University of Virginia Library

HEARBES.

The Frute of reconciliation,

Written uppon a reconciliation betwene two freendes.

The hatefull man that heapeth in his mynde,
Cruell revenge of wronges forepast and done,
May not (with ease) ye pleasaunt pathway finde,
Of friendly verse which I have now begone,
Unlesse at first his angry brest untwinde,
The crooked knot which canckred choller knit,
And then recule with reconciled grace.
Likewise I finde it sayde in holy write,
If thou entend to turne thy fearefull face,
To God above: make thyne agreement yet,
First with thy Brother whom thou didst abuse,
Confesse thy faultes, thy frowardnesse and all,
So that the Lord thy prayer not refuse.
When I consider this, and then the brall,
Which raging youth (I will not me excuse)
Did whilome breede in mine unmellowed brayne,
I thought it meete before I did assay,
To write in ryme the double golden gayne,
Of amitie: first yet to take away
The grutch of grief, as thou doest me constrayne,
By due desert whereto I now must yeeld,
And drowne for aye in depth of Lethes lake,
Disdaynefull moodes whom frendship cannot weelde:
Pleading for peace which for my parte I make
Of former strife, and henceforth let us write
The pleasant fruites of faythfull friends delight.

[This vaine availe which thou by Mars hast woonne]

Two gentlemen did run three courses at the Ring for one kisse to be takē of a fair gentlewoman being then present, with this condicion, that the winner should have the kisse, and the loser be bound to write some verses upon the gaine or losse therof. Now it fortuned that the winner triumphed, saying, he much lamented that in youth he had not seen the warres. Whereupon the loser compyled these following, in discharge of the condition above rehearsed.

[The feeble thred which Lachesis hath spoone]

Not long after the writing hereof: he departed from the company of his sayd friend (whom he entirely loved) into the west of Englande, and feeling himselfe so consumed by womens craft that he doubted of a safe returne: wrote before his departure as followeth.

He wrote to the same friend from Excester, this Sonet following.

A hundreth sonnes (in course but not in kind)
Can witnesse well that I possesse no joye:
The feare of death which fretteth in my mind
Consumes my hart with dread of darke anoye.
And for eche sonne a thousand broken sleepes
Devide my dreames with fresh recourse of cares:
The youngest sister sharpe hir sheare she keepes,
To cut my thred, and thus my life it weares.
Yet let such daies, such thousand restlesse nights,
Spit forth their spite, let fates eke showe their force:
Deathes daunting dart where so his buffet lights,
Shall shape no change within my friendly corse:
But dead or live, in heaven, in earth, in hell
I wilbe thine where so my carkase dwell.

He wrote to the same friend from Founteine belle eaü in Fraunce, this Sonnet in commendation of the said house of Fountaine bel'eaü.

Not stately Troye though Priam yet did live,
Could now compare Founteine bel'eaü to passe:
Nor Syrian towers, whose loftie steppes did strive,
To climbe the throne where angry Saturne was,
For outward shew the ports are of such price,
As skorne the cost which Cesar spilt in Rome:
Such works within as stayne the rare devise,
Which whilome he Apelles wrought on toome.
Swift Tiber floud which fed the Romayne pooles,
Puddle to this where Christall melts in streames,
The pleasaunt place where Muses kept their schooles,
(Not parcht with Phœbe, nor banisht from his beames)
Yeeld to those Dames, nor sight, nor fruite, nor smell,
Which may be thought these gardens to excell.

He wrote unto a Skotish Dame whom he chose for his Mistresse in the French Court, as followeth.

Lady receyve, receive in gracious wise,
This ragged verse, these rude ill skribled lines:
Too base an object for your heavenly eyes,
For he that writes his freedome (lo) resignes
Into your handes: and freely yeelds as thrall
His sturdy necke (earst subject to no yoke)
But bending now, and headlong prest to fall,
Before your feete, such force hath beauties stroke.
Since then mine eyes (which skornd our English dames)
In forrayne courtes have chosen you for fayre,
Let be this verse true token of my flames,
And do not drench your owne in deepe dispayre.
Onely I crave (as I nill change for new)
That you vouchsafe to thinke your servaunt trew.

A Sonet written in prayse of the browne beautie, compiled for the love of Mistresse E. P. as foloweth.

The thriftles thred which pampred beauty spinnes,
In thraldom binds the foolish gazing eyes:
As cruell Spiders with their crafty ginnes,
In worthlesse webbes doe snare the simple Flies.
The garments gay, the glittring golden gite,
The tysing talk which flowes from Pallas pooles:
The painted pale, the (too much) red made white,
Are smiling baytes to fishe for loving fooles.
But lo, when eld in toothlesse mouth appeares,
And hoary heares in steede of beauties blaze:
Then had I wist, doth teach repenting yeares,
The tickle track of craftie Cupides maze.
Twixt faire and foule therfore, twixt great and small,
A lovely nutbrowne face is best of all.

Now to begin with another man, take these verses written to be sent with a ryng, wherein were engraved a Partrich in a Merlines foote.

A loving Lady being wounded in the spring time, and now galded eftsones with the remembrance of the spring, doth therfore thus bewayle.

An absent Dame thus complayneth.

Much like the seely Byrd, which close in Cage is pent,
So sing I now, not notes of joye, but layes of deep lament.
And as the hooded Hauke, which heares the Partrich spring,
Who though she feele hir self fast tied, yet beats her bating wing:
So strive I now to shewe, my feeble forward will,
Although I know my labour lost, to hop against the Hill.
The droppes of darke disdayne, did never drench my hart,
For well I know I am belov'd, if that might ease my smart.
Ne yet the privy coales, of glowing jellosie,
Could ever kindle needlesse feare, within my fantasie.
The rigor of repulse, doth not renew my playnt,
Nor choyce of change doth move my mone, nor force me thus to faint.
Onely that pang of payne, which passeth all the rest,
And cankerlike doth fret the hart, within the giltlesse brest.
Which is if any bee, most like the panges of death,
That present grief now gripeth me, and strives to stop my breath.
When friendes in mind may meete, and hart in hart embrace,
And absent yet are faine to playne, for lacke of time and place:
Then may I compt their love, like seede that soone is sowen,
Yet lacking droppes of heavēly dew, with weedes is overgrowē.
The Greyhound is agreev'd, although he see his game,
If stil in slippe he must be stayde, when he would chase the same.
So fares it now by me, who know my selfe belov'd
Of one the best, in eche respect, that ever yet was prov'd.
But since my lucklesse lot, forbids me now to taste,
The dulcet fruites of my delight, therfore in woes I wast.
And Swallow like I sing, as one enforced so,
Since others reape the gaineful crop, which I with pain did sow.
Yet you that marke my song, excuse my Swallowes voyce,
And beare with hir unpleasant tunes, which cannot wel rejoyce.
Had I or lucke in love, or lease of libertie,
Then should you heare some sweeter notes, so cleere my throte would be.
But take it thus in gree, and marke my playnsong well,
No hart feeles so much hurt, as that, which doth in absence dwell.

In prayse of a Countesse.

The Lover declareth his affection, togither with the cause thereof.

A Lady being both wronged by false suspect, and also wounded by the durance of hir husband, doth thus bewray hir grief.

A Riddle.

A lady once did aske of me,
This preatie thing in privitie:
Good sir (quod she) faine would I crave,
One thing which you your selfe not have:
Nor never had yet in times past,
Nor never shall while life doth last.
And if you seeke to find it out,
You loose your labour out of doubt:
Yet if you love me as you say,
Then give it me, for sure you may.

The shield of Love. &c.

Councell to Duglasse Dive written upon this occasion. She had a booke wherein she had collected sundry good ditties of divers mens doings, in whiche booke she would needes entreate the aucthor to write some verses. And thereupon he wrote as followeth.

To binde a bushe of thornes amongst sweete smelling floures,
May make the posie seeme the worse, and yet the fault is ours:
For throw away the thorne, and marke what will ensew?
The posie then will shew it selfe, sweete, faire, and freshe of hew.
A puttocke set on pearch, fast by a falcons side,
Will quickly shew it selfe a kight, as time hath often tride.
And in my musing minde, I feare to finde like fall,
As just reward to recompence my rash attempts withall.
Thou bidst, and I must bowe, thou wilt that I shall write,
Thou canst commaund my wery muse some verses to endite.
And yet perdie, thy booke is fraught with learned verse,
Such skill as in my musing minde I can none like reherse.
What followes then for me? but if I must needes write,
To set downe by the falcons side, my selfe a sillie kight.
And yet the sillie kight, well weyde in each degree,
May serve sometimes (as in his kinde) for mans commoditie.
The kight can weede the worme, from corne and costly seedes,
The kight cā kill the mowldiwarpe, in pleasant meads yt breeds:
Out of the stately streetes, the kight can clense the filth,
As mē can clēse the worthlesse weedes, frō fruteful fallowed tilth.
And onely set aside the hennes poore progenie,
I cannot see who can accuse the kight for fellonie.
The falcon, she must feede on partritch, and on quayle,
On pigeon, plover, ducke & drake, hearne, lapwing, teale, & raile,
Hir hungrie throte devours both foode and deintie fare,
Whereby I take occasion, thus boldly to compare.
And as a sillie kight, (not falcon like that flie,
Nor yet presume to hover by mount Hellycon

The Hill where poetes fayne that the Muses sleepe.

on hie)
I frendly yet presume, upon my frends request,
In barreine verse to shew my skill, then take it for the best.
And Douty Douglasse thou, that art of faulcons kinde,
Give willing eare yet to the kight, and beare his words in minde.
Serve thou first God thy Lord, and prayse him evermore,
Obey thy Prince and love thy make, by him set greatest store.
Thy Parents follow next, for honor and for awe,
Thy frends use alwaies faithfully, for so commands the lawe.
Thy seemely selfe at last, thou shalte likewise regard,
And of thy selfe this lesson learne, and take it as reward:
That looke how farre deserts, may seeme in thee to shine,
So farre thou maist set out thy selfe, without empeach or crime.
For this I dare avow, without selfe love (alight)
It can scarce be that vertue dwell, in any earthly wight.
But if in such selfe love, thou seeme to wade so farre,
As fall to foule presumption, and judge thy selfe a starre,
Beware betimes and thinke in our

A true exposition.

Etymologie,
Such faults are plainly called pryde, and in french

Over-weening.

Surcüydrye,
Lo thus can I pore kight, adventure for to teach
The falcon flie, and yet forewarne, she row not past hir reach.
Thus can I weede the worme, which seeketh to devoure
The seeds of vertue, which might grow within thee every houre.
Thus can I kill the mowle, which else would overthrow
The good foundacion of thy fame, with every litle blowe.
And thus can I convey, out of thy comely brest,
The sluttish heapes of peevish pride, which might defile the rest.
Perchance some falcons flie, which will not greatly grutch,
To learne thee first to love thy selfe, and then to love to mutch,
But I am none of those, I list not so to range,
I have mās meate enough at home, what need I thē seeke change.
I am no peacocke I: my feathers be not gay,
And though they were, I see my feete such fonde affectes to stay,
I list not set to sale a thing so litle worth,
I rather could kepe close my creast, than seeke to set it forth.
Wherefore if in this verse, which thou commandst to flowe,
Thou chaunce to fall on construing, whereby some doubtes may grow,
Yet grant this onely boone, peruse it twice or thrice,
Disgest it well ere thou condemne the depth of my devise.
And use it like the nut, first cracke the outward shell,
Then trie the kirnell by the tast, and it may please thee well.
Do not as barbers do, which wash beards curiously,
Then cut them off, then cast them out, in open streetes to lie.
Remember therewithall, my muze is tied in chaines,
The goonshot of calamitie hath battred all my braynes.
And though this verse scape out, take thou thereat no marke,
It is but like a hedlesse flie, that tumbleth in the darke.
It was thine owne request, remember so it was,
Wherefore if thou dislike the same, then licence it to passe
Into my brest againe, from whence it flew in hast,
Full like a kight which not deserves by falcons to be plast:
And like a stubbed thorne, which may not seeme to serve,
To stād with such sweete smelling floures, like praises to deserve.
Yet take this harmelesse thorne, to picke thy teeth withall,
A tooth picke serves some use perdie, although it be but small.
And when thy teeth therewith, be piked faire and cleane,
Then bend thy tong no worse to me, than mine to thee hath bene.

Councell given to master Bartholmew Withipoll a little before his latter journey to Geane. 1572.

Mine owne good Bat, before thou hoyse up saile,
To make a furrowe in the foming seas,
Content thy selfe to heare for thine availe,
Such harmelesse words, as ought thee not displease.
First in thy journey, jape not over much,
What? laughest thou Batte, bicause I write so plaine?
Beleeve me now it is a friendly touch,
To use fewe words where friendship doth remaine.
And for I finde, that fault hath runne to fast,
Both in thy flesh, and fancie too sometime,
Me thinks plaine dealing biddeth me to cast
This bone at first amid my dogrell rime.
But shall I say, to give thee grave advise?
(Which in my head is (God he knowes) full geazon)?
Then marke me well, and though I be not wise,
Yet in my rime, thou maist perhaps find reason.
First every day, beseech thy God on knee,
So to direct thy staggring steppes alway,
That he which every secrete thought doth see
May holde thee in, when thou wouldst goe astray:
And that he deigne to sende thee safe retoure,
And quicke dispatche of that whiche is thy due:
Lette this (my Batte) be bothe thy prime and houre,
Wherin also commend to Nostre Dieu,
Thy good Companion and my verie frend,
To whom I shoulde (but time woulde not permitte)
Have taken paine some ragged ryme to sende
In trustie token, that I not forget
His curtesie: but this is debte to thee,
I promysde it, and now I meane to pay:
What was I saying? sirra, will you see
How soone my wittes were wandering astraye?
I saye, praye thou for thee and for thy mate,
So shipmen sing, and though the note be playne,
Yet sure the musike is in heavenly state,
When frends sing so, and know not how to fayne.
The nexte to GOD, thy Prince have still in mynde
Thy countreys honor, and the common wealth:
And flee from them, which fled with every wynde

There are to many of them in every countrey.

From native soyle, to forraine coastes by stealth:
Theyr traynes are trustlesse, tending still to treason,
Theyr smoothed tongues are lyned all with guyle,
Their power slender, scarsly woorthe two peason,
Their malice much, their wittes are full of wyle:
Eschue them then, and when thou seest them, say,
Da, da, sir K, I may not come at you,
You cast a snare your countrey to betraye,
And woulde you have me trust you now for true?
Remembre Batte the foolish blink eyed boye
Which was at Rome, thou knowest whome I meane,

A Misterie.

Remember eke the preatie beardlesse toye,
Whereby thou foundst a safe returne to Geane,
Doe so againe: (God shielde thou shouldst have neede,)
But rather so, than to forsweare thy selfe:
A loyall hearte, (beleeve this as thy Creede)
Is evermore more woorth than worldly pelfe.
And for one lesson, take this more of mee,
There are three Ps almost in every place,
From whiche I counsell thee alwayes to flee,
And take good hede of them in any case,
The first is poyson, perillous in deede
To such as travayle with a heavie pursse:
And thou my Batte beware, for thou hast neede,
Thy pursse is lynde with paper, which is wursse:
Thy billes of credite wil not they thinkst thou,
Be bayte to sette Italyan hands on woorke?
Yes by my faye, and never worse than nowe,
When every knave hath leysure for to lurke,
And knoweth thou commest for the shelles of Christe:
Beware therefore where ever that thou go,
It may fall out that thou shalte be entiste
To suppe sometimes with a Magnifico,
And have a Fico foysted in thy dishe,
Bycause thou shouldest disgeste thy meate the better:
Beware therefore, and rather feede on fishe,
Than learne to spell fyne fleshe with such a Letter.
Some may present thee with a pounde or twaine
Of Spanishe soape to washe thy lynnen white:
Beware therefore, and thynke it were small gayne,
To save thy shirte, and cast thy skinne off quite:
Some cunning man maye teache thee for to ryde,
And stuffe thy saddle all with Spanishe wooll,
Or in thy stirrops have a toye so tyde,
As both thy legges may swell thy buskins full:
Beware therfore, and beare a noble porte,
Drynke not for thyrste before an other taste:
Lette none outlandishe Taylour take disporte
To stuffe thy doublet full of such Bumbaste,
As it may cast thee in unkindely sweate,
And cause thy haire per companie to glyde,
Straungers are fyne in many a propre feate:
Beware therefore: the seconde P. is Pryde,
More perillous than was the first by farre,
For that infects but bloud and leaves the bones,
This poysons all, and mindes of men doth marre,
It findeth nookes to creepe in for the nones:
First from the minde it makes the heart to swell,
From thence the flesh is pampred every parte,
The skinne is taught in Dyers shoppes to dwell,
The haire is curlde or frisled up by arte:
Beleeve mee Batte, our Countreymen of late
Have caughte such knackes abroade in forayne lande,
That most men call them Devils incarnate,
So singular in theyr conceites they stande:
Nowe sir, if I shall see your maistershippe
Come home disguysde and cladde in queynt araye,
As with a piketoothe byting on your lippe,
Your brave Mustachyos turnde the Turky waye,
A Coptanckt hatte made on a Flemmish blocke,
A nightgowne cloake downe trayling to your toes,
A slender sloppe close couched to your docke,
A curtold slipper, and a shorte silke hose:
Bearing your Rapier pointe above the hilte,
And looking bigge like Marquise of all Beefe,
Then shall I coumpte your toyle and travayle spilte,
Bycause my seconde P, with you is cheefe.
But forwardes nowe, although I stayde a while,
My hindmost P, is worsse than bothe these two,
For it both bones and bodie doth defile,
With fouler blots than bothe those other doo.
Shorte tale to make, this P, can beare no blockes,
(God shielde me Batte, should beare it in his breast)
And with a dashe it spelleth piles and pockes
A perlous P, and woorsse than bothe the reste:
Now though I finde no cause for to suspect
My Batte in this, bycause he hath bene tryde,
Yet since such Spanish buttons can infect
Kings, Emperours, Princes and the world so wide,
And since those sunnes do mellowe men so fast
As most that travayle come home very ripe
Although (by sweate) they learne to live and last
When they have daunced after Guydoes pype:
Therfore I thought it meete to warne my frende
Of this foule P, and so an ende of Ps.
Now for thy diet marke my tale to ende,
And thanke me then, for that is all my fees.
See thou exceede not in three double Us,
The first is Wine, which may enflame thy bloud,
The second Women, such as haunte the stewes,
The thirde is Wilfulnesse, which dooth no good.
These three eschue, or temper them alwayes:
So shall my Batte prolong his youthful yeeres,
And see long George againe, with happie dayes,
Who if he bee as faithfull to his feeres,
As hee was wonte, will dayly pray for Batte,
And for

Sir William Morgan of Pencoyde.

Pencoyde: and if it fall out so,
That James a Parrye doo but make good that,
Which he hath sayde: and if he bee (no, no)
The best companion that long George can finde,
Then at the Spawe I promise for to bee
In Auguste nexte, if God turne not my minde,
Where as I would bee glad thy selfe to see:
Till then farewell, and thus I ende my song,
Take it in gree, for else thou doest mee wrong.

Gascoignes woodmanship written to the L. Grey of Wilton upon this occasion

the sayd L. Grey delighting (amongst many other good qualities) in chusing of his winter deare, & killing the same with his bowe, did furnishe the Aucthor with a crossebowe cum pertinenciis and vouchsaved to use his company in the said exercise, calling him one of his woodmen. Now the Aucthor shooting very often, could never hitte any deare, yea and oftentimes he let the heard passe by as though he had not seene thē. Whereat when this noble Lord tooke some pastime, and had often put him in remembrance of his good skill in choosing, and readinesse in killing of a winter deare, he thought good thus to excuse it in verse.

Gascoignes gardnings, whereof were written in one end of a close walke whiche he hath in his Garden, this discourse following.

In that other ende of his sayde close walke, were written these toyes in ryme.

In a chayre in the same Garden was written this followyng.

If thou sitte here to viewe this pleasant garden place
Think thus: at last will come a frost, & all these floures deface:
But if thou sitte at ease to rest thy wearie bones,
Remember death brings finall rest to all oure greevous grones.
So whether for delight, or here thou sitte for ease,
Thinke still upon the latter day, so shalt thou God best please.

Upon a stone in the wall of his Garden he had written the yeare wherein he did the coste of these devises, and therewithall this posie in Latine.

Quoniam etiam humiliatos, amœna delectant.

Gascoignes voyage into Hollande. An. 1572. written to the right honourable the Lorde Grey of Wilton.

A straunge conceyte, a vayne of newe delight,
Twixt weale and woe, twixte joy and bitter griefe,
Hath pricked foorth my hastie penne to write
This woorthlesse verse in hazarde of repreefe:
And to mine

best beloved

Alderlievest Lorde I must endite
A wofull case, a chippe of sorie chaunce,
A tipe of heaven, a lively hew of hell,
A feare to fall, a hope of high advance,
A life, a death, a drearie tale to tell.
But since I know the pith of my pastaunce
Shall most consist in telling of a truth,
Vouchsafe my Lord

in good worth

(en bon gré) for to take
This trustie tale the storie of my youth,
This Chronicle which of my selfe I make,
To shew my Lord what healplesse happe ensewth,
When heddy youth will gad without a guide,
And raunge untide in leas of libertie,
Or when bare neede a starting hole hath spide
To peepe abroade from mother Miserie,
And buildeth Castels in the Welkin wide,
In hope thereby to dwell with wealth and ease.
But he the Lord (whome my good Lord doth know)
Can bind or lose, as best to him shall please,
Can save or spill, rayse up or overthrowe,
Can gauld with griefe, and yet the payne appease.
Which thing to prove if so my L. take time,
(When greater cares his head shall not possesse)
To sitte and reade this raunging ragged rime,
I doubt not then but that he will confesse,
What falles I found when last I leapt to clime.
In March it was, that cannot I forget,
In this last March upon the nintenth day,
When from Gravesend in boate I gan to jette
To boorde our shippe in Quinborough that lay,
From whence the very twentith day we set
Our sayles abrode to slice the Salt sea fome,
And ancors weyde gan trust the trustlesse floud:
That day and night amid the waves we rome
To seeke the coast of Holland where it stoode.
And on the next when we were farre from home,
And neare the haven whereto we sought to sayle,
A fearly chaunce: (whereon alone to thinke
My hande now quakes, and all my senses fayle)
Gan us befall: the Pylot gan to shrinke,
And all agaste his courage seemde to quayle.
Whereat amazed, the Maister and his mate
Gan aske the cause of his so sodeyne chaunge,
And from alofte the Stewarde of our state,
(The sounding plumbe) in haste poste hast must raunge,
To trye the depth and goodnesse of our gate.
Mee thinkes (even yet) I heare his heavie voyce,

Fadom & a half, three ho.

Fadome three, foure, foote more, foote lesse, that cride:
Mee thinkes I heare the fearefull whispring noyse,
Of such as sayde full softely (me beside)
God graunte this journey cause us to rejoyce,
When I poore soule, which close in caban laye,
And there had reacht till gaule was welneare burst,
With giddie head, my stumbling steppes must stay
To looke abroade as boldly as I durst.
And whyles I hearken what the Saylers saye,
The sownder sings, fadame two full no more.
Aloofe, aloofe, then cried the Maister out,
The Stearesmate strives to sende us from the shore,
And trustes the streame, whereof wee earst had doubt,
Tweene two extreeme thus were we tossed sore,
And went to

When all sayles are takē downe.

Hull, untill we leyzure had
To talke at large, and eke to know the cause
What moode had made our Pylot looke so sad.
At last the Dutche with butterbitten jawes,
(For so he was a Dutche, a Devill, a swadde,
A foole, a drunkarde, or a traytour tone)
Gan aunswere thus:

You be to soone

Ghy zijt te vroegh here come,

It is not good tide,

Tis niet goet tijt and standing all alone,
Gan preache to us, which fooles were all and some
To trust him foole, in whom there skill was none.
Or what knew wee if Albaes subtill brayne
(So to prevent our enterpryse by treazon)
Had him subornde to tice us to this trayne
And so him selfe (per Companye and seazon)
For spite, for hate, or else for hope of gayne.
This must we thinke that

the Duke.

Alba would not spare
To give out gold for such a sinfull deede:
And glistring gold can oftentimes ensnare,
More perfect wits than Holland soyle doth breede.
But let that passe, and let us now compare
Our owne fond fact with this his foule offence.
We knew him not, nor where he wond that time,
Nor if he had Pylots experience,
Or Pylats crafte, to cleare him selfe from crime.
Yea more than that (how voyde were we of sense)
We had small smacke of any tale he tolde,
He powrde out Dutch to drowne us all in drinke,
And we (wise men) uppon his words were bolde,
To runne on head: but let me now bethinke
The masters speech: and let me so unfold
The depth of all this foolish oversight.
The master spake even like a skilfull man,
And sayde I sayle the Seas both day and night,
I know the tides as well as other can,
From pole to pole I can the courses plight:
I know France, Spaine, Greece, Denmarke, Daūsk & all,
Frize, Flaunders, Holland, every coast I know,
But truth to tell, it seldome doth befall,
That English merchants ever bend their bowe
To shoote at Breyll, where now our flight should fall,
They send their shafts farder for greater gayne.
So that this haven is yet (quoth he)

unknowen

unkouth,
And God graunt now that England may attayne
Such gaines by Breyll, (a gospell on that mouth)
As is desired: thus spake the master playne.
And since (saide he) my selfe knew not the sowne,
How could I well a better Pylot fynde,
Than this (which first) did saye he dwelt in towne,
And knew the way where ever sat the wynde?
While we thus talke, all sayles are taken downe,
And we to Hull (as earst I sayd) gan wend,
Till full two houres and somewhat more were past.
Our guyde then spake in Dutch and bad us bend
All sayles againe: for now quod he (at last)

It is good tide that know I well

Die tijt is goet, dat heb ick weell bekend.
Why staye I long to ende a wofull tale?
We trust his Dutch, and up the foresayle goes,
We fall on knees amyd the happy gale,
(Which by Gods will full kynd and calmely blowes)
And unto him we there unfolde our bale,
Whereon to thinke I wryte and weepe for joye,
That pleasant song the hundreth and seventh Psalme,
There dyd we reade to comfort our annoye,
Which to my soule (me thought) was sweete as balme,
Yea farre more sweete than any worldly toye.
And when he had with prayers praysd the Lord,
Our

Lusty gallants

Edell Bloetts, gan fall to eate and drinke,
And for their sauce, at takyng up the borde
The shippe so strake (as all we thought to sinke)
Against the ground. Then all with one accorde
We fell againe on knees to pray apace,
And therewithall even at the second blowe,
(The number cannot from my minde outpace)
Our helme strake of, and we must fleete and flowe,
Where winde and waves would guide us by their grace.
The winde waxt calme as I have sayde before,
(O mightie God so didst thou swage our woes)
The selly shippe was sowst and smitten sore,
With counter buffetts, blowes and double blowes.
At last the keele which might endure no more,
Gan rende in twayne and suckt the water in:
Then might you see pale lookes and wofull cheare,
Then might you heare loude cries and deadly dinne:
Well noble minds in perils best appeare,
And boldest harts in bale will never blinne.
For there were some (of whome I will not say
That I was one) which never changed hew,
But pumpt apace, and labord every way
To save themselves, and all their lovely crew,
Which cast the best fraight overboorde away,
Both corne and cloth, and all that was of weight.
Which halde and pulde at every helping corde,
Which prayed to God and made their conscience streight.
As for my self: I here protest my Lorde,
My words were these: O God in heaven on height,
Behold me not as now a wicked wight,
A sacke of sinne, a wretch ywrapt in wroth,
Let no fault past (O Lord) offende thy sight,
But weye my will which now those faults doth lothe,
And of thy mercy pittie this our plight.
Even thou good God which of thy grace didst saye
That for one good, thou wouldst all Sodome save,
Behold us all: thy shyning beames displaye,
Some here (I trust) thy goodnesse shall engrave,
To be chast vessels unto thee alwaye,
And so to live in honour of thy name:
Beleve me Lord, thus to the Lord I sayde.
But there were some (alas the more their blame)
Which in the pumpe their onely comfort layde,
And trusted that to turne our griefe to game.
Alas (quod I) our pumpe good God must be,
Our sayle, our sterne, our tackling, and our trust.
Some other cried to cleare the shipboate free,
To save the chiefe and leave the rest in dust.
Which word once spoke (a wondrous thing to see)
All hast post hast, was made to have it done:
And up it commes in hast much more than speede.
There did I see a wofull worke begonne,
Which now (even now) doth make my hart to bleede.
Some made such hast that in the boate they wonne,
Before it was above the hatches brought.
Straunge tale to tell, what hast some men shall make
To find their death before the same be sought.
Some twixt the boate and shippe their bane do take,
Both drownd and slayne with braynes for hast crusht out.
At last the boat halfe fraighted in the aire
Is hoyst alofte, and on the seas downe set,
When I that yet in God could not dispaire,
Still plide the pumpe, and patiently did let
All such take boate as thither made repaire.
And herewithall I safely may protest
I might have wonne the boate as wel as one,
And had that seemed a safetie for the rest
I should percase even with the first have gone.
But when I saw the boate was over prest
And pestred full with moe than it might beare,
And therwithall with cherefull looke might see
My chiefe companions whome I held most deare

Yorke and Herle.

(Whose companie had thither trained me)
Abiding still aboorde our shippe yfeare:
Nay then (quoth I) good God thy will be done,
For with my feeres I will both live and dye.
And eare the boate farre from our sight was gon
The wave so wrought, that they (which thought to flee
And so to scape) with waves were overronne.
Lo how he strives in vaine that strives with God
For there we lost the flowre of the band,
And of our crew full twentie soules and odde,
The Sea sucks up, whils we on hatches stand
In smarting feare to feele that selfe same rodde.
Well on (as yet) our battred barke did passe,
And brought the rest within a myle of lande,
Then thought I sure now neede not I to passe,
For I can swymme and so escape this sande.
Thus dyd I deeme all carelesse like an Asse,
When sodaynely the wynde our foresayle tooke,
And turnd about and brought us eft to Seas.
Then cryed we all, cast out the ancor hooke,
And here let byde such helpe as god may please:
Which ancor cast, we soone the same forsooke,
And cut it off, for feare least thereupon
Our shippe should bowge, then callde we fast for fire,
And so dischargde our great gunnes everychone,
To warne the towne thereby of our desire:
But all in vayne, for succor sent they none.
At last a Hoy from Sea came flinging fast,
And towards us helde course as streight as lyne.
Then might you see our hands to heaven up cast
To render thanks unto the power devine,
That so vouchsafte to save us yet at last:
But when this Hoy gan (welneere) boorde our barke,
And might perceive what peryll we were in,
It turnd a way and left us still in

care

carke,
This tale is true (for now to lie were sin)
It lefte us there in dreade and daungers darke.
It lefte us so, and that within the sight
And hearing both of all the peare at Breyll.
Now ply thee pen, and paint the foule despite
Of drunken Dutchmen standing there even still,
For whom we came in their cause for to fight,
For whom we came their state for to defende,
For whom we came as friends to grieve their foes,
They now disdaynd (in this distresse) to lend
One helping boate for to asswage our woes:
They sawe our harmes the which they would not mend,
And had not bene that God even then did rayse
Some instruments to succor us at neede,
We had bene sunk and swallowed all in Seas.
But Gods will was (in way of our good speede)
That on the peare (lamenting our mysease)
Some englishe were, whose naked swordes did force
The drunken dutch, the cankred churles to come,
And so at last (not moved by remorce,
But forst by feare) they sent us succor some:
Some must I say: and for to tell the course,
They sent us succor saust with sowre despite,
They saved our lives and spoylde us of the rest,
They stale our goods by day and eke by night,
They shewed the worst and closely kept the best.
And in this time (this treason must I wryte)
Our Pylot fled, but how? not emptie handed:
He fled from us, and with him did conveye
A Hoy full fraught (whiles we meane while were landed)
With pouder, shotte, and all our best araye:
This skill he had, for all he set us sanded.
And now my Lord, declare your noble mynde,
Was this a Pylot, or a Pilate judge?
Or rather was he not of Judas kynde:
Which left us thus and close away could trudge?
Well, at the Bryell to tell you what we finde,
The Governour was all bedewed with drinke,
His truls and he were all layde downe to sleepe,
And we must shift, and of our selves must thinke
What meane was best, and how we best might keepe
That yet remaynd: the rest was close in clinke.
Well, on our knees with trickling teares of joye,
We gave God thanks: and as we might, did learne
What might be founde in every

A Small bote.

pynke and hoye.
And thus my Lord, your honour may descerne
Our perils past, and how in our anoye
God saved me (your Lordshippes bound for ever)
Who else should not be able now to tell,
The state wherein this countrey doth persever,
Ne how they seeme in carelesse mindes to dwell.
(So did they earst and so they will do ever)
And to my Lord for to bewray my minde
Me thinkes they be a race of Bulbeefe borne,
Whose hartes their Butter mollyfieth by kinde,
And so the force of beefe is cleane outworne:
And eke their braines with double beere are lynde:
So that they march bumbast with buttred beere,
Like soppes of browesse puffed up with froth,
Where inwardely they be but hollowe geere,
As weake as winde, which with one puffe up goeth:
And yet they bragge, and thinke they have no peere,
Bicause Harlem hath hitherto helde out,
Although in deed (as they have suffred Spayne)
The ende thereof even now doth rest in doubt.
Well, as for that, let it (for me) remaine
In God his hands, whose hand hath brought me out,
To tell my Lord this tale nowe tane in hande,
As howe they traine their trezons all in drinke,
And when them selves for drunk can scarcely stande,
Yet sucke out secretes (as them selves do thinke)
From guests. The best (almost) in all their lande,
(I name no man, for that were brode before)
Will (as men say) enure the same sometime,
But surely this (or I mistake him sore)
Or else he can (but let it passe in rime)
Dissemble deepe, and mocke sometimes the more:
Well, drunkennesse is here good companie,
And therewithall per consequens it falles
That whordome is accompted jollitie:
A gentle state, where two suche Tenisballes
Are tossed still and better bowles let lie.
I cannot herewith from my Lord conceale,
How God and Mammon here do dwell yfeare,
And how the Masse is cloked under veale
Of pollicie, till all the coast be cleare.
Ne can I chuse, but I must ring a peale,
To tell what hypocrytes the Nunnes here be:
And how the olde Nunnes be content to go,
Before a man in streates like mother B,
Untill they come wheras there dwels a Ho,
(Re:ceyve that halfe, and let the rest go free)
There can they poynt with finger as they passe,
Yea sir, sometimes they can come in themselfe,
To strike the bergaine tweene a wanton lasse,
And Edel bloets: nowe is not this good pelfe?
As for the yong Nunnes, they be bright as glasse,
And chaste forsooth, met v: and anders niet:
What sayde I? what? that is a misterie,
I may no verse of such a theame endite,
Yong Rowlande Yorke may tell it bet than I:
Yet to my Lorde this little will I write,
That though I have (my selfe) no skill at all,
To take the countnance of a Colonel,
Had I a good Lieutenant general,
As good John Zuche wherever that he dwel,
Or else Ned Dennye (faire mought him befal)
I coulde have brought a noble regiment
Of smugskinnde Nunnes into my countrey soyle:
But farewell they as things impertinent,
Let them (for me) go dwell with master Moyle,
Who hath behight to place them well in Kent.
And I shall well my sillie selfe content,
To come alone unto my lovely Lorde,
And unto him (when riming sporte is spent)
To tel some sadde and reasonable worde,
Of Hollandes state, the which I will present,
In Cartes, in Mappes, and eke in Models made,
If God of heaven my purpose not prevent.
And in meane while although my wits do wade
In ranging rime, and fling some follie foorth,
I trust my Lorde will take it well in woorth.