University of Virginia Library

The Ortchard of repentance: Wherein is reported, the miseries of dice, the mischiefes of quarelling, and the fall of prodigalitie.

Wherein is discouered the deceits of all sortes of people.

Wherein is reported, the souden endes of foure notable Cousiners.

With diuers other discourses, necessarie for all sortes of men. The whole worke, the inuention and collection of George Whetstons Gent.

The honest minded mans aduentures, his largesse: and his farewell to the world. A worke discouering, the subtilties of all sortes of men.

G. W. opinion of trades (as touching gaine) written to his especiall friend, maister R. C.

R. C. answere to G. W. opinion of trades.

A briefe discourse, of the discommodities of quarelling written at the request of his especiall friend and kinseman, maister Robert Cudden of Grayes In.

As manhood is a vertue great, where wisedome rules the sword,
As great a vice it is to brall, for euery trifling word,
The rayling speach, the fearelesse othes, the standers by affright,
When quarellers like curtall curres, do barke before they bite,
But if their brauling turne to blowes, his count comes very scant,
For sixe pence strife, to buy a sword, and buckler if he want,
A reckning worsse to catch a licke, but worst the losse of life,
One of which euils, lightly haunt, the man which liues in strife,
Who so is hurt doth feele the smart, who hurtes in feare doth liue,
His foe to seeke a sharpe reuenge, some desperate stroke will giue,
If lucklesse blowe should pierce the hart, the one to death giues place,
The other liues in slender hope, to haue the princes grace.
Though suite of friendes, his pardon gets, appeale doth pinch his pursse,
But gnawing of the conscience guilt, then all will grieue him worsse,
What greater spite then spoyled limmes, with houghed legs to limp,
Or with a wood, or yron hand, the maimed arme to ympe.
This mone he findes at straungers handes, a colde amends in fayth,
A proper man, as one shall see, see what mishap he hath,
But they that know his bralles, doth say, no force, it skilleth not,
His hassard hap, hath hit the white, at which his follie shot,
His friends do count, by this mischaunce, how he doth nothing loose,
Who else would kyll, or sure be kilde, a sorrie choice to choose.
But (ah) good couse, at this my verse, the reader smyle I see,
Who sayes, behold how far from words, his deeds doe disagree,
If halfe this reason rulde his rage, his rashnesse had not caught,
A maimed hand (which true I graunt) nor tryall had me taught,
The goodnesse halfe of such a lym, which by the lesse I finde,
But sith mishap would haue it so, this shewes an honest mynde,
To warne his friends the vice to shun, whose proofe bewrayes the woe,
If late repentance wrought him helpe, he would no more do so.

The vnhappie man contemneth Fortune, and cleaueth to Hope, assured once to reach good hap by vertuous Industrie, in the despite of Fortune.

How great a follie the conceit of excellencie is.

Where as dame Nature hath bestow'd, a speciall gift of wit,
And learning won by trauell long, with natures lore is knit.
If wisdome then do rule his toung, the tryall of his skill,
A passing praise among the wise, no doubt but win he will,
But once infect, with fonde conceit, how he doth others passe.
So feeding on his painted speach, wil proue a passing asse,
Or if he seekes by reasons rule, the scoffer to disgrace,
Which makes a scorne, of sounde aduice, and loues to floute and face.
Or when his equalles list to sport, to waste their sharpe annoy,
His glorious toung, is grauely bent, to countermaund their ioy.
If once they do espy his veine, their vice they wil him fake,
Then sots will straight be on his top, the residue sport to make,
If argument his betters moue, howe so the same doth growe,
If he defende or proue with them, before their mynde he knowe,
Too malapert they will him recke, and so their toil adiourne,
Thus too familiar speach in him, vnto contempt will tourne,
Where haply else, to try his wit, them selues will him request,
To shewe his reasons and his mynde, which side he liketh best,
For ofte the best, the baser choose, and leaues the high estate,
But knowes againe, when to be strange, lest he shuld proue checke mate
In honest myrth, is wisedome seene, as time thereto doth fit,
For grauest heads must haue a meane, for to refresh their wit,
Fewe wordes they say, in order plaste, the wise mans tale doth wray,
And silence is an answere fit, the noddies toung to stay,
But ouer halte in seeking praise, some myndes persuade the still,
Their knowledge silence will conceale, what then auailes their skill?
When as betweene the both extreames, a modest meane doth lye,
For to direct the wisemans tong, as needes the vse shall try.

Against ingratitude.

Periander of Corinth sometime prince,
A lawe ordainde, ingratefull chuffes to paine,
Which was on proofe, who could a churle conuince.
To reape rewardes vnrecompenst againe,
To leuie mendes, he should no longer liue,
For why (quoth he) suche men deserues no grace,
As gladly take, and grudge againe to giue,
A needefull lawe, this shamelesse sect to chace,
For what may be, a viler fault then this,
To be vnkinde, to father or to friend,
Or how may men amend their foule amisse.
Which scornes ye wights, which dayly them defend.
A Farmer once, a frozen snake did finde,
With pitie mou'd, who layd her by the fire,
The snake reuiu'd, did shewe her selfe vnkinde,
But what ensu'd, he siue her for her hire.
A morall rule, ingratefull wights to warne,
How thanklesse they, do quite a friendly turne,
But out alas, those varlets be so stearne,
That viper like, they lawe and dutie spurne,
We dayly see, the parents painfull toyle,
Their restlesse care, their children well to traine.
We likewise see, how thanklesse children spoyle,
Their parents goods, or wish them dead for gaine.
The good man oft, the friendlesse childe doth keepe,
And fosters him, with many a friendly grote,
who seekes his spoyle, when he is sound asleepe,
Or gives consent, to cut his maisters throte,
We see some men, aduaunst to honours hye,
By helpe of such, which once did beare a sway,
Which quite forget, what feathers forst them flye,
If founders theirs, by froward chaunce decay,
The traitrous mate, whose prince doth cal to grace.
Is subiect straight, to sowe seditious strife,
No maruell then, to root out such a race.
If Corinth king, ordained losse of life,
But if in vre, we nowe should put his doome,
Ingratefull gnufes, each gallowes so would cloy,
That scarcely theeues, to hang shuld haue a roome.
To ease the iust, whom dayly they annoy,
Yet doubt I not, some meanes would be preparde,
To cut them off, for both may well be sparde.

The euill fortune of a couetous person, and what profite ariseth by the death of a churle.

A desperate wight, his fortunes foule to free,
(By wilfull death) to rid his cares did choose,
But as he trudgd, to totter on a tree.
Untimely there, his loathed life to loose,
(A rare good hap) a pot of golde he found,
The gold hee rapt, his rope hee left behind,
Anon a carle, came sheaking through the ground,
In steede of gold, a rope who there did finde,
Which haplesse sight, so nipt him at the hart,
That loe for woe, hee pissed where hee stoode,
At length (quoth hee) this cord shall cure my smart,
And so hee hung himselfe in sullen moode.
The sight were fayre, if euery bough did beare,
Such kinde of fruites, till caren churles were choakt,
Whose deathes inforce, a thousand well to fare,
Their liues the poore, as many wayes hath yoakt.
The wormes reioyce, vppon a churle to gnawe,
The poore man then, whom hee did pinch of yore,
Hath pennie dole, and meate to fil his mawe,
Where scarcitie was, forthwith appeareth store.
Pray for his soule, the common people crie,
As for his life, the world full well may spare,
His hordes of gold, about the house then flie,
Catch who catch may, his goods a hundred share.
His heapes of corne, to euery market sailes,
Which close hee kept, in hope of some deare yeare,
And where hee sparde, the parings of his nailes,
His sonne may spend and make his friends good cheare,
If such increase, comes by a carrens death,
Who would not wish, a cord to stop his breath?

A briefe description of death.

Death is a piller to the Prince,
true iustice to vphold,
A terrour to the trayterous mate,
his secretes to vnfould,
A stedfast stay to common weales,
a webbe of worldlings woe,
A father to the harmelesse wight,
vnto his friend a foe.

An Epitaphe vppon the death of Henrie Cantrell of Lincolnes Inne Gent. by his friend R. C.

Howe great a vice it is either for the vertuous, or valiaunt man, to accompanie himselfe with men of base condition, when as (acknowledging his dutie) hee may aduenture into the companie of the best.

An Epitaphe on the death of the right worshipful maister Robert Wingfield, of Vpton in the countie of Northampton Esquier.

To shewe their cause of dole, whom Wingfields death doth pearse,
Good muse take thou a little paine, his vertues to rehearse,
Hee wel was knowne to spring, from house of auncient name,
Yea leaue his Armes, and blase his actes, and you shall see the same.
His zeale to serue his God, his care to saue his soule,
His stoute contempt of Romish ragges, their taxe, their tyth, and toule.
The Gospell, that hee lou'd, his life that showde no lesse,
Bare witnesse that in words and workes, the trueth he did professe.
Beleeue his blessings else, which hee receyu'd from hie,
The first long life, in happie health, till age inforst him die.
And then this comfort sweete, to free his age from feares,
Hee sawe his children liue and like, in credite many yeares,
Sufficient wealth hee had, ynough hee thought a feast,
Hee had ynough, hee spent ynough, and with ynough deceast.
His credite with his Prince continued from his youth,
(A sight most rare) in office plast, hee trust, returnde with trueth.
Full fiftie yeares and twoe, a Iustice place hee vsde,
For common peace, and profite both, hee seeldome paynes refusde,
Hee weeded wronges from right, by law, and not by ame,
Hee kept this course, to helpe the poore, the lewd againe to blame.
His life vpright and iust, hee ioyde in no mans thrall,
His dealings were both lou'd, and likt, among his neighbours all.
His bountie at his bord, his store for euery sort,
The hie, the lowe, the riche, the poore, wrought him a rare report.
And thus long time hee liu'de, in credite and in loue,
Till death to worke, his ioy, our griefe, his force began to proue.
But yet hee sicknes sent, for to forewarne him first,
Whose honest minde, whose conscience cleare, straight bade him doe his worst.
And so with hope of heauen, vnto the graue hee vailde,
Of which hee glad, his friendes as sad, if sorrowe ought preuailde.

An Epitaphe on the death of the right worshipfull maister Iohn Ayleworth Esquier.

An Epitaphe in the order of an admonition, written on the death of his verie friend Iohn Note of Grayes Inne Gent. Vntimely flaine the 2. of Nouember 1575.

With teares in thought imprint, both frem and knowen frende,
Three speciall notes of much auaile, by Notes vntimely ende.

1.

Note first his honest life, or euery sort was lou'd,
Learned hee was and vertuous both, his manhoode throughly prou'd,
A gallant witte hee had the which hee gouernde so,
As did content all sortes of men, when cause the vse did show.
Hee had both health and wealth, his fortune was to hard,
And yet in spite of froward chaunce, Fame shall his vertues gard.

2.

His life would followed bee, his death forwarnes his friends,
(A note of worth) of quarreling, that still with mischiefe endes.
And yet with such abuse, I meane not him to tuch,
But this I say (hee prou'd it true) by once hee fought to much,

3.

Another note hee leaues, the which to showe I quake,
His speeding wound so rest his sense, as word hee neuer spake.
Gods pleasure in the cause, I leaue for to dispute,
Hee knewe his thoughts, wee knowe his life: then iudge t'were better mute.
Yet learne you by his fate (if you examples feare,)
You haue no charter of your life, then best you do prepare,
Your selues eche houre to die, least you be tarde tooke,
You are here warnd, with ouer proofe, into your conscience looke.

An Epitaphe on the death of his especiall friend, Thomas Cornelius Gent slaine in the Prince of Orenge his seruice in Holland.

VVhetstons inuectiue against Dice.

My Muse to mount Parnassus hill,
Which whilom tokst delight,
Faire Venus ioyes to set to vew,
And wray blind Cupids spite.
Go shrowde thy selfe in Limbo lake,
This dririe tale to tell,
Of Dice, to figure forth the frute,
A second showe of hell.
There craue the ayde of wrathfull sprites,
The Authors of this art,
And ioyne with them such hellish impes,
As waytes to woorke our smart.
For sure their plagues to paint aright,
Beseemeth well the toile,
Of him that pend the paines of hell,
How Plutoes thralles do broile.
The lustie youth, with lyuing left,
Whose woe is wealth and ease,
To line his purse with powling fines,
His tenaunts pence doth fease,
Then doth hee beare a loftie saile,
As one that dreads no want,
These sneaking curs now raunge abrode,

A cheating merchaunt lokes like a sneaking cur.

To finde this nouis haunt.
One bitten dog aboue the rest,
Doth great acquaintaunce craue,
Whose kindred blasde, and friendship voucht
Hee treates of counsell graue.
Trust mee good cus, trust mee hee cries,

Crosbiting a kinde of cousoning vnder the couler of frendship.

When first I left my guide,
This towne did weaue my webbe of cares,
Before that craft I spyde.
Eche shifting slaue, did search the meane,
A mate to make mee meete,
Then hee the names bewrayes of some,
Himselfe to make him sweete.
The lustie brute which feares no fraude,
Doth count his cunning blist,
Who thinkes he hath a faint in hand,
Yet shakes syr Sathans fist.
Their friendship new, by greeting oft,
Now grafted in their brest,
His kindred coynde in cousners stampe,
Inuites him as his guest.
Who kindly thankes him for his cost,
And craues amends to make,
Then trudge they to some tabling house,
Their hunger for to slake.
Where daintie fare great store they finde,
Their naperie faire and sweete,
And gallants gay, with Conges kinde,
Their comming for to greete.
A bounsing gyrle they sildome misse,
To furnish forth their messe,
Whose chyrping tongue, with pleasaunt speach,
Doth cheare her chosen gesse.
There shall you heare described plaine,
Eche forreine towne and towre,

The table exercise.

Augmented newes of warlike frayes,
Where fortune late did lowre.
As cold as snow, some couch their scoffes,
And some to rayling prest,
In plesaunt speach some play the K,
And makes thereon a ieast.
And some so plainly figures forth,
The fruites of Venus court,
That honest eares doth scorne to heare,
Their vaine and vile report.
Their dinner done, they leaue this speach,
The gamsters call for dice,
Where posting Iacke to rub the bord,
Doth come euen with a trice.
To you, you furies, now I leaue,
This foule abuse to wray,
Their foysting shiftes my Muse doth mase,
Their othes my pen doth fray.
Tenne mine alowde some cogger cryes,
Three mine some youth doth say,
Gods bloud eleuen, (well sworne in faith,)
The caster cryes to pay.
Sixe is the maine, what do you sett,
Well tenne to sixe I haue,
Two fiues (gods hart) then for the house,
The boxer streight doth craue.
And nine: Come ye and nine this crowne,
Well, chaunce at it I say,
Aumes ase (gods wounds) t'is not my lucke,
Two maynes to throwe this day.

Murderers of othes.

Some hypocrites, do murder othes,
Faire Gamsters for to seeme,
But of both euils, to choose the best,
The doubt were hard I deeme,
Perhaps some gallant fortune hauntes,
Good hap his hand doth guide,
His purse aflote, within his brest,
Doth lurke disdainfull pride.

Monie lightly wonn, is a lightly spent.

Then roists hee in his ratling silkes,
And sortes with Venus dames,
Whose luring lookes, inforce his heart,
To frie in Cupids flames.
To traine him in, hee shall inioy,
Eche outward show of blisse,
In secrete sport they wilbe coy,
They feare to do amisse.
A sute of Laune my Lady lackes,

Luers to stoupe a Curtisane.

Or else some trifling cheane,
A cawle of gold, and other knackes,
My nouis purse must gleane.
The haggard then that checkt of late,
Will stoupe to fancies lure,
And inward bend at euery becke,
No storme shall chaunge procure.
Her christall eyes shall still be fixt,
To stare vppon his face,
Her daintie armes shall try their force,
Her louer to imbrace.
Her Rubie lippes, by stelth shee will,
Bee ioyning vnto his,
With courage vaunst, her friend to force,
To fall to Venus blisse.
Then will shee play Galatheas part,
To make his ioy more sweete,
By striuing yeeld, who neuer thought,

A rape vnpunishable.

From such deuise to fleete.
To frame excuse for late offence,
The queane will cog apace,
She will alledge his sugred woordes,
His gallant giftes of grace:
So wrought within her horish minde,
As naught auailde defence,
For to withstand his sharpe assaultes,
Shee lyes it was his pence.
Naught crauing for her kindnes showen,
Saue constancie in him,
Then shee that rues her chastice spoild,
In seas of ioyes shall swim.
Which subtile speach doth force her friend,

Fairewords makes fooles faine.

Within his minde to say,
In beuties showe, my choice doth passe,
Syr Paris pearelesse pray,
Aduentrous boye, now bathe in blisse,
In scorne of Fortunes rage,
Thy good successe, in former sutes,
Good happe doth still presage,
But all this while, his purse is sicke,
It purgeth more and more.
Then runnes hee to his former vaine,
To cure his soudaine sore.
Where coemates, if hee chaunce to lacke,
The deuill is in the rome,
The maister will supply the want,
Till more resort doth come.
Who chiefely in this hellish house,

Like maister, like scholers.

Doth God in peeces teare,
With quicke repentaunce then hee cries,
A beast hee is to sweare.
Which woordes more true is then his othe,
When most hee cogs and scowle,
For one may shape an Oxes sconce,
By patterne of his iowle,
My younge mans purse, that earst was sicke,
Here reapes but small reliefe,
His newe receite doth scowre to fast,
Cheape side must cure his griefe.
Then to the Goldsmithes straight hee runnes,
Where most his credite is,

A notable vsurie.

Crackt Angels there be currant coyne,
Eight shillinges worth a peece.
Foure pound in twentie, for a moneth,
In faith is pretie gaine,
The lender may well liue thereon,
The paiment is the paine.
Then as a man with loue once matcht.
At length yet wonne the fort,
His Lady yeelding to his lust,

Both infections can hardly bee cured.

Doth thyrst for Venus sport.
So doth this youth to be at dice,
Thinke euery houre three,
One bone was sure, the frame of both,
In nature so they gree.
Now fortune frownes, that late did laughe,

There is no certaintie in dicers fortunes.

To quite him for his scorne,
Ill lucke doth chaunge his chaunce of gaine,
Good lott is quite forlorne,
One by and maine, at euery throw,
His Angell runnes astray,
He fretts & fumes, he stamps & stares,
Hee leaues a maine to pay.
His setters some, they loosers bee,
They will not so be seru'd,
They wilbe paid gods wounds his hart
Forthwith shall els be caru'd.
With monie lost, his couler stirde,
Hee bids them do their worst,
And if they dare appoint the place,
Gods bloud hee wilbe first.

Dicers quarrells.

The box then at his bosom goes,
His dagger now hee drawes,
They parted are, they do agree,
Abrode to try them dawes.
Then Smithfeeld ruffians flocke apace,
And Fletestrete hacksters hew,
The enimies meete, of ircksom hell,
They do present the shew.
Draw, draw, the villaines kill, they cry,
Then some do shewe their strength,
Some thrust fiue yeards ere foe do come,
To keepe him out at length.
The broken blades they busse about,

An il wind that driues no man to profite.

The more the Cutlers gaine,
Some hops for neede, which faine would go
Some lies in streate nie slaine.
Some siouins sleues will buttoned bee,
That downe theyr weapons fall.
The Barber waites, the wounded wights
Lookes like the whited wall.
To rue his hap on euery side,
His fained friends do flocke,
His minion kinde to wrap his wounds,
Will now bestow her smocke.
Not all for greefe of his mischaunce,

Some visite the sicke more in hope of gaine, then deuotion.

This kindnes they do showe,
But greedie gaping after gaine,
If death should ease his woe.
His daunger past, by Surgions art,
They do present their bill,
The which defraide (with other charge)
His feeble purse doth kill.
He keeping home when debtes were due,
And payment none was made.
Doth breede mistrust in Merchants minds,
His credite ginns to vade.
To sell his land, full loth hee is,
A thred hee fairely spinnes,

What ensues after morgaging.

To morgage it hee fully minds,
To thriue hee now beginnes.
Now blewberds bagges doth beare the sway,
Did snudges smell him out,
Good simple soules they plainly meane,
Yet trauerse euery doubt.
An hundreth pound they venter will,
On land fiue hundreth worth,
In Scriueners craft consist their lawe,
Poore subtile men forsooth.
The ruddockes redde do tempt his eyes,
The instruments be made,
In faith to sowre his sweete receite,
Before digestion had,

A statute a perilous bonde.

Some vnaduised statute hee,
Without defesaunce wrought,
Doth enter in, their gold to gaine,
Their guiles hee feareth nought,
They perchment reape, hee gold doth gleane,
Who toyles in straitest yoke,
For present state, I will not iudge,
Hereafter strikes the stroke.
Now hee for feare of sergeants sauce,
That sicknes late did faine,
In euery streate, which sight presents,
His presence you may gaine,
The Mercers bookes for silkes bee crost,

A welcome guest.

His debtes bee now defraide,
The remnaunt doth the dice consume,
Of all, which worst is paide,
Redeeming day, drawes on a pace,
His monie cleane is gone,

Credite once lost is not easilie obtained againe.

His creditors through late mistrust,
Forsooth will lend him none.
Then doth hee trudge to Holdfastes house,
His great distresse to wray,
Of him to get a longer time,
His monie for to pay.
Who aunswers, fayre, that God forbid,
My conscience I should stretch,
To take aduauntage of a day,
(Oh false dissembling wretch,)
The fained woordes hee simply trustes,
The merchaunt did accord,
As though bare wordes were good discharge,

Bare words an yll plea, against matter of recorde.

For matters of recorde,
Now is he forst to try his friendes
His monie to prouide,
Where he on flocks may see them fleete,
Which fawned in his pride.
Yet some there be for his distresse,

Necessitie tries frends

Whose harts with bale wil bleede,
And findes the meane to lend him coyne:
Well fare a friend at neede.
Aduaunst with ioy, to pay his pence,
In haste now is he gone,
But cut throte giues a cooling carde,
For monie he will none,

A cooling carde.

His lande is his, by forfaite plaine,
Which is too sweete to lose,
For kindnesse yet, he will be franke,
He playes now with his hose,
Holde twentie poundes, besides to drinke,
How like ye of this match.
For fiue to haue fiftene with him,
In faith is but a snatch.
The youth againe, will haue his lande,
Or else (Gods wounds) he sweares,
The pillorie for cousining him,
Shall moth eate both his eares,
And in this chafe, he doth depart,
Sub penas for to fetch,
Which raunge abroade in euery streate,
To catch the cousining wretch,
Who caught, his prankes of deepe deceite,
The youthlings plaint bewayes,
And shewes ere time of forfeit came,
He gaue him longer dayes,
To answere which denying all,
The craftie carle now speedes.
With rough reply, the plaintiue soothes,
His plaint of truth proceedes,
The gnawing worme, of conscience vile,
Now bites at Blewbeards brech,
He feares sol fa, in cousners cliffe,
His eares too hye shall stretch,
Which makes him trudge, to finde his mates,
The frie of Sathans crue,
For to consult how to avoyde,
The shame that might ensue.
The packe of knauerie then they ope.
Their craftie bondes they viewe,
One shifting knaue, a forfeit findes,
To make their enimie rue.

Lewde coūsell.

The rest with open mouth doth crye,
To catch poore cousenee,
By durance hard, to make him yeald,
Which else would not agree.
Then lay they traines, of Comin seede,

Comin a Gauntalias a Serpent.

To toll this pigeon in,
Whose chiefest feathers soone be pulde,
Once snarled in their gin.
The counter serues, him for a cage,
Where breeding holes there be,
But louer lights, to scape away,
This doue cote lackes we see,
For him that earst did raunge abroade,
This ayre is not fit.
The Bench he thinks, more freedome hath,
For to refresh his wit.
More haste then needes, he findes a meane,
His causes to remooue,
And that the body come with him,
The writ doth charge the shreeue,
Well mand then comes he to the barre,
The iudge commaundes away,
Then tipstaues snatch him vp in haste,
They make no long delay.
Safe lockt they leaue him vnder charge,
Untill the court doth rise,
Then guarded to the mershals house,
This lustie gallant hies,
Who passing through the porters lodge,
Then findes no iesting game,
For Burton with his booke of doome,
Requesteth him his name.
Roger Woodcocke of vnthriftes rowe,
What gentleman or squire,
Ten grotes and two pence you must pay,

A gentle admittance

I do but right require.
Which payd, a while to viewe the house,
He lets him go at large,
But soone the vermine comes againe,
To giue the second charge.
Your worship knowes the losse sayth he,

A gentle persuasion.

My maister should sustaine,
If any prisoner should escape,
Their ease his little gaine,
And therefore each of you he may,
By lawe in yrons lay,
Yet he for pitie trusteth you,
Your penance is to pay.
For them three halfpence in the pound,
Your actions yeald thus much,
Which trifle for your ease to giue,
Your worship neede not grutch.
Then may you in the garden walke,
When you haue payd your fees.
Thus euery way the poore is pincht,
To plucke him on his knees.
An answere faire the prisoner makes,
Which doth content the time,
Then he to seeke his fellow mates,
The stayres straight doth clime,
Some subtile lawyer soone he findes,

The Kings Benche neuer without a subtil Lawyer.

Who great acquaintance craues,
To whome he shewes, his lucklesse lot,
Enforst by shifting slaues.
And lastly, to his skill commends,
If yron fees be due.
Extortion plaine, the Lawyer sayth,
His wordes be very true,
The statute here at large I haue,
Set downe for prisoners ease.
The Gaylor can by lawe receiue,
A groate, no more for fees,
And in your other causes I
The snudge will sharply yoke,
But looke your counsell lackes no coyne,
For monie strikes the stroke.
Which monie killes the heart of him,
Whome present neede doth pine,
Yet he at first, do share him fees,
As though he had a mine,
And all on hoyh, he rashly reakes,
His prisonment a scorne,
And vainely vaunts, to plague his foe,

Saturday a heauie daye to needie prisoners.

Till Saturday at morne.
Corrections then be sharply giuen,
To them which monie lackes,
Now Burton comes for yron fees,
My youth now stoutly crakes,
If he extort where is no right,
The statute to prepare,
And sweares to make him pay the paine,
And damage for his share.

Might ouercomes right.

But here no lawe nor right do rule,
Ne vaileth threats nor crakes.
With boltes and shackles on his shins,
His loaden heeles he shakes.
Where late was golde, an yron chaine,
Do well beseeme the necke,
His wrystes in steade, of braslets braue,
With manacles be deckt,
And nowe they will him coole his feete,
He cloyde with yrons great,
For all his lawe, is glad to pay,

Necessitie obeys not lawe.

Yea more then that entreate.
Thus he that thought Caribdis rockes,
By wisedome to escape,
By follie fell in Sillaes gulfe,
His greater griefes to shape,
How speedes he nowe in all his suites,
When all his pence be spent?
Unfeed do Lawyers ply his cause,
Till newe receit of rent?
Nay, Niclas nihil dicet sure,

Nihil dicet, a vauntage a cousiner seekes.

To nip him to the hart,
In execution layes him vp,
For feare that he should start,
He fast, his fained friends yet free,
To see him be not rash,
And Mynx his minion hath a mate,
And leaues him in the lash.
For Haggard like, she will not stoope,
But where she gets her pray,
His coyne consumd, his courage coolde,
In hope she will not stay.
What restes nowe, to this lucklesse man,
What pen his woes can wray,
Of friends forlorne, of freedome reft,

A miserable estate.

And he at beggers bay.
Thus gaulde with griefe his Lawyer yet,
This slender shift doth vse,
And sayth that prisoners be opprest,
And all men do refuse,
To ease their wants, and therefore sure,
The best is to agree,
He may the better plague his foes,
Abroad when he is free.
Which freedome so doth feede his hart,
Whome present bondage nippes,
That he through hope before his hap,
For ioy now hops and skips,
And then in hast, for holdfast sends,
Agreement for to make.

Any cōpanion.

But once or twise he must be praid,
Ere hee the paines will take,
And then with one or two he comes,
And vp and downe be iets,
Nowe do I smile to shewe the speach,
Betwixt these counterfets.

The one through necessitie, the other through hypocrisie. The prouerbe verified.

The youth that roughly rayld of late,
A pitious plaint doth paint,
The diuell him selfe in Christian shewe,
Doth counterfet a Saint,
But after many wordes of griefe,
That either part can say,
The youth perforce the candle holdes,
And beares the blame away,
And gladly yealdes him selfe in fault,
Whose crauing suite nowe is,
That cutthrote will, release him of
The penance of his mis,
And take such order as they both,
In friendly league may liue.
The more that he in prison spendes,
The lesse he hath to giue,
As though that conscience mou'd his mynd,
The merchant doth lament,
Through peeuish pride and hautie hart,
His pence and time mispent,
And order takes his owne the gaine,
The losse he leaues to him,
Which thought wtout dame wisdomes bark
In seas of ioyes to swimme.
From prison free he nothing myndes,

The lawe prouides a remedy, for extortion, &c but the lacke of execution emboldeneth churles to breake thē.

The statute to prefare,
Nor for the cousning shiftes he vsde,
To cloy the churle with care.
But runnes vnto his former vaine,
If ought he haue to play,
To posting then he somewhat puts,
His commons to defray,
Some Cheater haply will him teach,
Some coging trickes at dice,
Whereby he may mainteine him selfe,
If therein he be wise.
Then is he set a sale to toule,
Some other yonkers in,
To make them bite at vnthrifts bayte,
While he their pence doth win.
Some can not brooke this seruile life,

Ventures barge.

But needes in ventures barge,
Will seeke a price, but howe they speede,
I leaue to shewe at large.
The sweete report of souldiers gaine,

Souldiers gaine.

By them that lacke the sower,
Persuadeth straight some ventrous mynde,
To scale dame Fortunes bower.
But Flushing frayes, hath wrought such feare,

Flushing.

That they suspend their hope,
If one did gaine, then two were slaine,
The thirde did stretch a rope,
And beggers most returnd againe,
Unto their natiue soyle,
For Holland yealded litle thrift,
In lue of all their toyle.
And some with trifles seekes to thriue,
But fewe do speede so well,
And with a litle haply learnes,
Repentance for to spell.
The seruing man, that plyes this vaine,

Of seruing men.

A shorter cut doth make,
He hath no fines to fill his purse,
Nor racked rents to rake,
His way for to supply his want,
Is by the Scottish cog.
But finely he must strike his dye,
Least yrons do him clog.
And worse then that, to make him sure,

The hangmans cog.

In haste doth hangman speede,
Where he in cogging winnes the coate,
For that he strikes him dead.

Of husbandmen. &c.

The plowman, and the poorest sort,
Which toyles and sowes the soyle,
And sixe pence by the day doth gaine,
In recompence of toyle,
If he at night, consume at play,
The price of all his hire,
His wife with hunger well may sterue,
His children freese for fire.
O horned hap, of hatefull harme,
O venom vile to tell,
O greedie gulfe of endlesse griefe,
O horror next to hell,
O foule infection, fraught with care,
O sinke of such a sent,
Which neuer leau'st thy poysned thrals,
Till all their wealth be spent
For not in vaine, Agrippa writ,
The fiends of yre you made,
An Art most fit for hellish ympes,
And not for Christians trade.

Pride.

A spring from whence all vice did flowe,
Of peeuish Pride the nurse,
For note the dicer, roystes in silke,

Lecherie.

When pence be pert in purse.
Then must he prease in pleasures court,
To be of Venus traine,
Which soone will purge his foggie purse,
From all their pinching paine.
His body earst that able was,

Sloth.

To serue at eache assay,
By sloth, &c. is so weake,
That faintnesse bids him stay,
To shewe the valure of his mynde,
Till natures griefe be easde.
His fearelesse othes will feare the diuell,

Blasphemie

When losse hath him displeasde,
When malice moues him to reuenge;

Wrath.

His quarels do excell,
His carelesse slashing at his foe,
Doth wray the fourme of hell.
An Epicure for his fare,

Gluttonie. Couetousnesse.

Such is his costly cates,
His mynde is bent to snatch and catch,
Yea more to rob his mates,
When all is spent and credite crackt,

Despaire.

Despaire then strikes the stroke,
And makes him gape in hope of plumbes,
For pence will shun his poke.
And thus you heare in ragged ryme,
For so be seemes the worke,
What veines of vice, what lakes of losse,
In dogged dice doth lurke,
For loftie verse vnfitly serues,
To paint the plagues of hell,
Though not the same, yet next thereto,
This dogrell rime doth tell.
How youthes from rod, to freedome leapt,

The sum of the whole discourse.

Are thrall to sharper whips,
Whom cousner first, whom cutthrote next,
Whome lawyer lastly nips.
The braunches of the cousners tree,
Are whordome, theft, and pride,
From cutthrotes rout, doth bondage spring,
With losse on euery side.
The Lawyer lickes that they haue left,
And lets him sinke or swim,
Pure neede then makes him leane on those,
That earst did liue by him.
Although at large I here do touch,
Each vice in his degree,

Exceptions

A speciall meaning hath my wordes,
To graunt that some there be,
By rules of lawe, which rightly liue,
And not which rules the lawe,
To wrest the sense to serue their turne,
Their clyents coyne to clewe,
Some merchaunts rise by honest meanes.
And not by craftie shiftes,
Some tabling halles in fayth I iudge,
Are free from cheters driftes,
The which I trust will not repine,
Or quite my toyle with blame,
Nor yet the guiltie well may grudge,
Which wisely wayes the same.

Fiftie apples of admonition, late growing on the tree of good gouernment: bestowed on his especiall friends and companions, the Gentlemen of Furniuals In.

A caueat to G. W. at his going into Fraunce, written by his friend R. C.

Post haste, since so thou mak'st, the coast of Fraunce to see,
Thy frends aduice in baren verse, good George yet take wt thee,
Haue thou a haught disdaine, which art a Bryttan bred,
At thy returne, to proue howe that, French follies filles thy hed,
In natiue soyle disguis'd, thy selfe God shield thou showe,
In coate, in cloake, in hat, in hose, a French man like to go,
French shoes, made fast with pointes, in doublets syde and wide,
Which French men weare (God wot) for ease, sute not thy selfe through pride
What tendeth to thy thrift, to folow, not refuse,
Keepe thou one seruant and no more, but not as french men vse,
For wages pay not words, as is the guise of Fraunce.
Array him not, in tattered rags, french like, or nakt to daunce.
One meale, no more a day, is pittance very small,
To like wel of, such french like fare, few English yeomen fall,
Let gesture, words, nor weedes, inforce thy friends to say,
Behold a frenchman wher he flaunts, if face be turn'd away.
Which face french like to sute, good George take special heede,
In taste the baites are very sweete, that do such cankers breede.
For to pronounce thy wordes, yea french and all first lose,
Afore thou spoyle thy English tong, with snufling in the nose,
Thou knowest what I meane, thy wit is good and quicke:
Yet wise men oft before they looke, fast in the myre sticke.
But ere thou rashly leape, the ditches I reueale,
The plainesse of my Muse bewrayes my warning is of zeale.
My ioy thy profite great, if thy returne do showe,
Thy trauell tends to countries good, not french man like to goe.
The rage of retchlesse youth, thy trauell did allay,
And not thereby with proudest shewe, to royst in garments gay,
That thou canst yeald account, what is the countries state,
What newes of note, do run abroade, as well of loue as hate,
These fruits thy friends expect, at thy returne to reape,
But stay I here, into aduice, my Muse too farre doth creepe,
She ment not to direct, how thou shouldst vse thy time,
She ment french follies, for thy heede, to touch in naked rime,
Well, since she rou'd so farre, alowe what she hath sayde,
My inward wish (for thy auayle) she hath no more but wrayde.

Whetstons Dreame.

Inuentions of P. Plasmos touching his hap and hard fortune, vnto the which is annexed the sundrie cōplaintes; foure notable couseners, the instrumentes of his greatest troubles: which in the prime of their mischieuous enterprises, with soudaine death and vexation were straungelie visited. At the end of euery of the said inuentions, for the more plaine knowledge of them, is the reporters admonition in prose both pleasant and profitable.

P. Plasmos triumphe.

[I dreaming once (me thought) dame beautie bad me craue]

I dreaming once (me thought) dame beautie bad me craue,
The thing that fed my fācie best, & I the same should haue.
My choice was quickly made, I beautie likt so well,
And yet I su'de my maistresse might, her seemely selfe excell.
Who smyling in her thought, to see my small foresight,
Such one (quoth shee) thou shalt inioy, make much of thy delight:
Unto which ende forsooth, for fortune straight shee sought,
Who did present a sightly girle, vnto my wanton thought.
My promise is performde (quoth shee) sweete friend adieu.
My fancie rendred forth with thankes, as though it had beene true:
But when I wooke and miste, this passing louely wight:
A murdred sighe, the fancie checkte, that raisde my late delight,
And fretting, forth I goe, fonde fancies for to chase,
But loe by Lady fortune signde, I chaunst to spy thy face.
Then to my selfe I said, cease Plasmos to be sad,
This is the Dame, thou didst possesse, in dreame that earst thou had,
Acquaintaunce for to craue, aduentrous boy assay,
Thou wert not nise, ne I abasht, my secretes to bewray,
I showde thee all and some, what I in vision sawe,
Thou wart mine owne by beauties dome, vnlesse thou scorndst her law,
My wordes did like thee well, or praises that I vsde,
And smyling saidst, Dame beauties hest, must no wayes be abusde,
Thus after slender sute, thou knowste whom I enioyde,
But easily wonne, as soone thou wert, through sullon will accoyde,
And in thy wrangling rage, I sawe thee raunge for newe:
I chafte through sight, Dame beautie blamd, cause Laymos was not true.
Which soone I did recant, and yeelded for to haue,
My sute performde at beauties hands, in forme as I did craue.
I askst a gallant gyrle, which vaild at first assault,
I askte no faith, nor none I found, in whom was then the fault?
In him who now will learne, to make his match more sure,
And as for thee thou dost but hinde, to stoupe to euery lure.

[Fowle fall thee false suspect, so thriue thou ielous thought]

P. Plasmos in praise of his Purse.

Come prettie purse, the iewell of my ioy,
The daintie soile, wherein delight is sowen,
Thou well deseru'st the title of a Ioy,
Who doth not feare, whereas thy force is knowen?
Who dare rebell, where thou dost rule and reigne?
Thou foylest kinges, by force of treason vile,
Thou clokest craft, with flattrie, feare or gaine,
When Iustice should vncase his crooked guile.
By thee escapes the traytour and the theefe,
The murdrous mate, which languisht late in woe,
Thou werst to ebb, their tossing tydes of greefe,
And graftest myrth, where mone but late did growe.
To maske with pride, thou art a visard fitt,
Thou heau'st him vp, which held the plough of late,
Thou telst his tale, which wants both Art and witt.
Thou wodcocke setst, before the wise estate,
The wilie churle, which wronges the wretch full oft,
The cousening mate whose mischiefe neuer endes,
Should sol fa singe in couseners cliffe aloft.
But that thou cloakst their craft with wealthie friends,
The thriftlesse childe by thee doth looke full hie,
Whose sparing friends at home the plough doth hold,
In Court thou art the badge of brauerie.
Who doth not fawne on gentle maister gold?
Deformed girles, by thee are made full faire,
Dame Venus stoupes through thee to Vulcans lure,
The coffing churle, doth match with beauties heire.
Such straunge consents can Lady Coyne procure,
Why stay I then, sweete purse thee to embrace?
Whose ayde I vsde, when fortune most did lowre,
My clowdes of scare, thou cleardst with gleames of grace,
My bale to blisse, to sweete, thou chaungst my sowre,
Thou sau'dst my life, with passing loue nie pinde,
Which friendly turnes, are written in my minde.

P. Plasmos complaint of want.

I whilome writ a iest, what ioyes my purse did plant,
But now I wray with litle lust, the woes of withered want.
When Purse with pence did flow, a thousand friends I found,
Now wōted wealth doth weare to ebb, their frēdship runnes aground.
When Coyne I had in claw, my wronges weare doomde for right,
Since neede did nippe, my rightfull sutes was ouermayde with might.
When wealth I had at wil, my wished ioyes were wrought,
Now want doth choke those iestes with care, & cloyes my braynes with thought.
With wealth I freedome wonne, by wealth my woes did weare,
Through lacke, restrainte of libertie, doth foyle my hope with feare.
With Coyne I seruaunts kept, which serued for mine ease,
By neede inforst, now am I faine, to pray, to pay, and please.
I ratlted then in silkes, by brauerie of my bagges,
But pouer man, now am I glad, to royst in rotten ragges.
My purse me oft preferd, to play, in pleasures lappe,
Wel may I wish, but want I shal, by wāt to reach such hap.

P. Plasmos to his mishap.

[Why do I liue (quoth he) to see this lothsome sight]

Why do I liue (quoth he) to see this lothsome sight,
Sith iustice is this day diuorst, and wrong is matcht with might,
Where cousnage was the clarke, where pollage was the priest,
Where deepe deceit, which gaue this dame, was father of the feast,
Where brydemen were abuse, where briberie bare the cup,
Where greedie earls as chiefest guestes, in euery boll did sup,
Where coyne was cater made, where cost the cookerie drest,
Where catchpoles false did fill the cups, at this great marriage feast,
Where parasites did prate, to free each sullen moode,
Wher cheting churles did fill their paūch, where poore mē steru'd for food,
Where countenance once dynde, and might haue cheard his mates,
Wide open then, but not before, the porter set the gates,
Yet thousandes preast to see, the res'due of the sport,
Some cloyd by craft, some foyld by force, for succour did resort,
But well I sawe (quoth he) which sight I sore did rue,
How blastes of scorne the belly Gods, among the needie blue,
How wealth did smile at want, how riches railde on right,
How vertue was supprest by vice, how pitie by despight,
How false suspect did forge, a thousand {flim flam} stayes.
In rightfull suites to tyre the poore, with cost and long delayes.
Anon the musicke soundes, and force his office shewd,
Well meaning mindes he wrapt so hard, that they his hart beshrewd,
First falshoode makes his choice, next flatterie takes his chaunce,
Then tag and rag about the house, deceitfull measures daunce.
A curious maske at night, the bridemen doth ordaine.
With shews of fraud to feed their thoghts, which care not how they gain,
Abuse did leade the bride, extortion maskt with craft,
To see deceit come hobbling on, a hundred carrens laught.
Pure neede to get a place, was glad to holde a torch.
But iustice during all this sport, was placed in the porch,
Good Ladie then (quoth he) alas and well away,
You sometime did possesse this place, this whilome was your day.
How hapneth Lucre, hath infected so your mate,
How chaunceth Truth, did suffer Craft, to enter in your gate,
What though that gaine did sowe, some seedes of Iealousie,
Might not (Remorse) attonement make, betweene thy feere and thee?
Is Conscience nowe exilde, who sometime counseld Might,
For to regard dame Iustice suite, and not to striue with right?
Are honest myndes nowe fled, doth rigour rule the rest?
Is Iustice nowe diuorst from might, doth wrong nowe scoure the coste?
Doth countenaunce cloake such crimes, as iustice did vncace?
Dare couseners false defende their faults, with shew of honest face?
They dare and doe God wot, by maintenaunce of might,
Why liue I then alas, he sayd, sith no man fauours right?
With that adieu good hope, and welcome woe (quoth he)
I see no gleames of grace appeare, my cloudes of scare to free.

P. Plasmos description of couseners.

P. P. Inuectiue against his toung.

Thy rash reuenge (O tatling toung) I rue,
Although with truth, thou slaundredst late thy foe,
The prouerbe olde, by proofe I finde too true,
Who fightes with words, doth wound him selfe with woe,
The ciuil lawe, so fauours fame and name,
As strumpets knowne, by wantons oft resort,
Are sildome put to any open shame.
Les open sight, makes proofe of Venus sport,
Who so is toucht, with any foule abuse,
Though common speach, the same for truth confirme,
The common lawe, the guiltie will excuse,
If proofe by oth, ne makes the knowledge firme,
Thus wanton fylthes, and wily churles are scus'd,
If secretly, they worke their foule amis,
Yet needely they, which are by these abus'd,
Must haue a meanes, to vse reuenge ywis,
Where oft their toung, is first addrest to fight,
Whose furious threats, forewarnes their foe of yre,
Which knowne he straight, both seeke to match their might,
And first begins, their griefes for to conspire,
My selfe by such makes proofe, this tale is true,
Who weend to feare, with threatning words my foe,
At which he smilde, preuenting what he knewe,
Woulde be a meane, to worke his ouerthrowe,
Yea worse then that, he tryst me for me toung,
With actions heuge, for slaundering of his fame,
For which my purse, an honest quest so stuong,
That euer since, in faith it hath beene same.
Thus losse to me, no hurt to him at all,
O babbling toung, thy rash reuenge hath wrought,
Else blowes in lawe, had giuen him cause to brall,
Of both the best, though best reuenge be naught,
For bobs do feare, when words not ioynd with deede,
In wrangling mynds, more cnackred thoughts doth breede.

[In gayle of griefe in closde, of worldly friendes forlorne]

In gayle of griefe in closde, of worldly friendes forlorne,
Thy mercy Lord to safe my mone, vnto my prayers turne,
Hide not thy heavenly face, from him that lies in thrall,
High time and tide good God it is, to heare my plaint & call,
My dayes consume with griefe, my myrth is mard wt mone,
My hart doth wast like withred grasse, my graue & I am one
My flesh with thoughts doth fret, in shew I am a ghoste,
I drencht in bale, my foes in blisse, I harmd, of hap they bost,
The world cōmends their welth, & spites my withered woe,
Yea dooms my doings by my dole, theirs by delight in showe
Thus wrongd, and scornd I am, which crosse I do imbrace,
Attending when thy mercy (Lord) my miseries shall chace,
Which ioyne with iustice thine, to foyle my foes in sight.
So shall I praise, and others feare, thy maiestie and might.

[To thee (O Lord) with hart and voice I sing]

P. Plasmos farewell to wanton pleasures.

Dame Venus be content, thy seruaunt should depart,
Who long hath bath'd in beauties blisse, yet swam in seas of smart,
And willing nowe with losse, to leaue his wanton sport,
Repentance hath reclaimed him, from pleasures statly court,
Good loue my gouernesse, thy charge that erst did raunge,
Is well content, to carelesse youth, to leaue his choice in chaunge,
My colours fresh and gay, my pride in peacocks plumes,
I now resigne to Cupides thralls, whose head with fancie fumes,
My sugred wordes that earst, did wray my suites at large,
My scalding sighes, to quench mistrust, when iealousie gaue charge,
I will to salue their sore, whome false suspect doth byte,
My vaunting speach I giue to those, which soiourne with delight,
And fansie earst my friend, of force I must forsake.
And lust my choice, I leaue to those, which rowes in leachers lake,
For wisdome rules my will, and reason bids retire,
Least frosen feares, through faythlesse loue, doth followe hote desire,
Expence doth nip my purse, my pride is pincht with paine,
Aspiring mynde hath caught a fall, my lacke is linckt with gaine,
Yet losse this lesson learnd, how pence my pleasure wrought,
Not pleasure pence, but purses paine, when neede the bottome sought,
A noddie for the nonce, for faithlesse flurtes to flout.
Poore want was rayd, in ragged clothes, amongst dame pleasures rout.
Which picture when I sawe, in fauour like my lacke,
Disdaine my thought, did drowne my ioy, despaire did bruse my backe.
Pure neede then prickt me foorth (in faith) good mistresse mine,
Ere scorne should worke me out of grace, my seruice to resigne.
For if you rightly wey, my want by former wealth,
Your selfe will iudge, I can not serue, without the ayde of stealth.
Then wrong will seeke reuenge, with tryall of his bande,
And iustice soone will sentence giue, to truce me out of hande.
Then conscience will accuse, my coste in Venus court,
And warne my friendes by these my woes, to shun dame pleasures sport,
And (loth to dye) will curse, the causers of my smart,
Thus with your blame, my one the shame (perforce) I shall depart.

P. Plasmos recantation.

P. Plasmos farewell to folly.

The complaint of one Lyros a notable Cousener, supposed at the houre of his death.

Frenos complaint.

Caphos complaint.

Pimos complaint at the houre of his death.

The reporters conclusion, as touching the report of Paulus Plasmos aduentures, and Lyros, Frenos, Caphos, and Pimos falles.

Epilogus.