The Mirror for Magistrates Edited from original texts in the Huntington Library by Lily B. Campbell |
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Howe Collingbourne was cruelly executed for making a foolishe rime. |
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 | The Mirror for Magistrates |  |
347
Howe Collingbourne was cruelly executed for making a foolishe rime.
Beware, take heede, take heede, beware, beware
You Poetes you, that purpose to rehearce
By any arte what Tyrantes doynges are,
Erinnis rage is growen so fell and fearce
That vicious actes may not be toucht in verse:
The Muses freedoome, graunted them of elde,
Is barde, slye reasons treasons hye are held.
You Poetes you, that purpose to rehearce
By any arte what Tyrantes doynges are,
Erinnis rage is growen so fell and fearce
That vicious actes may not be toucht in verse:
The Muses freedoome, graunted them of elde,
Is barde, slye reasons treasons hye are held.
Be rough in ryme, and then they say you rayle,
Though Iuuenal so be, that makes no matter:
With Ieremye you shal be had to iayle,
Or forst with Marciall, Ceasars faultes to flatter,
Clarkes must be taught to clawe and not to clatter:
Free Hellicon, & franke Pernassus hylles,
Are Helly hauntes, & ranke pernicious ylles.
Though Iuuenal so be, that makes no matter:
With Ieremye you shal be had to iayle,
Or forst with Marciall, Ceasars faultes to flatter,
Clarkes must be taught to clawe and not to clatter:
Free Hellicon, & franke Pernassus hylles,
Are Helly hauntes, & ranke pernicious ylles.
Touche covertly in termes, and then you taunt,
Though praysed Poetes, alway dyd the lyke,
Controll vs not, els traytour vyle auaunt,
What passe we what the learned do mislyke?
Our sinnes we see, wherin to swarme we seeke.
We passe not what the people saye or thynke.
Theyr shyttle hate maketh none but cowardes shrinke.
Though praysed Poetes, alway dyd the lyke,
Controll vs not, els traytour vyle auaunt,
What passe we what the learned do mislyke?
Our sinnes we see, wherin to swarme we seeke.
We passe not what the people saye or thynke.
Theyr shyttle hate maketh none but cowardes shrinke.
We knowe say they the course of Fortunes wheele,
Howe constantly it whyrleth styll about,
Arrearing nowe, whyle elder headlong reele.
Howe al the riders alwaye hange in doubt.
But what for that? we count him but a lowte
That stickes to mount, and basely like a beast
Lyves temperately for feare of blockam feast.
Howe constantly it whyrleth styll about,
Arrearing nowe, whyle elder headlong reele.
Howe al the riders alwaye hange in doubt.
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That stickes to mount, and basely like a beast
Lyves temperately for feare of blockam feast.
In deede we would of all be deemed gods
What ever we doe: and therfore partely hate
Rude preachers that dare threaten vs plages & rods,
And blase the blots whereby we stayne our state:
But nought we passe what any such do prate.
Of course and office they must say theyr pleasure,
And we of course must heare and mend at leasure.
What ever we doe: and therfore partely hate
Rude preachers that dare threaten vs plages & rods,
And blase the blots whereby we stayne our state:
But nought we passe what any such do prate.
Of course and office they must say theyr pleasure,
And we of course must heare and mend at leasure.
But when these pelting poetes in theyr rymes
Shall taunt, and iest, or paynt our wicked wurkes,
And cause the people knowe, and curse our crymes,
This ougly fault, no Tyrant lyves but vrkes.
And therefore lothe we taunters worse than Turkes.
They minde thereby to make vs knowe our mis,
And so to amend, but they but doate in this.
Shall taunt, and iest, or paynt our wicked wurkes,
And cause the people knowe, and curse our crymes,
This ougly fault, no Tyrant lyves but vrkes.
And therefore lothe we taunters worse than Turkes.
They minde thereby to make vs knowe our mis,
And so to amend, but they but doate in this.
We knowe our faultes as wel as any other,
We also doubt the daungers for them due:
Yet styll we trust so ryght to guyde the rother,
That skape we shal the sourges that ensue.
We thinke we knowe moe shiftes than other knewe.
In vayne therfore for vs are counsayles wryt:
We knowe our faultes, and wil not mend a whit.
We also doubt the daungers for them due:
Yet styll we trust so ryght to guyde the rother,
That skape we shal the sourges that ensue.
We thinke we knowe moe shiftes than other knewe.
In vayne therfore for vs are counsayles wryt:
We knowe our faultes, and wil not mend a whit.
349
These are the affections of the wycked sorte,
That preace for honours, welth, and pleasure vayne.
Ceas therfore Baldwyn, ceas I thée exhort,
Withdrawe thy pen, for nothing shalt thou gayne
Save hate, with losse of paper, ynke and payne.
Fewe hate theyr sinnes, all hate to heare them touched,
Howe covertly so ever they be couched.
That preace for honours, welth, and pleasure vayne.
Ceas therfore Baldwyn, ceas I thée exhort,
Withdrawe thy pen, for nothing shalt thou gayne
Save hate, with losse of paper, ynke and payne.
Fewe hate theyr sinnes, all hate to heare them touched,
Howe covertly so ever they be couched.
Thy entent I knowe is godly, playne, and good,
To warne the wyse, to fraye the fond fro yll:
But wycked worldelinges are so wytles wood,
That to the wurst they all thinges construe styl.
Wyth rygour oft they recompence good wyll:
They racke the wurdes tyl tyme theyr synowes burst,
In doubtfull sences, strayning styll the wurst.
To warne the wyse, to fraye the fond fro yll:
But wycked worldelinges are so wytles wood,
That to the wurst they all thinges construe styl.
Wyth rygour oft they recompence good wyll:
They racke the wurdes tyl tyme theyr synowes burst,
In doubtfull sences, strayning styll the wurst.
A paynefull proofe taught me the truth of this,
Through Tyrauntes rage, and Fortunes cruel tourne:
They murdred me, for metryng thinges amys.
For wotst thou what? I am that Colingbourne
Whych rymed that whych made full many mourne:
The Cat, the Rat, and Lovel our Dog,
Do rule al England, vnder a Hog.
Through Tyrauntes rage, and Fortunes cruel tourne:
They murdred me, for metryng thinges amys.
For wotst thou what? I am that Colingbourne
Whych rymed that whych made full many mourne:
The Cat, the Rat, and Lovel our Dog,
Do rule al England, vnder a Hog.
Whereof the meanyng was so playne and true,
That every foole perceyved it at furst:
Most liked it, for most that most thinges knewe,
In hugger mugger, muttred what they durst.
The kyng him selfe of most was held accurst,
Both for his owne and for his faultours faultes,
Of whom were three, the naughtiest of all naughtes.
That every foole perceyved it at furst:
Most liked it, for most that most thinges knewe,
In hugger mugger, muttred what they durst.
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Both for his owne and for his faultours faultes,
Of whom were three, the naughtiest of all naughtes.
The chyefe was Catisby whom I called a Cat,
A crafty lawyer catching all he could.
The second Ratclife, whom I named a Rat,
A cruel beast to gnawe on whom he should.
Lord Lovell barkt & byt whom Rychard would.
Whom therfore ryghtly I dyd terme our Dog,
Wherewyth to ryme I cleped the Kyng a Hog.
A crafty lawyer catching all he could.
The second Ratclife, whom I named a Rat,
A cruel beast to gnawe on whom he should.
Lord Lovell barkt & byt whom Rychard would.
Whom therfore ryghtly I dyd terme our Dog,
Wherewyth to ryme I cleped the Kyng a Hog.
Tyll he vsurped the crowne, he gave the Bore,
In whych estate would God he had deceased,
Than had the realme not ruyned so sore.
His Nephewes raygne should not so soone have ceassed,
The noble blud had not bene so decreased.
His Rat, his Cat, and Bloudhound had not noyed
So many thousandes as they have destroyed.
In whych estate would God he had deceased,
Than had the realme not ruyned so sore.
His Nephewes raygne should not so soone have ceassed,
The noble blud had not bene so decreased.
His Rat, his Cat, and Bloudhound had not noyed
So many thousandes as they have destroyed.
Theyr laweles dealynges al men dyd lament,
And so dyd I, and therfore made the rymes
To shewe my wyt, howe wel I could invent,
To warne withal the careles of theyr crymes,
I thought the freedome of the auncient tymes
Stoode styll in force. Ridentem dicere verum
Quis vetat? None, save clymers stil in ferum.
And so dyd I, and therfore made the rymes
To shewe my wyt, howe wel I could invent,
To warne withal the careles of theyr crymes,
I thought the freedome of the auncient tymes
Stoode styll in force. Ridentem dicere verum
Quis vetat? None, save clymers stil in ferum.
351
Belyke no Tyrantes were in Horace dayes,
And therefore Poetes freely blamed vyce.
Witnes theyr Satyr sharpe, and tragicke playes,
With chyefest Prynces chyefly had in pryce.
They name no man, they myxe theyr gall with spyce,
No more do I, I name no man outryght,
But ryddle wise, I meane them as I myght.
And therefore Poetes freely blamed vyce.
Witnes theyr Satyr sharpe, and tragicke playes,
With chyefest Prynces chyefly had in pryce.
They name no man, they myxe theyr gall with spyce,
No more do I, I name no man outryght,
But ryddle wise, I meane them as I myght.
When bruyt had brought this to theyr gylty eares,
Who rudely named were noted in the ryme,
They all conspyred like most greedy Beares,
To charge me wyth most haynous traytrous cryme:
And damned me the gallow tree to clyme,
And strangled fyrst in quarters to be cut,
Whych should on hye over London gates be put.
Who rudely named were noted in the ryme,
They all conspyred like most greedy Beares,
To charge me wyth most haynous traytrous cryme:
And damned me the gallow tree to clyme,
And strangled fyrst in quarters to be cut,
Whych should on hye over London gates be put.
This wicked iudgement vexed me so sore,
That I exclamed agaynst theyr tyranny:
Wherewyth encenst, to make my payne the more,
They practised a shamefull villanye:
They cut me downe alyve, and cruelly
Rypt vp my paunche and bulke to make me smart,
And lingred long eare they tooke out my hart.
That I exclamed agaynst theyr tyranny:
Wherewyth encenst, to make my payne the more,
They practised a shamefull villanye:
They cut me downe alyve, and cruelly
Rypt vp my paunche and bulke to make me smart,
And lingred long eare they tooke out my hart.
Here Tyraunt Rychard played the eager Hog,
His grashyng tuskes my tender grystels shore:
His bloudhound Lovell playd the ravenyng Dog,
His wuluishe teeth, my gylteles carkas toar:
His Rat, and Cat, did what they myght, and more,
Cat Catesby clawed my guts to make me smart,
The Rat Lord Ratclyve gnawed me to the hart.
His grashyng tuskes my tender grystels shore:
His bloudhound Lovell playd the ravenyng Dog,
His wuluishe teeth, my gylteles carkas toar:
352
Cat Catesby clawed my guts to make me smart,
The Rat Lord Ratclyve gnawed me to the hart.
If Iewes had kylde the iustest kyng alyve,
If Turkes had burnt vp churches, Gods, and all,
What greater payne could cruel hartes contryve,
Than that I suffred, for this trespas smal?
I am not Prince nor Piere, but yet my fall
Is wurthy to be thought vpon for this,
To see how cankard Tyrantes malyce is.
If Turkes had burnt vp churches, Gods, and all,
What greater payne could cruel hartes contryve,
Than that I suffred, for this trespas smal?
I am not Prince nor Piere, but yet my fall
Is wurthy to be thought vpon for this,
To see how cankard Tyrantes malyce is.
To teach also all subiectes to take heade
They meddle not with Magistrates affayres,
But praye to God to mende them if it nede:
To warne also all Poetes that be strayers,
To kepe them close in compas of their chayers,
And whan they touch thinges which they wish amended.
To sause them so, that fewe nede be offended.
They meddle not with Magistrates affayres,
But praye to God to mende them if it nede:
To warne also all Poetes that be strayers,
To kepe them close in compas of their chayers,
And whan they touch thinges which they wish amended.
To sause them so, that fewe nede be offended.
And so to myxe theyr sharpe rebukes with myrth,
That they maye pearce, not causyng any payne,
Saue such as followeth euery kyndly byrth,
Requyted strayte, with gladnes of the gayne.
A poet must be plesaunt, not to playne,
No flatterer, no bolsterer of vyce,
But sound and swete, in all thinges ware and wyse.
That they maye pearce, not causyng any payne,
Saue such as followeth euery kyndly byrth,
Requyted strayte, with gladnes of the gayne.
A poet must be plesaunt, not to playne,
No flatterer, no bolsterer of vyce,
But sound and swete, in all thinges ware and wyse.
The Greekes do paynt a Poetes office whole
In Pegasus, theyr fayned horse wyth wynges,
Whom shaped so Medusaes blud did foale,
Who with his feete strake out the Muses sprynges
Fro flintie rockes to Hellicon that clynges.
And then flewe vp vnto the starrye skye,
And there abides among the heauens hye.
In Pegasus, theyr fayned horse wyth wynges,
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Who with his feete strake out the Muses sprynges
Fro flintie rockes to Hellicon that clynges.
And then flewe vp vnto the starrye skye,
And there abides among the heauens hye.
For he that shal a perfect Poete be,
Must fyrst be bred out of Medusaes blud:
He must be chaste and vertuous as was she,
Who to her power the Ocean god wythstoode.
To thende also his doome be iust and good,
He must (as she had) have one onlye iye,
Regarde of truth, that nought maye leade awrye.
Must fyrst be bred out of Medusaes blud:
He must be chaste and vertuous as was she,
Who to her power the Ocean god wythstoode.
To thende also his doome be iust and good,
He must (as she had) have one onlye iye,
Regarde of truth, that nought maye leade awrye.
In courage eke he must be like a horse,
He maye not feare to register the ryght.
And that no power or fansie do him force,
No byt nor reyne his tender Iawes may twight.
He must be armed wyth strength of wyt and spryght
To dashe the rockes, darke causes and obscure,
Tyll he attayne the sprynges of truth most pure.
He maye not feare to register the ryght.
And that no power or fansie do him force,
No byt nor reyne his tender Iawes may twight.
He must be armed wyth strength of wyt and spryght
To dashe the rockes, darke causes and obscure,
Tyll he attayne the sprynges of truth most pure.
His hooves must also plyant be and strong,
To ryve the rockes of lust and errors blynde,
In brayneles heades, that alway wander wrong:
These must he bryse wyth reasons playne and kinde,
Tyll sprynges of grace do gushe out of the minde.
For tyl affections from the fond be dryven,
In vayne is truth tolde, or good counsayle geuen.
To ryve the rockes of lust and errors blynde,
In brayneles heades, that alway wander wrong:
These must he bryse wyth reasons playne and kinde,
Tyll sprynges of grace do gushe out of the minde.
For tyl affections from the fond be dryven,
In vayne is truth tolde, or good counsayle geuen.
354
Like Pegasus a Poet must have wynges,
To flye to heaven, thereto to feede and rest:
He must have knoweledge of eternal thynges,
Almighty Iove must harber in his brest.
With worldly cares he may not be opprest,
The wynges of skyll and hope must heave him hyer,
That al the ioyes which worldly wyts desyre.
To flye to heaven, thereto to feede and rest:
He must have knoweledge of eternal thynges,
Almighty Iove must harber in his brest.
With worldly cares he may not be opprest,
The wynges of skyll and hope must heave him hyer,
That al the ioyes which worldly wyts desyre.
He must be also nymble, free, and swyft
To trauayle farre to viewe the trades of men,
Great knowledge oft is gotten by the shyft:
Thynges notable he must be quicke to pen,
Reprouyng vyces sharpely now and then.
He must be swyft when touched tyrants chafe,
To gallop thence to kepe his carkas safe.
To trauayle farre to viewe the trades of men,
Great knowledge oft is gotten by the shyft:
Thynges notable he must be quicke to pen,
Reprouyng vyces sharpely now and then.
He must be swyft when touched tyrants chafe,
To gallop thence to kepe his carkas safe.
These propertyes yf I had well consydered,
Especially that whych I touched last,
With speedy flyght my feete should have delyvered
My feble body from the stormy blast:
They should have caught me, ere I had be cast.
But trusting vaynely to the Tyrauntes grace,
I never shronke, nor chaunged porte or place.
Especially that whych I touched last,
With speedy flyght my feete should have delyvered
My feble body from the stormy blast:
They should have caught me, ere I had be cast.
But trusting vaynely to the Tyrauntes grace,
I never shronke, nor chaunged porte or place.
I thought the Poetes auncient liberties
Had bene allowed plea at any barre.
I had forgot howe newefound tyrannies
Wyth ryght and freedome were at open warre,
That lust was lawe, that myght dyd make and mar,
That with the lewde save this no order was,
Sic volo, sic iubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas.
Had bene allowed plea at any barre.
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Wyth ryght and freedome were at open warre,
That lust was lawe, that myght dyd make and mar,
That with the lewde save this no order was,
Sic volo, sic iubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas.
Where this is lawe, it booteth not to pleade,
No pryuilege or libertyes auayle.
But wyth the learnde whom lawe and wisedome lead
Although through rashenes Poetes hap to rayle,
A plea of dotage may all quarels quayle:
Their libertyes theyr wrytinges to expounde,
Doth quyt them clere from faultes by Momus founde.
No pryuilege or libertyes auayle.
But wyth the learnde whom lawe and wisedome lead
Although through rashenes Poetes hap to rayle,
A plea of dotage may all quarels quayle:
Their libertyes theyr wrytinges to expounde,
Doth quyt them clere from faultes by Momus founde.
This auncient freedome ought not be debarred
From any wyght that speaketh ought, or wryteth.
The authours meanyng should of ryght be heard,
He knoweth best to what ende he endyteth:
Wordes sometyme beare more than the hart behiteth.
Admyt therefore the authours exposicion,
Yf playne, for truth: if forst, for his submission.
From any wyght that speaketh ought, or wryteth.
The authours meanyng should of ryght be heard,
He knoweth best to what ende he endyteth:
Wordes sometyme beare more than the hart behiteth.
Admyt therefore the authours exposicion,
Yf playne, for truth: if forst, for his submission.
Of slaunderers iust lawes requyre no more
Save to amend that seemed euel sayd:
Or to vnsaye the slaunders sayd afore,
And aske forgeuenes for the hasty brayd:
To Heretykes no greater payne is layed
Than to recant theyr errours or retract:
And wurse than these can be no wryters acte.
Save to amend that seemed euel sayd:
Or to vnsaye the slaunders sayd afore,
And aske forgeuenes for the hasty brayd:
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Than to recant theyr errours or retract:
And wurse than these can be no wryters acte.
Yes (quoth the Cat) thy rayling wordes be treason
And treason is far worse than heresye.
Then must it folowe by this foolyshe reason,
That kynges be more than God in maiestie,
And soules be lesse than bodyes in degree.
For Heretikes both soules and God offend,
Traytours but seeke to bryng mans lyfe to ende.
And treason is far worse than heresye.
Then must it folowe by this foolyshe reason,
That kynges be more than God in maiestie,
And soules be lesse than bodyes in degree.
For Heretikes both soules and God offend,
Traytours but seeke to bryng mans lyfe to ende.
I speake not this to abase the haynous faulte
Of traytrous actes abhord of God and man,
But to make playne theyr iudgement to be naught
That heresye for lesser sinne do ban,
I curse them both as deepe as any can,
And alway dyd: yet through my foolyshe ryme,
They arraynde & staynde me wyth that shameful crime.
Of traytrous actes abhord of God and man,
But to make playne theyr iudgement to be naught
That heresye for lesser sinne do ban,
I curse them both as deepe as any can,
And alway dyd: yet through my foolyshe ryme,
They arraynde & staynde me wyth that shameful crime.
I never meant the kyng or counsayle harme,
Vnles to wyshe them safetye were offence.
Agaynst theyr power I neuer lyfted arme,
Neyther pen nor tounge for any yll pretence.
The ryme I made, though rude, was sound in sence,
For they therein whom I so fondly named,
So ruled all that they were fowle defamed.
Vnles to wyshe them safetye were offence.
Agaynst theyr power I neuer lyfted arme,
Neyther pen nor tounge for any yll pretence.
The ryme I made, though rude, was sound in sence,
For they therein whom I so fondly named,
So ruled all that they were fowle defamed.
This was no treason but the very troth,
They ruled all, none could denye the same:
What was the cause then why they were so wroth?
What, is it treason in a riming frame
To clyp, to stretche, to adde, or chaunge a name?
And this reserved, there is no rime or reason,
That any craft can clowt to seeme a treason.
They ruled all, none could denye the same:
What was the cause then why they were so wroth?
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To clyp, to stretche, to adde, or chaunge a name?
And this reserved, there is no rime or reason,
That any craft can clowt to seeme a treason.
For where I meant the kyng by name of Hog,
I only alluded to his badge the Boare:
To Lovels name I added more our Dog,
Because most Dogs have borne that name of yore.
These metafors I vse with other more,
As Cat, and Rat, the halfe names of the rest,
To hide the sence which they so wrongly wrest.
I only alluded to his badge the Boare:
To Lovels name I added more our Dog,
Because most Dogs have borne that name of yore.
These metafors I vse with other more,
As Cat, and Rat, the halfe names of the rest,
To hide the sence which they so wrongly wrest.
I praye you nowe what treason fynde you here?
Enough: you rubbed the gylty on the gal,
Both sence and names do note them very nere.
I graunt that was the chiefe cause of my fall,
Yet can you finde therein no treason at all:
There is no worde agaynst the prynce or state,
Nor harme to them whom al the realme dyd hate.
Enough: you rubbed the gylty on the gal,
Both sence and names do note them very nere.
I graunt that was the chiefe cause of my fall,
Yet can you finde therein no treason at all:
There is no worde agaynst the prynce or state,
Nor harme to them whom al the realme dyd hate.
But sith the gylty alwayes are suspicious,
And dread the ruyne that must sewe by reason,
They can not chose but count theyr counsayle vicious
That note theyr faultes, and therfore cal it treason:
All grace and goodnes with the lewde is geason.
This is the cause why they good thinges detest,
Whereas the good take yll thynges to the best.
And dread the ruyne that must sewe by reason,
They can not chose but count theyr counsayle vicious
That note theyr faultes, and therfore cal it treason:
All grace and goodnes with the lewde is geason.
This is the cause why they good thinges detest,
Whereas the good take yll thynges to the best.
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And therfore Baldwyn boldly to the good
Rebuke thou vice, so shalt thou purchase thankes
As for the bad thou shalt but move his mood,
Though plesantly thou touch his sinfull prankes:
Warne poetes therfore not to passe the bankes
Of Hellicon, but kepe them in the streames,
So shall their freedome save them from extreames.
Rebuke thou vice, so shalt thou purchase thankes
As for the bad thou shalt but move his mood,
Though plesantly thou touch his sinfull prankes:
Warne poetes therfore not to passe the bankes
Of Hellicon, but kepe them in the streames,
So shall their freedome save them from extreames.
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