University of Virginia Library

A SKELTONICAL salutation.

O King of Spaine
Is it not a paine
To thy heart and braine,
And every vaine,
To see thy traine
For to sustaine
Withouten gaine
The worldes disdaine,
Which doth dispise
As toies and lies,
With shoutes and cries
Thy enterprise,
As fitter for pies,
And butter-flies,
Then men so wise?
O waspish King,
Whers now thy sting,
Thy dart, or sling,
Or strong bow-string,
That should vs wring,
And vnderbring,
Who every way,
Thee vexe and pay,
And beare the sway
By night and day,
To thy dismay,
In battle aray,
And every fray?
O pufte with pride,
What foolishe guide
Made thee provide
To over-ride
This lande so wide
From side to side,
And then vntride,
Away to slide,
And not to abide,
But all in a ring
Away to fling?
O conquering,
O vanquishing
With fast flying,
And no replying,
For feare of frying!
So hurt vs stil,
As oft as you wil,
So fight your fil,
So shew your skil,
So sincke vs, and sacke vs,
So burne vs, and wracke vs,
So cleaue vs, and cracke vs.
And rent vs, and racke vs,
Or if you wil remaine
In Castile, or Spaine,
And not venture againe,
Our force to restraine,
If you so it please,
You shal take your ease,
To cure your disease,
You haue got by the seas.
And though we be poore,
We wil come to your shore,
And knocke at your dore,
As oft heretofore.
And spare you the cost,
Which of late you haue lost,
When as you were tost,
From piller to post,
To your smal best.
And cast on the sands,
And many Ilandes,
Into your enemies hands,
And many a rocke,
With many a knocke,
For a laughing stocke,
And a rest, and a mocke.
But who but Philippus,
That seeketh to nip vs,
To rob vs, and strip vs,
And then for to whip vs,
Would ever haue ment,
Or had entent,
Or hither sent,
Such ships of charge,
So strong and so large,
Nay the worst barge,
Trusting to treason,
And not to reason,
Which at that season,
To him was geson,
As doth appeare,
Both plaine and cleare,
To far and neere,
To his confusion,
By this conclusion,
Which thus is framed,
And must bee named
Argumentum à minore,
Cum horrore & timore.
If one Drake o,
One poore snake o,
Make vs shake o,
Tremble and quake o,
Were it not trow yee,
A madnes for me,
To vndertake,
A warre to make,
With such a lande,
That is so mande,
Wherein there be
Of certainty,
As hungrie as he
Many a thousand more,
That long full sore
For Indian golde,
Which make men bolde?
But you were blinde,
As now you finde,
Till in your kinde
You haue well tasted
Howe you are wasted,
With all your bragges,
Gennets, and nagges,
And mony bagges:
Whereof the most
The Irish cost,
As a good host,
Doth now possesse,
With thankefulnesse,
And can no lesse,
Than the time blesse,
That you set out,
And came about,
With all your route,
So proude and stoute.
But wo to the heart,
That feeling smart,
For iust desart,
Groweth worse and worse,
And God doth curse,
And cannot repent,
But keepeth entent,
Come sixe, or seven,
Come hell, or heaven,
To vndertake,
With al he can make,
A new invasion,
At the Popes perswasion.
But Spaniard proud,
The Lorde hath voude
He will defend,
Unto the end,
His Church and sheepe,
That his law keepe.
Wherefore to be short,
I thee exhort,
For thine owne comfort,
If witte thou haue,
Thincke him a knaue,
That doth advise
Such an enterprise:
For in this cause,
Our Faith and Lawes,
We will sell our liues,
Our landes, and wiues,
Too deere for thee,
When soever it be,
And ere it be long,
Make thee sing a song,
Of O si scivissem,
Me continuissem,
Et non fecissem.
But now Pope blisse him,
And Mydas kisse him,
And so I dismisse him,
To his good Physition,
Master Inquisition,
By whose disposition,
He taketh the diet,
That will him disquiet,
And turne vp-side downe,
(Which woulde make a man frowne)
Both kingdome, and crowne,
And fame and renowne,
And so sirs valete,
Et vobis cavete,
A medicis ignaris,
Chirurgis avaris,
Meretrice Romana,
Insulsa, & insana,
Et factione Guisiana.
Except you be so expert,
That you can convert,
At your own pleasure,
Which were a great treasure,
The Lutheran seas,
Which doe you displease,
To be of your faction,
And ioine in your action.
Or some way can finde,
To master the winde,
Or else so to binde,
That it be to your minde,
And then regnate,
Et prægaudio cacate,
Per omnia monasteria monachorum.

A Question annexed, touching our sea-fishe, nourished with Spanish bloud.

But now must I call
My contrymen al,
And you Scotsmen tall,
And Irish rugges,
That were such bugges,
To the Spanishe pugges,
As never were seene,
With your skeynes so keene,
So bright and cleen.
To tel you a surmise,
That of late did rise,
Which is to advise,
With the learned, and, wise
Whether for this yeare,
It were not best to forbeare,
On such fish to feede,
Which our coast doth breede,
Because they are fedde,
With carcases deade,
Here and there in the rockes,
That were ful of the pockes.
For physitions hold,
As I am tolde,
Such is our blood,
Either bad or good,
In each degree,
As our alimentes be:
Whereupon at this season,
Some make this reason,
Sith our cods, and our cunger,
Haue filled their hunger,
With the heades, and feete,
Of the Spanish fleete,
Which to them were as sweete,
As a goose to a foxe.
And seeing the poxe,
Possessed each carkasse,
From the slaue to the Marquesse,
No man can avoide,
But he may be anoide,
If hee make them his meate,
Be they little or great:
Except by some correction,
Or holesome confection,
And by art they be so vsed,
That they neede not be refused.
Wherein the counsell,
Of those that can tell,
And in learning excell,
Woulde doe verie wel.
But if you enquire,
Of masse-priest, or frier,
To heare what they wil chatter
Concerning this matter,
They wil answere anon,
And sweare by Saint Iohn,
That every one,
Of the fleete that is gone,
Was holy and good,
Both in flesh and blood.
And therefore obiect,
That they could not infect,
Neither fish, nor seas,
With any disease.
But leaue to the myre.
Both priest, and frier,
Or else to the fire,
For each is a lyer.
And touching the question,
Know this that disgestion.
Wheresoever it be found,
In thinges that be sound,
Is of such operation,
That it maketh separation,
Of the bad from the best,
And never doth rest,
Until in the ende,
It doth cleane away send,
That which doth offend.
And what can be found,
Either simple or compounde,
Then a fish more sound?
Then doubt not I pray you,
Let nothing dismay you,
Or trouble, or fray you,
If fish be wel drest,
And your stomackes not opprest,
You neede them not detest,
Howsoever they are fedde,
Or wheresoever they are bred.
For both frogs and snailes,
And mallardes and quailes,
Though on poison they feede,
And many a weede,
And dangerous seede,
Both to man and beast:
Yet sith they them disgest
They doe no man harme,
Be they colde or warme.
Wherefore as is saide,
Be no more afraide,
On sea-fish to feede,
If them thou loue or neede.
But now I heare one say,
This question might stay,
As needelesse and vaine,
Because it is plaine,
That the Devil of hell,
Loved Spaniards so well,
That he carried them all,
Both great and small,
Either dead, or quicke,
Through thinne and thicke,
Both body, and soule,
To his pinnefole,
And the place appointed,
For the Popes anointed.

AD REGEM HISPANVM.

Cum tua non fuerint heroica facta Philippe,
Risu digna cano carmine ridiculo.