University of Virginia Library

George Gascoigne, in the commendation of the noble Arte of Venerie.

As God himselfe declares, the life of man was lent,
Bicause it should (with feare of him) in gladsome wise be spent.
And Salomon doth say, that all the rest is vaine,
Vnlesse that myrth and merie cheere, may follow toile and paine.
If that be so in deede, what booteth then to buylde
High towers & halles of stately port, to leaue an vnknown child?
Or wherefore hoord we heapes of coyne and worldly wealth,
VVhiles therwithall that caytif care, cōmes creeping in by stelth?
The needie neighbors grudge to see the rychman thryue,
Such malice worldly mucke doth breede in euery man alyue.
Contention commes by coyne, and care doth contecke sew,
And sodeine death by care is caught, all this you know is true.
Since death is then the end, which all men seeke to flye,
And yet are all men well aware, that Man is borne to dye,
VVhy leade not men such liues, in quiet comely wise,
As might with honest sport & game, their worldly minds suffise?
Amongst the rest, that game, which in this booke is taught,
Doth seeme to yeld as much content, as may on earth be sought.
And but my simple Muze, both myrth and meane mistake,
It is a meane of as much mirth, as any sport can make.
It occupies the mynde, which else might chaunce to muse
On mischiefe, malice, filth, and fraudes, that mortall men do vse.
And as for exercise, it seemes to beare the bell,
Since by the same, mens bodies be, in health mainteyned well.
It exercyseth strength, it exercyseth wit,
And all the poars and sprites of Man, are exercisde by it.
It shaketh off all slouth, it presseth downe all pryde,
It cheres the hart, it glads the eye, & through the ears doth glyde.
I might at large expresse how earely huntsmen ryse,
And leaue the sluggish sleepe for such, as leachers lust deuyse.
How true they tread their steps, in exercises traine,
VVhich frisking flings & lightbraind leaps, may seeme always to staine.
Howe appetite is bred (with health) in homely cates,
VVhile Surfet sits in vaine excesse, & Banquet breeds debates.
How cries of well mouthd hounds, do counteruaile the cost,
VVhich many a man (beyond his reach) on instruments hath lost.
How setting of Relayes, may represent the skyll,
VVhich souldiours vse in Embushes, their furious foes to kyll.
How Foxe and Badgerd both, make patterns (in their denne)
Of Plotformes, Loopes, and Casamats, deuisde by warlike men.
How fighting out at Bay, of Hart, Bucke, Goate, or Bore,
Declares the valiant Romans death, when might may do no more.
How sight of such delights, doth scorne all common showes,
Of Enterludes, of Tumblers tricks, of antikes, mocks, & mowes.
And how the nimble Hare, by turning in hir course,
Doth plainly proue that Pollicie, sometime surpasseth force.
The Venson not forgot, most meete for Princes dyshe:
All these with more could I rehearse, as much as wit could wyshe.
But let these few suffice, it is a Noble sport,
To recreate the mindes of Men, in good and godly sort.
A sport for Noble peeres, a sport for gentle bloods,
The paine I leaue for seruants such, as beate the bushie woods,
To make their masters sport. Then let the Lords reioyce,
Let gentlemen beholde the glee, and take thereof the choyce.
For my part (being one) I must needes say my minde,
That Hunting was ordeyned first, for Men of Noble kinde.
And vnto them therefore, I recommend the same,
As exercise that best becōmes, their worthy noble name.

T. M. Q. in prayse of this booke.

The Preface pronounced by the Hart.

I am the Harte, by Greekes surnamed so,
Bicause my heade, doth with their tearmes agree,
For stately shape, fewe such on earth do go,
So that by right, they haue so termed mee.
For Kings delight, it seemes I was ordeyned
VVhose Huntsmen yet, pursue me day by daye,
In Forest, chace, and Parke, I am constrayned
Before their Houndes, to wander many away.
VVherefore who lyst, to learne the perfect trade,
Of Venerie: and therewithall would knowe,
VVhat properties, and vertues nature made,
In me (poore Hart, oh harmelesse Hart) to growe,
Let him giue eare, to skilfull Trystrams lore,
To Phœbus, Fowylloux and many more.

The Blazon pronounced by the Huntsman.

I am the Hunte, whiche rathe and earely ryse,
(My bottell filde, with wine in any wise)
Twoo draughts I drinke, to stay my steppes withall,
For eche foote one, bicause I would not fall.
Then take my Hownde, in liam me behinde,
The stately Harte, in fryth or fell to finde.
And whiles I seeke his slotte where he hath fedde,
The sweete byrdes sing, to cheare my drowsie hedde.
And when my Hounde, doth streyne vpon good vent,
I must confesse, the same dothe me content.
But when I haue, my couerts walkt aboute,
And harbred fast, the Harte for commyng out:
Then I returne, to make a graue reporte,
VVhereas I finde, th'assembly doth resorte.
And lowe I crouche, before the Lordings all,
Out of my Horne, the fewmets lette I fall,
And other signes, and tokens do I tell,
To make them hope, the Harte may like them well.
Then they commaunde, that I the wine should taste,
So biddes mine Arte: and so my throte I baste.
The dinner done, I go streightwayes agayne,
Vnto my markes, and shewe my Master playne.
Then put my Hounde, vpon the view to drawe,
And rowse the Harte, out of his layre by lawe.
O gamsters all, a little by your leaue,
Can you suche ioyes in triflyng games conceaue?

Of the place where and howe an assembly should be made, in the presence of a Prince, or some honorable person.

VVho list (by me) to learne, Assembly for to make,
For Keysar, Kyng, or comely Queene, for Lord or Ladies sake:
Or where, and in what sort it should prepared be,
Marke well my wordes, and thanke me then, for thankes I craue in fee.
The place should first be pight, on pleasant gladsome greene,
Yet vnder shade of stately trees, where little sunne is seene:
And neare some fountaine spring, whose chrystall running streames,
May helpe to coole the parching heate, ycaught by Phœbus beames.
The place appoynted thus, it neyther shall be clad,
With Arras nor with Tapystry, such paltrie were too bad:
Ne yet those hote perfumes, whereof proude Courtes do smell,
May once presume in such a place, or Paradise to dwell.
Away with fayned fresh, as broken boughes or leaues,
Away, away, with forced flowers, ygathred from their greaues:
This place must of it selfe, afforde such sweete delight,
And eke such shewe, as better may content the greedie sight:
Where sundry sorts of hewes, which growe vpon the ground,
May seeme (indeede) such Tapystry, as we (by arte) haue found.
Where fresh and fragrant flowers, may skorne the courtiers cost,
Which daubes himselfe with Syuet, Muske, and many an oyntment lost,
Where sweetest singing byrdes, may make such melodye,
As Pan, nor yet Apollos arte, can sounde such harmonye.
Where breath of westerne windes, may calmely yeld content,
Where casements neede not opened be, where ayre is neuer pent.
Where shade may serue for shryne, and yet the Sunne at hande,
Where beautie neede not quake for colde, ne yet with Sunne be tande.
In fine and to conclude, where pleasure dwels at large,
Which Princes seeke in Pallaces, with payne and costly charge.
Then such a place once founde, the Butler first appeares,
He shall be formost doctor there, and stande before his peares:
And with him shall he bring, (if company be great)
Some wagons, cartes, some Mules or iades yladen till they sweate,
With many a medcine made for common queynt diseases,
As thirstie throates, and typpling tongs, whome Bacchus pype appeases.
These little pinching pots, which Pothecaries vse,
Are all too fine, fye fye on such, they make men but to muse.
My Doctor brings his drugs, to counterpaise all quarrels,
In Kilderkins and Fyrkins full, in Bottles and in Barrels.
And yet therein he brings, (I would you wist it well,)
No rotten drammes, but noble wine, which makes mens hearts to swell.
And downe he doth dismount, his things for to addresse,
His flagons in the fountaine faire, are placed more and lesse.
Or if such fountaines fayle, my Doctor hath the skyll,
With sande and Campher for to coole, his potions at his will.
That doone: he spreades his cloth, vpon the grassye banke,
And sets to shewe his deintie drinkes, to winne his Princes thanke.
Then cōmes the captaine Cooke, with many a warlike wight,
Which armor bring and weapons both, with hunger for to fight.
Yea some also set forth, vpon a manly mynde,
To make some meanes, a quarrell with, my Doctor for to fynde.
For whiles colde loynes of Ueale, colde Capon, Beefe and Goose,
With Pygeon pyes, and Mutton colde, are set on hunger loose,
And make the forlorne hope, in doubt to scape full hard,
Then come to giue a charge in flanke (else all the marte were marde,)
First Neates tongs poudred well, and Gambones of the Hogge,
Then Saulsages and sauery knackes, to set mens myndes on gogge.
And whiles they skyrmish thus, with fierce and furious fight,
My Doctor clearkly turnes the Tappe, and goeth beyond them quite.
For when they be so trapt, enclosed round about,
No boote preuayles, but drinke like men, for that must helpe them out.
Then King or comely Queene, then Lorde and Lady looke,
To see which side will beare the bell, the Butler or the Cooke.
At last the Cooke takes flight, but Butlers still abyde,
And sound their Drummes and make retreate, with bottles by their syde.
Herewith to stint all stryfe, the huntsmen come in hast,
They lycence craue of King or Queene, to see their battell plast.
Which graunted and obtaynde, they set on such as lyue,
And fiercely fight, till both be forst, all armour vp to giue.
And home they go dispoylde, like simple sakelesse men,
No remedie but trudge apace, they haue no weapons then.
The field thus fought and done, the huntsmen come agayne,
Of whome some one vpon his knee, shall tell the Prince full playne,
This little lesson here, which followeth next in place,
Forgiue me (Queene) which am to bold, to speak vnto yor grace.

The report of a Huntesman vpon the sight of an Hart, in pride of greace. Chap. 36.

The wofull wordes of the Hart to the Hunter.

Since I in deepest dread, do yelde my selfe to Man,
And stand full still betwene his legs, which earst full wildly ran:
Since I to him appeale, when hounds pursue me sore,
As who should say (Now saue me man, for else I may no more.)
Why dost thou then (ô Man) (ô Hunter) me pursue,
With cry of hounds, with blast of horne, with hallow, and with hue?
Or why dost thou deuise, such nets and instruments,
Such toyles & toyes, as hunters vse, to bring me to their bents?
Since I (as earst was sayde) do so with humble cheare,
Holde downe my head (as who should say, lo Man I yeelde me here.)
Why arte thou not content, (ô murdryng cruell minde)
Thy selfe alone to hunte me so, which arte my foe by kynde,
But that thou must enstruct, with wordes in skilfull writte,
All other men to hunte me eke? O wicked wylie witte.
Thou here hast set to shew, within this busie booke,
A looking Glasse of lessons lewde, wherein all Huntes may looke:
And so whyles world doth last, they may be taught to bryng,
The harmelesse Hart vnto his bane, with many a wilye thing.
Is it bycause thy minde, doth seeke thereby some gaynes?
Canst thou in death take suche delight? breedes pleasure so in paynes?
Oh cruell, be content, to take in worth my teares,
Whiche growe to gumme, and fall from me: content thee with my heares,
Content thee with my hornes, which euery yeare I mew,
Since all these three make medicines, some sicknesse to eschew.
My teares congeald to gumme, by peeces from me fall,
And thee preserue from Pestilence, in Pomander or Ball.
Such wholesome teares shedde I, when thou pursewest me so,
Thou (not content) doest seeke my death, and then thou getst no moe.
My heare is medicine burnt, all venemous wormes to kill,
The Snake hirselfe will yeeld thereto, such was my makers will.
My hornes (whiche aye renew) as many medicines make
As there be Troches on their Toppes, and all (Man) for thy sake.
As first they heale the head, from turning of the brayne,
A dramme thereof in powder drunke, doth quickly ease the payne:
They skinne a kybed heele, they fret an anguayle off,
Lo thus I skippe from toppe to toe, yet neyther scorne nor skoffe.
They comfort Feeuers faynte, and lingryng long disease,
Distilld when they be tender buddes, they sundry greeues appease:
They mayster and correct, both humours, hote and colde,
Which striue to conquere bloud: and breede, diseases manyfold.
They bryng downe womens termes, and stoppe them to, for neede,
They keepe the meane tweene both extreemes, & serue bothe turnes in deede:
They cleare the dimmie sight, they kill both webbe and pinne,
They soone restore the milt or spleene, which putrifies within.
They ease an akyng Tooth, they breake the rumblyng winde,
Which grypes the wombe with colliques panges, such is their noble kinde:
They quenche the skaldyng fire, which skorched with his heate,
And skinne the skalt full cleane agayne, and heale it trimme and neate.
They poyson do expell, from Keysar, King, or Queene,
When it by chaunce or deepe deceypt, is swallowed vp vnseene.
But wherefore spend I time in vayne at large to prayse,
The vertues of my harmelesse hornes, which heape my harme alwayes?
And yet such hornes, such heare, such teares as I haue tolde,
I mew and cast for mans auayle, more worth to him than golde.
But he to quyte the same, (ô Murdring Man therewhyles)
Pursewes me still and trappes me ofte, with sundrie snares and guyles.
Alas so now I feele colde feare within my bones,
Whiche hangs hyr winges vpon my heeles, to hasten for the nones
My swiftest starting steppes, me thinkes she biddes me byde,
In thickest Tuftes of couerts close, and so my selfe to hyde.
Ah rewfull remedie, so shall I (as it were)
Euen teare my lyfe out of the teeth of houndes whiche make me feare.
And from those cruell curres, and braynesicke bauling Tikes,
Which vowe foote hote to followe me, bothe ouer hedge and dykes.
Me thinkes I heare the Horne, whiche rendes the restlesse ayre,
With shryllest sounde of bloudie blast, and makes me to despayre.
Me thinkes I see the Toyle, the tanglings and the stall,
Which are prepared and set full sure, to compasse me withall:
Me thinkes the Foster standes full close in bushe or Tree,
And takes his leuell streyght and true, me thinkes he shootes at me.
And hittes the harmelesse Harte, of me vnhappie Harte,
Which must needes please him by my death, I may it not astarte.
Ahlas and well away, me thinkes I see the hunte,
Which takes the measure of my Slottes, where I to treade was wont:
Bycause I shall not misse, at last to please his minde,
Ahlas I see him where he seekes my latest layre to finde.
He takes my fewmets vp, and puts them in his horne,
Alas me thinkes he leapes for ioye, and laugheth me to scorne.
Harke, harke, alas giue eare, This geare goeth well (sayeth he)
This Harte beares deyntie venison, in Princes dishe to be.
Lo now he blowes his horne, euen at the kennell dore,
Alas, alas, he blowes a seeke, alas yet blowes he more:
He ieopardes and rechates, ahlas he blowes the Fall,
And soundes that deadly dolefull Mote, whiche I muste die withall.
What should the cruell meane? perhappes he hopes to finde,
As many medicines me within to satisfie his minde.
May be) he seekes to haue my Sewet for himselfe,
Whiche sooner heales a merrygald, then Pothecaries pelfe.
(May be) his ioyntes be numme, as Synewes shronke with colde,
And that he knowes my Sewet wyll, the same full soone vnfolde.
(May be) his wife doth feare to come before hyr time,
And in my mawe he hopes to finde, (amongst the slutte and slime)
A Stone to help his wife, that she may bryng to light,
A bloudie babe lyke bloudie Syre, to put poore Hartes to flight:
Perchance with sicknesse he hath troubled bene of late,
And with my marow thinketh to restore his former state.
(May be) his hart doth quake, and therefore seekes the bone,
Whiche Huntesmen finde within my heart, when I poore Hart) am gone.
(It may be) that he meanes my fleshe for to present,
Unto his Prince for delicates, such may be his entent.
Yea more than this (may be), he thinkes such nouriture,
Will still prolong mens dayes on earth, since mine so long endure.
But oh mischieuous man, although I thee outliue,
By due degrees of age vnseene, whiche Nature doth me giue:
Must thou therefore procure my death? for to prolong
Thy lingryng life in lustie wise? alas thou doest me wrong.
Must I with mine owne fleshe, his hatefull fleshe so feede,
Whiche me disdaynes one bitte of grasse, or corne in tyme of neede?
Alas (Man) do not so, some other beastes go kill,
Whiche worke thy harme by sundrie meanes: and so content thy will.
Which yeelde thee no such gaynes, (in lyfe) as I renew,
When from my head my stately hornes, (to thy behoofe) I mew.
But since thou arte vnkinde, vngracious and vniust,
Lo here I craue of mightie Gods, whiche are bothe good and iust:
That Mars may reygne with Man, that stryfe and cruell warre,
May set mans murdryng minde on worke, with many a bloudy Iarre.
That drummes with deadly dub, may counteruayle the blast,
Which they with hornes haue blowen ful lowde, to make my minde agast.
That shot as thicke as Hayle, may stande for Crossebowe shootes,
That Cuysses, Greues, and suche may serue, in steade of Hunters bootes.
That gyrte with siege full sure, they may theyr toyles repent,
That Embuskadoes stand for nettes, which they agaynst me bent.
That when they see a spie, which watcheth them to trappe,
They may remember ring walkes made, in herbor me to happe.
That when theyr busie braynes, are exercised so,
Hartes may lie safe within theyr layre, and neuer feare theyr foe.
But if so chaunce there be, some dastard dreadfull mome,
Whome Trumpettes cannot well entyse, nor call him once from home:
And yet will play the man, in killyng harmelesse Deare,
I craue of God that such a ghoste, and such a fearefull pheare,
May see Dyana nakt: and she (to venge hir skornes)
May soone transforme his harmefull head, into my harmelesse hornes:
Untill his houndes may teare, that hart of his in twayne,
Which thus torments vs harmelesse Harts, and puttes our hartes to payne.

Of the hunting of an Hare.

I am an Hare, a beast of little strength,
Yet making sport, of loue and gentle gestes,
For running swift, and holding out at length,
I beare the bell, aboue all other beastes.

The Hare, to the Hunter.

Of the Foxe.

Raynerd the Foxe am I, a craftie childe well knowne,
Yea better known than credited, wt more than is mine own:
I bastard kynd of curre, mine eares declare the same,
And yet my wit and pollicie haue purchast me great fame.

The Foxe to the Huntesman.

If dogs had tong at will to talke in their defence,
If brutish beast might be so bold, to plead at barre for pence,
If poore Tom troth might speake, of all that is amysse,
Then might would beare no right a down: then mē would pardon this,
Which I must here declare. Then quickly would be known,
That he which deales with strangers faults, should first amend his owne.
Thus much my selfe may say, thus much my selfe can proue,
Yet whiles I preache beware the Geese, for so it shall behoue.
I sigh (yet smyle) to see, that man (yea master man)
Can play his part in pollicie, as well as Raynard can.
And yet forsoth the Foxe is he that beares the blame,
But two leggd Foxes eate the ducks, when foure legs beare the name.
A wonder is to see, how people shoute and crye,
With hallowes, whoupes, and spitefull words, when I poore Fox go by.
Lay on him cryes the wife, downe with him sayes the childe,
Some strike, som chide, some throw a stone, som fal & be defilde:
As Maidens, when they spurne, with both their feete attones,
Fie on the Fox yt forst thē so, such falles might bruse their bones.
But Raynard doth such deeds, and therfore strike him down,
His case will serue to fur the cape of master huntsmans gowne.
His Lungs full holsome be, in poulder beaten fine,
For such as cough & draw their wind, with paine & mickle pine.
His pyssell serues to skoure, the grauell of the stone,
His greace is good for synews shronk, or ache yt grieues the bone.
His tong will draw a thorne, his teeth will burnish golde,
And by his death a huntsman may, haue profits manyfolde.
The Henne shall roust at rest, which he was wont to rowze,
The duck & geese may bring good broods, ye pigs may sucke their sowes.
And al the Farmers welth, may thriue & come to good,
Which craftie Raynard steales sometimes, to kepe his brats in blood.
Yea soft, but who sayes thus? who did ye Lion paint?
Forsoth a man: but if a Fox might tell his tale as queint,
Then would he say againe, that men as craftie be,
As euer Raynard was for theft: euen men which fliese a fee,
From euerie widowes flocke: a capon or a chicke,
A pyg, a goose, a dunghill ducke, or ought that salt will licke:
Untill the widowe sterue, and can no longer giue,
This was ye Fox, fie down with him, why shuld such foxes liue?
Some Foxes lie in waite, and marke the Farmers croppe,
What loads of haye, what grasse for bief, what store of wood for loppe,
What quantitie of graine he raiseth on his rent,
And take a new lease ore his hed, before the olde be spent.
Fye on these Foxes fye, what Farmer can do well,
Where such vile vermin lie in wait, their priuy gaines to smell?
Yea some can play their part, in slandring neighbors name,
To say ye wolf did kil the Lamb, when Raynerds eate ye same.
These faults with many moe, can wicked men commit,
And yet they say that Foxes passe, for subtletie and wit.
But shall I say my minde? I neuer yet saw day,
But euery town had two or three, which Rainards parts could play.
So that men vaunt in vaine, which say they hunt the Foxe,
To kepe their neighbors poultry free, & to defende their flockes,
When they them selues can spoyle, more profit in an houre,
Than Raynard rifles in a yere, when he doth most deuoure.
No, no, the minds of men, which still be vainely bent,
Must haue their change of Uenerie, as first the Hare in Lent,
The Hart in Sommers heate, and me poore Foxe in cold:
But wherto serue these sundry sports, these chases manyfold?
Forsoth to feede their thoughts, with drags of vaine delight,
Whereon most men do muse by day, wheron they dream by night.
They must haue costly clothes, they must haue deintie fare,
They must haue couches stuft with doune, they must haue all in square.
They must haue newfound games, to make thē laugh their fill,
The must haue foules, they must haue beasts, to bayt, to hunt, to kyll.
And all (when all is done) is nothing else but vayne,
So Salomon the wiseman sayd, and so sayes Raynerd playne.

The Otters oration