye will breede dislike,
Ere mutuall yeares thee in like weakenes strike:
Therefore I wish the husbands age should be
Thirty at least, for then th' impatiency
Of youthfull hate beginneth to asswage,
And with more moderation rules his rage.
Let her be such a one as feareth God,
Lest she approue the sting of heauens rod.
Religious, not scrupulous, and 'boue all,
Let her know none whom Puritans we call:
To run frō Church to Church through al the towne,
To weare a thin small ruffe, a bare blacke gowne,
To faine to speake like chickins when they peepe,
Or leare like cats, when they doe seeme to sleepe.
To make long praiers, and goggle vp their eyes,
As if their zeales would teare God from the skies.
To chide if any thing we say is good,
(Excepting God) as Prince, or almes, or food;
Christmas to name but Christ-tide, as it were
Damnation but the bare word masse to heare.
To speake to none that walketh in the streete,
Or with these words, God saue you, any greete:
Not to looke vp, but fixe on earth the eye,
Apparant signes are of hypocrisie.
God pleased is with plainenesse of the hart,
And not with dumbe showes of the outward part:
Such as her life, such her religion is,
Where arts and words agree not, al's amisse.
I would not that acquaintance she should haue,
With a precision Frire, for hee's a knaue,
They vnder colour of confession frame
Mischiefe, and many Matrons doe defame,
Nor shall she feast them with delicious fare,
For they but counterfeits and cheaters are:
To widdowes, wiues and maides they do remaine,
Vild, as in haruest are great showers of raine,
Let her owne beauty be her owne delight,
Without adulterate painting, red or white;
Nature hath fixt best colours to the face,
No art hath power to giue so sweet a grace.
Great paines to little purpose, and much shame,
They spend, who to adorne their bodies frame,
Do profitlesse consume whole daies away,
Let such a one not in thy fauour stay.
A golden time, a glorious world it was,
When women had no other looking-glasse
Then the cleare fountaine, and no painting knew,
But what they from the simple slicke-stone drew.
Complexion now in euery place is sold,
And plaister-wise daub'd vpon yong and old.
Olde jades must haue red bridles, and the hag
Will not in toyes behind the yongest lag.
Knew Herculan but where those lips of his,
He layeth when his Lidia he doth kisse,
He would disdaine and loth himselfe as much,
As if the loath som'st ordure he did touch.
He knowes not, did he know it he would spew,
That paintings made with spettle of a Iew:
(For they the best sell) nor that loathsome smell,
Though mixt with muske and amber ner'e so well,
Can they with all their cunning take away,
The fleame and snot so ranke in it doth stay.
Little thinkes he that with the filthy dung,
Of their small circumcised infants young,
The fat of hideous serpents, spaune of snakes,
Which slaues from out their poisonous bodies takes:
All which they doe preserue most curiously,
And mixe them in one body cunningly,
Making that vnguent, which who buyes to vse,
Buyes hell withall, and heauen doth refuse.
Fie how my queasie stomacke vp doth rise,
To thinke with what grosse stuffe in beastly wise,
They make this hatefull vomite of the face,
With which fond women seeke themselues to grace,
Daubing their cheekes in darke holes with the same,
Lest the daies eye should tell the world their shame:
But knew men which do kisse them, what I know,
They would so farre in detestation grow,
That ere they would touch maskes so foule as this,
Mensis profluuium they would gladly kisse.
Nay knew but women how they are abus'd,
By these plague-salues (so generally vs'd
Of them) and by those drugs where with they fill
Their closets, cabinets and cofers still:
They soone would finde their errours, and confesse,
'Tis they alone which makes, them beautilesse.
This curious painting when they vndertake,
True natures beauty doth the cheeke forsake:
All that is excellent away is fled,
Hating to liue with hell, being heauen-bred.
Likewise those waters which they vse with care,
To make the pearle-teeth orient and more faire,
Turnes them to rottennesse, or blacke like hell,
Whil'st from their breaths doth issue forth a smell,
More noysome then the vilest iakes can yeeld,
Or carrion that corrupts within the field.
Well, let thy wife to none of these sins cleaue,
But to the Court these rarer cunnings leaue.

Let her apparell be in comly fashion,
And not straguized after euery nation.
Head-tires in shape like to a Corronet,
With pearle, with stone, and iewels richly set,
Befits a Princesse right; a veluet hood,
With golden border, for thy wife's as good.
The Loome, the Needle and fine Cookery,
Doth not disparage true gentility.
Nor shall it be amisse, if when thou art,
Within thy Country home, thy wife impart.
Her house-wifely condition, and suruay
Her Dayrie and her milke-pans once a day.
The greatest states in these daies will respect
Their profits, when their honours they neglect.
But her cheefe care shall on thy children be,
To bring them vp in each good quality.
And thus, if such a wife thou can'st attaine,
I see no reason why thou should'st refraine.
For say that afterward her minde should change,
And from corrupter thoughts desire to range:
Or that she seekes to scandalize her house
With blacke disdaine, or shame most impious,
If in her haruest yeares thou com'st to mow,
And find'st where corne was, nought but weedes do grow:
Yet thou thy selfe as faulty, can'st not blame,
But spitefull Fate, the Author of defame:
And that her infancy was misgouerned,
And not in vertue truely nurtered.
Thou can'st but sory be for her offence,
When want of grace doth draw on impudence.
But he that like a blinde man doth run on,
And takes the first his fortunes fall vpon,
Or he that worse doth (as doth basest he)
Who though he know her most vnchaste to be:
Yet he will haue her in dispite of all,
Euen though the world him hatefull wittall call:
If after sad repentance him importune,
Let him accuse himselfe for his misfortune:
Nor let him thinke any will moane his case,
Since his owne folly bred his owne disgrace.

But now since I haue taught thee how to get,
Thy best of choyce, and thee on horsebacke set,
Ile learne thee how to ride her: wild or tame,
To curbe her when, and when to raine the same:

No sooner thou shalt take to thee a wife,
But thou shalt leaue the old haunts of thy life,
Keepe thine owne nest, lest some strange Bird lie hid,
And doe by thee as thou by others did.

Like a true Turtle with thine owne Doue stay,
Else others 'twixt thy sheetes may falsly play.
Esteeme her deare, and loue her as thy life,
No matchlesse treasure like a loyall wife.
If thou-wilt haue her like and honour thee,
First let her thine affections amply see:
What shee doth for thee, kindly that respect,
And shew how thy loue doth her loue affect.
If by omission shee doe ought amisse,
In any thing that gainst thy nature is:

With loue and not with furie let her know,
Her errors ground, for thence amendments grow.
A gentle hand, A Colt doth sooner tame,
Then chaines or fetters which doe make him lame.
Spaniels with stroking we doe gentle find,
Sooner then when they coopled are or pinde.
These kind of Cattell gentler then the rest,
Without the vse of rigor doe the best.
Good natures by good vsage best doe proue,
Disdaine breedes hate, tis loue ingenders loue.
But that like Asses they should beaten be,
Neither with sense nor reason doth agree:
For where loues art auailes not, there I feare,
Stroakes will more bootlesse and more vile appeare.
Many will boast what wonders they haue wrought
By blowes, and how their wishes they haue caught.
How they haue tam'd their shrewes and puld them down,
Making thē vaile euen to the smallest frown.
But let those giants which such boastings loue,
Tell me what they haue got, and it will proue,
Their wiues their blowes on hands & face do beare,
And they their wiues markes on their foreheads weare.
Besides who least a wicked wife can tame,
Doth oftest brag that he can do the same.
Remember she is neighbour to thy heart,
And not thy slaue; she is thy better part.
Thinke 'tis enough that her thou maist command,
And that she doth in loue-knots loyall stand;
Although thy power thou neuer doe approue,
For that's the way to make her leaue to loue.
Giue her all wishes whilest she doth desire,
Nothing but that which reason doth acquire.
And when thou hast confirm'd thee in her loue,
Preserue it safe, let nothing it remoue.
And yet to suffer her do all she will,
Without thy knowledge, may much vertue kill.
So likewise to mistrust without all reason,
To perfit loue is more then open treason.
To go to feasts and weddings 'mongst the best,
Is not amisse: for there suspect is least.
Nor is it meete, that she the Church refraine,
Sith there is vertue, and her noble traine.
In publique markets and in company,
Is neuer found adulterous villany.
But in thy gossips or thy neighbours house,
And therefore hold such places dangerous.
Yet as deuotion to the Church her leades,
Thou shalt do wel to marke which way she treades:
For oftentimes the goodly prey is still
The cause why men do steale against their will.
Chiefly take heed, what consort she liues in,
Beware of Wolues that weare the Weathers skin.
Marke what resort within thy house doth moue,
Many kisse children for the nurses loue.
Some for thy wiues sake much will honour thee,
Do not with such men hold society.
When shee's abroad, thy feare is of small worth,
The danger's in the house when thou art forth.
Yet wisely watch her, lest she do espie
Thy politicke and waking ielousie.
Which it she do, then is her reason strong,
Thee to accuse, that dost her causelesse wrong.
Remoue all causes what so er'e they be,
Which to her name may couple infamy.
And if shee needes will cast away all shame,
Yet let the world know thou art not to blame.
I know no other rules to set thee downe,
How thou maist keepe vnstaind thy wiues renowne.
Nor how thou maist keepe men from hauing power,
Thy wiues chaste honours basely to deuoure.
And yet I'le tell thee this, if she haue will
To tread awry, thou must not thinke through skill
To mend her, for she is past all recure,
And what she will do thou must needes indure.
Do what thou can'st by art or obseruation,
She will create thee of a forked fashion.
Al's one if thou doe vse her ill or well,
When women are resolu'd, spite heauen or hell
They will strike saile, and with lasciuious breath,
Bid all men welcome, though it be their death.
And for you shall not iustly thinke I lie,
Lend but your eare to this true historie.

A Tale.

There was a Painter whom I cannot name,
That vsed much to picture out the Diuell,
With face and eyes fit for a louely dame:
No clouen feet, nor hornes, nor any euill.
So faire he made him, and so formally,
As whitest snow, or purest Iuory.
The diuell who thought it very great disgrace,
The Painter should ore'come in curtesie,
Appear'd to him in sleepe face to face,
Declared what he was in breuity:
And that he came but onely to requite,
His paines in painting him so faire and white.
And therefore wil'd him aske what so he would,
Assuring him to haue his whole request.
The wretch who had a wife of heauenly mould,
Whose beauty brought his iealous braines vnrest,
Intreated for the ending of that strife,
Some meanes to be assured of his wife.
Then seem'd the diuell to take a goodly ring,
And put it on his finger, saying this;
So long as thou shalt weare this pretty thing,
Thou maist be sure she cannot do amisse.
But if thou vse to leaue this ring vnworn,
Nor man nor diuell can keepe thee from the horne.
Glad was this man, and with his gladnesse waked,
But scarcely had he opened both his eyes,
Before he felt his wife starke belly naked:
And found his finger hid betweene her thighes.
Remembring then his dreame how it concluded,
He thought the diuell had him in sleepe deluded.
And yet not so; (quoth he) for it is true
If so we meane our wiues shall be no flingers,
There is no such deuice, nor old nor new,
As still to weare such rings vpon our fingers:
For else though all our haires were watchful eies,
We should not see their subtill treacheries.
Nor can this policy scarce vs auaile,
For if she meaneth Chaucers least to try,
She to another will her loue entaile,
Although she knew she for the same should die.
The slie Venetian lockt his Ladies ware,
Yet through her wit Acteons badge he bare.
My Lord, few married men do liue content,
Their wiues as crosses vnto them are sent:
So must I say the single life is ill,
Sith in the same dwels many troubles still.
Yet better tis in Purgatory dwell
A little space, then alwayes liue in hell.
What my best strength of reasons are you see,
And therefore your owne caruer you may be.
T'is all but one resolue, who e're is borne
To marry, likewise must possesse the horne.
Yet I but merrily do write and iest;
The married mans estate of all is best:
And they who cannot chastly leade their liues,
May in the world finde many worthy wiues.
One of the best of which I wish to you,
One that is louing, loyall, wise and true.

This day hath fully sum'd an euen yeare,
Since hither first I made my sad repaire:
(Leauing Ferrara, wher I first drew breath,
By endlesse toile to hasten speedy death)

Hither where swift Turrita, Serchio meetes,
Betwixt two bridges whence their billowes fleetes,
Making continuall noise through diuers springs:
Which their owne flowing waters to them brings.
To gouerne as the Duke did me assigne,

His poore distressed flocke of Graffanine,

Which crau'd his aid assoone as Leo died,
Because the Romish yoke they would not bide,
Euen Leo who with much sterne cruelty,
Had brought them to the gate of misery,
And worse had done, but that the mighty hand
Of heauen, did all his tyranny withstand.
And this the first time is in all this while,
That euer I did write or ought compile:
Or to the learned Muses haue made sute,
But dumbly liued, tong-ti'd and sadly mute:
The strangenesse of this place hath so dismaide me,
That like a fearefull bird I durst not play me,
Who hauing chang'd her cage, flutters her wing,
And through amazement scar'd, doth feare to sing.
(Kinde kinseman) that my case is in this sort,
And that from me thou hast not heard report,
Wonder thou not, but rather doe admire,
That in this space my breath did not expire,
Seeing I am an exil'd man, at least
An hundred miles from that I fancie best;
Since riuers, rockes, and mountaines 'boue the skies,
Keepes me from her is dearer then mine eyes.
All other businesses which me concerne,
I can excuse, and from mine ease do learne,
To make my friends conceiue in generall,
That all my greatest faults are veniall.
But to thy selfe I will in plaine phrase speake,
And all mine inward cogitations breake.
To thee I'le shriue my selfe, for thou shalt know,
Both how my wisedome and my follies grow;
Where as to others should I so much tell,
My folly would be made my passing-bell,
To ring my death of wit, whilst with sterne looke,
The world would hardly my confession brooke:
Saying no question he is mighty wise,
Which can see nothing, yet hath both his eyes:
And is most fit to be a foole to other,
When his affects he cannot rule nor smother.
Fie, to be fifty yeares, and yet to glow,
As if I did but fully fifteene know.
And then he tels the Scriptures strictest lawes,
Both Scriu'ners Adages, and olde mens sawes.
Well, though I erre, I am not fully blinde,
But can my blouds fault in large measure finde:
And which is more, I do condemne the same,
And not as others do, defend my shame.
But what auailes my penance, when nearelesse
I know my faults, yet make my faults no lesse,
Or since no precious Antidote I finde.
To heale the ranckling vlcer of my minde?
But thou art wiser, since when thou dost please,
Thou can'st affections sicknesses appease,
Which being hid in man, Nature doth mixe,
And to mans inward soule the same doth fixe.
This is the worst the world of me can say,
Whose ill perhaps may haue a worse display
Then it deserues, although some verball care
They haue of me, when great their sorrowes are,
(And would haue more) if I could this redresse,
And these my fleshly motions quite suppresse.
Those which in this world speake most curiously,
Close in their hearts the deepest iniury.
Thou know'st I know the world hath many a slaue
That will blaspheme, sweare, curse, be mad and raue,
Accusing others that they Cuckolds be,
When his weake iudgement hath no power to see,
How goodly, large and spreading is that horne,
Which his owne forehead many yeares hath borne.
Others diseases euery one can spie,
But none will mend his owne deformity.
We can reproue in strangers what's amisse,
And see not in our selues what vilder is,
We take delight that we can reprehend,
When t'were more generous our selues to mend.
The wallet which behind hangs with sins store,
We neuer see, our eies are both before.
I neither kill, nor strike, nor do contend,
Nor am I hurtfull, but the whole worlds friend;
The worst I doe, is that I onely grieue,
Because I cannot with my mistris liue.
And thinke it torment more then torments be,
To liue from her which onely liues in me,
And yet I not forget t'acknowledge this,
That herein onely I do still amisse:
Yet not so ill but that by intercession,
I may be pardon'd through mine owne confession.
The vulgar sort with water oftentimes,
(Not onely greater faults then my small crimes)
Wash cleane away, but (which breeds greater shame)
Baptizeth vice with noble vertues name.
Hermilan that is growne so couetous,
(As to behold the same, 'tis monstrous)
Nor rests by day, nor slumbers in the night,
But makes his gold his God, and his delight:
No loue of friend or brother will he hold,
Hates his owne selfe, loues nothing but his gold,
Yet is esteem'd a man of industry,
Of perfit wisedome and great policy.
Raynard swels big, and doth disdaine his state,
Lookes as the world would tremble at his hate.
He thinkes himselfe what he can neuer be,
And feedes his hope with idle imagery,
He will surpasse in spending ill-gotten wealth,
And in apparell goes beyond himselfe.
A steward he will haue, a Huntsman, Faulkoner,
A Cooke, a Chamberlen, and a curious Caruer.
Lordships he sels, and makes them flie away,
A mannor or a parke goes euery day.
What his old auncestry had many yeares
Gathred together, and left vnto their heirs,
That with immoderate lauishnes, he spends,
And through the world in all disorder sends.
But what for this? none murmures at his will,
Nor doth demand why he consumes thus ill:
But rather call him most Magnanimous,
Most bountifull, gallant and vertuous.
The common sort, the Hydra multitude,
Thus with their flattery do him delude.

Solonio so much businesse takes in hand,
And meddles so with all things in the land,
That euen the waight is able to confound
The strongest horse that euer trod on ground.
Within the custome-house he hath a charge,
And in the Chancery a Patent large:
To Ports and Keyes immediately he flies,
Where both his profite and commandment lies.
To Castell Angelo then will he scowre,
And all this done in minute of an howre,
The very quintessence of all his braines,
He doth distill to bring the Pope new gaines:
Nor doth his cares or painfull studies end
To any thing saue profite onely tend,
It ioyes his heart when he heares rumor say,
That with his toiles he wastes his life away.
And so that to his Lord he crownes may bring,
He nor respects acquaintance, friend nor kinne.
The people hate him, and they haue good cause,
Since it is true, 'tis he which onely drawes
The Pope to plague the Citie, and still lades
Her with new customes, taxes, and intrudes.
Yet a Magnifico this fellow is,
High stated, and can nothing do amisse.
Whil'st like to Peassants, Noble-men not dare
To come to him, and their great suites declare;
But they must cap and crouch, and bare head stand,
As if he were the Monarch of the land.

Laurino takes vpon him (of pure zeale)
In vpright iustice, chiefe affaires to deale.
His countrey hee'le defend through his deserts,
Whil'st publike good to priuate he couerts.
Three he exiles, but sixe to death he sends,
Begins a Foxe, but like a Lion ends.
From tyrannie his strength he doth create,
Whil'st gifts and bribes do euen dam vp his gate:
The wicked he doth raise, the good keepes downe,
And yet this man is rich in all renowne;
He is renownd to be both iust and good,
When he is full of whordome, theft and blood.
Where he should honour giue, he giues disgrace,
Malice with pride, and pride with wealth doth place:
Whom he should most releeue, he most offends,
His ope-eyd iustice, loues none but his friends,
Crowes oft for Swans, & Swans he takes for Crows,
Now knew his iustice but my loue-sicke woes,
What sowre faces from him would appeare,
Like him that on a close-stoole straining were?
Well, let him speake his pleasure with the rest,
I care not for their speeches, that's the best;
Onely thee which art mine onely friend,
I do confesse my pleasures are at end,
Since I first hither ('gainst my will) was tost,
My ioyes are gone, and my delights are lost.
This of my reasons I haue chiefest tride,
Though others more I could alleadge beside,
Why I haue left Pernassus learned mount,
Nor with the Muses talk't as I was wont.
Then when with thee in Reggio I did stay,
(My natiue soile) and past the time away,
In all best iouiall solace and delight,
Priding my selfe in waighty verse to write,
Those glorious places did me amply good,
Reuiu'd my spirites and inflam'd my blood.
Thy Mauritanian lodge for banqueting,
With all the worthiest pictures flourishing,
And call my Rodanus not farre from thence,
Of water-nimphes the choisest residence;
Thy crystall fishponds, and thy garden, which
A siluer spring with moisture doth inrich,
Watring by art those checker'd flowers still,
And in the end fal's downe into a Mill:
O how I wish for that and for the rest,
Which whil'st I did enioy my sense was blest.
Nor can my memory forgoe the thought,
Of those braue Vines from fertill Luco brought;
Those valleis, nor those hils, nor that high Tower
Can I forget, where I haue many an hower
Repos'd and search't out every shadowie place,
The Fresco coole I loued to imbrace:
Whil'st I one booke or other would translate,
Which forraine Authors did communicate.
O then I youthfull was and in my prime,
My yeares euen Aprill, or the springs best time,
Which now are like October, somewhat colde:
For I begin, and shall e're long be olde.
But neither can the fountaine Helicon,
Nor Ascras valleies, no nor any one
Be of the power to make my verses sing,
Vnlesse my heart be free from sorrowing:
Which being so, then this place where I dwell,
Is not for study, sith it is my hell,
When here no pleasure is, nor any ioy,
More then dissention, horror and annoy.
This soile I barren and vnwholsome finde,
Subiect to stormes, to tempests and to winde.
One part is hilly, th' other low and plaine,
Wherein there doth no pleasantnesse remaine.
The place wherein I liue is like a cell,
Deepe and descending downeward as to hell.
From thence there's none can come at any time,
Vnlesse he passe the riuer Appenine.
I tell thee gentle Cuz, ill is my taking,
Since thus of all my friends I am forsaken.
For stay I in my house, or to the aire
Seeke to disburden some part of my care,
Nothing I heare but spitefull accusations,
Brawles, brabbles, or more shamefull acclamations,
Murthers and thefts, and such like villanie,
To which I must attend most patiently.
This is the cause I one while am compel'd
With mildest reasons to make some men yeeld,
Others to threaten, and by force to draw,
Others to punish by strict penall law,
Some I absolue, to some I pardon giue,
In hope hereafter they will better liue.
Then to the Duke I straight doe packets write,
For counsaile or for souldiers which must fight,
To th' end those out-lawes which about me stay,
May or be slaine, or driuen quite away:
For one thing I must let thee vnderstand,
That in most wretched state abides this land.
Since the wilde Panther first, the Lyon then,
Did in this wofull countrey make their den,
So many lurking theeues doe here abide,
And in such number flocke on euery side,
As not the best commanders which we haue,
(Whose charge is to pursue them to the graue:
Dares with his ensigns spread, their strengths inuade
Such proofes the slaues haue of their valors made:
So that he wisest is which safe doth stand,
And stirs not to take danger by the hand.
Still I doe write, and write to him againe,
Whom it concernes, but all my labour's vaine:
For though he send (as reason is he should)
Yet he not sends that answere which I would,
Each Castell armes (within it selfe) doth take,
And fourescore three in number they doe make
Of periur'd rebels, who maliciously
Spoile their owne countrey with hostilitie.
Iudge then if great Apollo when I call,
Will come to shew himselfe to me at all,
Leauing his Cynthian or his Delphian shore,
To heare these brabbles, which he doth abhorre,
Both he and all his sacred sisters nine,
To looke vpon such places doe repine.
But here thou maist demand of me the cause,
Which me to this vexation headlong drawes,
Leauing my studie with obscure neglect,
And my deare mistresse without all respect.

O Cuz, thou know'st I ne're was couetous,
Nor from ambition haue beene enuious.
With a poore pension I haue beene content,
Which in Ferrara got, I there haue spent:
But thou perhaps this chance didst neuer know,
That when the warres began with vs to grow,

The Duke but slowly did my pension pay,
And at the last did take it quite away.
During the warres I grieu'd not to be barr'd,
Of my best due, but when as after ward,
All things was quiet and the world at peace,
It troubled me to see my payment cease.

And so much more, since by ill boading fate,
I then had lost an office in the state,
In Millain, through this vnexpected warre,
Hoping in vaine, short time would end the iarre:
Horses do sterue (they say) whil'st grasse doth spring,
And I found he said true that so did sing.
At last vnto the Court I weary came,
And thus my suite vnto the Duke did frame;
My gracious Lord (said I) vouchsafe some gaine
Vnto the elder merits of my paine:
Or suffer me that I may else pursue
My fortunes some where else, and not with you.
The Graffanini at that time by chance,
Began themselues with courage to aduance,
Being perswaded by Marzoccus song,
To leaue the Pope who then had done them wrong;
And thereupon sent many embassies,
Vnto our Duke their mindes to specifie:
Th' effect was this, they did humbly craue,
They might their ancient priuiledges haue,
With their old customes; whereto he's content,
And they forthwith yeeld to his gouernment.
And hence it came out of some sodaine grace,
I chosen was to gouerne in that place,
Either because the time so short did grow,
That well he knew not where he might bestow
The office but on me: or for I best,
Might spared be as one of merite least;
For which I count my selfe with humblenesse,
Bound by this grace vnto his mightinesse.
It is his loue which bindes me to his grace,
For which I thanke him more then for this place,
Which though beyond my spirits it aspire,
Yet doth it not accord with my desire.
Now if about these rebels you demand,
What mine opinion is; it thus doth stand:
They rather did deferue seuerity,
Then any touch of gentle lenity:
For when I do but call into my minde,
How periur'd and perfidious I them finde,
Although what e're I did was still to ease them,
Yet there's no doubt but I did still displease them.
They nor like me, nor I their countrey loue,
And therefore daily pray for my remoue.
In this I do resemble Æsops Cocke,
Who hauing found a pearle, the same did mocke.
A place I haue obtain'd of gaine and fame,
And yet (in sooth) I care not for the same.

As with the Sea Venetian, so with me
It fares, to whom a swift-foot Barbarie,
(A gallant horse) was giuen by the King
Of Portugale for some great meriting,
Who for he would shew that he did accept,
His royall gift, and not the same reiect;
Forgetfull how the difference to discerne,
T'wixt vse of bridles, and the tall ships sterne,
Mounts on his backe, and therewith taketh hold,
Vpon the pomell, like a horse-man bold:
That done he strikes his spurs into his side,
Saying softly to himselfe, for all thy pride,
Thou shalt not fling me downe do what thou can,
If the girthes hold, I'le shew my selfe a man.
The fiery jade, feeling the wounding spurre,
Began to plunge, to bound and keepe a sturre:
Which when the good old Sea-man felt, he more,
Drawes in his bridle then he did before:
And spurs him worse both on the flankes and side,
Till with his blood his riders heeles were dide.
The horse not vsed to be ridden so,
Nor can his riders doubtfull meaning know,
The bridle holding backe, and bidding stand,
The spurre to go on forward doth command;
But in the end, madly resolu'd thereon,
Flat on the ground he flings Sir Pantalon.
Our great Magnifico lies on his backe,
And cries as he were tortur'd on a racke,
With thighes all sore, and shoulders out of ioynt,
His head sore bruis'd, his heart at deaths last point,
All pale with griefe and feare in piteous wise,
Besmear'd with durt, at last he vp doth rise:
Right malecontented that he was so mad,
To deale in that where he no iudgment had.

Farre better had he done, and so had I,
He with his horse, I with his country,
T'haue said my Liege, or Lord, I am not fit
For this high place, nor doe I merit it.
This bounty doth exceed what I deserue,
Let it some better worthes, and not mine serue,
If eyther I or he had beene thus plaine,
I had had much more ease, he lesser paine.

Bembo , I nothing couet or require
(Though tis the careful parēts strōg desire)
So much, as I might my Virginio see,
Rarely instructed in Philosophy,
Which who so hath he then is in request,
And may take vp his ranke amongst the best.
Now since I know that thou most learned art,
And of each liberall science hold'k best part:
Euen from my best of loue, I humbly craue
That of this youth, some watchfull care thou haue
And yet I would not haue thee to conceiue,
That with thee any trouble I would leaue:
Or that I would thou should'st his Pedant be
To teach him Grammar rules industriously
Tis not my mind: for I would haue thee know,
Better good manners doth within me grow.
Such men of worth as thou, and of thy place,
With these disparagements we doe not disgrace:
Onely my meaning is that at thy leasure,
Thou would'st vouchsafe to doe me that high pleasure,
As to bethinke thee, if vnto this end,
Thou know'st in Venice any worthy friend,
Or else in Padoa 'mongst the learned throng,
Who speakes the Grecian and the Caldean tong;
Skilfull in knowledge, iust in deed and word,
With whom he may haue learning and his board.
If such a one thou know'st of worth and skill,
He shall (with reason) haue what e're he will:
Let him be learned, but especially
Looke that his life be fixt to honesty:
For if in vertue he doe not surmount,
Of th' other qualities I make no account.
'Tis easie to finde learned, but we can
Hardly finde out a learned honest man.
For in this age, who most of art doth braue,
Hath oft most vice (reading makes him a knaue.)
Besides, the Peccadillos small of Spaine,
They say he in his speeches doth maintaine.
Of Atheisme they him challenge, and approue
The faith Apostolike he doth not loue:
Nor of that Vnity (admired most)
Betwixt the Father, Sonne and holy Ghost.
He cannot thinke how th' one from th' other goes,
Like diuers springs wch from one fountaine flowes:
Nor can he in his sense conceiue how one,
Should or be three, or that three still be one.
He rather thinketh that if hold he shall,
An argument quite opposite to all,
Contesting with all sacred verity,
Alleadging for sound reason Sophistrie;
That then his wit is excellent and rare,
And his conceit beyond the best compare,
Making the world beleeue he climbes the ayre,
And reaches to Iehouah's sacred chaire.
If Nicoletto preaching holy writ,
Or famous Martin with his learned wit,
Suspected be of infidelitie,
Or if they chance to hold strong heresie:
Their too much knowledge, I accuse thereof,
Nor will I angry be thereat or scoffe,
Sith, their ambitious spirits mounting hie,
To search Gods deepe forbidden secrecie,
No maruell 'tis though they confounded are,
When they beyond their strengths will wade so far.

But thou whose study is humanity,
Wherein no such depth lies confusedly:
Whose subiects are the woods and shaddowing hils,
Or crystall springs whence water cleans'd distils:
Whilest thou old martiall stories dost rehearse,
And blaze abroad in proude Heroicke verse:
Or with the Rethoricke of sweet wordes dost moue,
And turnest harsh thought into pliant loue,
Or else with pleasing flattery too too base,
Princes dost praise when they deserue disgrace:
Tell me what thou in thy conceit dost find,
That thou with madnes should'st perturbe thy mind?
Or what doth with thy knowledge disagree,
That thou as others should'st not honest be?
The name thou did'st receiue when thou wert born
Of Saint or of Apostle, thou dost scorne:
When thee thy suerties do Christian make,
And so into the holy Church do take,
In Cosnico or in Pomponio,
Thou changest Peter to Pierio,
Iohn into Iano or Iouinian:
Turning the Cat Renuerso in the pan,
As if the worse thou should'st be for the name,
Or thou thereby should'st purchase greater fame,
To be a better Poet, then if seriously
Thou plid'st thy booke with lesser vanity.
Such fooles as these, are such as Plato did,
From euery ciuill Common-wealth forbid
By his graue discreet lawes, since he well knew,
Nor good nor profite would from them accrew.
Yet Phœbus musicke nor Amphions art,
Shall not compare with these in any part;
Nor those which first did holy verse deuise,
Whose sacred tunes perswaded Angell wise,
Men for to liue with men, and to giue o're
To feed like beasts on Achornes (as before)
Whil'st in the woods and thickets wofully,
They sauage-like did range confusedly.

Most true it is, such as were strong'st of all,
(Whose lawlesse force the weakest did enthrall,
Taking from thē their flocks, their food, their wiues,
And oftentimes (without all cause) their liues,
At last became obedient to that law;
Which to be needfull for themselues they saw,
Whilest following plowes and tilling of the land,
They iustly got by labour of their hand,
And through the sweat which issued from their paines,
The worthy haruest of their honest gaines.
Hence did the learn'd perswade the ignorant,
And simple people who did iudgement want,
That Phœbus built vp Troy with musickes sound,
And Amphions harp rais'd Thebes out of the ground:
That musicke could make mountaines to obay,
And stones to daunce about when they did play:
As Orpheus did, who with his holy song,
Lyons and Tygres drew with him along.
Yet thinke not though 'gainst these of mine owne coat,
I thus enueigh with loud and open throat,
But that (besides vs Poets) I doe see,
In other schoolemen as much vanity,
Who doe deserue worse punishment then speach,
If to the world I durst their crimes appeach.
'Tis not Quintilian, 'tis not he alone,
That doth his Scholers villanies bemone,
But others, whom if here I should display,
And tell their vices, thou would'st quickly say,
That from Pistoius closset (not from mine)
They stolne haue, and from Peter Aretine.
From others studies, honour oft and shame
I reape, and so with pleasure mixe defame:
Yet not in such wise as when I doe spie,
That Poets praise as well do liue as die.
More I do grieue and inwardly lament,
To heare how faire Aonio by consent,
Is senselesse held without all braine or wit,
And that the winde so wauering doth not flit:
Then if from some most foolish Doctors voice,
His neare Ally in folly and in choice,
I should haue heard the same, to whom some foole,
(Like to himselfe) in his vnlettred schoole,
The selfe same honour on his fame should clap,
With a scarlet gowne and formall corner cap.
It grieues me more that weake Placidian still
With feasts and surfets should his olde age fill,
As when he did his youths first heat enioy;
And that from man he should become a boy:
Then for to know how that the same disease,
Andronico my neighbour doth displease,
Who hath possest it full this seauen yeare,
And yet (as at the first) is nothing cleare.
If it be told me, greedy Pandarus
Is o're-much griping, Curio iealous,
That Ponticus affects Idolatry,
And Flauius sweareth most egregiously:
It doth with spite goe to my heart more neare,
Then when for small gaines I Cusatro heare
False iudgements vpon any one to fixe,
Or that Masse Baptist doth strong poison mixe
Amongst his Phisicke, whilst (through trechery)
His Spanish figs kils vs vnnaturally.
Or, sith that Master in Theologie,
(The counterfeit of deepe Diuinity)
Who (for the nonce) to doe his country wrong,
Mixeth his Burgamaskes with the Tuscan tongue,
Keepeth in pay a sniueling durty whore,
Who at one birth two bastards to him bore:
Whil'st for to please her greedy ne're-fild gut,
He spends Gods cope vpon that brothell slut,
Though his own sterued mother 'mongst the poore,
Goes vp and downe, and begs from doore to doore:
Yet afterward I heare him blushlesse cry,
As if he were nought else but sanctitie,
Saying I am the man doth pray and fast,
Giues almes, and leads my life pure virgine chast:
And which is more, thou know'st O God aboue,
Deare as my selfe I doe my neighbour loue.
But neither this dissembling nor the rest,
Brings to my thoughts or trouble or vnrest,
So that it shall nor breake my quiet sleepe,
Nor me from food or other pleasures keepe.
It is not me, it is themselues they wound,
The sores whereof will on their soules be found.
But to returne from whence this speech me draue,
I for my sonne would such a Master haue,
As by my good will with these vgly crimes,
Should not be stain'd, nor challeng'd by the times:
One that would truly make him vnderstand,
From the great language (so loued in our land)
What politicke Vlysses did at Troy,
Both of his trauels, and his sad annoy;
Or all that euer Appolonius writ,
Or what Euripides (that fount of wit)
With Tragedies of stately Sophocles,
And the Astrean Poets workes of praise.
To them adde Pindarus, whose famous bookes
Call'd Galatea from the water-brookes:
With all those other writers, which so long
Haue beene renowned for the Greekish tongue.
Already hath my selfe taught him to know,
Virgil and Ouid, and Horace long agoe.
Plautus and Terence he doth vnderstand,
And oft haue seene them acted in our land.
Thus (without me) by this his Latin aide,
He may hereafter safe to Delphos traide:
Nor can he misse the way to Hellicon,
But safely to his iourney's end passe on.
Yet that his iourney may the safer be,
And he more strengthned by his industry,
I faine would haue for him a trusty guide,
Whose knowledge in these countreyes hath beene tride.
My slothfulnesse, or rather destiny,

Forbids my selfe to keepe him company
From Phœbus Temple vnto Delos Ile,
As Romane gates I opened him erewhile,
My meaning is, that I am farre to seeke,
Though Latine I him taught, to teach him Greeke.
Alas, when first I was by nature giuen
To verse, and not thereto by strong hand driuen:
My bloome of youth being in the first appeare,
As hauing on my chinne not one soft haire,
My father with all rigor of his wit,
Quickly compels me to abandon it,
To study glosses and the ciuill Law,
In which fiue yeares I spent, but no good saw.
But when he from his wisedome did perceiue
That I an endlesse web began to weaue,
And that against my nature I did climbe,
The scale I loued not, and so lost my time,
With much adoe he gaue me liberty,
And made his will my will accompany.
Now was I twenty yeares of age and more,
Nor had I any schoolemaster before,
So as (to tell you true) I scarce was able
To vnderstand in Æsope any fable,
Till smiling fortune brought me to conuerse

With Gregory of Spoleto, whose commerce
I shall renowne and euer loue his name,
Because what skill I haue, from him it came.
In Romane language he was excellent,
And in the Grecian tongue as eloquent;
So that he well could iudge from skill profound,
Whose trumpet had the shrill or better sound,

Or Venus sonne, or Thetis louely boy:
But I in those deepe iudgments tooke no ioy,
Nor sought to know the wrath of Hecuba,
Nor how Vlysses slily stole away
From valiant Rhesus, both his life and horse,
By art of wit, and not by manly force.
For I desirous was to know at first,
Why to Æneas, Iuno was so curst,
Or why her malice with prolixity,
Held him from being king of Italy.
Besides me thought no glory would arise,
From the Greeke tongue, to me in any wise,
If first I did not Latine vnderstand,
It being once the tongue of our owne Land.
Whilst thus the one with industry I sought,
Hoping the other would with ease be caught:
Angry occasion fled me, for because,
Offring her fore-lock, I did seeme to pause:

That haplesse dutchesse tooke my Gregory
From me, to fix in her sonnes company,
Whose vncle did vsurpe his soueraignty,
For which she saw reuenge sufficiently,
(Though to her cost) alasse why was't not meant,
That he which wrongs should haue the punishmēt!

The vncle and the nephew, such was fate,
Lost at one instant, kingdome, goods, and state:
Both being conuaid close prisoners into France,
One instant giuing date to each mischance.
But Gregory at the suite of Isabel,
Followed his scholler whom he lou'd so well,

To France he follow'd, where he liu'd, till death
Tooke from his best of friends their best of breath.
This losse so great with other losses more,
Which (vnexpected) I with patience bore,
Made me forget the Muses, and my song,
And all that to my study did belong.

Then dyed my father: from Maria now
My mind I to Maria needs must bow:
I now must finde a husband who must take
One of my sisters to his louing make.
Then for another I must straight prouide,
That to a lesser charge I might be tide:

For though the Land came vnto me as heire,
Yet others held in it with me a share.
Then to my yonger brothers was I bound,
Who me a father in my loue haue found,
Doing that office which most dutiously
I ought performe to sacred piety.
Some of them vnto study did attaine,
Some in the Court did couet to remaine:
Each one to such good courses so well bent,
That to my conscience they gaue good content,
Where by I saw their vertuous infancy,
Would saue their age from all indignity.
Nor was this all the care which from my booke,
Kept my long thirsty and desiring looke:
But many more, (though these sufficient be)
That I was for'st in this extremity,
To tie my Barke vnto the safe calme shore,
Lest it should sayle at randon as before,
And so vnwares vpon the quicke-sands runne,
Whereby the rest and I might be vndone.

But I as then so many crosses had,
And in so many folds of griefes was clad:
That I desired nothing but my death,
As weary onely of a weary breath.

Ay me! as then my chiefest pleasure died,
The columne whereon all my hopes relied,
He whose commerce did onely ioy my hart,
Gaue life vnto my study, bred mine art:
Whose sweetest emulation made me runne,
That from the world I might the goale haue wonne.
My kinsman, friend, my brother most, most deare,
My heart, my soule, nay then my soule more neare,
My best Pandolpho died; ô that my death
Had beene the happy ransome of his breath.
O hard mishap, O cruell ouerthrow,
That to the Ariostian house could grow,
To leese their choisest branch, their garlands grace,
Whose like shall neuer grow in any place.
In so great honour liuing didst thou liue,
That I but rightly said, when I did giue
Thee first preheminence to vertues crowne,
In all Ferrara or Bologna towne;
From whence thy noble ancestors first came,
And at this day doe flourish in the same.
If vertue honour giues, as vice disgrace,
Then neuer was there any of his place,
More likelier to obtaine in each degree,
All honour, worth, and famous dignity.
Now to my fathers death, and next to his,
(Two jmages my soule can neuer misse.)
Adde how I was oppressed with the thrall,
Of seruitude vnto the Cardinall:
And yet no Prince with him may be compar'd
For bounty, though to me perpetuall hard.
For from the time Pope Iulio was create,
Euen till his breath of life did consumate,
And afterward, of Leo seuen yeare,
He did not suffer me stay any where,
And so my wits about his worke applide,
That in no certaine place I could bide:
That from a Poet I was straight transuerted,
And to a worthlesse Caualier conuerted.
Note then if posting alwaies vp and downe,
Through Cities, Courts, and euery countrey towne,
I could the Greeke or Chaldean tongue obtaine,
Whil'st to my selfe my selfe did not remaine.
Now I assure thee I doe much admire,
That such a fate my fate did not acquire,
As did to that Philosopher befall,
Vpon whose head a stone fell from the wall,
Whose very stroke did from his braine disseuer
All former thoughts and motions whatsoeuer.
But to be briefe, good Bembo I thee pray,
(E're I too late should wish) elect the way,
To choose for my Virgnio such a friend,
As thy best iudgement may with worth commend,
That right might guide him to Pernassus hill,
Since I thereto haue neither fate nor skill:
Yet no such Pedagogue I craue as this,
Whose story I'le relate, and this it is.

A Tale.

There was a youth in Spaine of il-bred blood,
In learning poore, but rich in worldly good,
Whose frends when he was yong put him to schoole,
But all in vaine, the foole prou'd still more foole.
At last a liuing of the Church there fell,
In that same towne where this rich foole did dwell:
And to the same a free-schoole ioyned was,
Whither the towns-mens children all might passe
Gratis, and teaching haue, sith stypends great,
Allotted was to th' one and th' others seate.
Now when his kinne of this had heard the fame,
They thought with coyne to plant him in the same:
Meaning for schoole an vsher he should haue,
And for his Church some Deacon, sober, graue,
To both of which, small pensions he should giue,
And on the surplussage himselfe would liue:
For this was in the daies of ignorance,
When men did wealth, not worthy artes aduance.
Besides, they thought by this deuice to make
The world, this foole for some wise Solon take:
When they should heare what liuings he possest,
In which they none but men of note inuest.
Hence from the King of Spaine by coine they got
His royall letters, to commend this sot
Vnto the Pope himselfe, for it was he,
That held this gift in his owne charity.
Besides, a priuy item in them was,
His Holinesse should suffer this rich Asse
To be instald, and not examined,
As one whose arte was onely famoused.
Onely three words of Latine he was taught,
When with his letters first he should be brought
Before the Pope: which spoken artfully,
He should haue his dispatch with breuity.
The first was this making a reuerence,
He onely should say, Salue sancte parens.
The Pope then, Vnde venisti, would reply,
De Spania must he say, then by and by.
Vbi sunt litteræ (last) the Pope would say,
He then must answere, In mantica mea:
And take them forth, and kissing them he shold,
Forthwith dispatcht be, with his bribing gold.
Thus being taught his lesson by his friends,
Towards Rome he hies, for there his iourney tends.
But halfe the way he hardly had discern'd,
E're he had lost the Latine he had learn'd.
Now as he beate his braines againe to find,
What he had lost, though 'twas out of his mind:
It fortun'd as he did amuze thereon,
To see come by a great Procession:
One of the Priests whereof did loudly sing,
Salue sancta mater, that the streetes did ring.
When as this dunce no sooner heard the same,
But into his dull braine forthwith it came,
Those were the words he onely had forgot:
And therefore ouer-ioyed at his lot,
Great hast he makes to haue a swift accesse,
(By meanes of friends) vnto his Holinesse.
Where falling downe low, Salue sancta mater,
Sayes the foole scholler with an open clatter.
The Pope not knowing what he meant by this,
Sayes, Non sum mater Christi, you your marke doe misse
The other senselesse (Paraquito like)
Not knowing what he spake, or wrong or right,
De Spania did reply with count'nance bold.
The Pope, that with a frowne did him behold,
Mumbled, Demonium habes adolescens tu;
In mantica mea, he replied, and drew
His bag, to giue his letters to the Pope:
Who thinking with the diuell he should cope,
Cried out, and for to run was ready prest,
Till one of some more wit then all the rest,
Found that an Asse was in a Lions hide,
Whose base ambition all men did deride.
But when the Pope the Spanish King did see,
So earnest in this fooles behalfe to be:
And likewise did consider how much gaine,
His coffers by such Idiots did retaine:
Accipiamus pecuniam then he said,
Et admittamus Asinum in his stead.
Thus was the Spaniard lightned of his gold,
And both these liuings vndeseru'd did hold.

Bembo, no such like Pedant do I craue,
We and the world too many of them haue.
Let him be learned, and an honest man,
Let him haue both these vertues if you can.
“Where vertue reigneth most, least vice is still:
“Thy iudgement's good, I aske but thy good will.

Noble Pistofilo, thou dost write to me,
If I the Dukes Embassador wold be,
Vnto Pope Clement, and for three yeares space
In Rome liue Ledger, with all port and grace;
To giue thee notice, and thou wilt with pain
To my request this suit and glory gaine.
Besides, with reasons thou dost me perswade,
That I would in this noble motion wade:
As first that all men haue esteemed me,
A perfit friend vnto the Medici:
That we acquaintance most familiarly
Haue had together, and most inwardly:
As well when they at first were banisht men,
As when their Citty cald them home agen:

That I knew Leo after; and before
On crimson shooe the golden crosse he bore.
Next (that besides thou thinkst, I profit should
The Dukes estate) vnto my selfe it would
Exceeding gaine, and mighty proffit bring,
Besides the steps of honor I should win:
That in a riuer great more fish are caught,
Then in a little brooke of easie draught:
That Princes seruices haue no compare,
And where we profit finde, all pleasures are.
But now that you haue to my minds best eye
Explain'd your wisedome, hearken my reply.
First to thy noble vertues thanks I giue,
That thus in thy remembrance I do liue:
And that I finde thou alwaies did'st contend,
How me vnto aduancements to commend:
Seeking to make me worthy as the best,
When my dull spirit with no fire was blest.
Next, I assure thee, willingly I wold,
Passe fire, or flood, or any freezing cold,
To serue the Duke: nor shalt thou me command,
To Rome alone, but euery other land
I'le post through willingly, and trie the fate
Of France, of Spaine, or of the Indian state.
But where thou saist, that I shall honours gaine,
And to my selfe a world of wealth attaine,
If that thou thinkest will moue, then pardon me,
For in that point I cannot iump with thee:
Other deuices must allure my minde,
Ambition in my thoughts I neuer finde:
Honour I haue too much, I none do lacke,
And faine I would discharge some from my backe.
It shall suffice, as through Ferrara I
Walke to dispatch my businesse seriously,
Each one that meetes me, giues me courtesie,
Vaileth his hat, and speaketh thankefully:
For all men know, it oft hath pleas'd his grace,
That I at his owne table should take place.
Nor when or for my selfe, or for my friend,
I doe the weight of any suit commend,
Am I repul'st; but what I wish to draw,
(So it agree with reason or the Law)
And if (although my minde be satisfi'd,
With all that doth in honours power abide)
I had so much of wealth that my desire,
Vnto a greater height could not aspire:
I then should quiet be; where now my minde,
To keepe a compasse right I neuer find.
I for my selfe but this wish and no more,
That I might liue, not begge of others store.
Which henceforth I'le not hope for, since I proue,
So many mighty men haue vow'd my loue,
As might haue made me rich, and yet refused,
(For little I haue had, and lesse haue vsed)
Whence growes the cause that thus I poorely serue,
Although I might say, better I deserue.
I will not that the power which once was slow.
From carelesse Epimethius crue to goe,
Shall draw me like a Buffone by the nose,
Nor will I more delight in flattering shoes.
Much doth the painted turning wheele me feare,
Which after one selfe manner euery where
Is drawne by painters: true 'tis like to be,
When as so many in one thing agree.
He that sits on the top thereof's an Asse,
All know this riddle, and may let it passe
Without a Sphynx, which may the same expound,
The meaning with such easinesse is found.
Besides, 'tis seene that all which mount on hie,
Eftsoones refine their members curiously:
And what of earth behinde doth heauy stay,
That keepes him backe in all things as it may.
The very hope it selfe to minde I call,
Which with the leaues and flowers came first of all,
But after fled away; nor did September,
Expect all this. And more, I can remember
The day the Church was vnto Leo giuen,
For spouse, and (for her dowry) endlesse liuing:
When at that marriage, I so many saw,
Of my best friends, who then to Rome did draw,
On whom faire scarlet honours were bestow'd,
Whil'st I liued still with my poore needy load:
The Calends came, the Ides were past and gone,
Yet I of any was not thought vpon.
I could not be remembred, and yet I
Remember this, and shall do till I die.
O 'tis most vaine, for man on man to trust,
I'le none beleeue, they all are most vniust.
That day came down from heauen fond foolish hope
And went to forraine soiles, when first the Pope
Imbrac't and kist me (though it was vnmeet)
Whil'st prostrate I fell downe before his feet.
But afterwards, when I peceiu'd that nought,
(Saue ayre of words) his fauours to me brought:
And that experience taught me how to know,
That onely shadowes from such grace did flow:
I then began to giue despaire my hand,
And plainely saw, I fish't on the drie land:
And since that time I vow'd, none to beleeue,
Nor more (for what I cannot haue) to greeue.
There was a Gourd or Mellon, long agoe,
That (in a while shot vp) so high did grow,
As it a Pear-tree (neighbour by) so couered,
That with her leaues, his boughes were welny smothered.
Now this same Peare-tree on a morning chan'st
To ope his eyes, and round about him glan'st:
For he had slept a mighty sleepe and long,
And seeing how this new fruit did him wrong,
Said vnto it; what art thou, and what chance,
Makes thee so soone thy proud head to aduance?
Where wert thou hid, when I fell first asleepe,
That o're my head, thus proudly thou dost peepe?
The Gourd told him her name & shew'd the place,
Where on the ground below she planted was:
And that in three months space, it did attaine,
Vnto that height in which it did remaine.
And I (replide the tree) with mighty feare,
Haue hardly got this tallnesse which I beare:
Although this thirty yeares I here haue growne,
And haue all seasons and all weathers knowne.
But thou which in the twinckling of an eye,
Hast rais'd thy faire head euen into the skie,
Assure thy selfe, as thou art growne in hast,
With selfe-like speed, thy glories all shall wast.
Euen so my hopes which made me posting come,
My vain fond hope, which brought me first to Rome,
Might well haue said, I came in fitter time,
Euen when the Medici were in their prime,
That I did helpe them when they did remaine
Exiles, and sought to bring them home againe:
And that to make the Lambe like Leo proue,
A Princely Lyon I did thither moue.
He that had held Charles Sosinas braue spright,
Would then perhaps haue said in open sight,
When he had heard Lorenzo to be nam'd
By stile of Duke, and with that title fam'd:
He to Duke Nemours would as much haue said,
And not of scornfull eyes haue stood affraid,
Vnto the Cardinall of Rosi, and
To Bibiena (mighty rich in land)
Who had beene better much if he had staid
At Torsy, then a red hat to haue swaid:
He would haue said vnto Contesina,
To Magdalena (beauteous at that day)
Vnto the daughter and the mother in law,
And all that house which euery one then saw
O'recome with ioy, euen thus I say, he wold
Talke to the world with courage strong and bold.
Thy similie most properly applide,
May be to them which doe with greatnesse bide:
For as their ioyes aboue all ioyes did runne,
So shall they quickly fade and be vndone.
All men must die, their time indures not euer,
And this strong fate can be eschued neuer:
That Leo also shall his life resigne,
E're Troies first founder shall into the signe
Turne eight times; this as Gospell is most true,
For so each thing did afterwards ensue.
But to spend much idle talke herein,
I say, I first of all did then begin,
To giue or'e all my more then foolish hope,
When I got nothing of my best knowne Pope.
If Leo gaue my fortunes nothing, then
'Tis vaine to hope for gain from other men
(Deare Lord) thou must with other hookes and draught;
Fish for me, if thou looke I shall be caught:
But if perforce thou wilt haue me to goe,
Thy will be done, and I am prest thereto:
Yet honour shall not moue me, riches lesse,
For neyther of them both I would possesse:
Honour I scorne, for 'tis meere vanity,
And riches mixe not with my destiny.
Say rather I shall leaue this place I keepe,
Nor longer with these barbarous people sleepe,
More rude then are the rockes wherein they dwell,
So rude their manners are, and wrath so fell,
Say, I shall not be troubled, some to fine,
Some to exile, to kill, or to confine:
Whil'st I complaine that force doth ouer-sway
All reason, yet that force I must obay.
Tell me, I shall haue leisure and fit time,
To talke vnto the Muses in sweet rime,
And mid'st faire groaues and arbors to deuise
The strength of verse, and rarely poetize.
Tell me, with Sadolet, with Bombo, Iouio,
With Molza, Vida and with Blosio;
With Tibaldo and Pontanus, and the rest,
I may liue at mine ease, most happy blest,
Taking for guide, which of them best doth please me:
Or altogether ioyntly sit and ease me,
Whilst they to me old Romes antiquity,
Describe at large with graue authority:
Saying here Circus was, and here did stand
Forum Romanum and here on this hand
Saburra stood, this Sacer Cliuus was,
And now by Vestaes Temple you doe passe.
Tell me, I cannot any thing indite,
(Nor of what subiect best shall please me write)
But I may counsaile haue, and take aduise,
If any doubt doth in the Author rise:
That out of Latine, Tuscan or of Greeke,
I may translate, or any pleasure seeke.
Besides the number great thou mai'st me tell,
Of worthy ancient bookes which doe excell:
All which Pope Sistus through the world of late,
Did gather for the good of publique state,
Whil'st this rare library each one may vse,
And what him list may from it cull and chuse.
Now when such proffers thou shalt make to me,
Of noble worth, account and dignity;
And yet this iourney I refuse ne're-lesse,
Thou then mai'st say that frenzie doth possesse
My troubled braine, and melancholy fits,
Hath brought distemperature vnto my wits.
But I, in stead of answering thee, will play
As did Emilius once, who forth did lay
His foot vnto his friend, saying you see
How cleane my shoe is made, how neate, how curiously,
And yet for all this, little dost thou know,
Where it doth wring me, or doth gall my toe.
He takes me from my selfe that doth remoue
My body from the natiue soile I loue:
For being absent thence, I cannot liue,
Yea, lay I in Ioues lap, I yet should grieue.
And should I not be daily one of those,
Who for their morning walkes with pleasure goes
Betweene the Domo of Ferrara, and
Those famous statues which richly stand,
Of my two noble Marquesses, then I
Should die with griefe, to want that liberty,
And leaner would my visage be then his,
Whose lips the water and the fruit doth kisse:
Yet hath no power eyther of both to taste,
But pines with hunger, and away doth waste.

Francis the first French King that bare that name,
One day by fortune vnto Paris came,
And by a wealthy Burgesse feasted was,
Whose sumptuous cheere and bounty did surpasse.
Now whil'st the King amongst his minions sate,
And merrily discour'st of euery state:
Each one began to tell some wondrous thing,
And 'mongst the rest one tolde vnto the King,
That at that time within the Citie was
An old man liuing, who by gesse did passe
The age of fourescore yeares, yet ne're was seene,
Out of the wals of Paris to haue beene.
The King admiring at this tale, straight sent
For this old man to come incontinent,
And of him did demaund if true it was,
That he beyond those wals did neuer passe:
Or whether feare or loue became the cause,
Which his affections to such straightnesse drawes?
The old man thus replide, So please your grace,
I was borne, bred, and brought vp in this place;
And now I am fourescore and ten aboue,
In all which time my foote did neuer moue
Out of the Citie gates, though men of worth,
Haue by intreaty sought to get me forth:
So that 'twas not command, but mine owne will,
Which in this towne hath thus confin'd me still:
Besides, no motion in my minde hath moued,
From whence the countries sight should be beloued.
Well then, replide the King, since this long space
Thou freely with thy friends hast held this place,
Henceforth I charge thee on the paine of death,
Thou not presum'st so long as thou hast breath,
To looke beyond these wals; for I intend,
As thou hast liued, so thou shalt make an end.
The poore old man, who neuer long'd before
To goe out of the towne, or out of dore,
As long as it was in his liberty:
Now that he saw he to the contrary
Commanded was, with a most strange desire
To see the countrey he is set on fire:
But seeing by constraint he thus was tide
Against his will, for very greefe he dide.
Noble Pistosilo, no such minde I hould
As this old man did, but I rather would
Liue in Ferrara euer from my birth,
Then any forraine nation of the earth:
Yet should I be compell'd to leaue that place,
And goe to Rome, it would be lesse disgrace,
Then to continue in this hellish soile,
Where nothing is but trouble and turmoile:
But if my Lord intend me any fauour,
O let him call me home, or send me rather
Vnto Argento, Bondena, or where
He can deuise, so I may not liue here.
If needes I must be made a toyling beast,
I faine would haue my burthen with the least:
No pack-horse, but a foot-cloth would I be,
For they but one man carry easily.
To serue the Duke my soule did neuer grudge,
Onely I grieue to be a common drudge.
But now if you demand the reason why,
I loue mine owne home thus exceedingly,
I will as willingly the same confesse,
As I my grieuous sinnes doe more or lesse,
Plainly discharge to my Confessors eares,
When at the shrift he all mine errours heares.
And yet I know, that thus replie you can,
And say: Loe here a perfite well stai'd man,
Of fourescore nine yeares at the least, and yet,
Of youths worst loosenesse he must haue a fit.
So much to pleasure he his minde doth giue,
That without wantonnesse he cannot liue.
But it is well for me, that I can hide
My selfe within this valley where I bide,
And that an hundred miles thy purer eye,
Cannot extend to see my vanity;
Or whether pale or red, I chance to looke,
When with escapes I suddenly am tooke.
For then thou should'st perceiue, I blush't for shame,
Although my letter do not shew the same:
And thou would'st thinke that neither old dame Amber,
Nor her young daughter (good stuffe in a chamber)
For all their varnish, looked halfe so red:
Or that olde father Canon lately dead,
When he let fall amid'st the market place,
A bottle full of wine (with foule disgrace)
Which from a Frier he had but stolne before,
Besides (which were about him found) two more.
Were I but with thee now a while, I doubt
Thy loue would with my folly haue about:
And with a cudgell, thou would'st beate me well,
To heare these franticke reasons which I tell,
And doe alleadge to liue where as thou art,
For were I with thee, I would neuer part:
But nature and my duety bids me serue
My Prince and countrey, as they do deserue,
Although there is another whom I would
Rather attend on, if get leaue I could.
Great Lord, thou art a Courtier by thy place,
And mai'st command, for thou hast speciall grace:
The Dukes chiefe Secretary thou onely art,
And mak'st him blest that liues within thy hart.
Although thou little in thy stature be,
The great'st in Court are glad to crouch to thee:
And truely worthy art thou of thy place,
Since to all vertues thou dost giue all grace.
Wisely thou dost, for better 'tis the loue
Of people, then their hatred to approue:
Chiefly where Princes as their fancies range,
Their fauourites do often chop and change.
But yet for all these caps and bended knees,
Which done vnto thee of all sorts thou see's:
Sir (by your leaue) for all your gallant glory,
You sometimes feele what makes you sad and sory.
Oft do you wish, denie it if you can,
That you might liue like to a priuate man.
Courts haue their crosses, kingly crowns their cares,
Who merriest liues, the best of all men fares.
Vnto no Embassie doe me preferre,
But to my Mistresse, I would goe to her.
Intreat the Duke I may come home againe,
And that's the boone I craue of all my paine:
Let him but me vnto Ferrara call,
And thou shalt haue my thanks, life, soule and all.