 | A Neweyeres gift to the Rebellious persons in the North partes of England |  |
A Neweyeres gift to the Rebellious persons in the North.
Fœlix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum.
The happy wyght, who happy styll
Would lyue in happy state,
Ought take aduise, & teach his wyl
By fall of others fate.
For he by ryght may happy hyght,
Who happy can eschewe
By others payne the care that would
Through want of care ensue.
And none so dead I deme, but demes
That caytyffe cursed thryse,
Whom no experience can perswade
Nor reason to be wyse.
Synce only cause of quiet case
Dependeth on the care,
Which doth forecast the much mishappes,
The diuers fonde misfare
And yll successe that doth pursue
Thunwyse conceate of those
And quyet state depose.
Unhappy men, for so by ryght
You do deserue your name,
What hath prouokte your wilfull heartes
To worke your proper shame?
What hath compeld you to disdayne
The long preserued peace
Your natyue countrey hath inioyde?
What makes your seruice ceasse
Unto your Prince, and to resigne
The same to Princes foe?
What moues your stomackes to procure
Your Natiue soyle such woe?
You wote your selues the yll successe
That rebelles styll obtayne,
You know the proofe was alwayes founde
To worke their proper payne.
Whereby experience doth infourme
The perylles of your case,
And warnes you, not to trackt the steppes
Of former traytors trace.
And why accursed, be not you
By their deserued spoyle
Aduysde to leaue your rashe deuise
And shunne your shamefull foyle?
Can prosprously proceede
Except that reason beare the sway
And do conduct the deede.
And you deuoyde of reason haue
Assaulted such a fact,
As reason scornes to be comprysde
In such a senselesse act.
Whereby you playnely prooue your selues
Unhappy cursed wyghtes,
And thralled slaues to shamelesse wyll
And clokt before your syghtes:
Because you neither wyl be warnde
By others perylles past,
Nor yet by present reason taught
Nor nature made a gast.
I muse no lesse what matter shoulde
Compell you to conspire,
Then I do maruell what conceate
Dyd flatter your desire.
A gratious Lady is your Queene,
A Princes louyng ryght,
In mynde as meke as pitifull,
And neuer wrought you spyght.
You knowe your selues in wordes discrete,
And in her deedes so iust,
She mynded least mistrust.
In quiet state you also lyude
And wrong hath nere supprest,
Your wyshed wealth, in carelesse ease
You myght haue toke your rest.
And what hath moude your grateles hearts
Such recompence to make,
As for her mercies, her dispoyle
And wracke to vndertake?
Oh feendes vnnaturaller farre
Then Polyphemos was,
Whose teeth deuourde the tender fleshe
Of men, you Tygers passe.
It had ben good you cursed impes
That death had ben your hyre
In mothers wombes, or that your byrthes
Had ben in broylyng fyre:
Then should your pryde not haue presumde
Upon so lofty pray
Nor you haue purchast to your selues
Your further worse decay.
Oh senselesse, thynke what hye abuse
Hath blynded your conceate,
And ponder well the whose discourse
Of your pretended feate.
No doubt yf you surmise
What euyll quarrell hath prouokt
Your doynges to despyse.
The common wealth of natyue lande
In disobedience showne
Unto your soueraigne Princes grace
Your duties not yknowne.
And thynke that yf it ambition is
That hath deceaude your wyttes,
How you are moylde in Plutoes lake
Amongst a thousande fyttes.
Nowe thorowe vayne rebellious hope
To eleuated pryde
Araysde, and strayght through pondred feare
Your cause of hope denyde:
And then with spurre of conscience pryckt
And with disquiete mynde
Agayne distempered and ytost
In sundry passions kynde:
Supposyng nowe of hautie wealth,
And thynkyng then of shame,
Nowe lusty lyfe, nowe purchast death,
Then fedde in hope of fame:
And somtyme moude through blynd conceat
In corrage to preuayle,
You feare, you faynt, and fayle.
And then your thoughtes consyderyng of
Your trauell and your payne,
Comparyng both in your attempt
Your domage, and your gayne:
You lothe to thynke what yrksome toyle,
What turmoyle, carke, and care
Doth burden you, and what disease
You dayly must forbare.
And then you see, or at the least
May see what vayne accountes
You make, ambitiously to gape
For gayne, when there amountes
Unto your paye the losse of goodes
And hazarde of your lyfe,
And great effusion of your blooddes,
The only fruites of stryfe.
Oh blynded then, and may you knowe
Your quarrels to be yll?
And may you see the deuyllyshe proofe
Of your ambitious wyll?
And may you vnderstande the shame
Of your rebellious deedes?
And may you viewe the great offence
That from the same proceedes?
In fauour of your God,
And grace of Queene and countreymen,
And yet wyll coyne a rod,
Wherwith to scurge and whip your selues?
Oh foolyshe, much to blame,
Who may in wealth deserue renowme,
And yet incurre defame.
You knowe full well, that many by
Ambition haue decayde,
Who myght in hautie plyght haue lyude
And rich estate haue stayde.
As eke you can not but confesse
Your selues at wyshed ease
To spende your dayes yf you hast lyst:
And coulde not this appease
Your lofty stomackes to haue thought
Upon the shamefull fall
And ruynous dispoyle of such
Ambitious wicked all
(As haue through their presumptuous pryde
Possessed worse degree)
But that you lykewise wyll presume
Lyke wicked impes to be?
Oh ponder of the vayne abuse,
Consyder of the case,
Nought tendes but to deface
Your selues, and waying you shall deme
No lesse then I suppose,
That to your selues, your selues remayne
No lesse then deadly foes.
And whylst your pryde prouides to mount
A loft vnto the skyes,
Your persons shalbe forst to couche
Whereas the lowest lyes.
Can not you wysely beare in mynde
That ryche is the content?
And why shoulde not suffisaunce serue
Your hungers to preuent?
The golden meane is free from thrall,
Because that no excesse
Nor needy want may once extende
His measure to oppresse.
And who that hyest sekes to clyme,
Attaynes the greatest fall:
The greedy lykewyse who doth snatche,
Full eftsoones leeseth all.
Let therfore measure rule your myndes,
And yf ambition moue
Your hungry heartes to greedy thoughtes,
Restrayne your wylles to proue:
Of fables, rather feare
Lest that the burden be more bygge
Then you can byde to beare.
Thus thynke on this, and yf the same
Hath causde you to rebell,
You shall perceaue howe blynde conceate
Your reason doth expell.
Of which presumption cheefly doth
You traytorously detect
Esteemyng such your greedy pryde
Of your abuse theffect:
Because that no occasion hath
Geuen cause whereby you shoulde
Against your soueraigne prince presume
To beare your selues so bolde:
Or seke reuenge on natyue soyle
As though as such offence
Your countrey had committed late
As you by your pretence
Woulde nowe correct, Oh traytors you
Amende your selues in tyme,
And rather seke for to auoyde
The horror of your cryme,
Then for to cauell with the clause
That doth condemne by ryght
And countrey, as you hyght:
You say for order good you seke
To haue at setled stay
The common wealth, that wyse aduise
May only beare the sway.
And yet your owne indeuours all,
Do interrupt the peace,
The very meanes and redy wayes
Misorder to increase,
And chiefly you disordred do
Disquiete orders square,
Which is mayntayned by the peace
That voydes vnquiet care.
Do tyrauntes teache their peoples heartes
To folowe pities trade?
Or is it seene that wyttie lawes
Of foolyshe men be made?
Or can a drunkarde grauely yeelde
An aunswere to the wyse?
Or may a foole in wayghtie thynges
Declare a good deuyse?
As they, euen so lyke power haue you
Good order for to plant
In common wealth: when as your wyttes
And workes all order want.
As with religious face
To roote out scismes, and error voyde,
And set the trueth in place.
Yet venimous deceauers, least
You mynde the same intent:
But make religion for a cloke
To couer that is ment.
And vnder subtyll clause contayne
A venimous deuyse,
As eche may see who marketh howe
Your cauels do aryse.
For though you stoode in mayntenaunce
Of trueth, as you not so,
But in such false opinion erre,
As is to trueth a foe:
Yet ought you not agaynst your prince
A weapon for to beare,
Synce that the perfect loue of God
Consysteth in the feare
Of hym, and in the duetie done
Unto the rulyng throne
Of earthly magistrates, whereto
The scriptures bynde eche one.
But you rebellious voyde of grace,
As not in your defence
Deuise a vayne pretence:
But make a quarrell, and aryse
Agaynst your Princes myght,
Whose state you seeme for to disdayne,
And dealynges to dispyght.
Oh blynded you, and do you deme
That of a godly sonne,
Who sees his father do amys,
It were a thyng well done
That he his father shoulde correct
Or punyshe? no you knowe,
Much lesse likewise shoulde you presume
Lyke rygour for to showe
Agaynst your Princesse, who would guyde
Your footsteppes to the lyght:
But wylfull subiectes you despyse
The day, and loue the nyght.
And further, though the wicked syer
Shoulde seeme for to prouoke
His well disposed sonne to yll
Through force of strype or stroke:
Thynke you the chylde in his defence
May offer strype agayne?
No, no, his bounden duetie is
For to forbeare the payne.
Their soueraigne to obay,
As to forbeare, and not reuenge,
Though in their power they may.
For as the chylde by nature is
Unto the father bounde,
And as it is the fathers ryght
Of sonne to be renownde:
So lykewyse are the subiectes thrall
Unto their Princes wyll,
By perfect duetie to obay,
Forbeare, and honor styll.
And therfore howe much you to blame
As traytors to rebell
Agaynst your Princes (who neuer sought
Your conscience to compell:
Except you troublously discryde
the same) you may perceaue,
As also see what blynde abuse
Your senses doth deceaue:
When hauyng such a Matrone meke,
who iustly doth conduct,
And mercyfully teache the ryght,
And wysely trueth instruct:
You wyll not (as your duetie doth
compell you) once attende:
Your fondnes to defende.
Oh wytlesse blynde how dare you thus
To deale? can neither loue
Of countrey cause you to relent,
Nor duetie make remoue
Your stubberne wylles, nor feare compell
you, madnes to forsake,
Nor yet remorse of conscience cause
You leaue to vndertake
Such yll attempt, nor lykelyhod
Of your deserued fall,
Prouoke you to be terrifide
Therin no whyt at all:
But that you wylfully withstande
The force of Princes powre,
And nought regarde the common wealth,
But seke for to deuoure
The gyltlesse blood, and to dispoyle
The mayntenaunce of trueth?
Oh carelesse men, what heart so harde
But this your lewdenes rueth?
Respect howe through your peruerse actes
For want of quiete stay,
What great misorder wyll aryse
Unto the realmes decay.
Your trauels to possesse,
For to pretende, who subiectes be,
Your Princes to suppresse,
Or to correct, as though yf that
She error shoulde mayntayne,
It were your duetie with the rod
To worke your Princes payne.
As lykewise thynke howe you disturbe
The cause of common wealth,
When as you ought imploy your payne
For to deuise the health
Therof, as also howe you seme
Your countrey for to hate,
With such contention which disdaynes
Your countreys quiet state.
And further, way the great reproche
You reape to Englyshe soyle,
And what an entraunce you haue made
For foes to worke our spoyle.
As also ponder what defame
Unto your selues you breede
Through your abuse, and to your stockes
What shame there wyll proceede.
And lastly thynke vpon thaccompt
The which you shall restore
And howe that styll the more
You do offende, the greater is
The reckenyng to be made:
These yf you way, no doubt the thought
Therof wyll soone disswade
Your stubberne heartes from such abuse,
As long through foggye mystes
Haue blearde your eyes, and nowe the cause
Remaynes of your resistes.
Which nowe I wishe you to respect,
Although somewhat to late
It is: and to auoyde your harmes,
And eanestly to hate
Your former actes: and with your heartes
Repentaunt, for to sue
Of God for pardon, that as tyme
Hath made the yere a newe:
So lykewise may you be renewde
In sprite, that you may thynke
Your last yeres actes so vnsauery, as
For stalenes they do stynke:
And so become retayned impes
To God, with pacience beare
Such iustice as by your desertes
Your soueraigne shall referre,
Unto your Princes wyll,
Synce wickedly you haue deserude
Your deathes, in doyng yll:
Then for to dye in quarrell such
As enemie to good,
Woulde also purchase to your selues
The aunswere of much blood.
And sure I am that in our Queene
Remaynes such mercies store,
As vnto you, then you deserue
Imparted shalbe more.
This wrote your frende, a wyshyng frende
Unto his natyue soyle:
Who craues your frendships to befrende
Your selues, and feare your foyle.
Edmond Eluiden.
| A Neweyeres gift to the Rebellious persons in the North partes of England | |