University of Virginia Library

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To the Readar.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

The Hypocrites had gotten
into theyr owne handes

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All placis of Pleasure
in euery coaste
So had they the good
and profitable landes
Which nowe by selfe loue
are spoyled and loste
No good thynge at all
remayneth welmoste
The thyngis that were best
are nowe made so bad
That where much thynge is
there nought can be had.

Unto suche as be yet wythoute All thyngis shalbe spoken in Parables,

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The fable of Philargyrie ye great Gigant of great Britain, what houses were builded and landes appoynted for his prouisions, and how all the same is wasted to content his gredie gut wythall and yet he rageth for honger

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Geue eare awhyle
And marke my style
You yt hath wyt in store
For wyth wordes bare
I wyll declare
Thyngs done long tyme before

Sometyme certayne
Into Britayne
A lande full of plentie
A Gyaunte greate
Came to seke meate
Whose name was Philargyrie

He was so stronge
That none emonge
That brutyshe nation
Durst take in hande

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Him to wythstande
In any station

That curssed ladde
A fre course had
That Ilande ouer all
Boeth vale and hyll
Were at his wyll
Wyth townes both great and smal

Then let he crye
That lowe and hye
That woulde to him resort
Shulde styll endure
In all pleasure
And lyue in playe and sporte

So that they woulde
Do as they shoulde
And honoure him as God
Wyth Baggis of golde
In many folde
In number euen or odde

Come vnto me
Who so wyll (quoth he)
There shall no lawe him bynde
I wyll him make

---

Free for to take
All thyngis that he can fynde

Force and stronge hand
By sea and lande
Shall be his lawe and ryght
He shall be bolde
To take and holde
Al thyngis by force and myght

So that he bryng
To me some thynge
I wyll defend him styll
None so hardye
Him to deny
Or to saye he doeth Ill

When this was knowne
And a broade blowne
Throughout that Iland wyde
From euery porte
Men dyd resorte
To him on euery syde

So that anone
A Legion
Were redy at hys wyl
To do all thynge

---

At his byddynge
Whether it were good or Ill

Then forth he stode
Wyth full mylde mode
Desyrynge them silence
Tyll he had tolde
All that he wolde
Unto that Audience

Philargyries Oration.

Good syrs (quoth he)
Full well I se
That ye haue ben opprest
Longe tyme wyth lawes
Not worth two strawes
But that shal be redreste

Henseforth there shall
No lawe at all
Restrayne your Libertie
But that you maye
Boeth nyght and daye
Do your owne wyll frely

Catch what you can
From euery man

---

And hold it for your owne
Reape, let me se
And brynge to me
That other men haue sowne

And when you fynde
Ought to your mynde
That force can not brynge in
Then beate your brayne
Aboute some trayne
Whereby you maye it wynne

Se nothynge let
You forto get
All thyngs into your hande
Whych other men
Must nowe and then
Nedes haue by sea or lande.

Then set the price
Aboue all syse
Your bagges therwyth to fyll
Make the vile slaues
And paysant knaues
Paye you at your owne wyll.

And where you spye
Commoditie

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Ther plant your dwelling place
And then employe
Your whole study
To get it vp apase

And by eche porte
Where is resorte
Se that ye do conueye
All maner thynge
Whereof myght sprynge
Profyte to this contrey

For so shall ye
Enriched be
And haue money in store
For you shall sell
Thyngis twyse so wel
As men dyd heretofore.

The woule, the lead
The corne for breadde
The bere butter and cheese
Wyll be well solde
Wherefore be bolde
By them you can nought leese.

Metalle of Bellis
Lether and fellis

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And woulsted yarne also
Are redye golde
Let them be solde
Wyth thyngis a thousand moe

And if you maye
Conuey awaye
These thyngis beyond ye fome
Then shall the pryse
Of that aryse
That shal be lefte at home

You muste therfore
Haue euermore
All those thyngis in your hande
Wherin the sprynge
Of euery thynge
And fyrst encrease doeth stande.

The pasture grownde
That feadeth sound
You must in no case lacke
All maner mynes
And myllis that gryndis
Must helpe to fyll your sacke

Copsis of wodde
Be verye good

---

For you to haue in hande
You must nedes haue
Greate fermes a thraue
Wyth all good fruitfull lands.

Shorte tale to make
You muste all take
And whorde vp styll in store
Tyll that be scant
Whereof no want
Was euer sene before.

Draffe is plenty
Yet certenly
If it were handled well:
It woulde be solde
For redy golde
And that some men can tel

The tyme hath byn
That men coulde wynne
By smoke and by Uryne
And why shoulde nat
Gayne ryse of that
Wher with mē fede their swine?

Se to all thynge
Wherof maye sprynge

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Any Lucre or Guyne,
For Gayne doeth smell
Excedynge well
In euery thynge certayne.

I wyll therefore
Nowe saye no more
But se you do apply
Your busynes
To get rychesse
By mynde to satisfie.

You muste me fede
Aye at my nede
Wyth bagges of moste pure golde
For I coulde eate
None other meate
Sence I was two dayes olde.

A God am I
That can not dye
Wherefore I muste be fed
Wyth golde most pure
That wyll endure
And not wyth bryckle breade

Brynge, bryng bryng, bryng
Alwaye some thynge,

---

And then you shall me please.
All that is solde
For redie golde
Doeth my stomake much ease.

And as you wyll
Continue styll
Al your dayes in pleasure
Euen so applye
You busily
Wyth golde me to honoure

I am your God
And haue the rod
Of honger in my fyste
Wherefore take hede
Ye do me fede
Wyth golde that is fynest

And him that can
Best playe the man
In gettynge golde and fe
I wyl promote
And set aflote
In wealth and hygh degree

And in the ende
I wyl him sende

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To Plutos dwellynge place
Were he shall be
Next vnto me
Wherefore, gather apase

Dixi, quoth he
And bowed his knee
Unto his audience
Thankyng them all
Boeth greate and smale
For theyr quiete scilence

How the people of Britaine became subiect to Philargyrie.

Then wyth one voyce
All dyd reioyce
And clapt theyr handes apase
And after that
They fell all flatte
Prostrate before his face

Then rose they vp
And in a cup
Of golde, they dyd him brynge
Moe thousandis than

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Any man can
Well expresse by wrytynge

Then gan they synge
Beholde we brynge
Oure mornetydis sacrifice
Desyrynge the
That it maye be
Pleasant before thyne eies

Then forth he raught
His hande, and caught
The cup ful of pure golde
And at one sup
He drancke it vp
Thankyng them many folde

Henseforth, quoth he
Loke that you be
Wyth me thryse in the daye
Wyth such a sup
In such a cup
That I do not decaye

And be ye bolde
To get the golde
As I haue sayde before
No lawe shall let

---

You forto gette
So much, and ten tymes more

All tremblynge then
One of his men
Fell flatte vpon his face
And desyred
To be pardoned
To speake his mynde a space

Stand vp quoth he
What so thou be
And tell to me thy name
Thou shalt haue grace
To speake a space
Thou shalte sustayne no blame

Deare Souerayne
Quoth he agayne
I am Hypocrisie
There is on mould
No man that woulde
Serue you leuer then I

But thys one thynge
My Lorde and Kynge
If I myght be so bolde
To saye my mynd

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A faute I fynde
In that which you haue tolde

Saye on, quoth he
I pardon the
Let me knowe all thy thoughte.
If thy counsell
Do lyke me well
It shall in dede be wroughte

Then manerly
He made curchy
As one that coulde his goode
Wyth mylde wordis than
Thus he began
Before them as he stode

Hypocrisies Oration.

My Lorde and Kynge
This is the thynge
That doeth my mynde offend
And causeth me
Thus bolde to be
Trustyng you wyll it mende

You haue vs tolde
We shulde be bolde

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To take all at our wyll
And spoyle the ryche
And pore alyche
Our baggis wyth golde to fyll

But well I wotte
This thynge wyll not
Be suffred anye whyle
Except that we
Worcke subtyltee
And get theyr goodis by gyle

We muste pretende
Some holy ende
That maye the people please
And so we shall
Be Lordis of all
And fyl oure baggis wyth ease

Sende me to preache
And I wyll teache
The people ouer all
That they shall lye
In purgatorye
After theyr death fatall

I will them tell
That paynes in Hell

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And paynes there are a lone
Saue that of this
An ende there is
But of the other none

Then that they maye
Be sure alwaye
To crepe oute at their wyll
I wyll them tell
We haue to sell
Pardone of all theyr Ill

So they wyll brynge
To vs althynge
Whereof we shall stande nede
Houses to buylde
Boeth thackt and tylde
And bye vs fode and wede

Then wyll I proue
It doeth behoue
That we haue land and rent
That we maye praye
For them alwaye
To God omnipotent

And when they lye
Redy to dye

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Then wyl I be at hande
For to declare
Howe harde we fare.
For lacke of rent and lande.

Then wyll I tell
The paynes of Hell
And purgatorye fyre
And what greate payne
They shall sustayne
Unlesse they do vs hyre

For we are they
That fast and praye
For them that geue vs ought
And our doynge
Is worth nothynge
Onlesse it be deare bought

Nowe when they se
Them selfes to be
Set in so greate distresse
Wyth all theyr herte
They wyl departe
Wyth much of theyr ryches

In hope that we
Wyll factours be

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For them, when they begone
And by thys trayne
We shall obtayne
Great landis and goodis anon

For what is he
That wyll not be
Glad to redeme wyth golde
Hys soule, which he
Shall thyncke to be
Dampened a thousande folde?

And specially
When he shall dye
And leaue all thyngs byhynde
For if he wold
Then whorde vp golde
He can not haue his mynde

I wyll I trowe
In some eares blowe
So terrible a blaste
That they shall quake
And for feare make
Us theyr heyres at the laste

Yea Kyngis wyth crownes
Shall geue vs townes

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And Cities to be sure
That we shall praye
For them allwaye
Whylse the world shall endure

Thus shall we haue
All that we craue
And much more at oure wyll
Oure selfes to fede
As we shall nede
And geue you golde your fyll

Dixi, he sayed
And then he prayed
Philargyrie of grace
And then wyth that
He fell downe flat
Prastrate before his face

Howe Philargyrie committeth the Gouernaunce of all hys Subiectes to Hypocrisie.

Full myldly than
This God began
And bade his man arise
Stand vp, quoth he

---

For well I se
Thou arte prudent and wyse

Wherefore wyth me
Thou shalte chiefe be
I wyll worcke by thy reade
And all that be
Subiect to me
Thou shalte gouerne and leade

Then let he crye
That lowe and hye
That woulde take him as kyng
Shoulde wyth all spede
Fulfyll in dede
Hypocrisies bydynge

For he is wyse
And can dyuise
Wayes to get golde and fe
And make men fyll
Wyth ryght good wyll
Your baggis to brynge to me

Then all that were
Present to heare
That Proclamasion
Shewed them content

---

Wyth full assent
And thus they sayed eche one,

Hypocrisie
Is most worthy
To rule vnder oure Kynge
For he can preach
And men so teach
That they wyll gladly brynge

Then went there out
A full greate route
From Philargyries place
And by and by
Hypocrisie
Began to preach apace

All maner men
Were redie then
To geue euen what he woulde
They were so madde
They thought he had
Saluation to be solde

Then builded he
A greate Citie
Nodnoll he dyd it name
It was all one

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Wyth Babylon
If it were not the same

In that Citie
Then Bylded he
A temple to his God
Settynge therein
Of his owne kyne
An hundred Knights and odde.

The Arch knyght was
Byshope Chayphas
Who rode with spear and shyld
Haueynge his corse
Armed wyth force
To cause all men to yelde

Then in ech place
That pleasante was
He planted houses sure
Of lyme and stone
They were ech one
Because they shoulde endure

Bulwarkis also
A thousande moe
Then any man can tell
To beate them downe

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That ware the crowne
If they dyd once rebell

So was that lande
Whole in the hand
Of Philargyries men
No wyght was free
From them if he
Were worth pore shyllyngs ten

But to couloure
His endeuoure
He dyd those places name
Houses for clarkes
And the bulwarckes
Lodgyngis for blynde & lame

Then poynted he
That there shoulde be
Leches of wondrous skyll
In euerye place
Whoe in short space
Should helpe theyr bags to fil

At Walsyngehame
Was Noter dame
At Elye good Audrye
And at Wylsedon

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Were greate cures done
By bolstryng of Baudrye

At Hayles there was
One in aglasse
That wrought wounders full great
And at Wynchcome
Were cured some
That coulde Keuelme intreat

There were also
A thousand moe
Leaches of his poyntynge
That coulde heale all
Boeth great and small
That woulde any thyng bryng

They woulde not stycke
To heale the sycke
In bodye and in soule
They had suche wytte
They coulde do it
By drynckynge of a bole

When this was done
Then was al wone
They nede to seke no more
They had all thynge

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At theyr lykynge
To spende and kepe in store

Hypocrisie
Thought then to stye
Up to Nodnoll anone
To se what was
There brought to passe
After he was thense gone

But ere he went
More gold he sent
To his God Philargyrie
Then thousandis ten
Of brutysh men
Coulde bare, to make hym mery

Wych he eate vp
All at one sup
And yet was not content
But sayde that they
Had by the waye
Spent some of that was sent.

Al ragynge than
This God beganne
On them his wrath to wreake
He layed aboute

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Emonge the route
Tyl none of them colde speake.

And when he had
Lyke one halfe madde
Slayne all that companye
In all his rage
He calde his page
Whoe came forth by and by

Come on (quoth he)
I wyll go see
What prouision there is
They shall it bye
Full deare if I
Fare not better then this

Fetch forth my steed
Trustie at nede
For nowe I am in haste
I muste go trye
Hypocrisie
And se if he make waste

His lad was preste
Wyth his steede dreste
Redy For hym to ryde
And ryght anone

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He leapt theron
And would no longer byde

He ryd forth faste
Tyll at the laste
He came to I gralk place
Where he dyd spye
Hypocrisie
Fyllynge his bagges apase

Then laughed he
And sayde I se
Hypocrisie is iuste
Nought can him let
Treasure to get
To satisfie my luste

Hypocrisie
Hearde by and by
His Lorde and maisters voyce
And ganne to synge
To leape and sprynge
So muche he dyd reioyce.

All smylyngly
Philargyrie
Then gan his man embrace
And sayde my sonne

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Howe haste thou done
Sense thou wast at my place

My Lorde sayde he
And bowed his knee
I haue had good successe
For all this lande
Is in my hande
Wyth infinite rychesse.

Then sayde he come
You shall se some
Of that I haue in store
Take you your fyll
Of what you wyll
There cometh in dayly more,

Then wyth a keye
He made his waye
Into his treasurie
Where was more golde
I dare be bolde
Thē wold in poulis church ly

Howe Philargyrie deuored all the treasure that Hypocrisie had layed vp in store.

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Full hungerly
Philargyrie
Began then forto eate
Euen as he had
Ben more then madde
For lacke of nedefull meate.

Goblettes of golde
Went downe twofolde
So dyd owches and ryngis
Tablettis wyth stones
Made for the nonce
Wyth many other thyngis

So faste he eate
That he gan swete
As it had bene a bull
Ten tunne I wote
Went downe hys throte
And yet he was not ful

Then carefully
Hypocrisie
Bethought him of his store
And wyth wordes wyse
He dyd aduise
His lorde to eate no more

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It shall, quoth he
Ryght healthfull be
To leaue wyth Appetite
For all fulnes
Doeth cause syckenes
As Phisickes maisters wryte

Yea syr, quoth he
But when I se
That sycknes doeth me pricke
I can be bolde
For redy golde
To haue present Phisicke

Wherefore I wyll
Nowe eate my fyll
There shall nothynge me lette
Therefore be gone
Let me alone
I must lyue by my meate

Full Heauily
Hypocrisie
Then toke leaue to departe
And sayed Adiu
Much good do it you
But thought it not in herte

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Wyth boeth handis than
This God began
To crambe into his crawe
Tyll all the golde
Whereof I tolde
Was mowed vp in his mawe

Than sate he downe
And gan to frowne
As not content in mynde
Because no more
Was lefte in store
And he had not halfe dynde

Then vp he rose
And caste the nose
Alofte into the wynde
Euen as a swyne
Holdeth vp the groyne
When he woulde fedyng fynde

Come on, quoth he
For well I se
Here is no meat in store
Hypocrisie
Wyll him aply
I thyncke to get in more

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Then home he went
Halfe mysse content
And layed him downe to rest
But he could get
No slepe quiete
To fasten in his breste

Howe Hypocrisie went about to wythstande Philargyrie

In this meane space
Hypocrisie was
At Nodnoll, full busy
Some waye to fynde
Hym selfe to wynde
Out of that miserie

Thus dyd he caste
Then at the laste
In his disceytefull thought
I wyll, thought he
Liberall be
Of that which coste me nought

As many as wyll
Shall haue theyr fyll

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Of meate and drynck wyth me
Boeth lowe and hye
Shall haue plentie
Of fode, wyth golde and fe.

So shall I kepe
Wyth them frendshype
And haue them on my syde
Wyth al theyr herte
To take my parte
What so shall me bytyde

Full well I knowe
That hye and lowe
Wyll take parte of my chere
For in ech coaste.
Boeth sodde and roste
Are waxen very dere

And it is lyke
That they wyll stycke
To me alwaye at nede
For houndis are wont
Freshly to hunte
For them that do them fede,

And so I saye
I shall alwaye

---

Be able to wythstande
That wycked wyght
If he wyll fyght
Either by sea or lande

Then by and by
He dyd employe
Hym selfe to make good chere
And for to spende
By the yeres ende
All that came in by yere.

This dyd allure
I am ryght sure
The hertes of thousandis ten
To be redy
To lyue and dye
Wyth him lyke faythfull men

Then was he bolde
And thought he could
Withstāde his maisters myght
He dyd therfore
Kepe nought in store
For hym as he had plyght

Greate fees he gaue
An hundred thraue

---

To men that had no nede
For well knewe he
That it must be
Such that muste do the dede

Howe selfe loue vttered Hypocrisie his intent to Philargyrie

Then was there one
That dyd anone
Conceiue his wole intent
And in a nyght
He dyd him dyght
And to Philargyrie went

He went so faste
And made such haste
For feare to come to late
That longe ere daye
He rydde the waye
And was come to the gate

Full fiersly than
To knocke he gan
As one that woulde come in
Tyll the wycket

---

Was open set
To knocke he would not blinne

Then came forth one
To him anone
And sayde what haste is this?
Saye on quoth he
Declare to me
What thy busynes is

Syr, quoth the freke
I muste nedis speake
Wyth my lorde Philargyrie
I can him tell
All is not well
About Hypocrisie

Then ranne the page
As one in rage
Unto the chaumber dore
And at one pushe
He dyd it rushe
Downe flat into the flore

Wyth that awoke
That God and shoke
Hys lockis yt were full thynne
What maye this

---

Syr knaue (quoth he)
That thou comest so faste in:

Upon hys knee
Then kneled he
(So well he could his good)
And myldly than
Thus he began
Wyth a moste heauy mode

My Lorde, he sayde
I am afrayed
Oure heauie newes to tell
For feare that ye
Shoulde angry be
And take it nothyng well

Newes? quoth he than
And bade his man
Tell him wythout delaye,
Speake man, quoth he
What ayleth the
Why dost thou make this stay?

Then at the laste
His man out braste
And in fewe wordis he sayed
Surely there is

---

Some thynge amysse
Some man hath you betrayde

Betrayed, quoth he,
Howe maye that be?
And then in hande he toke
Hys bostarde bryght
So goodly dyght
And gan fiersly to loke

Tell me quoth he
Who it shuld be
That hath this treasō wrought
That I maye wreke
Me on the freke
And bryng his stocke to nought

Hypocrisie
I thyncke treuely
Quoth Philargyries men
For one came nowe
To speake wyth you
And thus the freke began.

I muste, quoth he
If it maye be
Speake wyth Philargyrie
I can hym tell

---

All is not well
Aboute Hypocrisie

Than the God bade
Fech in that ladde
That I maye here hym speake.
Full lyghtly than
Hys saruant ranne
And brought to him the freake.

Full manerly
He made curchie
And lowted to the grownde
Than sayde the lad
I am ryght glad
I haue your lordshipe founde

For I haue spyed
And throughly tryed
Thingis by Hypocrisie
Which do declare
That he doeth beare
Grudge to your maiestie

For certenly
Hypocrisie
Hath nowe in his owne hande
The halfe welmoste

---

In euery coaste
Of this pleasant Ilande

And doeth employe
Hym busily
There wyth forto optayne:
All mens good wyll
That he maye styll
In thys ryche Ilande raygne

He goeth aboute
To haue a route
Knytte to hym in frendeshyp:
And to that ende
He doeth intende
A ryght greate house to kepe.

He wyll therfore
Kepe nought in store
For you to fede vpon,
He wyll all spende
By the yeres ende
That he maye laye handes on

And if you woulde
Do what you coulde
To recouer your ryght
The loselles shall

---

Be redy all
In his quarrell to fyght

Wherefore I saye
Inuent some waye
Betyme, for this myschyefe
Els certenly
You shall shortely
Lacke your nedefull relyefe

Then curtesly
Philargyrie
Thanked this man and sayde
Ten thousande pounde
In nobles rownde
Thou shalt haue treuly payede

Tell me thy name
And I shall frame
My wayes after thy skyll
For I se well
Thou canste me tell
Wayes to escape thys Ill.

Deare syr quoth he
My name hath be
Philaute sence I was borne,
Hypocrisie

---

Is clombe so hye
That my stocke is nygh worne

Well sayde he than
Be content man
I wyll thy stocke restore
For thou shalt be
Chiefe vnder me
As Hypocrisie was before

I haue no dreade
But by thy reade
I shall brynge it to passe
That, that vyle slaue
And wycked knaue
Shall be brought downe full base

Tell me therfore
If any store
Of counsell doe remaye
What waye we maye
Beste porue and saye
To subdue this vylayn

My Lorde, quoth he
If it so be
That ye wyl, as you saye
Take my counsell

---

Then knowe ye well
I thyncke this the beste waye.

Let me be sent
To preach in Lent
And out of Lent also:
And I shall drawe
Them from his awe
I truste wyth small adoe

I wyll declare
Howe madde they are
To gyue him of theyr good
To be made iust
Sens all men muste
Be made iust bi Christis bloud

For though he rynge
Greate belles and synge
A thousande masses and moe
Yet must Christis bloude
Shed on the rode
Delyuer all men from woe

Then you shall geue
Ech man good leaue
To wytholde what he can
From that vyle slaue

---

That doeth styll craue
A flyse of euery man.

They must be bolde
All to wytholde
And eke to take hym fro
Boeth lande and fee
Where so it be
And rych Iewelles also.

When this is tolde
You may be bolde
All men wyll be full preste
Your parte to take
And him forsake
And then the knaue is dreste,

Let me alone,
There shall not one
Holde on hys syde I trowe
After they do
Once hearken to
The blaste that I shal blowe,

Wyth wordes myry
Then Philargyrie
Sayde, be it as thou hast told
To vse thy skyll

---

At thyne owne wyll
Thou mayst hensefore be bold

Be thou, quoth he
Next vnto me
And eke my cosen deare
Henseforth certayne
In al Britayne
There shall not be thy peare

And all that be
Kynne vnto the
Be it neuer so small
I wyll promote
And set aflote,
Cosens I wyll them call

Nowe swete Kynsman
Do what you can
That Uylaynes wyll to let
And get me golde
Either newe or olde
Else shall I starue for meate

For I had not
My fyll I wot
This hundred yeres and moe
Whych causeth me

---

So leaue to be
That scarsely I can goe

Holde you content
It is nowe lent
You must nedes fast awhyle.
Lenten quoth he
Lent let it be
And then he gan to smyle

Wyth that began
Philaute his man
To demaund wt wordes mild
What thyng myght be
The cause that he
Whē Lent was named smyld

Oh Couse quoth he
The tyme hath be
That I haue eate more golde
In one shorte lent
Then some haue spent
In fyftie wynters colde

For certenly
Hypocrisie
Dyd in lent most prouide
Good golde to fede

---

Me at my nede
In euery tyme and tyde.

But let that go
He doeth not so
Nowe, well he shall repent
You wyll I trowe
Couse brynge him lowe
Before an other Lent

Yea syr, quoth he
Sure ye shall be
I wyll so brynge hym downe
That the vyle knaue
Shall nothynge haue
In fielde nor yet in towne

Let vs therefore
Nowe talke no more
I muste this mater plye
It shall be beste
For you to reste
Whylse I to Nodnoll stye

Go you to bed
And laye your heade
Upon a pyllowe fyne
I truste to gete

---

You golden meate
Ere it be tyme to dyne.

Couse go thy waye
That God gan saye
God pluto be thy spede
My sprite shal be
Present wyth the
To helpe the aye at nede

My lorde, quoth he
It shall best be
That no man do this knowe
Wherfore let not
Your seruants wot
Lest they some rumours sowe

For I must preach
And al men teach
That gods sonne hath me sent
For so shall I
Haue by and by
My purpose and intent

Couse, thou shalt se
I warant the
All shall be kept secrete
For counsells knowne

---

And abroade blowne
Wyll oure procedyngis let

Departe therfore
And saye no more
For I knowe al thy mynde
Thou shalt well se
That I wyll be
As reasone doeth me bynde

Then louted he
Wyth either knee
And sayed, my lorde Adiu
The God of slepe
Uouchsalfe to kepe
All that belonge to you

Howe Philargyrye went to Nodnol and what he dyd there.

Then forth he went
As he was sent
Tyl he to Nodnoll came
Where by and bye
He made outecrie
Agaynst Hypocrisies name

---

Geue eare to me
All you, quoth he
That do your owne welth loue
For gods owne sonne
Dyd byd me runne
Your enmie to remoue.

Hypocrisie
Hath dealt flasely
Wyth you full many a yere
To gather pelfe
And kepe him selfe
In ease and bealy chere.

Do you not se
Howe greasye he
And his be, and how fat?
His chekes be bolne
And for fat swollen,
His nose is cowched flat

He walloweth in
That fylthy synne
Of gredy glottonnye
He wyll not swynke
For meate nor dryncke
But lyue styll Idellye

---

Yet wyll he eate
Nought but fyne meate
And drincke of the best wyne
Who so hath bene
Wyth him hath sene
His fare to be ryght fyne

I graunte he wyll
Your bealies fyll
Tyl your backis can not bowe
But all that is
Nothynge of his
But byggis of your owne sow

Open your eies
If you be wyse
And se to your owne gayne
Let not thys slaue
The ryches haue
That you haue gote with payn

You nede not passe
For his vayne masse
Hys diryge and prayars longe
For well we see
All those thyngis be
But laboure of the tonge

---

Your selfe can praye
As wel alwaye
As he, and also feede
All such as ye
Shall knowe to be
Pore and nedie in dede

His prayars shall
Helpe none at all
Christis bloude hath paid the price
You nede therefore
To do no more
That one price doeth suffice.

What madnes than
Is in that man
That wyll so much bestowe
Upon a thynge
Worsse then nothynge?
No man is so madde I trowe

Howe the people forsoke Hypocrisie.

The people anone
Much mused on
These words that semed straynge

---

Yet dyd they embrace
Them, in shorte space
Because they loue to chaynge

And naturally
You knowe pardie
Ech man wyll loue him selfe
Then a small thynge
Maye him sone brynge
In loue with this worlds pelfe

The brutes therfore
Toke Philautis lore
And lefte Hypocrisie
Then range the bell
To a Counsell
That thynge to ratifie.

In this Synnodde
Ten score and odde
Toke Hypocrisies parte
Yet all they loste
For all theyr boaste
In dispyte of theyr herte

It was decreed
There and agreed
That Philaute should possesse

---

For euer more
Hypocrisie store
Hys landes and his ryches.

Then Philaute sent
In contient
Ten thousande tunnes of gold
To Philargyrie
To make him miry
Therwith, what time he wold

In shorte tyme than
His store began
To waste and weare apase
For he eate styll
And coulde not fyll
Hys paunch, in .vii. yeres spase

Then Philaute fedde
Hys God wyth leade
With stones, and wyth tymber
And tolde hym that
Golde was to fatte
For men that faste Imber.

You muste, quoth he
Contented be
Wyth such as doeth remayne,

---

Ye must forbeare
Thys preciouse geare
Yet for a yere or twayne

Then Philaute solde
For redy golde
Fortes that were builded strōg
And made so sure
Forto endure
That they had stande ful long

Greate landes also
Philaute let go
For golde that was full fyne
And sent it all
To Philargyries hall
For him therwyth to dyne

But all was gone
And spent anone
And he loked for more
But yet in vayne
For nought certayne
Remayned then in store

Well thought he than
I trowe I can
Make ryght fyne golde of bras

---

And so he dyd
But it framed
Full euel as resone it was

Well, yet he sent
And raysed rent
From fyue grotes to a pounde
Yet was there nat
Much wone by that
For more was lost then founde

Well thus at the last
All hope was paste.
His God he coulde not fyl
Unlesse he shoulde
Be founde so bolde
The Kynge & hys reame to syl

Then gan this God
To take the rode
Of hunger in his fyst
And sayde that he
Woulde fylled be
No man shoulde him resiste.

Then wyth strokes sore
He smote the pore
And then they gan to crye

---

To god almyght
For them to fyght
Agaynst Philargyrie

Howe Trueth tolde all to the Kynge.

But then toke trueth
Pitie and ruth
And to the kynge he went
And sayed syr kynge
Amende this thynge
Thy realme else wylbe shent

Philargyrie
Hypocrisie
And Philaute haue spent all
Thy people are
So full of care
That nowe to god they cal.

Uengeaunce therfore
Is at thy dore
Redy the to destroye
Onlesse thou wyll
Purge out the Ill
That doeth thy flocke anoye

---

An horrible thynge
It is syr Kynge
To fall into godis hande
Thou maist trust me
No man can be
Able him to wythstande

Take hede therfore
Suffer no more
These fell felons to raygne
Leste God almyght
For thy stock fyght
And thou thy selfe be slayne

What though they be
Myghtie to se?
Yet feare not thou at all
For (God no doubt)
Wyll rowte them oute
If thou wylt on him call

For he hath sayde
He wyll the ayde
Agaynste his enimies
If thou wylt go
Forthe streyght and do
Thyngis pleasant in his eies.

---

Howe the Kynge draue that wycked sort oute of his realme

Wyth that the Kynge
For feare gan sprynge
Unto the Bible boke
And by and by.
Ryght reuerently
That swerde in hand he toke

No wyght, quoth he
Shall spared be
That doeth my flocke oppresse
God hath me set
Such thyngis to let
And all wrongis to redresse

Then let he crye
That lowe and hye
In whom gods feare did dwel
Shoulde neuer rest
But do they best
Gods enimies to expell

Then fell he downe
And cast his crowne

---

And diademe asyde
And lokyng on hye
Up to the skye
To God aloude he cryed

Lorde God, quoth he
Thou hast chosen me
Ouer thy flocke to raygne
Make me of myght
All wrongis to ryght
And make all well agayne

Then God him sent
Men that were bent
Oppression to expell
Whoe chased oute
This gygante stoute
And then all thyngs were well