University of Virginia Library

The entertaynemente of the Queenes Maiestie into Suffolke, and Norffolke.

The Song on Saturday at hir Highnesse entrie, soong on the great Stage that was next the Market place, by the Waytes and best voyces in the Citie.

The Boyes speech at Maister Peckes dore.

Great things were meant to welcome thee (ô Queene,)
If want of time had not cut off the same:
Great was our wish, but small is that was seene,
For vs to shew, before so great a Dame.
Great hope we haue it pleasd our Princes eye,
Great were the harmes that else our paynes should reape:
Our grace or foyle, doth in your iudgement lie,
If you mislike, our griefes do grow on heape:
If for small things, we do great fauour find,
Great is the ioy, that Norwich feeles this day:
If well we waid the greatnesse of your mind,
Few words would serue, we had but small to say.
But knowing that your goodnesse takes things well
That well are meant, we boldly did proceede:
And so good Queene, both welcome and farewell,
Thine owne we are, in heart, in word, and deede.

Mondayes Deuice. The manner of Mercuries Coatche and message to the Queene, requesting hir Highnesse to come abroade, and see what pastyme the Gods had prouided for a noble Prince.

Mercuries speech.

Mvse not good Queene at me that message brings
From Ioue, or iust Iehoua, Lord of might,
No earthly God, yet gouernes mortall things,
And sprites diuine, and shining Angels bright.
This Lord of late to shew his mightie power,
Hath wonders wrought, when world lookt least therefore:
For at his becke, this day, and present houre,
The Heauens shakt, the thunder boltes did rore.
The earth did mooue, the dead therein did rise,
And out of graue, the Ghostes of men are gone,
The wandring Sprites that houered in the Skyes
Dropt downe from ayre, for world to wonder on.
The Sainctes themselues, that sate in glory great,
Were sent in hast, to worke Iehouas will,
And I that oft my restlesse wings do beate,
Was cald, to vse my wings and office still.
A common post is Mercury you know,
When he commaunds that made the world of nought,
And flyes as fast, as arrow out of bowe,
When message may expresse Iehouas thought.
Whose power deuine full long ere this hath seene,
That in this place should lodge a sacred Queene.
And waying well, the Prince whereof I speake,
Might weerie waxe of common pastimes heere,
(For that he knowes hir iudgement is not weake,)
Deuisd aboue, below there should appeare
(To welcome hir) some sights that rare should seeme,
And carelesse stoode, what world thereof did deeme:
So that good Queene, you take them well in worth.
No sooner had Iehoua meant these things,
But Cloudes clapt hands, and soules of men came foorth
Of Heauen gates, yea goodly crowned Kings
Were flowen abroade, from blessed Abrams brest:
Some in the ayre, and toppes of trees did rest,
Some fell on Toures, and stately houses high,
Some suncke in Seas, whose names were drouned now,
And some did light on land where euery eye
May them behold, and note their manners throw.
And there withall, the blacke infernall spreetes
Ranne out of Hell, the earth so trembling than,
And like yong laddes they hopt about the streetes.
The Satyres wilde, in forme and shape of man
Crept through the wooddes, and thickets full of breeres,
The water Nymphes, and Feyries streight appeares
In vncouth formes, and fashion strange to view:
The hagges of Hell that hatefull are of kind,
To please the time, had learnd a nature new,
And all those things that man can call to mind,
Were gladde to come, and do their dutie throwe.
I seeing this, cald for my Coatch in hast,
Abide sir Boy, then sayd Iehoua now,
Thou goest not yet, vntill a Prince be plast
Where I appoynt, thou hast nothing to say.
Then still I stoode, to know what should be done.
With that, a swarme of people euery way
Like little Antes, about the fields gan runne,
Some to prouide for pomp and triumph great,
Some for good fare, yea household cates and meate,
And some they ranne to seeke where Poets dwell,
To penne foorth shewes, and paint out trifles well.
Some halde and puld, to bring the carredge in,
Some ranne to gaze on triumph neere at hand,
And some stoode mute, as they amazde had bin
To see a Court, and Princely noble band
Come marching on, and make heere their abode:
But when I saw the carredge heere vnlode,
And well had wayd the wonders I haue tolde,
O mighty God (quoth I) now giue me leaue
To goe from thee, some message to vnfold,
That by my speech the hearers may conceiue
Thy Godhead great, hath brought this Princesse here.
It shall be so (quoth he) dispatch and part,
And tell hir, that she is to me so deere,
That I appoynt by mans deuice and arte,
That euery day she shall see sundrie shoes,
If that she please to walke and take the ayre:
And that so soone as out of dore she goes
(If time do serue, and weather waxeth fayre)
Some odde deuice shall meete hir highnesse streight,
To make hir smyle, and ease hir burthened brest,
And take away the cares and things of weight
That Princes feele, that findeth greatest rest.
When I had thus receyvd my charge at full,
My golden rodde in liuely hand I tooke,
And badde in hast my flying Horses pull.
But eare I past, I gan about me looke
To see that Coatch, and each thing gallant were:
So downe I came, all winged as you see.
And since I haue espyde that Princesse there,
That greatest Kings do sue to by degree,
And many mo that sues no whit, do feare,
I kisse hir steppes, and shew my maisters will,
And leaue with hir such graces from aboue,
As alwayes shall commaund hir peoples loue,
(Vphold hir raigne, maynteyne hir regall state,
Find out false harts, and make of subiectes true,
Plant perfite peace, and roote vp all debate)
So with this grace, good Queene now heere adue,
For I may now on earth no longer stey,
Than Seruants must to Maisters will obey.

Tuesdayes Deuice.

Cupid comming, as he reportes, out of Heauen (from whence his Mother and he is banished) encountres the Queene, and speaketh as followeth, he riding in a Coatch: and you must presuppose, that before his comming to the Queene, he and hys Mother had mette with the Philosopher.

[Alas poore boy, where shalt thou wander now]

Chastitie suddainely in the view of the Queene, settes vpon Cupid, and spoyles hym of his Coatch, Bowe and all, and sets him a foote, and so rides in his Coatche to the Queene, and speakes as followeth.
Chastitie speaketh.
To striue with boyes that standes on bragges and braues
I thought great scorne, till Cupid I espyde,
But that proude ladde, that makes so many slaues,
Must needes find one, to daunt his Peacocks pride.
Dame Chastitie is she that winnes the field,
Whose breast is armd with thoughtes of vertues rare,
Who to the fight doth bring no glittering shield,
But cleane conceytes, which pure and blessed are,
That strikes downe lust, and tames the wilfull mind,
Maynteynes the iust, and holds vp learning both;
And wisedome great, through me the Sages find,
Philosophers, the louers of the troth.
Yea Kings and Queenes by me worke wonders still,
Do conquere Realmes, and Wisedome do attayne.
The studious minds, whose knowledge, witte, and skill,
And all the world doth fame and glory gayne
That chastly liues, it talkes with God aboue,
It climbes the Cloudes from pomp and pleasures vayne.
It is a thing that shining Angels loue,
And in the world to come shall liue and raigne.
It triumph makes of fickle fond desire,
It breedes great force and courage full in men,
It quencheth sparkes and flames of fancies fire,
It quickes the wittes, and helpes the art of penne,
Yea all good giftes from Chastitie doth rise
That worthy are of honor vnder Skyes.
Then sith (ô Queene) chast life is thus thy choyce,
And that thy heart is free from bondage yoke,
Thou shalt (good Queene) by my consent and voyce,
Haue halfe the spoyle, take eyther bowe or cloke.
The bowe (I thinke) more fitte for such a one
In fleshly forme, that beares a heart of stone
That none can wound, nor pearce by any meane.
Wherefore take heere the bow, and learne to shoote
At whome thou wilt, thy heart it is so cleane,
Blind Cupids boltes therein can take no roote.
Now will I say in this poore Coatch of mine,
To mount the Skyes, and see the Gods deuine.

Cvpid commes running afoote like a vagabond towards the Queene, from Wantonnesse and Riot where he was succoured, and meetes againe in open shew the Philosopher, whose habitation was in a Rocke, and the Philosopher demaundes of Cvpid where he hathe bin, and what is the cause he commes abroade in such disorder.
The Philosopher speaketh.
How now my friend, where hast thou bin? in other plight I trow
Thou wast, when lately I thee met, hath Cupid lost his bow?
His cloke? his Coatch his witte and all? and fled from mothers face?
Or else hath Cupid gone to Schole, to learne some prettie Grace?
To play the God, fye foolish boy, leaue of these toyes in time,
Thy Mother (as the Poets fayne,) when beautie was in prime
A strumpet was, it may be so, as well appeareth yet,
Thou art not of the race of Gods, thou art some Beggers chitte.

Cupid.
Nay doting foole, that still dost pore on Bookes,
Though Coatch be gone, and golden cloke be lost,
Yet like a God, I tell thee Cupid lookes,
When old grey beard shewes like a rotten post.
It yll becommes an aged man to rayle
On women thus, that are not now in place,
But sure thy words are spent to small auayle,
They can not blot my mother, nor my race.

Philosopher.
But dost thou thinke thou art a God? then shew some proofe therof.

Cupid.
That can I do, but you old men, with boyes will iest and scoffe,
And either laugh to scorne our words, or taunt vs past the nick.

Philosopher.
Beleeue not that, but when in deede we enter neere the quicke,
Ye wincke like Coltes, and fling away from witte and feeling seene,
Wel Cupid, prooue thou art a God, and shew some good defence,
To this thy talke, I will giue eare, and silence keepe a whyle,
Vntill thy words haue gone so farre, thy folly makes me smyle.

Cupid.
The greatest Clarkes that earst haue bin, three thousand yeres agoe,
When they on Venus talke or treate, takes Cupids part ye knowe.
Their bokes, their scrolles, their pāphlets large, makes mētiō of my name,
You nede no further search for proof, to try out Cupids fame.

Philosopher.
Boast not of booke; for bookes they be, that plainely witnes beares
How Cupids arte infects good minds, and canckers honest eares.
And though fond men in Fables shew on you a flourish fine,
Such geegawes grees not with good rules, nor holds on gifts deuine.

Cupid.
Why Sir, you will beleeue, that Ioue and many more
Of other Gods in Heauen are, where I haue bin before?

Philosopher.
In Heauen? there you trippe, why boy how came you thence?
You went abroade to take the ayre, and haue bin walking sence
Like dawes along the coast, O boy, thy proofe is bare,
In Heauen is but one that rules, no other Gods there are.

Cupid.
And doth not Ioue and Mars beare sway? tush that is true.

Philosopher.
Then put in Tom and Tibbe, and all beares sway as much as you.

Cupid.
I told you Sir before, your taunting tong would bite.

Philosopher.
I come too neere the sore, and please not your delight.
But since you fume for naught, and can not heare the truth,
I will not shame my hoarie heares, to striue with wanton youth.
This Cupid, Venus sonne, as men suppose to bee,
Is neyther God nor Man in forme, nor monster as you see,
But such a kind of shade, as can no substance shoe,
Begot by braynelesse blind delight, and nurst with natures foe.
Fed vp with faithlesse foode, and traynd in trifling toyes,
Awakt with vice, and luld asleepe agayne with yrkesome ioyes.

Wantonnesse and Riotte commes in, and talkes with Cvpid, and so takes him away.
Wantonnesse.
Art thou so fond to talke with doting age,
This Man did bring thy mother in a rage,
And told hir playne, a Goddesse faynd she was,
Most leawd of life, and brittle as the glasse,
I Wantonnesse knowe well that tale is true,
To this my friend now Riotte what say you?

Riotte.
I could say much, but I will hold my peace,
Foule is that bird that his owne neast defiles.
If Riot should not speake, that Venus knowes so well,
(With whom since Cupid bare a name, did wantō Venus dwel)
Much pitie were it sure, that Riot life should beare,
For I am father of delight and pleasure euery where.
Without the help of whome, Dame Venus can not liue,
For vnto Lust and Riot both, doth Venus honor giue.
And Lust is Riots ioy, a spright that pleades for place
In euery soyle, since world began to boast of Adams race.
And now to tell you playne, from me, or from my stocke,
(An endlesse swarme of ydle folke, a merrie carelesse flocke)
As prating Poets fayne, at first did Venus spring,
But Venus was no strumpet sure; she was some finer thing
That alwayes furthers Loue, in French a M[illeg.]rca playne,
A beater of good bargaynes oft, and roote of fancyes vayne.
Though Goddesse were she not, yet faire and fine was she,
As I haue heard good Clarkes report, and you in Bookes shal see
Of hir great Storyes made, and great accompt thys day
We make of Venus darlings still, wherefore in briefe to say,
Both I and thousands more, with Venus needes must hold.
Twas she, to whome King Priams sonne did giue the apple of golde
That cost so many liues: but reade the seege of Troy,
And you shall see what prettie pranckes the mother and this boy
Hath playd in many partes, my knowledge is but small,
I tell by heeresay many things, but am not learnd at all
Good Wantonnesse thou knowst, but passe ore that awhile
I could tell tales of Venus yet, would make the hearers smile.

Wantonnesse.
O speake no more, come comfort Cupid now,
Let Venus go, that sate and saw with eye
The order great, and all the manner how
Dame Chastitie did mount to Starrie Skye
With such a Coatch, and such a noble spoyle,
As seldome hath in Heauen oft bin seene.
She sayd, when she had Cupid put to foyle,
She gaue his bowe and shaftes vnto a Queene.
And Cupid streight came running vnto me.
I saw him bare, and sent him bare away,
And as we are in deede but bare all three,
So must we part as poorely as we may.
No reasoning heere with him that learned is,
Philosophers knowes more than wanton fooles,
If we had once bin beaten well eare this
And lovd our Bookes, and truely plyde our Scholes,
We had bin learnd, yea livd, and felt no lacke,
Where now our wealth is all vpon our backe.

Riotte.
BY sweete Sainct Iohn we are in goodly weedes,
To daunce with belles a Morrice through the Streets.
If any heere, three ydle people needes,
Call vs in time, for we are fine for sheetes:
Yea, for a shift, to steale them from the hedge,
And lay both sheetes, and linnen all to gage.
We are best be gone, least some do heare alledge
We are but Roages, and clappe vs in the Cage.
Come Cupid come, if thou wilt heare a song,
Dame Chastitie hath sent hir Coatch along,
To comfort those, that dayly liues in wo.

Cupid.
Nay Cupid will, go hang himselfe I trow.
Much better were, to fall on poynt of knife,
Than from rich state, to leade a beggers life.

Cupid, Wantonnesse, and Riot, departs, and the Coatch softly commes on, with such Musicke as is deuised, and sings not, vntill the Coatch be before the Queene, in the meane while the Philosopher speaketh.
Philosopher.
Now world may iudge what fables are, & what vain gods ther be,
What names and titles fondlings giue, to thē, likewise you see,
And that one God alone doth rule, the rest no vertue showe,
Vayne Venus and blind Cupid both, and all the ragment rowe
And rabble of Gods, are fayned things, to make the season short,
As wisedome knowes that wel cā wey, the worth & weight of sport.
Through trifles light, sad things are sene, through vice is vertue foūd,
By hollow wayes, and crooked pathes, appeares the playnest ground.
Thus leauing vnto wisedomes reach, the things that heere are done,
And fearing foyle, if heere we should, in further folly runne,
We stay, saue that, some Musicke commes, to knitte in order due,
The substance of thys sillie Shew, that we present to you.

Modestie, Temperance, Good exercise and Shamefastnesse; the wayting Maydes of Chastitie returne, come in and Sing: and after that Modestie speaketh.
Modestie speaketh.
Dame Chastitie we serue, and wayte vpon hir still,
Saue now, that she is cald to Cloudes, to know Iehouas will.
She bad vs walke abroade, and searche, where might be seene
In stately troupe, and royall Court, a worthy noble Queene.
Salute hir in my name, and looke in secret sort
(Quoth she) you do with al your force, maynteyne hir princely port.
Good exercise as chiefe, thy humble dutie doo,
Let Shamefastnesse, and Modestie, and sober Temprance too,
Attend as handmaydes still, vpon that sacred dame.
We hearing what our mistresse sayd, & marking wel the same,
Did hast vs hither streight, but ere we went at large,
Iehoua sent vs Graces great, and gaue vs powre and charge,
(When pomp is most in place) to creepe in princely hart,
And gide the mind, & throughly serch, the soule & euery part.
That still the feare of God, be burning in hir brest,
Ther is the only house O Quene, wher we four maids wil rest,
There we will seruice shew, there shall our vertues budde,
Ther is the plot, the seate, the soyle, and place to do most good.
Yea vnder richest roabes, we haue a powre to goe,
In fairest weedes are cleanest thoughts, & purest minds I know.
The earlish Countrey cloyne, yea clad in smeared cloke,
With cāckred hart, & currish lokes, sits grinning in the smoke.
The comely cleane attire, doth carrie mind aloft,
Makes mā think scorne to stoupe to vice, & loke to Vertue oft.
The Sunne that shineth bright, hath vertues manifold,
A gallant floure hath pleasant smell, great goodnesse is in gold.
So gay and glittring Dame, thy graces are not small,
Thy heauenly gifts in greatest prease, in deede surmoūts thē all.

Thurseday.

[Most royall Prince, speede on thy comely pace]

Firste, Lady Beauty speaketh, and she attyred in very goodly garmentes as becommeth such a Dame.
Manhode.
Yet were I best, to kill this peeuish Boy,
Whome now she makes, hir chiefe and sole delight,
In whome she finds, such pleasure and such ioy,
That causelesse I, am cleane defaced quite.
Such gaudyes gay, are in his Peacocks face,
And skinne smootht vp, with shew of ydle hue,
That I do lodge, and languish in disgrace,
Though she of me, hath proofe of promise true.
Well, make thy choyce, and see what likes thee best,
View heere the death, of this thy darling now,
Or yeeld thy loue, to fancie my request,
Whose manly force, shall winne the conquest throw.

Beautie.
Naught shalt thou winne, by that which I shall lose,
Thou getst no gaynes, though I be thus bereft,
And though that I, betweene two mischiefes goes,
Where naught but bale, and wretched woe is less,
Yet thy reward, which doest assault my friend,
(In whose delight, my heart was fedde long whyle)
Shall be disdeyne, and hatered in the ende,
A guerdon fitte, for such a Tyrant vile.

Manhode.
This wretch is he, by whome I am annoyde,
He hath thy heart, though I deserue the same,
If wisely then, I do my harmes auoyde,
Why stey I sword, I can not purchase blame,
By cutting off, the cause of my distresse,
When he is gone, my lette shall be the lesse.

Beautie.
How canst thou say, thou doest dezerue my heart,
Which kilst my heart, and causest all my woe,

Manhode.
Since that thou takest, my dealing in such part,
I will delight, to wreake my wrath on foe.
In greeuing thee, most glad to heare me grone,
And art most pleasd, when Manhode makes his moane.

Beautie.
O gracious Prince, to thee my mone I make,
And prostrate fall, O Prince before thy foote,
With wonted grace, on me some pitie take,
O salue my sore, let sorrow find some boote.
I swelt in sighes, and sure shall dye to see
My friend dispatcht, and murthred in this wise,
O bid the wretch, come thrust his sword in me,
For from my loue, the cause of griefe doth rise.
I made the fault, then punish me therefore,
Shall silly Lamb, be ledde to slaughter thus?
Do eyther help, with death my endlesse sore,
Or with remorse, and ruth the case discusse,
If he do dye, by Mightie Ioue I sweare
I will not liue, if sword or knife be found,
With scratched face, with rent and torne heare,
I know at first, my corpse will fall in sound,
And then adue, my sprite shall steale away,
O Queene, in hast, now bidde the Tyrant stay,

Manhoode.
Since thou, O Prince, forbidst reuenge to take,
And wilst that men, should lose their time in loue,
Then marke my case, and giue me leaue to make
Myne owne defence, and so alleadge and proue,
And I will shewe my right and title good,
And that I do, deserue the thing I craue.
Though this fond wretch, alwayes my sute withstoode,
As one who long, in furies fittes doth raue,
Whome leawd delight, hath ledde out of the way,
(Which good Aduise, and ordred Iudgement keepe)
Whome Beauties blast hath bounst against the bay,
Where craggy rockes, and sands lye hidde in deepe,
A fond deuice to trust to paynted face,
And fasten fayth vpon so fickle stay,
To whome Dame Hebe, lends often guisefull grace,
Which euery yeare and day doth plucke away,
Whome sicknesse spoyles, and many sorowes moe,
Whome time doth eate and age at length deuoures,
Whome cares of mind do shake and alter so,
As Winter winds defaceth Sommer floures.
A snare for witte, a bayte for wanton youth,
A false conceyte, an error of the mind,
A fond delight, wherein there is no truth,
A poysoned dish, that doth the reason blind.
A colour cast on things that are but bace,
A glorious shew, to shrowde a homely part,
A rule to runne, a leawd and retchlesse race,
A deepe deceyte, which daunteth oft the heart.
In rage of youth, these pricking thistles growes,
Whiles Riot raygnes, and Folly beares the sway
In hoarie age, Deuice and Councell showes,
Where borrowed hew, and blossome fades away.
The weaker sexe, in beautie doth excell,
The infant hath, the sleeke, and smoothest face,
The hurtfull weede, which yeeldes allothsome smell,
To view of eye, doth vaunt a glorious grace.
In outward showes, in deede the trust is small,
They are but clokes, and vizards of deceight,
The vertuous mind, and manlike sprite is all,
Which gaynes renowme, and mounteth to the height.
Dame Venus loues, the fierce and warlike Knight,
Though once alas, she loud him to hir payne.
And Ladyes which, do loue and iudge aright,
Loue such as can, their cause with force maynteyne.
What could thys Boy, do for his mistresse sake?
Whome could this face, subdue in open field?
Iudge thou, O Queene, which of vs two could make
The better shift, and force the worst to yeeld.

Good fauoure.
Yet let me pleade, my cause before my Queene
As thou hast done, and sentence after craue,
Then shall the truth, of our two sutes be seene,
I craue no spoyle, but wish the thing I haue.
Why should my beautie, purchase my disgrace?
Why should my prayse, become mine vtter shame?
Why should Dame Natures giftes be thought so base,
Which heeretofore haue bin in greater name?
Who euer could, enforce the Gods with might,
To yeeld themselues, as conquerd with his strength?
Yet Beautie hath, subdude them with his sight,
And made them bend, and bow to him at length.
Whome force subdues, with sadde vnwilling heart,
Submittes themselues, and greeue at euery stroke:
Who Beautie winnes, and gaynes vnto his part,
They gladly graunt, to take the pleasant yoke.
Thy strength thou mayst, full many a Winter hide,
Till time doth serue, to shew the same in place,
Sweete Beautie can, no moment be vnspide,
But doth delight, each one with gladsome grace.
Dame Natures shew, and Ritches Beautie is,
A Heauenly gift, to rauish euery eye,
A perfite Pearie, wherein is naught but blisse,
Delight of men, delight of Gods on high.
Apollo pleasd, himselfe with Golden heare,
Heabe delightes, the Gods with comely hue,
God Venus oft, hir tender brest did teare,
When she Adonis death was fayne to rue.
Phœbus did mourne, when his delight was slayne,
With great mishappe, and error of his hand,
But Gannimed, about with Ioue doth raigne.
And wayting on, his Nectars cuppe doth stand.
What should I speake, of him who at the brooke,
The wanton Nimphes, in loue supprisd away,
Or him whome Phœb, in to hir Charriot tooke,
Or him, whose beautie dimd the morning grey,
The Gods in beautie, passe each mortall wight,
And men surmount, in forme the fayrest beast,
And yet of them, some are more braue in sight,
Whose natures are, more fined than the rest.
The vgly Tode, swels out his poyson cold,
A crabbed corpse, commes of a churlish kind,
No ragged mold, the vertue rare can hold,
A seemely face, declares a modest mind.
The fayrest Horse will swiftest runne his race,
The gallantst Hound, will soonest wind his game,
What neede I more, to treate vpon this cace,
The hearers shall, be iudgers of the same,
If Beauties giftes, and fauoure you exile,
Then Manhode must, be heere preferd the while.

Dezart.
Stay iudgement Prince, and let my cace be know{en}
Whose friendly toyle, deserues to reape his gayn{e}
Mine earnest sute, may not be thus orethrowen,
So long employd, in hope and endlesse payne.
I see these men, prease boldly heere in place,
Vnfolds great words, and long debates the cace:
And braues it out, with goodly gallant Shewes,
Which I will not, eclips nor blot at all,
My clayme is good, and that iust God he knowes,
What neede I then, my right in question call.
I haue no force, nor skill in marshiall field,
I boast not of my fresh and flouring hue,
Nor yet neede not, in any poynt to yeeld,
That can alleadge, Dezarts and seruice true.
My trauell then, and truth may not be lost,
Nor my good will, be recompenst with wrong,
Nor he that hath, with tempestes sore bin tost,
And tasted griefes, and bitter torments long,
May not so soone, be shaken off for nought,
I take fine tearmes, to shew my secret thought.
The Gods accepts, our dutie in good part,
The Prince rewards, the billes of our request,
The greatest men, consider but the heart,
The friendly meanes, can tame the wildest beast.
And Women who, in softest mouldes be cast,
Whose tender heartes, rues on our carefull cryes,
Must needes be wonne, with louing meanes at last,
To ease our playntes, and wipe our watered eyes.
True loue of right, must recompenced be,
Dezart must needes, flye farre beyond the rest,
Then graunt O Prince, this pretious prise to me,
Whose loyall loue, claymes place aboue the best.

Good fortune.

Then talke the other three priuilie togither, and Manhoode speakes to Good Fortune as followes.
Manhode.
Me thinkes most fond, and weakely commes hee heere
Alone to three, if we togither stoode:
And though in deede, we buy the quarrell deere,
And pay therefore, the sweetest of our bloud,
Yet let vs shew, the noble hearts of men,
For since he sayth, we all our labour lose,
Not one of vs, shall neede to sorow then,
Nor care a figge, how ere the matter goes.

Dezart.
A greed, though I Dezart haue double wrong,
I will reuenge the same by dint of sword,
And you shall see, I will not dallie long
To do my best, sith I haue spoke the word.
Despayred men, dare fight with Fortune still,
And scratch for life, as long as breath will last,
When hope is gone, I know no better skill,
But bide the brunt, till all the broyle be past.
Let loue and life, togither make an ende,
The heart shall feele, and hand shall head defend.

Good fauoure.
Though I speake last, that first found speciall grace,
In formost sight, looke you for tender yeares,
And iudge him not, a Milke soppe by his face,
That stoutely like a Man at neede appeares.
Great skorne I thinke, good Fortune should haue all,
And reape the right, that laboure long hath sowen,
Yea, Fauoure hath perhappes more friends at call,
Than you would thinke, or to the world is knowen.

Heere follow the Speeches of the water Nymphes, which should haue bin shewed vpon the Thurseday, had not euill weather hindered the same.
The first Nymphes Speech.
The seconde.
The thirde.
The fourth and last that called them into their caue.

Fridayes Deuice.

The Queene of Phayries

Speech.

A matter touching the Iourney of Sir Humfrey Gilbarte Knight.

The man that trauels much,
with mind and body both,
(Whose restlesse lims, & labring thoughtes,
through heaps of hazards goth,)
A while would gladly rest,
and so some sollace taste,
To sharp the sense, and ease the heart,
that toyle doth weare and waste.
But though with charged brest,
I seeke to steale a nappe,
In hope sounde sleepes would soone forget,
the griefe of thankelesse happe:
Some cause calls vp my Muse,
and bids my witts awake,
That dowwne is layde on quiet Coutch,
a little ease to take:
As lately loe you heard,
by Verses penned well,
Which soundes so shrilly through my eares,
and tings so like a Bell,
That though in sadde dead sleepe,
my wery body were,
I must rise vp and whet my wittes,
and lend a louing eare
To that new tale I heere,
of friends that hence do go
Vnto a soyle they neuer saw,
another world I trow
That few or none haue found,
well, what should more be sayd,
The Iourney that my friends do take,
full long in head I wayd,
Yet thought to pause awhile,
(eare pen to paper past)
To see how course of world wold go,
and things fell out at last.
And thus in my delay
I caught a slumber sweete,
And sure me thought infearful dreme,
or sweauon did I meete
The Golden Heart, and other Ships,
that to this voyage goes,
Which Barks wer brauely vnder saile,
where water ebbes and floes.
And where the view of Coūtrey soile,
was farre from Saylers sight,
And men were forst to trie the Seas
in storme or darkest night,
But eare my dreame could ende,
a voyce gan call alowde,
Wheris Churchyard: doth he sleepe?
or is he crept in Clowde,
To shunne the vse of penne
and matter worthy note?
Whereat I started out of bedde,
and streight wey vp I gote,
And to my Studie dore
in hast therewith I went,
As one that fain wold write some thing
that might the World content.
Then brought I vnto mind,
the heauie Dreame I had,
Yet eare I wrote one Englishe verse,
I cald my little ladde,
And bad him runne with speede
abroade, and bring some newes,
And learne the troth of euery thing,
that I might shape my Muse
To please the peoples eares
with frute of Poets penne.
My Lackey had not walkt in Pawles
not twentie pasis then,
But heard that sundrie friends
of mine, had taken leaue
At Courte, and were all Shipte away.
this brute may thee deceyue
Thou foolish Boy (quoth I)
nay Sir by sweete Sainct Iohn
(Quoth he) Sir Humffey Gilbart {s}ure,
and all his troupe is gone.
But whether, no man knowes,
saue they that are in Barke,
Who with one mind, and one consent,
do hope to hitte one marke.
A ha Sir boy (quoth I)
I knew this long agoe,
Shut study dore, packe hence a while,
and musing euen so,
I marueld howe this Knight,
could leaue his Lady heere,
His friends, and prettie tender babes,
that he did hold so deere,
And take him to the Seas,
where dayly dangers are.
Then wayd I how, immortall Fame,
was more than worldly care,
And where great mind remaynes,
the bodyes rest is small,
For Countreys wealth, for priuate gayne,
or glory seeke we all.
And such as markes this world,
and notes the course of things,
The weake and tickle stay of states,
and great affayres of Kings,
Desires to be abroade,
for causes more than one,
Content to liue as God appoyntes,
and let the world alone.
Yea such as deepely looke,
into these worldly toyes,
And freedome of the body still,
and noble mind enioyes,
Are glad to trudge and toyle,
and driue off time awhile,
And at our ydle pleasures laughs,
or at our follies smyle:
That will not take some paynes,
and trye both land and Seas,
For Knowledge seeke, and heape of happe,
to do our Countrey ease.
O Gilbart noble Knight,
God send thee thy desire,
O manly Knolles, and worthy Wight,
whose heart doth still aspire,
I wish thee great renowme,
and noble Carie too,
And noble North, with Wigmore wise,
I wish you well to do.
O Rawley ripe of sprite,
and rare right many wayes,
And liuely Nowell, God you guide,
to purchase endlesse prayse.
Goe comely Cotten too,
and march amidde the rancke,
And honest Dennie with the best,
must needes deserue some thanke.
George Carie forth I call,
and sure Iohn Roberts heere,
A speciall sparke with present witte,
in person shall appeare.
Miles Morgan gaynes good Fame,
and Whetstone steps in place,
And seekes by trauell, and by toyle,
to winne him double grace.
Iohn Vdall is not hidde,
nor Rowles I do forgette,
The rest I vow to publish out,
and so dwell in their dette.
But though that Frances Knolles
commes last vnto my mind,
Among the first that shall do well,
he will not be behind.
O faithfull friends farewell,
I namd you all aroe,
For World to view, whiles world doth last,
what courage you do shoe.
What charges you are at,
what venter you haue made,
And how you seeke to traffike there,
where neuer yet was trade.
And most of you such men,
as liuings haue at home,
So great and good, that sure abrode
yee neede not for to rome:
Faire houses, lands, and wiues,
great friends, and of the best,
Good stayes and pillers, wherevpon
the strongest heere may rest:
Well knowne, and honord both,
in credite euery way,
In perfite plighte and state to liue,
and laugh, though world say nay.
This strange adiew of youres,
doth argue noble harts,
And in your brestes are noble giftes
and many noble parts.
For hauing wealth at will,
and world at becke and call,
Propt vp with Princes fauoure still,
so sure ye could not fall:
And yet to leaue that hope,
to seeke vncertayne happe,
And so committe your goods & liues,
to euery stormy clappe
That suddayne tempest brings:
me thinke the venture great,
The value of your valiant minds,
surmountes the fire in heate.
Whereof such hote desires
of doing good, doth rise,
The kindled [illeg.]
do sparckle through the Skyes
Some people happly thinke
a greedie hope of gayne,
And heapes of gold you hope to find
doth make you take this payne
Oh sure that can not be,
conceyue the case who list
For hauing that which thousands wāt,
alreadie in your fist,
You meane to clime for Fame,
as high as eye may looke
And search the Creekes and priuie Portes,
and euery secret nooke,
As farre as Shippe may sayle:
I trust for Countreys good:
And for the commonwealthes auayle,
you offer life and bloud
Let world now speake the worst,
and babble what they please,
What thing could make you take these toyles,
and so forsake your ease
If God moud not your minds,
to things he liekth well,
And that your good and deepe consaytes,
wherein you long did dwell,
Did leade and hall you thence,
as men prepard and wrought,
To shew what witte and skill men haue,
and serue the makers thought,
That all thing cleerely sees:
tis God and your good mind,
That driues you to this high attempt,
for any thing I find.
And as he sent you out,
so can he bring you in,
Yea safely home, that you shall shew
at large where you haue bin,
And now to tell it plaine,
not one of all your troupe,
(Of gentle race) that neere at home,
did hold downe head or droupe,
But brauely bore it out
which shewes, no neede it was,
That did procure those gallants gay,
from hence in hast to passe.
Thus sure some other thing
than gayne, did cause you goe,
Some noble fire that burnes in brest,
whose flames of force must shoe
Good meaning and good mind,
good frute and grayne withall,
When season serues, and haruest commes,
and hope for hire doth call.
You might haue walkt the streetes,
as other gallants do,
Yea kept the Court and Countrey both,
in Pawles haue ietted too.
If mind had not bin drawne,
to things of greater weight,
And had not harts held vp your heads
another kind of heigth,
Perhaps in ydle dayes,
you would set men a worke,
And call them to accompt in hast,
that close in corners lurke:
And aske in open place,
how they would spend their time,
And if they say they had no mind
the loftie Cloudes to clime,
Yet would you wish they should
see what on earth is found,
And search the proofe, and sayle by arte,
about the world so round.
At home to tarrie still,
but breedes grosse bloud and witte,
Then better with the Fawcon flie,
than heere on dunghill sitte,
And see how Crowes do feede,
on tainted carren bare,
Or liue a leawd and wretched life,
vpon a hungry share.
At home much time is lost,
and neuer found againe,
Much household cares, and common griefes,
do breake both sleepe and brayne.
Abroade men winne great wealth,
or knowledge gayne at least,
At home we runne to wanton sportes,
and smell out euery feast.
Abroade small bankets are,
it will not quit the cost,
At home is naught but making loue
to euery paynted post.
Abroade the flesh is tamde,
and brought in feare and frame,
At home oft times pride goes before,
and after commeth shame.
Abroade we Wisedome learne,
and do from follie flee,
At home some daunce so in a nette,
their selues they can not see.
Abroade where seruice is,
much honor may be wonne,
At home our gay vayneglory goes,
like shadow in the Sunne.
Abroade bare robes are best,
and Manhoode makes the showe,
At home yong Maister must be fine,
or all is lost you know.
Abroade few quarrels are,
a brawle is bought so deere,
At home they cogge, they foyst, they royst,
and reuell all the yeare.
Abroade is courteys speech,
and ciuill order still,
At home where rudenesse keepes no rule,
wilde wantons take their will.
Abroade may health be got,
for laboure lengthens life,
At home the Goute, the Cramp, the cold,
and each disease is rife.
Abroade the sightes are strange,
and wonders may be seene,
At home a stale and balde deuice,
but duls the spreetes I weene.
Abroade we learne to spare,
to serue our turne in thend,
At home men set the cocke on hoope,
and vaynely spoyle and spend.
Abroade few theeues you haue,
they find so little grace,
At home foule shiftes and robbries both,
abounde in euery place.
Thus prooue I trauels best,
for body, soule, and sense,
And ease a nurse to pamper vice,
and buckler of defense.
Where vertue can not strike,
nor enter any way,
The buckler hath such wicked barres
dame Vertues force to stay.
With rest leawd lust doth rise,
and soone subdues the mind.
And toyle beares backe fond Venus toyes,
and strikes vaine fancie blind.
Much rest runnes Riot still,
and breedeth treasons oft,
And toyle plucks downe those haughtie hearts
that lokes to mount alofte.
Rest maketh mischiefe ripe,
and settes bad things abroch,
Toyle teacheth men to conquer Fame,
and flee from foule reproch.
Rest loues to dallie much,
like whelp that waues the rayle,
Toyle is for Vertue quicke as Bee,
for Vice as slow as Snayle.
Rest sowes no blessed feede,
yet reapes a curssed grayne,
Toyle weedes the ground, and planteth floures
where nettles did remayne.
Rest will no dutie know,
but shakes off shackels still,
Toyle makes the body apte to stoupe,
to bend and shew good will.
Rest is a retchlesse ioy,
that sees not his owne harmes,
Toyle castes out many a vayne consayte,
that rest brings in by swarmes.
If toyle bring these good things
that I haue told before,
And rest but want and beggrie breedes,
with sundrie mischiefes more:
They ought haue endlesse lawd,
that in these loytring dayes
Set ydle hands and heads a worke,
to winne immortall prayse.
And they that first found out
the strange and forrayne soyle,
Are gone themselues to win the prise,
or take the open foyle,
Which shewes them more than men,
halfe Gods if I say troth,
Whole kingdomes scarcely cā suffice
their minds and manhoode both.
Now haue they taken leaue
of worldly pleasures all,
That yong and lusty were to liue,
and now to toyle they fall
That finely were brought vp,
yea now they bidde adiew,
The glittring Court, the gallāt towne,
the gorgious garments new,
The brauerie of this world,
the pride and pomp of earth,
And looke not backward any way,
to ritches, race, or birth.
To worthy wife nor friend,
to babes nor neerest kinne,
But only to the Lord aboue,
and iourney they are in.
And all for Countreys cause,
and to enrich the same,
Now do they hazard all they haue:
and so for wealth and fame,
They fare along the Seas,
they sayle and tide it out,
They hale and stretch the sheates aloft,
they toyle and dread no doubt.
They feede on Bisket hard,
and drincke but simple beere,
Salt beefe, and Stockfish drie as kecke,
is now their greatest cheere.
And still a fulsome smell
of pitch and tarre they feele,
And when Seasicke (God wot) they are,
about the Shippe they reele.
And stomacke belcheth vp,
a dish that Hadocks seeke,
A bitter messe of sundry meates,
a Sirrope greene as leeke.
Then head and heart doth heaue,
and body waxeth cold:
Yet face will sweat, a heauie sight,
the same is to behold.
But they must needes abide
a greater brunt than this,
And hope that after hellish paynes,
there commes a time of blisse.
Yet note the torments strange,
that toyling saylers haue,
Who liues at mercie of the Seas:
yea surge and swelling wave,
Would swallow vp the Shippe,
if Pylots were not good,
And some in time of great distresse
vnto their tackle stood.
Sometime a flaw of wind
blowes Maister ore the Hatch,
And Boy frō toppe coms tumbling downe,
and at a cord doth catch
To saue his sillie life,
aloofe then cries my mates,
No neerer shore the Ship she tucke,
and on the sand the grates,
And plying for aboorde,
about the Vessell goes,
And through the shroudes and clouted Sayles
a gale of winde there bloes,
That seemes to shake the Barke,
in sunder euery ribbe,
Then is no time to heaue she can
to crie carous and bibbe,
But each man to his worke
they fall and flie apace,
In necke of this a man of warre
that seekes to giue the chace,
They spie in halfe a kenne,
vp Sould youres ho in hast
The Captayne calls, yet vnder hatch,
a sort of them are plast,
To beate the enmie out
that should the Shippe assayle,
At length the Cannon bullet flyes,
and shotte as thicke as hayle
Goes off to murther men,
and such a smoke doth rise,
As few may well regard the seas,
or scarce behold the Skyes.
Some grone and bidde goodnight,
their day watch waxeth dimme,
Some cā not speake their heads are off,
and some haue lost a limme.
Some lyes on hatches lame,
they haue no legges to stand,
And some haue lost the vse of arme,
or maymed of a hand.
And some are fighting still,
and gets no harme at all,
But he that speedeth best the while,
makes boast thereof but small.
These brawles and bloudy broyles
to end or quiet brought,
A new beginnes, as yll a storme,
that troubles more their thought.
The Rockes and wretched streights,
that they must safely passe,
The narrow Creekes & doubts they find
in compasse of their glasse,
Is daunger wonders great,
so that these Saylers toyle,
Rests all on hazards, eare they come
to any certayne soyle.
I could rehearse a heape
of sorrowes that they haue,
But you that liue in peace at home,
and mince the matter braue,
Will scarce beleeue a troth,
and toyle that trauelers take.
Well noble Pilgrims, as in Verse
I write this for your sake,
In Prose at your returne,
looke for a greater prayse,
A Booke that to the loftie Skyes,
your rare renowne shall rayse.
This write I for your friends
that you haue left behinde,
Your worthy wiues, whose patient hearts
beare many things in mind,
And sitte and shakes their heads
at that they can not mend,
And many a sigh and sadde consaite,
along the Seas they send,
To follow those that flie
from them God wot to fast,
And carried are in rotten Barkes
about with euery blast,
And tossed vp and downe
the Seas, our Lord knowes where.
O Husbāds whē you saw your wiues,
shedde many a bitter teare,
How could you part from them?
the cace is aunswerd thus,
You are not ruld by loue of babes,
nor womens willes yewus.
But guided by such grace,
as God himselfe hath sent,
And that you do, is done indeede
vnto a good intent.
God graunt you good successe,
the whole harts ease you craue,
As much of wealth and honor both
as euer men may haue.
A safe and short returne,
not long from home to dwell,
A quiet happy iourney still,
and so deere friends farewell.

A welcome home to Master Martin Frobusher, and all those Gentlemen and Souldiers, that haue bene with him this last iourney, in the Countrey called (Meta incognita) whiche welcome was written since this Booke was put to the Printing, and ioyned to the same Booke, for a true testimony of Churchyardes goodwill, for the furtherance of Mayster Frobushers fame.

Fiue hundreth times, moste welcome home
my friendes that farre haue bin,
When thousands thought, that all was loste
your fleete came safely in:
To glad their harts, that long bewailde
your toyle and hazard great:
O giue me leaue, in English verse
a whyle on this to treat,
That doth dezerue, such worldes renowme
and come to such good end,
As forceth friends to fauour much
and foes may well commend.
You slouth full snayles, that creepe not far,
and loue your shelles so well,
And you cold crousts, that haue smal crums
in cottage poore that dwell,
Now will you blush, or bende the browe,
to see how trauelers thryue,
Nay, now you ought goe helpe your selues
and rather seeke to striue
Against ill happe, that holdes you here,
when others worke for wealth,
And trudge abrode, to lengthen life,
and nourish wished health.
But adle heades, and idle braynes,
and babling tongues, I trowe,
Had rather sitte in smokie house
(or on the dunghill crowe
Like crauen Cockes) than go abrode
where Fortune may be founde,
And serch where Gold, and Treasure lies
in bowels of the grounde.
A pecke of drosse, doth more content
the base and beggars minde,
Than heaped bushels, of good happe,
that paynefull toyle doth finde,
The thriftlesse will, not let to say,
ô giue me ease and rest,
A groate in purse, a coate on backe,
a homely house and nest,
And fie on Fame, and profite both,
that cōmes by breake of sleepe,
And but vaine pleasures of this world,
both harde to winne and keepe.
O mizers mindes, and wretches hartes,
if all men sought their ease,
And none should search out golden mines,
nor seeke their gaine by seas,
The worlde would sone be at an end,
or meate and clothe would fayle,
And those that now doe laugh and smyle,
at length would weepe and wayle.
And all a like, should Lorde and ladde
be sette by ery where,
The foole and wise man, would be one:
and voyde of loue or feare
The world should stand; for wealth & wit
is that which gouernes all,
And makes vs know the mighty forte
and shoes the great from small.
Jf each man were a like in wealth,
as rogues and beggars are,
And none had skill, nor great foresight
for countreys cause to care,
Adeu good rule, and ritches too
and farewell vertues prayse:
But God be thankt, that we are borne
to liue in happier dayes,
When wittes will worke for wealths auayle
and sundry ryde and runne,
Yea hoyse vp sayle, and go themselues
as far as shines the sunne
Through thick and thin, & feare no foile,
as though to their good mindes
The Gods had made the lande and Seas,
the skies, the ayre and windes,
To follow that they haue deuisd
that take these toyles in hand.
And of late dayes, so great a flocke
of these are in this land,
That J haue scarce good leysure left,
to wryte their names a right,
And yeelde the prayse, and liuely lawd
is due to eury wight.
In deede our age for many things
exceedes the season past,
And yet some say, all things be old
and shall whyles world doth last.
But if no new deuise, did helpe
the age of that is gone,
Full weake and lame would be old toyes
these dayes to looke vpon.
I graunt the graue, olde sages wise,
began to breake the yce,
Made smoeth rough ways, set vertue vp,
and flatly threw downe vice,
Built goodly towres, reard walles aloft,
and to be briefe and short,
Saylde throwe a world, saw eury creeke
and knew each common port,
But all they did, hath time reformd
or made more perfite still,
As cunning came, and new Deuise
tooke place from auntient skill.
So though our elders trauaylde farre,
yea, went the worlde about:
Yet many things, our fathers witts,
as yet could nere finde out:
Whiche they did leaue, to yonger heads,
and men of later birth,
To search, & see, what hidden wealth,
lay lurking deepe in earth:
As loe, in (Meta cognita)
is knowne, & founde of laet,
By those, that through their venture great
both golde and glory gaet.
O Frobusher, thy brute and name
shalbe enrold in bookes,
That whosoeuer after cōms,
and on thy labour lookes
Shall muse and maruell at thyne actes,
and greatnesse of thy minde.
J say no more, least some affirme
J fanne thy face with winde,
I flatter for affections sake:
well, God shall witnesse be,
In this thy prayse (and other Bookes)
I speake but right of thee.
A Boke I made, at thy Farewell,
in prose (where ere it is)
Another for thy Welcome home,
thou shalte haue after this,
If this mislike thee any whitte.
So here mine owne good friend
I bid thee welcome once againe,
and therewith make an ende.