University of Virginia Library

Priscus Grammaticus de Satyra.

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

[The fyrst Satyre.]

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

Fable a common pratler.

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

Couetouse

What? is it beste lyke Meuius

prodigall personne.

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

prodigall personne.

my gooddes to giglotts geue?

Poet.

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

Crispine a writer against couetouse to excessiue in talke.

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

The seconde Satyre.

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

Couetous.

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

Prodigall.

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

Menedemus.

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

A new fāgled minion of that age.

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

Sweate and fyne.

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

The third Satyre.

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

Meuius.

My selfe, yes, I wincke at my selfe:

Po.

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

Epidaure taken for all kynde of serpents.

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

Sysiphus.

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

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

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

A creditours.

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

A good felow.

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

Iustice rather by profyte then nature.

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

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

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

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

Cryspine.

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

The fourth Satyre.

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

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

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

Pomponius an impacient nygard.

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

Birrus and Cellus, for all naughtie packes.

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

Logille a fishe whyte without & blacke within.

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

Olde Horace his talke. Albie and Barns Scatter gooddes.

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

Sectan wanton amourouse.

Dissemblable to Sectans sorte,
no brothelmonger be,

So Trebon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shaklockes profession.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sixte Satyre.

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

Tullus as suppressor of vertue.

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

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

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

Decius base borne.

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

Appius.

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

Nouie a pety robber Paulus et Massala,

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

Flauius.

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

Nouis

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

The seuenth Satyre.

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

Flowte.

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

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

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

The eyght Satyre.

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

Canadie a witche,

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

The nynthe Satyre.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uiske, & Uarus two iolye Poets.

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

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

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

Sabella aProphetes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Str.
A thinge thou tells vncredible:

Hor.
I tell a sothefaste tale.

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

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

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

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

Horace.
I loue not that religion.

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

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

The tenthe Satyre.

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

Laberie delectable in minstrelsey, & yet not learned.

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

Demetrius.

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

Petillus.

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

Poblicula or Coruinus.

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

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

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

Alphin, a tragicall Poet.

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

Fundanus, A Comical poet,

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

Lawrell Crowne.

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

Actius.

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

Ennius.

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

Cassus burned for his folishe bokes.

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

Horace.

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

The wise clerkes of that age.

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

Q. HORACE FLACCVS HIS SECONDE BOKE OF SATYRES.

The firste Satyre.

Trebate.
My sonne, if that thou write to sharpe,
no doubte thou shalte not lyue,
Some one or other, wyll to thee
Thy fatall wounde ygeue.

Horace,
Why? Lusill lyude, who euer vsde,
all fayners to detect,
With satyres sharpe, and quippies rounde,
of deathe he neuer reckt.
But blamed those, whiche outwardly
doo geue a shynynge shoe,
And inwardly are chargde with synne,
that vnnethes they can goe.
Good Lelie dyd not hate his witte,
nor he that got renown
For pollicie, and pruice too,
For beatyng Carthage downe.
I say they were not myscontent,
That lewde Metellus once,

Metellus and Lupus noble men, yet reprehended for vyce. Scipio and Lilius not repyning.

And lowtishe Lupus were reformde,
with Satyres for the nonce.
He woulde not spare the officers,
nor priuate men to blame.
A frende to none saue honestie,
and those that vsde the same.
With doughtie stoute duke Scipio,
and Lelie learnde and wyse,
He woulde ieste very iocundly,

One pointe of wysedom, not to be merye amongeste amultitude.

and frankly in his guyse,
At meales, when he sequestred was
frome the vnlettred sorte.
What so I am, though farre I wote,
from Lusils witte and porse.
Yet enuie selfe can not denye,
but I haue ledde my life,
Amongst the best, though some men thynke
me dedicate to stryfe:
Me thynks my grounde, is good and sure,
excepte you frende Trebate,
By lawe, doo disalowe of it,
I will pursue my state.

Trebate.
Beware, beware, the warinde may lyue,
be circumspect and slawe,
Leste you by wordes vndoo your selfe,
through ignorance of lawe.
For who that writeth slaundrously,
we lawyers muste amende hym:

Horace.
And who that wryteth true and well,
our Cesar muste defende hym,
If that a man speake of a zeale,
And blame the bad alone,
Dispatche youre rowles, there is no gayne,
the Lawyer may be gone.

The second Satyre.

Tracit.
(Saythe tauntyng Tracy) maye not I
lay out my coyne at wyll?
My rentes come to me thicke and thicke,
my want is foyson styll,
Not three kynges can dispende with me,
who sayth, I may not spende?

Poet.
Therfore, the surplus of thy goodes
applye to better ende.
Why want the silly needie soules
refreshyng at thy hande?
Why doo the temples of the godds,
without repayryng stande?
Thou corsye carle, thy countrey dere,
from hougie substance, suche
Shall she haue naught? wylt onely thou
deuoure alone so muche?
O ieste, vnto thy very foes,
For, whether may haue more,
(If fortune frowne, and grefes growe on)
esperance to his store?
Thou: whiche was maried to thy mucke,
and freshe in gay attyre,
Or he: that dreading chaunce to cum,
a litle dothe desyre
And keepes it well, and warylye
to helpe in hopelesse tyde,
Lyke as the wyse, in golden peace
for stormye warre prouide.
For more beleefe in this behalfe,
I then a little boy
Can now reporte, that Ofellus,
put not so greate a ioy.
Nor pleasured so, in his cheefe wealthe,

Ofels talke in prosperytie

as in his worste decay.
This was a common talke of his
when he bare greateste sway.
Als one to me: on woorkyday
I neuer coulde be taken
With better meate, in feelde or towne,
then roots or chimnye bacon.
I, and my sonnes, keepe thus in feilde,
our cattell seelde forsaken.
But if old acquaintaunce cum,

Horace. A more honest kynde of literalitye.

Who hath bene longe away
Or sum good honest neyghboure els,
through sleetie drisling daye,
Do cease from woorke, we mery make
not with suche costlie fyshe,
But with a chicken, or a kyd,
and grapes our seconde dishe,
A nutte, or els sum kynde of figge,
the table tayne awaye
We drincke about, and afterwarde
for Ceres giftes we pray.
So, flye awaye the freating cares,
that bringe the wimpled age,
Let furiouse fortune frowne and fume,
and roste hyr selfe in rage,
She can not much empyre our cates:
my seruaunts haue not founde.

Umbrenus a souldier who had ye grounde geuen him by Augustus.

Their cheare much woorse sence Umbrenus
hath gotte away our grounde.
It matters not for nature gaue
not me this proper lande,
At firste, nor him, nor any els,
he chaste vs forth with hande,
His beastelynes will chase him out,
or sum expulsiue lawe,
Or els his heire that shall suruiue,
when he muste couche full lawe.
Now Umbrens grounde, of late Ofells
(a thing not very stable)
Now myne, now thyne, so muste we take,
the worlde as variable.
Let nothing cause your courage quayle,
in care be constante stille,
And bende your brestes to beare the blawes
of fortune that be ille.

The thirde Satyre.

Damasip.
You write so seldom vnto me,
that fowre tymes in a yeare
Scarse cums a pen within your hande,
perusinge written geare.
Halfe angrie with your selfe I weane,
that drente in wyne and slepe,
You spendinge time in sylente pause,
of Satyres beres no keepe.
Performe thy promis once at lengthe,
goe too, what shall we haue?
Thou coms from Saturnes feaste I trow,
from drinke thy selfe to saue.
Will nothing be? You blame your muse,
so do you Poets all,
Accuse your pen, when to your mynde,
your sentence will not fall.
When thou camste to the countrye towne,
to lyue a parte from strife,
Thy visage gaue, as thoughe thou wouldste
haue written bookes for lyfe.
Menander, and dan Platos woorkes,
why do they on you wayte?
Why broughte you Eupolis to towne,
and Archilog his mate?
You meane for feare of spytefull folke,
all vertue to disclame,
Thou caitife shalte cum to contempte,
shun idle ioyes for shame:
Or els surrender all suche praise,
as thou haste got before:
By woorke of witte, in full intente

The Poet contente to be reproued but not at suche a peuishe Marchaunte as [OMITTED]

to mell with it no more.
For this sage counsaile, (Damasipe)
the heauenly goddes I pray,

this stoicke damasip.

To sende a barber speedelye,
to wype your berde awaye.

Horace.
In deede, and knowe you me so wel,
how cums it so to passe?

Damasip.
I sufferde shipwracke of my gooddes,
whilste I a merchaunte was.
And therefore now can spare an eye,
the worlde to ouervewe.
Then was I plunged in affaires,
as they me droue and drewe,
To know what vauntage by exchaunge,
to clippe and washe my goulde,
By subtilties in mineralles,
my state for to vphoulde.
By suche lyke sorte came I to haue,
an ample wealthie snare
To purchasse orchardes for mine ease,
and bowers bryghte and fayre.
My witte so deepe soe sore to deale,
such lucke, to win or saue,
That me a Mercurialiste,
to surname then they gaue.

Horace.
I know it well and maruaile much,
If that be ridde and gone:
Excepte thou haste sum worse diseas
whiche needes will rayne alone.
As Phisikes cure from heade to breste,
diseases can conuey,
As by excesse of much madnes,
dryue lythergie away.
Perchaunce you setting fraude a parte,
the mad mans part will play.

Dama.
Frende Horace, you are mad lykewyse.
And so is euerye foole,
If stoicke Stertin taughte vs once,
true doctrine in his schoole.
Of whome, I learnde this trade of lyfe,
no trewande in my lore,
He dubde me then a stoick sage,
and bad me morne no more.
Though all the worlde shoulde go to wracke,
(for from a brydge I mente
All headlonge to haue horlde my selfe
so things againste me wente.)
Approchinge nygh. O do not so,
frende Damasip (quod he)
What thirlinge throwes doth twitche thy harte?
what shame confoundeth the?

The stoicke. Startine supplyeth with his talke almoste all the satyre folowinge.

The people cawle the giddishe mad,
why, all the worlde is so:
If thou be mad, and thou alone:
be drounde: I lette the goe.
But what is madnes to defyne?
Crysip, that noble clarke,
Cals all fooles mad, and all whose mindes,
are duskde with errors darke.
This rule, makes mad a noumberouse swarme,
of subiects and of kinges,
And none exemptes, saue those in whome,
the well of wysdome springes.
Now leane thyne eares, and listen well,
perceaue howe all be mad,
Yea those who earste to make the woorse,
such mockeryes haue had.
Admit there be through darkesum wood,
a speedie footepathe way,
On ryghte syde same, on lefte syde sum:
and all do go a stray.
Through wilsumnes of wildernes:
the error is all one,
Though through miswandringe diuerslye,
they diuerslye haue gone.
Thou maist be mad, (frende Damasip)

A reason to proue al mad, whiche treade not in one true footepathe of wisedome.

thou maiste be muche vnwyse,
Thy mockers staringe mad also,
though in an other guyse.
One manner frensie is, to feare
when nothinge is a misse,
As hilles on plaines, or seas on mountes,
this kynde of buggor this:
An other like a desperate,
nothinge at all to feare,
To trudge through deepe, high, hoate, and coulde,
to prease vppon a speare.
His frendes reclames his sister deare,
his parentes and his wyfe,
Theirs rockes, theirs Seas greate dread (say they)
sweete kinseman saue your lyfe.
He will not heare, for all their crye,
no more then Fusie coulde,
When he through force of drowsie drincke,
was falne in slumber coulde.
He shoulde recyte the drunkards parte,
he druncke his parte away,
The people egde him for to speake,
he wiste not what to say.
One way or other all are mad,
as Damasip, which oulde
Pictures did bye, was mad, and he,
that lente to him the goulde.
Moste mad is he, that takes a truste,
not hauynge hope to pay:
Moste mad is he, which may make boulde
and dare not his assay.
Assay (quod you) but who woulde truste,
for now the worlde is suche,
That lende a man, a thousand crownes,
or more, or nye so muche,
And take a bill of his hande wryt,
an obligation make,
So lawyer lyke, so clarklie drawne,
that none coulde it mistake,
And bynde him strayte, to kepe a day,
in payne of marks and poundes,
Shew witnes write, and what thou canste,
or lowse, or shake thy groundes
The one will he do: lyke Proteus,
to shapes ychaunged, he
Somtime a bore, a birde, a stone,
and when he liste a tree.
No doubte he will attempte all shiftes,
to shifte him selfe from the.
If wyse men vse for to do well,
and fooles for to do ill,
What say you to our creditor,

Petill vsurer

our vsurer Petill?
Is he not mad? who when he lendes,
for increase asketh more,
Then the pore debter can performe,
though he shoulde swelt therfore.
Ye lecherouse, luxuriouse,
ye supersticiouse:
Ye shottishe, dotishe, doultishe dawes,
that nothing can discusse.
Drawe on my Clyents one by one,
be not agreiste ne sad,
Stande still in stounde; kepe whishte (I say)
whilste I doe proue you mad.
I charge you, you ambitious,
and you that mucker good,
To gerde your gownes, to sytt and harcke,
whilste I doe proue you wood.
The couetouse, of Helibore:
the greater parte muste haue,

One parte of a mad man, to seeke, vayne glorye after his deathe.

Or rather all the pilles, for the head
as they which moste do raue.
The executours of Staberie,
engraylde on his graue,
What were his ample legaces,
and what to them he gaue.
For so he bad in testament,
and if they woulde not so,
That then to maintayne sworde players
moste of his gooddes shoulde go.

Areus superuisor of ye wil.

Arrey did superuise this will,
who shoulde geue them in wheate,
To preserue sporte, as muche as halfe
a countrye coulde well eate.

Staberie..

What though I did (misiudge me not,

Stoicke.

I had a wittie meaninge.
No doubte you had, to this intente,
was all his gylefull gleaninge.
To haue his heyres, entayle in stones
his honnorable will:
Neade was to him a wickednes,
yea an vngodly ill.
Therefore in deede full dreedefullie,
he wayed it as goddes curse:
If at his death, then in his lyfe,
one dodkin he were worse.
For all and euerie thinge (quod he)
vertue, renoumne, and fame,
The corpes, the goste, doth crouche to coyne,
and serue vnto the same.
Which who so hath all at his luste,
him needes no further thinge,
He maye be famouse, stonte, and iuste,
a wyseman and a kynge.
And this is euen as good as if
by vertue he vp grue:
But Staberie or Aristippe,

Aristippe a Philosopher that flattered Alexander.

of lykely, iudge not true.
Who trauaylinge in Lybie coste
his golde caste away,
Because it did from iorneyinge,
his men a litle stay.
Whiche is the madder of the twaine?
but we ne can, ne will
Sample, againste example bringe,
to samples that be ill.
If that a man bye instruments,
and horde them in a place,
Him selfe not weyinge of the sounde,
nor forcinge musikes grace:
If that a man shoulde bye him stuffe,
and tooles to sett vp shop:
Or bye him sayles to hange in ship
to hale her by the top:
And neuer meane to practise oughte,
is he not staringe mad?
Why is not this our couetouse
as much in frensye clad?
Who hoordes his monye, and his gould,
and vnneth dare auouche it,
Because it is so preciouse,
to peepe at it, or touche it.
If that a man an hudge heape
of corne shoulde euer keepe,
With stretched arme, and club in hande,
for feare berefte of sleepe,
And beinge owner, durste not take,
one graine, (misdreadinge waste),
Eatinge most bitter rootes and leaues,
vnmilde vnto the taste:
If, one haue manie vessels full,
a thousande tun of wyne,
And drincke nothing but vinaiger,
vntastie and vnfyne:
Goe to, if one of fyue score yeares
do lye on couche of grounde,
And haue his downe, and fetherbeddes,
(where he mighte sleepe full sounde)
Stufte vp in chestes, for wormes and mothes:
sum will not houlde them mad,
Because the moste of wealthie men,
be now as vyle and bad.
O hatefull head, forlorne to God,
spares thou for tyme to cum?
Na, na, thou spares that thy lewde childe
may spende the totall sum.
Eche day will spende sum portion,
(thou thinckes) if thou do spende
Oyle to annointe, oyle for thy borde,
mongste thy meates to blende.
Further, thou sayste, it is the beste,
to lyue vppon a small
Why doste thou then forsweare thy selfe,
and filtche in places all?

Testie anger a kynde of madnes.

Haste thou the wittes, that beates thy men,
because nothinge can please the?
Which thou with purse, haste purcheste deare,
to ayde the and to ease the.
When thou doste poyson thy parentes,
and strangle vp thy wyfe,
Arte thou not mad, though in Arge towne,
thou droue not out her lyfe
Nor yet with sworde as Oreste did,
or do not it inacte?
Yes, yf for hope of gaine thou haste,
but thoughte vppon thy facte.

A mā is mad at the first cōcept of mischiefe.

Was he not mad before his blade
had brusde his mothers baine?
Or forthwith, as this cruell fitte,
Was crepte into his braine?
Synce that Orestes hath bene clepte
giddie and mad by name,
After the cryme, he hath not done,
a facte, of haynouse blame.
His syster deare, nor Pylades,
he neuer stroke with sworde.
To him, and her sumtimes he gaue,
a foule vntowarde worde.
Her feende him woorse, as him to speake,
his pearsinge choler woulde:
But thou in harte kilste all thy frendes,
that thou mightes haue their goulde.

Opimie.
The penyfather Opimie,
who had so muche in store,
Who holyday and workyngday,
did toyle whilste he were sore,
Was troubled so with lythergie,
for sleepe he coulde not stere,
His heyre wente rounde aboute the chestes,
with blythe and iocaunte cheare:
A frendlye quicke Phisition,
to make, Opymie starte,
Contriude it thus: he bad them bringe,
a borde into the place
A sorte, eeke to vnseale the bagges,
and tell the coyne a pace.
He rearde the sickman from his bed,
Syr (quod he) houlde it faste
Or els no doubte, those will haue all,
and sparple all at laste.
In my life tyme?

Phi.
awake betime,
be lyuely then in deede.

Opimie.
What shall I doe?

Ph.
fall to thy meate,
there is no way but feede.
Els, will thy spirits be for faynte,
thy vigour fall away,
Thy stomake weake and languishinge,
will bringe the to decay.

Op.
You geue me naughte.

Ph.
drincke vp forthewith,
this Ptysande made of ryce.

Op.
What shall I pay?

Ph.
a small

Op.
how much.

Ph.
Two pence.

Op.
alacke, the pryce.
Such costes is woorse, then sworde or theefe,
cum death I will not ryse.

Damasip.
Now who is mad?

Sto.
Eche foolish man,
what is the couetouse?

Dam.
A foole and mad.

St.
what if a man
be nothinge rauenouse,
Eftsones shall he coumpted sounde?
no:

Dam.
Stoicke tell me why?

Sto.
Put case the restlesse paciente,
full ill at ease shoulde lye,
His pulse doth shew, he hath no stitche,
nor straininge at his harte:
Is that ynough to warraunte him,
forth of his coutche to starte?
Sharpe panges may twitch him in the reynes,
and twitche him in the syde:
So, though one be not couetouse,
yet may he swell with pryde.
They neade no salue, to say a sooth.
that vse not for to lye,
Nathelesse the testie may take pilles,
to purge melancolye.
Almoste as ill to hoorde thy goodes,
that they geue no releefe,
As if thou shouldste bestow them on,
an arraunte pilferinge theefe.

Oppidie.
Olde Oppidie two manors kepte
of longe in Cauufe towne
Entailde to him by due descente
who sicke, and lyinge downe,
On deade bed then calde for his sonnes,
(which were no more but twaine)
And thus to speake vnto them both,
the parente woulde him paine.

A pretie note for parents.

Aulus, my sonne, when thou in youth,
counters in purse didste beare,
And francklie on thy playfeers wouldste,
bestow them here and theare
Tyber my sonne when thou thy nuttes
wouldste tell and tell againe,
By this I gatherd, that in you,
two diuers sinnes woulde raine:
That Aulus would be ryotouse,
that Tyber naught would spende,
Wherfore, for gods own loue deare sonne
vnto my lore attende.
Aulus, looke thou diminishe not,
not Tyber thou increase.
That, which your father thoughte ynoughe
to mantayne you in peace.
And, that which nature lymiteth:
Leste, ticklinge glorie may
Incense your heartes, take here an othe,
before I passe away:
That which of you shall sewe in Rome,
for roume or for degree,
Shall take him selfe, as most deteste,
and quyte accurste of me.
Alas, Aulus (mine elder childe)
to geue the giftes of pryce,
So deale amongste the Citizens,
that they gainste the may ryse
That thou maiste walke in pompe and porte,

Lyke Agrippa.

thy statues stande in brasse,
What vayleth that? when all is gone
what vayleth that (alas.
Excepte to win a princes fame,
and plausible estate,

Esops his foxe.

Lyke foxe: thou weare a lyons skin
to seeme a lyons mate.

Insolence noted in princes in Agamemnons personage.

What, though thou warte a prince in deede?
in pride thou mighte offende,
As Agamemnon, in whose wordes
most princes wordes are pende.

Tucer.
Syr kinge, why maye not Aiax be
enterred in his graue?

Agamemnon.
I am a kinge, my lusts a lawe,
your answer (lo you haue.

Tucer.
Moste puissaunt prince, my suite is iuste,
if anie can say nay,
Without all stop, or ieoperdie,
his sentence let him say.
God graunte, your noble maiestie,
to see your natyue soyle.
Leege prynce, take pause a space, and then,
my pore demaunde assoyle.

Agam.
Demaunde at once?

Tew:
shall duke Aiax,
the nexte to fearse Achill,
Who famouse was, by sauinge greakes,
vntombed tarrye still?
That Priame, and his folke may ioy,
to see him lacke his graue:
By whome their Troiane younkers slayne,
no countrie toumbe coulde haue?

Agamemn.
A thousande sheepe, he slewe in rage,
the famouse Vlixes
Menelaus and me with sworde
he thoughte he did disease.

Tucer.
When thou in Auled for a cowe,
didste slay thy louing childe,
And salte her heade on alter stone,
waste thou then mad or mylde?
In what degree did Aiax rage?
what did he? slay the sheepe.
From lemans bayne, and daughters baine,
his blade he coulde ykeepe
Perchaunce he curste and bande at large,
the, and thy brother to:
With me, nor Vlixes his foe,
he neuer had to doe.

Agamemnon.
The lingering shippes, that they might sayle,
from hauen where they stoode,
Of purpose good, I pacifyed,
the wrothefull goddes with blood.

Tucer.
With blood of thyne, thou mad kinge, thou,
with mine, but I not mad.

Agam. Stoicke.
Who doth confounde things good and ill
(as you) is euen as bad.
To folow shewes, and vttershapes,
to gesse but at the good
Is follie leude: as is the deede,
that coms of angrie moode.
Aiax he slew the sillie lambes,
therfore, distraughte of witte:
And thou for tytles, and renoume,
fell murther doste commit.
(Hast thou thy wittes? or arte thou good,
all swelled vp with pryde?
If in a couche, a fyne fleesde lambe,
a kinge shoulde cause to ryde,
And geue it rayments neate, and gay,
and geue it maydes and goulde,
And call it pugges and pretye peate,
and make as though he woulde,
In woorthy wedlocke it bestowe:
the pretor woulde fordoe it,
And make his frendes looke to his witte,
for feare he shoulde forgoe it:
What if a kynge, for a doumbe sheepe,
his daughter sacrifice,
I wene the kyng will graunte himselfe,
not to be verye wyse.
Fondnesse is madnesse, so is sinne,
and who that huntes for name
Is lyke Bellona chafinge dame,

Bellona goddesse of warr.

that loues to see a mame:
Who scales faines forte ofte times doth see,
dyre feates and vse the same.

Againste the riotouse, as he promised.

But now a crashe at Nomentane
to reuellers a whyle,
No reason is this foultishe flocke
from madnes to exile.
The prodigall, by witte worde hath
ten talentes: in his heate,
He biddes the costerdmongers, and
thappothycaries neate.
Foulers, fishers, sculls, podingwrightes,
the trulls of Tuscus streate,
All cookes and all the shambles eeke,
to morow him to meate
At home. How are they occupyde
when they are mette in one?
The baude (as spokes man for the reste)
its thine (sayth he alone,
What so all those or I, possesse,
at home or anie wheare,
Demaunde it (master when you will.
now syr, vnto this geare,
Harke, how our younker frames his tale,
Ah trustie frendes (saith he)
The fouler wades through froste and snowe
that he may banquet me.
The tysher drawes the wyntrye seas,
whylste I doo sytte at ease,
In faythe, good felowes, fayne woulde I,
your great turmoylyng please:
Take thou some thynge, take tenne tymes more,
take thou as muche agayne,
And thou threfolde, because with me,
your wyfe hath taken payne.
Younge Aesope, snatchde a ryng awaye,
from madame Metells eare:

Metells, a lady of Rome.

The pearle well worthe fyue hundreth crownes,
He dronke in vinigeare:
He as much besydes hym selfe
as braynlesse in this case,
As yf he hadde it drent in flood
or in some vyler place.
The broode of Quinctus Arius,

Arius, a noble man of Rome.

the famous brethren twayne.
Through lewd conceites, and babysh pranks
do make theyr stomacke fayne
And lyuely with the lynnets fleshe,
that be of costly price.
Be these men, wene you, well in wytte?
be these men madde or wyse?
To buylde an house of chippes and cardes,
to watche the trappe for myse:
To playe at euen and odde, to ryde
cockhorse in chyldyshe guyse:
If these shoulde please a bearded syre,
the foole myght haue a hood,
Muche more, to haunte an harlots house,
dothe proue an olde man wood.
An olde man, for to spyll his teares,
to please a womans mynde,
Is as an olde man shoulde in duste,
go taue, and toyes out fynde:

Palamon.
I woulde haue all these naughty packes
to doo lyke Palamon:
As he for shame vppon a tyme,

A fondlinge knowē by his ensignes.

With drynke all ouergon,
The badges of a fondlynge, as,
braue napkyns, braceletts, rynges,
He layde away, and went to schoole,
to learne more sober thynges.
Commaunde a chylde, to eate a peare,
he wyll not eate a byt:
Commaunde hym, not to eate the peare,
the chylde wyll long for yt.
So fares it, with oure fondlyng (lo)
though he desyres to go,
And woulde this coyishe paramour,
vnbodden wende vnto.

Phedria.
Yea when she daygnes to sende for hym,
then mammeryng he dothe doute,
What should I go, as suppliaunt?
or beare my sorowes stoute?
She shutte me out, she sendes for me,
shoulde I come there agayne?
No, though she shoulde vpon her knees,
Praye me, to take the payne.

Stoike.
Me thynkes the seruaunt Parmeno.
hath muche the better brayne.

Parmeno.
The thynge mayster, that hathe in it
no measure, nor aduice,
By reason, can not well be rulde:
Loue hath in it muche vyce.
Theres stormy warre, and caulmie peace,
whiche (passyng as a blaste,
And flotynge on, in blynde successe)
Who seeketh to make faste,
Shall take in hande, an harde attempte,
miraculous, and geason:
As yf he woulde at once be madde,
and haue his perfite reason.

Stoicke.
A man that faultreth in hys speache,
for age, and yet is gladde,
To playe at quoytes, or spancounter,
may well be counted madde:
A man, that faultreth in his speache,
and wyll by sworde and myght,
Obteyne his loue, or murther her
in cruell blooddy plyght:
As Marrius slewe Hilade,

Marius a knowen Romane: esprisede with the loue of Hilade. Oulde dotage mere madnesse. Supersticion proued madnes.

and slewe hymselfe also,
Because she sought by godly meanes,
his dotage to vndo.
This perturbation maye be calde,
a wodnesse of the mynde:
Suche wyckednes and madnes, haue
no dyuers names by kynde.
An olde man late enfraunchised,
in dawnynge of the day,
With hāds fair washt, wold walk the stretes
and moste deuoutlye praye.
The more deale was to this effecte:
O Godds aboue, (for you
Can doo the thyng) lette me ylyue
in earthe where I am nowe:
This man was sounde enoughe in corps,
in mynde I thynke hym madde,
Except his maister lyke not that,

In ould time, if anie sould a seruaunte, who afterwarde proued mad, it turned to the sellers endamage.

who soulde hym of a ladde.
Suche folke, so supersticious,
Chrysip doothe greatly charge,
And pleades by ryght, that they should sayle
in madame Madnesse barge.
O Ioue, whiche bothe canst eke and ease,
all dolour and all teene,
Rue on my chylde (the mother crieth)
who nowe fiue weekes hathe bene,
With feuer quartayne, felly toste,
yf thou wylte heale my sonne,
Byd me to faste, what day thou wylt,
thy great wyll shall be donne:
My sonne lykewyse recouerde once,
in Tyber flood shall stande,
If thou wylt send hym helpe by chaunce,
or by phisitions hande.
And so she will (to kepe her vowe)
her chyld in Tyber sette:
The boye through chille benummednesse,
his ague worse shall gette.
This woman maddeth of her selfe,
or by the will of God.

Damasip.
Thus Stertin theyght wyse man of Grece,
taught me, and gaue a nod:
As to his frende, at knittynge vp:
this armour he me gaue:
If any man be busye nowe,
his guardon he shall haue.
Who so that calls me wood or madde,
maye learne his propre lacke,
And knowe the ferdle of his faultes,
that hange behynde his backe.

Stoicke.
Frende Damasip, though you haue loste
your trafficke and your ware:
Yet may you gayne, for some will geue
that you theyr faultes maye spare.

Damasip.
Because thers many kyndes of madde,
in what sorte doo I dote?
Yet to my selfe I seme not madde,
nor from my witte a iote.

Stoicke.
No more semed Agaue to her selfe,
when she of dolefull chylde,
The head detruncte dyd beare about,
she thought her selfe full mylde.
If soothe it be, that I am madde,
yet stoicke tell me this,
What vice is it, through whiche I seeme
so muche to doo amys?

Stoicke.
Thou arte a very little man,
scarce three small cubites hye,
And yet thou buyldes a hautie house,
and makes it threate the skye.

Turbo.
Thou laughste at Turbo sworde player,
a little dandie prat,
To see hym stoute: thou lesse, and stoute:
I deeme thee madde for that.
Thynks thou, to buyld lyke lorde Mæcene,
to doo, what he shall doo?
A matche vnmete betwixte you twayne,
and yll appoynted too.
The mother frogge vppon a tyme
abrode to feede, or playe:
A Calfe kylde all her young, with foote,
but one, that scapde awaye:
Which brought the tydynges to her damme,
howe suche a myghtie beaste,
Had slayne her noble progenie,
(to tell a blouddie feast.)
Canste thou with swellyng make thy selfe,
(quod tholde) as bygge as he?
The yong assayde, it woulde not proue

The texte applyeth the willing rather to the old frogge but it skillech not so resumption be eschueed in olde and younge.

(quod tholde) so lette it be.
Nowe moralise this fable, and
iwys it toucheth thee,
That styll wyll swell, and make thy matche
aboue thyne owne degree.
Besydes, thy pratlynge Poemes to,
be matter playne and clere,
To proue thee madde, in poemes madde,
yf euer any were.
It is a madnesse, thee thy coyne,
so frankly to disburse.
(Frende Damasip, abate thy spence,
be counsailde by thy purse.

Damasip.
Well Stoicke, thou haste taught vs playne,
that moste of men be wood:
As not to proue me so, agayne,
I praye thee be so good.

The fourthe Satyre.

Horace.
From whence, and whether Catius?

Catius.
I haue no tyme, farewell,
To teache a schoole of newe preceptes,
not suche as doo excelle,
Pythagoras, or Socrates,
or lettred Dan Plato.

Hor.
I graunt my gylte, at yll aspecte,
to speake vnto you so:
Nathelesse, I hope your maystershyppe,
Wyll beare with me thys ones,
Some dayntie doctrine of your secte,
and nouell for the nones
Propounde, of nature, or of arte,
for you in bothe doo passe.

Cati.
Yea syr, to speake of matters all,
that aye my commynge was:
And for to speake accordyngly,
of rude and homely matter.

Horace.
A Romayne, nor an Alyen,
that taughte you so to clatter?

Catius.
I wyll disclose his mysteries,
but not bewray his name:
Least some, myslykyng his preceptes,
the author selfe myght blame.

The Epicure his schoole.

Egges longe and whyte, be nutritiue
muche better then the rounde:
Egges rosted harde, be costiue, yea
vnholsome and vnsounde.
The gardeyne herbes be not so swete,
As those on mountaynes bee:
The watrye soyle, the vertue slakes,
that it is not so free.
The moushrom that doth spring in meades,
or in a supple grounde:
Is beste, for suche as growe els where,
moste noysome haue ben founde.
If guestes come to thee at vnwares,
in water myxte with wyne,
Souse thou thy henne, she wyll become,
shorte, tender, neshe, and fyne.
Who after meate, eates Mulberies,
soone ryped of the sonne:
Shall lyue in health and iolytie,
whylste many sommers ronne.
Aufidius, myxt heddy wyne,

Aufidius, an yll scholer for the Epicure his dyete.

and honey all in one,
No craftesman he: for symple wynes
doo breede a force alone,
A louely force in symple wynes:
Meathe, vrine doothe prouoke,
The Muge fushe, and the Muscles cheape,
In purgynge beare a stroke.
So Coos wyne, with sorell meynt,
hath vertue to expell.
Shelfyshe, in growynge of the moone,
is beste to eate or sell:
Not euery sea, hath fyshe a lyke:
Pelore in Lucrin growes,
The Murer fishe from Baiæ cums,
whence purple coloure flowes
From Circes choppynge oysters newe,
From Micen vrchen fishe,
Of sealed Scalop, Tarento
bragges, as her proper dyshe.
To furnyshe well a feast, is harde,
a thynge not learnde in haste:
He that woulde doo it gorgious,
must haue a practisde taste.
Its not enough to fraight the boorde
with sea fyshe out of measure:
There muste be brothe for squaymous folke,
and spices all of pleasure.
In Vmbria the maste fedde bores,
doo charge the vessels greate:
Uessells, whiche haue not in them borne,
the common sortes of meate.
The bore is yll in Laurente soyle,
that feedes on reakes and reeds,
Somtymes, frome goodly pleasant vine,
a sower tendrell speedes.

The Epicure a Benefactor to the Calat.

Who lykes to eate the fruitfull hare,
her forepartes are the beste,
The choyce and vse of fyshe and fleshe
by me fyrste were expreste.
I made them so delicious,
so welcome to the taste:
Some can vouchesafe theyr wittes and paynes
in pastrye for to waste:
It is not muche commendable,
to knowe a knacke or twayne:
As if in brewinge spyced wynes,
thou shouldst bestow muche paine:
And sauce thy meate with foystie oyles,
thy gesse wooulde the disdaine.
If thou wilte purge mounteflascon wynes,
and make them pure and cleare,
Set them abrode in open ayre,
when many starres appeare.
The greuouse smell, by force of ayre,
will passe and fade away:
Through streyning of them through a clofhe,
the good smell woulde decay.
To mingle in thyne egge at meales,
a litle sacke and saulte,
Doth mende the yelke or whyte therof,
if it haue anye faulte.
With Africke cocles or with shrimpes,
he that is cloyed may,
Be freshe againe: in stomacke sharpe,
the lettise it doth play.
The stronge may eate good looshiouse meate,
in kytchins whiche be dreste,
The kitchin phisicke, is for them,
simplye, the very beste.
It is behouable to knowe,
of sauce a double kynde,
The one, of simple olyue oyle,
as we in arte do fynde.
The compounde hath that goes therto,
Constantinoble bryne,
Herbes shred, and minced very thicke,
some kynde of compounde wyne:
An oyle from Uenefratuum broughte,
(Lo) that is passinge fyne.
Moste commonly, that fruite is beste,
that lyketh best the eye.
Some grapes may be conserude by meanes,
some pressed by and by,
I taught the waye, to kepe them greene,
without all ylde or faulte,
To eate hearryng with iuyce of grapes,
white pepper, and blacke saulte.
All those I badde, for to be borne,
In vessels of greate pryde.
A fayre brode fishe muste aye be borne,
in vessells large and wyde.
To lashe out all, is not the beste,
it can not be denyde.
Muche thynge dothe hurte the stomake muche,
as if thy boye or mayde

The Epicure cannot fynde in his hart to eate with a pore man nor to haue hym eate or drinke in his companye.

Hathe eate in syghte, or haue thy cuppe,
With slauyshe hande assayde.
Or in some creuysse motes do stycke,
vnmoued to or fro:
Therfore broomes, napkyns, must be bought,
Wyth many trinkets mo,
It is a filthy ouersyghte,
yf all thynges be not cleane:
To rubbe thynges with thy purple cloths,
Iwis it woulde them steane.
To haue suche necessary thynges
is hansome, and lesse deare,
Seclude neatenesse, and then no waste,
Can make delitefull cheare.

Poet.
Sir Catius, for Goddes dere loue
and myne, my prayer is,
An other tyme, to leade me, where
I maye heare more of this.
Though well I wote, you coulde for skille,
haue played the maisters parte,
Yet nothyng lyke the Epicure,
the father of the arte.
Besydes his graue and modeste lookes,
and reuerent attyre,
Woulde make one heare him muche the more,
with zeale, and great desyre.
Whome you perchance esteme the lesse,
because you happie stille,
Enioye his syght: but I doo wishe
to go vnto my fill,
The christall fountaynes harde to fynde,
and there from vertues rife,
To take and practise perfecte rules,
of pure and blessed lyfe.

The fyfte Satyre.

Vlisses.
Tyretia , at my request,
tell me a little more,
Howe maye I be, so riche a man,
as I was once before?
By what meanes, or what pollicie?
(prophete) why doste thou smyle?
O suttill pate, arte thou not well,
from shypwracke, and exile,
To haue escapde, thy housholde goddes,
and Ithacke Isles to see?

Vlisses.
O prophete soothefaste in thy speche,
alas) but seest thou me,
How bare and beggerly I cum,
into my natiue lande?
(Thou hauyng so foretoulde my fate)
nothinge in plyghte doth stande?
The wooers spende vp all my gooddes,
and howses do defyle.
My stocke and vertue, withoute gooddes,
are thoughte as thinges most vyle.
To cut of talke, since pouertie
thou doste abhorre in harte,
Now harken how from deepe distresse,
a wittie man maye starte.
By sending, pretie presents still,
be sewer thy giftes to geue,
Unto the wealthie ritch mans house,
that is not lyke to lyue.
The turtle doue, the orcharde fruite,
the honours of the feelde,
The rich must haue before goddes selfe,
what so thy grounde doth yeelde.
Who though he be a periurde man,
of currishe kyndred borne,
All gored in his brothers blood,
a runagate forlorne:
Yet coortsye him, and woorship hym,
and if he woulde it so,
Thou maiste not stay to wayte on him,
in place where he shall go.

Vlixes.
Can I becum a page to slaues,
to get a sillie catch,
Who, erste in Troye, euen with the beste,
was wonte to make my matche?

Tire.
Therfore, still poore. Applie the worlde,
and beare it as it is,

Vlixes.
Yes, I haue borne, and can abyde,
thinges waightier then this.
(Good wysarde) tell a speedie way,
and driue me of no more:
Howe maye I fyll my pouches full,
as they were heretofore?

Tyre.
I sayde, and eftsoones saye to thee,
be pregnaunt aye in guyle,
Thou muste be forgynge olde mens wylles,
And if that in thy wyle,
Thou arte perceyude, yf none wyll byte,
but all from hooke doo flye:
Though ones deceyude, dispaire not tho,
persyste thyne arte to trye.
If there be in arbiterment,
a matter great or small,
Inquyre vpon the parties bothe,
and circumstances all.
If thone be ryche, and chyldrenles,
though all the grounde of stryfe
Procede of hym, sette thou in foote,
and pleade his cause of lyfe.
The other, if he haue a wyfe,
or hope of progenye,
Thoughe all the worlde proclaym hym good
lette thou his quarell lye.
Do clepe the other, by his names,
(fayre wordes with fooles take place:)
Right worshipfull, your vertues (saye)
hath made me pleade your case.
I haue some practise in the lawe,
to parle and maynteyne plea,
In faythe, I rather woulde myne eyes
were drenched in the sea,
Then any of these fyled tongues,
Your worshyppe shoulde abuse:
Or spende yonr goodes. Well go you home,
and cease you thus to muse.
Plucke vp your hearte, leaue all to me,
trye what a frend can doo.
In heate or colde, I am your owne
to ryde or els to go.
Assay the consequence hereof,
some one or other wyll,
Name thee, an heartie frendly man
a man of witte and skyll.
Thy hunger shall be great excesse,
thy wante muche wealthe at ease,
The Tunnye and the whale wyll be,
scarce presentes thee to please,
But here a caution for the, least
some shoulde replye agayne,
That thou doest good to sole olde men,
as gapyng after gayne.
If thou canst spye a wealthie man,
that hath a wearyshe chylde,
There, shewe thy selfe officious,
muche debonaire and mylde:
And caste out talke as though thou couldst,
proue thee, his seconde sonne,
Then plye the olde man, so to saye
perchaunce, when he hath done,
The chylde may dye, then, who but thou?
make entrie on thy right,
Suche loose begynnynges, oftentymes,
growe vp to force and myght.
If, that the olde man offer thee
his testament to reade,
Make, as thou coulde not, for great grefe,
put it awaye with speede:
But take a superficiall syght,
if thou muste all possesse:
Or dyuers mo cooparteners:
them thou with crafte muste dresse.
By threatnynges or by flatterie,
by smothe talke gette thou all,
As Esops foxe allurde the dawe,
to lette her breakefaste fall.
As Corauus with suche lyke sorte,
deceyued Scipio.

Vlixes.
Why art thou mad, or mockst for nonce,
for doomyng harde thynges so?

Tyre.
Laertes sonne, what so I say,
muste be, or ells not be,
For great Apollo hath bestowde.
a prophetes gyfte of me.

Vlixes.
Unfolde this fable vnto me,
this mysterie bewraye.

Tyre
What tyme this yong man, feare of Parths,
begynnes to beare a swaye,
(Augustus Prince) by lyne extract
from duke Aeneas race,
When he shall beare the countenance,
and welde the wreakefull mace,
A noble dame to Corauus,
shall Scipio the bolde
Dispouse, and yet for couetyse
her dowrie large withholde,
Corauus shall a feoffement force,
and eke the writyng seale,
A cuttyng wrytte for Scipio,
whiche he ne shall repeale.
I geue thee furthermore in charge,
yf any dotynge syer,
Be ruled by his mayde or man,
thralled to theyr desyre,
Acquainte thy selfe, forthwith with them,
Praise them, that thee awaye,
With gratefull praise, and lyke for lyke,
they may agayne repaye.

A worldly rule to seeke acquaintaunce at or better: A safe rule Cum æquali æquale tibi uis erit.

But what of them? seeke euer to
the chiefest, and the beste,
Prayse hym, laude hym, so shalte thou be,
in tyme a welcome gueste.
In case the carle be leacherous,
his byddyng doo not byde:
Bryng hym thy chaste Penelope,
to whome thou waste affyde.

Vlix.
Penelope, so temperate,
so continent a dame,
Whome suche a route of reuellers,
coulde neuer stayne with shame.

Tyr.
Those younkers came not for to geue,

Prostitution practised for couetise.

but hunger for to staunche,
They came for lucre, not for loue,
to paumper vp the paunche.
But this (lo) were a present waie,
for her and thee to lyue.
Losse made your dame, so temperate,
Her trouthe to none to geue.
I (beynge then well elderly)
at Thebes, there was a wyfe,
Who charged strayghtly her assignes,
whylste she was yet in lyfe,
That they shoulde noynte, and hold her fast,
if she could wraste away,
That then their hope shoulde want his hyre,
and mis his wyshed praye.
These shewe to thee, that he that woulde,
ryse vp by deade mens bones,
Muste play the bawde, the slaue, and loute,
and paynfull for the nones.
Beare well thy selfe, serue in suche sorte,
that naught maie be amended:
The testie, tethye, waspishe churle,
with pratlynge is offended.
Yet sumtymes that thou merelie,
lyke Dauus in the play,
Abate thy lookes, as thoughe the man
with presence did the fray.
Be euer duckinge downe to him:
if all things be not warme,
Besech him thou, to keepe him close,
leste haplie cum sum harme.
Be stille, and whishte, whilste he speakes oughte,
stretch out thy listninge eare,
And neuer cease to magnifye,
whatsoeuer thou doste heare.
In case he will be blasoned,
sounde and resounde his prayse
Forge and deuyse, puffe vp his harte
by any kynde of wayes.
What time the wretche drawes to his ende,
releasinge the of paine,
Then will he say, geue Vlixes,
a quarter of my gayne:
Of all my substaunce of this worlde.
which voice, then thou doste heare,
Alas (say thou) Dama my frende,
shall he no more appeare?
O Dama frende, wilte thou be gone?
how maye I haue so good,
So trusty true and stedfaste frende?
howle, crye as thou werte woode.
Weepe, if thou canste, a litle crashe,
dissemble all thy ioy,
Uppon his toumbe, an hansom coste,
and laboure eeke employ,
That neighbours maye commende thy facte,
and yet, a further note:
If one of thy cooparteners gin,
to rutle in the throte,
Take him asyde, and salue him fayre,
and tell him if he please,
He shall by howse, an lande of you,
for vse, or for his ease.
Muche more (as thou doste lyke of this)
to the I coulde haue sayde
But, I muste to my hellishe taske
perforce my toungue is stayde.
Proserpina, our tyraunte Quene,
so vengefull, and so fell,
Dothe hayle me hence, to byde the smarte,
with smouldred soules in hell.
Ye, worldlinges make suche shiftes as those,
adew, and fare you well.

The sixte Satyre.

People.
Good master, (you do know those goddes
because of neare accesse)
Must we to warre on Dasia,
our selues in armoure dresse?

Horace.
I harde it not.

Peo.
By gisse, (Horace)
you wil not leave your mockinge:

Hor.
Then on my heade (in stiddie wyse,)
let all the goddes be knocking.

Peo.
Cesar, made promisse he woulde geue
his souldiers grounde to tyll:
In Scycilie, or Italie?
Sir, what is Cesars will?

Horace.
Me swearinge, that I know nothinge,
they maruaile, as at one,
Of famouse taciturnitie,
and secret gyfte alone.
In cile, thus I spende my dayes,
in muche recourse of care:
O manor place, when shall I see,
thy groues so freshe, and fayre?
When shall I soundlye plye my booke,
and at my vacante howers
C (ut from the worlde) profoundlye sleepe,
amid the fragraunte flowers?
Pithagoras, when shall thy beanes,
or colewoorte sybbe of kynde,
Refreshe, my hungry appetyte.
whilste I haue supte or dynde?
O nightes, and suppers of the goddes,
in whiche both I and myne.
Make cheare, at home: my iollie men
do feede so cleane, and fyne?
Of all the townishe delicates,
of what, so lykes them beste,
My straungers francklye take repaste,
with lyuelye harte, at reste.
When, that our sobre companye,
begins to warme with drincke,
Of purchasinge, or supplantinge,
we do not eftsones thinke:
In trothe, our talke it multyplyes,
but not of baude, or queane,
Or who dothe friske it beste in daunce,
no, it is chaste, and cleane.
Of knowledge, most behoueable
as if in ryches be,
Or in vertue, the chefest good,
(I clepde felicitie.)
If frendship springe of vse, or gaine,
or do to vertue tende
What is the good calde soueraigne,
what is her verye ende.
If any praysinge hurtefull goodes,
of ignoraunce do fayle,
Our neyghbour Seruie, hearing that,
steppes in to tell his tale:
Full gosseplike, the father sage,
beginnes his fable then:

Fable toulde.

The countrye mouse, did enterteyne,
within her homelie den,
The citie mouse, the olde hostesse,
her olde acquainted frende,
Doth welcum, loth to sparple muche:
and yet for to vnbynde,
The corsey anguishe of her geste,
with syghtes of daintie fare:
Not hurded pulfe, nor longe stalkd otes,
(the prodigal) doth spare.
She serues in mouth the curnell drye,
the gobbets chewde of larde,
To please her geste, with cheefeste meates,
was cheeflie her regarde:
(Her geste that tasted on eche thinge
with toth of muche disdaine)
The rurall mouse eate new thrushde chaffe,
and put her selfe to paine:
Reseruing wheate, and cockle flower,
(two dishes of muche ioy)
Unto the fyne fed citizen,
a straunger all to coy.
At lengthe bespeakes, the cytie mouse,
my frende why lyke you still,
To lyue in countrye fastynglye,
vppon a craggie hill?
How say you? can you fynde in hearte
to haunte, and set more by
The citie, then the saluage woodes?
marche on, be boulde to trye.
Our earthelie soule is ruinouse,
not possible to flye,
From dinte of death, by any meanes,
the longeste liude muste dye.
Wherfore good sister, whilste thou maiste,
do bayth they selfe in blisse,
Remember aye, how shadowye,
and shorte this lyfe tyme is.
These sayings, moued the rusticall,
full lightlie leapeth she,
They both begin this gay exployte,
the citye for to see.
Benighted cum they to the towne:
(for, midnighte then did hyde
The midle parte of roumie skye)
when both at equall tyde,
Did presse their foote, in pallas proude:
where scarlet vestures reade,
On Iuery beddes, did glose with gleames,
as it were glowing gleade.
Muche was the noble remainder,
or gorgiouse supper paste,
Whiche was bestowed in baskets shutte,
not clasped very faste.
Therfore, this straunger (countrie mouse)
on purple quishion set,
The townishe dame (as nurturde well,)
her noble cattes doth fette.
A feaste, of much varyatie.
she like a seruinge page,
Dyd daine to go to bring, to taste,
in proper personage.
The trauailer, dothe lyke her chaunge,
and quyte deuoyde of feare,
As dedicate to feaste, and wealthe,
doth glade her selfe with cheare.
All sodeynly, the clappynge dore,
doth fraye them into flore,
Affrighted sore, a rounde they trip,
Dismayed more, and more.
Also the vaste, and ample house,
of mastie dogges did sounde,
The mowse, beset in sorye wyse,
doth shape her answere rounde:
Farewell. I neade not suche a lyfe:
the harmelesse wood, and caue,
Can comforte me, with fatche, and tare,
and so my bodye saue.

The seuenth Satyre.

Dauus.
Ere whyles, I listned to your wordes,
and sumthinge woulde haue sayde,
But, I a scruaunte, and Dauus,
was halfe, and more a frayde.
Dauus, a true, and trustie page,
so much as sence will geue.
A frende sir, so farre vnto you,
as I my selfe may lyue.

Simo.
Becawse our auncitours so woulde,
the freedom of decembre
Enioy speake out, all things amisse,
that, thou doste nowe remembre.

Dauus.
Some men do stifflye sticke to voyce,
and still pursue theire praye,
Sum, to, and fro, now well now woorse,
and kepe no common stay.
Lyke Priscus, chaunginge of his ringes,
who such attyre had boughte,
And chaungde his suites, so ofte a day,
him selfe hathe chaungde to noughte.
His house, and lande, to morgage layde,
yea, neede dothe him compell,
In simple cotage to abyde,
where scarce a slaue woulde dwell.
At Athins, verye studente lyke,
at Rome, a lustie lad,
I maruaile, what vnstable starres
what byrthsygnes, once he had.
Volauery, stickes to, one trade,
for gowte, he can not ryse,
And therefore nowe he fees a man,
to caste for him the dyse.
Such constaunte folke, be better, then
those chaunglings in and oute,
Who plunge in euerye follye which
theire heades can bringe aboute.

Simo.
Wilte thou not say, thou stretche hempe, thou
whome thou meanes in thy pratlynge?

Dauus.
I meane euen the

Si.
How so sir knaue?

Da.
For, thou wilte still be tatling.
In praysinge, state of forayn tymes,
but, if that thou mighste chuse,
And god would place the in those worldes,
no doubte, thou wouldste refuse.
Or thou in hearte didste neuer thincke,
whiche thou in worde hast sayde,
Or thou not stoutlie cleauiste to
the truth as halfe vnstayde.
Scarce fullie yet resolude, to plucke,
thy foote out of the myer.
At Rome thou loues to be abrode,
abrode thou doste desyre
To cum to Rome, and doste extoll,
that lyfe aboue the skye.
If thou beeste no mans geste abrode,
then doste thou magnifye,
The priuate cleare, as thoughe thou wouldste.
be bounde to lyue so still:
And thinckes it well, that thou ne goste,
to tipple, and to swill.
But if sum bid the cum indede,
thou lins, not then to crie,
Oyle, water, haste my seruants haste,
awaye, thou doste the hye.
Full manie sillie seruiters,
that wayte with emptie paunche,
Say to them selues, when will this churle,
his glutton stomake staunche?
I am a smelfeaste bellygod,
idle and full of slouthe
A greedie gut, and at a worde,
a seruaunte to my tothe.
Synce thou arte euen as yll, as I,
and worse to, in thyne harte,
Howe durst thou fyrst begynne with me,
as though thou better wart?
Thou canste disguyse thy synne with woordes,
thy wyckednesse vnfoulde,
Thou arte more foole, then I, which earste,
for fyftye grotes was soulde.

The satyre altered.

Explaine thy browes, restraine thy handes.
alay thyne anger fell,
What Cryspins porter, toulde of the
I will make boulde to tell.
(Quod he) Dauus, that sillye foole,
hathe not his masters caste,
His harte, is euer in his toungue,
for if the facte be paste:
He takes no sounder reste, whileste he,
hath chatterde oute the thinge,
Then dothe the swyne, that hathe her groyne
new wounded with a ringe.
In open day, in open streets,
he praunces, and he prates.
He makes the younkers, all a flote,
to breake the brothells gates.
His acts, are euer euydente,
and therefore, ryfe in talke,
Because, he doth not make pretence,
nor vnder coler walke.
His master, goes in sage attyre:
that geues a sober shue.
His master, solempne in his wordes:
that makes him seme so true.
Dauus in sighte of all the worlde,
dothe as I sayd before.
Simo, dothe all that pryuilye
much willinge, to do more.
Simo, is ryche and rubbes it out:
for goulde hath this by kynde,
To louse or tye the tongues of men,
and to contente their mynde.
Simo maye be a goose, a sheepe,
a noddie, and a daw,
And haue not giftes, or qualities,
to counterpeyse a straw:
Yet Parasytes, will tearme him good,
and wyse, at all assayes.
I wisse, redde goulde, can make a doulte,
a paragon of prayse.
If Dauus do but talke amisse,
a cockescombe, or a bell,
Such badges, mighte beseeme oft tyme,
the masters very well.
The reyster weares not alwaye plumes,
nor yet the deuill a tayle,
If euery foole did were a bell,
there would be iollye sayle.
Simo can laye to vsurie,
and yet by plea of sleighte,
He will persuade the thinge to be,
a sinne of little weighte.
So drunckennesse, is felowship,
furye, is manhood boulde,
Fondnesse, is francknesse, and scarcehead,
for thriftynesse, is houlde.
In fyne, no cryme, no vyce, no sinne
in Simo, muste be knowne:
No faulte in Dauus, but forthwith
with trumpet, it is blowne.
Yea, Simo can cloke leacherie,
or clepe it, by such name
That nowe, it seemes, a neyghborhood,
a thinge of little blame.

Simo.
He slaundered me, (Dauus my man,
I am no leacher, I.

Dauus.
Nor I a theefe, though, I woulde steale,
and yet for feare passe by
A peece of plate, but this I say,
take punishemente awaye:

Masters the more dissolute for defaulte of correction.

Nature woulde breake her brydle straighte
vnrulye without staye.
Canste thou, be calde my gouernoure,
which arte to vyces thrall,
To fansyes, pleasures, wrathe, and teene
sythens, I shun them all?
If all the customes of our courte,
woulde franchyse thee in libertie,
Thy feare of gooddes, wold make the slaue,
and keepe the still in villanie.
Also, an other argumente:
if, that your customes all,
A seruantes man, a substitute,
or fellowe seruaunte call,
What am I, respecte of you?
for thou haste rule on me,
A wretche, a subiecte, to thy luste,
as anye wretche can be.
My master, to a sencelesse blocke,
thats moued, by others mighte,
Pufte vp with pleasures plungie puffes,
may be resembled ryghte.

Simo.
Who then is free?

Da.
The wyse, that can
his owne affections stay.
Whom, neyther, neede nor death, nor grefe
of massye gyues can fraye.
Who, can be lorde vppon his lustes,
and hawghtie roumes dispyse,
Stronge, and sufficyente, in him selfe,
in full and perfitte wyse.
Nor passe vppon externall thinges,
commoditye, or gaine:
On whom fortune, his heuie frende,
doth make assaulte in vayne.
Canste, thou not note, by these fewe thinges
who maye be coumpted free?
Admit, an harlotte, pickde thy purse,
and much abused the,
And calls the to her house againe:
from yoke, and seruyle snare,
If thou beeste free, ridde then thy selfe,
thou canste not quenche thy care:
In dede, a tyraunte forces the,
and broaddes the forwarde still,
Doth twyne thy chappes and pricke the forth

Appetyde as tyraunte.

full sore againste thy wyll.
When, thou doste gase, on womans shape,
by Pausies hand portrayde:

Pausie a copaynter.

And I of other painters, workes,
my stedfaste lookes haue layde?
(To marke the rankes, the warlyke troupes
in letter lymmed playne:
And, howe they stryke, and how they warde,
and how they take their bayne:)
Thou altogether womannishe.

Synne in for uewing effeminate pictures.

her portrature doste viewe:
Who sinneth more, or thou, or I?
speake soothe, say me trewe.
Dauus, is counted slacke, and slowe,
if he do them suruey:
Simo, doth loue antiquities,
and iudgeth well they say.
They counte me naughte, if that I doe,
but make a little cheare:
It is a vertue thoughte in the
to banket all the yeare.
Why, is the pampringe of the paunche,
so hurtefull vnto me?
Becawse, my backe dothe beare the blowes,
if oughte displeaseth the.
How, doste not thou deserue the whip
that costlie cates doste bye,
And eates, and drinkes, and reuells still
Without all modestie?

One commoditie of glotonie.

Dainties, becum no daintie thinges,
where, there is naughte, but cheare,
Thy stackeringe stumpes, thy corsey corps
at lengthe will hardlie beare:
The seruante, if he steale but grapes,
is streighte attachde of felonie:
My master, sells his landes for meate
doth he not sinne in gluttonie?
A gaine thou arte not with thy selfe,
thou neuer arte at leasure,
Thou canste not reste, nor take a pause,
nor muse at thinges of pleasure.
Thou shunste, to reason with thy sowle,
her counsaile thou doste hate,

A verye hard thing to heare our faultes without coller

Per consequens, thou shunnes thy selfe
(full lyke a runnagate.)
Thou thinkes by sleepe, and bibbinge wyne
to banishe out all woes

Dauus.
Ah sirre, where myghte I get a staffe?

Simo.
wherefore? Simo: or ells a stone?

Dauus.
My master maddes, or maketh rymes,
he museth so alone.

Simo.
Excepte thou wilte be trudginge hence,
and make no more delayes,
Thou shalte goe to my manour place,
to woorke this nyne longe dayes.

The eyght Satyre.

Horace.
Howe doo you lyke the Epicures
repaste, so ryche, and gay?
This other daye, I sent for you,
and then I dyd heare say,
You dynd abrode.

Fund.
In faith, my frend
it lyked me so muche,
That ere this tyme, I doo beleue,
there neuer was one suche.

Horace.
If, that it be not tedious,
nor doo not you displease,
What meate was fyrst, your angrye mawe,
that gan for to appease?

Fundanus.
Fyrst, had we brawne from Lucanie
the Father of the feaste,
Sayde, he was slayne, when southerne wynde
his blusteryng blastes releaste.
Rapes, radishe, lettice, Sherwicke rootes,
brothes tarte in taste, and quicke
Came next, to make our stomake slowe,
more vrgently to pricke.
Fayre trenchers then was calde for straight,
the purple carpett dreste
Eche man desyres to sytte nexte hym,
that tauntyngly can ieste:
Ribauldes and cockescombes are in dede,
a sauce vnto our feast.
Fooles haue with vs a priuiledge
to tell who, what, and when,
Fooles speake ofte tymes, the very thoughtes
of wyse and wittie men.
There was the costly cullices,
the Turbut, and the Pyke,
The Porpose and the Porpentyne,
with many suche the lyke.
Pygge, partrige, peacocke, sparrowe, whale,
so many of a rowe,
That scarce the eater leaueth roome,
to fetche his wynde, or blowe.
All thynges, so formally brought in,
so solemnely assayde,
As though on alters to the Goddes,
the bankette had bene made.
What drinke you maisters (quod our hoste?)
Gascoyne, or Rennyshe wyne?
We haue of all sortes in this howse,
bothe lately brochde, and fyne.
Then, when that wyne had wonne the field,
and maisterde all our guesse,
Lorde, what it was a ioye to see,
howe some it downe dothe presse:
Lyke as the thynge that heauy is,
of Nature so is made,
(Excepte the same by violence
forholden be, and stayde)
To fall to grounde: lyke as the oke,
of substance styffe and stoute,
Cums downe, when he with dyntyng axe
is hewed rounde aboute:
So doo our hoglynges synke foorthewith,
(theyr heade a Baccus barge)
Wyne, is I tell you burdeynous,
and passyng full of charge.
Some synges of loue, and louers fittes,
and howe Cupides darte
Dyd smyte hym gentyll sowle amysse,
so beautyfull an harte.
Some mourne and blame their sorie fate,
why Fortune shoulde be suche,
That they suche blouddes, shoulde nothynge haue,
and others ouermuche.
Some chyde, some chatte, some raue, some reele,
and some can take the payne,
Of curtesye to geue myne hoste,
his supper vp agayne.
Some wyll vnfould bygge mysteries,
and frame his matter so,
As though he had aboue the reste,
gotte Phebus by the toe.
Some, wyll lament the state of tymes,
and howe that all is nought,
Howe thynges be rysen in theyr price,
and howe they haue ben bought.
Some sweare, that they haue lyued yll,
and howe to morowe daye,
They will accorde with all the worlde,
and gynne an other playe.
Howe Uertue is a perelesse dame,
howe fewe doo her imbrace:
This will they preache in gestryng wyse,
as though in publike place
The thynge were done (lo Horace lo)
our suppers and our cheare:
We spare no coste, we may not aske
if it be cheape or deare.
We keepe a troupe of seruynge men,
a crewe of lusty brutes,
And these for our great honours sake,
muste cutte it in theyr sutes.
These be our handye instrumentes,
to woorchen all our will,
Not scrupulous for to inquire
yf it be good or yll.
So many, so officious,
that not one heare may lye
Amisse on vs, but he or he,
will spye it by and by.
We laugh at those, when then are drunke,
those make a sporte alone:
To scoffe at straungers, when as they
with drinke are ouergone.

Horace
So, so, no more Cupide can not
from hyue of honey lycke,
But one or other bee, forthewith
will sting hym with her prycke.
The world, the hyue, the combes, the welth
whiche who so dothe assaye,
Pleasure in face, poyson in tayle,
Lyke Scorpion they wyll paye.
The stynges, that pricke, be chokyng cares
These hony tasters haue:
Whilst they are toste within them selues,
to seeke, or howe to saue.
Wealthe is a thynge moste venomous,
and fewe or none we fynde,
But pleasure hath lyke Circes cuppes
yturnde them from their kynde.
Why shoulde the wyse esteme so muche,
a rowte of waytyng men?
Who, in theyr age moste commonly,
what are they? beggers then.
Brought vp so lewde, contynue lewde
retchelesse, and ydell swaynes:
Not knowyng arte, or handycrafte,
nor able to take paynes.
To kepe them braue, doothe euen as muche
thyne honour true vpholde,
As yf thou shouldste make thee a tayle,
and gylde the same with golde.
Is hospitalitie in those,
in feedyng any suche?
In kepyng stronge and heddy drynkes,
in beluynge ouermuche?
Lyke spunges neuer satisfied,
and lyke Ulisses foes,
From meate to bed, from bed to meate,
and so their circle goes.
Deuisers of all wantonnesse,
what should I tell you more?
Good, to increase and multiplye,
their lorde or maysters skore.
I do suppose, that yf mens wealthes,
shoulde answere to theyr wylles,
That nyght and daye woulde scarse suffice,
to reuell out theyr fylles.
Eche man is counted of moste price,
and mete to be a lorde,
As he with dyshes can depaynt,
and ouercharge a borde.
No talke howe wyse, how vertuous,
or to take paynes howe able,
But yf he kepe great store of drynke,
or honourable table.
Therfore some people parasites,
that they may seeme to passe,
Wyll spende out maluesey, muscadell,
and fumyshe hypocrasse.
And make their cookes looshiously,
theyr delicates to dresse
Their very meates in insensiue,
broughte in, in suche excesse:
That I doo lothe them more in mynde,
as thynges more full of harme,
Then, if that witche, that Canadie,
had cursde them with her charme.

The wailynges of Hieremie, done into Englishe Uerse.

EPIGRAMMATA ANTE duos annos conscripta.

PRESENTED TO THE QVEENES MAIESTIE BEING THEN at Cambridge, for the name of his degree.

A Price , extracte from hautie house,
a Prince of pompouse porte
Approcheth here, whose auncitours,
triumphe in glories forte.
Cum noble lustie Poets cum,
strike vp in regall rate,
To pennes, to pennes, pursue the chase,
ye haue a game of state.
If, wit maye win a woorthie name,
if vertue purchesse praise,
If heauenlye hue deserue an hyer,
her bruite then let vs blase.
Eche Realme, doth boste him of his prince:
eache wryter doth aduaunce
His soueraigne: then happie we,
thryse happie, is our chaunce,
To whome the mightie puissaunte God,
hath lente a Queene of pryce,
Whose fame we iustly maye procure,
vnto the cloudes to ryse.
What pleasaunte smylinge, twincklynge starres,
what goddes of witte so greate,
Coulde fynde, for such excellente giftes,
in place so small a seate?
Well nature well, now maiste thou daunce,
and pastyme for a tyme,
For neuer shalt thou creature woorke
so quyte deuoide of crime.
O, maye not we full rightly tearme,
that sacred Royall breste,
A paradize, where chaste aduice,
of godlinesse doth reste?
Ye kynges, that rule by seas and lande,
and ye infernall ghostes,
Beare wytnesse nowe, we haue a Queene,
of whome our Ilande bostes.
And Cambridge, nowe thou doest inclose,
(hye thankes to hym aboue:)
A wyght, whome all the worlde adores,
And God hymselfe dothe loue.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE and moste noble Lorde, the Lord Robert Dudley, Erle of Leicester.

To heare a pleasant penned verse,
Augustus tooke delyte:
And well allowde, the wittes that could,
his prayses well indite.
From massie care of common wealthe,
ofte woulde he, for a space,
Translate him selfe, to interuewe
and iudge a Poets grace.
Augustus nowe is dead and gone,
his fame hath founde her wynges,
Of hym, the broode of Pegasse house,
and noble Muses synges.
If Englande had suche curious wittes,
that coulde in stately verse,
The factes, the feates of worthy wightes,
and royall gestes reherse:
Your lordshyps honour, should be made,
the myrrour of our tyme,
Because you loue to laye your lookes
vpon a Poets ryme.
Some mountynge wittes, that loue to mount,
and soore aloofe in skie,
Bothe will and can arreare your fame,
and lodge it in the skie,
If we be not to rude vnkynde,
You and your golden yeares,
Wherin you lyue, shall geue assaulte
vnto the furthest eares.
Not onely we shall liue in you,
the daies that you dwell here,
Shall shine and shewe to other worldes,
in you sette foorthe so clere.
A iewell, welcome to the worlde,
by whom the worlde shall wynne,
And welcome to that happy age,
wherein you dyd begynne:
Moste hartie welcome vnto vs,
on your aduice dothe staye.
The pondrous peyse of publique weale,
and vrgent weyghtie swaye.

In aduentum clariss. viri Thomæ Hennagii Epigramma.

If that my penne could paynt my mynde
or wyt bewray my wyll:
Then shold your worship know my thoughts
that lurke for lacke of skyll.
I would excuse my rashe attempt,
the noblesse of your name,
I would sette foorthe in wordes of weyght,
and fynely fyled frame:
But eloquence she me denyes,
she dothe my hande repell:
And makes me shrynke to shewe myne arte,
to hym where arte dothe dwell.
Then blame your selfe, because I doo
indyte my mynde in fewe:
We simple Poetes, dare not byde,
Your heedfull learned vewe.
I iustly may mystrust my selfe,
that haue a gyltie mynde:
And moste mystruste, when he is iudgde,
that can the guylt unwynde.
I felte a sharpe and harde conflicte,
in writynge of this rime:
Good wyll prickte on, rudenesse reclamde,
great strugglyng for a tyme.
But, eche thynge hath at last his ende,
aduaunst hym good wyll tho,
And shame exilde, he badde me wryte,
the victor vrgde me so.
That streyght, my base vnspiced style,
was subiecte to your syghte,
Whiche ought not once to touche your steppes,
vnworthy there to lyghte.
But geue hym leaue, by gyfte of verse,
his meanynge to escrie:
Whose handes, to present prouder price,
his power dothe denye.
And geue me leaue in fyne to saye,
thryse welcome to this place
Welcome, for shape, welcome for skyll,
welcome for ancient race.

TO THE DVKES GRACES departynge.

Aryse reporte dothe runne abroade,
that Fame hath fethered wynges:
By healpe wherof, from eare to eare,
posthaste the goddesse flinges.
An harbynger, oft tymes to wight,
to speedie in her flight,
She flynges and friskes, through landes and seas,
she neuer loues to light.
O fame, where dydste thou then soiorne?
Inuironde in what place,
Waste thou? that we in no wise knewe,
the commyng of his grace:
His worthie noble princely grace,
whose martiall feates of warre,
Whose high attemptes, and hardie hande,
dothe fraie his foes from farre.
If vnderstandyng had ben geuen,
yf thou hadste sayd the worde.
The Duke shall come, that valiant Duke,
That weeldes the wreakefull sworde.
No penne, no poet shoulde haue seaste,
nexte to the very beste,
In trymme attyre, of sundry toungues,
his praise we woulde haue dreste.
Then beare with vs, (O famous prince)
Your commynge was not knowne,
Though verses ebbe, yet loue aboundes,
our heartes is, all your owne.