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EARLY  ENGLISH  1>()ETRY, 
BALLADS, 

AND    POPULAR    LITERATURE 
OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES. 

EDITED  FROM  ORIGIXAL  MANUSCRIPTS 

AND  SCAllCE-  PUBLICATIONS. 
T.),)    i     1 

VOL.  VI. 


LONDON. 
PRINTED    FOR     fllE    PERCY    SOCIEIT, 

UY   T    IMCHAIIDS    ^JT   MAIM  INS   LANK 
M.DCCC.XLII. 


CONTENTS  OF  VOL.  VI. 


ANCIENT  POETIC^VL  TRACTS  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH 
CENTUKY. 

KDITKD  HI  K.  r.  HIHIIAILT,  KSQ.  FH.  1>.,  r.S.A.  KTC. 

COCK  LORELL's  BOTE. 

KUITED  BY    K.  V.  KIM  Il.Vtl.T,  ESQ.  PH.  U..  F.5.A.  ETC. 

THE  CROWN  GARLAN1>  (JF  GOLDEN  ROSES. 

SDlMfil  DY  \(.  I'llAFPEM.,  K»H.  F.9.A. 

FOLLIE'S  ^iNATOMIE,  BY  HENRY  HUTTON.   1619. 

EDITED  BY   K.  V.  RIMnAIM.T,  ESQ.  TU.  It.,  K.S.A.  ETC. 

POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

EDIILU  nV  Tlir   RKV.    (I.KXANnKB  DTCK. 


ANCIENT  POETICAL  TEACTS. 


ANCIENT 

POETICAL    TRACTS 

OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY, 


RKI-RINTl-n  FROM   USIQIIE  COPIES  FOKMERLV  IN   THE   I'OSSESSION 
OF  THE    I.ATF    THOMAS  rAI.nEPOTT.   ESQ. 


EDITED  PV 


EDWARD  F.  RIMBAULT,  ESQ.  F.S.A. 


LONDON : 
PRINTED  FOR  THE  PERCY  SOCIETY. 


M.DCCC.XJ.II. 


COUNCIL 


CJ)e  ^3ercj)  ^onttp* 


President. 
Thk  Rt.  Hox.  lord  BRA\TiROOKE,  F.S.A. 

THOMAS  AMYOT.  Esq.  F.RS,  Tkeas.  S  A. 

A\  ILLIAM  HKNRY  RLACK,  Esq. 

J  A.  CAHUSAC,   Esq.  F.S.A. 

WILLIAM  CHAPPELL.  Esq.  F.S.A.,  Tnasiirer. 

J.  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

T.  CROFTON  CROKER,  Esq.  F.S.A..  M.R.I.A. 

PETER  CUNNINGHAM,  Esq. 

REV.  ALEXANDER  DYCE. 

WILLIAM  JERDAN,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  M.R.S.L. 

SIR  FREDERICK  MADDEN,  K.H.,  F.R.S.,  F.S.A. 

T.  J.  PETTIGREW,  Esq.  F.R  S.,  F.S.A. 

E.  F.  RIMBAULT,  Esq.  F.S.A.  Secretary. 

WILLIAM  J.  THOMS,  Esq.  F..S.A. 

JAMES  WALSH,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

THOMAS  WRIGHT,  Esq.  M.A.,  F.S  A. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  five  iini(iuc  tnicts  reprinted  in  tlie  ibllowlnii; 
pages  luive  escaped  the  notice  of'Kitson,  Dr.  Dibdin, 
and  all  who  have  written  upon  the  subject  of  our 
early  bibliography.  The  originals  were  fbnnerly 
in  the  possession  of  the  late  Thomas  Caldecott,  Esq. 
whose  matchless  collection  of  early  English  poetry 
was  well  known  to  the  lovers  of  this  species  of 
literature.  Sir  George  H.  Freelino;  was  favom*ed 
by  the  loan  of  them  when  in  that  gentleman's 
possession,  and  from  his  accurate  transcripts  the 
}tresent  reprints  have  been  made. 

John  Butler,  the  printer  of  the  "  Doctrinall  of 
good  Servauntes,"  is  stated,  upon  the  autliority  of 
Ames,  to  have  been  a  judge  of  the  Common  pleas 
as  well  as  a  printer.  "The  only  book  we  have 
yet  found  with  his  name,"  says  Dr.  Dibdin, 
( TypoqrapMcal  Antiquities  iii.  173),  is  the  folloAV- 
ing :  "  Parvulorinn  Institutio  ex  Stanbrigiana 
CoUectione,"  4to.  We  are  now  enabled  to  add  the 
names  of  two  books  to  the  Doctor's  list,  for  be- 
sides the  "  Doctrinall  of  good  Servauntes,"  Butler 


yiii 


})rinted  the  "  Coniiercyon  of  Swerers"  by  Stephen 
Hawes,  a  copy  of  which  was  also  in  the  possession 
of  Mr.  Caldecott. 

It  is  conjectured,  from  his  using  the  same  device, 
that  Butler  Avas  tlie  master  of  Robert  Wyer,  one 
of  the  most  industrious  typographers  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  and  the  printer  of  the  "Com  play  nt 
of  a  dolorous  Louer,"  which  forms  the  fourth  tract 
of  the  iDresent  volume. 

The  "  Boke  of  Mayd  Emlyn"  and  the  "  New 
Nutbrowne  Mayd"  are  from  the  press  of  John 
Skot,  or  Scott,  as  he  frequently  spells  his  name. 
They  were  reprinted  in  1820  by  the  late  George 
Isted,  Esq.  for  the  members  of  the  Roxburgh 
Club.  A  copy  of  the  reprint  in  the  British  Mu- 
seum has  the  date  1515  written  on  each  tract,  but 
this  is  unsupported  by  any  authority.  Skot's 
publications  extend  from  1521  to  1537,  the  first- 
named  year  being  that  of  his  earliest  dated  publi- 
cation, but  it  is  not  unlikely  that  the  tracts  in 
question  may  have  been  printed  a  few  years 
earlier. 

The  story  of  "  Mayd  Emlyn"  is  probably  more 
ancient  than  the  date  of  the  tract,  and  bears  some 
slight  resemblance  to  Chaucer's  "  Wife  of  Bath." 
The  woodcut  on  the  title-page  had  been  previously 
used  by  Pynson  in  "  The  Shyp  of  Folys"  printed 
in  1509,  for  which  work  it  appears  to  have  been 


originally  iiitoiulcil.  Tlic  "  New  Niitbrownc 
Mayd*  is  a  inoralization  ol"  the  beautiful  old 
ballad  of"  the  Nut-iJrown  Maid,  which  wa!< 
introduced  to  j)o|>ulur  notice  in  the  last  century 
by  Prior,  and  was  edited  in  1760  by  Capell  in  his 
"  Prclusions."  The  only  work  in  which  the  ballad 
ha8  yet  been  discovered  is  Arnold's  ''Chronicle,"' 
supposed  to  have  been  printed  about  1502, 

The  ''New  Xutbrowne  ISIayd"  is  an  extremely 
close  parody  upon  the  original,  and  exhibits  one  ol" 
the  most  curious  specimens  of  a  practice  very  com- 
mon in  the  sixteenth  century,  that  of  turning 
popular  songs  into  })ious  ballads.  It  is  perhaps 
unnecessary  to  say  that  the  two  last-mentioned 
tracts  were  unknown,  until  re])rinted  by  the  Rox- 
burgh Club. 

The  ibiu'th  tract,  the  "  Complaynt  of  a 
Dolorous  Louer,"  is  indeed  a  sorry  specimen  of 
])oetry,  and  its  extreme  rarity  is  the  only  excuse 
we  can  make  for  including  it  in  the  present 
selection.  The  same  may  almost  l)e  said  oi" 
"  Loue's  Leprosie.''  It  is  the  production  of 
Thomas  Powell,  a  Welsh  poet,  the  author  of  the 
"  Passionate  Poet,  with  a  descrij)tion  of  the 
Thracian  Ismarus :"  Printed  hy  Valentine 
Sim7)ies,  1601  ;  and  of  a  prose  tract  interspersed 
with  poetry,  entitled  "  A  TVelch  Bayte  to  spare 
Provender ;  or,  a  looking  backe  vpon  the  Times 

b 


past:"  Printed  hy  Valentine  Simmes^  1603.  As  a 
poet,  Powell  deals  much  more  in  new  words  than 
new  thoughts,  and  there  is  a  laboured  constraint 
in  his  writing  which  not  unfrequently  involves 
his  meaning  in  obscurity. 

A  person  of  the  same  name  also  wrote  an 
entertaining  tract  entitled,  "  Wheresoever  you 
see  me,  trust  unto  your  self,  or  the  Mysterie  of 
Lending  and  Borrowing,"  1623,  besides  several 
others  of  the  same  kind ;  but  whether  he 
can  be  identified  as  the  author  of  the  poetical 
tracts  of  the  preceding  century  is  a  matter  of 
question. 


CONTENTS. 


1.  The  Doctrinall  of  good  Servauntos 
•2.  The  Boke  of  Mayd  Emlyn 

3.  The  New  Nutbrowne  MayJ 

4.  The  Complaynt  of  a  tlolnrous  LoiuT 
').   LoiU'S  l.epi'osie 


1 

13 
31 
55 
63 


botittFa4  of  if^oHnjxmUs^ 


THE  DOCTRYNALL  OF  GOOD 
SERVAUNTES. 


All  ye  seruantes  that  good  intende  to  be, 
Biiliolde  in  this  treatysc  here  present, 

In  the  whychc  wrytcn  ye  shall  se 

Ryght  good  doctrynes  playne  and  euydcnt. 

'riiou  that  seruest  the  spyrytualyte, 
Behaue  thyselfe  to  them  obedyent ; 

Not  for  them,  but  for  theyr  degre, 

Syih  they  consecrate  our  God  omnipotent. 

Thou  that  them  seruest  at  the  autere, 
Entende  to  them  with  all  thy  dylygence, 

Be  of  thy  mynde  peasyble  and  entere, 

That  thou  be  worthy  in  thy  Loi'des  presence. 

Thou  seruant  seruynge  ony  prelate, 

The  whyche  is  set  in  dygnyte, 
For  thejT  subgectes  be  good  aduocate, 

Supportynge  them  in  good  equyte. 

b2 


4  THE  DOCTRYNALL 

Ye  seruauntes  in  grete  company, 
In  any  lordes  hous  or  mansyon, 

Yf  ye  be  yonge,  se  ye  obey 

To  your  elders,  for  it  is  reason. 

A  seruante  ought  to  loue  his  lorde 
With  all  his  herte,  and  not  to  fayne  ; 

Yf  he  do  the  proffyte  in  dede  and  worde, 
Do  that  thou  it  deserue  agayne. 

Seruauntes  ought  to  be  honourable, 

Of  theyr  bodyes  specyally. 
To  aU  men  seruysable. 

And  to  ete  and  drynke  ay  sobrely. 

Seruauntes  ought  not  to  swere  in  vayne, 
The  name  of  God  in  no  maner, 

Nor  of  his  sayntes,  beware  that  trayne. 
For  it  standeth  in  grete  daungere. 

Ye  seruauntes  not  seruynge  at  table, 
In  takynge  of  your  nuryture, 

Speke  lytell  and  be  agreable. 
So  that  ye  fauour  may  procure. 

Euery  man  they  ought  to  please, 

And  them  obey  with  lowe  intencyon  ; 

In  lytell  medlynge  is  grete  ease, 
Fie  dysceyte,  gyle,  and  decepcyon. 


OF  GOOD  8KKVAUNTES. 

A  seruaunte  ought  not  for  to  brynge 
No  newe  tydynges  vnto  theyr  lorde, 

Without  they  be  nere  hym  touchynge, 
For  therof  cometh  grete  dyscorde. 

Seruauntes  ought  to  aduertyse, 
To  say  euer  trouthe  and  veryte, 

Blame  no  man  in  ony  wyse, 
Behaue  the  after  thy  degre. 

Seruauntes  that  go  on  message 
Of  theyr  mayster  to  ony  place, 

Thinke  well  that  it  is  grete  outrage 
To  countrefet  thy  seale  in  ony  case. 

Seruauntes  ought  after  theyr  pleasaunce, 
For  to  be  clenly  of  theyr  bodyes, 

Humble  of  loke  and  countenaunce, 
Behauynge  them  to  all  degrees. 

A  seruaunt  ought  with  dylygence, 

To  euery  man  to  do  honoure, 
And  to  his  mayster  with  reuerence 

Enclyne  hymselfe  at  euery  houre. 

A  seruaunt  ought  euer  for  to  tie 
All  places  that  are  of  euyll  name, 

As  tauernes  and  houses  of  baudry, 

"\\Tiichc  bi'yngeth  many  a  man  to  shame. 


b  THE  DOCTRYNALL 

Who  that  wyll  serue  in  loyalte 

Marchauntes,  preestes,  or  gentylmen, 

To  them  dylygent  must  euer  be, 

And  on  euery  hande  haue  fyngers  ten. 

Thou  seruaunt  that  herest  thy  felawes  blame. 
And  that  he  is  not  theyr  present. 

Blame  hym  for  gyuynge  his  yll  name, 
Supportynge  hym  that  is  absent. 

Ye  seruauntes  in  ony  wyse 

Haue  taken  charge  of  besynes, 
Erly  in  the  mornynge  se  ye  ryse, 

Your  werke  and  laboure  to  redresse. 

Ye  that  ai'e  seruauntes  in  noblesse. 
In  kynges  courte  and  other  where, 

Gyue  euer  honour  to  gentylnesse, 

And  your  souerayne  lorde  loue  and  fere. 

Ye  seruauntes  that  in  courte  remayne, 
Whiche  here  ony  falshode  or  subtylte, 

llolde  your  tonge  and  not  com  play  ne, 
But  yf  it  touche  the  mageste. 

Seruauntes  in  courte  that  haue  governaunce 

Of  the  comenty  in  ony  wyse. 
Ought  not  so  ferre  them  to  auaunce, 

Leest  theyr  mayster  them  dyspyse. 


OF  GOOD  SERVAUNTES. 

You  marchauntes  seruauntes  1  you  auyse, 
And  ye  labourers  bothe  daye  and  nyght, 

Set  not  your  mynde  on  couetyse, 

Auoyde  falshode,  or  ye  do  not  ryght. 

Seruauntes  ought  not  to  ensue 

Theyr  owne  wyll  nor  volunte, 
But  to  theyr  mayster  to  be  true, 

Doynge  his  wyll  with  humelyte. 

Seruauntes  that  are  good  and  true, 

Ought  faythfuUy  to  bye  and  sell ; 
Fraude  and  falshode  must  they  eschue, 

EUes  are  they  theues,  and  go  to  hell. 

Ye  marchauntes  seruauntes,  that  go  by  the  wayc 
To  bye  or  sell  your  marchaundyse. 

Where  ye  become  do  truely  paye. 

And  giue  true  compte  in  your  aduyse. 

And  ye  that  serueth  labourers, 

Of  sloathfulnes  se  ye  beware. 
Be  dylygent  in  all  maners. 

And  by  no  meanes  your  body  spare. 

Seruauntes  of  chyrche  or  of  noblesse, 

Of  laboure  or  of  marchaundyse, 
Thinke  that  trouth  is  worthe  rychesse, 

Therfore  loue  yt  in  ony  wyse. 


8  THE  DOCTRYNALL 

Ye  seruauntes  that  wayte  vpou  the  table, 

Be  ye  honest  and  dylygent, 
To  hym  that  is  most  honourable 

Afforme  your  maners  and  entent. 

Couer  your  borde  honestly, 

After  the  custome  of  the  countre ; 

And  whan  they  are  set  do  you  applye, 
Echone  to  serue  after  his  degre. 

Yf  ony  be  amonge  them  all 

To  whome  your  mayster  wyll  do  honoure, 
Tende  ye  hym  as  pryneypall, 

Therby  shall  ye  fall  in  fauoure. 

Fyrst  serue  ye  in  the  potage, 

And  than  eche  meet  after  his  degre. 

And  be  ye  euer  ware  of  outrage, 
Or  tatche  of  dyshoneste. 

Ye  seruauntes  that  at  home  do  byde, 
Wlian  your  mayster  is  forth  of  towne, 

Ye  wysest  sholde  the  other  guyde, 
Kepynge  good  rule  and  prouysyowne. 

And  ye  seruauntes  of  euery  place, 
Whan  that  the  dyner  is  at  an  ende. 

Present  yourselfe  for  to  saye  grace, 

Thankynge  that  Lorde  that  all  dooth  sende. 


OF  GOOD  SERVAUNTES. 

UTian  that  your  mayster  is  fro  the  table, 
And  eche  thynge  as  it  sholde  be, 

Take  your  repast  that  is  agreable, 
So  ye  behaue  you  honestly. 

Yf  that  tliou  wylte  thy  mayster  please, 
Thou  must  haue  these  thre  prepryetees, 

For  to  lyue  at  thyne  hertes  ease, 
Auoydynge  many  of  aduersytees. 

A  hartes  fete  with  eeres  of  an  asse. 
An  hogges  snowt  to  must  thou  haue, 

So  mayst  thou  please  in  euery  case 
Thy  mayster,  yf  thou  the  thus  behaue. 

Uy  an  asse  eeres  this  is  mente. 

That  thou  must  harken  hym  a  boute. 

And  yi"  that  he  be  not  content, 

Saye  nought,  but  se  thou  hym  doute. 

By  the  hogges  snowte  vnderstonden  is 
What  mete  soeuer  to  the  is  brought. 

Though  it  be  somwhat  a  mys, 

Holde  thy  peas  and  grutche  nought. 

As  to  regarde  of  the  fete  of  an  harte. 
They  sholde  euer  theyr  mayster  socoure, 

Payne  the  for  hjnn  though  that  thou  smerte. 
To  renne  and  go  at  euery  houre. 


10  THE  DOCTRYNALL 

Nyght  nor  day  spare  no  laboure, 
Rader  than  he  shokle  haue  domage, 

Helpe  hym  in  welth  and  in  doloure, 
Yf  ony  wolde  do  hym  outrage. 

Yf  thou  thus  truely  thy  mayster  serue. 
He  wyll  it  perceyue  within  a  whyle, 

Than  shalte  thou  haue  that  thou  doost  descrue, 
And  a  good  name  that  none  dooth  fyle. 

But  yf  that  thou  do  hym  begyle, 

He  shall  perceyue  it  at  the  laste, 
Than  shall  thy  dedes  thy  name  dyffyle, 

And  out  of  his  hous  he  shall  the  cast. 

Whan  that  thou  arte  thus  departed 

Without  his  loue  dyshonestely, 
As  a  seruaunte  full  yll  aduerted, 

And  other  mayster  must  thou  aspye. 

Than  shall  they  come  pryuely 

And  aske  whyder  thou  were  yll  or  good ; 
Yf  he  say  yll  and  the  bewrye, 

No  man  wiU  haue  the,  by  my  hood. 

But  yf  some  be  in  uecessyte, 

And  can  none  other  seruaunte  fynde, 

Suche  peraduenture  wyll  haue  the, 

But  euer  thou  shalte  fynde  hym  vnkynde. 


OF  GOOD  NERVAL' NTIiS.  11 

But  yf  he  be  a  foole  or  blynde, 

EUes  wyll  he  none  of  thy  seruyce  ; 
Than  must  thou  wander  afore  the  wynde, 

Thei'fore  of  this  se  tliou  be  wyse. 

Let  pacyence  abate  thy  maysters  rygour, 
And  take  good  hede  to  his  condycyon, 

Thou  shalt  to  hym  do  grete  honour, 
Submyttynge  the  to  his  correccyon. 

And  yf  thy  mayster  make  ye  his  secretary, 
Se  thou  haue  a  sare  tongue  and  stable  ; 

His  counseyle  se  thou  not  bewry, 

A  secrete  tongue  is  euer  prouffytable. 

And  yf  your  mayster  haue  an  vse 
To  swere  the  name  of  God  in  vayne, 

II  is  company  se  you  refuse, 

Leest  ye  be  brought  in  suche  a  trayue. 

Seruauntes  auoyde  the  company 

Of  them  that  playe  at  cardes  or  dyse, 

For  yf  that  ye  them  haunte  truely, 
To  thefte  shall  they  you  soone  attyse. 

Ye  seruauntes  that  se  the  courage, 

Of  your  mayster  on  angre  set, 
Yf  he  wyll  do  ony  man  domage. 

With  your  myght  se  ye  hym  lette. 


12  THE  DOCTRYNALL,  ETC, 

Ye  seruauntes  that  ben  in  batayle, 

Beware  pyll  not  the  comynte, 
Do  not  the  chyrche  robbe  ne  assayle, 

Of  God  defended  yf  ye  wyll  be. 

What  ye  do  stele  ye  must  restore, 

Or  here  be  hanged  shamfully, 
Or  the  hell  fyre  endure  therfore ; 

One  must  ye  suffre  of  thes  thre. 

Ye  seruauntes  that  ben  oft  angry, 

Or  oft  dysposed  for  to  fyght. 
By  dyscrecyon  rule  you  wysely, 

Hauynge  the  dethe  ay  in  your  syght. 

Sex'uauntes  yf  that  ye  wyll  ensue 

The  doctrynes  and  them  obserue. 
And  serue  and  loue  God  with  hertes  true, 

The  blysse  of  heuen  ye  shall  deserue. 

Wherof  the  kynge  shall  you  preserue, 

Sendynge  you  ryehesse  and  good  mundayne, 

Thus  in  this  worlde  can  not  ye  sterue, 
Yf  that  ye  fro  synne  you  refrayne. 

Ye  seruauntes  that  wyll  kepe  in  mynde, 

Thes  doctrynes  afore  specyfyed, 
Yf  ye  them  folowe  trust  well  to  fynde 

Some  maners  to  be  magnyfyed. 

Imprynted  at  London,  in  Fletestrete,  at  the  sygiie  of  Suyut 
Johan  Euangelyste,  by  me  Jolian  Butler. 


I^crr  is  ti^e  bof^c  of  mnpti  l^mlnn  tftat  Dntr 
.b.  iDusbantics  anb  all  l^oclxoltirs ;  sfie  luolli 
mafec  tj^cijr  bcrlics  toftctficr  t^rn  fajolb  or  no,  antr 
ague  tf)cm  to  toerc  a  pratn  tootrcfull  of  belles. 


THE  BOKE  OF  MAYD  EMLYN 


Wyll  ye  liero  of  meruaylk-s 
Drawne  out  of  Gospellcs 

Of  mayde  Emlynne, 
Tlmt  had  luisbandes  fyue, 
And  all  dyd  ncuer  thryue  ? 

She  coude  so  well  spynne, 
Louynge  to  go  gaye, 
And  seldom  for  to  praye, 

For  she  was  borne  in  synne  : 
Ofte  wolde  she  seke 
The  tauernes  in  the  weke, 

Tyll  her  wytte  was  thynne  ; 
Full  swetely  wolde  she  kys 
With  galauntes,  ywys, 

And  say  it  was  no  synne  ; 
Thus  collynge  in  armes 
Some  men  caught  harmes, 

Full  lytell  dyd  they  w^nne  ; 
And  if  her  husbande  said  ought, 
Loke  what  she  sonest  cought, 

At  his  heed  she  wolde  it  flynge. 


THE  BOKE  OF  MA  YD  EMLYX. 

She  wolde  saye,  lozell  thou 
I  wyll  teche  the,  I  trowe, 

Of  thy  language  to  blynne ; 
It  is  pyte  that  a  knaue 
A  prety  woman  sholde  haue, 

That  kuoweth  not  golde  from  tynne. 
I  trowe  thou  jalouse  be 
Bytwene  my  cosyn  and  me, 

That  is  called  syr  Sym  ; 
Thoughe  I  go  ofte  thyder, 
We  do  nought  togyder, 

But  prycked  balades  synge. 
And  I  so  cunnynge  be 
The  more  worshyp  is  to  the, 

Gyuynge  thanke  to  hym : 
For  he  me  fyrste  taught, 
So  I  may  cunnynge  caught, 

Whan  I  wente  a  brosshynge. 
With  suche  wordes  douse, 
Thys  lyteU  prety  mouse, 

The  yonge  lusty  prymme : 
She  coude  byte  and  whyne 
Whan  she  saw  her  tyme, 

And  with  a  prety  gynne, 
Gyue  her  husbande  an  home. 
To  blowe  with  on  the  morne : 

Beshrowe  her  whyte  skynne  ! 
And  ofte  wolde  she  sleke 
To  make  smothe  her  cheke. 

With  redde  roses  therin  ; 


TI1K  nOKK  OF  MAYP  KMLYN.  17 

Than  wolde  she  mete, 
Witli  Iter  leraman  swete, 

And  cutte  with  h}'ni  ; 
Talkynge  for  theyr  pleasure. 
That  cocke  with  the  Tether, 

Is  gone  an  huntynge  ; 
Hyraselfe  all  alone 
To  the  wode  he  is  gone 

To  here  the  kockowe  synge. 
Thus  with  her  playfere, 
iVIaketh  she  mery  chere, 

The  husbande  knoweth  nothynge ; 
She  gyueth  money  plente, 
Bycause  newe  loue  is  daynte, 

Unto  her  swetynge. 
And  prayeth  ofte  to  come, 
To  playe  there  as  shyneth  no  sonne  : 

So  at  the  nexte  metynge, 
She  gyueth  her  husbande  a  pry  eke 
That  made  hym  double  quycke, 

So  good  was  the  gretynge. 
Kocke,  called  of  the  bone, 
That  neuer  was  mayster  at  home, 

But  as  an  vnderlyuge ; 
His  wyfe  made  hym  so  wyse. 
That  he  wolde  tourne  a  peny  twyse, 

And  than  he  called  it  a  ferthynge. 
Nothynge  byleued  he 
But  that  he  dyd  with  his  eyes  se, 

Full  trewe  was  his  meanynge ; 

c 


18  THE  BOKE  OF  MAYD  EMLYN. 

She  cherysshed  hym  with  hrede  and  ehese, 
That  his  lyfe  he  dyd  lese : 

Than  made  she  mournynge, 
And  dranke  deuoutly  for  his  soule, 
The  handbell  ofte  dyd  she  coUe, 

Full  great  sorowe  makynge. 
This  sory  widowe 
But  a  Avhyle  I  trowe, 

Mournynge  dyd  make ; 
Whan  he  was  gone 
A  yonge  lusty  one, 

She  dyd  than  take  ; 
Longe  wolde  she  not  tary 
Lest  she  dyd  myscary, 

But  full  ofte  spake 
To  haste  the  weddynge 
And  all  for  beddynge, 

Some  sporte  to  make  ; 
Her  herte  to  ease 
And  the  flesshe  to  please, 

Sorowes  to  aslake. 
In  it  out  joyenge 
That  wanton  playenge, 

For  the  olde  husbandes  sake ; 
Yet  by  your  leue 
A  frere  dyd  she  gyue. 

Of  her  loue  a  flake ; 
And  sayd  in  her  ouen 
At  any  maner  of  season, 

That  he  sholde  bake, 


THE  BOKE  OF  MAYl)  EMLYN.  19 

There  is  rome  ynowe, 
For  other  and  for  you. 

And  space  to  set  a  cake. 
The  seconde  husbande  Nycoll, 
That  pore  sely  soulc, 

Myght  not  escape, 
A  kockolde  to  dye 
It  was  his  destenye, 

As  man  vnfbrtunate. 
His  wyfe  vndeuoute 
Ofte  wolde  go  aboute, 

And  steppe  ouer  many  a  hike  ; 
Makynge  bost  in  her  mode, 
That  her  husbande  can  no  more  good 

Than  can  an  vntaught  ape. 
Thus  by  her  scole 
Made  hym  a  fole, 

And  called  hym  dodypate  ; 
So  from  his  thryfte 
She  dyd  hym  lyfte, 

And  therof  creste  the  date  ; 
She  made  hym  sadde. 
And  sayd  he  was  badde, 

Croked  legged  lyke  a  stake  ; 
She  lyked  not  his  face, 
And  sayd  he  mouthed  was 

Moost  lyke  an  hawke ; 
This  good  man  ease, 
Was  lothe  to  dysplease. 

But  yet  thought  somwhat, 

c  2 


20  THE  BOKE  OF  MAYD  EMLYN. 

Thynkynge  in  his  mynde, 
That  a  man  can  fynde, 

A  wyfe  neuer  to  late ; 
For  of  theyr  properte, 
Shx-ewes  all  they  be, 

And  style  can  they  prate. 
All  women  be  suche 
Thoughe  the  man  here  the  breche, 

They  wyll  be  euer  checkemate. 
Faced  lyke  an  aungell, 
Tonged  lyke  a  deuyll  of  hell, 

Great  causers  of  debate ; 
They  loke  full  smothe, 
And  be  false  of  loue, 

Venymous  as  a  snake. 
Desyrynge  to  be  praysed, 
A  iofte  to  be  raysed, 

As  an  hyghe  estate ; 
And  these  wanton  dames 
Ofte  chaungeth  theyr  names, 

As  An,  Jane,  Besse  and  Kate. 
Thus  thynketh  he, 
In  his  mynde  pryuely, 

And  nought  dare  saye ; 
For  he  that  is  maysterfast, 
Full  ofte  is  agast. 

And  dare  not  ronne  and  playe. 
If  she  be  gladde, 
Than  is  he  sadde, 

And  fere  of  a  sodayne  fraye, 


THE  IJOKE  0\-   >I.\V1)  KMLYN. 

For  WdiiianV  prvdr 

Is  to  lauglie  Jiiul  cliydo, 

Kuery  lioun.'  in  a  tla\  <•. 
Wluin  she  ilotlie  loure, 
And  begynucth  to  snown-, 
Pyteously  dothe  he  >ayo, 
Wliat  do  ye  lacke  ? 
()ny  thynge  swete  herte, 

That  I  to  you  gyue  maye. 
She  answered  hym 
With  wordes  grotchynge, 

Wysshynge  her  solfe  in  chiye, 
And  sayth  tliat  she  lackes 
Many  i)rety  knackes, 

As  bedes  and  gyrdels  gaye  ; 
And  the  best  sporte 
Tliat  shohle  me  comforte, 

"Wliiche  is  a  swete  playe, 
I  can  it  not  haue, 
For  so  God  me  saue. 

Thy  power  is  not  to  paye. 
There  is  nought, 
Nought  may  be  couglit, 
I  can  no  more  saye  ; 
Many  men  nowe  here 
Can  not  women  chere, 

But  maketh  ofte  delay  ; 
The  wyfe  dothe  mone, 
It  is  not  at  home, 

And  borroweth  tyll  a  daye, 


22  THE  BOKE  OF  MAYD  EMLYN. 

What  it  is  I  trowe, 
Well  ynoughe  ye  knowe, 
It  is  no  nede  to  saye ; 
Thus  saye  the  wyues, 
If  theyr  husbandes  thryues, 
That  they  the  causers  be ! 
They  gete  two  wayes, 
Bothe  with  worke  and  playes, 

By  theyr  huswyuery. 
With  theyr  swete  lyppes, 
And  lusty  hyppes, 

They  worke  so  plesauntly, 
Some  wyll  fall  anone 
For  they  be  not  stronge, 

They  be  weyke  in  the  kne. 
Be  they  pore  or  be  they  ryche, 
I  beshrewe  all  suche, 

Amen  nowe  saye  ye ; 
They  thynke  it  is  as  great  alraes, 
As  to  saye  the  seuen  psalmes, 

And  dothe  it  for  charyte. 
To  gete  gownes  and  furs, 
These  nysebeceturs, 

Of  men  sheweth  theyr  pyte, 
Somtyme  for  theyr  lust, 
Haue  it  they  must, 

Or  seke  wyll  they  be ; 
If  it  do  stycke 
And  she  fele  it  quycke. 
Full  slyle  dothe  she 


THE  BOKE  OF  MAYD  EMLYN.  23 

Begyn  for  to  grone, 

And  Avjssheth  she  hafl  lyne  alone. 

What  ajleth  you  than  ?  sayth  he, 
She  saythe,  syr  I  am  with  chylde, 
It  is  yours  by  Mary  mykie  ! 

And  so  he  weneth  it  be. 
Whan  played  is  the  playe, 
Jacke  the  husbande  must  paye, 

This  dayly  may  ye  se. 
He  was  gladde  ywys, 
Of  that  that  is  not  his, 

And  dothe  it  vp  kepe  ; 
She  that  dothe  mocke  hyui, 
Another  mannes  concubyne, 

And  hys  chylde  eke : 
Lo  thus  dothe  landes 
Fall  in  wronge  ayres  handes, 

The  causers  may  well  wepe  ; 
And  worse  dothe  happen  truely, 
The  broder  the  syster  dothe  mary. 

And  in  bedde  togyther  slepe. 
To  synne  lyghtely  wyll  the  chylde  drawe, 
That  is  bekoten  without  lawe, 

Wedlocke  is  veray  swete ; 
But  ones  for  all 
The  daye  come  shall. 

The  crye  shall  be  welawaye  ; 
Of  all  wedlocke  brekers, 
Thus  saythe  greate  prechers, 

Theyr  dettes  shall  they  truely  paye. 


24  THE  BOKE  OF  MAYD  EMLYN. 

All  they  that  dothe  offende, 
God  graunt  them  to  amende, 

And  therfore  lette  vs  praye. 
But  nowe  of  Emlyne  to  speke, 
And  more  of  her  to  treate, 

Truely  for  to  saye. 
Whan  the  seconde  husbande  was  dede, 
The  thyrde  husbande  dyde  she  wedde, 

In  full  goodly  araye. 
But  as  the  deuyll  wolde, 
Oi'  the  pyes  were  colde, 

Fell  a  sodayne  fraye  ; 
Moyses  had  a  newe  brother, 
It  wolde  be  none  other, 

And  all  came  thorughe  playe. 
But  mayde  maydenhode  myssynge, 
Knoweth  what  longeth  to  kyssynge. 

It  is  no  nede  to  saye. 
She  loued  well  I  trowe, 
And  gaue  hym  sorowe  ynowe. 

But  ones  on  the  daye, 
With  hym  wolde  she  chyde, 
He  durst  not  loke  asyde, 

The  bounde  must  euer  obaye. 
This  man  was  olde 
And  of  compleccyon  colde, 

Nothynge  lusty  to  playe  ; 
She  was  fuU  ranke, 
And  of  condycyons  eranke, 

And  redy  was  alvvaye ; 


THE  BUKE  OK  MAYD  EMLYN.  2o 

In  Venus  toyes 
"Was  all  hei'  joyes, 

Seldome  sayde  she  iiaye  ; 
At  the  laste  she  thought, 
That  her  husbande  was  nouglit, 

And  purposed  ou  a  daye, 
To  shorten  his  lyt'e, 
And  as  a  true  wyfe 

She  wolde  it  not  delaye. 
To  t'ultyU  her  lust, 
In  a  well  she  hym  thrust, 

"Without  any  Iraye ; 
Aud  made  countenaunce  sad 
As  thoughe  she  be  sory  had ; 

Also  in  good  fa}'e, 
A  reed  onyon  wolde  she  kepe, 
To  make  her  eyes  wepe. 

In  her  kerchers  I  saye. 
She  was  than  stedfast  and  stronge. 
And  kepte  her  a  wydowe  veraye  longe, 

In  faythe  almoost  two  dayes ; 
Bycause  she  made  greate  mone. 
She  wolde  not  lye  louge  alone. 

For  fere  of  sodayne  frayes ; 
Leste  her  husbande  dede 
Wolde  come  to  her  bedde, 

Thus  in  her  mynde  she  sayes. 
The  fourthe  husbande  she  cought. 
That  was  lyke  her  nexte  uought, 

For  he  vsed  his  playes — 


26  THE  BOKE  OF  MAYD  EMLYN. 

With  maydens,  wyues  and  nonnes ; 
None  amysse  to  hym  commes, 

Lyke  they  be  of  layes ; 
Hym  she  lyked  yll, 
She  prayed  the  fende  hym  kyll, 

Bycause  he  vsed  her  wayes  : 
This  maunes  name  was  Harry, 
He  coude  full  clene  eary, 

He  loued  prety  gayes. 
So  it  happened  at  the  last 
An  halfepeny  halter  made  hym  fast, 

And  therin  he  swayes ; 
Than  she  toke  great  thought, 
As  a  woman  that  careth  nought, 

So  for  his  soule  she  prayes ; 
And  bycause  she  was  seke 
She  wedded  the  same  weke, 

For  very  pure  pyte  and  wo. 
Yet  or  she  was  wedded, 
Thryse  had  she  bedded, 

And  great  hast  made  thcrto. 
The  husbande  had  sone  ynowe, 
But  Emlyn  bended  her  browe, 

And  thought  she  had  not  so, 
But  to  ease  her  louer 
She  toke  another. 

That  lustely  coude  do  ; 
One  that  yonge  was, 
That  coude  ofte  her  basse, 

Whiche  she  had  fantesy  to. 


THE  BOKE  OF  MAYD  EMLYN. 

He  coude  well  awaye, 
AVith  her  lusty  playe, 

And  neuer  wolde  haue  do. 
Bycause  he  coude  clepe  her, 
She  called  hym  a  whypper  ; 

And  as  they  were  togyder 
They  bothe  swetely  played  ; 
A  sergeaunt  them  afrayed, 

And  sayd  they  were  full  queuer. 
They  were  than  full  wo, 
The  frere  wolde  ben  a  go, 

He  cursed  that  he  came  thyder ; 
"Whether  they  were  leue  or  lothe, 
He  set  them  in  the  stockes  bothe, 

He  wolde  none  dysceyuer. 
In  niyddes  of  the  market 
Full  well  was  set, 

In  full  fayre  wether, 
For  it  dyd  hayle  and  thonder ; 
On  them  many  men  dyd  wonder. 

But  Enilyne  laughed  ever ; 
She  thought  it  but  a  jape, 
To  se  men  at  her  gape, 

Therof  she  shamed  neuer ; 
And  sayd  for  her  sportynge, 
It  is  but  for  japynge, 

That  we  be  brought  hyder ; 
It  is  nother  treason  nor  felony, 
But  a  knacke  of  company, 

And  dye  had  I  leuer 


28  THE  BOKE  OP  MAYD  EMLYN. 

Than  it  forsake, 

For  I  wyll  mery  make, 

IVTiyle  youthe  hathe  fay  re  wether. 
Whan  her  husbande  it  knewe 
Sore  dycl  he  it  rewe, 

And  was  so  heuy  and  wo, 
He  toke  a  surfet  with  a  cup, 
That  made  hym  tourne  his  heels  vp, 

And  than  was  he  a  go. 
And  whan  she  was  at  large, 
Care  she  dyde  dyscharge, 

And  in  her  mynde  thought  tho  ; 
Nowe  wyll  I  haue  my  luste, 
With  all  them  that  wyll  juste. 

In  spyte  of  them  that  saythe  so  . 
And  bycause  she  loued  rydynge, 
At  the  stewes  was  her  abydynge, 

Without  wordes  mo ; 
And  all  that  wolde  entre. 
She  durst  on  them  ventre, 

Veray  gentyll  she  was  lo ; 
And  longe  or  she  were  dede, 
She  w^ente  to  begge  her  brede, 

Suche  fortune  had  she  tho ; 
God  dyd  bete  her  surely, 
With  the  rodde  of  pouerte, 

Or  she  dyde  hens  go. 
Than  she  dyed  as  ye  shall, 
But  what  of  her  dyde  befall, 

Naye  there  do  I  ho ; 


THE  BOKE  OF  MAYD  EMLYN.  29 

But  they  that  rede  this  erly  or  late, 
I  praye  Jesu  theyr  soules  take, 
Araen  saye  ye  also. 


FINIS. 


Iiiijirynted  at  London  without  Xewrgate,  in  Saynt  Pulker's  Parysslie, 
by  ine  John  Skot,  dwellyiige  in  tlir  Ohio  Bayly. 


fBcrr    bcggnnttt    tfjc   nctw    /lotboriinr    maijlr 
fapon    tfjc   passion    of   Crpstc. 


IIKIIE  BEGYNNETH  THE  NEW  NOTBORUXE 
MAYD  VPON  THE  PASSION  OF  CRYSTE. 


Ryght  and  no  wrong, 
It  is  amonge 

Yt  I  of  man  complayne, 
Affyrmynge  this, 
Howe  that  it  is 

A  laboure  spent  in  vaync. 
To  loue  hym  well, 
For  neuer  a  dell 

lie  wyll  me  loue  agayiie  : 
For  though  that  I 
Me  sore  applye 

His  faner  to  attayne, 
Yet  yf  that  shrewe 
To  hym  pursue 

That  clepyd  is  Sathan, 
Hym  to  eonuerte, 
Sone  from  his  herte 

I  am  a  banysshed  man. 

MARIA  THE  MAYDE. 

I  say  not  naye, 
Bothe  nyght  and  daye, 


St  THE  NEW  NOTBORUNE  MA  YD 

Swete  Sonne  as  ye  hane  sayde, 
Man  is  vnkyntle, 
Hys  faythfull  mynde 

In  maner  is  halfe  decayed  ; 
But  neuer  the  lesse, 
Through  ryght  wysenes 

Theyrwith  be  not  apayed ; 
Yet  mercy  trewe 
Muste  contynewe. 

And  not  aparte  be  layed  ; 
Syth  ye  for  loue 
Carae  frome  aboue, 

Frome  your  father  in  ti'one, 
Of  louynge  niynde 
To  warde  mankynde, 

To  dye  for  hym  alone. 

JESUS. 

Than  ye  and  I, 
Mother  Marye, 

Let  vs  despute  in  fere  ; 
Ryght  hertely  I  you  supply, 

Your  reason  lette  me  here. 
With  man  vnkynde, 
Hath  neuer  mynde, 

Of  me  that  bought  hym  dere  ; 
If  his  folye 
Shulde  haue  mercy, 

Ayenste  all  ryght  it  were. 


VPON  THE  PASSION  OF  CRYSTE.  35 

1  am  by  lyglit 
The  kynge  of  lyght, 

For  man  my  blode  out  ranne  ; 
Ye  knowe  a  parte, 
Yet  from  his  herte 

I  am  a  banysshed  man. 


Here  in  your  \vyll 
For  to  fulfyU, 

I  wyll  not  soue  refuse, 
To  say  the  truthe 
More  is  it  ruthe, 

I  cannot  man  excuse ; 
To  his  owne  shame 
He  is  to  blame, 

His  lyfe  soo  to  measure. 
Yet  though  rygoure 
Without  fauour, 

Wolde  hyni  theyrfore  accuse, 
Mercy  I  pleate 
That  is  more  greate, 

Than  rygoure  ten  to  one  ; 
Syth  of  good  mynde 
Towarde  mankynde, 

Ye  dyed  for  liym  alone. 

JESUS. 

The  cause  stode  so, 
Suche  dedes  were  do, 

D  2 


56  THE  NEW  NOTBORUNE  MAYD 

Wherfore  moche  harrae  dyde  growe 
To  man,  and  I 
Came  for  to  dye, 

A  shamefull  detlie  ye  knowe, 
Vpon  a  tree. 
To  make  hym  free. 

This  loue  I  dyde  hym  showe ; 
Yet  to  my  lawe 
For  loue  nor  awe, 

He  wyll  not  bende  nor  bowe. 
Thus  my  dere  mother, 
For  man  my  brother, 

Let  me  do  what  I  canne, 
Hym  to  conuerte, 
Yet  from  his  herte 

I  am  a  banysshed  man. 


O  lorde  of  blysse, 
Remembre  this, 

Howe  mannes  mynde  is  like  the  mone ; 
Is  varyable, 
Frayle,  and  vnstable, 

At  morowe,  nyhgt,  and  noone. 
Though  he  vnkynde 
Haue  not  in  mynde, 

What  ye  for  hym  haue  doone ; 
Yet  haue  compassyon, 
Of  our  saluacyon, 

Forsake  not  man  so  soone. 


Vl'OX  THE  PASSION  OF  CUYSTE.  07 

A  whyle  hym  spare, 
He  shall  prepare 

Ilym  selfe  to  you  anone  ; 
With  harte  and  mynde, 
Louynge  and  kynde, 

To  seme  but  you  alone. 

JESUS. 

I  can  beleue 
He  shall  remeue, 

His  synne  a  daye  or  twayne ; 
But  lytell  space, 
That  God  of  grace, 

Wyll  in  his  herte  remayne ; 
It  shall  aslake, 
And  he  wyll  take, 

His  okle  vsage  agayne : 
So  from  his  thought, 
I  that  hym  bought, 

Shall  be  expoulsed  playne. 
Thus  wyll  he  do, 
Swete  mother,  loo, 

Holde  ye  all  that  ye  canne ; 
Vpon  his  parte. 
Yet  frome  his  herte, 

I  am  a  banysshed  man. 

MARIA. 

Swete  Sonne,  syth  ye 
To  make  hym  fre, 

4  5  3  7 1 


38  THE  NEW  NOTBORUNE  MAYD 

Wold  dye  of  your  good  myude  ; 
Your  herte  souerayne, 
Clouen  in  twayne, 

By  longes  the  blynde. 
And  all  was  done 
That  man  alone, 

Shulde  not  be  lefte  behynde  ; 
Your  goodnes  euer, 
Dothe  styll  perseuer, 

Though  he  haue  ben  vnkynde. 
What  is  oiFendyd, 
Shall  be  amended, 

Ye  shall  persayue  anone  ; 
He  shall  be  kynde, 
Yeldynge  his  mynde 

And  loue  to  you  alone. 


Matter  in  dede. 

My  sydes  dyde  blede 

For  man,  ryght  as  ye  saye, 
Yet  yonge  and  olde, 
He  neuer  wolde 

Vnto  my  lawes  obaye. 
But  to  fulfyll 
His  wanton  wyll, 

Wrenchynge  from  me  alway. 
Frome  his  delyght, 
By  day  or  nyght, 

He  wyll  make  no  delay : 


VPON  THE  PASSION  OF  CllYSTE.  39 

Lo  mother !   he 
Refuseth  me, 

And  tourneth  hyni  to  Sathan ; 
Thus  from  his  thought, 
I  that  hym  bought, 

Am  made  the  banysslied  man. 


Bothe  olde  and  yonge, 
He  hathe  done  wronge, 

I  graunt  sone  to  the  same ; 
Knowynge  at  large 
In  Sathan's  barge, 

Emparynge  his  good  name. 
Syth  ye  hym  loue, 
A  greate  reproue 

It  is  to  hym,  and  shame  ; 
I  do  confesse 
By  ryght  wysenes, 

He  is  greatly  to  blame  : 
But  I  commence 
Afore  clemence, 

For  man  myne  accyon  ; 
Let  rygour  reste, 
Mercy  can  beste 

Determyn  this  alone. 

JESUS. 

Consydre  nowe 
Swete  mother,  howe 


40  THE  NEW  NOTBORUNE  MAYD 

Man  is  a  wylde  outlawe ; 
Renneth  a  boughte 
In  euery  route, 

Workynge  ayenst  my  lawe  ; 
And  yf  the  deuyll 
Tempte  hym  to  euyll, 

Theyrto  sone  wyll  he  drawe, 
And  all  myschefe, 
Ys  to  hym  lefe, 

Withouten  loue  or  awe. 
To  me  or  yon, 
Though  for  his  prowe 

Ye  do  to  aU  ye  can, 
Whan  all  is  sought, 
Quyet  frome  his  thought 

I  am  a  banysshed  man. 

MARIA. 

Though  as  ye  say 
lie  disobaye 

Your  commaundement  and  lore. 
Yet  yf  loue  make 
Hym  to  forsake. 

His  synne  and  wepe  therfore; 
With  full  contrycyon 
For  his  transgressyon. 

His  herte  oppressynge  sore  ; 
Contryte  and  meke, 
As  Dauyd  speke. 

What  aske  ye  of  hym  more. 


VPON  THE  PASSION  OF  CRYSTE.  41 

My  Sonne,  my  lorde, 
Your  prophyte's  Avorde 

I  pray  you  thynke  vpon, 
And  ye  shall  fynde 
Man  meke  and  kynde, 

To  serue  but  you  alone. 


My  lierte  and  niawe 
To  rent  and  dravve, 

And  me  with  othes  to  bynde, 
Cheseth  not  he ; 
Grace  or  pytye, 

In  hym  can  I  none  fynde. 
The  crewell  Jewes, 
Were  to  me  shrewes, 

But  he  is  more  vnkynde ; 
Syth  for  his  prowe, 
He  knoweth  well  howe, 

I  dyde  of  louynge  myude. 
Of  me  eche  raembre 
He  dothe  remembre, 

"With  othes  aU  that  he  can ; 
Thus  ofte  I  fynde 
Me  in  his  mynde, 

But  elles  a  banysshed  man. 

MARIA. 

Full  well  knowe  ye, 
Ayenst  thyes  thre 


42  THE  NEW  NOTBORUNE  MAYD 

Man  feble  is  to  fyght, 
The  deuyll,  his  flesshe, 
The  worlde  all  fresshe, 

Prouoke  hym  day  and  nyght 
To  sue  theyr  trace, 
Wliyche  in  eche  case, 

Is  wronge  and  neuer  I'yght ; 
That  thyne  stabylyte, 
Of  his  fragylyte, 

Ayenst  them  hath  no  myhgt. 
Though  man  that  frayle  is, 
Swere  armes  and  nales, 

Brane,  blode,  sydes,  passyon ; 
Swete  Sonne  regarde, 
Your  paynes  harde. 

Ye  dyded  for  hym  alone. 

JESUS. 

Now  for  mannes  nede 
Sith  I  wolde  blede, 

And  great  anguysshe  sustayne, 
In  stony  wayes. 
Both  nyghtes  and  dayes, 

Walkynge  in  frost  and  rayne, 
In  clode  and  hete, 
In  drye  and  wete, 

My  fete  were  bare  both  twayne ; 
Though  I  for  loue 
To  mannes  behoue 

Endured  all  this  payne ; 


VPON  THE  PASSION  OF  CRYSTE.  43 

That  I  therfore 
Sholde  spare  the  more, 

No  reason  fyiide  ye  can ; 
Rather  I  sholde 
More  strayte  hym  holde, 

And  as  a  banysshed  man, 

MARIA. 

Yet  my  sonne  dere 
I  pray  you  here, 

"VVTiat  tyme  poure  reason  is  ; 
Mannes  soule  to  cure, 
Ye  dyde  endure 

Moche  payne,  I  knowe  well  this. 
To  man  all  vayne 
Shulde  be  your  payne, 

If  he  were  put  to  blys ; 
For  playne  remyssyon 
Is  my  petycyon, 

Wliere  man  liathe  wrought  amys. 
Ye  be  his  leche, 
I  you  beseche 

To  saulu-  his  sores  echone, 
That  he  vnkynde, 
May  chaunge  his  mynde, 

And  serue  but  you  alone. 

JESUS. 

Hyther  or  theder, 

He  careth  not  whyther. 


44  THE  NEW  NOTBORUNE  MAYD 

He  go  hym  to  enclyne 
To  wyckydnesse ; 
From  all  goodnesse 

He  dayly  dothe  declyne. 
In  cardes  and  dyee, 
He  corapteth  no  vyce, 

Nor  syttynge  at  the  wyne  ; 
To  fyght  and  swere, 
To  rent  and  tere 

Asondre  me  and  myne. 
Lo  thus  he  dothe, 
To  make  me  wrothe, 

The  worst  he  may  or  can  ; 
And  I  am  twynde, 
Out  of  his  mynde, 

Ryght  as  a  banysshed  man. 


My  dere  sonne  dere, 
Syth  ye  the  clere 

Fountayne  of  mercy  be, 
Though  man  be  frayle, 
He  may  not  fayle, 

To  fynde  in  you  pytye. 
He  wyll  I  truste 
Frome  worldely  lust, 

Turne  his  swete  soule  to  me. 
And  in  shorte  space 
So  stande  in  grace, 

That  I  liis  soule  shall  .^e 


VPON  THE  PASSION  OF  CRYSTE.  45 

To  blysse  asseude 
That  hathe  none  ende, 

Thei*e  to  remayne  as  one 
That  hathe  ben  kynde, 
And  set  his  inynde 

To  serue  but  you  iilone. 

JESUS. 

Man  greueth  me  sore, 
For  lasse  nor  more, 

Wyll  he  wons  doo  for  me  ; 
Ones  in  a  yere 
A  good  prayer, 

He  sayeth  not  on  his  kne. 
The  poure  may  stande. 
With  empty  hande, 

For  almes  theyr  v\'}ll  none  be ; 
Bothe  day  and  nyght, 
He  flyeth  the  ryght. 

But  folye  he  wyll  not  He. 
His  proper  wyll, 
For  to  fulfyll 

He  doeth  all  that  he  can ; 
But  from  his  thought, 
I  that  hym  bought, 

Am  euer  a  banysshed  man. 

MARIA. 

If  man  for  you, 
Nor  his  owne  prow, 


46  THE  NEW  NOTBORUNE  MAYD 

Wyll  to  no  grace  procede  ; 
Mercy  or  grace, 
A  fore  your  face, 

He  none  cleserueth  in  dede. 
But  I  your  mother. 
For  man  your  brother. 

Make  instaunce  in  his  nede ; 
Though  he  deserue 
To  brynne  and  sterue 

In  the  infernall  glede  ; 
Spare  hym  for  me, 
And  ye  shall  se 

That  he  shall  toux'ne  anone 
Frome  his  folye, 
Incessantly 

To  serue  but  you  alone. 


Why  shulde  I  soo, 
Nay  let  hym  go, 

My  dere  mother  Mary, 
Syth  his  delyght 
Is  to  be  lyght. 

And  deale  so  vnkyndly. 
For  you  nor  me 
He  wyll  not  flee 

From  vyce ;   nor  hym  applye 
My  wordes  to  here, 
That  bought  hym  dere. 

On  crosse  anguyously. 


VPON  THE  PASSION  OF  CRYSTE.  47 

Bothe  yonge  and  olde, 
He  hathe  ben  bokle 

To  greue  me  that  be  can ; 
But  my  precept 
"Was  euer  vnkept, 

And  I  a  banjssbed  man. 

MARIA. 

For  rutbe  and  drede 
Myne  herte  doth  blede, 

Man  in  no  wyse  wyl  be 
By  reason  sayd, 
Nor  yet  apayed 

From  his  offence  to  flee. 
For  though  that  I 
For  remedye, 

Do  all  that  lyetli  in  me, 
To  haue  hym  cured, 
Yet  so  endured 

With  synne  and  vyce  is  he, 
That  to  be  shorte, 
Wliat  I  exhorte 

Not  herde  is,  yet  anone, 
I  trust  he  shall 
Make  well  his  thrall, 

And  serue  but  you  alone. 

JESUS. 

So  rude  and  wylde, 
And  so  defyled 


48  THE  NEW  NOTBORUNE  MAYD 

Is  he,  past  shame  and  drede, 
That  to  what  lawe, 
He  shulde  hym  drawe. 

He  scarsely  knoweth  in  dede. 
Yet  better  were 
For  hym  to  lere 

Some  vertii,  and  procede 
To  grace,  than  saye 
Another  daye, 

Alas,  my  wyeked  dede 
Hathe  me  betrayed ; 
Lo  thus,  good  mayde, 

The  daughter  of  saynte  Anne  ; 
Man  hath  exylede, 
Frorae  hym  your  chylde, 

Ryght  as  a  banysshed  man. 

MARIA, 

Wlian  all  to  all 
Shall  come,  he  shall 

I  trust  from  vyce  abrayed  ; 
And  flee  theyrfroo, 
^VTiiche  hathe  hym  so, 

Encombered  and  arayed. 
He  shall  repeli, 
Sathans  councell, 

That  ofte  hathe  hym  betrayed ; 
With  full  compounctyon 
To  take  thy  iniunction, 

That  shal  be  to  hym  layed. 


VPON  THE  PASSION  OF  CRYSTE.  49 

Of  harcle  penaunce  ; 
Atul  hjin  auaunce 

To  seche  reinyssyon, 
Full  reconsyled 
To  you  my  cliylile, 

To  serue  but  you  alone. 

JESUS. 

My  coniauudement, 
Neuer  tontcnte 

His  hyghnes  for  to  alowc ; 
Ilis  irons  braydc 
Wyll  not  be  layed 

For  me  nor  yet  for  you. 
Myne  yerte  to  teare 
He  liathe  no  feare, 

But  dare  it  well  avowe  ; 
Pryde  with  hym  goeth 
In  herte  and  cloth, 

How  say  ye,  mother,  nowc  ; 
Hy  thynketh  great  ease 
Me  to  dysplease, 

By  all  the  raeanes  he  can  ; 
But  whan  my  wyll 
He  shulde  fulfyU, 

I  am  a  banysshed  man. 

MARIA. 

Sonne,  though  mannes  blode 
Be  wylde  and  wode, 


THE  NEW  NOTBORUNE  MAYD 

Frayle  as  a  fadyng  lioure, 
Regardynge  nought 
How  ye  hym  bought, 

Out  of  the  fendes  powre  ; 
With  hertely  mynde 
Euer  enclyned 

To  be  a  trausgressoure 
Ayenst  your  lawe ; 
And  though  he  drawe 

Hymselfe  to  synne  eche  houre  ; 
Ye  may  not  soo 
His  soule  forgo, 

Syth  ye  syttynge  in  throne, 
Wolde  for  his  loue 
Come  frome  aboue 

To  dye  for  hym  alone. 

JESUS. 

Mother,  your  loue 
I  se  the  proue 

To  man  is  kynde  and  true  ; 
To  haue  his  lyfe 
Brought  out  of  stryfe, 

Kyndely  for  hym  ye  sue. 
And  yf  he  wold 
His  vyces  olde 

Forsake,  and  take  vertue ; 
I  wolde  for  ruthe, 
Seynge  the  truthe 

And  loue  that  ye  hym  shewe, 


VPON  THE  PASSION  OF  CRYSTE.  51 

Graunt  hym  reinyssyon, 
Vpon  condycyoii 

That  he  forsake  Sathan, 
That  I  may  fynde 
Me  in  his  myntle, 

And  as  no  banysslied  man. 

MARIA. 

Sonne,  your  petye 
And  charytye, 

Was  well  perceyued  and  sene  ; 
Whan  your  pleasure 
Was  to  endure 

To  lye  my  sydes  betvvene 
Nyne  monethes,  and  than 
Be  borne  as  man, 

And  to  bryuge  hym  from  tene  ; 
In  graue  be  layed, 
And  me  your  mayd 

To  make  of  heuen  queue  ; 
And  condestende 
Thus  at  the  ende 

To  graunte  man  your  pardon 
At  my  requeste, 
Wherfore  shulde  reste 

Greate  laude  to  you  alone. 


The  poore  at  nede 
To  clothe  and  fede, 

E  2 


52  THE  NEW  NOTBORUNE  MAYD 

Parte  of  his  rent  and  wage 
He  muste  bestow  e, 
Rememberynge  howe 

All  came  of  one  lynage. 
Forsakynge  synne 
He  may  me  Avynne  ; 

And  to  myne  herytage 
I  shall  hym  take, 
His  soule  to  make 

My  spouse  in  mariage. 
For  to  perseuer 
With  me  for  euer ; 

With  ioye  she  may  say  than, 
That  she  hathe  wonne 
A  kynges  sonne. 

And  not  a  banysshed  man. 

THE  TRANSLATOR. 

Regarde  and  se, 
0  man  to  the 

God  is  moche  fauorable  ; 
Eschewe  thou  than 
Reprefe  no  man, 

Beware  by  dedes  dampnable  ; 
In  any  wyse 
Euer  despyse 

Sathan  the  deceyuable ; 
Thy  soule  beware. 
Out  of  his  snare 

Neuer  be  founde  instable. 


VPON  THE  PASSION  OF  CRYSTE.  53 

Perseuerauntly 
Reason  apply e, 

Justely  let  all  be  done  ; 
Endlesse  solace 
Shall  he  purchase, 

That  sernetli  but  God  alone. 


Tlins  endeth  the  boke  of  the  iiewe  Notbrowue  Mnyd  vpon  the  Passyon 

of  Crrste,  imprinted  at  London  br  John  Skot,  dwellynge  in 

Foster  lane  within  Saynt  Lconardes  perysshe. 


HERE    BEGYNNETH 

A    C  O  jM  P  L  A  Y  N  T 

A    DOLOROUS    LOUER 

VPON  SUGRED  WORDES  AND  FAYNED 
COUNTENAUNCE. 


I  say,  in  right  is  reason,  in  trust  is  treason ; 
The  louo  of  a  woman  cloth  last  but  a  season. 


Imprinted  by  Robert  Wyer. 


IlKUE   BEGVNNETH  A  COMl'LAVNT  01 
A  DOLOROUS  LOUEll. 


C).  WHAT  (ly scoml'orte I   O,  what  dueyll  I 
^\'llat  grouaunce,  O,  what  syghes  depe, 

'J'hiis  froTii  my  pleasure  for  to  recuyll 

By  force  of  her  from  wliens  my  paynes  doth  crepe  ! 
To  weiniige  teres  tourncd  is  my  slepe ; 

O,  what  rage,  to  lone  suche  a  fygure  I 

Uoyded  of  pytie,  replyte  with  rygoure. 

( ).  what  Iiope,  what  solace  of  suche  seruyce  I 

',  how  am  I  with  dolour  furnysshed ! 
O,  what  dyspayre,  what  sadnes,  what  dystres  I 

As  one  in  bytter  tourmentes  garnysslied; 

"With  paynfuU  thoughtes  thus  to  be  banysshed 
From  lier  that  hath  aboue  all  creatures 
My  herte,  and  shall  whyle  the  worlde  endures. 

A\  liere  I  haue  euer  ben  constant  and  true, 

Content  and  glad  aboue  all  measure, 
To  do  that  thynge  that  myght  ensure 

To  her  delyght  and  dayly  pleasure  ! 

i)  dolorous  tourment  that  I  endure, 
Tluio  vnkyndly  to  be  forsid^en  I 
AVoldc  God  raythei'  deth  had  me  taken. 


58  A   COMPLAINT   OF 

O  what  recomforte  shuld  I  nowe  haue, 
For  the  langoure  wherin  I  am  wrapped ; 

Ha !  loue  vntrue  thou  doest  me  dysceyue, 
By  the  semblaunce  that  I  of  the  receyued, 
Helas  !  syth  I  no  sooner  perceyued 

The  sodayne  stroke  of  thy  vnkyndnesse, 

Which  deedly  dothe  my  herte  oppresse. 

Helas  !  to  longe  haue  I  attended, 

My  greuous  payne  to  deth  hath  me  brought ; 
And  where  to  loue  I  condyscended, 

Repent  I  cannot,  though  I  it  dere  hath  bought; 

My  trouth  and  fydelyte  is  nowe  set  at  nought. 
Helas !  moche  better  had  ben  for  me 
With  bestes  to  haue  lyued  that  vnknowen  be ; 

And  there  to  haue  eten  rootes  and  grasse  grene, 
And  taken  my  rest  in  places  dysconserte ; 

And  neuer  with  woman  to  haue  be  sene, 
But  so  to  haue  lyued  in  places  deserte. 
Then  had  I  not  knowen  the  causor  of  my  smerte, 

Whiche  lytell  regardeth  my  loue  assured. 

But  with  vnkyndnes  my  paynes  hath  procured, 

Whiche  are  so  greuous,  that  causeth  me  dayly 
To  crye  and  call  for  deth  moste  sodayne  ; 

Wyllynge  for  her  to  dye  more  gladly 
Then  to  haue  lyfe  with  her  dysdayne. 
Nowe  out  of  hope  I  do  remayne, 

Euer  to  reioyce  in  playe  or  dysporte, 

But  styll  to  endure  without  comforte. 


A   DOLOROUS   LOUER.  59 

So  with  complayntes  and  regretes  pyteous, 
Uoydecl  of  all  ioye  and  pleasure  dylectable  ; 

By  force  wherof  constrayned  to  do  thus, 
My  lyfe  to  lede  with  syghes  lamentable. 
Thus  is  my  grefe  imcomparable, 

And  the  remembraunce  of  her  swete  face 

From  my  iyes  maketh  the  teres  ronne  apace. 

Thus  do  I  thynke,  O  what  dyspleasure  ! 
What  grefe,  what  offence  haue  I  done  ? 

Helas  !  what  thynge  shuld  her  procure 
Thus  me  for  to  forsake  so  soone, 
For  my  true  herte  it  is  small  guerdone ; 

O  then  what  cause  haue  I  for  to  complayne. 

That  for  loue  suche  doloure  doth  sustayne! 

O  what  sorowe,  what  syghes  with  lamentacyons  ; 

What  cryes,  what  wepynges,  and  what  langoure  ; 
What  dueyll  tourmented  of  dyuers  facyons. 

What  rygoure,  what  payne,  what  doloure ! 

O  false  dysdayne  howe  myght  thou  endure 
Thy  selfe  in  suche  a  place  to  present, 
Whereas  pytie  shuld  haue  ben  resydent. 

Helas!  my  dayes  ai'e  shortened  by  thee, 
And  by  the  procurement  of  thy  rewarde  ; 

Wlierfore  I  may  lament  incessantly 

My  wyttes  trobled,  my  body  sore  apparde ; 
The  roote  of  my  sorowe  hath  no  regarde 

To  my  dyscomforte  and  deedly  payne; 

Wherfore  with  wo  to  lyue  I  muste  be  fayne. 


60  A    COMPLAINT    OF 

Helas!  haue  I  not  then  great  wronge, 

Syth  my  lyfe  is  abrydged  and  made  shorte, 

And  tliat  for  her  my  sorovves  stronge, 
Whiche  dayly  doth  to  me  resorte, 
Is  causoure  of  my  dyscomforte  ? 

Not  consyderynge  my  mortall  payne, 

And  greuous  sorowes  that  I  sustayne. 

Causeles  exempte  from  her  fauoure, 
Without  equyte,  reason,  or  ryght ; 

Helas  !    syth  justyce  hath  no  powre, 

Trouth  and  fydelyte  leseth  theyr  myght. 
Fayned  countenannce  hath  blynded  my  syght 

Whom  I  thought  faythfull  had  ben  alwayes, 

With  cruell  dysdayne  my  wages  payes. 

Nothynge  in  erthe  so  moche  dyd  me  please, 
As  to  hear  laude  or  commendacyon 

Gyuen  vnto  her;  it  dyd  my  herte  moche  ease, 
And  also  no  trouble,  syckenes,  nor  vexacyon. 
Thus  me  to  grefe  was  none  occasyon 

But  her  vnkyndnes,  whom  I  supposed 

Her  sugred  wordes  had  not  ben  glosed. 

Whiche,  as  me  seemed,  was  able  to  constrayne 
The  power  of  dethe,  to  withdrawe  his  hande ; 

But  nowe,  helas  !  my  hope  is  all  in  vayne ; 
I  haue  it  loste  that  shuld  withstande, 
That  was  my  ioye  is  nowe  my  wande ; 


A   DOLOROUS   LOUER.  61 

My  scorge,  my  tourment,  and  my  trauelle, 
Worse  to  endure  then  the  payues  of  helle. 

By  force  wherof  dymmed  is  my  syght, 
My  wyttes  rauysshed,  my  lyfe  is  wery, 

My  herynge  stopped,  my  speche  hath  no  myght, 
Thus  is  there  nothynge  can  me  mery, 
My  dessperat  dolour  my  body  wolde  bery. 

The  longer  I  lyue  the  more  is  my  payne, 

"VVherfore  to  dye  I  wolde  be  glad  and  fayne. 

My  hole  desyre  is  to  be  alone, 

That  I  may  haue  her  in  remembraunce. 

That  is  the  causore  of  my  mone, 

The  roote  and  grounde  of  all  my  greuaunce  ; 
Helas !  nowe  haue  I  loste  my  vtteraunce, 

My  tonge  is  faynt  to  crye  or  call, 

My  voyce  is  feble,  with  lyfe  ryght  small. 

Constraynt  of  wo  causeth  the  teres 
From  my  iyes  plentuously  to  dystyll, 

Suche  habundaunce  of  sorowe  my  herte  beres, 
That  my  tonge  can  not  vtter  thefFecte  of  my  wyll. 
My  greuous  herte  my  body  doth  fyll. 

Thus  dyenge  and  not  dead,  I  do  endure, 

A  hertles  body  without  pleasure. 

Thus  adieu,  farewell  aU  ioye  and  pleasure ; 

Adieu  all  companye  of  myrthe  and  dyssporte  ; 
Adieu  all  luthynge  with  songe  or  daunce, 


02  A   COMPLAINT,    ETC. 

Where  in  tymes  past  I  had  comforte ; 

But  nowe,  helas  I  I  muste  resorte 
Vnto  that  doloure  of  doloui'S  most  dolorous, 
The  payne  of  paynes,  then  deth  more  greuous. 


Iiiipiyuteil  by  me  Robert  Wyer,  dwellynge  at  the  sygne  of  Saynt 

John  Euangelyst,  in  Saynt  Martyns  parysshe,  beside 

Charyng  Crosse,  in  Norwytch  Rents. 


CUM  PRIUILEGIO  REGALI. 


LOUES  LEPROSIE 


THE  PREFACE  TO  THE  TITLE. 

The  leprosie  yf  phisicke  bin  approued, 

Achilles  cure,  because  Achilles  loucd  : 
The  leprosie  (saith  Gordon)  a  disease, 

AYhich  on  the  child  as  yet  vnborne  doth  sease. 
Infectious  and  contagious,  I  could  proue 

It  is  incurable,  and  so  is  loue. 
Loues  leprosie,  according  to  her  kinde. 

Made  him  a  leaper  in  a  louers  minde. 


Imprinted  at  London  by  W.  White,  dwelling  in  Cow-lane. 
1598. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE 

SIR    ROBERT    SYDNIE, 

LORD  GOUERNOUR  OF  FLUSHING,  T.P.  WISHETH  ALL  INCREASE 

OF  HONOUR,  WITH  THE  CONTINUANCE  OF  HIS  HOUSE 

IN  THAT  FLORISHING    ESTATE  WHEREIN    IT 

IS  NOW  ESTABLISHED. 


I  KNOW  not  (right  Honourable)  liow  to  excuse  this 
insinuation  of  mine,  in  committing  this  vnballast 
bai'ke  to  the  maine  of  your  protection,  considering 
that  euerie  little  riuer  hath  water  enough  to  beare 
it  from  the  ground ;  yet  if  the  ozean  rage  not  (as  in 
disdayne  to  support  so  weake  a  vessell)  I  may  ac- 
complish the  period  of  my  desires,  and  by  this  voiage 
leai'ne  to  correct  my  compasse ;  if  otherwise,  this 
barke,  conteyning  all  my  fortunes,  suffers  vntimely 
shipwracke,  and  I  banquerout  of  my  hopes : 

At  tua  supplicibus  domus  est  assueta  juvandis, 
In  quorum  iiumero  me  precor  esse  velis. 

There  is  a  sea  interventing  the  hauen  Aulis,  of 
Beotia  and  Eubcea,  called  Euripus,  which  flowes 
with  such  violence,  that  it  preuayles  against  the 
windes  in  maynteining  full  sayles  displayed  ex 
aduerso:    the  same  sea   (right   honorable)  a    true 

F 


66  THE   EPISTLE. 

icltBa,  resembles  the  loue  wherewith  you  irabrace 
the  muses  sonnes  in  rescuing  from  the  Phocian 
Pyreneus  the  Pyerian  queristers,  whom  headstrong- 
lust  seekesto  dishonour ;  I  present  to  your  Lordshyppe 
the  lucklesse  loues  of  Achilles,  which  if  they  may 
but  gaine  a  gratious  view  in  your  iudiciall  discretion, 
you  shall  buy  my  labours  at  a  high  rate,  and  I  thinke 
my  selfe  therewith  bountifully  rewarded. 

Your  Lordshippes  officious  in  all  dueties  of  humilitie. 

Tho.  Powell. 


(57 


LECTORI. 

TwAS  Dedelus  that  enuied  at  the  boy 
Drencht  iu  the  sea,  for  making  of  a  toy  : 

Little  glory  did  he  winne, 

Enuie  is  a  mickle  sinne. 

Tis  he,  and  none  but  he  I  feare, 

Loath  to  buy  my  toy  so  deare. 

When  Apollo  shineth  bright. 

Lesser  starres  shall  loose  their  light. 

Wonder  not  when  day  is  ended, 

Though  our  glimmering  be  extended. 

If  I  boiTow  from  the  Sunne, 

And  restore  not,  day  once  done. 

May  this  starre  that's  so  impaled, 

Like  a  meteor  be  exhaled  ; 

That  with  his  prodigious  breath. 

Doth  infect  vnto  the  death. 
Cast  me  not  headlong  from  Parnassus  hill. 
Although  my  work  be  wanting  to  my  wiU. 
Gentle  reader  yours  to  vse. 
If  propitiate  with  his  muse. 

T.  P. 


f2 


68 


JAMES  HARMAN  IN  COMMENDATIONS  OF 
THE  AUTHOR. 


I  CAN  but  muse  to  see  thy  tiraerous  muse, 
Of  Enuies  hidden  sting  to  stand  in  awe : 

What  though  th'  Atliinian  carpenter  did  bruse 
The  forward  youth,  foyboasting  of  his  saw  : 

Enuie  will  turne  to  loue,  and  loue  to  liking, 

Such  influence  abideth  in  thy  wryghting. 

Let  but  the  gentle  reader  read  thy  yeares, 
Thy  cygnet  for  a  swanne  he  will  allow ; 

For  by  Achilles  loues  it  well  appeares, 
Thee  with  hir  treasure  Pallas  did  indow. 

Let  this  suffice  for  all,  thou  mayst  be  bolde, 

So  young  a  head  neare  wrote  a  verse  so  olde. 

Cum  tonat  ocyus  ilex 
Sulphure  discuitur  sacro  quam  tuque  domusque. 


69 


LOUES  LEPROSIE. 


Troy  lost  liir  souldier.  Priam  lost  a  sonne, 

Troje's  hopes  were  past,  and  Priam's  triumphesdonne. 

The  Phrygian  dames,  those  sad  lUyades, 

Earth  spherifjing  lyghtes,  heauen's  Pleiades, 

Do  fret  the  pauement  of  his  brasen  tombe 

With  teares,  whose  currants  from  their  eylids  runne, 

AYith  teares  in  stead  of  flowers  they  strew  the  way, 

Such  sollemne  rites  beseeme  so  blacke  a  day ; 

With  teares  they  wash  his  woundes,  and  then  againe. 

Lament  with  teai*es  their  brother  Hector  slaine. 

Euen  at  these  exequies  amongst  the  rest, 

Was  Peleus  issue  an  vnwelcome  guest. 

He  noates  their  sorrow,  and  each  seuerall  passion, 

Affrighting  Nemesis  w^th  inuocation 

Polyseena  sendes  foorth  from  trembling  brest. 

Yee  Gods  in  whom  Troy  holdes  her  interest 

Be  iust  vpon  Achilles  for  this  deede, 

Who  first  begii't  me  with  a  mourning  weede : 

At  this  incenst,  to  heare  such  imprecation, 

As  to^his  owne  soule  had  so  neare  relation, 

His  blood  grows  proud,  and  makes  his  brow  the  land 

AVhich  he  tryfallowes  like  caractered  sand. 


70  LOUES   LEPROSIE. 

Thus  he  replyes  in  hmguage  mixt  with  gall, 

That  but  for  honour  of  the  capitall, 

And  of  that  truce  whereto  they  were  coniured, 

By  Hector's  blood,  which  had  the  earth  manured. 

And  all  the  soules  which  by  vntimely  fate 

His  sword  had  sent  to  hell  before  their  date ; 

That  tongue  from  whom  such  ranckor  had  his  course, 

Should  begge  for  life  and  yet  finde  no  remorce  ; 

But  sacrificious  at  her  brother's  shrine, 

Besprinkling  it  with  blood,  her  soule  refine. 

These  wordes  he  vsed,  and  vsing  them  came  neare, 

So  nigh  that  faire  Polyxene  did  appeare : 

Our  Mermaidonian  captaine  all  amazed. 

Stone  still  he  standes,  and  standing  still  he  gazed : 

His  eyes  were  dimde,  the  obiect  was  so  bright, 

Such  is  the  force  of  beautie,  such  her  might ; 

His  heart  an  anuill  to  a  tragicke  theame, 

Wliere  death  began  to  forge  a  stratageme, 

Will  not  endure  while  furie  strikes  a  heate, 

But  at  the  first  allarums  sounds  retreate. 

His  handes  extended  like  that  furious  knight, 

Who  thought  the  Grecian  fleet  might  proue  his  right, 

Or  as  him  selfe,  when  as  his  second  selfe, 

Breathed  foorth  his  soule,  diuorst  from  life  and  death. 

Euen  now,  as  then  for  his  Patroclus  sake, 

Now  did  I  say,  euen  now  I  mistake : 

O  now  they  plead  as  oracles  of  grace. 

They  menace  none,  for  loue  hath  changed  the  case  ; 

A  change  to  see  his  knee  to  offer  duetie, 

The  foote  whereof  spurnes  at  all  changing  beautie. 


J 


LOUES   LEPROSIE.  71 

Achilles  loues  Polyxene  :  What  is  shee  ? 

The  Ijuing  daughter  of  his  enemie. 

How  shall  he  woe  her,  that  hath  wed  another  ? 

How  shall  he  winne  her,  that  hath  slaiue  her  brother  ? 

His  trophees  and  his  triumphes  she  doth  hate ; 

In  Hector's  death  his  vallor  lined  too  late ; 

Line  blest  in  this,  that  thou  art  Orpheus  brother  : 

Hee  none  of  thine,  nor  Thetis  is  his  mother. 

Hee  in  Castalian,  therein  didst  thou  bath, 

And  thou  in  Stygian,  so  he  neuer  hath  : 

Minion  to  Mars,  and  champion  to  the  Nine : 

O  that  our  age  could  elbow  that  of  thine. 

But  widow  shee  hath  lost  Achilles  mate, 
Sydney  whose  breathing  fame  admits  no  date. 
O  but  for  him  I  neuer  should  abyde. 

But  tell  the  Achademicks  lowde  he  lyde, 

"WTio  mid  those  holsome  hearbes  which  he  did  cherish 

Suffered  Metemsacosin  so  to  floinsh. 

In  him  Achilles  wandring  soule  did  rest, 

Who  like  an  eagle  could  not  buyld  her  nest, 

Till  she  had  found  him  out  ;  but  full  of  paine, 

Seekes  her  Echytes  els-where  all  in  vaine. 

With  finding  him,  my  muse  hath  lost  her  selfe. 

Come  backe  ;  for  natures  banqueroiit  of  her  wealth, 

The  phoenix  burnes,  would  teares  might  quench  the 

flame ; 
Andromache  calls  on  dead  Hectors  name; 
Though  he  be  dead,  his  honors  euer  Hue, 
My  infant  penne  shall  him  his  tribute  giue ; 
And  when  this  cygnet  hath  a  whiter  hew, 
Shee  vowes  to  swimme  or  sinke  in  open  view : 


72  LOUES   LEPROSIE. 

Achilles  wooes  her  loue,  is  full  of  Avoe, 

Polyxen  yeeldes,  but  Hecuba  sayes  noe. 

Alas  that  loue  the  Sonne,  and  loue  the  mother, 

By  opposition  should  aduerse  each  other ; 

Shee  doth  accuse  him  as  degenerate, 

Whose  birth  a  goddesse  did  contaminate : 

Hee  sweares  shee  is  vnkinde  of  woman  kinde, 

Predominance  stuffes  her  ambitious  minde. 

Both  striue  to  soueraignize,  both  emulate, 

Such  ciuill  warre  the  weale  doth  dissipate. 

O  I  should  deeme  them,  but  for  their  descents, 

Two  of  the  foure  substantial!  elements: 

Those  two  I  meane,  whose  contrarietie, 

Seekes  to  expell  by  their  aduersitie. 

Hence  is't  Polyxen  loues  and  loathes  together. 

Much  like  the  vaine  that's  guyded  by  the  weather 

This  is  the  influence  of  loue  the  mother, 

And  loue  the  sonne,  efficient  of  the  other. 

Once  more,  and  reprehende  not  for  digression, 

A  womans  minde  is  fit  for  each  impression  : 

Hippocrates  electuarie  wyse 

Attributes  it  to  weaknesse  in  their  eyes  ; 

Induce  mee  to  subscribe  he  ueuer  can, 

For  euery  female  will  outface  a  man, 

And  sinke  him  in  the  center  of  her  eye, 

Drenlcht  with  the  sourses  of  immodestye. 

Olde  Hecuba,  well  learned  in  their  sex, 

Instructes  her  daughter  in  this  diuelish  text ; 

Hate  occupie  the  center  of  thy  hart. 

Varnish  with  loue  the  superficiall  part, 


LOUES   LEPROSIE,  7 

That  when  Achilles  hopes  to  croppe  a  flower, 

The  hidden  snake  may  haue  him  in  her  power. 

The  dryft  is  this,  Achilles  being  slayne. 

The  Graecian  trophees  will  decline  and  wayne : 

Loue  him  as  rangers  vse  to  loue  their  deare. 

That  being  fat,  they  fall  at  time  of  yeere. 

The  Lecturis  was  diligent  to  reed. 

The  pupill  as  attentiue  giues  good  heed  : 

The  Graecian  at  the  first  encounter  faylde, 

Albeit,  his  second  orasons  preuaylde. 

Maydes  at  the  first,  feare  to  be  counted  light, 

And  therefore  vse  their  noe  but  as  a  slight : 

Yet  yf  she  loue,  preuenting  nay  at  thrice. 

For  feare  shee  loose  her  pray,  cryes  yea  at  twice. 

Egiptus  Sonne  whom  Danaa  takes  to  wyfe, 

Feeles  ere  he  sees  his  throate  to  kisse  the  knyfe : 

Euen  so  our  louer,  fearing  no  infection, 

Tastes  by  the  tongue,  but  tryes  not  by  digestion. 

And  now  he  strikes  a  higher  noate  in  loue, 

Than  eai'st  when  baser  stringes  did  onely  moue ; 

Am  I  loues  thrall,  (quoth  he)  and  must  I  yeelde 

To  her  the  honors  which  I  wonne  in  feelde  ? 

Loe  Cytherea,  at  thy  sacred  shryne 

My  conquestes  I  do  willingly  resigne ; 

Where  loue's  the  goale,  and  beautie  giueth  ayme, 

He  proue  an  archer,  though  I  loose  the  gayme. 

Some  of  ray  shaftes  are  spent,  nor  will  I  spare. 

But  other  shaftes  shell  proforate  the  ayre : 

When  all  are  gone  heauens  archar  shall  supplie, 

By  him  lie  calculate  loues  destenie, 


74  LOUES   LEPROSIE. 

Joynd  with  the  most  pi'opitiate  of  the  seauen, 

Dai't  foorth  ccelestiall  influence  from  heauen. 

For  this  dayes  deede  O  chide  mee  not  to  morrow, 

Tis  not  of  Maurus  that  I  begge  or  borrow  : 

If  I  do  so  let  Fuseus  loose  his  right, 

And  yet  tis  fai-re  to  reach  vnto  the  whight. 

His  heanie  quiuer  and  my  hart  of  lead, 

Will  make  the  crasie  sicke,  the  sick-men  dead. 

The  destenies  were  neuer  yet  my  saintes, 

At  fortmies  shrine  I  breath  not  foorth  my  plaintes. 

How  much  I  scorne  to  borrow  Maurus'  bow, 

Heauens  constellations  may  confirme  and  show  ; 

I  will  commaund  them  all ;  yf  they  refuse. 

The  pledge  of  wisdome  shall  be  my  excuse. 

If  Sagitarius  throw  me  from  a  farre, 

Foure  spheres  remote  to  Phoebus  thirling  carre. 

And  he  suppose  it  be  disparagement. 

To  giue  a  heauen  wrackt  soule  some  intertaiument. 

Like  to  a  fire  I'll  sit  vpon  the  maynes 

Of  his  vnmanaged  jades,  and  burne  their  raynes  : 

Then  will  I  take  my  goddesse  by  the  hand, 

Whose  awfuU  scepter  guydeth  Paphos  land. 

How  I  am  wronged  shee  shall  informe  her  sonne, 

And  he  shall  helpe  when  all  my  hopes  are  done. 

If  Cupid  fauour  not,  then  will  I  prooue 

Apostate  vnto  the  god  of  love. 

Nay  more,  a  cynick  like  Diogenes, 

Misanthropos  and  a  Misogones  ; 

This  resolution  did  proceede  from  loue, 

In  whose  thought  flying  orb  his  soule  did  mooue  : 


LOUES    LEPROSIE.  75 

The  day  he  spendes  in  studie  hoAv  to  gaine  her, 

His  studie  nothing  els  but  to  obtaine  her  : 

Obseruing  this  a  motiue  in  theii'  kinde, 

High  prayses  humor  best  a  woman's  minde. 

And  this  raooues  him  to  proue  practitioner ; 

Solieite  loue  pleas  Cupid's  baiTister. 

Polyxenes  poet  in  his  mistres  prayse, 

Thus  gins  to  volley  foorth  his  amorous  layes. 

Thou  wretchles  father  of  a  wretched  sonne, 

Sire  to  that  dismounted  Phaeton : 

Giue  raynes  vnto  those  fierie  steedes  of  thine. 

That  tread  the  path  of  the  signiferous  lyne. 

Faire  sunne  that  seest  each  mother's  sonne  on  earth, 

Cynthius  by  loue,  Latoides  by  thy  birth  : 

Proude  for  the  one,  promoted  for  the  other, 

"Vowde  to  thy  loue,  denoted  to  thy  mother. 

Eye  of  all  seeing  heauens,  earthes  lyfe,  worldes  light, 

Whose  presence  makes  the  day,  and  absence  night : 

Performe  the  reuolution  of  swift  time, 

According  to  these  faire  demaundes  of  mine. 

Poynt  at  that  time,  that  wished  time,  and  say, 

Loe  !  this  of  many  a  selected  day 

AVherein  thy  loue  yeeldes  her  consenting  voyce. 

Of  thee  (would  God  of  mee)  to  make  her  choyce. 

Knowst  thou,  eai-th  animating  lyght,  my  saint  ? 

The  fountaine  of  my  griefe,  and  hai-tes  complaint  ? 

If  not,  attende  the  Avhilst  I  shall  thee  show, 

How  thou  my  loue  from  others  loues  mayst  know. 

O  shee  is  fayier  then  the  lonely  boy. 

Who  by  his  death  bereft  Hyperions  ioy. 


76  LOUES    LEPROSIE. 

Had  this  Diana  naked  in  the  spring, 

By  any  forrester  bin  euer  seene, 

He  could  not  haue  the  power  to  runne  away  ; 

But  there  inchaunted,  at  the  gaze  to  stay. 

Nor  neede  she  call  the  Nimphes  to  reach  her  hoe, 

The  sight  had  rauisht  and  bewitcht  him  soe. 

Her  voyce  the  ground  of  winged  Hermes  sweete, 

AVherewith  Lucinae's  watchman  fell  a  sleepe  : 

Her  handes,  yf  Joue  perceiue  they  seeme  to  craue. 

She  need  not  speake,  Joue  graunts  what  she  would  have. 

The  margent  is  so  fayre  to  gaze  vpon, 

That  he  shall  surfet  yf  he  gaze  too  long. 

Her  armes  Heavens  continent,  the  way  so  bright, 

Reflecting  Cynthias  rayes  seemes  lacteall  whight. 

Once  more  the  more  for  to  decipher  her, 

Shees  like  thy  selfe,  O  none  so  like  faire  starre. 

The  beautie  thy  disheuered  lockes  eontayne. 

Doth  in  the  tramels  of  her  hayre  remayne. 

As  wee  eye  thee  (all  obiectes  set  apart) 

So  shee  hath  power  to  draw  both  eyes  and  hart. 

If  any  penne  distinguish  twixt  the  Gods 

And  fayre  Polyxen,  I  allow  him  ods  : 

Mainteine,  there  is  no  difference  but  this  ; 

That  they  in  Heauen,  shee  on  the  center  is. 

By  him  her  prayses  haue  eternitie. 

And  shee  layes  naked  his  mortallitie. 

True  loue's  a  sainct,  so  shall  you  true  loue  know  : 

False  loue  a  Schythian,  yet  a  sainct  in  show. 

When  many  elegies  of  loue  were  done, 

Polyxens  hand,  but  not  her  hart  he  wonne : 


LOUES   LEPROSIE.  /  / 

On  this  condition,  that  his  sword  and  shield 

ShoukI  neuer  be  aduanst  in  Teucrian  field ; 

And  enery  Mermaidon  whom  he  controlde, 

The  same  with  him  inuiolate  to  holde. 

By  this  the  dayes  of  truce  did  take  an  ende, 

And  heere  begins  the  practize  they  intende. 

A  second  leader  to  the  forebred  fight 

Was  instigated,  Troilus  behight : 

He  knowes  Achilles  sleepes  within  his  tent, 

His  loynes  vngirded,  and  his  bow^e  vnbent. 

He  there,  the  Troian  gallant  playes  his  prankes, 

Passes  confronted  pykes  and  breakes  their  rankes. 

The  Graecians  flye,  their  captaynes  being  slayne, 

Our  younger  sonne  to  Mars  pursues  amayne : 

Makes  pauement  of  their  trunkes,  and  where  he  rides, 

The  hollow  hoofe  checkquered  in  blood  abides, 

Leauing  the  print  behinde,  as  who  should  say. 

Be  witnesse  that  the  Troian  rode  this  way : 

Achilles  doth  beholde  by  loue  restraynde, 

He  feares  to  be  orebolde,  but  restes  contaynde, 

With  execration  that  he  did  consent, 

By  solemne  oath  vnto  this  darke  intent ; 

Their  instrumentes  of  warre  keepe  times  accord. 

The  Spartan  king,  before  Antenors  sword 

Flyes,  in  such  danger  of  recouerie. 

He  wisht  nighte's  mantell  were  his  sanctuarie. 

His  foe  growes  insolent,  made  proude  with  pray. 

And  conquest  must  her  vtmost  duetie  pay. 

Achilles  is  not  tyde  vnto  the  mast, 

The  Acheloydes  singe,  and  he  in  hast 


78  LOUES   I.EPROSIE. 

Leapes  from  his  cabbin.     O  'twere  treble  wrong 
That  he  impatient  should  abstayne  so  long ; 
Well  mounted  and  well  met  they  ioyne  togeather 
Like    flowdes    whose    rushing    cause    tempestuous 

weather : 
And  now  their  clattering  shildes  resemble  thunder; 
The  fire  a  lightning  when  the  cloudes  do  sunder: 
Long  did  it  thunder  ere  the  heauens  were  bright, 
So  long  that  when  it  cleered  the  day  was  night : 
A  night  perpetuall  vnto  Priams  sonne  ; 
His  horse  was  slaine,  the  day  was  lost  and  won, 
And  heere  each  one  might  heare  windes  whispering 

sound, 
When  earst  the  drums  their  senses  did  confound ; 
Troilus  dethes  chiefe  conquest  from  the  fielde, 
Wrapt  in  their  colours,  couered  with  his  shielde, 
They  carry  him  to  make  the  number  more, 
Whose  bleeding  sydes  Achilles  speare  did  gore. 
0  had  he  not  bin  ouer  insolent, 
Achilles  speare  had  rested  in  his  tent : 
But  xiis  prouoking  pride  did  seeme  to  braue 
The  brauest  souldier  in  the  ayre  concaue. 
This  is  the  onely  price  that  vallour  yeeldes, 
Thy  soule  shall  finde  his  rest  in  Martiall  fieldes. 
The  second  league  for  dayes  they  doe  proclaime, 
And  now  Achilles  visites  his  faire  dame. 
Ill  fare  that  outward  faire  that's  inward  foule, 
An  angels  face  wed  to  Proserpine's  soule : 
If  diuels  in  dietie  thus  masked  bin. 
The  man  thats  so  bewitcht  doth  no  Avhit  sin. 


LOUES   LEPROSIE.  79 

Thus  pleacles  the  subiect  of  my  weeping  muse, 

For  his  fond  loues  alleadging  this  excuse. 

If  hee  complayne  on  Loue,  shee  heares  his  plaintes 

"With  delinition.  and  because  he  faintes 

Shee  doth  reuiue  him,  brooking  no  delay, 

With  assignation  of  a  wedding  day. 

Foorthwith  a  marriage  twixt  them  was  concluded : 

Alas,  that  true  loue  should  be  so  deluded. 

The  sunne  is  rose,  sees  Thetis  sonne  to  fail 

Vnder  this  false  pretended  nuptiall. 

The  Delphick  oracle  is  now  fulfilde, 

Eare  Troy  be  wonne,  Achilles  must  be  kilde. 

This  is  the  day  wherein  they  surfet  all. 

With  blood  of  his  who  made  the  Troians  thrall ; 

And  this  the  day  wherein  he  did  appease 

Vnquiet  soules,  which  earst  could  find  no  ease. 

This  day  was  nyght  to  him,  and  day  to  those 

By  whom  vntimely  death  did  heere  repose. 

His  liues  familliar  starre  doth  shoote  and  fall, 

The  fairest  starre  the  heauens  weare  gracte  withall. 

Euen  when  his  steppes  salute  the  temple  porch  • 

With  hymmes,  and  Hymeenus  burning  torch, 

A  shaft  from  Paris  hand  did  soone  disclose 

Where  Styx  had  kist  him,  and  how  high  it  rose. 

Where  the  Stygian  flood  did  neuer  reach, 

Deathes  winged  messenger  did  make  a  breach : 

WTience  from  each  veine  the  sacred  breath  descending, 

Polyxens  ioyes  began,  and  his  had  ending. 

FINIS. 


80 


EL.EGIA. 

Of  all  the  Gods  aboue 
I  did  honoiu'  loue, 

Loue  his  dietie ; 
Nothing  might  me  mooue, 
For  I  did  approue 
Loue  his  pietie. 

I  did  loue, 

He  did  proue 
Nothing  myght  mj  loue  remoue. 

He  did  proue 

I  did  loue, 
Witnesse  this  the  Gods  aboue. 

He  did  not  respect  mee. 
But  he  did  reiect  mee 

In  his  royaltie ; 
He  did  not  affect  mee, 
But  he  did  suspect  mee 
Of  disloyaltie : 

No  respect 

Did  reiect 
Mee  in  this  his  royaltie ; 

No  affect 

Did  suspect 
Mee  for  no  disloyaltie. 


I 

il 


ELECTA,  SI 

I  the  tielde  did  leaue, 
And  mine  armes  bequeath 

To  the  loue  queene. 
To  my  brow  did  cleaue 
V^enus  myrtill  wreath ; 
There  was  loue  seene. 

I  did  leaue 

And  bequeath, 
Myne  armour  for  a  myrtill  wreath  ; 

Myrtle  wreathe 

Purchast  leaue, 
To  my  temples  fast  to  cleaue. 

The  boy  that  was  so  l)linde, 
Showed  himselfe  vnkinde 

To  mine  amours : 

Playning  to  the  windo, 

I  no  ease  coulde  findc 

To  ray  clamours. 

He  was  blinde 

And  vnkynde, 
So  vnconstant  was  his  mindc, 

As  the  winde. 

So  vnkinde, 
Ease  for  loue  I  could  not  finde. 

Now  I  doe  repent  mee, 
Now  I  do  lament  mee, 
But  alas  !  too  late. 


82  EL^GIA. 

Gentle  hart  relent  thee, 
Though  thou  must  content  thee 
With  thy  froward  fate. 

Hart  content  thee, 

Hart  relent  thee, 
Since  Polyxen  was  vntrue, 

I  lament  mee, 

And  repent  mee ; 
Loue  and  women  both  adew. 

Tam  Veneri  quam  Marti,  mortuus  Achilles. 


THK  ENP. 


RKIIAUDS,  PBJ.\TI:K,  i,T.  MAKllN  S  LANE. 


COCK  LORELL'S  BOTE: 


^  Satirical  ^pocm. 


AN   TNigUE    COPY  PniNTFD  BV  WVNKYN  DE  WOHDE 


EDITED   BV 


EDWARD  F.  RIMBAULT,  ESQ.  F.S.A. 


LONDON : 
PRINTED  FOR  THE  PERCY  SOCIETY. 


.M.DCCC.XLIII. 


J 


COUNCIL 

OF 

President. 
The  Kt.  Hon.  LORD  BRAYBROOKE,  F.S.A. 

THOMAS  AMYOT,  Esq.  F.R.S.,  Tueas.  S  A. 

WILLIAM  HENRY  BLACK,  Esq. 

J  A.  CAHUSAC,   Esq.  F.S.A. 

WILLIAM  CHAPPELL,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  2Vta.surfr. 

J.  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

T.  CROFTON  CROKER,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  M.R.l.A. 

PETER  CUNNINGHAM,  Esq. 

REV.  ALEXANDER  DYCE. 

WILLIAM  JERDAN,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  M.R.S.L. 

SIR  FREDERICK  MADDEN,  K.H.,  F.R.S.,  F.S.A. 

T.  J.  PETTIGREW,  Esq.  F.R  S.,  F.S.A. 

E.  F.  RIMBAULT,  Esq.  F.S.A  Secretary. 

WILLIAM  J.  THOMS,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

JAMES  W^ALSH,  Esq    F.S.A. 

THOMAS  WRIGHT,  Esq.  M.A.,  F.S  A. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  following  curious  satirical  poem  is  reprinted 
from  an  unique  copy  in  black-letter,  but  unfor- 
tunately imperfect  at  the  beginning,  in  the  Garrick 
Collection,  British  Museum. 

It  was  printed  by  WyaJci/n  de  Worde  without 
date,  but  in  all  probability  soon  after  the  acces- 
sion of  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  presents  a  curious 
and  graphic  picture  of  the  habits  and  morals  of 
the  lower  classes  of  society  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  reign  of  the  preceding  monarch. 

The  idea  of  summoning  together  persons  of  all 
trades  and  callings  to  join  the  "  Bote''''  under  the 
guidance  of  Cock  Lorell,  was  probably  suggested 
by  Sebastian  Brandt's  "  Shyp  of  Folys,"  which 
was  then  becoming  popular  in  England,  having 
been  translated  by  Alexander  Barclay,  and  printed 
by  Richard  Pynson,  at  the  beginning  of  the  six- 
teenth century. 

In  selecting  the  hero  of  his  tale,  the  author 
has  chosen  a  well-known  character  living  at  the 


VI 

time  of  its  publication,  and  whoso  name  alone 
was  sufficient  to  insure  its  success.  Cock  Lorell 
appears  to  have  been  a  notorious  vagabond,  and 
the  head  of  a  gang  of  thieves  which  infested 
London  and  its  vicinity  during  the  period  above 
alluded  to.  In  Samuel  Rowlands"'  "  Martin 
Mark-all,  Beadle  of  Bridewell,  his  Defence  and 
Answere  to  the  Belman  of  London,"  4to.  1610, 
he  is  enumerated  second  in  a  list  of  rogues  by 
profession,  and  is  thus  described  : — "  After  him, 
succeeded  by  general  councell,  one  Cocke  Lorrell, 
the  most  notorious  knave  that  ever  lived  :  by 
trade  he  was  a  tinker,  often  carrying  a  panne  and 
a  hammer  for  show  :  but  when  he  came  to  a  good 
booty,  he  would  cast  his  profession  in  a  ditch,  and 
play  the  padder,  and  then  would  alway,  and  as 
hee  past  through  the  towne,  crie  '  Ha  you  any 
worke  for  a  tinker  T  To  write  of  his  knaveries 
it  would  aske  a  long  time :  I  referre  you  to  the 
old  manuscript  remayning  on  record  in  Maunders"* 
Hall.  This  was  he  that  reduced  and  brought  in 
forme  the  Catalogue  of  Vagabonds,  or  Quarterne 
of  Knaves,  called  the  five  and  twentie  Orders  of 
Knaves :  but  because  it  is  extant,  and  in  every 
mans  shop,  I  passe  them  over.  *  *  *  This  Cocke 
Lorrell  continued  among  them  longer  than  any  of 
his  predecessours  before  him,  or  after  him,  for  he 
ruled  almost  two  and  twentie  yoarcs,  until  the 


vn 

yearo  An.  Dom.   loSS,  and  about  the  five  and 
twenty  yeare  of  K.  Henry  the  Eight." 

Rowlands,  in  naming  our  hero  as  the  compiler 
of  "  the  Catalogue  of  Vagabondes,"  alludes  to  a 
tract  printed,  (and  probably  written),  by  John 
Awdely  in  1565  and  again  in  1575.  The  title  as 
it  appears  in  the  second  edition,  preserved  in  the 
Bodleian  Library,  is  so  curious  that  we  quote  it 
entire  :  "  The  Fraternitye  of  Vacabondes;  as  wel 
of  ruflyng  Vacabondes,  as  of  beggerly,  of  Women 
as  of  Men,  of  Gyrles  as  of  Boyes,  with  their 
proper  names  and  qualities.  With  a  description 
of  the  crafty  company  of  Cousoners  and  Shifters. 
Whereunto  also  is  adioyned  the  xxv  Orders  of 
Knaues,  otherwyse  called  a  Quartern  of  Knaues 
Confirmed  for  euer  by  Cocke  Lorell. 

The  Vprightman  speaketh. 

"  Our  Brotherhood  of  Vacabondes, 

If  you  would  know  where  dwell ; 
In  graues  end  Barge  which  seldome  standcs, 

The  talke  wyll  shew  ryght  well." 

Cocke  Lorell  aunswereth. 

Some  orders  of  my  Knaues  also 

In  that  Barge  shall  ye  fynde ; 
For  no  where  shall  ye  walke  I  trow , 

But  ye  shall  see  their  kynde." 

Imprinted  at  London  hy  John  Awdely^  dweUynge 
in  little  Britayne  Sireete  withoute  Aldersgate^  1575. 


Vlll 

A  particular  description  of  this  tract,  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Bhss,  may  be  seen  in  Sir  Egerton 
Brydges'  "British  Bibliographer,"  vol.  ii.  p.  12, 
and  a  further  notice  in  the  Appendix  to  the 
Doctor's  excellent  edition  of  Bishop  Earle's  "  Mi- 
crocosmography,"  8vo.  1811.  It  was  reprinted  in 
1813  by  Mr.  Machell  Stace. 

Cock  Lorell  is  again  mentioned  in  a  satirical 
poem  in  black  letter,  without  date  or  printer's 
name,  in  the  Bodleian  Library,  called  ''•  Doctour 
Double  Ale." 

"  I  hold  you  a  giota 
Ye  wyll  rede  by  rota, 
That  ye  wete  a  cota, 
In  cocke  loreh  bnta." 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Hartshorne  (Ancient  Metrical 
Tales^  p.  243),  not  being  aware  perhaps  of  the 
allusion,  misprinted  it  cocke  losels  hota. 

Mr.  Collier,  who  pointed  out  the  above  mistake, 
says  "  the  only  other  mention  of  Cock  Loreh  Bote^ 
that  I  remember,  is  in  John  Hey  wood's  "  Epigrams 
upon  three  hundred  proverbs,"  1566. 

"  A  BUSY  BODY. 

He  will  have  an  ore  in  every  man's  barge. 
Even  in  cw'ke.  lords  barc/e,  he  berth  that  charge." 

The  name  of  this  distinguished  rogue  appears 
to  have  been  well  known  at  a  much  later  period. 


Ben  Jonson,  in  his  masque  of  the  "  Gypsies  Meta- 
morphosed," introduces  a  song  beginning, 

"  Cock  Loirel  would  need  have  the  devil  his  guest, 
And  bid  him  once  into  the  Peak  to  dinner, 
Where  never  the  fiend  had  such  a  feast 
Provided  him  yet  at  the  charge  of  a  sinner.'' 

This  merry  ballad  enjoyed  considerable  popu- 
larity, and  broadside  copies  are  preserved  in  the 
Pepysian  and  Ashmolean  Collections.  It  was 
afterwards  included  in  the  "  Antidote  against 
Melancholy,"  1661,  and  in  the  later  editions  of  the 
same  work,  entitled  "  Wit  and  Mirth,  or  Pills  to 
Purge  Melancholy." 

The  attention  of  the  public  was  first  drawn  to 
the  following  tract  by  the  Rev.  William  Beloe,  in 
his  "  Anecdotes  of  Literature  and  Scarce  Works," 
1807,  (vol,  i.  p.  393),  but  by  some  strange  over- 
sight the  reverend  author  misprinted  the  title 
"  Cocke  Lorells  Vote^  instead  of  his  " Bote.'''' 

Dr.  Dibdin,  in  his  new  edition  of  Ames'  "  Typo- 
graphical Antiquities"  (vol,  ii.  p.  352),  describes 
this  little  work,  but  appears  never  to  have  seen  it 
himself.  The  learned  Doctor  is  still  further  in 
the  wrong  than  the  Rev.  ISIr.  Beloe,  when  he 
talks  "  of  the  licentious  aud  predatory  character 
of  its  author''''  one  "  Cock  Lorell,"  whose  "  popu- 
larity has,  I  believe,  escaped  the  notice  of  our 
chroniclers.  " 

h 


Who  the  author  really  was  will  probably  never 
be  ascertained,  but  that  he  was  a  man  of  consider- 
able talent  there  can  be  no  question,  and  we  are 
not  acquainted  with  any  publication  of  the  time, 
that  displays  more  spirit  and  humour,  and  better 
merits  reprinting,  than  "  Cock  LorelFs  Bote." 

A  limited  impression  of  thirty-five  copies  of  the 
"Bote"  was  printed  in  1817,  under  the  super- 
intendance  of  the  late  Rev.  Henry  Drury,  for  the 
members  of  the  Roxburgh  Club ;  and  an  impression 
of  forty  copies  was  printed  in  1841,  for  Messrs. 
Stanley  and  Blake,  Booksellers  of  Edinburgh. 
The  latter  edition  is  disfigured  by  great  inaccu- 
racies, and  it  was  thought  that  a  reprint,  carefully 
collated  with  the  original,  would  not  be  unac- 
ceptable to  the  Members  of  the  Percy  Society.* 

We  may  mention  that  the  original  is  adorned 
with  "  wooden-cuts"  borrowed  from  the  "  Shyp  of 
Folys,"  but  as  they  are  not  particularly  applicable 
to  the  "  Bote,"  we  have  not  thought  it  necessary 
to  have  them  re-engraved  for  the  present  edition. 

*  Amongst  the  inaccuracies  with  which  the  Edinbuvgh 
reprint  abounds,  we  may  point  out  the  following :  "  icydc 
drawers"  for  "  wire  di'awers ;"  "  matte  men"  for  "  make  men  : 
"  lynne  casters"  for  "  tynne  casters ;"  "  knewe  it  there"  for 
"  gnew  (i.  e.  gnawed)  it  there ;''  "  dronken  kope"  for  "  dronken 
koke"  (i.  e.  cook),  &c. 


I 


Corfee  3Lor(IIesi  ^ote. 


COCKE  LORELLES  BOTE. 


She  had  a  desyre  ofte  to  be  wedde, 

And  also  to  lye  in  an  other  mannes  bedde, 

Lytell  rought  she  therfore  ; 

She  is  as  softe  as  a  lamme  yf  one  do  her  meue, 

And  lyke  to  y®  deuyll  wan  a  ma  dothe  her  greue, 

So  well  is  she  sette  ; 

0  good  condycyon  to  her  housbonde, 

Yf  he  call  her  calat,  she  calleth  hy  knaue  agayne, 

She  shyll  not  dye  in  his  dette. 

By  Saynt  .Tone,  sayd  Cocke  than, 

These  be  fayre  vertues  in  a  woman, 

Thou  shake  be  my  launder 

To  wasshe  and  kepe  clene  all  my  gere, 

Our  two  beddes  togyder  shall  be  sette 

Without  ony  lette. 

The  nexte  that  came  was  a  coryar 

And  a  cobeler,  his  brother. 

As  ryche  as  a  newe  shorne  shepe ; 

They  ofFred  Cocke  a  blechynge  pot, 

Other  Jewelles  they  had  not, 


2  COCKE   LORELLES   BOTE. 

Scant  shoes  to  tlieyr  fete. 

The  coryei'  dresseth  so  well  his  lether 

That  it  wokle  diynke  water  in  fayre  weder, 

Therfore  he  hath  many  a  crystes  curse: 

And  tho  cobeler  for  liis  cloutynge 

The  people  blesseth  hym  with  euyll  cheuynge, 

To  knytte  faste  in  his  purse. 

A  shomaker  came  to  these  other  two, 

Bytwene  them  two  was  moche  a  do 

For  a  pyese  of  lether, 

They  togged  with  theyi*  teth,  and  gnewe  it  there, 

And  pulde  as  it  had  been  grehondes  at  a  hare  ; 

It  was  a  shepes  skyne  of  a  wether, 

And  than  they  tanned  it  whan  they  had  done 

To  make  lether  to  hym  with  mennes  shone. 

And  all  for  theyr  auayle  ; 

For  as  sone  as  the  hemme  is  tore 

The  sho  is  lost  for  euer  moi'e, 

And  it  is  lytell  meruayle. 

A  tanner  for  euyll  tannyng  of  leder. 

They  foure  with  sorowe  Cocke  dyde  set  togyder. 

And  neuer  a  good  without  fayle. 

Than  came  one  w'  two  bolddogges  at  his  tayle, 

And  that  was  a  bocher  without  fayle, 

All  be  gored  in  reed  blode ; 

In  his  hande  he  bare  a  flap  for  flyes. 

His  hosen  gresy  vpon  his  thyes. 

That  place  for  magottes  was  very  good  ; 

On  his  necke  he  bare  a  cole  tre  logge, 

He  liad  as  moche  pyte  as  a  dogge. 


COCKE    I.ORELLES   BOTE. 

And  he  were  ones  wrothe: 

He  loked  perysshe,  and  also  rowe, 

A  man  wolde  take  hym  for  a  shrewe  I  trowe, 

And  of  his  company  be  lothe. 

Than  came  a  gonge  fermourer, 

Other  wyse  called  a  masser  scourer ; 

With  hym  a  canyell  raker — 

Theyr  presence  made  Cocke  and  his  me  to  spewe, 

For  as  swete  was  theyr  brethe  as  henka  or  rewe, 

To  wasshe  them  they  laked  water; 

On  these  Irysshe  copel  I  wyll  not  tare, 

Cocke  dyde  set  the  there  as  knaues  sholde  be, 

Amonge  the  slouenly  sorte. 

Than  came  two  false  towlers  in  nexte, 

He  set  them  by  pykers  of  the  best, 

For  there  sholde  they  abyde; 

But  before  y''  they  were  plonged  in  the  ryucr, 

To  searche  theyr  bodyes  fayre  and  clere, 

Therof  they  had  good  sporte.  ' 

A  myller  dusty|5oll  than  dyde  come, 

A  loly  felowe  with  a  golden  thome. 

On  his  necke  a  sacke  was. 

Many  sayd  that  he  with  reprefe 

Of  all  craftes  was  nexte  a  thefe ; 

In  that  Cocke  founde  no  lacke. 

He  sayd  that  he  touled  twys  for  forge tynge, 

And  stele  floure  and  put  chauke  therin, 

Be  sherewe  hym  that  taught  hym  that ; 

Cocke  bad  hym  grynde  cherystones  and  peson, 

To  make  his  men  bi-ede  for  a  season, 

B  2 


4  COCKE    LORELLES    BOTE, 

By  cause  whete  was  very  dere. 

Than  came  a  pardoner  with  his  boke, 

His  quaterage  of  euery  man  he  toke, 

But  Cocke  wolde  theyr  names  here ; 

The  pardoner  sayd,  I  will  rede  my  roll, 

And  ye  shall  here  the  names  poll  by  poll, 

There  of  ye  nede  not  fere. 

Here  is  fyrst,  Cocke  Lorell  the  knyght. 

And  symkyn  emery,  mayntenauce  agayne  ryght ; 

With  slyngethryfte  fleshemonger : 

Also  fabyane  flaterer, 

And  fesly  claterer, 

With  adam  auerus  flayle  swenger  ; 

And  frauces  flaperoche,  of  stewys  captayne  late, 

With  gylys  vnyeste  mayer  of  newgate, 

And  lewes  vnlusty  the  lesynge  monger  ; 

Here  also  baude  baudyn  boiler, 

And  his  brother  copyn  coler, 

With  mathew  marchaunte  of  shoters  hyll ; 

Crystofer  catchepoll  a  crystes  course  gaderer. 

And  wat  welbelyne  of  ludgate  layler, 

With  laurence  lorell  of  clerken  well. 

Here  is  gylys  logeler  of  ayebery. 

And  hym  sougelder  of  lothe  bery, 

With  wallys  the  wrangler  ; 

Pers  potter  of  brydge  water, 

Saunder  fely  the  mustarde  maker, 

With  lelyan  langeler. 

Here  is  lenkyne  berwarde  of  Barwycke, 

And  tom  tombler  of  warwyke, 


COCKK   LORELLES   BOTE,  5 

"With  Phyllyp  fletcher  of  fernam  ; 

Here  is  wyll  wyly  the  rayl  peker, 

And  patrycke  peuysshe  heerbeter, 

With  histy  hary  iiange  man. 

Also  mathewe  tothe  drawer  of  London, 

And  sybly  sole  niylke  wyte  of  Islyngton, 

With  davy  drawelache  of  rokynjrame  ; 

Here  is  maryone  marchauntes  at  all  gate, 

Her  husbode  dwelleth  at  y®  sygne  of  y«  cokeldes  pate, 

Nextc  house  to  Robyn  renawaye  ; 

Also  hycke  crokenec  the  rope  maker, 

And  steuen  mesyll  mouthe  muskyll  taker, 

With  lacke  basket  seler  of  alwelay. 

Here  is  george  of  podynge  lane,  carpentei', 

And  patrycke  peuysshe  a  conynge  dyrte  dauber, 

Worshypfull  wardayn  of  slouens  In  ; 

There  is  maryn  peke  small  fremason, 

And  pers  peuterer  that  knocketh  a  basyn, 

With  gogle  eyed  tomson  shepster  of  lyn.    _ 

Here  is  glyed  wolby  of  gylforde  squyere, 

Andrewe  of  habyngedon  apell  byer. 

With  alys  esy  a  gay  tale  teller  ; 

Also  peter  paten  maker. 

With  gregory  loue  good  of  rayston  mayer, 

And  hary  halter  seler  at  tyborn  the  ayer. 

Here  is  kate  with  the  croked  fote, 

That  is  colsys  doughter  the  dronken  koke, 

A  lusty  pye  baker; 

Here  is  saunder  sadeler  of  froge  strete  corner, 

With  lelyan  loly  at  sygne  of  the  bokeler, 

And  mores  moulc  taker  ; 


6  COCKE   LORELLES   BOTE. 

Also  annys  angry  with  the  croked  buttocke, 

That  dwelled  at  y^  sygne  of  y*  dogges  liede  in  ye  pot, 

By  her  crafte  a  breche  maker. 

Cocke  sayd,  pardoner  now  ho  and  sease, 

Thou  makeste  me  wery,  holde  thy  pease, 

A  thynge  tell  thou  to  me ; 

"What  profyte  is  to  take  thy  pardon, 

Shewe  vs  what  mede  is  to  come 

To  be  in  this  fraternyte  ? 

Syr  this  pardon  is  newe  founde 

By  syde  London  brydge  in  a  holy  grounde, 

Late  called  the  stewes  banke. 

Ye  knowe  well  all,  that  there  was 

Some  relygyous  women  in  that  place 

To  whome  men  offred  many  a  franke. 

And  bycause  they  were  so  kynde  and  lyberall, 

A  merueylous  auenture  there  is  be  fall ; 

Tf  ye  lyst  to  here  how. 

There  came  suche  a  winde  fro  wynchester 

That  blewe  these  women  ouer  the  ryuer, 

In  wherye,  as  I  wyll  you  tell. 

Some  at  saynt  Kateryns  stroke  a  grounde, 

And  many  in  holborne  were  founde  ; 

Some  at  saynt  Gyles,  I  trowe. 

Also  in  aue  maria  aly,  and  at  westmenster, 

And  some  in  shordyche  drewe  theder 

With  grete  lamentacyon. 

And  by  cause  they  haue  lost  that  fayre  place, 

Ihey  wyll  bylde  at  colman  hedge  in  space 

A  nother  noble  mansyon, 


COCKE   LORELLES   BOTE. 

Fayror  and  euer  the  halfc  strete  was, 

For  euery  house  newe  paued  is  with  gras: 

Shall  be  full  of  fayi'e  floures, 

The  walles  shallbe  of  hauthorue,  I  wote  well, 

And  hanged  w*  whyte  motly  y'  swete  doth  smell, 

Grene  shall  be  the  coloures. 

And  as  for  this  olde  place,  these  wenches  holy 

They  wyll  not  haue  it  called  the  stewys  for  foly, 

But  maketh  it  a  strabery  banke ; 

And  there  is  yet  a  chapell  saue 

Of  whiche  ye  all  the  pardon  hauc, 

The  saynt  is  of  symme  trollanke. 

I  wyll  reherse  here  in  generall 

The  indidgences  that  ye  haue  shall, 

Is  these  that  foloweth,  with  more  : 

At  the  oure  of  deth  whan  ye  haue  itt'de. 

Ye  shall  be  assoyled  of  euery  good  dede. 

That  you  haue  done  before  ; 

And  ye  shall  be  parte  taker  of  as  many  good  dedde 

As  is  done  euery  nyght  a  bedde  ; 

And  also  ferthermore. 

At  euery  tauerne  in  the  yere, 

A  solempne  dyryge  is  songe  there. 

With  a  grete  diynkynge  ; 

At  all  ale  houses  trewely, 

Ye  shall  be  prayed  for  hertely 

With  a  loyefuU  wepynge. 

And  the  pope  darlaye  hath  graiited  in  his  byll. 

That  euery  brother  may  do  what  he  wyll, 

Whyle  that  they  be  wakynge ; 


8  COCKE   LORELLES    BOTE. 

And  the  pardone  gyueth  you  that  hath  the  pose, 

On  your  owne  sleue  to  wype  your  nose, 

Without  rebuke  takynge. 

Also  pope  nycoll  graunteth  you  all  in  this  texte, 

The  coughe  and  the  colyke,  the  gout  and  the  flyxe. 

With  the  holsome  tothe  ache. 

Also  it  is  graunted  by  our  bulles  of  lede, 

That  whan  ony  brother  is  dede 

To  the  chyrche  dogges  shall  cary  hym  ; 

A  ryche  pal  to  ly  on  y®  corse  late  fro  rome  is  come, 

Made  of  an  olde  payre  of  blewe  medly  popley  hosone. 

For  y^  worshyppe  of  all  y''  bretherne 

Theyr  knylles  shall  be  roge  in  y*^  myddes  of  tese. 

And  theyr  masse  songe  at  shoters  hill  amonge  the  elmes, 

With  grete  deuocyon  in  dede  : 

And  many  thynges  elles  shall  be  done, 

The  resydewe  I  wyll  reherse  soone. 

For  drynke  fyrst  must  I  nede. 

Than  Cocke  cast  a  syde  his  liede, 

And  sawe  the  stretes  aU  ouer  sprede 

That  to  his  bote  wolde  come, 

Of  all  craftes  there  were  one  or  other, 

1  wyU  shewe  how  many  or  I  passe  ferther 

And  reken  them  one  by  one. 

The  fyrst  was  golde  smythes,  and  grote  clyppers, 

Multyplyers,  and  clothe  thyckers, 

Called  fullers  euerychone ; 

There  is  taylers,  tauerners,  and  drapers, 

Potycaryes,  ale  brewers,  and  bakers, 

Mercers,  fletchers,  and  sporyers. 


COCKE   LORELLES   BOTE. 

JBoke  prynters,  peynters,  bowers, 
Myllers,  carters,  and  botyll  makers  ; 
Waxecliaundelers,  clothers,  and  grocers, 
WoUe  men,  vynteners,  and  flessheniongers, 
Salters,  lowelers,  and  habardashers, 
Drouers,  cokes,  and  pulters  ; 
Yermongers,  pybakers,  and  waferers, 
Fruyters,  chese  mongers,  and  niynstrelles. 
Talowe  chauudelers,  hostelers,  and  glouers  ; 
Owchers,  skynners,  and  cutlers  ; 
Blade  smythes,  fosters,  and  sadelers ; 
Coryers,  cordwayners,  and  cobelers  ; 
Gyrdelers,  forborers,  and  webbers ; 
Quylte  makers,  shermen,  and  armorers. 
Borlers,  tapstry  workemakers,  and  dyers ; 
Brouderers,  strayners,  and  carpyte  makers  ; 
Sponers,  torners,  and  hatters  ; 
Lyne  webbers,  setters,  with  lyne  di'apers. 
Roke  makers,  coper  smythes,  and  lorymers  ; 
Brydel  bytters,  blacke  smythes,  and  ferrars ; 
Bokell  smythes,  horse  leches,  and  gold  beters  ; 
Fyners,  plommers,  and  penters. 
Bedmakers,  fedbed  makers,  and  wyre  drawers ; 
Founders,  laten  workers,  and  broche  makers ; 
Pauyers,  bell  makers,  and  brasyers ; 
Pynners,  nedelers,  and  glasyers. 
Bokeler  makers,  dyers,  and  lether  sellers  ; 
Whyte  tanners,  galyors,  and  shethers  ; 
Masones,  male  makers,  and  merbelers ; 
Tylers,  brycke  leyers,  harde  hewers  ; 


10  COCKE   LORELLES   BOTE. 

Parys  plasterers,  daubers,  and  lyme  borners. 

Carpenters,  coupers,  and  ioynei's  ; 

Pype  makers,  wode  mogers,  and  orgyn  makers ; 

Coferers,  carde  makers,  and  earners  ; 

Shyppe  wryglites,  whele  wryghtes,  and  sowers. 

Harpe  makers,  leches,  and  vpholsters  ; 

Porters,  fesycyens,  and  corsers ; 

Parchemente  makers,  skynners,  and  plowers. 

Barbers,  boke  bynders,  and  lymners. 

Repers,  faners  and  horners, 

Pouche  makers,  belowfarmes,  and  cage  sellers  ; 

Lanterners,  stryngers,  grynders, 

Arowe  lieders,  maltemen,  and  corne  mongers. 

Balancers,  tynne  casters,  and  skryueners  ; 

Stacyoners,  vestyment  swoers,  and  ymagers  ; 

Sylke  women,  pursers,  and  garnyssliers  ; 

Table  makers,  sylke  dyers,  and  shepsters ; 

Golde  sheres,  keuerchef,  launds,  and  rebe  makers. 

Tankarde  berers,  bouge  men,  and  spere  planers ; 

Spynsters,  carders,  and  cappe  knytters; 

Sargeauntes,  katche  pollys,  and  somners, 

Carryers,  carters,  and  horskepers  ; 

Courte  holders,  bayles,  and  honters  ; 

Constables,  hede  borowes,  and  katers. 

Butlers,  sterchers,  and  musterde  makers  ; 

Harde  waremen,  mole  sekers,  and  ratte  takers ; 

Bewardes,  brycke  borners,  and  canel  rakers ; 

Potters,  brome  sellers,  pedelers, 

Shepherdes,  cowe  herdes,  and  swyne  kepers. 

Broche  makers,  glas  blowers,  cadelstycke  casts, 


COCKE  LORELLES   BOTE.  11 

Hedgers,  dykers,  and  mowers ; 

Gonners,  maryners,  and  shypmaysters. 

Chymney  swepers,  and  costerde  mongei's, 

Lode  men,  and  bere  brewers ; 

Fysshers  of  the  see,  and  muskel  takers ; 

Scliouyll  chepers,  gardeners,  and  rake  fetters  ; 

Players,  purse  cutters,  money  baterers, 

Golde  washers,  tomblers,  logelers. 

Pardoners,  kyges  beche  gatherers,  and  lether  dyers. 

There  were  theues,  hores,  and  baudes;  w'  mortherers, 

Crakers,  facers,  and  chylderne  quellers  ; 

Spyes,  lyers,  and  grete  sclaunderers ; 

Cursers,  chyders,  and  grete  vengeaunce  cryers. 

Dyssymulynge  beggers,  hede  brekers,  borders, 

Nette  makers,  and  harlote  takers ; 

Swerers,  and  outragyous  laughers, 

Surmowsers,  yll  thynkers,  and  make  brasers ; 

With  lollers,  lordaynes,  and  fagot  berers. 

Luskes,  slouens,  and  kechen  knaues  ; 

Bargemen,  whery  rowers,  and  dysers ; 

Tyburne  collopes,  and  peny  pryckers  ; 

Bowlers,  mas  shoters,  and  quayters ; 

Flaterers,  and  two  face  berers. 

Sluttes,  drabbes,  and  counseyll  whystelers ; 

With  smoggy  colyers,  and  stykyge  goge  fermers  ; 

Of  euery  craft  some  there  was, 

Shorte  or  longe,  more  or  lasse. 

All  these  rehersed  here  before 

In  Cockes  bote  eche  man  had  an  ore, 


12  COCKE    LORELLES   BOTE. 

All  tho  that  offyces  had, 

Some  woude  at  j'^  capstayne,  as  Cocke  the  bad ; 

Some  stode  at  y®  slyge,  some  dyde  trusse  and  thryge; 

Some  pulde  at  the  beryll,  some  sprede  y^mayne  myssyll; 

Some  howysed  the  mayne  sayle, 

Some  veryed  showte  a  very  slayle; 

Some  roped  y^  hoke,  some  y*^  pope,  and  some  y®  lauce. 

Some  y'^  loge  bote  dydc  lance,  some  mede  y®  corse, 

Mayne  corfe  toke  in  a  refe  byforce  : 

And  they  that  were  abyll  drewe  at  the  cabyll. 

Some  the  anker  layde,  some  at  the  plope  a  sayll  swepe, 

One  kepte  y®  compas  and  watched  y*  our  glasse, 

Some  y*  lodysshestoe  dyd  seke,  some  y"^  bote  dyd ; 

Some  made  knottes  of  lynkes  endes, 

Some  the  stay  rope  suerly  byndes, 

Some  a  satte  borte  a  stare  borde  ; 

Some  the  standerdes  out  dyde  brynge, 

Some  one  the  shrowedes  dyde  clyme. 

Some  couched  a  hogges  heed  vnder  a  hatche. 

Some  threwe  out  bayte,  fysshe  to  catche. 

Some  pulled  vp  the  bonauenture, 

Some  to  howes  the  tope  sayle  dyde  entre, 

Some  stered  at  the  helme  behynde, 

Some  whysteled  after  the  wynde  ; 

There  was  non  that  there  was 

But  he  had  an  offyce  more  or  lassc. 

Than  Cocke  Lorell  dyde  his  whystele  blowe 

That  all  his  men  sholde  hym  knowe, 

With  that  they  cryed,  and  made  a  shoute, 

That  the  water  shoke  all  abonte  : 


COCKE   LORELLES    BOTE.  lo 

Than  lat'ii  inyglit  here  the  ores  chisshe, 

And  on  the  water  gaue  many  a  dasshe, 

They  sprede  theyr  sayles  as  voyde  of  sorowe, 

Forthe  they  rowed  iSaint  George  to  borowe ; 

For  loye  their  trupettes  dyde  they  blowe, 

And  some  songe  heue  and  howe  rombelowe. 

They  sayled  fro  gai-lyke  hede  to  knaues  in, 

And  a  pele  of  gonnes  gan  they  rynge  ; 

Of  colman  hedge  a  sight  they  had, 

That  made  his  company  very  glad, 

For  there  they  thouglit  all  to  play 

Bytwene  tyborne  and  chelsay. 

With  this  man  was  a  lusty  company, 

For  all  raskyllers  fro  them  they  dyde  trye, 

They  banysshed  prayer,  peas,  and  sadnes ; 

And  toke  with  them  myrthe,  sporte,  and  gladnes  ; 

They  wolde  not  haue  vertu,  ne  yet  deuocyon  ; 

But  ryottc,  and  reuell,  with  ioly  rebellyon. 

They  songe  and  daunsed  full  merely, 

With  swerynge,  and  starynge  heuen  hye. 

Some  said  y'^  they  were  getle  me  of  grete  myght, 

That  ther  purses  were  so  lyght ; 

And  some  wente  in  fured  gownes,  and  gay  shone, 

That  had  no  mo  faces  than  had  the  mone. 

Of  this  daye  gladde  was  many  a  brothell. 

That  myght  haue  an  ore  Avith  Cocke  Lorell ; 

Thus  they  daunsed  with  all  theyr  myght 

Tyll  that  phebus  had  lost  liis  lyght, 

But  than  came  lucyna  with  all  her  pale  hewe. 

To  take  her  sporte  amonge  the  cloudes  blewe  ; 


14  COCKE   LORELLES  BOTE. 

And  marcury  he  trewe  downe  his  golde  hemes, 

And  sperus  her  syluer  stremes, 

That  in  the  worlde  gaue  so  grete  Ijght 

As  all  the  erth  had  he  paued  with  whyte. 

Tha  Cocke  wayed  anker,  and  housed  his  sayle. 

And  forthe  he  rowed  without  fayle  ; 

They  sayled  England  thorowe  and  thorowe, 

Vyllage,  towne,  cyte,  and  horowe  ; 

They  hlessyd  theyr  shyppe  whan  they  had  done, 

And  dranke  ahout  saynt  lulyans  torne ; 

Than  euery  man  pulled  at  his  ore, 

With  that  I  coulde  se  them  no  more. 

But  as  they  rowed  vp  the  hyll, 

The  bote  swayne  blewe  his  whysteU  full  shryll ; 

And  I  wente  homwarde  to  mowe  shame  stere, 

"With  a  company  dyde  I  mete, 

As  ermytes,  monkes  and  freres, 

Chanons,  chartores,  and  inholders  ; 

And  many  whyte  nonnes  with  whyte  vayles, 

That  was  full  wanton  of  theyr  tayles. 

To  mete  with  Cocke  they  asked  how  to  do, 

And  I  tolde  them  he  was  a  go  ; 

Than  were  they  sad  euerychone. 

And  went  agayne  to  theyr  home ; 

But  my  counseyU  I  gaue  them  there. 

To  mete  with  Cocke  another  yere. 

No  more  of  Cocke  now  I  wryte, 

But  mery  it  is  whan  knaues  done  mete, 

Cocke  had  in  his  hande  a  grete  route, 

The  thyrde  persone  of  Englande. 


COCKE   LORELLES   BOTE.  15 

Thus  of  Cocke  Lorell  I  make  an  ende, 
And  to  heuen  god  your  soules  sende, 
That  redeth  tliis  boko  ouei'  all 
Chiyst  couer  you  with  his  mantell  perpetuall. 


Here  endeth  Cocke  Lorellcs  bote.     Imprynted  at  London  in 

the  Flete  strete  at  the  sjgne  of  the  sonne 

by  Wynkyn  de  Worde. 


I 


THE 


CROWN  GARLAND 


GOLDEN  ROSES 


CONSISTINIi  (IF 


JSallatJs  antJ  ^ongsi. 


RICHARD  JOHNSON, 


AUTHOR  OF   "  THE  SKVF.N   rllAMPIONS  OF  CHUISTEVDOM. 


FROM  THE  EUITIOX  OF    |(i]2. 


EDITED  BY  W.  CHAPPELL,  F.S.A. 


LONDON : 
PRINTED    FOR    THE    PERCY    SOCIETY, 


MDCCCXLII. 


COUNCIL 


Cfte  ^eitp  ^cinetp* 


President. 
The  Et.  Hon.  LORD  BRAYBROOKE,  F.S.A. 

THOMAS  AMYOT,  Esq.  F.R.S  ,  Treas.  S  A. 

■WILLIAM  HENRY  BLACK,  Esg. 

J.  A.  CAHUSAC,   Esq.  F.S.A. 

WILLIAM  CHAPPELL,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  Treasurer. 

.T.  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

T.  CROFTON  CROKER,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  M.R.I.A. 

PETER  CUNNINGHAM,  Esq. 

REV.  ALEXANDER  DYCE. 

WILLIAM  JERDAN,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  M.R.S.L. 

SIR  FREDERICK  MADDEN,  K.H.,  F.R.S.,  F.S.A. 

T.  J.  PETTIGREW,  Esq.  F.R  S.,  F.S.A. 

E.  F.  RIMBAULT,  Esq.  F.S.A.  Secretary. 

WILLIAM  J.  THOMS,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

JAMES  WALSH,  Esq    F.S.A. 

THOMAS  WRIGHT,  Esq.  M.A.,  F.S.A. 


INTRODUCTION 


Richard  Johnson,  the  compiler,  and  in  all  pro- 
bability the  author,  of  "  The  Crowne- Garland  of 
Goulden  Roses,"  was  a  ballad  and  prose-romance 
writer  of  some  note  at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth, 
and  beginning  of  the  seventeenth,  century.  No 
particulars  of  his  life  have  descended  to  us,  and  it 
is  only  from  his  works  that  we  are  enabled  to 
glean  a  few  slight  notices  of  his  career. 

It  has  been  conjectured,  and  with  great  proba- 
bility, that  the  ballads  in  the  following  collection 
were  written  at  a  much  earlier  period  than  the 
date  of  their  publication  in  the  form  of  a  "  Gar- 
land." We  know  that  Johnson  was  an  author  as 
early  as  the  year  1592,  when  he  published  a  poem 
called  "  Nine  Worthies  of  London  :  explaining 
the  honourable  Exercise  of  Armes,  the  Vertues 
of  the  Valiant,  and  the  memorable  Attempts  of 
magnanimous  Minds,"  &c.  4to.  (reprinted  in  the 
Harleian  Miscel.  viii.  437,  ed.  Park),  and  it  was 
probably  about  that  time  he  wrote,  and  printed 
in  broadsides,  many  of  the  ballads  which  he  after- 
wards collected  in  the  present  form. 


VI 

In  Kemp's  "  Nine  Daies  Wonder,"  printed  in 
1600,  there  is  apparently  an  allusion  to  Johnson, 
as  "  the  ballad-maker  whom  his  kinsman  Jan- 
sonius  brought  out,"  and  whom  Kemp  "  humbly 
requests  not  to  fill  the  country  with  lyes  of  his 
never  done  actes,  as  he  did  in  his  late  morrice  to 
Norwich." 

"  The  Famous  Historic  of  the  Seven  Champions 
of  Christendome"  is  the  work  by  which  Johnson 
is  best  known.  Though  now  "  the  play-thing  of 
children,"  it  was  once  in  high  repute.  Meres 
mentions  it  in  his  "  Palladis  Tamia,  or  Wit's 
Treasury,"  fol.  268,  1598;  and  Bishop  Hall,  in 
his  Satires,  published  in  1597,  ranks — 

"  St.  George's  sorrell,  and  his  cross  of  blood" 

among  the  most  popular  stories  of  his  time.  The 
earliest  extant  edition  of  this  celebrated  romance 
{toliat  edition  the  title-page  does  not  indicate) 
was  printed,  in  two  parts,  in  1 608,  4to.  but  the 
Rev.  A.  Dyce  has  pointed  out  two  entries  of  it  in 
the  Stationers'  Books  in  1596.  The  first  is  to 
John  Banter,  on  the  20th  of  April,  and  the  second 
to  Cuthbert  Burby  (by  assignment  from  John 
Danter)  on  the  6th  of  September.  Vide  notes 
on  Kemp's  Nine  dales  Wonder,  p.  .35. 

Upon  the  death  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  Johnson 
lamented  that  "  untimely  event"  in  a  work  bearing 


the  title  of  "  Anglorum  Lachrympc,  in  a  sad  Pas- 
sion, complayning  the  Death  of  Qucene  Elizabeth ; 
yet  comforted  againe  by  the  vcrtuous  hopes  of  King 
James."" 

In  1607  he  published  "  The  Pleasant  Walkes 
of  Moore-fields/'  4to.,  and  in  1612  "  A  Remem- 
brance of  the  Honors  due  to  the  Life  and  Death 
of  Robert  (Cecill)  Earle  of  Salisbury." 

Johnson  was  probably  the  author  of  "  The 
History  of  Tom  of  Lincoln,"  4to.,  by  R.  J,,  who 
likewise  reprinted  "  Don  Flores  of  Greece,"  4to. 
His  latest  work  appears  to  have  been  "  Dainty 
Conceits,"  printed  in  the  year  1630.  Of  this  we 
know  no  other  copy  than  that  sold  in  the  ^Vhite- 
Knight's  Sale.  It  may  be  conjectured  that  Johnson 
.did  not  long  survive  this  date  ;  for,  if  we  suppose 
him  to  have  been  twenty-five  years  old  in  the  year 
1592,  when  we  first  hear  of  him  as  an  author,  he 
must  have  attained  the  age  of  sixty-thi-ee  when 
the  "  Dainty  Conceits"  were  published. 

The  following  Garland  is  reprinted  from  the 
first  known  edition,  viz.  that  of  1612,  a  copy  of 
which  is  deposited  in  the  Bodleian  Library.  It 
was  frequently  reprinted,  each  time  receiving 
"  new  additions."  The  greater  proportion  of  the 
ballads  are  historical,  and,  from  very  early  times 
down  to  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the 
common  people  knew  history  chiefly  from  ballads. 


vm 

Aubrey  mentions  that  his  nurse  could  repeat  the 
history  of  England,  from  the  conquest  down  to 
the  time  of  Charles  I,  in  ballads. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  give  anything  like  a 
complete  list  of  the  editions  through  which  "  The 
Crown  Garland"  passed;  but  those  of  1631  ;  of 
1659  and  1662,  for  W.  Gilbert;  of  1680,  for 
W.  W.  ;  and  of  1692,  for  W.  Thackeray  (and 
probably  others)  are  still  extant. 

It  was  at  first  intended  to  add,  in  an  appendix 
to  the  present  edition,  the  ballads  included  in  that 
of  1659,  but  a  careful  examination  has  proved 
that  the  greater  part,  if  not  the  whole,  are  to  be 
found  in  other  Garlands,  which  the  Percy  Society 
proposes  at  a  future  time  to  reprint.  Many  of 
the  added  ballads  are  by  Thomas  Deloney. 

The  contents  of  the  two  editions  are  the  same 
as  far  as  page  51  of  the  present  reprint.  All  after 
that  are  omitted  in  the  edition  of  1659,  and  the 
following  inserted  in  their  place. 

1.  A  Servant's  Sorrow  for  the  Loss  of  his  late  royal  ]\Iistris 

Queen  An.,  who  dyed  at  Hampton  Court. 

The  tune  is  "  In  sad  and  ashy  weeds." 
First  line. — "  In  dole  and  deep  distress." 

2.  The  Good  Shepheard's  sorrow  for  the  death  of  his  beloved 

son.     To  a  new  tune. 

First  line. — "In  sad  and  ashy  weeds." 


IX 

3.  Coridon's  Comfort. — The  second  part  of  the  Good  Shepheard. 

To  the  same  tune. 

First  line. — "Peace,  Shepheard,  cease  to  moan." 

4.  A  Mournful  Ditty  of  the  death  of  the  Fair  Rosamond,  King 

Henry  the  Second's  concubine.  To  the  tune  of  Flying 
Fame. 

First  line. — "  ^yhen  as  King  Henry  rul'd  this  land." 

J.  A  most  rare  and  excellent  History  of  the  Duchess  of  Suffolk's 
calamity.     To  the  tune  of  Queen  Dido. 

First  line. — "  When  God  had  taken  for  our  sin." 

This  ballad,  which  ends  the  first  part,  is  taken 
from Deloncy's  "Strange  Histories,"  1607,  which 
have  already  been  reprinted  by  the  Society.  The 
second  part  begins  with — 

6.  The  lamentable  Fall  of  the  great  Dutches  of  Glocester,  the 

>vife  of  Duke  Humfrey :  how  she  did  penance  in  London 
Streets  bare-footed,  with  a  wax  candle  in  her  hand :  and 
how  at  last  she  was  banished  the  land,  where,  in  exile  in  the 
Isle  of  Man,  she  ended  her  dayes  in  woe.  To  the  tune  of 
"  Fortune  my  Foe." 

First  line. — "I  once  a  Dutches  was  of  gi'eat  reno^ni." 

7.  A  courtly  new  song  of  the  Princely  wooing  of  the  fair  ]\Iaid 

of  London,  by  King  Edward.  To  the  tune  of  "  Bonny  sweet 
Robin." 

First  line. — "Fair  Angel  of  England,  thy  beauty  so  bright." 

8.  The  Fair  Maid  of  London's  answer  to  King  Edward's  wanton 

love.     To  the  same  tune. 

First  line. — "  Oh  wanton  King  Edward,  'tis  labour  in  vain." 

b 


9.  The  story  of  ill  May -day  in  the  time  of  King  Henry  the 
Eighth,  and  why  it  was  so  called:  and  how  Queen  Katherine 
begged  the  lives  of  two  thousand  London  Prentices.  To 
the  tune  of  "  Essex's  good  night." 

Fh-st  line. — "  Peruse  the  stories  of  this  land." 

10.  The  life  and  death  of  the  two  Ladies  of  Finsbury  that  gave 

Moor-Fields  to  the  City,  for  the  Maidens  of  London  to 
dry  cloaths  in.     To  the  tune  of  "  Where  is  ray  true  love." 

First  line. — "  You  gallant  London  Damsels." 

11.  An  excellent  Song  made  of  the  successors  of  King  EdAvard 

the  Fourth.     To  the  tune  of  "  0  man  in  desperation." 

First  line. — "  When  as  the  King  of  England  dy'd." 

12.  The  princely  Song  of  the  Six  Queens  that  were  married  to 

Henry  the  Eighth,  King  of  England.     The  tune  is  "  Well- 
aday." 

First  line. — "  When  England  fame  did  ring." 

13.  The  lamentable  complaint  of  Queen  Mary  for  the  unkind 

departure  of  King  Philip,  in  whose  absence  she  fell  sick, 
and  dyed.     The  tmie  is  Crimson  Velvet. 

First  line. — "Many  doth  complain." 

14.  The  Battel  of  Agen-Court,  between  the  English -men  and 

French-men.     The  tune  is  Flying  Fame. 
First  line. — "  A  coimcil  grave  our  king  did  hold." 


4 


C  R  O  W  N  E  -  G  A  R  L  A  N  D 


GOULDEN  ROSES. 


GATHERED  OUT  OF  ENGLAND'S  ROYALL  GARDEN. 


BEING    THE    LIVES    AND    STRANGE    FORTUNES    OF    MANY    GREAT 

PERSONAGES  OF  THIS  LAND.     SET  FORTH  IN  MANY  PLEASANT 

NEW  SONGS  AND  SON-NETTS  NEVER  BEFORE  IJITRINTED. 


BY  RICHAED  JOHNSON. 


AT  LONDON. 

Printed  by  G.  Eld  for  John  Wright,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  his 
Shop  at  Christ  Church  Gate. 

1(112. 


THE    CROWNE-GARLAND 

OF 

GOLDEN  ROSES. 


A  PRINCKLY  SONG  MADE  OF  THE  KED  ROSE  AXD  THE  WHITE, 
ROYALLY  UNITED  TOGETHER  BY  KING  HENRY  THE  SEVENTH 
AND  ELIZABETH  PLANTAGIXET,  DAUGHTER  TO  EDAVABD  THE 
FOrRTH  :  FROM  WHOM  OCR  NOW  SOVERAIGN  LOUD,  KING  JAMES, 
LINNIALLY  DESCENDED. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  When  flying  Fame." 


When  Yorke  and  Lankaster  made  war, 

Within  this  famous  land, 
The  lives  of  England's  royall  peeres 

Did  in  much  danger  stand. 
Seaven  English  kings,  in  bloody  feelds, 

For  England's  crowne  did  fight ; 
In  which  their  heires  were,  all  but  twaine. 

Of  lives  bereaved  quight. 

Then  thirty  thousand  English-men 

Were  in  one  battel  slaine  ; 
Yet  could  not  ail  this  English  blood, 

A  setled  peace  obtaine. 


THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

For  fathers  kind  their  deere  sonnes  kil'd, 

And  sons  their  fathers  slew, 
Yea,  kindreds  fought  against  their  kind, 

And  not  each  others  knew. 

At  last,  by  Henries  lawfull  claime. 

This  wasting  warre  had  end  ; 
For  England's  peace  he  soone  restor'd. 

And  did  the  same  defend. 
For  tyrant  Richard,  nam'd  the  Third, 

Chief  breeder  of  this  wo. 
By  him  was  slaine  neare  Leaster  towne. 

As  cronicles  doe  show. 

All  feares  of  warre  he  thus  exil'd. 

Which  joy'd  each  English-man, 
And  dales  of  long-desired  peace 

Within  the  land  began. 
He  rul'd  his  kingdome  by  true  love, 

To  cheire  his  subjects'  lives: 
For  every  one  had  dayly  joy, 

And  comfoi't  of  their  wives. 

■King  Henry  had  such  a  princely  care 

Our  further  peace  to  frame, 
Tooke  fair  Elizabeth  to  wife. 

That  gallant  Yorkest  dame : 
Fourth  Edward's  daughter,  blest  of  God 

To  scape  King  Richard's  spight, 
Was  thus  made  England's  peerless  queene, 

And  Henries  hearts  delight. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES. 

Thus  Henry,  first  of  Tudor's  name, 

And  Lankaster  the  last, 
With  Yorke's  right  heire,  a  true  love's  knot 

Did  liuke  and  tie  full  fast. 
Renowned  Yorke  the  White  Rose  gave, 

Brave  Lankaster  the  Red  : 
By  wedlocke  here  conjoyn'd  to  grow, 

Both  in  one  pi'incely  bed. 

These  Roses  sprang  and  budded  faire, 

And  carried  such  a  grace, 
That  Kings  of  England  in  their  armes 

Afford  them  worthy  place. 
And  florish  may  these  Roses  long, 

That  aU  the  world  may  tell, 
The  owners  of  these  princely  flowers 

In  vertues  doe  excell. 

To  glorifie  these  Roses  more, 

King  Henry  and  his  queene 
First  plac'd  their  pictures  in  [wrought]  gold. 

Most  gorgeous  to  be  seene. 
The  king's  owne  gard  now  weares  the  same 

Upon  their  backes  and  brest ; 
Where  love  and  loyalty  remaines, 

And  evermore  shall  rest. 

The  red  rose  on  the  backe  is  plast, 

Thereon  a  crowne  of  gold  ; 
The  white  rose  on  the  brest  as  brave 

And  costly  to  behold  ; 


THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Bedeckt  most  rich  with  silver  studs, 

On  cotes  of  scarlet  red  ; 
A  blushing  hew,  which  England's  fame 

Now  many  a  yeare  hath  bred. 

Thus  Tudor  and  Plantaginet 

Ihese  honors  first  devized, 
To  welcome  long  desired  peace, 

With  us  so  dearely  prized. 
A  peace  that  now  maintayned  is 

By  James,  our  royall  king : 
For  peace  brings  plenty  to  the  land. 

With  every  blessed  thing. 

To  speake  againe  of  Henries  praise. 

His  princely  liberall  hand 
Gave  guifts  and  graces  many  waies 

Unto  this  famous  land  : 
For  which  the  Lord  him  blessings  sent, 

And  multiplied  his  store; 
In  that  he  left  more  wealth  to  us 

Then  any  king  before. 

For  first  his  sweet  and  lovely  queene, 

A  joy  above  the  rest. 
Brought  him  both  sonnes  and  daughters  faire. 

To  make  this  kingdom  blest. 
The  royall  blood,  that  was  at  ebb. 

So  increased  by  this  queene. 
That  England's  heirs  unto  this  day, 

Doe  florish  faire  and  greeue. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES. 

The  first  faire  blessing  of  his  seede 

Was  Ai-thur  Prince  of  Wales, 
Whose  vertues  to  the  Spanish  court, 

Quite  ore  the  ocean  sayles. 
There  Ferdinand,  the  King  of  Spaine, 

His  daughter  Katherne  gave 
For  wife  unto  the  English  prince  ; 

A  thing  that  God  would  have. 

Yet  Arthur  in  his  lofty  youth, 

And  blooming  time  of  age. 
Submitted  raeekely  his  sweet  life 

To  death's  impartiall  rage  : 
AVho  dying  so,  no  issew  left, 

The  sweet  of  nature's  joy, 
Which  compast  England  round  with  gricfe. 

And  Spaine  with  sad  anoy. 

King  Henries  second  comfort  prov'd 

A  Henry  of  his  name  ; 
In  following  time  eight[h]  Henry  cal'd, 

A  king  of  noble  fame. 
He  conquered  Bullen  with  his  sword, 

With  many  townes  in  France  : 
His  manly  might  and  fortitude 

Did  England's  fame  advance. 

He  popish  abbies  first  supprest. 

And  papestry  pul'd  downe  ; 
And  bound  their  lands  by  parliment 

Unto  his  royal!  crowne. 


THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

He  had  three  children  by  three  wives, 

All  princes  raining  here  ; 
Edward,  Mary,  and  Elizabeth, 

A  queene  belov'd  most  deare. 

These  three  sweet  branches  bare  no  frute, 

God  no  such  joy  did  send ; 
Through  which  the  kingly  Tudors'  name 

In  England  here  had  end. 
The  last  Plantaginet  that  liv'd 

Was  nam'd  Elizabeth : 
Elizabeth  last  Tudor  was, 

The  greatest  queene  of  earth. 

Seventh  Henry  yet  we  name  againe, 

Whose  grace  gave  free  consent 
To  have  his  daughters  married,  both 

To  kings  of  high  desent : 
Margret,  the  eldest  of  the  twaine, 

Was  made  great  Scotland's  queene  ; 
As  wise,  as  fair,  as  vertuous 

As  eare  was  lady  scene. 

From  which  fair  queene  our  royall  king 

By  lineale  course  descendeth  ; 
And  rightfully  he  injoys  that  crowne. 

Which  God  now  still  befrerideth. 
For  Tudor  and  Plantaginet, 

By  yeelding  unto  death, 
Have  made  renowned  Steward's  name 

The  greatest  upon  earth. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES. 

His  younger  daughter,  Mary  cal'd, 

As  princely  by  degree, 
Was  by  her  father  worthy  thought 

The  Queene  of  France  to  be : 
And  after  to  the  SufFolke  Duke 

Was  made  a  noble  wife, 
Where,  in  the  famous  English  court 

She  lead  a  vertuous  life. 

King  Heni'y  and  his  lovely  queene 

Rejoyst  to  see  the  day. 
To  have  their  children  thus  advanst 

With  honors  every  way : 
Which  purchast  pleasure  and  content, 

With  many  a  yeares  delight ; 
Till  sad  mischance,  by  cruell  death, 

Procur'd  them  both  a  spight. 

The  queene,  that  faire  and  princely  dame, 

That  mother  meeke  and  mild. 
To  ad  more  number  to  her  joy es, 

Againe  grew  big  with  child : 
All  which  brought  comfort  to  her  King; 

Against  which  carefull  hower. 
He  lodg'd  his  dear  kind-hearted  queene 

In  London's  stately  Tower. 

That  tower,  which  prov'd  so  fatal  once 

To  princes  of  degi'ee, 
Prov'd  fatall  to  this  noble  queene. 

For  therein  dyed  she. 


THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

In  cliild-bed  lost  she  her  sweet  life, 

Her  life  esteem'd  so  deare  ; 
Which  had  beene  England's  loving  queene 

Full  many  a  happy  yeare. 

The  king  herewith  posest  with  griefe, 

Spent  many  months  in  moane  ; 
And  dayly  sight,  and  said  that  he 

Like  her  could  find  out  none : 
Nor  none  could  he  in  fancy  chuse 

To  make  his  weded  wife ; 
Therefore  a  widdower  would  remaine 

The  remnant  of  his  life. 

His  after-daies  he  spent  in  peace 

And  quietnesse  of  mind ; 
Like  king  and  queene,  as  these  two  were. 

The  world  can  hardly  find. 
Our  king  and  queene,  yet  like  to  them 

In  vertue  and  true  love, 
Have  heavenly  blessings,  in  like  sort, 

From  heavenly  powers  above. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES. 


ADELIGHTFULL  SONG  OF  THE  FOURE  FAMOUS  FEASTS  OF  ENGLAND: 
THE  ONE  OF  THEM  ORDAYNED  BY  KING  HENRY  THE  SEVENTH 
TO  THE  HONOR  OF  MARCHANT  TAYLORS  ;  SHEWING  HOW  SEVEN 
KINGS  HAVE  BEEN  FREE  OF  THAT  COMPANY,  AND  NOW  LASTLY 
GRACED  WITH  THE  LOVE  OF  OUR  RENOWNED  PRINCE  HENRY  OF 
GREAT  BRITTAINE. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  Treatan's  Toy." 


England  is  a  kingdome 

Of  all  the  world  admired, 
More  statelinesse  in  pleasures 

Can  no  way  be  desired : 
The  court  is  fuU  of  bravery, 

The  citty  stor'd  with  wealth, 
The  law  preserveth  unity, 

The  country  keepeth  health. 

Yet  no  like  pompe  and  glory 

Our  cronicles  record, 
As  four  great  feasts  of  England 

Do  orderly  afford : 
All  others  be  but  dinners  cal'd. 

Or  banquets  of  good  sorte. 
And  none  but  fowre  be  named  feasts 

Which  here  I  will  report. 

Saint  George's  feast,  the  first  of  all, 

Maintained  is  by  kings, 
Where  much  renowne  and  royalty 

Thereof  now  dayly  rings  : 


10  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Princes  come  from  t'oraine  lands 
To  be  St.  George's  knights  ; 

The  golden  garter  thus  is  worne 
By  sundry  worthy  wights. 

St.  George,  our  English  champion, 

In  most  delightful!  sort 
Is  celebrated,  yeare  by  yeare, 

In  England's  royaU  court. 
The  King,  with  all  his  noble  traine, 

In  gould  and  rich  aray, 
Still  glorifies  the  festivall 

Of  great  Saint  George's  day. 

The  honoured  Maior  of  London 

The  second  feast  ordaines, 
By  which  the  worthy  citizens 

Much  commendation  gains : 
For  lords,  and  judges  of  the  land, 

And  knights  of  good  request, 
To  Guildliall  come  to  countenance 

Lord  Maior  of  London's  feast. 

Also  the  sargeants  of  the  law 

Another  feast  affords, 
With  grace  and  honor  glorified 

By  England's  noble  lords ; 
And  this  we  call  the  sergiants'  feast, 

A  third  in  name  and  place, 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  1 1 

But  yet  there  is  a  fourth  likewise, 
Deserves  as  gallant  grace. 

The  Mar  chant- Taylors  company, 

The  fellowship  of  fame. 
To  London's  lasting  dignity. 

Lives  honored  with  the  same  : 
A  guift  King  Henry  the  Seaventh  gave, 

Kept  once  in  three  yeares  still, 
"Where  gould  and  gownes  be  to  poore  men 

Given  by  King  Henries  will. 

Full  many  good  fat  bucks  he  sent, 

The  fairest  and  the  best 
The  king's  large  forest  can  afford, 

To  grace  tliis  worthy  feast ; 
A  feast  that  makes  the  number  just, 

And  last  account  of  foure, 
Therefore  let  England  thus  report ; 

Of  feasts  there  be  no  more. 

Then  let  all  London  companies, 

So  highly  in  renown. 
Give  Marchant- Taylors  name  and  fame 

To  weare  the  lawreU  crowne  : 
For  seven  of  England's  royall  kings 

Thereof  have  all  beene  free. 
And  with  their  loves  and  favors,  grac'd 

This  worthy  company. 


12  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

King  Richard,  once  the  second  nam'd, 

Unhappy  in  his  fall, 
Of  all  these  race  of  royall  kings 

Was  freeman  first  of  all. 
Bolingbrooke,  fourth  Henry,  next 

By  order  him  succeeds, 
To  gloryfie  this  brother-hood 

By  many  princely  deeds. 

Fift  Henry,  which  so  valiently 

Deserved  fame  in  France, 
Became  free  of  this  company, 

Faire  London  to  advance. 
Sixt  Henry  then,  the  next  in  raigne, 

Though  lucklesse  in  his  dales, 
Of  Marchant-Taylors  freemen  was. 

To  [their]  eternall  praise. 

Fourth  Edward,  that  right  Avorthy  king, 

Beloved  of  great  and  small, 
Also  perform'd  a  freeman's  love 

To  this  renowned  hall. 
Third  Richard,  which  by  cruellty. 

Brought  England  many  woes, 
Unto  this  worthy  company 

No  little  favour  showes. 

But  richest  favours  yet,  at  last. 

Proceeded  from  a  king, 
Whose  wisdome  round  about  the  world, 

In  princes'  eai'es  doth  ring ; 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  IS 

King  Henry,  whome  we  call  the  seventh, 

]\Iade  them  the  greatest  grac'd. 
Because  in  March  ant -Taylors'  hall 

His  picture  now  stands  placed. 

Their  charter  was  his  princely  guift, 

Maintaynd  unto  this  day  ; 
He  added  Marchant  to  the  name 

Of  taylors,  as  some  say. 
Lo  !  Marchant-Taylors  they  be  cal'd, 

His  royall  love  was  so ; 
No  London-company  the  like 

Estate  of  kings  can  shoe. 

From  time  to  time  we  thus  behold 

The  Marchant-Taylors'  glory, 
Of  whose  renowne  the  muses'  pens 

May  make  a  lasting  story. 
This  love  of  kings  begot  such  love 

Of  our  now  royall  prince, 
(For  greater  love  then  his  to  them 

Was  nere  before  nor  since ;) 

It  pleased  so  his  princely  minde, 

In  meek  kinde  courtesie. 
To  be  a  friendly  freeman  made 

Of  this  brave  company. 
[O]  London  !  then  in  heart  rejoyce, 

And  Marchant-Taylors  sing 
Forth  prayses  of  this  gentle  prince, 

The  sonne  of  our  o-ood  kinsr ! 


14  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

To  tell  the  welcomes  to  the  world, 

He  then  in  London  had, 
Might  fill  us  full  of  pleasing  joyes. 

And  make  our  hearts  fuU  glad. 
His  triumphs  were  perform'd  and  done, 

Long  lasting  will  remaine  ; 
And  chronicles  report  aright 

The  order  of  it  plaine. 


THE  LAMENTABLE  SONG  OF  THE  LORD  WIGMOORE,  GOVERNOR  OF 
WARWICKE  CASTLE,  AND  THE  FAYRE  MAID  OF  DUNSMOORE :  AS 
A  WARNING  TO  ALL  MAIDS  TO  HAVE  CARE  HOW  THEY  YEELD 
TO  THE  WANTON    DELIGHTS  OF  YOUNG  GALLANTS. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  Diana." 


In  Warwickshire  there  stands  a  downe, 
And  Dunsmoore-heath  it  hath  to  name, 

Adjoyning  to  a  country  towne. 
Made  famous  by  a  maiden's  name : 

Faire  Isabel  she  called  Avas, 

A  shepheard's  daughter,  as  some  say ; 
To  Wigmoore's  eare  her  fame  did  passe. 

As  he  in  Warwicke- Castle  lay. 

Poore  love-sicke  lord  immediately 
Upon  her  fame  set  his  delight ; 

And  thought  much  pleasure  sure  did  lie. 
Possessing;  of  so  sweet  a  wight. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  15 

Therefore  to  Dunsmoore  did  repair, 

To  recreate  his  sickly  mind ; 
Where  in  a  summer's  evening  faii*e, 

His  chance  was  Isabell  to  find. 

She  sat  amidst  a  meddow  greene, 

Most  richly  spred  with  smelling  flowers, 

And  by  a  river  she  was  scene 

To  spend  away  some  evening  howers. 

There  sat  this  maiden  all  alone, 

Wasliing  her  self  in  secret  wise, 
Wliich  virgin  faire  to  look  upon 

Did  much  delight  his  longing  eyes. 

She,  thinking  not  to  be  espied, 

Had  layd  from  her  her  countrey  tire ; 

The  tresses  of  her  haire  untide. 

Hung  glist'ring  like  the  golden  wier : 

And,  as  the  flakes  of  winter's  snow 

That  lie  unmelted  on  the  plaines, 
So  white  her  body  was  in  show;  * 

Like  silver  springs  did  run  her  vaines. 

He,  ravisht  with  this  pleasant  sight. 

Stood  as  a  man  amazed  still ; 
Suffering  his  eyes  to  take  delight, 

That  never  thought  they  had  their  fill. 


1  6  THE  CROWNE-CrARLAND 

She  blinded  his  aiFection  so, 

That  reason's  rules  were  led  awry  ; 

And  love  the  coales  of  lust  did  blow, 
Which  to  a  fire  soone  flamed  hye  : 

And  though  he  knew  the  sinne  was  great, 
Yet  burned  so  within,  his  brest, 

With  such  a  vehement  scorching  heat. 
That  none  but  she  could  lend  him  rest. 

Lord  Wigmore  beeing  thus  drown'd  in  lust. 

By  liking  of  this  dainty  dame  ; 
He  call'd  a  servant  of  great  trust, 

Inquiring  straight  what  was  her  name. 

She  is,  quoth  he,  no  married  wife. 

But  a  shepheard's  daughter,  as  you  see, 

And  with  her  father  leads  her  life, 

Whose  dwellings  by  these  pastures  bee  : 

Her  name  is  Isabel  the  faire  ; 

Then  stay,  quoth  he,  and  speak  no  more. 
But  to  my  castle  strait  her  beare, 

Her  sight  hath  wounded  me  full  sore. 

Thus  to  Lord  Wigmoore  she  was  brought ; 

Who  with  delight  his  fancies  fed, 
And  through  his  sute  such  means  he  Avrought, 

That  he  entic'd  her  to  his  bed. 


OF  GOLDEN  KOSF.S.  17 

This  being  done,  incontinent 

She  did  return  from  whence  she  came, 

And  every  day  she  did  invent 
To  cover  her  received  shame. 

But  ere  three  months  were  fully  past. 
Her  crime  committed  plaine  appears : 

Unto  Lord  AVigmore  then,  in  haste, 

She  long  complain'd  with  weeping  teares. 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  FAIR  ISABELL  FOR  THE  LOSSE  OF  HER  HONOUR, 
AT  THE  END  WHEREOF  SHE  SLEW  HERSELFE. 

To  the  same  Tune. 


Lord  "Wigmoore  !  thus  I  have  defil'd 
And  spotted  my  pure  virgin's  bed; 

Behold  I  am  conceiv'd  with  childe, 
To  which  vile  folly  you  me  led  : 

For  now  this  deed  that  I  have  wi'ought 
Throughout  this  country  well  is  knowne, 

And  to  my  woful  parents  brought. 

Whom  now  for  me  do  make  great  mone. 

How  shall  I  looke  them  in  the  face, 

When  they  my  shamelesse  selfe  shall  see? 

Then  sed:  Eve!  I  feele  thy  case, 
When  thou  hadst  tasted  on  the  tree ! 

c 


18  THE  CROWN  GART.AND 

Thou  hidst  thyselfe,  and  so  must  I, 
But  Grod  thy  trespasse  quickly  found  ; 

The  dark  may  hide  me  from  man's  eye, 
But  leave  my  shame  still  to  abound. 

Wide  open  are  my  eyes  to  looke 
Upon  my  sad  and  heavy  sinne ; 

And  quite  unclasped  is  the  booke 
Where  my  accounts  are  written  in. 

This  sin  of  mine  deserveth  death ; 

Be  judge,  Lord  Wigmoore,  I  am  slice, 
For  I  have  tread  a  strumpet's  path, 

And  for  the  same  I  needs  must  die ! 

Bespotted  with  reproachful  shame 
To  ages  following  shall  I  bee, 

And  in  records  be  writ  my  blame  ; 
Lord  Wigmoore,  this  is  long  of  thee  ! 

Lord  Wigmoore,  prostrate  at  thy  feete, 
I  crave  my  first  deserved  doome, 

That  death  may  cut  off  from  the  roote 
This  body,  blossom,  branch  and  bloome  ! 

Let  modesty  accuse  this  crime  ! 

Let  love,  and  law,  and  nature  speake! 
Was  ever  any  wretch  yet  scene 

That  in  one  instant  all  did  breake  ? 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  1 9 

Then,  Wigmoore,  justice  on  me  show, 

That  thus  consented  to  this  act ; 
Give  me  my  death :  for  death  is  due 

To  such  as  sinne  in  such  a  fact. 

O  that  the  wombe  had  beene  my  grave, 

Or  I  had  perisht  in  my  birth  I 
0  that  same  day  may  darknesse  have 

Wherein  I  first  drew  vitall  breath  I 

Let  God  regard  it  not  at  all ! 

Let  not  the  sunne  upon  it  shine  ! 
Let  mist}'  darknesse  on  it  fall, 

For  to  make  knowne  this  sinne  of  mine  I 

The  night  Avherein  I  was  conceiv'd 
Let  be  accurst  with  mournefuU  eyes  ! 

Let  twinckling  starres  from  skyes  be  reav'd, 
And  clouds  of  darknesse  thereon  rise  ! 

Because  they  shut  not  up  the  powers, 

That  gave  the  passage  to  my  life. 
Come  sorrow,  finish  up  mine  howers, 

And  let  my  time  here  end  with  greefe  I 

And  having  made  this  wofull  moane, 

A  knife  she  snatched  from  her  side ; 
Where  Lucresse  part  was  rightly  showiie. 

For  with  the  same,  fayre  Isabell  dyed. 

c  2 


20  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Whereat  Lord  AVigmoore  grieved  sore, 
In  lieart  repenting  liis  amisse, 

And  after  would  attempt  no  more 

To  crop  the  flowers  of  maiden's  blisse : 

But  lived  long  in  woefuU  wise, 
TiU  death  did  finish  up  his  dayes, 

And  now  in  Isabel's  grave  he  lyes 

Till  judgment  comes  them  both  to  raise. 


A  SONG  OF  SIR  RICHARD  WHITTINGTON,  WHO  BY  STRANGE  FOR- 
TUNES CAME  TO  BEE  THRICE  LORD  MAIOR  OF  LONDON  ;  WITH 
HIS  BOUNTIFULL  GUIFTS  AND  LIBERALLITY  GIVEN  TO  THIS 
HONOURABLE  CITTY. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  Dainty  come  thou  to  me." 


Here  must  I  tell  the  praise 

Of  worthy  Whittington ; 
Known  to  be  in  his  dayes 

Thrice  Mai  or  of  London. 
But  of  poor  parentage 

Borne  was  he,  as  we  heare; 
And  in  his  tender  age 

Bred  up  in  Lancashire. 

Poorely  to  London  than 
Came  up  this  simple  lad ; 

Where,  with  a  marchant-man, 
Soone  he  a  dwelling  had ; 


OF  GULDEN  ROSES.  21 

Aud  in  a  kitchen  plast 

A  scullion  for  to  be, 
Whereas  long  time  he  past 

In  labour  drudgingly. 

His  daily  service  was 

Turning  spitts  at  the  fire, 
And  to  scour  pots  of  brasse, 

For  a  poors  scullions  hire. 
Meat  and  drinke  all  his  pay, 

Of  coyne  he  had  no  stare, 
Therefore  to  run  away, 

In  secret  thought  he  bore. 

80  from  this  Marchant-man, 

"WTiittington  secretly 
Towards  his  country  ran, 

To  purchase  liberty. 
But,  as  he  went  along 

In  a  fair  summer  morne, 
London's  bells  sweetly  rung, 

"Wittington  back  return." 

Evermore  sounding  so, 

'•'■  Turn  againe,  Whittington, 
For  thou  in  time  shall  grow 

Lord  Maior  of  London." 
Whereupon  back  againe 

Whittington  came  \\itli  speed, 
A  pi'entise  to  remaine, 

As  the  lord  had  decreed. 


22  THE  ('ROWN  GARLAND 

Still  blessed  be  the  bells : 

This  was  his  daily  song, 
"They  my  good  fortune  tells, 

Most  sweetly  have  they  rung. 
If  God  so  favour  me, 

I  will  not  proove  unkind, 
London  my  love  shall  see. 

And  my  great  bounties  find." 

But  see  his  happy  chance : 

This  scullion  had  a  cat, 
Which  did  his  state  advance, 

And  by   it  wealth  he  gat. 
His  maister  ventred  forth, 

To  a  land  far  unknowne, 
"With  marchandise  of  worth, 

As  is  in  stories  showne. 

Wittington  had  no  more 

But  his  i)Oore  cat  as  than, 
AVTiich  to  the  ship  he  bore, 

Like  a  brave  marchant  man. 
Vent'ring  the  same,  quoth  he, 

I  may  get  store  of  golde. 
And  maior  of  London  be, 

As  the  bells  have  me  told. 

Wittington's  marchandise 
Carried  was  to  a  land 

Troubled  with  rats  and  mice, 
As  they  did  understand  : 


OF  GOLDKN  ROSES.  23 

The  king  of  that  country,  there 

As  he  at  dinner  sat, 
Daily  remain'd  in  fear 

Of  many  a  mouse  and  rat. 

Meat  that  in  trenchers  hiy, 

No  way  they  could  keepe  safe, 
But  by  rats  borne  away, 

Fearing  no  wand  or  staife. 
AVhereupou  soone  they  brought 

Wittington's  nimble  cat, 
Which  by  the  king  was  bought; 

Heapes  of  gold  giv'n  foi-  that. 

Home  againe  came  these  men 

"With  their  ships  loaden  so, 
Whittington's  wealth  began 

By  this  cat  thus  to  grow. 
Scullions  life  he  forsooke 

To  be  a  marchant  good, 
And  soon  began  to  looke 

How  well  his  credit  stood. 

After  that  he  was  chose 

Shriefe  of  the  citty  heere. 
And  then  full  quickly  rose 

Higher,  as  did  appeare. 
For  to  this  cities  praise. 

Sir  Richard  Whittington 
Came  to  be  in  his  dayes, 

Thrise  Maior  of  London. 


24  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

More  his  fame  to  advance, 

Thousands  he  lent  his  king, 
To  maintaine  warres  in  France, 

Glory  from  thence  to  bring. 
And  after,  at  a  feast 

Which  he  the  king  did  make. 
He  bm'nt  the  bonds  all  in  jeast. 

And  would  no  money  take. 

Ten  thousand  pound  he  gave 

To  his  prince  willingly, 
And  would  not  one  penny  have  : 

This  in  kind  curtesie. 
God  did  thus  made  him  great ; 

So  would  he  daily  see 
Poor  people  fed  with  meat, 

To  shew  his  charity. 

Prisoners  poore  cherish'd  were  ; 

Widdowes  sweet  comfort  found  ; 
Good  deeds  both  far  and  neere, 

Of  him  do  still  resound. 
Wittington  CoUedge  is 

One  of  his  charities  ; 
Records  reporteth  this, 

To  lasting  memories. 

Newgate  he  builded  faire. 
For  prisoners  to  live  in  ; 

Christ's-Church  he  did  repaire. 
Christian  love  for  to  win. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  25 

Many  more  such  like  deedes 

Were  done  by  Whittington, 
Which  joy  and  comfort  breedes 

To  such  as  looke  thereon. 

Lancashire,  thou  hast  bred 

This  flower  of  charity  ! 
Though  he  be  gon  and  dead, 

Yet  lives  he  lastingly. 
Those  bells  that  calFd  him  so, 

"  Turne  again  AVhittington" 
Call  you  back  many  moe 

To  live  so  in  London. 


TIIK  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  THE  GREAT  DUKE  OF  BrCKlNGHAM : 
WHO  CAME  TO  AN  UNTIMELY  END  FOR  CONSENTING  TO  THE 
DEPOSITING  OF  TWO  GALLANT  YOUNG  PRINCES,  KING  EDWARD 
THE  fourth's  CHILDREN. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  Shore's  Wife." 


A  tale  of  grief  I  must  unfold, 
A  tale  that  never  yet  was  told, 
A  tale  that  might  to  pitty  moove, 
The  spirits  below,  and  saints  above. 

AVhen  warres  did  plague  this  maiden  land, 
Great  Buckingham  in  grace  did  stand ; 
With  kings  and  queenes  he  ruled  so. 
When  he  said  I,  none  durst  say  No. 


26  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Great  Glouster's  duke,  that  waslit  the  throne 
With  blood  of  kings,  to  make't  his  own. 
By  Henry  StaiFord's  help  obtain'd 
What  reason  wil'd  to  be  refrain'd. 

If  any  noble  of  this  land 
Against  great  Glouster's  aime  did  stand, 
Ould  Buckingham  with  might  and  power, 
In  seas  of  woes  did  him  devour. 

He  hoped  when  Richard  was  made  king, 
He  would  much  greater  honors  bring 
To  Buckingham  and  to  his  name. 
And  well  reward  him  for  the  same. 

In  Clarence'  death  he  had  a  hand, 

And  'gainst  King  Edward's  queen  did  stand, 

And  to  her  sons  bore  little  love. 

When  he  as  bastards  would  them  proove. 

King  Edward  swore  him  by  his  oth. 
In  true  alledgiance  to  them  both  ; 
"  Which  if  I  faile,  I  wish,"  quoth  he, 
"  All  christians'  curse  may  light  on  me." 

It  so  fell  out  on  All-Soules  day, 
By  law  his  life  was  tane  away : 
He  had  his  wish  though  not  his  will, 
P"'or  treason's  end  is  alwaies  ill. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  27 

In  London  having  pleaded  claime, 
And  Richard  thereby  won  the  game, 
He  challeng'd  honour  for  his  gain, 
But  was  rewarded  with  disdaine. 

On  which  disgrace  within  few  houres, 
Great  Buckingham  had  rais'd  liis  230wers  : 
But  all  in  vain,  the  king  was  strong, 
And  Stafford  needs  must  suffer  wrong. 

His  army  fail'd,  and  durst  not  stand 
Upon  a  traitor's  false  command. 
Being  thus  deceaved,  ould  Stafford  fled, 
Not  knowing  where  to  hide  his  head. 

The  king  with  speed  to  have  him  found, 
Did  offer  ful  two  thousand  pound  : 
Thus  Richard  sought  to  cast  him  downe, 
Whose  wit  did  win  him  England's  crowne. 

The  plaine  old  Duke,  his  life  to  save. 
Of  liis  owne  man  did  souccour  crave  ; 
In  hope  that  he  would  him  releive 
That  late  much  land  to  him  did  give. 

Base  Banester  this  man  was  nam'd, 
By  this  vile'd  deed  for  ever  sham'd. 
"  It  is"  quoth  he  "  a  common  thing 
To  injure  him  that  wrong'd  his  king." 


28  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

"  King  Edward's  children  he  betraid, 
The  like  'gainst  him  I  will  have  plaid  ; 
Being  true,  my  heart  him  greatly  grast, 
But  proving  false,  that  love  is  past." 

Thus  Banester  his  maister  sold 
Unto  his  foe  for  hiere  of  gold  : 
But  raarke  his  end,  and  rightly  see 
The  just  reward  of  treechery. 

The  Duke  by  law  did  loose  his  blood, 
For  him  he  sought  to  do  most  good  ; 
The  man  that  wrought  his  maister's  woe, 
By  ling'ring  griefe  was  brought  full  low. 

For  when  the  king  did  heare  him  speak  e 
How  basely  he  the  duke  did  take, 
Instead  of  gold  gave  him  disgrace. 
With  banishment  from  towne  and  place. 

Thus  Banester  was  forst  to  beg, 
And  crave  for  food  with  cap  and  leg, 
But  none  to  him  would  bread  bestow, 
That  to  his  master  prov'd  a  foe. 

Thus  wand'red  he  in  poor  estate, 
Repenting  his  misdeed  too  late. 
Till  starved  he  gave  up  his  breath, 
By  no  man  pittied  at  his  death. 


I 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  29 

To  wofull  ends  his  children  came, 
Sore  punisht  for  their  father's  shame; 
Within  a  kennell  one  was  drown'd, 
Where  water  scarce  could  hide  the  ground. 

Another,  by  the  powers  devine, 
Was  strangely  eaten  up  by  swine  ; 
The  last  a  woofull  ending  makes, 
By  strangling  in  a  stinking  jakes. 

Let  traitors  thus  behold  and  see, 

And  such  as  false  to  masters  be : 

Let  disobedient  sonnes  draw  neere, 

These  judgments  wel  may  touch  them  neere. 

Both  old  and  young  that  live  not  well, 
Looke  to  be  plagu'd  from  heaven  or  hell : 
So  have  you  heard  the  story  than 
Of  this  great  Duke  of  Buckingham. 


THE  WOFULL  DEATH  OF  QUEENE  .TAKE,  WIFE  TO  KING  HENRY  THE 
EIGHT  :    AND  HOW  KING  EDWARD  WAS  CUT  OUT  OF 

HIS  mother's  belly. 
To  the  Tune  of  "  The  Lamentation  for  the  Lord  of  Essex." 


When  as  King  Henry  rul'd  this  land, 
He  had  a  queene  I  understand, 
Lord  Seymour's  daughter,  faire  and  bright. 
King  Henry's  comfort  and  delight: 


30  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Yet  death,  by  his  I'eniorselesse  power, 
Did  blast  the  bloome  of  this  sweet  flower. 
Oh  !  mourne,  mourne,  mourne,  faire  ladies  : 
Jane  your  queen,  the  flo^ver  of  England,  dies. 

His  former  queenes  being  wrapt  in  lead. 
This  gallant  dame  possest  his  bed: 
Where  rightly  from  her  wombe  did  spring 
A  joyfull  comfort  to  hir  king  ; 
A  welcome  blessing  to  the  land, 
Preserv'd  by  God's  most  holy  hand. 

Oh !  mounie,  mourne,  mourne,  faire  ladies, 
Jane  your  queen,  the  flower  of  England,  die.-;. 

The  queen  in  travell,  pained  sore 
Full  thirty  woeful  dales  and  more, 
And  no  way  could  delivered  be, 
As  every  lady  wisht  to  see : 
Wherefore  the  king  made  greater  mone 
Than  ever  yet  his  grace  had  showne. 

Oh  !  mourne,  mourne,  mourne,  faire  ladies, 
Jane  your  queen,  the  flower  of  England,  die*. 

Being  something  eased  in  his  mind, 
His  eyes  a  slumbering  sleepe  did  find  ; 
Where  dreaming  he  had  lost  a  rose. 
But  which  he  could  not  well  suppose  ; 
A  ship  he  had,  a  Rose  by  name; 
Oh  no  !  it  was  his  royall  Jane. 

Oh !  mourne,  mourne,  mourne,  faire  ladies, 
Jane  your  queen,  the  floAver  of  England,  dies. 


I 


OF  (iOLDEN  HOSES.  31 

Being  thus  perplext  with  greif  and  care, 

A  hidy  to  him  did  repaire, 

And  said,  "  O  king  !  shew  us  thy  will, 

The  queene's  sweet  lite  to  save  or  spill. 

If  she  cannot  delivered  be. 

Yet  save  the  flower,  if  not  the  tree  !" 

Oh  !  mourne,  mourne,  mourne,  faire  ladies, 
Jane,  your  queen,  the  flower  of  England  dies. 

Then  down  uppon  his  tender  knee. 
For  help  from  heaven  ]»rayed  lie  : 
Meane  whihi  into  a  sleepe  they  cast 
His  queene,  which  ever  more  did  last  ; 
And  opening  then  her  tender  woomb. 
Alive  they  tooke  this  budding  bloome. 

Oh !  mourne,  mourne,  mourne,  fiiire  ladies, 
Jane,  your  queen,  the  flower  of  England  dies. 

This  babe  so  born,  much  comfort  brought. 
And  chear'd  his  father's  drooping  thought : 
Prince  Edward  he  was  cal'd  by  name, 
Grac'd  with  vertue,  wit,  and  fame  : 
And  when  his  father  left  this  earth. 
He  rul'd  this  land  by  lawfull  birth. 

Oh !  mourne,  mourne,  mourne,  faire  ladies : 
Jane,  your  queen,  the  flower  of  England  dies. 

But  marke  the  powerful!  will  of  heaven  ! 
We  from  this  joy  were  soone  bereaven. 
Six  yeares  he  raigned  in  this  land. 
And  then  obeyed  God's  command. 


82  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

And  left  his  croune  to  Mary  heare, 
Whose  five  years'  raigne  cost  England  deai\ 
Oh  !  mourne,  mourne,  mourne,  faire  ladies, 
Jane  your  queen,  the  flower  of  England,  dies, 

Elizabeth  raigned  next  to  her, 
Europe's  pride,  and  England's  starre, 
Wonder,  world  !  for  such  a  queen 
Under  heaven  was  never  scene : 
A  mayd,  a  saint,  an  angell  bryght, 
In  whom  all  princes  took  delight. 

Oh  !  mourne,  mourne,  mourne,  faire  ladies  ! 

Elizabeth,  the  flower  of  England's,  dead  ! 


A  SHORT  AND    SWKET    SONNET    MADE    BY  ONE  OF  THE  MAIDES  OF 

HONOR  UPON  IHE  DEATH  OF  QUEENE  ELIZABETH,  WHICH 

SHE  SOWED  UPPON  A  SAMPLER  IN  RED  SILKE. 

To  a  new  Tune,  or  "  Phillida  flouts  me." 


Gone  is  Elizabeth, 

Whom  we  have  lov'd  so  deare ; 
She  our  kind  mistxes  was 

Full  foure  and  forty  yeare. 
England  she  govern'd  well, 

Not  to  be  blamed, 
Flanders  she  govern'd  well, 

And  Ireland  tamed. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  S'S 

France  she  befrended, 

Spaine  she  hath  foiled, 
Papists  rejected, 

And  the  Pope  spoyled. 
To  princes  powerful!, 

To  the  world  vertuous, 
To  her  foes  mercifull. 

To  subjects  gracious. 
Her  soule  is  in  heaven, 

The  world  keeps  her  glory, 
Subjects  her  good  deeds, 

And  so  ends  my  story. 


THE   LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF  FAMOCS    THO.  STUKELY,    AN    ENGLISH 

GALLANT  IN  THE  TIME  OF  QUEENE  ELIZABETH,  WHO  ENDED 

HIS  DAYES  IN  A  BATTAILE  OF  KINGS  IN  BARBARIE. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  King  Honrie's  going  to  Bullin." 


In  the  west  of  England 
Borne  there  was,  I  understand, 

A  famous  gallant  in  his  dayes, 
By  birth  a  wealthy  clothier's  sonne  ; 
Deeds  of  wonder  he  hath  done. 

To  purchase  him  a  long  and  lasting  praise. 

If  I  should  tell  his  story. 
Pride  was  all  his  glory, 

And  lusty  Stukely  he  was  call'd  in  court; 

D 


34  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

He  serv'd  a  bishop  of  the  west, 
And  did  accompany  the  best, 

Maintaining  still  himselfe  in  gallant  sort. 

Being  thus  esteemed, 

And  every  where  well  deemed, 

He  gain'd  the  favour  of  a  London  dame, 
Daughter  to  an  alderman, 
Curtis  he  was  called  then, 

To  whom  a  sutor  gallantly  he  came. 

When  she  his  person  spied. 
He  could  not  be  denied. 

So  brave  a  gentleman  he  was  to  see  : 
She  was  quickly  made  his  wife. 
In  weale  or  woe  to  lead  her  life, 

Her  father  willingly  did  so  agree. 

Thus,  in  state  and  pleasure. 
Full  many  dales  they  measure. 

Till  cruell  death,  with  his  regardles  spight, 
Bore  old  Curtis  to  his  grave, 
A  thing  which  Stukely  wisht  to  have. 

That  he  might  revell  all  in  gold  so  bright. 

He  was  no  sooner  tombed 
But  Stukely  presumed 

To  spend  a  hundi-ed  pound  that  day  in  waste 
The  bravest  gallants  of  the  land 
Had  Stukelies  purse  at  their  command  ; 

Thus  merily  the  time  away  he  pass'd. 


i 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  35 

Taverns  and  ordinaries 
Where  his  cheefest  braveries, 

Goulden  angells  Hew  there  up  and  dowue; 
Riots  where  his  best  delight, 
With  stately  feastings  day  and  night ; 

In  court  and  citty  thus  he  won  renowne. 

Thus  wasting  land  and  living 
By  this  lawlesse  giving. 

At  last  he  sold  the  pavements  of  his  yard, 
Which  covered  were  with  blocks  of  tin  ; 
Old  Curtis  left  the  same  to  him, 

Which  he  consumed  vainely  as  you  heard. 

AVhereat  his  wife  sore  greeved, 
Desir'd  to  be  releeved ; 

"  Make  much  of  me,  dear  husband,"  she  did  say : 
"  I'll  malve  much  more  of  thee,"  quoth  he, 
"  Than  any  one  shall :  verily," 

"  I'll  sell  thy  clothes,  and  so  will  go  away." 

Cruelly  thus  hearted. 
Away  from  her  he  parted. 

And  travelled  into  Italy  with  speed  : 
There  he  flourisht  many  a  day 
In  his  silkes  and  rich  array. 

And  did  the  pleasures  of  a  lady  feed. 

It  was  the  ladies  pleasure 

To  give  him  gold  and  treasm-e, 

And  to  maintaine  him  in  great  pomp  and  fame  ; 

D  2 


36  THE  CHOWNE-GARLAND 

At  last  came  newes  assuredly 
Of  a  battaile  fought  in  Barbary, 

And  he  would  valiantly  go  see  the  same. 

Many  a  noble  gallant 
Sold  both  land  and  talent 

To  follow  Stukely  in  this  famous  fight  ; 
Whereas  three  kings  in  person  would 
Adventurously,  with  courage  bould, 

Within  the  battaile  shew  themselves  in  fight. 

Stukely  and  his  followers  all 
Of  the  king  of  Portugall, 

Had  entertainement  like  to  gentlemen : 
The  king  affected  Stukely  so, 
That  he  his  secrets  all  did  know. 

And  bore  his  royall  standard  now  and  then. 

Upon  this  day  of  honour 
Each  king  did  shew  his  banner, 

Morocco,  and  the  King  of  Barbery, 
Portugall  with  all  his  train, 
Bravely  glist'red  in  the  plain. 

And  gave  the  onset  there  most  valiantly. 

The  cannons  they  resounded, 
Thund'ring  drums  rebounded. 

Kill,  kill  !  as  then  was  all  the  soldiers  cry  ; 
Mangled  men  lay  on  the  ground, 
And  with  blood  the  earth  was  dround. 

The  sun  was  likewise  darken'd  in  the  skye. 


OF  GOLDEN  KOSES.  37 

Heaven  was  sore  displeased, 
And  would  not  be  appeased, 

But  tokens  of  God's  heavy  wrath  did  show 
That  he  was  angry  at  this  war ; 
He  sent  a  fearfuU  blazing  star 

Whereby  these  kings  might  their  misfortunes  know. 

Bloody  was  this  slaughter. 
Or  rather  AvilfuU  murther, 

Where  six  score  thousand  fighting  men  were  slain; 
Three  kings  within  this  battaile  died, 
With  forty  dukes  and  earles  beside, 

The  like  will  never  more  be  fought  again. 

With  woful  ai'mes  enfoulding, 
Stukely  stood  beholding 

This  bloody  sacrifice  of  soules  that  day  : 
He,  sighing,  said,  "  I  wofull  wight, 
Against  my  conscience  heere  did  fight. 

And  brought  my  followers  all  unto  decay." 

Being  thus  molested. 

And  with  greefes  oppressed, 

Those  brave  Italians  that  did  sell  their  lands 
With  Stukely  thus  to  travel  forth, 
And  venture  life  for  little  worth. 

Upon  him  all  did  lay  their  murthering  hands. 

Unto  death  thus  wounded, 

His  heart  with  sorrow  swounded. 

And  to  them  all  he  made  this  heavy  mone  : 


38  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

"  Thus  have  I  left  my  country  deere, 
To  be  so  vilely  murthei'ed  heei'e, 

Even  in  this  place  whereas  I  am  not  known. 

"  My  wife  I  have  much  wronged  ; 
Of  what  to  her  belonged 

I  vainely  spent  in  idle  course  of  life. 
What  I  have  done  is  past,  I  see, 
And  bringeth  nought  but  greef  to  me, 

Therefore  grant  now  thy  pardon,  gentle  wife  I 

"  Life,  I  see,  consumeth, 
And  death,  I  feel,  presumeth 

To  change  this  life  of  mine  into  a  new  : 
Yet  this  me  greatest  comfort  brings, 
I  liv'd  and  died  in  love  of  kings. 

And  so  brave  Stukely  bids  the  world  adew." 

Stukely's  life  thus  ended, 
Was  after  death  befrended. 

And  like  a  soldier  buried  gallantly  ; 
Where  now  there  stands  upon  his  grave 
A  stately  temple,  builded  brave, 

With  golden  turrets  piercing  in  the  skye. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  39 


A  MOST  ROYAL  SONG  OF  THE  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  OUR  LATE 
RENOWNED  PRINCESSE  QUEENE  ELIZABETH. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  The  Ladies  fall." 


In  England  raigned  once  a  king, 

Eight  Henry  cal'd  by  name, 
Which  made  fair  Anne  of  BuUuine  (lueen 

Of  England,  in  great  fame. 
AVho  brought  unto  this  country  joy, 

And  to  her  king  deliglit : 
A  daughter  that  in  EngUmd  made 

God's  gospell  shine  most  bright. 

At  Greenwich  Avas  this  princess  born. 

That  gallant  place  in  Kent, 
A  house  belov'd  of  kings  and  queenes, 

A  house  of  sweet  content. 
Ev'n  in  her  childhood  she  begaune 

So  stor'd  with  heavenly  grace, 
That  all  estates,  both  high  and  low, 

Her  vertues  did  embrace. 

None  like  Elizabeth  was  found 

In  learning  so  divine  ; 
>She  had  the  perfect  skilful  arts 

Of  all  the  muses  nine. 


40  THE  CROW NE-GARL AND 

In  Latten,  Greeke,  and  Hebrew,  shee 
Most  excellent  was  knowne  ; 

To  forraigne  kings'  ambassadors 
The  same  was  daily  showne. 

The  Italian,  French,  and  Spannish  tongue 

She  well  could  speak,  and  read  ; 
The  Turkish  and  Arabian  speech 

Grew  perfect  at  her  need. 
Her  musick  made  her  wonderfull, 

(So  cunning  therein  found,) 
The  fame  whereof  about  the  world 

In  princes'  ears  did  sound. 

Yet  when  her  royall  parents'  lives 

By  death  were  ta'en  away, 
And  her  deare  brother  Edward  turn'd 

To  clodds  of  earth  and  clay, 
Her  cruel  sister  Mary  sought 

Her  lasting  greef  and  woe, 
Regarding  not  the  gifts  that  God 

Upon  her  did  bestow. 

A  bloody  reign  Queue  Mary  liv'd, 

A  Papist  in  beleefe. 
Which  was  unto  Elizabeth 

A  great  heai't-breaking  greefe. 
A  faithful  Protestant  was  she. 

At  which  Queen  Mary  spighted, 
And  in  Elizabeth's  mishaps 

She  daily  much  delighted. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  41 

Poor  maiden  !  by  the  bishops'  wills 

In  prison  she  was  put, 
And  from  her  frends  and  comforters 
.    In  cruel  manner  shut : 
Much  hoping  she  would  turn  in  time, 

And  her  true  faith  forsal^e  ; 
But  firme  she  was,  and  patiently 

Did  all  these  troubles  take. 

Her  sister  forthwith  gave  command 

Her  diet  to  be  small, 
Her  servants  likewise  very  few, 

Yea,  almost  none  at  all : 
And  also  would  have  ta'en  her  life, 

But  that  King  Phillip  said, 
"  Oh  Queen  !  thy  country  will  report 

Thou  hast  the  tiger  plaid." 

The  Lord  thus  put  this  king  in  mind 

His  chosen  saint  to  save; 
And  also  to  Queene  Maries  life 

A  sodaine  ending  gave  : 
And  so  Elizabeth  was  fetcht 

From  prison  to  a  crowne, 
Which  she  full  foure  and  forty  yeares 

Possest  with  much  renoune. 

She  Popery  first  of  all  supprest. 

And  in  our  English  tongue 
Did  cause  God's  Bible  to  be  read ; 

Which  heaven  continue  long  ! 


42  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Pure  preaching  likewise  she  ordain'd, 

With  plenty  in  this  land, 
And  still  against  the  foes  thereof 

Most  zealously  did  stand. 

The  pride  of  Rome  this  queene  abates, 

And  spightefull  Spain  keept  under, 
And  succord  much  Low-country  states, 

Whereat  the  world  did  wonder 
That  such  a  worthy  '  queen'  as  she, 

Should  worke  such  worthy  things. 
And  bring  more  honor  to  this  land 

Then  all  our  former  kings. 

The  gould  still  brought  from  Spanish  mines, 

In  spite  of  all  her  foes, 
Throughout  all  parts  of  Christendome 

Her  brave  adventures  showes. 
Her  battailes  fought  upon  the  seas, 

Resounded  up  to  heaven  ; 
Which,  to  advance  her  fame  and  praise, 

Had  victory  still  given. 

The  Spanish  power  in  eighty-eight. 

Which  thirsted  for  her  blood. 
Most  nobly,  like  an  Amazon, 

Their  purposes  withstood ; 
And  boldly  in  her  royall  campe 

In  person  she  was  scene  : 
The  like  was  never  done,  I  think. 

By  any  English  queene. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  48 

Full  many  a  traytor  since  that  time, 
She  hath  confounded  quite, 
And  not  the  bloodiest  mind  of  all 

Her  courage  could  aifright : 
For  mercy  joyn'd  with  majesty, 

Still  made  her  foes  her  friends, 
By  pardoning  many  which  deserv'd 

To  have  untimely  ends. 

Tirone,  with  all  his  Irish  rout 

Of  rebells,  in  that  land, 
Though  ne'er  so  despVate,  bold,  and  stout, 

Yet  fear'd  her  gi'cat  command. 
She  made  them  quake  and  tremble  sore 

But  for  to  hear  her  name: 
She  planted  peace  in  that  faire  land. 

And  did  their  wildnesse  tame. 

Though  warres  she  kept,  with  dangers  great, 

In  Ireland,  France,  and  Spayne, 
Yet  her  true  subjects  still  at  home 

In  safety  did  remaine. 
They  joy'd  to  see  her  princely  face. 

And  would  in  nombers  run. 
To  meet  her  royall  majesty, 

More  thick  then  moates  in  sun. 

But  time  that  brings  all  things  to  end, 

A  swift-foot  course  did  run  ; 
And  of  this  royal  maiden  queene 

A  wofull  conquest  won. 


44  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Her  death  brought  feare  upon  the  land, 

No  words  but  tales  of  woe 
In  subjects'  ears  resounded  then, 

Wherever  men  did  goe. 

But  feai",  exchang'd  to  present  joyes, 

Sweet  comforts  loud  did  ring ; 
Instead  of  queene,  the  people  cried 

"  Long  live  our  royall  king  !" 
Which  name  of  king  did  seeme  most  strange, 

And  made  us  for  to  muse. 
Because  full  many  a  year  the  name 

Of  king  we  did  not  use. 

But  such  a  noble  king  is  he, 

And  so  maintains  our  peace, 
That  we  in  that  may  daily  wish 

His  life  may  never  cease. 
His  queene  and  his  posterity 

Good  angels  still  defend, 
This  is  my  muse's  chief  desire, 

Her  melody  to  end. 


OF  C40LDEN  ROSES.  45 


A  SONG  OF  A  BEGGAR  AND  A  KING. 

I  RKAD  that  once,  in  Affrica, 

A  prince  that  there  did  raine, 
Who  had  to  name  Cophetua, 

As  poets  they  did  faine, 
From  natures  workes  he  did  incline, 
For  sure  he  was  not  of  my  minde, 
He  cared  not  for  women-kind, 

But  did  them  all  disdain. 
But  marke  what  happen'd  by  the  way, 
As  he  out  of  his  window  lay. 
He  saw  a  beggar  all  in  grey, 

Which  did  increase  his  paine. 

The  blinded  boy,  that  shootes  so  trim. 

From  heaven  downe  so  high, 
He  drew  a  dart,  and  shot  at  him. 

In  place  where  he  did  lye  : 
Wliich  soone  did  pierce  him  to  the  quick, 
For  when  he  felt  the  arrow  prick. 
Which  in  his  tender  heart  did  stick, 

He  looketh  as  he  would  dye. 
"  What  sudden  change  is  this,"  quoth  he, 
"  That  I  to  love  must  subject  be, 
"WTiich  never  thereto  would  agree, 

But  still  did  it  defie  ?" 


46  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Then  from  his  window  he  did  come, 

And  laid  him  on  his  bed, 
A  thousand  heapes  of  care  did  runne 

Within  his  troubled  head. 
For  now  he  means  to  crave  her  love, 
And  now  he  seeks  which  way  to  proove 
How  he  his  fancie  might  remove, 

And  not  this  beggar  wed. 
But  Cupid  had  him  so  in  snare, 
That  this  poore  beggar  must  prepare 
A  salve  to  cure  him  of  his  care, 

Or  els  he  would  be  dead. 

And,  as  he  musing  thus  did  lie. 

He  thought  for  to  devise 
How  he  might  have  her  company. 

That  so  did  maze  his  eyes. 
"  In  thee,"  quoth  he,  "  doth  rest  my  life  : 
For  surely  thou  shalt  be  my  wife, 
Or  else  this  hand  with  bloody  knife 

The  Gods  shall  sure  suffice." 
Then  from  his  bed  he  '  soon'  arose. 
And  to  his  pallace  gate  he  goes ; 
Full  little  then  this  beggar  knowes 

When  she  the  king  espied. 

"  The  Gods  preserve  your  Majesty  !" 

The  beggars  all  gan  cry, 
"  Vouchsave  to  give  your  charity 

Our  childrens  food  to  buy." 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  47 

The  king  to  them  his  purse  did  cast, 
And  they  to  pait  it  made  great  haste ; 
The  silly  woman  was  the  last 

That  after  them  did  hye. 
The  king  he  cal'd  her  back  again, 
And  unto  her  he  gave  his  chaine ; 
And  said,  "  "With  us  you  shall  remain 

Till  such  time  as  we  dye: 

"  For  thou,"  quoth  he,  "  shalt  be  my  wife. 

And  honoured  like  the  queene ; 
With  thee  I  meane  to  lead  my  life,  .. 

As  shortly  shall  be  seeue : 
Our  wedding  day  shall  appointed  be. 
And  every  thing  in  their  degree : 
Come  on,"  quoth  he,  "  and  follow  me. 

Thou  shalt  go  shift  thee  cleane. 
"What  is  thy  name  ? — go  on,"  quoth  he. 
"  Penelophon,  O  king  !"  quoth  she : 
With  that  she  made  a  lowe  courtsey ; 

A  trim  one  as  I  weene. 

Thus,  hand  in  hand,  along  they  walke 

Unto  the  king's  jjalace  : 
The  king  with  courteous,  comly  talke,  - 

This  beggar  doth  embrace. 
The  beggar  blusheth  scax-let  read, 
And  straight  againe  as  pale  as  lead. 
But  not  a  word  at  all  she  said, 

She  was  in  such  amaze. 


48  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

At  last  she  spake  with  trembling  vojce, 
And  said,  "  O  king ;  I  do  rejoyce 
That  you  will  take  me  for  your  choice, 
And  my  degree  so  base." 

And  when  the  wedding  day  was  come, 

The  king  comnianded  straight 
The  noblemen,  both  all  and  some, 

Upon  the  queene  to  waight. 
And  she  behav'd  herself  that  day, 
As  if  she  had  never  walk't  the  way ; 
She  had  forgot  her  gowne  of  gray, 

^Vliich  she  did  wear  of  late. 
The  proverb  old  is  come  to  passe. 
The  priest  when  he  begins  the  masse, 
Forgets  that  ever  clarke  he  was; 

He  know'th  not  his  estate. 

Hear  may  you  read,  Cophetua, 

Through  fancie  long  time  fed, 
Compelled  by  the  blinded  boy 

The  beggar  for  to  wed : 
He  that  did  lovers'  lookes  disdaine, 
To  do  the  same  was  glad  and  fain. 
Or  else  he  would  himself  have  slaine, 

In  stories  as  we  read. 
Disdain  no  whit,  O  lady  deere  ! 
But  pitty  now  thy  servant  heere, 
Lest  that  it  hap  to  thee,  this  yeare 

As  to  the  king  it  did. 


I 


OF  COLDEX  ROSES.  49 

And  thus  tliey  lead  a  quiet  life 

During  theii"  princely  I'aigne, 
And  in  a  tomb  were  buried  both  ; 

As  writers  shew  us  plaine. 
The  lords  they  tooke  it  grievouslr, 
The  ladies  tooke  it  heavily, 
The  commons  cryed  pittiously, 

Their  death  to  them  was  pain. 
Their  fame  did  sound  so  passingly, 
That  it  did  pierce  the  starry  sky, 
And  throughout  all  the  earth  did  flye, 

To  every  prince's  realme. 


A    LOVER  S    SOMG    IN    PRAISE    OF    HIS    JUSTRESS. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  Apelles." 

If  that  Apelles  now  did  raigne, 
Whoevei*  sought  for  to  have  fame 

He  might  have  wone  with  lesser  paine, 
A  greater  honor  to  his  name  ; 

For,  with  great  paine,  he  sought  all  Greece 
Till  he  had  found  the  faii"est  peece. 

Throughout  all  Greece  he  could  not  view 
So  fair,  so  feat,  so  fine  withall ; 

Nor  yet  his  pen  cell  never  drew 
So  fair  a  peece,  nor  never  shall. 

E 


50  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Wherefore,  if  he  had  seen  these  dayes, 
He  might  have  wone  a  greater  praise. 

Oh !  happy  man,  might  he  have  said, 

If  he  had  lived  to  this  time, 
For  to  have  seen  so  fair  a  maide. 

In  all  proportions  made  so  fine ; 
Her  fuUgeut  face  so  faire,  so  cleare, 

That  Europe  cannot  [shew]  her  peere. 

Pygmalion,  with  his  gravers,  then 
Could  never  worke  so  fair  a  peece. 

Nor  yet  Apelles,  in  his  time. 
Did  ever  see  the  like  in  Greece : 

For,  if  he  had,  he  would  have  said 
That  Venus  was  not  like  this  maid. 

She  is  a  graft  of  noble  groweth, 
And  worthy  is  she  of  her  fame, 

For  why  her  vertues  plainly  showeth 
That  well  she  hath  deserv'd  the  same : 

"Wherefore  my  painfull  pen  all  waies, 
Shall  never  cease  to  write  her  praise. 

O  that  my  pen  could  print  her  praise 
According  to  her  just  desert. 

That  I  might  say,  and  see  those  dayes, 
That  I  desired  with  my  heart ! 

For  still  I  thought,  and  ever  shall. 

My  mistres'  praise  might  passe  them  all. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  51 

Now  proof  and  praise  in  one  is  knit, 
And  hath  blowne  to  praise  this  niaide, 

And  justice  doth  in  judgment  sit 
For  to  performe  that  I  have  said. 

Thus  to  conchide,  and  end  to  make, 

Unto  the  grods  I  her  betake. 


ANOTHER. 

To  a  new  Tune. 

The  bee  doth  love  the  sweetest  flower, 
So  doth  the  blossome  the  Aprill  shower, 
And  I  doe  love  that  lady  truely : 
Why  should  not  I  love  her  that  loves  me  ? 

The  bird  doth  love  the  morning  bright, 

To  see  the  day  is  her  delight, 

And  I  do  [love]  to  see  her  face. 

In  whome,  that  I  doe  love,  is  my  solace. 

The  fish  doth  love  the  flouds  by  kind, 
For  want  of  it  they  are  but  pynd, 
And  I  doe  love  her  presence  also. 
Whom  that  I  love,  and  love  no  moe. 

The  lypard  doth  love  to  lie  and  pry 
Upon  the  faces  that  goeth  him  by. 
And  I  doe  love  to  looke  and  gaze 
Upon  my  true  love's  pleasant  face. 

E  2 


52  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

The  deere  doth  love  in  woods  to  dwell, 

As  I  to  you  the  truth  shall  tell, 

And  I  doe  love  as  doth  the  deere : 

Oh  !  whereas  I  love  would  Christ  I  were  ! 

Troylus  '  did  love'  with  all  his  might, 
Cressed  of  Troy,  that  was  so  bright, 
And  I  doe  love  as  farre  as  he. 
And  ever  shall  untill  I  dye. 


IN    PRAISE    AND    DISPRAISE    OF    WOMEN. 

To  a  pleasant  new  Tune. 

Women  to  praise  who  taketh  in  hand, 

A  number  shall  displease, 
But  who  so  doth  them  most  dispraise, 

Doth  most  live  at  their  ease ; 
Whereat  I  muse  and  marvaile  much, 

And  shall  do  till  I  die  ; 
And  if  you  think  I  say  not  true, 

Aske  them  if  that  I  lye. 

They  are  man's  aid  and  only  stay, 

And  comfort  at  his  need. 
They  cherish  him  in  all  affaires, 

How  ever  that  he  speed : 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  51] 

And  that  she  for  him  may  doe 

She  doth  it  willingly  ; 
And  if  you  think  I  say  not  true, 

Aske  them  if  that  I  lye. 

And  when  their  husbands  be  farre  from  hand, 

Then  will  they  spin  and  carde, 
They  wil  not  gossip  and  go  gay, 

But  then  they  fare  full  hard ; 
They  rise  up  eai-ly  and  lye  downe  late, 

They  labour  earnestly 
To  save  a  penny  or  a  groat ; 

Ask  them  if  that  I  lye. 

And  if  her  husband  chance  to  chide, 

She  gives  him  not  a  word, 
Or  if  he  fight  she  answers  him 

No  more  then  doth  a  bourd, 
But  out  she  goeth  about  her  worke, 

And  takes  all  patiently, 
Except  she  crowne  him  with  a  stoole ; 

Aske  them  if  that  I  lye. 

Or  with  her  ten  commandments 

She  takes  him  on  the  face. 
That  from  his  cheekes,  downe  to  his  chin, 

A  man  may  see  each  race ; 
The  goodman  then  must  weare  a  clout. 

The  goodwife  she  will  dye. 
Her  husband['s]  hurt  so  heavily 

She  takes,  or  else  I  lye. 


54  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Then  to  his  bed  she  wil  not  come, 

Nor  with  him  will  be  'greed, 
Unlesse  she  have  a  petticoate, 

Or  else  some  other  weed : 
And  when  she's  with  her  gossips  met 

She  telles  them  by  and  by, 
How  she  her  husband  handled  hath : 

Aske  them  if  that  I  lye. 

Well  done,  good  gossip,  saith  the  one. 

Your  practise  well  we  praise . 
1  drinke  to  you  for  your  good  deed. 

The  second  gossip  sayes. 
They  all  to  put  the  same  in  use 

Do  promise  by  and  by ; 
Which  they  fulfil  unto  their  power 

Forthwith,  or  else  I  lye. 

Good  wives,  a  judgement  I  you  pray, 

Your  verdit  let  me  heere  ; 
Where  all  be  falce,  or  all  be  true, 

By  you  it  must  appeare. 
How  ever  that  the  matter  goeth. 

The  trueth  you  must  descry  ; 
Or  else  it  is  not  possible 

To  know  if  that  I  lye. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  55 


THE    lover's    fairing    SENT   TO   HIS   BEST   BELOVED. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  I  wander  up  and  downe." 

My  comfort  mul  my  joy, 

This  fairiug  I  do  send  ; 
Let  not  unkindnesse  him  destroy 

That  is  thy  faithful!  friend. 

A  loyall  heart  I  send  ; 

To  thee  the  same  I  give  ; 
O  cherish  it  and  keepe  it  safe, 

And  so  the  same  will  live. 

But  if  you  it  forsake, 

And  will  not  yeeld  it  grace, 
It  lives  and  dyes,  and  soon  is  fled, 

"Within  a  little  space. 

O  flie  no  promise  made, 

Nor  do  me  not  disdain  ; 
One  frowne  w  ill  strike  so  cruelly. 

That  I  shall  live  in  paine. 

A  smile  revives  me  being  dead, 

And  is  a  joyful  treasure  ; 
O  let  that  sunne-shine  ere  be  spred, 

For  it  is  my  chiefe  treasure. 


56  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

My  selfe,  and  wealth,  and  all  I  have; 

A  fairing  I  do  give 
To  thee,  that  first  my  heart  possest, 

And  still  maist  make  me  live. 

Steele  not  thy  heart,  nor  make  it  hard^ 
But  intertaine  mine  inne  ; 

So  may  I  boast,  and  still  shall  say, 
I  shall  much  comfort  win. 

Returue  me  comfort  back  ; 

Let  me  not  languish  ever! 
For  I  am  thine,  and  ever  shall, 

Till  death  my  life  do  sever. 


THE    MAIDEN  S    KIND    ANSWERE   TO    HER    LOVER. 

To  the  same  Tune. 

Take  courage,  gentle  love, 

I  never  will  thee  forstike ; 
Nor,  while  I  live,  shall  ever  man 

Possession  of  me  take. 

Thy  loyall  heart  De  keepe, 

And  send  mine  back  to  thee, 
Mine  is  in  feare  to  live  in  paine. 

But  thine  I  am  sure  is  free. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  57 

The  promise  that  I  made, 

I  vow  and  swear  He  keepe ; 
My  love  to  thee  shall  ever  wake, 

Oh  never  let  thine  sleepe  I 

No  frownes  shall  kill  my  face. 

But  smiles  shall  stil  be  seene, 
I  long  until  I  see  thy  face. 

That  absent  long  hath  beene. 

My  heai't  doth  melt  like  vvaxe, 

And  never  shall  be  hard  ; 
Women  have  never  steely  hearts, 

For  then  their  sex  were  mar'd. 

All  comfort  I  can  send 

I  do  returne  to  thee, 
My  heart,  my  selfe,  and  all  I  have 

Is  thine  eternallv. 


A  MAIDE  S  COMPLAINT  FOK  LACK  OF  A  LOVE  ; 
EXPRESSING  THE  ANGUISH  IN  MINI)  SHE  DOTH  PROOVE. 


No  maiden  may  so  well  as  I 
Complain  of  her  hard  destiny, 
I  am  now  in  prime  of  yeares, 
Yet  there  is  no  yong  man  beares 


58  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

A  brest  that  harboretli  a  heart 
That  hath  compassion  on  my  smart ; 
Therefore  I  am  sore  affraid 
I  shall  live  and  dye  a  maid. 

I  cast,  as  other  maidens  doe, 
Amorous  glances  for  to  woe 
Young  men  to  settle  on  my  love, 
But  those  glances  do  not  proove ; 
They  are  like  shaftes  by  blind  men  shot 
Against  a  marke  that  nere  is  hot ; 
Therefore  I  am  sore  afraid 
I  shall  live  and  die  a  maide. 

Twenty  winters  have  I  seene, 

And  as  many  soramers  greene, 

'Tis  enough  to  breed  dispaire 

So  long  a  maidenhead  to  beare  ; 

'Tis  a  burden  of  such  waight, 

That  I  would  faine  be  eas'd  oft  straight ; 

But,  alasse,  I  am  afraid 

I  shall  live  and  die  a  maide. 

I  know  that  young  men  me  reject, 

My  beauty  merrits  more  respect. 

My  quicke  gray  eye,  my  cherry  cheeke. 

Where  they  may  finde,  that  list  to  seeke, 

Matter  to  increase  love's  fire, 

And  to  stir  them  to  desire  ; 

But,  alas,  I  am  afraid 

I  shall  live  and  die  a  maide. 


I 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  59 

Higlio,  I  love,  yet  modesty- 
Bids  me  not  be  too  free 
In  demonstrating  [all]  my  paine, 
Least  rebuke  and  shame  I  gaine ; 
But  where  fire  is,  there  it  smoakes ; 
Anguish  foUowes  heavy  stroalves. 
Out  alasse  !  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  live  and  die  a  maide. 

I  love,  yet  love  binds  me  to  paine, 
Love  rejected  's  lovers'  baine, — 
We  maides  are  bound  by  modesty, 
At  all  assaies,  to  secrecy ; 
Modestie's  too  strict  a  dame. 
To  her  wiU  I  cannot  frame : 
Out  alasse  !  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  live  and  die  a  maide. 

Time  hath  wrought  an  alteration. 
Blushing  is  a  foolish  fashion, 
All  maides  leave  it,  so  will  I, 
And  to  my  sore  a  salve  apply  ; 
Babish  blushing  hinders  all 
Who  would  to  modesty  be  thrall: 
I  will  be  no  more  afraid, 
He  no  longer  be  a  maide. 

Bashfull  young  men  make  us  bould 
When  they  love  in  bondage  hould, 
They  take  from  us  that  ruddy  dye 
That  should  upon  our  faces  lye ; 


60  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Condemne  us  not  then,  love  makes  way, 
Like  fire  that's  hid  in  dryest  hay  ; 
I  will  be  no  more  afraid. 
He  no  longer  live  a  maide. 


THE  LAMENTATION  OF  AN  ALE  WIFES  DAUGHTER. 

To  a  new  Tune. 

In  the  spring  time,  when  plants  do  bud, 

And  birds  use  chirping  notes, 
When  beasts  do  gather  heart  of  grasse, 

And  fish  in  water  flotes  : 
It  was  my  chance  for  to  espie 

A  nimph  of  Venus  traine, 
Who  in  a  grove  wherein  she  sat 

Did  mightily  complaine. 
I  hearkned  to  her  sad  lament, 

I  listned  to  her  tale, 
Whereby  it  seemed  that  she  had 

Set  honestly  to  sale. 
Alas,  said  shee,  that  mother  deere 

An  ale-wife  was  to  me. 
Or  that  it  was  my  heavie  chance 

To  use  bad  company. 
Wo  be  to  him  that  with  the  oyle 

Of  angels  me  intis'd, 


OF  r.OLDKX  ROSES..  61 

Thrice  woe  be  to  the  goklen  baits 

That  often  me  surpris'd. 
Woe  to  the  toyes  of  youth  too  rash, 

Woe  to  the  crafty  snares 
Of  crooked  age  that  youth  doe  catch 

In  nets  at  unawares. 
Woe  to  dame  nature  for  hir  paines 

In  making  me  the  glasse 
For  others  for  to  scofFe  and  laugh 

As  they  the  way  doe  passe. 
Then  gushed  out  the  silver  streames 

Of  water  from  her  eyes, 
Whicli  did  bedew  hor  roseate  cheekes 

And  that  in  dolefuU  wise. 
Jenkin.    At  which  I  came  and  spake  these  words: 

What  fortune  hatli  decreed  ? 
Or  how,  or  why,  have  fatall  fates 

Committed  such  a  deed 
That  thou,  the  mirror  of  our  age. 

And  pride  of  natures  bower, 
Farre  sweeter  then  the  ruddy  rose 

Or  gallant  gillyflower, 
Should'st  thus  lament  and  pine  away. 

Whose  cheerfull  countenance 
The  hearts  of  yong  and  eake  of  old 

Hath  causd  full  oft  to  daunce  ? 
1st  losse  of  love  ?  1st  want  of  wealth  ? 

1st  cause  thou  sleepest  alone  ? 
Or  ist  the  death  of  some  deare  friend 

That  causeth  thee  to  mone  ? 


62  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Joo.  Not  SO,  my  friend,  what  doost  thou  mean, 

To  make  the  thing  so  strange? 
Experience  teaeheth  after  full 

There  needs  must  bee  a  change. 
The  golden  baite  intised  hath 

The  pretious  pearle  from  me, 
Which  to  be  gotten  back  againe, 

Remains  without  remedy. 
Jen.  Your  meaning  (sweet)  I  do  not  know, 

I  pray  you  tell  it  plaine, 
Faine  Avould  I  finde  some  remedy 

To  ease  you  of  your  paine. 
Joo.  I  thanke  you  for  your  kind  good  will, 

Which  you  did  shew  to  me, 
In  recompence  whereof  I  will 

My  words  make  plaine  to  thee. 
As  nature  had  adorned  me 

With  gifts  of  beauty  rare, 
So,  for  to  deck  and  trim  myself 

Was  all  my  chiefest  care  ; 
Then  many  suters  came  to  me. 

And  most  my  betters  were, 
^Vliom  I  disdain'd  and  set  light  by. 

My  mind  was  to  severe ; 
At  length  there  came  an  aged  man, 

Of  money  store  had  he, 
Who  with  his  bags  and  golden  baits, 

Hath  bred  my  misery. 
My  mother  yeelded  her  consent, 

And  causd  me  doe  the  same, 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  63 

AVHiicli  raaketli  me  thus  to  lament 

That  I  must  live  in  shame. 
Let  maidens  then  example  take, 

And  warning  by  my  fall, 
Least  they,  like  me,  should  catched  be 

By  comming  to  the  call. 
Thus  hast  tliou  heard,  my  friend,  my  griefe, 

I  can  no  longer  stay, 
Adew,  and  twenty  times  farewell 

This  sorrowfull  month  of  May. 


A  NEW  SONNET  OF  CORIDON  AND  PHILLIDA. 

CoRiDON,  ai'ise,  my  Coridon, 
Titan  shineth  cleare. 
Cor.     Who  is  it  that  calleth  Coridon  ? 

Who  is  it  I  heare  ? 
Phil.  Phillida,  thy  true  love,  calleth  thee. 
Arise  then,  arise  then. 
Arise  and  feed  thy  flocks  with  me. 
CoR.     Phillida,  my  true  [love],  is  it  she  ?^ 
I  come  then,  I  come  then, 
I  come  and  feed  my  flocks  with  thee. 

Phil.  Here  are  cheries  ripe,  my  Coridon, 

Eate  them  for  my  sake. 
CoR.     Here's  my  oaten  pipe,  my  lovely  on[e,] 

Sport  for  thee  to  make. 


64  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Here  ai'e  threeds,  my  true  love,  fine  as  silke, 

To  knit  thee,  to  knit  thee 
A  paire  of  stockins  white  as  milke. 
Here  are  reeds,  my  true  love,  fine  and  neat, 

To  make  thee,  to  make  thee 
A  bonnet  to  withstand  the  heate. 

Phil.  I  will  gather  flowers,  my  Coridon, 

To  set  in  thy  cap. 
CoR.  I  will  gather  pears,  my  lovely  on[e,] 

To  set  in  thy  lap. 
Phil.  I  wil  buy  ray  true  love  garters  gay 

For  Sundaies,  for  Sundaies, 
To  wear  about  his  legs  so  tall. 
CoR.  I  will  buy  my  true  love  yellow  saye 

For  Sundaies,  for  Sundaies, 
To  weare  about  her  midle  small. 

Phil.  When  my  Coridon  sits  on  a  hill, 

Making  melody : 
CoR.  When  my  lovely  on[e]  sits  at  her  wheele, 

Singing  cheerely. 
Sure,  me  thinkes,  my  true  love  doth  excell 

For  sweetnesse,  for  sweetnesse, 
Our  Pan,  that  old  Arcadian  knight ; 
And,  me  thinkes,  my  true  love  beares  the  bell 

For  clearnesse,  for  clearnesse. 
Beyond  the  nimphs  that  be  so  bright. 

Phil.  Had  my  Coridon,  my  Coridon 
Bin,  alaoke,  my  swaine. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  65 

Had  my  lovely  on[e,]  my  lovely  on[e] 

Bin  in  the  plaine, 
Cintliia  Endimion  had  refus'd, 

Preferring,  preferring 
My  Coridon  to  play  withall ; 
The  queene  of  love  had  bin  excns'd 

Bequeathing,  bequeathing 
My  Phillida  the  golden  ball. 

Yonder  comes  my  mother,  Coridon, 

Whither  shall  I  fly  ? 
Under  yonder  beech,  my  lovely  one. 

While  she  passeth  by. 
Say  to  her  thy  true  love  was  not  here : 

R^ember,  remember 
To  morrow  is  another  day. 
Doubt  me  not,  my  true-love,  do  not  feare. 

Farewell  then,  farewell  then. 
Heaven  keepe  our  love  alway. 


CORIDON  S    COMPLAINT. 

Phillida,  where  hast  thou  bin  r 
Long  it  is  since  I  have  seene 

My  PhiUida ; 
Every  e'en  when  day  was  doon. 
In  the  absence  of  the  sunne, 

Have  Ave  met,  my  love,  to  sport  and  play. 

F 


66  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

Now  thy  absence  makes  me  feare 
Coridon's  not  held  so  deare 

Of  PhiUda 
As  he  earst  was  wont  to  bee  : 
Smile  as  thou  wert  wont  on  me, 

Phillida,  my  fairest  Phillida  ! 

Coridon  is  now  as  true 

As  when  first  the  heavenly  hew 

Of  PhiUida 
Made  him  all-admiring  stand, 
And  did  love  and  life  command, 

Phillida,  my  fairest  Phillida  ! 

Such  sad  dumps  thy  absence  breeds. 
That  ray  pipe  of  oaten  reeds, 

Faire  Phillida, 
I  lay  by,  and  sighing  sit ; 
Sorrow,  sighes,  and  teares  beget ; 

Phillida,  my  fairest  Phillida  ! 

With  thee  T  can  play  and  sing. 
And  mine  amies  shall,  like  a  ring, 

Faire  Phillida, 
Circle  thee ;  and  then  I  hold 
That's  more  desired  of  me  then  gold, 

Phillida,  my  fairest  Phillida. 

But,  without  thee,  still  I  say 
I  in  woe  Aveare  time  away. 
My  dearest  love ; 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  67 

Therefore  let  thy  kind  reply 
Cure  ine,  or  I  faint  and  dye, 

Phillida,  let  not  thy  fancy  move. 


HHYLLIDAES    KIND    REPLYE. 

Wherefore  faints  my  Coridon  ? 
Thinkes  thou  I  am  sueh  a  one 

As  Cressida  ? 
I  will  proove  as  firme  to  thee 
As  Lucrece  or  Penelope  ; 

Coridon,  doubt  not  of  Phillida. 

Though  1  have  been  absent  long, 
Faint  not,  my  sweet  Coridon, 

Thy  PhiUida 
Is,  as  thou  art,  true  and  just, 
Strong  in  love,  but  weake  in  lust ; 

Coridon,  doubt  not  of  Phillida. 

Nor,  though  our  sex  are  given  to  range, 
Doth  Phillida  delight  in  change, 

My  Coridon ; 
If  my  absence  made  thee  greeve, 
Let  ray  presence  now  releeve 

Coridon,  my  deerest  Coridon. 

As  in  me  thou  takest  delight, 
So  do  I  in  thy  sweete  sight, 
My  Coridon  ; 


f2 


68  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

I  have  bene  in  yonder  grove, 
Gathering  flowers  for  my  love, 

Coridon,  my  dearest  Coridon ; 

The  chiefest  both  for  shew  and  sent, 
So  choice  am  I  for  thy  content, 

My  dearest  love ; 
Looke,  the  livery  of  the  spring 
To  deck  thee,  Coridon,  I  bring  ; 

Then  do  not  thy  Phillida  reprove. 

Su  h  a  loving  simpathy 

In  our  loves  (deare  love)  doth  lye, 

I  know  right  well. 
Such  a  heart  wrought  combination, 
That  I  feare  no  separation, 

Coridon,  such  needlesse  doubts  repell. 


A    NEW    SONNET    OF    A    KNIGHT    AND    A    FAIRE    VIRGIN. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  Selengers  round." 

I  READ  how,  in  King  Arthurs  time, 

A  knight,  as  he  did  ride, 
Did  meet  a  virgin  faire  and  bright 

About  the  greene-wood  side. 
Could  she  well,  or  could  she  wo, 

He  lighted  of  his  steed. 
And  there  he  tooke,  against  her  will, 

Her  maiden  head  indeed. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES  69 

When  this  was  done,  this  maiden  tlien 

Went  raging  to  the  king, 
Bewailing  of  her  pitteous  case, 

And  told  him  eveiy  thing  ; 
The  king  now  hearing  her  complaint, 

In  stories  as  I  read. 
Commanded  the  knight  he  should  be  hangd 

For  this  his  hainous  deed. 

The  queen,  alas,  considering  this. 

It  was  a  pitteous  thing 
To  cast  away  so  faire  a  man, 

She  begd  him  of  the  king. 
Unto  the  knight  then  she  began  : 

Now,  pnsoner  art  thou  mine, 
For  thou  shalt  dye,  for  ought  I  know, 

Except  thy  wits  are  fine. 

For  I  will  give  thee  a  whole  yeares  space, 

To  know  of  woemens  kind, 
What  thing  it  is  that  woemen  love  best 

If  they  may  have  their  mind. 
Full  sadly  went  this  knight  away. 

Some  councell  for  to  find, 
To  know  the  cause ;  to  keepe  the  day 

That  was  to  him  assign'd. 

When  that  the  yeare  was  almost  out, 

He  came  where  he  had  seene 
Twenty  ladies  in  a  rout, 

All  dancinir  on  a  Greene  : 


THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

When  he  drew  neere  unto  the  place 

His  question  to  have  told, 
They  faded  all  before  his  face, 

Save  one  that  was  ful  old. 

Amaz'd  be  yee,  sir  knight,  quoth  she, 

What  ist  that  you  mislike  ? 
Perchance  you  may  pick  out  of  me 

The  thing  that  you  do  seeke. 
He  told  her  then :  she  said  againe. 

If  I  do  it  for  you, 
You  must  agree  to  grant  to  me 

That  you  may  easily  doe. 

Content,  (juoth  he ;  Come  on,  quoth  she, 

Have  with  you  to  the  queene. 
And  say  that  it  is  soveraignty 

That  women  love,  as  I  weene. 
Onward  they  go,  the  queene  did  know 

The  knight  was  neere  at  hand, 
She  placed  her  ladies  all  on  a  row 

To  lieare  the  matter  scand. 

The  knight  he  gave  his  question  thus : 

My  tale  is  soone  exprest ; 
It  seems  to  me  that  soveraigntie 

Is  that  that  women  love  best. 
The  ladies  all  about  the  hall 

Their  verdidts  soone  did  give, 
This  worthy  knight  hath  hit  so  right, 

He  well  deserves  to  live. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES. 

Then  beldam  stept  before  the  queene, 

Desiring  that  tlie  knight 
Might  grant  to  her  upon  the  greene 

The  troth  that  he  did  plight. 
Wliat  is  that  ?  quoth  he.    Mary,  quoth  shee, 

That  I  may  be  your  wife. 
Alas,  quod  he,  then  woe  is  mee, 

Yet  rather  take  ray  life. 

There  was  no  shift,  but  marriage  swift, 

And  both  laid  in  a  bed  ; 
\Yhen  she  did  joy  to  prove  a  toy, 

He  turned  away  his  head. 
Sir,  quoth  she,  were  not  you  better  have  me. 

Being  both  shrewd  and  old. 
Then  to  have  youth  that,  for  a  truth, 

Should  make  you  a  cuckold  ? 

But  all  this  while  she  saw  no  smile 

Nor  countenance  of  the  knight ; 
She  changed  hew,  she  made  herself  new, 

Her  beauty  was  brave  and  bright. 
Then  fell  the  knight  to  lovers  delight, 

Good  Lord,  what  dayes  are  these ! 
It  was  so  strange  to  see  the  change 

A  could  not  sleepe  for  fleas. 


72  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 


A    NEW    SONG   OF    AN   HOSTISSE    AND  HER   GUESTS, 

To  the  Tune  of  "  The  Painter." 

I  wiL  not  to  Saint  Katherines  goe 

To  laugh  no  more, 
My  hostisse  chides  and  checks  me  so, 

I  am  sorry  therefore  : 
When  I  came  in  as  merry  as  a  fryer, 
She  hung  the  chin,  she  lookt  awry, 
She  hould,  she  scould,  she  looked  so  coy. 
I  could  not  be  merry,  I  could  not  joy. 

I  saw  her  sit  so  maidenly 

When  I  came  in, 
To  busse  and  kisse  her  curtusly 

I  did  begin. 
The  more  I  shewed  my  countenance  free, 
The  more  beshrewed,  the  worse  was  shee ; 
Her  tallve  so  shrill,  the  time  so  soure, 
I  durst  not  tarry  there  halfe  an  hower. 

The  beere  was  bitter  for  my  taste, 

I  tell  you  true  ; 
I  came  to  soone  to  make  such  hast. 

As  did  ensue. 
Yet  after  all  these  comely  shewes, 
As  best  becomes  those  friendly  shrewes. 
The  frownes  were  gone,  and  frollick  she, 
Contented  was  to  welcome  me. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  73 

Then  had  we  chat  and  cheere  at  Avill, 

As  served  the  place  ; 
A  redy  friend  our  pots  to  fill, 

And  fetch  apace : 
The  goodman  he  was  not  at  home, 
The  guests  were  cut  over  heart  and  come, 
The  shrew  became  a  curteous  dame. 

The  three  hoop'd  pot  was  filled  round. 

For  lack  of  clieere  ; 
A  neats  foot  in  the  towne  was  found, 

And  we  drew  neere 
To  take  our  fill  of  every  joy. 
Our  hostisse  was  no  longer  coy. 
But  thankes  be  to  God  our  friends  and  us, 
Our  malice  and  all  was  ended  thus. 


A  LAMENTABLE  DITTY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  NOBLEMAN  WHO 
WAS  EXECDTED  IN  THE  TIME  OF  KING  EDWARD. 

Should  fortune  frowne  against  the  gods  ? 

Alas,  and  should  she  so  ! 
Should  worthy  wightes  of  noble  blood 

Receive  such  mortall  woe  ? 
Alas,  poore  England,  now,  alas. 
Thy  woe  wil  shortly  come  to  passe  ! 

In  time  of  noble  Edward's  raigne, 
Whose  fame  doth  farre  resound. 


74  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 

His  uncle  deare  did  truth  maintaine, 

And  all  his  foes  confound. 
But  in  the  end,  alas,  alas, 
His  wofuU  death  was  brought  to  passe  ! 

His  princely  name  and  courage  stout, 
Which  all  men  may  report. 

Could  not  defend  him  from  the  rout 
Of  those  that  did  extort. 

But  in  the  end,  alas,  alas, 

His  wofull  death  was  brought  to  passe ! 

He  was  bereft  of  noble  power 

Committed  to  his  chai-ge. 
And  cast  into  the  prison  tower, 

His  torments  to  enlarge. 
Where  as  he  lay,  alas,  alas, 
To  dolefull  death  was  brought  to  passe  ! 

Who  then  did  know  the  faigned  clause 
Wherefore  he  was  condemned  ? 

Is  not  the  sentence  of  those  lawes 
Of  all  good  men  commended  ? 

O  noble  duke,  alas,  alas. 

Thy  wofull  death  is  come  to  passe  ! 

How  wast  thou  led  unto  Tower-Hill, 

With  billes  beset  about, 
Even  like  a  lambe  contended  still 

Before  the  woolvish  rout. 
O  Summerset,  alas,  alas, 
Thy  wofull  death  is  come  to  passe  / 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  75 

How  did  the  common  people  cry, 

With  heaped  voices  shrill, 
Pardon  I  pardon  !  with  hands  on  high, 

Hoping  to  keepe  him  still. 
[O  Summerset,  alas,  alas, 
Thy  wofull  death  is  come  to  passe  I] 

He  stood  upright,  a  noble  duke 

With  constant  courage  bold  : 
Content  yoiu-selves,  (this  was  his  sute, ) 

The  lawes  have  me  controld. 
Alas,  poore  soules,  alas,  alas, 
Youi"  woe  will  shortly  come  to  passe ! 

Pray  for  the  peace  of  Edward  king, 

Your  Soveraigne,  he  did  say, 
That  he  may  prosper  in  living. 

All  ye,  good  people,  pray, 
Leaste  that  his  foes,  alas,  alas. 
Do  bring  his  wofull  death  to  passe. 

Our  summer  sweet  was  thus  bereft, 

And  winter  did  ensue. 
What  carefull  hearts  to  us  were  left, 

Are  since  approved  true. 
Oh  !  England,  cry  alas,  alas, 
That  thy  woe  should  come  thus  [to]  passe. 


76  THE  CROWNE-GARLAND 


A  PLEASANT  NEW  SONNET,  INTITULED,  MINE  OWNE  DEARE 
LADY  BRAVE. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  Rosero." 


Mine  owne  deare  lady  brave, 
Would  God  it  were  ray  hap 

To  be  the  spanniell  that  you  have 
To  dandle  in  your  lap. 

Or  that  I  were  so  feate 

To  please  you  with  my  skippes, 
To  take  me  up,  in  your  conceit, 

To  stand  and  lick  your  lips. 

Or  that  my  pranking  pace 

In  all  points  could  agree 
To  touch  your  traine  in  every  place, 

At  least  as  neere  as  he. 

Or  that  I  could  so  bragge, 
Or  simper  with  ray  taile, 

To  take  me  up  into  your  lap 
To  know  what  I  doe  ayle. 

Then  should  T  hope  and  have 

Each  dainty  in  the  dish. 
And  harbor,  like  a  pretty  knave, 

Acoordinji  to  mv  wish. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  77 

And  sleepe  between  your  paps, 

With  stroking  on  the  head, 
As  tenderly  as  each  hidy  raps 

Such  puppies  in  their  beds. 

Would  God  you  would  voutchsafe 

To  grant  me  half  the  grace, 
A  licke  or  leape  some  time  to  have 

In  such  a  puppies  place. 

Should  never  faining  whelpe 

So  closely  keepe  you  play, 
For  I  will  neither  run  nor  yelpe, 

Your  secrets  to  bewray  ; 

But  what  it  should  behove 

A  spaniel  to  professe, 
To  cloake  or  hide  when  you  remoove, 

My  part  shall  be  no  lesse. 

And  what  doth  want  in  him 

My  fiivour  might  supply, 
For  though  your  puppie  can  do  trim, 

Yet  not  so  well  as  I. 

Perhaps  you  will  forget 

Your  puppies  dainty  toyes. 
When  you  and  I  are  closely  met 

To  play  for  pritty  boyes. 


78  THE  CROWNE- OAKLAND 

[In]  pitty  now  peruse 

This  written  verse  of  mine, 

Or  else  the  dog  I  crave  to  choose, 
The  happy  state  of  thine. 


A    NEW    SONG    OF    A    CURST    WIFE    AND    HER    HUSRANP. 

Passing  along  through  Redriffe, 

I  heai'd  one  sore  complaining, 
Then  streight  I  drew  me  neere  to  him 

To  know  the  cause  and  meaning 
Of  this  his  sorrow,  care,  and  griefe, 

Wliich  did  his  mind  disaster; 
Alasse,  sayes  he,  what  shall  I  doe  ? 

My  wife  will  needs  be  maister. 

For  I  may  bid  w^o[e]  worth  the  time 

That  ere  with  her  I  matched, 
For  with  her  nailes  that  are  so  sharpe 

My  face  she  hath  bescratched  ; 
To  a  surgion  I  was  driven  to  run, 

For  to  goe  beg  a  plaister, 
So  thus,  God  knowes,  unto  my  greefe. 

My  wife  will  be  my  maister, 

I  drudge,  I  droile,  I  tosse,  I  toyle, 
Till  that  the  day  be  ended ; 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  79 

At  night  I  make  to  her  account 

What  monny  I  have  spended, 
Or  else  my  pockets  she  will  search, 

And  say  I  am  a  waster : 
Thus  like  a  mome  I  live  at  home, 

And  shee  will  needes  be  maister. 

For  till  the  paines  that  I  do  take. 

Yet  still  she  will  be  chiding  ; 
Except  five  groats  each  night  I  bring, 

At  home  ther's  no  abiding  ; 
She  saies  that  I  am  good  for  nought 

But  for  some  foolish  jeaster, 
With  angry  browes,  and  deadly  bowes, 

She  sweares  to  be  my  master. 

Thus,  honnest  friend,  as  you  have  heard, 

I  daily  live  in  son*ow. 
Of  never  a  neighbor  that  I  have 

Dare  I  once  lend  or  borrow. 
If  I  should  live  as  many  yeares 

As  ever  did  King  Nestor, 
Yet,  in  my  mind,  it  still  me  feares, 

That  she  would  be  my  maister. 

I  dare  not  stir  forth  of  her  sight 

But  when  I  am  a  working, 
For  her  jealous  mind  doth  thinke  I  am 

With  one  or  other  larking  ; 


80 


THE  CROWNE -GARLAND. 


And  if  at  any  time  I  should 

But  chance  to  spend  a  teaster, 
Sheele  call  me  knave,  base  rogue,  and  slave. 

And  sweares  sheele  bee  the  maister. 


NOTES. 


P.  1 , — "  To  the  tune  of  When  jlying  fame."  This  tune,  to  which 
"  Chevy  Chace"  and  a  great  number  of  ballads  of  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  were  sung,  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Editor's  "  Collection  of  National  English 
Airs,"  4 to.  1^40. 

P.  2,  1.  2, — "  And  Lankaster  the  last."  In  the  original  "  And 
last  of  Lankaster,"  which  is  presumed  to  be  a  misprint, 
as  the  line  should  rhyme  with  "  fast." 

P.  3,  verse  3, — "  First  placd  their  picture.^  in  red  gold."  In 
the  edition  of  1659  "  tirought  gold." 

P.  12,  verse  2, — "  To  their  eternal  praise."  In  the  edition  of 
1612  this  line  is  "  To  his  eternal  praise."  "  Their"  in 
the  edition  of  1659. 

P.  17,  last  verse, — "Then  sed  :  Eve  !  I  fecle  thij  case."  In 
the  edition  of  1659,  "  O  cursed  Eve,"  &:c. 

P.  18,  verse  1, — "The  dark  may  hide  me  from  man's  eye." 
In  the  edition  of  1659  it  is,  "  No  dark  may  hide  me  from 
God's  eye." 

—  verse  3, — "  For  I  have  tre.vd."     "  T^'od"  in  the  edition 
of  1659. 

—  verse  5, — "  /  crave  my  first  deserved  doome."     "  Just 
desened  doome"  in  the  edition  of  1659. 

—  verse  6, — "  Let  modesty  accuse  this  crime."     "  Accurse"' 
in  the  edition  of  1659. 

P.  19,  — "  O  that  the  womhe  had  beene  my  grave."  This  and 
the  three  following  verses  are  a  paraphrase  of  a  portion 
of  the  third  chapter  of  the  book  of  Job. 

G 


82  NOTES. 

P.  25, — "  To  the  tune  of  Shore's  Wife."  "  The  woeful  laiiieii- 
tation  of  Jane  Shore,  a  goldsmith's  wife,"  &c.  was  suwj: 
to  the  tune  of  "  Come  live  with  me,"  which  is  printed  in 
the  "  Collection  of  National  English  Airs,"  4to.  1840. 

P.  28,  verse  3, — "  The  duke  by  laiv  did  lose  his  blood." 
"  Did  lose  his  head"  in  the  edition  of  1659,  and  in  verse 
5,  "  But  none  on  him  would  bread  bestow." 

P.  32, — "  To  a  new  tune.,  or  Phillida  flouts  me."  This 
song  and  tune  are  reprinted  in  the  "  Collection  of  Na- 
tional English  Airs." 

P.  33, — "  The  life  and  death  of  the  famous  Tho.  Stukely." 
"  The  fonner  part  of  this  song  is  so  confined  to  particu- 
lars, that  it  cannot  be  expected  historians  shoiUd  have 
taken  notice  of  any  of  these  facts  ;  but  I  am  surprised 
that  amongst  the  crimes  our  author  has  charged  Stukeley 
with,  he  has  not  taken  notice  of  the  most  heinous ;  treason 
against  his  queen  and  country :  for  the  king  of  Spain, 
enraged  that  queen  Elizabeth  should  protect  the  Dutch, 
who  had  lately  revolted  from  the  Spanish  government, 
took  care  to  encourage  the  rebels  in  Ireland,  and  pope 
Gregory  XIII  entered  into  a  strict  league  with  him, 
desiring  to  set  the  marquis  of  Vincola,  his  illegitimate 
son,  upon  the  throne  of  Ireland.  Thomas  Stukely,  who 
for  some  reason  (but  what  is  not  recorded)  had  fled  from 
England,  his  native  country,  joined  the  pope,  and  pre- 
tended such  interest  in  Ireland,  that  his  holiness  gave 
him  the  title  of  marquis  of  Leinster,  earl  of  Wexford 
and  Cartelogh,  viscount  Morogh,  and  baron  of  Rosse, 
and  the  command  of  eight  hundred  Italian  soldiers,  who 
were  to  be  employed  in  the  conquest  of  that  kingdom. 
As  religion  was  made  the  pretence,  the  expedition  was 
to  be  commanded  in  chief  by  the  great  bigot  of  those 
days,  Don  Sebastian,  king  of  Portugal,  a  priest-ridden 
monarch,  whose  education  had  been  entrusted  to  a  Jesuit, 
and  who  had  been  taught,  that  to  plant  the  Roman  reli- 
gion Avith  fire  and  sword  was  the  grand  business  of  a 
believing  prince.     Stukely  therefore  with  his  eight  hun- 


NOTES.  83 

lived  men  sailed  to  Portugal  to  j«)iii  his  commander,  but 
he  was  at  that  time  taken  up  with  other  views,  and  de- 
signed an  expedition  nearer  home ;  lor  he  was  raising  au 
army  to  preach  the  gospel  in  ^lorocco.  Nor  was  there  a 
pretence  wanted  for  carrying  on  this  war ;  for  after  the 
death  of  Abdalla,  king  of  Morocco,  jNIuley  Mohamed  his 
son  had  caused  himself  to  be  proclaimed  king ;  upon  this  his 
uncle,  Muley  jSIoIuc,  raised  an  araiy  against  him,  alleg- 
ing that  pursuant  to  the  laws  of  the  Cheriffs,  the  king's 
brotliers  should  ascend  the  throne  before  his  sons,  and 
Mahomet  being  overthrown  in  three  pitched  battles,  fled 
to  Portugal,  where  having  represented  his  case  to  Don 
Sebastian,  and  promised  that  his  subjects  should  tm-u 
Christians,  that  monarch,  contrary  to  the  advice  of  all 
his  council,  embarked  with  13000  men,  of  whom  Stukely 
and  his  800  soldiers  made  a  part,  upon  promise  that,  this 
expedition  ended,  he  would  immediately  sail  for  Ireland. 
A  pitched  battle,  and  that  a  bloody  one  too,  was  fought, 
dm'ing  which  Moluc,  who  had  lain  lingering,  died  in  his 
litter,  Sebastian  was  slain,  and  Alahomet  flying,  was 
drowned  in  passing  the  river  Mucazen." — Old  Ballads, 
vol.  i.  p.  188,  8vo.  1727. 

P.  42,  verse  2, — "  That  xuch  a  loorthi/  qieex  as  she."  In  the 
edition  of  1612,  "  That  such  a  vforthy  prince  as  she." 

P.  45, — "  A  Song  of  a  Beggar  and  a  King."  The  story  of 
king  Cophetua  and  the  beggar  maid  is  frequently  alluded 
to  by  oirr  old  dramatic  wiiters.  Shakespeare,  in  his 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet"  (Act  ii.  sc.  1)  makes  Mercutio  say: 

"  Young  Adam  Cupid,  he  that  shot  so  trim, 
When  King  Cophetua  loved  the  heggar  maid/' 

In  the  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV,  Act  v.  sc.  3,  Falstaff 
says  to  Pistoll : 

"  O  ba.se  Assyrian  knight,  what  is  thy  news  ? 
Let  king  Cophetua  know  the  truth  thereof." 

Ben  Jonson  alludes  to  it  in  his  comedy  of  "  Every  Man 
in  his  Himioiir,"  Sir  William  Davcuant  in  "  The  Wits," 
^c.  'vc. 


84  NOTES. 

P.  46, —  When  she  the  king  espied."  "  Espies"  in  the  edition 
of  1659,  which  preserves  the  rhyme,  and  is  evidently  the 
correct  reading. 

P.  47,  verse  2, — And  every  fhinf/  in  treir  degree."  "  In  its 
degree"  in  the  edition  of  1659. 

P.  5] ,  last  verse, — "  The  lypard  doth  love  to  lie  and  pry." 
"  Pray"  in  the  original. 

P.  52,  verse  2, — "  Troylus  did  lo\-e  with  all  his  might."  In 
the  edition  of  1612,  "  Troylus  that  lord  with  all  his 
might." 

P.  53,  last  verse, — "  Or  with  her  ten  eommandments:"  i.  e.  her 
ten  nails. 

P.  64,  verse  1 , — In  this  and  other  verses,  the  names  of  Phil- 
lida  and  Coridon  are  omitted,  but  they  are  evidently  in 
dialogue. 

P.  68,—  To  the  tune  of  Selenger's  round."  "  Sellenger's 
Bound,  or  the  Beginning  of  the  World,"  was  a  very 
popular  tune  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centvu'ies. 
It  is  to  be  found  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  and  Lady  Ne- 
ville's Virginal  Books,  in  "  The  Dancing  Master,"  and 
many  other  collections.  It  is  mentioned  by  Morley  in 
his  Introduction,  by  Taylor  the  water-poet,  by  Tho. 
Delony,  and  by  many  old  dramatists.  See  "  National 
English  Airs,"  vol.  ii.  p.  76. 

P.  70,  verse  4, — In  the  copy  the  two  first  lines  of  this  verso 

stand  thus : 

"  The  knight  he  gave  his  question  this, 
My  tale  ivas  soone  exprest ;" 

And  the  last  line, 

"  Hath  well  ileserve^Z  to  live." 

P.  72,  verse  1 , — There  is  one  line  wanting  in  this  verse,  and 
another  so  misprinted  as  to  be  unintelligible. 

P.  75,  verse  1 , — The  burden  is  supplied  from  the  preceding 
verse,  being  omitted  in  the  copy. 


BiCHAKDS,  PKINTKR,  100,  ST.  MAKTIN's  I.AiVE. 


THE 


CROWN  GARLAND  OF  GOLDEN  ROSES. 


THE 


CROWN    GARLAND 


GOLDEN   ROSES. 


PART   IT. 

FROM    THE    EDITION    OF    HioO. 


LONDON. 
PRINTED    FOR    THE    PERCY    SOCIETY, 

BY  T.  RICHARDS,  100,  ST.  MARTIN'S  LANE. 
M.DCCC.XLV. 


COUNCIL 


€l)(  l^nt^  ^odtt^. 


PresidfiU. 
The  Rt.  Hon.  LORD  BRAYBROOKE,  F.S.A 

THOMAS  AMYOT,  Esq.  F.R.S.  Treas.  S.A. 
WILLIAM  HENRY  BLACK,  Esq 
WILLIAM  CHAPPELL,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
J.  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
C.  PURTON  COOPER,  Esq.  Q.C,  F.R.S.,  F.S  A. 
PETER  CUNNINGHAM,  Esq. 
JAMES  HENRY  DIXON,  Esq. 
WILLIAM  .TERDAN,  Esq.  F.S  A.,  M.R.S.L. 
CAPTAIN  JOHNS,  R.M. 
T.  J.  PETTIGREW,  E.sq.  F.RS.,  F.S.A. 
LEWIS  POCOCK,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
SIR  CUTHBERT  SHARP. 
WILLIAM  SANDYS,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
WILLIAM  J.  THOMS,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
THOMAS  WRIGHT,  Esq.   MA.,  F.S  A.,  Secretary 
and  Treasurer. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Early  editions  of  popular  Garlands  are  so  rarely 
to  be  found,  that  it  has  been  thought  desirable  to 
reprint,  by  way  of  appendix  to  the  "  Crown 
Garland"  of  1612,  the  additional  ballads  contained 
in  the  almost  equally  rare  edition  of  1659. 

Although  many  of  the  ballads  are  to  be  found 
in  comparatively  modern  collections,  the  present 
copies  seemed  deserving  of  republication,  as  in 
most  cases  they  afford  the  earliest  authority  for 
the  text. 

An  edition  of  the  "  Crown  Garland,"  printed  in 
1692,  is  in  the  British  Museum,  and  another, 
the  date  of  which  is  cut  off,  is  preserved  in  the 
Pepysian  Library. 

The  edition  of  1692  corresponds  in  its  contents 
with  that  of  1659,  now  reprinted,  and  for  the  loan 
of  which  the  Percy  Society  are  indebted  to  the 
liberality  of  Mr.  J.  Payne  Collier. 


THE   CROWN-GARLAND 


GOLDEN  ROSES. 


ADDITIONAL   BALLADS 

FROM  THE  EDITION  OF  1659. 


k    SERVANT  S    SORROW   FOR   THE    LOSS    OF  HIS   LATE  ROYAL  MIS- 
TRESS, QUEEN  ANN,  WHO  DIED  AT  HAMPTON  COURT. 

The  tune  is  "  In  sad  and  ashy  Weeds." 

In  dole  and  deep  distress, 

Poor  soul,  I,  sighing,  make  my  moan, 
A  doom  of  heaviness 

Constrains  my  heavy  heart  to  groan. 

Then  hapless  I, 

That  thus  must  cry 
Against  those  Sisters  three ; 

Which,  to  my  pain. 

Her  life  have  ta'en, 
That  late  did  comfort  me. 


THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

In  sable  weeds  I  mourn 

My  princess'  absence  to  condole, 
Who  never  can  return 

Unto  my  sad  forsaken  soul. 

Yet  will  I  show 

The  grounds  of  woe, 
Of  such  as  mourners  be, 

For  sorrowing  care 

"Will  be  my  share. 
When  none  will  comfort  me. 

My  golden  sun  is  fled. 

And  clearest  day  beset  with  clouds, 
A  hollow  sheet  of  lead 

My  late  beloved  princess  shrouds  ; 

For  whose  sweet  sake 

This  moan  I  make, 
As  all  the  world  may  see  ; 

There  is  no  joy 

But  in  annoy, 
Then  who  can  comfort  me  ? 

With  grief  I  waste  away, 

Rememb'ring  oft  my  gracious  queen, 
We  servants  all  may  say. 

And  witness  well  what  she  hath  been. 
A  princess  kind, 
[Of  royal  mind], 
Adorn'd  with  courtesy, 
But  now  a  grave 


I 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES. 

That  grace  will  have, 
And  none  will  comfort  me  ! 

Oh!  let  my  careful  eyes 

To  sadness  court  and  country  move, 
No  mourning  may  suifice 

To  tell  my  dear  affecting  love  ; 

Nor  worlds  of  woe 

Cannot  well  show 
The  griefs  that  settled  be 

Within  my  breast, 

So  much  distrest, 
So  none  can  comfort  me  ! 

Yet  mourners  there  be  store, 

Of  kings,  of  states,  of  princes  high, 
Who  sadly  do  deplore 

The  want  of  that  sweet  majesty, 

Who  spent  [her]  days 

In  virtuous  ways, 
And  doing  good  we  see  ; 

Her  liberal  hand 

Ador[n]'d  this  land. 
Which  much  doth  comfort  me. 

My  sovereign  lord,  King  James, 

Lamenting,  moans  his  turtle  dear. 
And  princely  Charles  out-streams 
Full  many  a  sad  and  sorrowful  tear  ; 
So  [th]at  that  race 
Of  royal  grace,  b  2 


THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

And  blooms  of  majesty, 

Conjoin  in  one 

For  to  make  moan, 
Yet  none  will  comfort  me  ! 

The  Palsgrave  of  the  Rhine, 

With  Denmark's  most  true  honoured  king, 
Unto  sad  soi'row's  shrine 

Some  sacrificing  tears  will  bring. 

Elizabeth ! 

Thy  mother's  death 
A  mournful  news  will  be, 

To  fill  those  courts 

"With  sad  reports ; 
Yet  no  man  comforts  me. 

Methinks  the  Netherlands, 

And  German  princes  of  her  kin, 
Possess'd  with  sorrow  stands. 

And  sadly  thus  their  grief  begin  : 

Farewell !   adieu  ! 

Sweet  queen,  so  true  ! 
Thy  life  much  miss'd  will  be  ; 

For  rich  and  poor 

Fed  on  thy  score, 
But  now  none  comforts  me. 

Where'er  her  highness  went, 

Sweet  bounty  freely  she  bestow'd. 
The  gifts  that  God  her  sent 


J 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES. 

Unto  the  world  she  nobly  shovv'd : 

Which  many  ways 

Advanc'd  her  praise, 
So  full  of  good  was  she, 

The  which  did  move 

All  men  to  love  ; 
But  now  none  comforts  me. 

You  ladies  fair  and  fine, 

Attendants  on  this  royal  queen, 
Her  grace  is  made  divine, 

On  this  dull  earth  not  to  be  seen. 

Her  soul  is  flown 

Up  to  that  throne 
Where  angels  reigning  be, 

Whilst  I  aspire 

To  vain  desire ; 
For  now  none  comforts  me.     \ 

Oh!  blessed  be  that  mould 

Which  shall  contain  so  sweet  a  prize  ! 
Keep  safe  the  same  enroll'd, 

Untouch'd,  unseen  of  mortal  eyes, 

Till  from  this  earth, 

A  second  birth 
Of  newness  framed  be  ; 

And  till  that  hour, 

Preserve  this  flower, 
Whose  goodness  comforts  me  ! 


THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

A  queen  and  mother  dear, 

A  wife,  a  daughter  to  a  king, 
A  sister  royal  here,  ■ 

And  grandam  as  renown  doth  ring : 

Which  rich  born  fame 

Hath  grac'd  her  name, 
Though  all  now  buried  be  ; 

Yet  after-days 

Shall  sound  her  praise, 
Which  greatly  comforts  me. 


THE    GOOD    SHEPHERD  S    SORROW    FOR    THE    DEATH    OF    HIS 
BELOVED    SON. 

To  a  New  Tune. 


In  sad  and  ashy  weeds 

I  sigh,  I  pine,  I  grieve,  I  mourn, 
My  oats  and  yellow  reeds 
I  now  to  jet  and  ebon  turn. 

My  urged  eyes. 

Like  winter  skies, 
My  furrowed  cheeks  o'erflow ; 

All  heaven  knows  why 

Men  mourn  as  I ; 
And  who  can  blame  my  woe? 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES. 

In  sable  robes  of  night 

My  days  of  joy  apparel'd  be, 
My  sorrows  see  no  light, 

My  light  through  sorrows  nothing  see. 

For  now  my  sun 

His  date  hath  run, 
And  from  my  sphere,  doth  go 

To  endless  bed 

Of  folded  lead. 
And  who  can  blame  my  woe  ? 

My  flocks  I  now  forsake, 

That  silly  sheep  my  grief  may  know, 
And  lilies  loathe  to  take 

That  since  his  fall  presume  to  grow. 

I  envy  air, 

Because  it  dare 
Still  breathe,  and  he  not  so, 

Hate  earth  that  doth 

Entomb  his  youth, 
And  who  can  blame  my  woe  ? 

Now  a  poor  lad,  alone, 

(Alone  how  can  such  sorrow  be  ?) 
Not  only  men  make  moan, 

But  more  than  men  make  moan  with  me 
The  gods  of  greens. 
And  mountain  queens, 
The  fairy-circled  row. 


THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

The  muses  nine, 
The  nymphs  divine, 
Do  all  condole  my  woe. 

You  awful  gods  of  skies ! 

If  shepherds  may  you  question  thus, 
What  d[ei]ty  to  supply, 

Took  you  this  gentle  star  from  us  ? 

Is  Hermes  fled  ? 

Is  Cupid  dead  ? 
Doth  Sol  his  seat  forego  ? 

Or  Jove  his  joy 

He  stole  from  Troy  ? 
Or  who  hath  fram'd  this  woe  ? 

Did  not  mine  eyes,  O  heaven ! 

Adore  your  light  as  well  before  ? 
But  that  amidst  you  seven, 

You  fixed  have  one  planet  more  ! 

You  may  well  raise, 

Now  double  days 
On  this  sad  earth  below. 

Your  powers  have  won 

Another  sun, 
And  who  can  blame  our  woe  ? 

At  your  great  hands  I  ask 

This  boon,  which  you  may  easily  grant, 
That,  till  my  utmost  mask 

Of  death,  I  still  may  moan  his  want. 


OK   GOLDEN    ROSES, 

Since  his  divine 
Parts  with  you  shine, 

Too  bright  for  us  below, 

And  Earth's  sad  breast 
Entombs  the  rest, 

Yet  mine  is  all  the  woe. 


CORIDON  S  COMFORT. 

The  second  part  of  the  Good  Shepherd. 
To  the  same  tune. 

Peace,  shepherd,  cease  to  moan, 

In  vain  is  all  this  grief  and  woe, 
For  him  that's  from  us  gone. 

And  can,  alack  !  return  no  more. 

But  yet,  indeed. 

The  oaten  reed. 
And  mirth  thou  late  didst  know, 

I  blame  thee  not. 

If  now  forgot, 
For  who  can  blame  thy  woe  ? 

The  breath  had  once  a  sound. 

Harmonious,  as  in  sighing  spent. 
The  temples  once  were  bound 

With  chaplets,  or  a  pleasant  scent. 
Now  Cyprus  wear. 
Thy  grief  and  care 


10  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

To  all  the  world  [to]  show, 

The  pipe  so  sweet 

Thy  lips  so  meet, 
And  who  can  blame  thy  woe  ? 

The  murmur  of  the  brook, 

Hath  been  delightful  [to  thine  ear], 
Much  pleasure  hast  thou  took. 
Sweet  Philomela's  note  to  hear  ; 

To  see  that  quire, 

From  bush  to  brier 
Leap  lightly  to  and  fro, 

The  summer's  queen, 

Attir'd  in  green. 
But  now  'tis  nothing  so  ! 

To  see  the  queen  of  flowers. 

When  hoary  Hiem's  part  is  done. 
Deck  up  those  summer  bowers. 
Defend  us  from  the  parching  sun. 
To  see  the  ground 
Embroidered  round, 
And  every  tree  to  show 
His  virid  dye, 
Hath  pleas'd  thine  eye, 
But  now  'tis  nothing  so  ! 

Too  weU  I  know,  thy  sheep 

At  random  graze  upon  the  plain. 

Grief  lulls  thee  now  asleep. 

And  now  thou  wak'st  to  grief  aj'ain  ! 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  11 

Asleep,  awake, 

For  bis  dear  sake, 
Some  sign  of  sorrow  show, 

No  bed  of  rest 

Can  ease  thy  breast; 
And  who  can  blame  thy  woe? 

No  man  the  man  that  knew, 

For  whom  our  fainting  bodies  wear 
These  robes  of  saddest  hue, 

And  woes  more  black  imbreasted  bear, 

Can  well  forbear 

To  shed  a  tear, 
Griefs  still  will  overflow; 

Pale  sorrow's  curse 

Hath  still  such  force; 
Then  who  can  blame  my  woe? 

Thy  woes  I  cannot  blame. 

But  in  sorrows  bear  a  part, 
Yet  now  to  patience  frame, 

And  see  the  salve  cures  all  our  smart. 

This  bud  is  dead, 

Is  gone,  is  fled. 
But  in  his  place  doth  grow 

A  flower  as  fair. 

As  fresh  as  rare, 
And  he  cures  all  our  woe. 


12  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 


A   MOURNFUL   DITTY  OF   THE   DEATH   OF  THE   FAIR   ROSAMOND, 
KING   HENRY   THE   SECOND'S  CONCUBINE. 

To  the  tune  of  "  Flying  Fame." 

"When  as  King  Henry  rul'd  this  land, 

tlie  second  of  that  name  ; 
Besides  the  queen,  he  dearly  lov'd 

a  fair  and  princely  dame. 

Most  peerless  was  her  beauty  found, 

her  favour,  and  her  grace  ; 
A  sweeter  creatui'e  in  the  world 

did  never  prince  embrace. 

Her  crisped  locks,  like  thi-eads  of  gold, 

appear'd  to  each  man's  sight; 
Her  comely  eyes,  like  orient  pearls, 

did  cast  a  heavenly  light. 

The  blood  within  her  crystal  cheeks, 

did  such  a  colour  drive; 
As  though  the  lily  and  the  rose 

for  mastership  did  strive. 

Yea,  Rosamond,  fair  Rosamond! 

her  name  was  called  so; 
To  whom  dame  Elenor,  our  queen, 

was  known  a  mortal  foe. 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  13 

The  king,  therefore,  for  her  defence, 

against  the  furious  queen; 
At  "Woodstock  builded  such  a  bower, 

the  like  was  never  seen. 

Most  curiously  this  bower  was  built, 

of  stone  and  timber  strong; 
An  hundred  and  fifty  doors 

did  to  this  bower  belong. 

And  they  so  cunningly  contriv'd, 

with  turnings  round  about; 
That  none  but  by  a  clue  of  thread, 

could  enter  in  or  out. 

And  for  his  love,  and  lady's  sake, 

that  was  so  fair  and  bright; 
The  keeping  of  this  bower  he  gave 

unto  a  valiant  knight. 

But  fortune,  that  doth  often  frown, 

where  she  before  did  smile; 
The  king's  delight,  the  lady's  joy, 

full  soon  she  did  beguile. 

For  why  the  king's  ungracious  son, 

whom  he  did  high  advance; 
Against  his  father  raised  wars, 

within  the  realm  of  France. 


14  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

But  yet,  before  our  comely  king 

the  English  land  forsook, 
Of  Rosamond,  his  lady  fair, 

his  last  farewell  he  took. 

"  0,  Rosamond!  the  only  rose 
that  pleaseth  best  mine  eye; 

The  fairest  rose  in  all  the  world, 
to  feed  my  fantasy! 

"  The  flower  of  mine  aifected  heart, 
whose  sweetness  doth  excel; 

My  royal  Rose,  a  thousand  times 
I  bid  thee  now  farewell! 

"  For  I  must  leave  my  fancy's  flower, 
my  sweetest  Rose,  a  space, 

And  cross  the  seas  to  famous  France, 
proud  rebels  to  abase. 

"  But  yet,  my  Rose,  be  sure  thou  shalt 

my  coming  shortly  see; 
And  in  my  heart,  while  hence  I  am, 

I'll  bear  my  Rose  with  me." 

When  Rosamond,  that  lady  bright, 

did  hear  the  king  say  so. 
The  sorrow  of  her  grieved  heart, 

her  outward  parts  did  show. 


OF  GOLDEN   ROSES.  16 

And  from  her  cletir  and  crystal  eyes, 

the  tears  gusht  out  apace; 
Which  like  the  silver  pearled  dew. 

Ran  down  her  comely  face. 

Her  lips,  like  to  a  coral  red, 

did  wax  both  wan  and  pale, 
And  for  the  sorrow  she  conceiv'd, 

her  vital  spirits  did  fail. 

And  falling  down  all  in  a  swound, 

before  King  Henry's  face, 
Full  oft  within  his  princely  arms, 

her  corpse  he  did  embrace. 

And  twenty  times,  with  wat'ry  eyes, 

he  kist  her  tender  cheek, 
Until  he  had  reviv'd  again, 

her  senses  mild  and  meek. 

"■  Why  grieves  my  Rose,  my  sweetest  Rose  V 

the  king  did  often  say; 
"  Because,"  quoth  she,  "  to  bloody  wars 

my  lord  must  part  away." 

"  But  sith  your  grace  in  foreign  coasts, 

among  your  foes  unkind, 
Must  go  to  hazard  life  and  limb, 

why  should  I  stay  behind  ? 


16  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

"  Nay,  rather  let  me,  like  a  page, 
your  shield  and  target  bear  ; 

That  on  my  breast  the  blow  may  light, 
that  shall  annoy  you  there. 

"  0!  let  me  in  your  royal  tent, 

prepare  your  bed  at  night; 
And  with  sweet  baths  refresh  your  grace, 

at  your  return  from  fight. 

"So  I  your  presence  may  enjoy, 

no  toil  I  will  refuse; 
But  wanting  you,  my  life  is  death, 

which  doth  true  love  abuse!" 

•'  Content  thyself,  my  dearest  friend, 

thy  rest  at  home  shall  be 
In  England's  sweet  and  pleasant  soil; 

for  travel  fits  not  thee. 

"  Fair  ladies  brook  no  bloody  wars, 
sweet  peace  their  pleasures  breed; 

The  nourishers  of  their  heart's  content, 
which  fancy  first  doth  feed. 

"  My  Rose  doth  rest  in  "Woodstock  bower. 

with  music's  sweet  delight; 
While  I,  among  the  piercing  pikes, 

against  my  foes  do  fight. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  17 

"  My  Rose  in  robes  of  pearl  and  gold. 

with  diamonds  richly  dight; 
Shall  dance  the  galliards  of  my  love, 

whilst  I  my  foes  do  smite. 

"  And  you,  Sir  Thomas,  whom  I  trust 

to  be  my  love's  defence; 
Be  careful  of  my  gallant  Rose 

when  I  am  parted  hence." 

And  therewithal  he  fetch'd  a  sigh, 

as  though  his  heart  would  break ; 
And  Rosamond,  for  very  grief, 

not  one  plain  word  could  speak. 

And  at  their  parting  well  they  might 

in  heart  be  grieved  sore: 
After  that  day  fair  Rosamond 

did  see  the  king  no  more. 

For  when  his  grace  had  pass'd  the  seas, 

and  into  France  was  gone  ; 
Queen  Elenor,  with  envious  heart, 

in  Woodstock  came  anon. 

And  forth  she  call'd  this  trusty  knight, 

which  kept  this  curious  bower; 
Who  with  his  twined  clue  of  thread, 

came  from  that  famous  flower. 

c 


18  THE    CROWN-GARLAND 

And  when  that  they  had  wounded  him, 
the  queen  this  thread  did  get, 

And  went  where  Lady  Rosamond 
was  like  an  angel  set. 

But  when  the  queen,  with  steadfast  eyes, 

beheld  her  heavenly  face, 
She  was  amazed  in  her  mind, 

at  her  exceeding  grace. 

"  Cast  off  thy  robes  from  thee,"  she  said, 

"  that  rich  and  costly  be; 
And  drink  thee  off  this  deadly  draught, 

which  I  have  brought  for  thee." 

But  presently  upon  her  knee, 

sweet  Rosamond  did  fall; 
And  pardon  of  the  queen  she  crav'd 

for  her  offences  all. 

"  Take  pity  of  my  youthful  years," 
fair  Rosamond  did  cry; 

"  And  let  me  not  with  poison  strong- 
enforced  be  to  die. 

"  I  will  renounce  this  sinful  life, 

and  in  a  cloister  bide; 
Or  else  be  banish'd,  if  you  please, 

to  range  the  world  so  wide. 


OF  GOLDEN   ROSES.  10 

"  And  for  the  fault  which  I  have  clone, 

though  I  was  forc'd  thereto ; 
Preserve  my  life,  and  punish  me 

as  you  think  good  to  do." 

And  with  these  words,  her  lily  hands 

she  wrung  full  often  there; 
And  down  along  her  lovely  cheeks 

proceeded  many  a  tear. 

But  nothing  could  this  furious  queen, 

therewith  appeased  be; 
The  cup  of  deadly  poison  fiU'd, 

as  she  sat  on  her  knee, 

She  gave  that  comely  dame  to  drink, 

who  took  it  in  her  hand, 
And  from  her  bended  knees  arose, 

and  on  her  feet  did  stand: 

And  casting  up  her  eyes  to  heaven, 

she  did  for  mercy  call; 
And  drinking  up  the  poison  strong, 

her  life  she  lost  withal. 

And  when  that  death  through  every  limb. 

had  done  her  gi-eatest  spite; 
Her  chiefest  foes  did  plain  confess 

she  was  a  glorious  wight. 

c  2 


20  THE    CROWN-GARLAND 

Her  body  then  they  did  entomb, 
when  life  was  fled  away, 

At  Godstow,  near  to  Oxford  town, 
as  may  be  seen  tliis  day. 


a  most  rare  and  excellent  history  of  the  duchess  < 
Suffolk's  calamity. 


To  the  tune  of  "  Queen  Dido." 


When  God  had  taken  for  our  sin, 

That  prudent  prince  K.  Edward  away, 

Then  bloody  Bonner  did  begin 
His  raging  malice  to  bewray; 

All  those  that  did  God's  word  profess, 

Are  persecuted  more  or  less. 

Thus  whilst  the  Lord  did  on  us  lower. 
Many  in  prison  he  did  throw, 

Tormenting  them  in  Lollard's  tower, 
Wliereby  they  might  the  truth  forego; 

Then  Cranmer,  Ridley,  and  the  rest. 

Were  burn'd  in  fire,  whom  Christ  profest. 

Smithfield  was  then  with  faggots  fill'd, 
And  many  places  more  beside; 

At  Coventry  was  Sanders  kill'd, 

At  Worcester  eke  good  Hooper  died. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  21 

And  to  escape  this  bloody  day, 
Beyond  seas  many  went  away. 

Amongst  the  rest  that  sought  relief, 
And,  for  their  faith,  in  danger  stood, 

Lady  Elizabeth  was  the  chief. 

King  Henry's  daughter,  of  royal  blood, 

"Within  the  Tower  did  prisoner  lie. 

Looking  each  day  when  she  should  die. 

The  Duchess  of  Suffolk  seeing  this, 
Whose  life  likewise  the  tyrant  sought; 

Then  in  the  hope  of  heavenly  bliss. 

Within  God's  word  her  comfort  wrought; 

For  fear  of  death  was  fain  to  fly. 

And  leave  her  house  most  secretly. 

That  for  the  love  of  Christ  alone. 
Her  lands  and  goods  she  left  behind; 

Seeking  still  for  that  precious  stone, — 
The  word  of  truth,  so  rare  to  find! 

She,  with  her  nurse,  husband,  and  child, 

In  poor  array  their  sight  beguil'd. 

Thus  through  London  they  passed  along, 

Each  one  did  take  a  several  street; 
Thus,  all  unknown,  escaping  wrong. 

At  Billingsgate  they  all  did  meet: 
Like  people  poor,  in  Gravesend  barge 
They  simply  went  with  all  their  charge. 


22  THE    CROWN-GARLAND 

And  along  from  Gravesend  town, 

With  journeys  short,  on  foot  they  went; 

Unto  the  sea's  coast  they  came  down, 
(To  pass  the  seas  was  their  intent); 

And  God  provided  so  that  day, 

That  they  took  ship  and  sail'd  away. 

And  with  a  prosperous  gale  of  wind, 
In  Flanders  safe  they  did  arrive; 

This  was  to  their  great  ease  of  mind, 

And  from  their  hearts  much  woe  did  drive. 

And  so  with  thanks  to  God  on  high, 

They  took  their  way  to  Germany. 

Thus  they  travell'd  still  disguised ; 

Upon  the  high-way  suddenly, 
By  cruel  thieves  they  were  surpris'd. 

Assailing  their  small  company; 
And  [all]  their  treasure  and  their  store 
They  took  away,  and  beat  them  sore. 

The  nurse,  in  middle  of  the  fight, 

Laid  down  the  child  upon  the  ground; 

She  ran  away  out  of  their  sight. 
And  never  after  that  was  found. 

Then  did  the  duchess  make  great  moan. 

With  her  good  husband  all  alone. 

The  thieves  had  their  horses  kill'd, 
And  all  their  money  quite  had  took; 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  23 

The  pretty  baby,  almost  spill'd, 

Was  by  the  nui'se  likewise  forsook; 
And  they  far  from  their  friends  did  stand, 
All  succourless  in  a  strange  land. 

The  skies  likewise  began  to  scowl, 
It  hail'd,  and  rain'd  in  piteous  sort, 

The  way  was  long,  and  piteous  foul; 
Then  (may  I  now  full  well  report), 

Their  grief  and  sorrow  was  not  small, 

When  this  unhappy  chance  did  fall. 

Sometime  the  duchess  bore  the  child, 

As  well  as  ever  she  could  be. 
And  when  the  lady  kind  and  mild 

Was  weary,  then  the  child  bore  he. 
And  thus  they  one  and  other  eas'd. 
And  with  their  fortunes  were  well  pleas'd. 

And  after  many  weary  steps. 

All  wet-shod,  both  in  dirt  and  mire. 

After  much  grief  their  heart  it  leaps. 
For  laboui-  doth  some  rest  require. 

A  town  before  them  they  did  see, 

But  lodg'd  therein  they  could  not  be. 

From  house  to  house  then  they  did  go. 
Seeing  where  they  that  night  might  lie; 

But  want  of  money  was  their  Avoe, 
And  still  the  babe  with  cold  did  cry. 


24  THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

With  cap  and  knee  they  court'sy  make, 
But  none  on  them  would  pity  take. 

Lo !  here  a  princess  of  great  blood 
Doth  pray  a  peasant  for  relief ! 

With  tears  bedewed  as  she  stood, 
Yet  few  or  none  regards  her  grief. 

Her  speech  they  could  not  understand. 

But  gave  her  money  in  her  hand. 

When  all  in  vain  their  pains  were  spent, 
And  that  they  could  not  house-room  get, 

Into  a  church-porch  then  they  went. 
To  stand  out  of  the  rain  and  wet. 

Then  said  the  duchess  to  her  dear, 

"  Oh !  that  we  had  a  fire  here." 

Then  did  her  husband  so  provide, 

That  fire  and  coals  he  got  with  speed; 

She  sat  down  by  the  fire  side 

To  dress  her  daughter,  that  had  need. 

And  while  she  dress'd  it  in  her  lap, 

Her  husband  made  the  infant  pap. 

Anon  the  sexton  thither  came. 

And  finding  them  there  by  the  fire, 

The  drunken  knave,  all  void  of  shame, 
To  drive  them  out  was  his  desire; 

And  spurning  forth  that  noble  dame, 

Her  husband's  wrath  it  did  inflame. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  ! 

And  all  in  fury  as  he  stood, 

He  wrung  the  church  keys  out  of  his  hand, 
And  struck  him  so  that  all  of  blood 

His  head  ran  down,  where  he  did  stand: 
"Wherefore  the  sexton  presently 
For  help  and  aid  aloud  did  cry. 

Then  came  the  officers  in  haste, 

And  took  the  duchess  and  her  child. 

And  with  her  husband  thus  they  pass'd, 
Like  lambs  beset  with  tigers  wild; 

And  to  the  governor  were  brought, 

Who  understood  them  not  in  aught. 

Then  Master  Bartu,  brave  and  bold, 

In  Latin  made  a  gallant  speech, 
Which  aU  their  miseries  did  unfold, 

And  their  high  favour  did  beseech: 
"With  that  a  doctor  sitting  by, 
Did  know  the  duchess  presently. 

And  thereupon  arising  straight. 

With  words  abashed  at  his  sight. 
Unto  them  all  that  there  did  wait, 

He  thus  broke  forth  in  words  aright: 
"  Behold,  within  your  sight,"  quoth  he, 
"  A  princess  of  most  high  degree!" 

With  that  the  governor  and  the  rest 
Were  all  amaz'd  the  same  to  hear, 


26  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Who  welcomed  this  new-come  guest  J| 

With  reverence  great,  and  princely  cheer;  w 

J    And  afterwards  conveyed  they  were 
Unto  their  friend,  Prince  Casimir. 

A  son  she  had  in  Germany, 

Peregrine  Bartu  call'd  by  name, 
Surnam'd  the  good  Lord  Willoughby, 

Of  courage  great,  and  worthy  fame: 
Her  daughter  young,  which  with  her  went. 
Was  afterwards  Countess  of  Kent. 

For  when  Queen  Mary  was  deceas'd. 

The  duchess  home  return'd  again: 
Who  was  of  sorrow  quite  releas'd, 

By  Queen  Elizabeth's  ha^Dpy  reign: 
Whose  godly  life  and  piety. 
We  all  may  praise  continually. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  27 


THE  SECOND  PART. 


THK  LAMENTABLE  FALL  OF  THE  GREAT  DUCHESS  OF  GLOUCESTER, 

THE   WIFE    OF    DUKE    HUMPHREY:    HOW    SHE    DID    PENANCE 

IN    LONDON    STREETS,    BAREFOOTED,    WITH    A    WAX 

CANDLE  IN  HER  HAND:    AND  HO'.V  AT  LAST  SHE 

WAS  BANISHED  THE  LAND,  WHERE,  IN  EXILE, 

IN    THE   ISLE   OF    MAN,   SHE   ENDED 

HER    DAYS    IN    WOE. 

To  the  tune  of  "  Fortune,  my  foe." 


I  ONCE  a  duchess  was  of  great  renoun, 
My  husband  near  allied  to  England's  crown, 
The  good  Duke  Humphrey  titled  was  his  name, 
Till  fortune  frown'd  upon  his  glorious  fame. 

Henry  the  Fifth,  that  king  of  gallant  grace, 
Of  whom  my  husband  claim'd  a  brother's  place, 
And  was  protector  made  of  his  young  son, 
When  princely  Henry's  thread  of  life  was  spun. 


28  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Henry  the  Sixth,  a  child  of  nine  months  old, 
Then  rul'd  this  land,  with  all  our  barons  bold; 
And  in  brave  Paris  crowned  king  of  France, 
Fair  England  with  more  honour  to  advance. 

Then  sway'd  Duke  Humphrey  like  a  glorious  king, 
And  was  protector  over  every  thing, 
Even  as  he  would,  to  please  his  heart's  desire; 
But  envy  soon  extinguish'd  all  his  fire. 

In  height  of  all  his  pompal  majesty, 

From  Cobham  house  with  speed  he  married  me. 

Fair  EUinor,  '  the  pride  of  ladies  all,' 

In  court  and  city  people  did  me  call. 

Then  flaunted  I  in  Greenwich's  stately  towers. 
My  winter's  mansions,  and  my  summer's  bowers; 
Which  gallant  house  now  since  those  days  hath  heen 
The  palace  brave  of  many  a  king  and  queen. 

The  silver  Thames,  that  sweetly  pleas'd  mine  eye, 
Procur'd  me  golden  thoughts  of  majesty; 
The  kind  contents  and  murmur  of  the  water. 
Made  me  forget  the  woes  that  would  come  after. 

No  gallant  dame  nor  lady  in  this  land, 
But  much  desired  in  my  love  to  stand; 
My  golden  pi-ide  encreased  day  by  day, 
As  though  such  pleasures  never  would  decay. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  29 

On  gold  and  silver  looms  my  garments  fair 
Were  woven  still,  by  women  strange  and  rare, 
Embroidered  curiously  with  Median  silk, 
More  white  than  thistle-down,  or  morning's  milk. 

My  coaches,  and  my  stately  pamper'd  steeds, 
Well  furnish'd  in  their  gold-betrapped  weeds, 
With  gentle  gildings  in  the  summer  nights, 
StiU  yielded  me  the  evening's  sweet  delights. 

A  hundred  gentlemen  in  purple  chains, 
As  many  virgin  maids  were  still  in  trains, 
The  queen  of  Egypt  with  her  pomp  and  glory, 
For  pleasure  could  not  equal  this  my  story. 

But  yet  at  last  my  golden  sun  declined, 
And  England's  court  at  these  my  joys  repined; 
For  soon  my  husband,  in  his  honoured  place 
Amongst  the  barons  reaped  some  disgrace. 

Which  grudge  being  grown  and  sprung  upto  that  height. 
Unto  his  charge  they  laid  some  crime  of  weight; 
And  then  in  prison  cast,  good  royal  duke, 
Without  misdeed  he  suffered  vile  rebuke. 

They  took  from  him  his  great  protector's  name, 
Through  causes  which  those  peers  did  falsely  frame, 
And  after,  overcome  with  malice  deep, 
My  noble  lord  they  murdered  in  his  sleep. 


so  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

The  kind  young  king,  having  thus  his  uncle  lost, 
Was  clay  by  day  with  troubles  vext  and  crost; 
For  such  ambition  in  the  land  then  bred. 
That  from  the  factious  house  of  York  took  head. 

0,  kingly  Lancaster !  my  husband's  line, 
His  death  began  his  fall  as  well  as  mine; 
For  being  dead,  his  livings  and  his  lands 
They  seized  all  into  king  Henry's  hands. 

And  after  turn'd  me,  friendless,  out  of  door, 
To  spend  my  days  like  to  a  woman  poor; 
Discharging  me  from  all  my  pompal  train. 
But  Elenor  would  a  lady  still  remain. 

The  noble  spirit  of  a  woman's  will, 
Within  ray  breast  did  burn  in  fury  still, 
And  raging  so  in  my  revengeful  mind, 
Till  I  the  murderers  of  my  lord  did  find. 

But  knowing  them  to  be  of  power  and  might, 
Of  whom  no  justice  could  by  law  take  right, 
But  yet,  to  nourish  up  my  thoughts  in  evil, 
I  crav'd  the  help  of  hell,  and  of  the  devil. 

To  practise  witch-craft  then  was  my  intent. 

And  therefore  for  the  witch  of  Ely  sent, 

And  for  old  Bolingbroke,  of  Lancashire, 

Of  whom,  for  charms,  the  land  stood  much  in  fear, 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  31 

We  slept  by  day,  and  walkt  by  midnight  hours, 
(The  time  the  spells  have  force  and  greatest  powers), 
The  twilights,  and  the  dawning  of  the  morns. 
When  elves  and  fairies  take  fheir  gliding  foi'ms. 

Eed  streaming  blood  fell  down  my  azur'd  veins, 
To  make  characters  in  round  circled  [strains]; 
With  dead  men's  sculls,  by  brimstone  burned  quite. 
To  raise  the  dreadful  shadows  of  the  night. 

All  this,  by  black  enchanting  arts,  to  spill 
Their  hated  bloods,  that  did  Duke  Humphrey  kill: 
My  royal  lord !  untimely  ta'cn  from  me  ! 
Yet  no  revengement  for  him  could  I  see. 

For  by  the  hand  of  justful-dooming  heaven, 
We  were  prevented  all,  and  notice  given. 
How  we,  by  witchcraft,  sought  the  spoil  of  those 
That  secretly  had  been  Duke  Humphrey's  foes. 

Wherefore,  my  two  companions  for  this  crime 
Did  suffer  death,  ere  nature  spent  their  time; 
Poor  Elenor,  I,  because  of  noble  bix-th, 
Endur'd  a  stranger  punishment  than  death. 

It  pleased  so  the  council  of  my  king, 

Me  to  disrobe  of  every  gorgeous  thing, 

My  chains,  my  rings,  and  jewels  of  such  prize, 

Were  chang'd  to  rags  more  base  than  rugged  frieze. 


32  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

And,  bj  command,  along  each  London  street, 
To  go  in  penance,  wrapped  in  a  sheet, 
Bare-footed,  with  a  taper  in  my  hand; 
The  like  did  never  lady  in  this  land. 

My  feet,  that  lately  trod  the  steps  of  pleasure, 
Now  flinty  stones  so  sharp  were  forc'd  to  measure; 
Yet  none  alive,  where  I  did  come  or  go, 
Durst  shed  one  trickling  tear  at  this  my  woe. 

Break,  heart,  and  die!  here  ended  not  my  pain, 
I  judged  was  an  exile  to  remain, 
And  go  a  banish'd  lady  from  this  place, 
Where,  in  my  blooming  youth,  I  liv'd  in  grace. 

The  x'cmnant  of  those  years  which  God  me  gave. 
Poor  banish'd  Elenor  spent  to  find  her  grave; 
And  left  this  land,  where  she  was  bred  and  born. 
In  foi'eign  soils  for  her  misdeeds  to  mourn. 

The  Isle  of  Man,  encompass'd  by  the  sea. 
To  England  named  so  unto  this  day, 
Imprison'd  me  within  the  wat'ry  round, 
Till  time  and  death  found  me  a  burying  ground. 

Full  nineteen  years  in  sorrow  thus  I  spent. 
Without  one  hour  or  minute  of  content, 
Rememb'ring  former  joys  of  modest  life, 
Whilst  I  bore  name  of  good  Duke  Humphrey's  wife. 


OF  GOLDEN  ROSES.  33 

The  loss  of  Greenwich  towers  did  grieve  me  sore, 
But  death  of  my  dear  love  ten  thousand  more; 
Yea,  all  the  joys,  once  in  my  bower  and  hall, 
Are  darts  of  grief  to  wound  me  now  withal. 

Farewell,  dear  f :iends !  farewell  my  courtly  trains ! 
My  late  renown  is  turn'd  to  ling'ring  pains; 
My  melody  of  musick's  silver  sound, 
Are  snakes  and  adders  hissing  on  the  ground. 

The  downy  bed[s],  whereon  I  lay  full  oft, 
Are  sun-burnt  heaps  of  moss,  now  seeming  soft^ 
And  waxen  tapers  lighting  me  to  bed, 
Be  stars  about  the  silver  moon  bespread. 

Instead  of  wine  I  now  drink  waters  clear, 
Wliich  pays  for  my  delightful  banquets  dear; 
Thus  changeth  stately  pomp  and  courtly  joys. 
When  pleasure  endeth  with  such  deep  annoys. 

My  beauteous  cheeks,  where  Cupid  danc'd  and  play'd, 
Are  wrinkled  grown,  and  quite  with  grief  decay'd ; 
My  hair  turn'd  white,  my  yellow  eyes  stark  blind, 
And  all  my  body  altered  from  her  kind. 

Ring  out  my  knell,  you  birds  in  top  of  sky! 
Quite  tir'd  with  woes,  here  Elenor  needs  must  die! 
Receive  me,  earth,  into  thy  gentle  womb, 
A  banish'd  lady  craves  no  other  tomb ! 

D 


34  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Thus  died  the  famous  duchess  of  our  land, 
Controll'd  by  changing  fortune's  stern  command; 
Let  those  that  sit  in  place  of  high  degi'ee 
Think  on  their  ends,  that  like  to  hers  may  be. 


A   COURTLY   NEW    SONG   OF   THE   PRINCELY   WOOING   OF  THE 
FAIR    MAID   OF    LONDON    BY    KING   EDWARD. 

To  the  tune  of  "  Bonnie  sweet  Robin." 


Fair  angel  of  England,  thy  beauty  so  bright 
Is  all  my  heart's  treasure,  my  joy  and  delight! 
Then  grant  me,  sweet  lady,  thy  true  love  to  be, 
That  I  may  say  '  "Welcome,  good  fortune  to  me.' 

The  turtle  so  true,  and  chaste  in  her  love. 
By  gentle  persuasions  her  fancy  will  move. 
Then  be  not  entreated,  sweet  lady,  in  vain, 
For  nature  requireth  what  I  would  obtain. 

That  phenix  so  famous,  that  liveth  alone. 
Is  vowed  to  chastity,  being  but  one; 
But  be  not,  my  darling,  so  chaste  in  desire, 
Lest  thou,  like  the  phenix,  do  penance  in  fire. 

But,  alas !  gallant  lady,  I  pity  thy  state, 
In  being  resolved  to  live  without  mate; 


OF  GOLDEN   ROSES.  35 

For  if  of  our  courting  the  pleasures  you  knew, 
You  would  have  a  liking  the  same  to  ensue. 

Long  time  I  have  sued  the  same  to  obtain, 
Yet  am  I  requited  with  scornful  disdain ; 
But  if  you  will  grant  your  good  favour  to  me, 
You  shall  be  advanced  to  princely  degree. 

Pi'omotions  and  honours  may  often  entice 
The  chastest  that  liveth,  though  never  so  nice: 
What  woman  so  worthy  but  will  be  content 
To  live  in  [a]  palace  where  princes  frequent? 

Two  brides  young  and  princely  to  church  I  have  led, 
Two  ladies  most  lovely  have  decked  my  bed, 
Yet  hath  thy  love  taken  more  root  in  mine  heart 
Than  all  their  contentment  whereof  I  had  part. 

Your  gentle  hearts  cannot  men's  tears  much  abide, 
And  women  most  angry  when  least  they  do  chide; 
Then  yield  to  me  kindly,  and  say  that  at  length 
Men  do  want  mercy,  and  poor  women  strength. 

I  grant  that  fair  ladies  may  poor  men  resist. 
But  princes  may  conquer  and  love  whom  they  list; 
A  king  may  command  her  to  lie  by  his  side 
Whose  feature  deserveth  to  be  a  king's  bride. 

In  granting  your  love  you  shall  have  renown, 
Your  head  shall  be  decked  with  England's  fair  crown; 

D  2 


36  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Thy  garment  so  gallant  with  gold  shall  be  wrought, 
If  true  love  for  treasure  of  thee  may  be  bought. 

Great  ladies  of  honour  shall  'tend  on  thy  train, 
Most  richly  attired  in  scarlet  of  grain; 
A  chamber  most  princely  thy  person  shall  keep, 
Where  virgins  with  music  shall  rock  thee  asleep. 

If  any  more  pleasures  thine  heart  can  invent, 
Command  them,  sweet  lady,  thy  mind  to  content; 
For  kings'  gallant  courts,  where  princes  do  dwell, 
Afford  such  sweet  pastimes  as  ladies  love  well. 

Then  be  not  resolved  to  die  a  true  maid. 
But  print  in  thy  bosom  the  words  I  have  said, 
And  grant  a  king  favour  thy  true  love  to  be, 
That  I  may  say,  *  Welcome,  sweet  lady,  to  me.' 


THE    FAIR    MAII)    OF    LONDON  S   ANSWER    TO    KING    EDWARD  S 
WANTON    LOVE. 

To  the  same  tune. 


0  WANTON  King  Edward!  'tis  labour  in  vain 
To  follow  the  pleasures  thou  canst  not  attain; 
Which  getting  thou  losest,  and  having  dost  waste  it, 
The  which  if  thou  purchase,  is  spoil['d]  if  thou  hast  it. 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  c 

But  if  thou  obtain'st  it  thou  nothing  hast  won, 
And  I,  losing  nothing,  yet  quite  am  undone; 
But  if  of  that  jewel  a  king  do  deceive  me, 
No  king  can  restore,  though  a  kingdom  he  give  me. 

My  colour  is  changed  since  you  saw  me  last. 
My  favour  is  banisht,  my  beauty  is  past; 
The  I'osy-red  blushes  that  sat  on  my  cheeks 
To  paleness  is  turn'd,  which  all  men  mislikes. 

I  pass  not  what  princes  for  love  do  protest, 
The  name  of  a  virgin  contenteth  me  best; 
I  have  not  deserved  to  sleep  by  thy  side, 
Nor  to  be  accounted  for  King  Edward's  bride. 

The  name  of  a  princess  I  never  did  crave. 
No  such  type  of  honour  thy  handmaid  will  have; 
My  breast  shall  not  harbour  so  lofty  a  thought. 
Nor  be  with  rich  favors  to  wantonness  brought. 

If  wild  wanton  Rosamond,  one  of  your  sort. 
Had  never  frequented  King  Heni'y's  brave  court. 
Such  heaps  of  deep  sorrow  she  never  had  seen, 
Nor  tasted  the  rage  of  a  [harsh]  jealous  queen. 

All  men  have  their  freedom  to  show  their  intent, 
They  win  not  a  woman  except  she  consent; 
Who,  then,  can  impute  to  men  any  fault. 
Who  still  go  upright,  till  women  do  halt? 


38  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Tis  counted  a  kindness  in  men  for  to  try, 
And  virtue  in  women  the  same  to  deny; 
For  woman  inconstant  can  never  be  prov'd, 
Until  by  their  betters  therein  they  be  mov'd. 

If  women  and  modesty  once  do  but  sever, 
Then  farewell  good  name  and  credit  for  ever! 
And,  royal  King  Edward,  let  me  be  exil'd 
Ere  any  man  knows  that  my  body's  defil'd. 

No,  no,  my  old  father's  reverend  tears 
Too  great  an  impression  within  my  soul  bears; 
Nor  shall  his  bright  honour  the  blot  by  me  have, 
To  bring  his  grey  hairs  with  grief  to  the  grave. 

The  heavens  forbid  that  when  I  shall  die, 
Any  such  sin  should  upon  my  soul  lie: 
If  I  have  thus  kept  me  from  doing  this  sin, 
My  heart  shall  not  yield  with  a  prince  to  begin. 

Come  rather  with  pity,  and  weep  on  my  tomb, 
Tlien,  for  my  birth,  curse  my  dear  mother's  womb, 
That  brought  forth  a  blossom  that  stained  the  tree, 
With  wanton  desires  to  shame  her  and  me ! 

Leave  me,  most  noble  king,  tempt  not  in  vain. 
My  milk-white  affection  with  lewdness  to  stain; 
Though  England  will  give  me  no  comfort  at  all. 
Yet  Ensrland  will  grant  me  a  sad  burial. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  39 


THE   STORY  OF  ILL  MAT -DAY  IN  THE   TIME   OF    KING   HENRY  THE 

EIGHTH,    AND    WHY    IT    WAS    SO    CALLED:     AND   HOW    QUEEN 

KATHERINE  BEGGED   THE   LIVES  OF   TWO   THOUSAND 

LONDON    'PRENTICES. 

To  the  tune  of  "  Essex's  good  night." 


Peruse  the  stories  of  this  land, 

And  with  advisement  mark  the  same; 
And  you  shall  justly  understand 

How  ill  May-day  first  got  the  name. 
For  when  King  Henry  Eighth  did  reign, 

And  rul'd  our  famous  kingdom  here; 
His  royal  queen  he  had  from  Spain, 

With  whom  he  liv'd  full  many  a  year. 

Queen  Katherine  named,  as  stories  tell, 

Sometime  his  elder  brother's  wife, 
By  which  unlawful  marriage  fell 

An  endless  trouble  during  life. 
But  such  kind  love  he  still  conceiv'd 

Of  his  fair  queen,  and  of  her  friends. 
Which  being  by  Spain  and  France  perceiv'd, 

Their  journeys  fast  for  England  bends. 

And  with  good  leave  were  suffered 
Within  our  kingdom  here  to  stay; 

Which  multitudes  made  victuals  dear, 
And  all  things  else,  from  day  to  day. 


40  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

For  strangers  then  did  so  increase, 
By  reason  of  King  Henry's  queen; 

And  privilege  in  many  a  place 
To  dwell,  as  was  in  London  seen. 

Poor  tradesmen  had  small  dealing  then, 

And  who  but  strangers  bore  the  bell? 
Which  was  a  grief  to  Englishmen, 

To  see  them  here  in  London  dwell. 
"Wherefore,  God  wot,  upon  May  eve, 

As  prentices  on  maying  went. 
Who  made  the  magistrates  believe 

At  all  to  have  no  other  intent. 

But  such  a  May-game  it  was  known, 

As  like  in  London  never  were, 
For  by  the  same  full  many  a  one 

With  loss  of  life  did  pay  full  dear. 
For  thousands  came  with  Bilboa  blade, 

As  with  an  army  they  could  meet; 
And  such  a  bloody  slaughter  made 

Of  foreign  strangers  in  the  street. 

That  all  the  channels  ran  down  with  blood 
In  every  street  where  they  remain'd; 

Yea,  every  one  in  danger  stood. 
That  any  of  their  part  maintain'd. 

The  rich,  the  poor,  the  old,  the  young, 
Beyond  the  seas  though  born  and  bred. 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  41 

By  prentices  there  suffered  wrong, 
When  armed  thus  they  gathered  head. 

Such  multitudes  together  went, 

No  warlike  troops  could  them  withstand; 
Nor  yet  by  policy  them  prevent. 

What  they  by  force  thus  took  in  hand: 
Till  at  the  last  King  Henry's  power 

This  multitude  encompass'd  round, 
Where  with  the  strength  of  London's  tower. 

They  were  by  force  suppress'd  and  bound. 

And  hundreds  hang'd,  by  martial  law, 

On  sign-posts  at  their  masters'  doors, 
By  which  the  rest  were  kept  in  awe, 

And  frighted  from  such  loud  uproars. 
And  others  which  the  fact  I'epented, 

(Two  thousand  prentices  at  least), 
Were  all  unto  the  king  presented, 

As  mayors  and  magistrates  thought  best. 

With  two  and  two  together  tied, 

Through  Temple-bar  and  Strand  they  go, 
To  Westminster,  there  to  be  tried. 

With  ropes  about  their  necks  also. 
But  such  a  cry  in  every  street 

TiU  then  was  never  heard  nor  known, 
By  mothers  for  their  children  sweet, 

Unhappily  thus  overthrown. 


42  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Whose  bitter  moans  and  sad  laments 

Possess  the  court  with  trembling  fear; 
Whereat  the  queen  herself  relents, 

Though  it  concern'd  her  country  dear. 
What  if,  quoth  she,  by  Spanish  blood 

Have  London's  stately  streets  been  wet, 
Yet  will  I  seek  this  country's  good, 

And  pardon  for  these  young  men  get. 

Or  else  the  world  will  speak  of  me. 

And  say  Queen  Katherine  was  unkind; 
And  judge  me  still  the  cause  to  be. 

These  young  men  did  these  fortunes  find. 
And  so,  disrob'd  from  rich  attires, 

With  hair  hang'd  down,  she  sadly  hies, 
And  of  her  gracious  lord  requires 

A  boon,  which  hardly  he  denies. 

"  The  lives,"  (quoth  she),  "  of  all  the  blooms 

Yet  budding  green,  these  youths  I  crave ; 
O,  let  them  not  have  timeless  tombs, 

For  nature  longer  limits  gave!" 
In  saying  so,  tlie  pearled  tears 

FeU  trickling  from  her  princely  eyes. 
Whereat  his  gentle  queen  he  cheers, 

And  says,  "  Stand  up,  sweet  lady,  rise! 

The  lives  of  them  I  freely  give, 
No  means  this  kindness  shall  debar. 

Thou  hast  thy  boon,  and  they  may  live 
To  serve  me  in  my  Boulogne  war." 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  43 

No  sooner  was  this  pardon  given, 

But  peals  of  joy  rung  through  the  hall, 

As  though  it  thunder'd  down  from  heaven, 
The  queen's  renoAvn  amongst  them  all. 

For  which,  (kind  queen),  with  joyful  heart, 

She  gave  to  them  both  thanks  and  praise, 
And  so  from  them  did  gently  part, 

And  liv'd  beloved  all  her  days: 
And  when  King  Henry  stood  in  need 

Of  trusty  soldiers  at  command, 
These  prentices  prov'd  men  indeed, 

And  fear'd  no  foes  of  warlike  band. 

For  at  the  seige  of  Tours,  in  France, 

They  showed  themselves  brave  Englishmen: 
At  Boulogne  too  they  did  advance 

Saint  George's  lusty  standard  then. 
Let  Tourenne,  Tournay,  and  those  towns 

That  good  King  Heniy  nobly  won. 
Tell  London's  prentices'  renowns. 

And  of  their  deeds  by  them  there  done. 

For  ill  May-day,  and  ill  May-games, 

Perform'd  in  young  and  tender  days, 
Can  be  no  hind'rance  to  their  fames, 

Or  strains  of  manhood,  any  ways. 
But  now  it  is  ordain'd  by  law, 

"We  see  on  May-day's  eve  at  night, 
To  keep  unruly  youths  in  awe. 

By  London's  watch  in  armour  bright. 


44  THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

Still  to  prevent  the  like  misdeed,  [came; 

Which  once  through  head-strong  young  men 
And  that's  the  cause  that  I  do  read 

May-day  doth  get  so  ill  a  name. 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH     OF     THE    TWO    LADIES    OF    FINSBURY 

THAT  GAVE    MOOR-FIELDS   TO    THE    CITY,    FOR   THE 

MAIDENS   OF   LONDON    TO    DRY    CLOTHES    IN. 

To  the  tune  of  "  Where  is  my  true  Love  ?" 


You  gallant  London  damsels, 

Awhile  to  me  give  ear, 
And  be  you  well  contented 

With  that  you  now  shall  hear: 
The  deeds  of  two  kind  ladies 

Before  you  shall  appear, 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair ! 

At  Finsbury  there  dwelled 

A  gallant  noble  knight, 
That  for  the  love  of  Jesus  Christ 

Desired  for  to  fight; 
And  so  unto  Jerusalem 

Pie  went,  in  armour  bright. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  45 

And  charged  both  his  daughters 

Unmarried  to  remain, 
Till  he  from  blessed  Palestine 

Returned  back  again, 
And  then  two  loving  husbands 

For  them  he  would  attain. 

0  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

When  he  was  gone  from  fair  England, 

A  knight  of  Rhodes  to  be, 
His  daughters  they  were  well  content, 

Though  born  of  good  degree, 
To  keep  themselves  in  mean  estate. 

Of  living  orderly. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

The  eldest  of  the  two  was  nam'd 

Fair  Mary,  as  is  said. 
Who  made  a  secret  vow  to  God 

To  live  and  die  a  maid; 
And  so  a  true  professed  nun, 

Herself  with  speed  array'd. 

0  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

Her  garments  were  of  mourning  black, 

Befitting  her  desires. 
Where  at  the  house  of  Bethlehem, 

The  abbess  she  requires 
An  entertainment  to  be  made. 

To  their  melodious  quires. 

O  sweet  singing  maidens  so  fair! 


46  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Where  in  the  nunnery  she  remain'd 

Beloved  many  a  year, 
Still  spending  day  and  night  in  prayers 

For  her  old  father  dear: 
Refusing  worldly  vanities, 

With  joy  and  pleasant  cheer. 

O  heavenly  blest  maidens,  so  fair! 

And,  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ, 

A  holy  cross  did  build, 
Which  some  have  seen  at  Bedlam  gate, 

Adjoining  to  Moor-field. 
These  be  the  blessed  springing  fruits, 

That  chastity  doth  yield. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

If  that  England's  great  royal  Queen 
I  should  be  made,  quoth  she, 

Not  half  so  well  contented  then. 
Good  ladies,  should  I  be. 

There  is  no  life  that 's  half  so  sweet 
As  virgin's  life,  I  see. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

Nor  will  I  taste  the  joys  of  love 

Belong  to  marriage  bed. 
Nor  to  a  king  consent  to  yield 

My  blooming  maiden-head. 
Till  from  my  father  I  do  hear, 

To  be  alive  or  dead. 

0  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  47 

So,  virgin-like,  she  spent  her  days, 

About  this  pleasant  spring; 
And  us'd  herself,  from  time  to  time. 

Upright  in  every  thing; 
Which  caiis'd  the  ladies  of  this  land 

Her  noble  praise  to  sing. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair!  ' 

The  younger  of  the  sisters,  nam'd 

Dame  Annis,  fair  and  clear, 
Who  framed  there  a  pleasant  well, 

By  her  esteemed  dear; 
Where  wives  and  maidens  daily  came 

To  wash,  both  far  and  near. 

0,  heaven-blest  maidens,  so  fair! 

In  it  were  aU  her  earthly  joys. 

Her  comfort  and  delight. 
About  the  same  remaining  stiU 

With  pleasure  day  and  night; 
As  glorious  as  the  golden  sun, 

In  all  his  beams  so  bright. 

0  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

The  lovely  ladies  of  the  land 

Unto  dame  Annis  went, 
Persuading  her  this  single  life 

Was  not  the  best  content. 
The  married  sort  doth  most  command, 

Being  still  to  pleasures  bent. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 


48  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

And  daily,  troops  of  London  dames 

Unto  lier  did  repair, 
With  purest  lawn  and  cambric  fine, 

To  wash  both  clear  and  fair: 
And  rich  embroider'd  furnitures 

Of  child-bed  linen  rare. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

Thus  lived  these  two  sisters  here^ 

As  you  have  heard  it  told; 
Till  time  had  chang'd  their  beauteous  cheeks, 

And  made  them  wrinkled,  old. 
Then  from  their  father  news  was  brought. 

How  he  was  wrapt  in  mould. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

For  the  king  of  England  soon, 

The  Duke  of  Normandy, 
Returned  from  Jerusalem 

With  fame  and  victory; 
And  brought  their  fixther's  heart  in  lead. 

Here  buried  for  to  be. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

This  heart  that  spill'd  his  dearest  blood 

For  Jesus  Christ  in  heaven, 
Being  thus  unto  his  daughters  twain. 

In  kindness  brought  and  given. 
Was  mourned  for  three  hundred  days. 

From  morning  unto  even. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  49 

And  then  with  himentations, 

Sweet  maidens,  being  weary, 
Their  aged  father's  noble  heart 

Most  solemnly  did  bury, 
And  gave  the  place  their  father's  name, 

As  says  our  English  story. 

O  maidens  of  London  so  fair! 

Old  Sir  John  Fines,  he  had  the  name, 

Being  buried  in  that  place, 
Now  since  then  called  Finsbury, 

To  his  renown  and  grace; 
Which  times  to  come  shall  not  outwear 

Nor  jet  the  same  deface. 

O  maidens  of  London  so  fair! 

And  likewise,  when  those  maidens  died, 

They  gave  those  pleasant  fields 
Unto  our  London  citizens. 

Which  they  most  bravely  build; 
And  now  are  made  most  pleasant  walks 

That  great  contentment  yield 

To  maidens  of  London  so  fair. 

Where  lovingly  both  man  and  wife 

May  take  the  evening  air. 
And  London  dames  to  dry  their  clothes 

May  thither  still  repair. 
For  that  intent  most  freely  given 

By  these  two  damsels  fair, 

Unto  the  maidens  of  London  for  ever. 

E 


50  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 


AN   EXCELLENT   SONG   MADE   OF  THE   SUCCESSORS   OF   KING 
EDWARD   THE   FOURTH. 

To  the  tune  of  "  0,  man  in  desperation." 


When  as  the  king  of  England  died, 

Edward  the  Fourth  by  name, 
He  had  two  sons  of  tender  years 

For  to  succeed  the  same: 
Then  Richard,  Duke  of  Gloucester, 

Desiring  kingly  sway, 
Devised  by  treason  how  to  make 

His  nephews  both  away. 

He  with  the  duke  of  Buckingham 

Did  closely  then  contrive 
How  he  unto  the  English  crown, 

Might  happily  atchieve: 
Betwixt  them  both  they  laid  a  plot. 

And  both  together  went 
To  Stony- Stratford,  where  they  met 

Our  king  incontinent. 

This  sweet  young  king  did  entertain 

His  uncle  lovingly; 
Not  thinking  of  their  secret  drift 

And  wicked  treachery. 
But  then  the  Duke  of  Buckingham, 

To  set  abroach  the  thing, 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  51 

Began  a  quarrel  for  the  nonce, 
"With  them  that  kept  the  king. 

And  there  they  did  arrest  Lord  Gray, 

The  brother  to  the  queen ; 
Her  other  brother,  Lord  Rivers, 

In  durance  then  was  seen: 
Sir  Thomas  Vaughan  they  likewise 

Did  then  and  there  arrest; 
Thus  was  the  king  of  all  his  friends 

On  sudden  dispossest. 

The  king  doth  for  his  uncles  plead, 

And  would  their  sureties  be; 
But  both  these  dukes  would  in  no  case 

To  his  request  agree: 
In  brief,  these  noblemen  were  sent 

To  Pomfret  Castle  soon. 
Where  secretly  and  suddenly, 

They  there  to  death  were  doom. 

Then  forth  they  brought  the  king  alone 

To  London  with  great  speed, 
Using  persuasion  in  such  sort, 

Not  to  mislike  their  deed: 
But  when  to  London  he  was  come, 

For  him  they  had  prepar'd 
The  Bishop's  palace,  there  to  hold, 

But  safely  under  guard. 

E  2 


52  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

And  then  Duke  Richard  takes  on  him 

The  keeping  of  the  king; 
Naming  himself  Lord  Protector, 

His  purpose  about  to  bring: 
Devising  how  to  get  in  hold 

The  other  brother  too, 
The  which  the  cardinal  undertook 

Full  cunningly  to  do. 

The  cardinal  then,  all  in  haste, 

Unto  the  queen  did  come, 
Using  persuasions  in  such  sort. 

He  got  the  other  son: 
And  then  they  both  incontinent 

Unto  the  Tower  were  sent. 
After  which  time  they  ne'er  came  forth, 

For  death  did  them  prevent. 

Duke  Richard  having  found  the  means 

To  work  these  princes'  death. 
Did  cause  James  Tyrrel's  hired  men 

Full  soon  to  stop  their  breath: 
Miles  Forrest,  and  James  Diggens  both, 

These  wicked  careless  men, 
Were  made  the  instruments  of  blood, 

To  work  the  murder  then. 

These  princes  lying  in  their  bed. 
Being  sweetly  arm  in  arm, 

Not  thinking  of  this  vile  intent, 
Or  meaning  any  harm; 


OF   GOT.DEN    ROSES.  53 

These  villains  in  their  feathered  beds 

Did  wrap  them  up  in  haste, 
And  with  the  clothes  did  smother  them, 

Till  life  and  breath  was  past. 

But  when  they  were  so  murdered, 

Where  laid  no  man  did  know; 
But  mark!  the  judgment  of  the  Lord 

Did  sharp  revenge  soon  show. 
Betwixt  these  dukes  within  short  space, 

Such  discord  there  was  bred, 
That  Buckingham,  (to  please  tlie  king,) 

Was  forc'd  to  lose  his  head. 

Then  Richard  in  his  kingly  seat 

No  rest  nor  ease  could  find, 
The  murder  of  his  nephews  did 

So  sore  torment  his  mind: 
He  never  could  take  quiet  rest. 

His  life  he  still  did  fear, 
His  hand  upon  his  dagger  was. 

And  none  might  come  him  near. 

At  length  the  Earl  of  Richmond  came 

With  such  a  puissant  band, 
That  this  usurping  king  was  forc'd 

In  his  defence  to  stand: 
And  meeting  him  in  Bosworth  field, 

They  fought  with  heart  full  fain; 
But  God,  (for  shedding  princes'  blood), 

Caus'd  Richard  to  be  slain. 


54  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Then,  being  dead,  upon  a  horse 

All  nak'd  as  he  was  born, 
His  flesh  sore  cut  and  mangled, 

His  hair  all  rent  and  torn: 
And  then  Earl  Richmond,  worthily, 

For  this  his  deed  of  fame. 
Of  England  he  was  crowned  king, 

Henry  tlie  Seventh  by  name. 

From  whose  most  royal  loins  did  spring 

That  famous  king  of  might, 
Henry  the  Eighth,  whose  worthy  deeds 

Our  chronicles  recite. 
Who  dying,  left  his  land  and  crown 

To  Edward,  his  sweet  son; 
Whose  gracious  reign  all  England  ru'd 

His  time  so  soon  was  run. 

His  sister  Mary  did  succeed, 

Next  princess  in  this  land, 
But  in  her  time  blind  ignorance 

Against  God's  truth  did  stand: 
Which  caused  many  a  martyr's  blood 

Be  shed  in  ruthful  case. 
But  God  did  England's  woes  regard, 

And  turn'd  those  storms  to  grace. 

At  length  the  other  sister  came, 

Elizabeth,  late  queen; 
And  she  reliev'd  her  subjects'  hearts 

From  grief  and  sorrow  clean: 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  55 

She  spent  her  days  in  peace  and  joy, 

And  died  God's  servant  true, 
And  now  enjoys  a  place  in  heaven, 

Amongst  the  blessed  crew. 

Next  her  succeeding  mighty  James, 

Likewise  of  Henry's  race, 
His  majesty  with  royal  right, 

Deserves  this  worthy  place: 
"Whose  progeny  God  long  preserve 

This  kingdom  for  to  sway. 
And  send  all  subjects  loyal  hearts 

Their  soveraign  to  obey. 


THK  PRINCELY   SONG  OF   THE   SIX   QUEENS  THAT   WERE  MARRIED 
TO   HENRY    THE    EIGHTH,    KING    OF    ENGLAND. 


The  tune  is  "  Welladay.' 


When  England  fame  did  ring, 

Royally,  royally. 
Of  Henry  the  Eighth,  our  king, 

All  the  world  over: 
Such  deeds  of  majesty 
Won  he  most  worthily, 
England  to  glorify. 

By  the  hand  of  fair  heaven. 


56  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

His  royal  father  dead, 

Curiously,  curiously, 
Was  he  then  wrapt  in  lead, 

As  it  appeareth: 
Such  a  tomb  did  he  make 
For  his  sweet  father's  sake. 
As  the  whole  world  may  speak 

Of  his  gallant  glory. 

England's  brave  monument, 

Sumptuously,  sumptuously, 
Kings  and  queens  gave  consent, 

To  have  it  there  graced. 
Henry  the  Eighth  was  he 
Builded  in  gallantry, 
With  golden  bravery, 

In  this  rich  chapel. 

And  after  did  provide. 

Carefully,  carefully,  ^^f -;»- 

To  choose  a  princely  bride,  ^wu^^ 

For  his  laud's  honour. 
His  brother's  widow  he 
Married  most  lawfully, 
His  loving  wife  to  be, 

Royal  Queen  Katherine. 

Which  queen  he  loved  dear 

Many  a  day,  many  a  day, 
Full  two  and  twenty  year. 

Ere  they  were  parted. 


OF   GOLDEN'    ROSES.  57 

From  this  renowned  dame 
Mary  his  daughter  came, 
Yet  did  his  bishops  frame 
To  have  her  divorced. 

"When  as  Queen  Katherine  knew 

How  the  king,  how  the  king 
Prov'd  in  love  most  untrue, 

Thus  to  forsake  her; 
Good  Lord!  what  bitter  woe 
Did  this  fair  princess  show, 
Unkindly  thus  to  go 

From  her  sweet  husband. 

"  Oh!  my  kind  sovereign  deai*," 

Said  the  queen,  said  the  queen, 
"  Full  two  and  twenty  year 

Have  I  been  married: 
Sure  it  will  break  my  heart 
From  thee  now  to  depart, 
I  ne'er  play'd  wanton's  part, 

Royal  King  Henry!" 

All  this  availed  nought, 

Woful  queen,  woful  queen, 
A  divorce  being  wrought, 

She  must  forsake  him: 
Never  more  in  his  bed 
Laid  she  her  princely  head: 
"Was  e'er  wife  so  bestead, 

Like  to  Queen  Katherine? 


58 


THE   CROWN-GARLAND 


Amongst  our  Englishmen 
Of  renown,  of  renown, 

The  Earl  of  Wiltshire  then 
Had  a  virtuous  fair  daughter. 

A  brave  and  princely  dame, 

Anna  Bullein  by  name. 

This  virgin  was  by  fame 
Made  wife  to  King  Henry! 


Auna 
BuUeiu 

his  second 
wife. 


From  this  same  royal  queen, 

Blessedly,  blessedly, 
As  it  was  known  and  seen, 

Came  our  sweet  princess, 
England's  Elizabeth, 
Fairest  queen  on  the  earth  ; 
Happy  made  by  her  birth, 

Was  this  brave  kingdom. 

When  Anna  Bullein's  place 
Of  a  queen,  of  a  queen, 

Had  been  for  three  years'  space, 
More  was  her  sorrow: 

Li  the  king's  royal  head 

Secret  displeasure  bred, 

That  cost  the  queen  her  head 
In  London's  strong  tower. 


Then  took  to  wife  Lady  Jane, 

Lovingly,  lovingly, 
That  from  the  Seymours  came, 

Nobly  descended: 


Jane 
Seymour, 
bis  third 

wife. 


OF  GOLDEN   ROSES.  59 

But  her  love  bought  she  dear, 
She  was  but  queen  one  year; 
]n  child-bed  she  died,  we  hear. 
Of  royal  King  Edward. 

England,  then  understand. 

Famously,  famously, 
Princes  three  of  this  land 

Thus  came  from  three  queens: 
Katherine  gave  Mary  birth; 
Anna,  Ehzabeth; 
Jane,  Edward  by  her  death. 

All  crowned  in  England. 

After  these  married  he 

All  in  fame,  all  in  fame,  cievellfis 

AT  n    -!•        '.  fourth 

dame  ot  dignity,  ,viie. 

Fair  Ann  of  Cleves: 
Her  sorrow  soon  was  seen. 
Only  six  months  a  queen ! 
Graces  but  growing  green, 

So  quickly  divorced. 

Yet  liv'd  she  with  grief  to  see, 

Wof ull  queen !  wofuU  queen ! 
Two  more  as  well  as  she. 

Married  unto  King  Henry. 
To  enjoy  love's  delights 
On  their  sweet  wedding  niglits, 
Which  were  her  proper  rights; 

Mournful  young  princess ! 


sixth  Wile. 


GO  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

First  a  sweet  gallant  dame, 

Nobly  born,  nobly  born, 
Which  had  unto  her  name 

Fair  Katherine  Howard: 
But  ere  two  years  were  past. 
Disliking  grew  so  fast,  nt'ait  Ms 

She  lost  her  head  at  last:  ^^'^  ''■"''^• 

Small  time  of  glory! 

After  her,  Katherine  Parr 

Made  he  queen,  made  he  queen,         p^n-^hu 
Late  wife  to  Lord  Latimer, 

Brave  English  baron ! 
This  lady  of  renown 
Deserved  not  a  frown. 
Whilst  Henry  wore  his  crown 

Of  thrice  famous  England. 

Six  royal  queens  you  see. 

Gallant  dames!  gallant  dames! 

At  command  married  he, 
Like  a  great  monarch. 

Yet  lives  his  famous  name 

Without  spot  or  defame. 

From  royal  kings  he  came. 
Whom  all  the  woi'ld  feared. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  61 


TUK  LAMKNTAHLE  COMPI^VI.NT  OF  QXJKEN  MARY  FOK  THE 

UNKIND  DEPARTCRE  OF  KING    PHILIP,  IN  WHOSE 

ABSENCE  SHE  FELL  SICK,  AND  DIED. 

The  tune  is,  "Crimson  Velvet." 


Maby  dotli  complain; 

Ladies,  be  you  moved 
With  my  lamentations 

And  my  bitter  moans: 
Philip  King  of  Spain, 

Whom  in  heart  I  loved, 
From  his  royal  queen 

Unkindly  now  is  gone. 
Upon  my  bed  I  lie. 
Sick  and  like  to  die: 

Help  me,  ladies,  to  lament! 
For  in  heart  I  bear, 
He  loves  a  lady  dear 

Better  can  his  love  content. 
Oh  Philip!  most  unkind, 
Bear  not  such  a  mind, 

To  leave  the  daughter  of  a  king: 
Gentle  Prince  of  Spain, 
Come,  oh  come  again, 

And  sweet  content  to  thee  I'll  bring. 


62  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

For  thy  royal  sake, 

This  my  country's  danger, 
And  my  subjects'  woes 

I  daily  do  procure: 
My  burning  love  to  slake, 

Noble  princely  stranger! 
And  the  same  to  move, 

"Where  it  was  settled  sure. 
Divers  in  this  land 

Against  my  foes  did  stand, 
Pawning  their  lives  therefore: 

And  for  the  same  were  slain. 
Gentle  king  of  Spain ! 

Streets  ran  down  with  purple  gore. 
Forty  thousand  men. 

All  in  armour  then, 
This  noble  kingdom  did  provide 

To  marry  England's  queen. 
Before  thou  shouldst  be  seen. 

Or  I  be  made  thy  gallant  bride. 

But  now  my  great  good  will 

I  see  is  not  regarded  ; 
And  my  favours  kind 

Are  here  forgotten  quite : 
My  good  is  paid  with  ill, 

And  with  hatred  rewarded: 
I,  unhappy  queen, 

Left  here  in  woful  plight. 


OF  GOLDEN   ROSES.  63 

On  our  English  shore 

Never  shall  I  more 
Thy  comely  personage  behold; 

Nor  upon  the  throne, 
Gloriously  be  shown 

In  thy  purple  robes  of  gold. 
Oh!  my  heart  is  slain! 

Sorrow,  care,  and  pain 
Dwell  within  my  sobbing  brest : 

Death  approacheth  near  me, 
Because  thou  wilt  not  cheer  me. 

Thou  gallant  king  of  all  the  west! 

Those  jewels,  and  those  rings, 

And  that  golden  treasure, 
First  to  win  my  love. 

Thou  broughtest  out  of  Spain ; 
Now  unto  me  bring 

No  delight,  no  pleasure, 
But  a  sorrowful  tear, 

Which  ever  will  remain: 
Thy  picture  when  I  see, 

Much  amazeth  me, 
Causeth  tears  amain  to  flow: 

The  substance  being  gone. 
Pleasures  I  have  none, 

But  lamenting  sighs  of  woe: 
The  chair  of  state  adorned, 

Seems  as  if  it  mourned, 
Binding  up  mine  eyes  with  weeping: 


64  THE   CROWN'-GARLAND 

And  wlien  that  I  [am]  led 
Unto  my  marriage  bed, 

Sorrow  keeps  me  still  from  sleeping. 

Come,  you  ladies  kind! 

Bring  my  gown  of  sable, 
For  I  now  must  mourn 

The  "  jsence  of  my  lord : 
You  see  my  love-sick  mind 

Is  no  longer  able 
To  endure  the  sting 

Of  Cupid's  pricking  sword: 
My  dying  heart  doth  rest 
In  Philip's  princely  breast, 

My  bosom  keeps  no  heart  at  all: 
But  ever  will  abide, 
In  secret  by  his  side  ; 

And  follow  him  through  bower  and  hall. 
Though  I  live  disdained. 
Yet  my  love  unfeigned 

Shall  remain  both  chaste  and  pure. 
And  evermore  shall  prove 
As  constant  as  the  dove, 

And  thus  shall  Mary  still  endure. 

Ring  out  my  dying  knell. 

Ladies  so  renowned! 
For  your  queen  must  die, 

And  all  her  pomp  forsake  ; 
England,  now  farewell! 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSKS.  65 

For  the  fates  have  frowned, 
And  now  ready  stand 

My  breathing  life  to  take: 
Consume  with  speed  to  air, 
Fading  ghost  is  fair, 

With  my  milk -wings  go  fly: 
Where,  sitting  on  the  throne, 

Let  my  love  be  shown, 
That  for  his  sake  is  foi'c'd  to  die. 

Be  for  ever  blessed, 

Though  I  die  distressed, 
Gallant  king  of  high  renown! 

The  queen  now  bi'oken-lieartcd, 
From  this  world  is  parted. 

In  the  heavens  to  wear  a  crown. 


THE    BATTLE  OF    AGINCOURT,  BETWEEN  THE  ENGLISHMEN 
AND  FRENCHMEN. 


The  tune  is,  "  Flying  Fame. 


A  COUNCIL  grave  our  king  did  hold 
With  many  a  lord  and  knight, 

That  they  may  truly  understand 
That  France  did  hold  his  ri^ht. 


66  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Unto  the  king  of  France  therefore 

Ambassadors  were  sent 
That  he  might  fully  understand 

His  mind  and  his  intent. 

Desiring  him  in  friendly  wise 

His  lawful  right  to  yield, 
Or  else  he  vowed  by  dint  of  sword 

To  win  the  same  in  field. 

The  king  of  France,  with  all  his  lords 
Which  heard  his  message  plain, 

Unto  our  brave  ambassadors 
Did  answer  in  disdain. 

And  feign'd  our  king  was  yet  too  young, 

And  of  too  tender  age  ; 
Therefore  we  weigh  not  of  his  wars, 

Nor  fear  not  his  courage. 

His  knowledge  is,  in  feat  of  arms, 

As  yet  but  very  small ; 
His  tender  joints  more  fitter  were 

To  toss  a  tennis  ball. 

A  tun  of  tennis-balls  therefore, 

In  pride  and  great  disdain, 
He  sent  unto  our  noble  king, 

To  recompense  his  pain. 


OF  GOLDEN   ROSES.  67 

Which  answer  when  our  king  did  hear, 

He  waxed  wrath  in  heart, 
And  said  he  would  such  balls  provide 

Should  make  all  France  to  smart. 

An  army  then  our  king  did  raise, 

"Which  was  both  good  and  strong, 
And  from  Southampton  is  our  king 

With  all  his  navy  gone. 

In  France  he  landed  safe  and  sound, 

With  all  his  warlike  train, 
Unto  the  town  Harfleur  next 

He  marched  up  amain. 

But  when  he  had  besieg'd  the  same, 

Against  the  fenced  walls 
To  batter  down  their  stately  towers 

He  sent  his  English  balls. 

This  done,  our  noble  English  king 

March'd  up  and  down  the  land. 
And  not  a  Frenchman  for  his  life 

Durst  once  his  force  withstand: 

Until  he  came  to  Agincourt, 

Whereas  it  was  his  chance 
To  find  the  king  in  readiness. 

With  all  his  power  in  France. 


68  THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

A  miglity  host  he  had  prepar'd 

Of  armed  souldiers  then, 
Which  were  no  less,  by  just  account. 

Than  forty  thousand  men. 

Which  sight  did  much  amaze  our  king, 

For  he  and  all  his  host 
Not  passing  fifteen  thousand  had 

Accounted  with  the  most. 

The  king  of  France,  which  well  did  know 

The  number  of  our  men, 
In  vaunting  pride  unto  our  prince 

Did  send  a  herald  then 

To  understand  what  he  would  give 

For  ransom  of  his  life. 
When  they  in  field  had  taken  him. 

Amidst  their  bloody  strife. 

And  then  our  king  with  cheerful  heart 

This  answer  soon  did  make, 
And  said,  "  before  this  comes  to  pass, 

Some  of  your  hearts  shall  quake! 

And  to  your  proud  presumptuous  prince 
Declare  this  thing,"  quoth  he, 

"  Mine  own  heart-blood  shall  pay  the  price, 
None  else  he  gets  of  me!"  ^ 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  69 

With  that  bespoke  the  Duke  of  York, 

"  O  noble  king,"  quoth  he, 
"  The  leading  of  this  battle  brave 

Vouchsafe  to  give  to  me!" 

"  God  a  mercy,  cousin  York,"  quoth  he, 

"  I  grant  thee  thy  re(iuest ; 
Then  march  thou  on  couragiously, 

And  I  will  lead  the  rest." 

Then  came  the  bragging  Frenchmen  down, 

With  cruel  force  and  might. 
With  wliom  our  noble  king  began 

A  hard  and  cruel  fight. 

The  archers  they  discharg'd  their  shafts 

So  thick  as  hail  from  sky, 
That  many  a  Frenclnnun  in  the  field 

That  happy  day  did  die. 

The  horsemen  tumbled  on  the  stakes. 

And  so  their  lives  they  lost, 
And  many  a  Frenchman  there  was  ta'en 

As  prisoners  to  their  cost. 

Ten  thousand  men  that  day  were  slain 

Of  enemies  in  the  field, 
And  as  many  prisoners 

T^at  day  were  forc'd  to  yield. 


70  THE   CROWN-GARLAND. 

Thus  had  our  king  a  happy  day, 
And  victory  over  France, 

And  brought  them  quickly  under  foot 
That  late  in  pride  did  prance. 

The  Lord  preserve  our  noble  king, 
And  grant  to  him  likewise, 

The  upper  hand  and  victory 
Of  all  his  enemies! 


NOTES. 


p.  1. — Anne,  Queen  of  James  I,  died  at  Hampton  Court 
on  the  1st  of  Alaicli,  1618-lJ),  according  to  our  coniputiition, 
and  tliis  song  must  have  been  written  immediately  after  her 
death.  It  was  reprinted  in  the  third  volume  of  "  A  Collection 
of  Old  Ballads,"  second  edition,  1738.  There  are  many 
inaccuracies  in  that  copy,  but  it  serves,  nevertheless,  to  restore 
some  passages  in  this. 

P.  2,  last  line  but  two—"  Of  royal  mind."']  This  line  is 
omitted  in  the  Crown  Garland,  but  is  found  in  the  other  copy. 

P.  3, 1.  3.—"  Oh!  let  my  care- full  eyes."]  In  the  old  bal- 
lads, "  Oh !  let  my  ireful  cries." 

P.  3,  1.  12. — So  none  can  comfort  ?«e."]  In  old  ballads, 
"  That  none  can  comfort  me,"  which  is  probably  the  correct 
reading. 

P.  3,  1.  17.— In  the  Crown  Garland  it  stands  thus,  "Who 
spent  their  days,"  and  in  the  21st  line  the  "n"  is  omitted  in 
"  adorn'dy 

P.  3,  last  line  but  one. — In  the  Crown  Garland  it  is  "  So 
at  that  race,"  and  in  the  old  ballads,  "  So  as  that  race." 

P.  6. — The  first  song  was  sung  to  the  tune  of  "  In  sad  and 
ashy  weeds,"  which  was  once  very  popular,  although  now  un- 
known. It  is  supposed  that  the  words  are  only  to  be  found  in 
this  collection. 


72  NOTES. 

P.  8,  1.  0. — The  original  reads,  "  What  ditti/  to  supply." 

P.  10, 1.  1. — In  the  original,  "  To  all  the  world  of  show." 

P.  10,  1.  6. — Hath  been  delightful  to  thine  ear.']  The  three 
last  words  are  added  to  complete  the  measure.  The  line  is 
defective  in  the  original. 

P.  12. — Deloney's  ballad  of  Fair  Rosamond  has  been 
reprinted  by  the  Percy  Society  in  "  Strange  Histories,  (1007). 
That  is  the  earliest  and  most  authentic  copy,  but  there  are 
some  errors  in  it  that  may  be  corrected  from  this  ;  such  as, 
"  And  falling  down  all  in  a  sound,"  for  "  swound,"  i.e.  swoon  ; 
"  My  Rose  in  robes  and  pearls  of  gold,^'  for  "  My  Rose  in 
robes  of  pearl  and  gold,"  &c. 

"  Flying  Fame"  was  the  tune  to  which  "  Chevy  Chace," 
and  many  other  ballads  were  sung.  See  "  National  English 
Airs,"  p.  1. 

P.  20.— The  ballad  of  the  "  Duchess  of  Suffolk's  Calam- 
ity" is  also  printed  in  "  Strange  Histories."  There  are  many 
verbal  differences  in  this  copy.  Another  will  be  found  in  the 
Roxburgh  Collection,  vol.  i.  p.  94,  and  in  the  Bagford  Col- 
lection, British  Museum. 

P.  20,  last  line. — "  At  Worcester  eke  good  Hooper  died."] 
This  should  be,  "  At  Gloucester,"  &c.,  as  in  "  Strange  His- 
tories." 

P.  26 — Instead  of  the  two  last  lines,  we  have,  in  "  Strange 
Histories," — 

"  For  whose  life  and  prosperity 
We  may  praise  God  coutinually," 

which  prove  the  ballad  to  have  been  written  during  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth,  although  that  edition  was  printed  four  years 
after  her  death. 

P.  27. — Another,  but  inferior  copy  of  this  ballad  will  be 
found  in  "A  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,"  vol.  ii.  p.  92.  The 
tune  of  "  Fortune  my  foe,''  called  the  hanging  tune,  from  the 


NOTES.  78 

uumber  of  "  last  dying  speeches  and  confessions"  that  were 
sung  to  it,  will  be  found  in  "  National  English  Airs,"  vol.  i. 
p.  33,  and  the  words  in  the  Bagford  Collection,  Brit.  Mus. 

P.  31, 1. 6. — The  last  word, "  strains,"  is  taken  from  the  copy 
in  the  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,  instead  of  "  veins,"  as  in  the 
Crown  Garland,  which  belongs  to  the  line  above. 

P.  34. — "  Fair  Angel  of  England.'']  A  copy  of  this  bal- 
lad is  in  the  Bagford  Collection,  British  Museum,  "  Printed 
for  W.  O.,  and  are  to  be  sold  by  the  booksellers  of  Pye 
Corner,  and  London  Bridge;"  black  letter ;  another  in  the 
Roxburgh  Collection,  vol.  i.  p.  b8.  The  tune  "  Bonny  sweet 
Robin,"  will  be  found  in  the  "  National  English  Airs." 

P.  39.— The  story  of  "  111  May-Day."]  This  ballad  is  to 
be  found  in  "  The  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,"  vol.  iii.  p.  54. 
It  has  been  reprinted  by  Evans,  and  in  the  "  Songs  of  the 
London  Prentices  and  Trades."  The  tune  of  "  Essex's  good 
night"  will  be  found  in  Elizabeth  Rogers'  "  Virginal  Book,'' 
MS.,  in  the  British  ]Museum. 

P.  43,  last  line  but  four. — "  Or  strains  of  manhood,  any 
ways."]  This  should  be  "  or  stains  of  manhood,  as  in  the  copy 
in  the  "  Collection  of  Old  Ballads." 

P.  50. —  When  as  the  King  of  England  died.']  This  ballad 
is  also  to  be  found  in  the  "  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,"  (vol. 
iii.  p.  131),  and  it  is  reprinted  with  many  others  from  the  same, 
in  Evans's  excellent  Collection.  There  is  a  ballad  begin- 
ning, "  When  Edward  was  in  England  king,"  in  the  Rox- 
burgh Collection. 

P.  52,  V.  2,  1.  1. — In  the  Old  Ballads  this  line  stands  thus  : 
— "  The  Cardinal  then,  all  in  haste,"  which  is  more  metrical. 

P.  52,  V.  3,  1.  5. — Evans  corrects  the  name  "James  Dig- 
gens"  to  "  John  Dighton,"  quoting  from  Hollinshed. 

P.  55. —  When  England  fame  did  ring.]  This  ballad  is 
also  to  be  found  in  Old  Ballads,  vol.  iii.  p.  72.     The  ballad  of 


74  NOTES. 

"  Welladay,"  to  the  tune  of  which  it  was  sung,  is  reprinted  by 
Mr.  Collyer.  Vide  "  Old  Ballads"  printed  for  the  Percy  So- 
ciety. The  tune  is  preserved  in  an  ancient  Lute  Book,  (Wil- 
liam Ballet's),  in  the  Library  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin. 

P.  65, 1.  5  and  6. — "  Fading  ghost  is  fair, 

With  my  milk  wings  go  fly." 

In  the  "  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,"  vol.  iii.  p.  90,  these 
lines  vary,  and  are  more  intelligible  : — 

"  Fading  gbost  prepare 
With  my  milk-wings  to  fly." 

P.  65.—"  The  Battle  of  Agincourt."]  This  ballad  is  to  be 
found  in  the  "  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,"  and  in  Evans's 
Collection.     In  both  copies  the  last  verse  but  three  is  omitted. 


FINIS. 


LONDON: 
RICHARDS,    PUINTER,   ST.    MARTIN'S    LANE. 


FOLLIE'S  ANATOMIE  : 


SatgiejS  ^  SatgrtcaU  €tJtgramjS 


HENRY  HUTTON,  DUNELMENSIS. 


FKOM  THE   OKIGINAL  TRACT 
PRINTED  IN    IGIO. 


EDITED  BY 


EDWARD  F.  RIMBAULT,  ESQ.  F.S.A. 


LONDON : 
REPRINTED  FOR  THE  PERCY  SOCIETY. 


MUCCCXLU. 


COUNCIL 

OP 

President. 
The  Rt.  Hon.  LORD  BRAYBROOKE,  F.S.A. 

THOMAS  AMYOT,  Esq.  F.R.S,  Treas.  S.A. 

AVILLIAM  HENRY  BLACK,  Esq. 

J.  A.  CAHUSAC,   Esq.  F.S.A. 

WILLIAM  CHAPPELL,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  Treasurer. 

J.  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

T.  CROFTON  CROKER,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  M.R.I.A. 

PETER  CUNNINGHAM,  Esq. 

REV.  ALEXANDER  DYCE. 

WILLIAM  JERDAN,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  M.R.S.L. 

SIR  FREDERICK  MADDEN,  K.H.,  F.R  S.,  F.S.A. 

T.  J.  PETTIGREW,  Esq.  F.R  S.,  F.S.A. 

E.  F.  RIMBAULT,  Esq.  F.S.A.  Secretary. 

WILLIAM   I.  THOMS,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

JAMES  WALSH,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

THOMAS  WRIGHT,  Esq.  M.A.,  F.S.A. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  "Satyresand  Satyricall  Epigrams'"  reprinted 
in  the  following  pages,  are  the  only  known  pro- 
ductions of  Henry  Hutton.  He  was  a  caustic 
and  vivid  \\Titer,  and  has  sketched  with  some 
humour  a  picture  of  the  habits  and  manners  of 
his  time.  Many  of  his  observations  were  drawn 
from  passing  events ;  and  the  incidental  notices 
of  Sir  John  Harington,  Tom  Coryat,  Taylor  the 
water-poet,  and  George  Wither,  form  not  the 
least  interesting  portions  of  his  work. 

According  to  Wood  {Athenw^  ii.  277)  he  was 
born  "  in  the  county  palatine  of  Durham,  of  an 
antient  and  genteel  family  ;""  passed  some  time 
at  Oxford,  "  either  as  hospes  or  aularian ;  but 
minding  the  smooth  parts  of  poetry  and  romance 
more  than  logic,  departed  as  it  seems  without  a 
degree." 

Many  scattered  notices  of  the  Hutton  family 
may  be  found  in  Surtees'  "  History  and  Antiqui- 
ties of  the  County  Palatine  of  Durham,"  but  I 


VI 

do  not  clearly  trace  among  them  the  author  of 
"  Follie's  Anatomie."  Henry  Hutton,  A.M., 
"  perpetual  curate  of  Witton  Gilbert,"  may  how- 
ever be  the  same  person.  He  was  the  fifth  son 
of  Edward  Hutton,  "  Batchelor  of  Civil  Law  and 
Bailiff  of  Duresme,"  and  survived  till  the  year 
1671.  The  inscription  in  the  parish  church  of 
Witton  Gilbert,  where  he  was  buried,  does  not 
mention  his  age,  but  merely  informs  us  that  he 
died  on  the  24th  of  April  in  that  year. 

Supposing  my  conjecture  to  be  correct,  it  may 
in  some  measure  account  for  his  retirement 
from  the  profession  of  an  author.  In  the  "  Post- 
script to  the  Affecting  Printer,"  appended  to  the 
following  pages,  he  promised  "  ere  long"  to  pro- 
duce a  work  "  in  folio,"  but  nothing  of  the  kind 
is  known  to  have  appeared.  That  he  did  not 
write  for  gain,  may  be  inferred  from  his  address 
"  To  the  worthily  honored  Knight,  Sir  Timothy 
Hutton  :"  in  which  he  says, 

"  Value  my  verse  according  to  her  worth  : 
No  mercenary  hope  hath  brought  her  forth. 
Times  puny  penny-wits  I  loathing  hate  ; 
Though  poore,  I'me  pure  from  such  a  servile  state." 

The  address  "  To  the  Reader"  by  "  his  Kins- 
man," and  signed  R.  H.,  was  in  all  probability  his 
elder  brother,  Ralph  Hutton,  "  barrister-at-law." 
The  latter  died  in  the  year  1638;    and  as  the 


vn 

agres  of  the  brothers  could  not  have  differed  ma- 
terially,  we  may  safely  conclude  that  Henry  Hutton 
must  have  been  much  advanced  in  life  in  1671, 
the  period  of  his  decease.  This  may  go  far  to 
confirm  my  conjecture,  that  the  curate  of  Witton 
Gilbert  and  the  author  of  "  Follie's  Auatomie" 
may  be  one  and  the  same. 


FOLLIES  ANATOMIE  : 


SATYRES 


SATYRICALL    EPIGRAMS, 

^VTTH  A  COMPENDIOUS  HISTORY 
OF  IXION'S  WHEELE. 


COMPILED  BY 


HENRY  HUTTON,  DUNELMENSIS. 


LONDON : 

Printed  for  Mathew  Walbanke,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  his 
Shop  at  Graies-Inne  Gate. 

1619. 


TO  THE  READER, 


UPON  THE  A0TUOH  HIS  KINS-MAX. 


Old  Homer  in  his  time  made  a  great  feast, 

And  every  Poet  was  thereat  a  guest : 

All  had  their  welcome ;  yet  not  all  one  fare ; 

To  them  abo\e  the  salt  (his  chiefest  cai'e) 

He  spewd  a  banquet  of  choise  Poesie, 

Whereon  they  fed  even  to  satietie. 

The  lower  end  had  from  that  end  their  cates, 

For  Homer,  setting  open  his  dung-gates, 

Delivered  from  that  dresser  excrement, 

Whereon  they  glutted,  and  returnd  in  print. 

Let  no  man  wonder  that  I  this  rehearse ; 

Nought  came  from  Homer  but  it  turnd  to  verse. 

Now  where  our  Author  was,  at  this  good  cheer e  ; 

Where  was  his  place  ;  or  whether  he  were  there  ; 

"VYli ether  he  waited ;  or  he  tooke  away; 

Of  this  same  point  I  cannot  soothly  say; 

But  thus  I  ghesse :  being  then  a  dandiprat, 

Some  witty  Poet  tooke  him  in  his  lap 

And  fed  him,  from  above,  with  some  choice  bit : 

Hence  his  Acumen,  and  a  ready  wit. 

b2 


But  prayses  fi-om  a  friendly  pen  ill  thrive, 
And  truth's  scarce  truth,  spoke  by  a  relative. 
Let  envy  therefore  give  her  vote  herein  : 
Envy  and  th'  Author  sure  are  nought  a-kin. 
He  personate  bad  Envy :  yet  say  so, 
He  lickt  at  Homers  mouth,  not  from  below. 


R.  H. 


AD  LECTORES. 


To  stand  on  tei'ms  'twere  vain,  by  hook  and  crook, 

One  terme,  I  was  defrauded  of  a  booke. 

Now,  readers,  your  assistance  I  must  crave 

To  play  at  noddy;  to  turne  up  a  knave. 

My  foe  at  tick-tack  playes  exceeding  well : 

For  beai-ing,  (sirs,)  beleeve't,  he  bears  the  bell. 

He's  of  a  blood-hounds  kinde,  because  his  nose 

Utters  each  new-made  sent ;  be't  verse  or  prose. 

Covdd  ye  attache  this  felon  in's  disgrace 

I  would  not  bate  an  inch,  (not  Boltons  ace,) 

To  baite,  deride,  nay  ride  this  silly  asse ; 

I  would  take  paines  he  should  not  scot-free  passe. 

All  filching  knaves,  (be't  spoken  as  a  trope,) 

Will  once  be  plaide,  displayed  by  a  rope : 

And  be  this  proud  disperser  of  stole  workes 

Once  caught,  (that  now  in  clanks  and  corners  lurks ;) 

Lest  he  delude  some  kinde  affecting  scholler, 

Pray  have  him  twiched  in  a  hempen  coller : 

Once  burnt  ith'  hand,  he  will  example  give 

To  such  times  turue-coats  as  by  filching  live. 


TO 
THE  WORTHILY   HONOR'd  KNIGHT, 

SIR    TIMOTHY    HUTTON. 


Noblest  of  raindes,  imknowue,  I  would  invite 

Rich  Pyrrhus  to  accept  a  Codrus  mite. 

My  lame-legd  muse  nere  dome  Pernassus  mount, 

Nor  drunke  the  juice  of  Aganippe's  fount : 

Yet  doth  aspire  with  Dedall's  wings,  appeale 

To  you,  sole  patron  of  our  common  weale. 

The  foule  maskt  lady,  Night,  which  blots  the  skie. 

Hath  but  one  Phoebe,  fever-shaking  eye : 

Olympus  azure  clime,  one  golden  light, 

Which  drownes  the  starry  curtaine  of  the  night : 

And  my  rude  muse  (which  satyrists  would  rend) 

One  generous,  grave,  patronizing  friend. 

You  this  Maecenas  are  ;  peruse  my  writ, 

And  use  these  Metroes  of  true  meaning  wit : 

Command ;  commend  them  not :  such  humile  ai't 

Disclaimes  applause,  demerits  no  desert. 

Value  my  verse  according  to  her  worth : 

No  mercenai'y  hope  hath  brought  her  forth. 

Times  puny  penny-wits  I  loathing  hate. 

Tliough  poore,  I'me  pure,  from  such  a  servile  state. 


8 

These  workes  (fram'd  on  the  anvile  of  my  braine,) 
My  free  borne  muse,  enfranchise  from  such  shame  ! 
In  which  hirge  calender  timists  may  view 
I  onely  writ  to  please  the  world,  and  you. 

Your  worships  friend 

Nomine  et  re, 

Henry  Huttot 


SATYEES. 


I  URGE  no  time,  with  whipt,  stript  satyrs  lines, 
With  furies  scourge,  whipping  depraved  times. 
My  muse  (tho'  ft-aught)  with  such  shall  not  begin 
T'  uncase,  unlace  the  centiuell  of  sin : 
Yet  let  earths  vassailes,  pack-horse  unto  shame. 
Know  I  could  lash  their  lewdnesse,  evill  fame ; 
Reade  them  a  lecture  should  their  vice  imprint 
With  sable  lines  in  the  obdured  flint ; 
Their  mappes  of  knavery  and  shame  descry- 
In  lively  colours,  with  a  sanguine  die  ; 
And  teU  a  tale  should  touch  them  to  the  quick ; 
Shold  make  them  staitle  ;  fain  themselves  cap-sick 
But  that  no  patron  dare,  or  will,  maintaine 
The  awfuU  subject  of  a  satyre's  vaine. 


A\'hat  have  we  here  ?  a  mirror  of  this  age 
Acting  a  comicks  part  upon  the  stage. 
What  gallant's  this?  his  nature  doth  unfold 
Him  to  be  framed  in  Phantastc.'>  mold. 


10  SATYRES. 

Lo  how  he  jets;  how  sterne  he  shewes  his  face, 
Whiles  from  the  wall  he  passengers  doth  chase. 
Muse,  touch  not  this  man,  nor  his  life  display, 
Ne  with  sharpe  censure  gainst  his  vice  invey : 
For,  sith  his  humor  can  no  jesting  brooke, 
He  will  much  lesse  endure  a  satyre's  booke. 
Beshrew  me,  sirs,  I  durst  not  stretch  the  streete. 
Gaze  thus  on  conduits  scrowls,  base  vintners  beat, 
Salute  a  mad-dame  with  a  french  cringe  grace, 
Greete  with  "  God-dam-me,"  a  confronting  face, 
Court  a  rich  widow,  or  my  bonnet  vaile, 
Converse  with  banki'upt  mercers  in  the  gaile. 
Nor  in  a  metro  shew  my  Cupide's  fire. 
Being  a  french-poxt  ladies  apple-squire  ; 
Lest  taxing  times  (such  folly  being  spide) 
With  austere  satyres  should  my  vice  deride. 
Nere  breath,  I  durst  not  use  my  mistresse  fan. 
Or  walke  attended  with  a  hackney-m_an. 
Dine  with  Duke  Humfrey  in  decayed  Paules, 
Confound  the  streetes  with  chaos  of  old  braules, 
Dancing  attendance  on  the  Black -friers  stage. 
Call  for  a  stoole  with  a  commanding  rage, 
Nor  in  the  night  time  ope  my  ladies  latch, 
Lest  I  were  snared  by  th'  all-seeing  watch : 
Which  critick  knaves,  with  lynxes  pearcing  eye. 
Into  mens  acts  observantly  do  prye. 


Muse,  shew  the  rigour  of  a  satyres  art, 
In  harsh  sarcasmes,  dissonant  and  smart. 


SATYRES.  1  1 

First,  to  you  masse  of  humors,  puffe  of  wincle, 

WHiich,  polipe-like,  doth  enterchange  his  mind. 

Note  how  this  Timist,  scratching  of  his  pate. 

Invents  a  fable  to  advance  his  state, 

Venting  a  legend  of  man,  divells  lies, 

Wliich  in  the  eares  of  potentates  must  flie. 

See  how  he  squares  it,  takes  a  private  stand, 

To  Gnathonize,  to  act  it  with  his  hand. 

Behold  his  gesture  and  his  brazen  face, 

How  stoutely  he  doth  manage  his  disgrace. 

Lo  !  how  he  whispers  in  his  masters  eare  ; 

In's  closet  tattles,  lest  the  servants  heare ; 

AVinkes  of  an  eye,  and  laughs  his  lord  to  scorne, 

By  his  attractive  fingers  making  homes. 

His  swimming  braine  thus  being  brought  to  bed, 

As  motives  to  his  wit,  he  rubs  his  head : 

Then  like  a  ledger  at  the  tables  end, 

Takes  place  for  an  invited  friend ; 

Applauding  in  discourse  his  masters  speech, 

Admiring's  vertu,  ore  the  pot  doth  preach : 

Inveies  'gainst  ding-thrifts  that  their  lands  have  spent, 

Detesting  ryot  more  then  thin  cheekt  Lent : 

Censures  base  whoredome,  with  a  mustard  face. 

With  a  sowre  pis-pot  visage  doth  disgrace 

A  rufiled  boote  ;  and  will  in  no  case  stand 

In  view  of  a  (sir  reverence)  yellow  band. 

He  rayles  on  musick,  pride,  and  wines  excesse, 

And  from  an  organ -pipe  himselfe  doth  blesse ; 

Abhorres  a  sattin  suit,  or  velvet  cloake, 

And  sayes  tobaccho  is  the  divcUs  smoake; 


]  2  SATYRES. 

The  thought  of  To.  his  intrailes  more  dotli  gi'ipe 
Then  physicks  art,  or  a  strong  glister-pipe. 
Go  tell  this  slave  his  vices  shall  not  passe, 
Such  craftie  colts  must  feele  the  satyres  lash. 
The  lyons  skinne  awhile  may  shade  the  ape: 
But  yet  his  worship  shall  not  scot-free  scape. 
Though  he  seeme  nice,  demeane  himself  demure, 
The  world  perceives  this  sycophant's  impure. 
His  harpies  face,  dissembling  syrens  voyce. 
Which  in  each  corner  make  a  whistling  noyce. 
Cannot  be  sconced  with  each  male  pretence. 
Nor  blind  the  world  with  some  mis-constru'd  sense. 
We  know  his  thoght  concurs  not  with  his  word : 
His  mouth  speaks  peace,  his  hart  intends  a  sword. 
None  can  discerne  whence  Titan  fram'd  this  mold 
Which,  Gnato  like,  doth  blowe  both  hot  and  cold. 
O  subtle  tyrant,  whose  corroding  hate. 
Deprives  both  life,  and  consummates  the  state 
Of  senselesse  noddies,  who  repose  in  rest, 
Foster  hot  embers,  serpents  in  their  brest ; 
Which,  sparkling  flames,  t'  accomplish  vain  desire. 
Makes  fooles,  their  subiects,  fuell  to  the  fire ; 
And  like  the  viper,  fraught  with  spleenefull  maw. 
The  intralls  of  their  patrons  states  doe  gnaw. 
Next,  lets  survey  the  letchers  obscene  shame. 
Rouse  him  from's  squat,  pursuing  of  the  game. 
Tracing  each  footestep  by  his  fresh  made  sent. 
And  pinch  him  with  a  scandald  soule,  impure, 
Note  him  with  Theta  for  ay  to  endure. 


SATYRES,  ]  3 

"Wilt  please  you  view  this  monster  in  his  glasse  ? 

It  best  discovers  a  phantastick  asse. 

See  how,  Narcissus  like,  the  foole  doth  doate, 

Viewing  his  picture  and  his  guarded  coate ; 

And  with  what  grace,  bold  actor  like  he  speakes, 

Having  his  beard  precisely  cut  i'th'  peake ; 

How  neat's  mouchatoes  do  a  distance  stand, 

Lest  they  disturbe  his  lips,  or  saffron  band : 

How  expert  he's ;  with  what  attentive  care 

Doth  he  in  method  place  each  stragling  haire. 

This  idle  idoll  doth  bestow  his  wit 

In  being  spruce,  in  making's  ruffe  to  sit : 

His  daies  endeauours  are  to  be  compleate, 

To  use  his  vestures  nitid  and  facete  : 

For  vulgar  oathes,  he  raps  forth  blood  and  heart, 

As  coadjutors  in  the  wenching  art : 

In's  frizled  periwig,  with  bended  brow, 

Sweares  at  each  word  for  to  confirm  his  vow. 

He  holds  an  oath's  the  ornamentall  grace 

Of  veniall  discourse,  befitting's  place ; 

And  doth  maintaine,  in's  humor,  to  be  drunk 

Is  the  preparative  to  love  a  punke ; 

A  pipe  of  To.  th'  indulgence  of  his  brains, 

Using  potatoes  to  preserve  the  raines. 

Pale  horned  Luna,  sister  to  darke  night. 

In  Venus  sport  he  useth  for  a  light ; 

Thinking  earth's  sable  mantle  hides  his  shame. 

Deprives  the  terror  of  swift  winged  fame. 

Wlien  darknesse  doth  eclipse  Don  Phoebus  raies, 

When  nights  vast  terror  hath  expelld  the  daies, 


14  SATYRES. 

Then  doth  this  subject  pase  it  to  Pickt-hatch, 
Shore-ditch,  or  Turneball,  in  despite  o'th'  watch ; 
And  there  reposing  on  his  mistrisse  lap, 
Beg  some  fond  favour,  be't  a  golden  cap : 
Plaies  witli  her  plume  of  feathers  or  her  fan. 
Wishing  he  were  accepted  for  her  man  ; 
And  then  at  large  in  ample  tearmes  doth  showe 
His  Cupids  dart  and  much  endured  woe. 
Desiring  cure  to  salve  his  languisht  care, 
T'  expell  the  willow -garland  of  despaire : 
And,  that  he  may  obtaine  his  lust,  compares 
Her  eyes  to  starres,  to  amber  her  pounct  hayres ; 
Equalls  her  hand  to  cignets  purest  white. 
Which  in  Mfeanders  streames  do  take  delight ; 
Her  sanguine  blush,  and  ruby  painted  mold. 
Unto  Aurora's  red,  rich  Indies  gold. 
Having  earth's  weaker  vassaile  overcome, 
He  bribes  a  Pandar  with  some  trifling  sum ; 
Doth  frolike  with  the  musick  in  this  vaine, 
Hearing  the  diapason  of  their  straine. 
Perhaps  hee'l  cut  a  caper,  neately  prance. 
And  with  his  curtail  some  odde  gaUiard  dance ; 
Then  glutted  with  his  lust  make  quick  dispatch, 
Pretending  hee's  in  danger  of  the  watch : 
So  taking  vale  till  some  other  night. 
Must  be  conducted  by  a  tapers  light 
Along  the  streete  to  his  polluted  cell, 
Whei-e  this  vile  letcher  doth  inhabit,  dwell. 
He  thinkes  the  secret  quietnesse  of  night. 
Which  with  phantasmes  doth  possesse  each  sprite, 


SATYRES. 

Is  a  safe  shelter  to  conceale  his  fact. 

Having  no  witnesse  to  record  his  act. 

0  stupid  foole !  the  Heavens  al-seeing  eye 

Beholds  thy  base  frequented  infamy  ; 

And  will  repay  thee  treble,  with  a  pox, 

For  the  night -hanting  of  base  Shoreditch  smocks. 


All  haile  Tom  Tospot !  welcome  to  the  coast ! 

"Wliat  Paris  news  canst  brag  of,  or  make  host  ? 

Thy  phisnomie  bewraies  thou  canst  relate 

Some  strange  exploits  attempted  in  the  state. 

I  know  th'  hast  courted  Venus-lusting  dames, 

'Twas  thy  intent  when  thou  tookst  ship  on  Thames. 

Let's  sympathize  thy  hap  ;  enjoy  some  sport : 

Wliat  art  thou  sencelesse,  dead-di'unk,  all  a  mort  ? 

Gallants,  this  abject  object  which  you  see, 

Is  an  old  picture  of  gentilitie. 

With  Coriat  he  travell'd  hath  by  land 

To  see  Christs  crosse,  the  tree  where  Judas  haugd. 

Divelin  and  Amsterdam  his  sea  crab  pase, 

With  other  countries  moe,  did  often  trace. 

Earth's  circled  orbe  he  frequent  trudged ;  went 

With  lesse  expences  then  Tom  Odcombe  spent  : 

With  fewei'  cloaths,  thogh  furnisht  with  mo  shifts 

With  sparing  diet ;  fewe  received  gifts. 

Tom  had  one  payre  of  stockins,  shooes,  one  suite ; 

But  Tospots  case  Tom  Coxcombs  doth  confute ; 

For  he  has  travell'd  aU  Earths  globe  a-foote. 

Without  whole  cloathes,  good  stockin,  shooe  or  boote. 


1 6  SATYRES. 

His  ragged  journall,  I  benione,  condole ; 
Yet  (God  be  thankt)  he  is  return'd  all-hole. 
Tom  had  assistants,  as  his  bookes  report, 
But  Tospot  travell'd  voide  of  all  consort ; 
Having  no  creature  with  him  whiles  he  slept, 
Or  walkt ;  but  such  as  in  his  bosome  crept. 
Tospot  detests  all  cloaths,  hates  new  found  forme, 
Unless  it  were  no  cloaths  at  all  were  worne. 
Which  method  (I  dare  say)  he  would  observe, 
Goe  naked  with  his  com-ragges,  beg,  and  sterve. 
He  is  no  boasting  Thraso  which  will  vant 
Of  his  adventures,  penui'ie,  and  scant ; 
Yet,  if  you  please  to  reade  my  slender  Muse, 
I  shall  describe  the  humor  he  doth  use. 
Tobaccho,  bottle -ale,  hot  pippin -pies ; 
Such  traffique,  merchandize,  he  daily  buies. 
With  belly-timber  he  doth  cram  his  gut, 
With  double  jugges  doth  his  Orexis  glut, 
Sweares  a  "  God-dam-me"  for  the  tapsters  shottes, 
And  may  pledge  no  health  lesse  then  with  two  pots. 
He  has  a  sword  to  pawne  in  time  of  neede, 
A  perfect  beggers  phrase,  wherewith  to  pleade 
For  maintenance,  when  his  exhausted  store 
Is  profuse  lavisht  on  some  pockie  whore. 
Tibornes  triangle  trees  will  be  the  thing. 
Must  send  this  knave  to  Heavens  in  a  string. 


SATYRES.  1  7 

MouNSiER  Bravado,  are  you  come  t'out-face, 

With  your  mouchatoes,  gallants  of  such  place  ? 

Pack  hence  !  it  is  an  humor  to  contend, 

In  a  bravado,  with  your  neerest  friend. 

Wee'l  not  contest  or  squabble  for  a  wall. 

Nor  yet  point  field,  though  you  us  vassailes  call. 

Invent  some  other  subject  to  employ 

Your  gilded  blade,  your  nimble  footed  boy. 

Correct  your  frizled  locks,  and  in  your  glasse 

Behold  the  picture  of  a  foolish  asse  : 

Barter  your  lowsie  sutes  for  present  gaine, 

Unto  a  broker  in  rich  Birchin  lane : 

Compile  a  sonnet  of  your  mistrisse  glove  : 

Copy  some  odes  t'  expresse  conceited  love. 

Ride  with  your  sweet-heart  in  a  hackney  coach, 

Pick  quarrells  for  her  sake,  set  fraies  on  broach : 

Use  musicks  hai*mony  (which  yeelds  delight) 

Under  your  ladies  window  in  the  night : 

Stretch  with  a  plume,  and  cloak  wrapt  under  th'  arm, 

Yong  gallants  glories  soone  will  ladies  charme. 

S'  foot  walke  the  streets :  in  cringing  use  your  wits : 

Survey  your  love,  which  in  her  window  sits. 

Black-Friers,  or  the  Palace-garden  beare. 

Are  subjects  fittest  to  content  your  cai-e ; 

An  amorous  discourse,  a  poets  wit. 

Doth  humor  best  your  melancholy  fit. 

The  Globe  to  morow  acts  a  pleasant  play, 

In  hearing  it  consume  the  irkesome  day. 

Goe  take  a  pipe  of  To. ;  the  crowded  stage 

Must  needs  be  graced  with  you  and  your  page. 


]  8  SATYRES. 

Sweare  for  a  place  with  each  controlling  foole, 
And  send  your  hackney  servant  for  a  stoole. 
Or  if  your  mistrisse  fi'owne,  seeme  malecontent, 
Then  let  your  Muse  be  cloistred  up,  ypent. 
Be  love-sicke,  and  harsh  madrigalls  expresse, 
That  she  may  visit  you  in  such  distresse. 
I'me  sure  you  have  some  pamphlet,  idle  toy, 
Which  you  rate  high,  esteeme  a  matchlesse  joy. 
Where's  your  tobacco  box,  your  Steele  and  touch  ? 
Roarers  respect,  and  value  these  too  much. 
Where  is  your  larum  watch,  your  Turkies  rings, 
Muske-comfits,  bracelets,  and  such  idle  things? 
Y'are  nak't  as  Adam  if  you  have  not  these, 
And  your  endeavours  cannot  ladies  please. 
If  you  the  gallants  title  will  assume, 
Goe  use  th'  apothecarie  for  perfume, 
Weare  eare-rings,  jewels,  cordivant's  strong  sent, 
Which  comely  ornaments  dame  Nature  lent. 
Fy,  fy :  you  are  to  blame,  which  times  misspend ; 
That  for  a  trifling  cost  will  lose  a  friend. 
Do  not  contend  in  each  frequented  lane. 
With  evere  idle  coxcombe,  busie  braine : 
But  your  Minervaes  industry  employ, 
Your  ladies  golden  tresses  to  enjoy. 
Record  your  name  in  some  rich  mercers  note. 
That  tradesmen  may  come  pull  you  by  the  coate. 
And  in  th'  abysse  of  vintners  chalked  score, 
Shipwrack  good  fortune,  run  thy  state  on  shoare. 
Dive  in  mechanicks  books,  till  in  the  streete 
Seargeants  arrest,  convey  thee  to  the  Fleete, 


SATYRES.  19 

And  there  in  durance  cag'd,  consume  with  woe, 
Beg  with  a  purse,  and  sing  Fortune^ s  my  foe. 


Write,  poetaster :  fy  for  shame,  your  dayes 
Wil  dy  without  remembrancers  of  praise. 
'Tis  pitty  such  a  pregnant  witty  verse 
Should  be  intombed  in  the  fatall  herse. 
Confine  your  muse  some  ti-actates  to  compile, 
In  scanned  meti-e,  or  condigner  stile ; 
That  earth's  milde  censure  may  applauding  blaze 
Your  Phoenix  quill  with  volleys  of  great  prayse. 
Why  art  so  slowe  ?  the  trophies  will  bee  lost, 
Unlesse  you  wright  all  fortunes  shall  be  crost. 
What,  canst  thy  stile  prohibit  ?  gazing  mute, 
Wliere  earth's  contending  for  the  golden  fruite. 
You  vilifie  your  selfe  with  endlesse  shame, 
Imposing  scandall  to  each  poets  name. 
I  grieve  he  should  be  silent,  in  despite 
Of  all  the  Muses  which  sarcasmies  write. 
He  doth  resemble  minstrells  in  each  thing, 
Invited  once,  hee'l  neyther  play,  nor  sing. 
Unbidden,  will  invey  against  each  friend, 
Incessant  write  great  volumes  without  end. 
The  amorist  which  doth  your  wardrobe  keepe. 
Admires  your  sluggish  Muse  is  yet  asleepe. 
He  should  a  riming  madrigall  compose  ; 
And  wanting  you,  must  tell  his  griefs  in  prose. 

c2 


20  SATYRES, 

The  wenches  they  exclayme,  cry  out,  and  call 

For  poetasters  workes  extemporall. 

The  alehouse  tippler,  he  protests  your  Muse 

Greatly  dishonours  him  with  grosse  abuse, 

Infringing  promise :  which  you  lately  made, 

Concerning  libells,  that  should  touch  the  trade. 

He  gave  you  earnest  after  you  were  wooed, 

A  dozen  of  strong  liquor  he  bestowed 

To  bathe  your  muse,  to  make  your  fluent  vaine 

Apt  to  despise  a  satyres  taxing  braine. 

The  idle  minstrell,  he  cries  out  of  wrong. 

Because  you  doe  his  sonnets  still  prolong. 

You  injure  much  his  treble  squeaking  note. 

Deprives  him  of  the  townships  armes,  red  coate  ; 

Such  wrongs  may  not  passe  free :  invent  a  theam, 

Eouze  up  your  muse  from  her  conceited  dreame. 

Give  him  a  cup  of  ale,  a  pipe  of  To. : 

And  let  him  to  his  private  study  go. 

Hee'l  breake  a  jest,  when  he  has  drunke  a  glasse, 

Which  shal  for  currant  mongst  the  tapsters  passe. 

And  rime  to  any  word  you  can  propound. 

Although  a  metre  for  it  nei'e  were  found. 

Wright  panegyricks  in  the  praise  of  s  friend, 

Make  compleat  verses,  on  his  fingers  end. 

He  has  a  subject  he  did  late  invent. 

Will  shame  the  riming  sculler,  Jack  a  Lent. 

'Tis  writ  in  print ;  perhaps  you'l  see't  anon, 

'Twas  made  of  Robin  Hood  and  little  John : 

'Twil  be  discovered  er't  be  long,  and  ly 

Under  the  bottome  of  a  pippin-py, 


SATYRES,  21 

Be  pind  to  capons  backs  to  shroude  the  heate, 
Fixt  to  some  solid  joynt  of  table  meate. 
Wish  it  be  put  to  no  worse  service  then 
To  shelter  the  scorcht  caponet  or  hen. 
I  pray't  may  have  such  office,  worthy  place, 
Yet  feares't  must  suffer  vile  rebuke,  disgrace. 
Jack  out  of  office,  wee't  ere  long  shall  finde, 
'Ith  house  of  office,  being  mew'd,  confinde. 
Well  though  it  be,  yet  for  the  Muses  sakes, 
Hee'l  pen  a  pithie  tractacte  of  A-jax. 
I  wish  he  would  reserve  A-jax  in  minde, 
TwiU  serve  but  for  A-jax  and  come  behinde. 
For  men  adjudge  the  volumes  of  this  foole 
Worthie  no  chayre,  scarce  to  deserve  the  stoole. 
Let  cease  the  clamor  of  thy  hotchpot  verse. 
The  stupid  pots,  or  sencelesse  streetes  to  pearce. 
The  doggrell  discord  of  thy  long  legd  rime, 
Defameth  poets,  scandalize  the  time. 
Your  mock-verse  muse  deserveth  nought  but  fire, 
The  beggers'  whipstock,  or  the  gallowes  hire. 
In  silence  spend  the  reliques  of  your  dayes : 
For  being  mute  you  wiU  attaine  most  prayse. 
Avoide  each  satyres  lash,  censures  of  times, 
Which  doe  deriding  read  pot -poets  rimes. 


I 


The  craue-throate  hell  of  this  depraved  age, 
P^arths  belly-god,  let's  view  upon  the  stage. 


I 


22  SATYRES. 

See  how  the  squadron  of  his  full  fraught  panch 
Out-squares  the  straightnes  of  his  narrow  hanch  ; 
Making  his  stumppes  supporters  to  upholde 
This  masse  of  guttes,  this  putrefied  molde. 
His  belly  is  a  cisterne  of  receit, 
A  grand  confounder  of  demulcing  meate. 
A  sabariticke  sea,  a  depthlesse  gulfe, 
A  sencelesse  vulture,  a  corroding  wolfe. 
Behold  this  Helluo,  how  he  doth  glut. 
Fill  (like  a  wallet)  his  immeasurde  gut. 
Cramming  his  stomack  with  uncessant  loade, 
Like  a  stuft  bladder,  hate's  big  swelling  toade ; 
And  rammes  his  panch,  that  bottomlesse  abysse, 
As  if  to  glut  were  legall,  promis'd  blisse. 
All's  fish  that  comes  to  net,  this  harpy's  tooth 
Eates  what's  within  the  compasse  of  his  mouth. 
His  table-taike  hates  hunger,  more  then  vice, 
Railes  against  fortune,  cheating,  cards,  and  dice, 
Envies  'gainst  actors,  taxing  such  as  fight. 
Or  in  tobacco  doe  repose  delight, 
And  thousand  subjects  mo  exactly  scannes, 
Ray  ling  on  cloakebagge  breeches,  yellow  bands ; 
Wishing  the  fencing-schooles  might  be  supprest. 
And  all  save  belly-timber  doth  detest. 
This  large  discourse  his  gluttony  doth  cloake, 
Are  motives  his  Orexis  to  provoke. 
Which  being  fraught,  till  sences  are  a  mort, 
At  noone  tide  to  concoct  he  takes  a  snort. 
His  drowsie  sences  hudwinkt  in  a  cap, 
Leaning  upon  his  chaire  do  take  a  nap. 


SATYRES.  23 

Couferre  his  belly  with  his  lower  part, 

And  you'l  adjudge  danie  Natures  rarest  art 

Made  not  this  bulke,  infusing  life,  or  blood, 

In  such  unsquared  timber,  unheawn  wood. 

He's  more  misshapen  tlien  Crete's  monstrous  sin, 

Deformed  both  without,  and  eke  within. 

His  circled  panch,  is  barrell  like,  rotound, 

Like  earths  vast  concaves  hollow  and  profound. 

His  hanches  which  are  lockt  as  in  some  box. 

With  the  straight  compasse  of  a  par  a-dox, 

He  doth  into  so  little  compasse  bring. 

As  if  they  should  be  drawne  through  Gyges  ring, 

So  that  he  seemes  as  if  black  Vulcans  art 

Of  diverse  fossiles  had  compil'd  each  part ; 

As  if  some  taylor  had  bound  on  with  points, 

Nero's  great  belly,  to  starv'd  Midas  joynts. 

I  could  dicipher  this  huge  map  of  shame, 

And  lively  pourtrait  his  abhorred  name, 

Wer't  not  that  criticks  would  debase,  revile. 

Censure  the  sharpnesse  of  a  satyres  stile. 

'Tis  shame,  such  vipers,  all  devouring  hell. 

Should  be  indured  in  our  coasts  to  dwell. 

We  can  frame  nothing  of  such  naughtie  earth. 

Except  a  storehouse  in  the  time  of  dearth ; 

Or  beg  this  minotaure,  when  he  doth  die, 

T'  make  dice  oFs  bones,  or  an  anatomie. 

Ee  therefore  leave  him  in  his  pan-warm'd  bed, 

Resting  on's  pillow  his  distempr'd  head. 

Wer't  not  for  censures,  I  should  make  him  prance. 

Skip  at  the  satyre's  lash,  leade  him  a  dance. 


24  SATYRES. 

Unrip  his  bowels,  and  anatomize 
Plis  filthy  intrailes,  which  he  doth  much  prize. 
But  taxing  times  such  projects  doe  confute, 
Silence  sterne  satyres,  wai'nes  them  to  be  mute. 
The  golden  dayes  are  chang'd  when  foxes  sins 
Passe  scot-free,  marching  in  the  lyons  skins ; 
When  corrupt  times  may  complot  wrong  or  right, 
"Without  controule  of  contradicting  might. 


My  treatise  next  must  touch  (thogh  somewhat  late) 

A  woman  creature  most  insatiate. 

See  this  incarnate  monster  of  her  sex 

Play  the  virago,  unashamde,  perplext. 

See  Omphale,  her  effeminated  king, 

Basely  captive  ;  make  him  doe  any  thing. 

Her  whole  discourse  is  of  Guy  Warwick's  amies, 

Of  errant  knights,  or  of  blind  Cupid's  charmes. 

Her  civill  gesture  is  to  faigne  a  lie 

In  decent  phrase,  in  true  ortographie. 

Her  modest  blush,  immodest  shame  O  fy  ! 

'Tis  grand  disgrace  to  blush,  indignity. 

She  counts  him  but  a  nazard,  halfe  a-mort, 

That  will  not  jumble,  use  dame  Venus'  sport. 

To  kisse,  to  cull,  t'admii'e  her  painted  face. 

And  doe  no  more ;  ignoble,  vile  disgrace  ! 

She  likes  his  humor  which  plaies  for  the  marke, 

Affects  the  man  that's  expert  in  the  darke. 


SATYRES. 

"With  costly  unguents  she  depaints  her  browes, 
Calls  them  the  palace  of  chaste  Hymen's  vowes. 
And  yet  this  statue  for  her  honor'd  trade, 
With  ev'ry  vassaile  will  be  underlaide. 
Her  sole  delight  is  fixed  in  a  fan, 
Or  to  walke  usherd  by  a  proper  man. 
Nature  hath  polisht  each  externall  part 
Of  this  vile  dame  with  oratories  art ; 
Making  each  limb  an  oratour,  defence, 
To  maske  her  scandall  with  some  good  pretence. 
Doe  but  conferre  and  note  her  private  speech, 
Her  divine  frame  will  passe  your  humau  reach. 
Shee'l  complement,  pathetically  act 
A  tragick  story,  or  a  fatall  fact. 
Lively  discover  Cupid  and  his  bowe, 
^Manage  his  savage  quiver  in  her  brow, 
Court  so  corapleately,  rai-ely  tune  a  song, 
That  she  wdll  seeme  a  Dido  for  a  tongue ; 
And  by  the  vertue  of  all-conquering  sight. 
Infuse  even  life  in  him  that  has  no  sprite. 
Her  golden  phrase  w  ill  ravish  so  your  eares 
With  amorous  discoiu*se,  pale  lovers  teares. 
That  you  would  judge  her  rarest  parts  divine, 
Deeme  her  a  virgin  of  chast  Vestaes  shrine. 
Yet  this  proud  Jezabell,  so  nice,  demure, 
Is  but  a  painted  sepulchre  impure. 
Shee  seemes  a  saint  (in  conferance  being  hard) 
Yet  is  more  spotted  then  the  leopard. 
Though  she  bestow  her  vigilancie,  care, 
In  coyning  phrases,  pouncing  of  her  hayre  : 


26  SATYRES. 

Yet  are  her  legends,  golden  masse  of  wit, 
But  like  Apocrypha,  no  sacred  writ. 
All's  not  authenticall  the  which  she  pleades, 
Or  wholsome  doctrine,  that  she  daily  reades. 
Cease,  austere  muse,  tliis  counterfeit  to  touch : 
Y'have  spoke  satyricall,  I  doubt,  too  much. 
He  rather  pitty,  then  envy  invay, 
Their  kalender  of  wretch'nesse  to  display. 
Shutting  my  muse  in  silence,  least  she  strip 
This  saint-like  creature  with  a  satyres  whip. 
I  blush,  my  quill  with  so  immodest  face 
Abruptly  pointed  at  her  great  disgrace, 
Loathing  the  subject  of  a  satyre's  stile, 
Discernes  desert,  which  should  this  sect  defile. 
Pardon  my  muse  (kinde  sirs)  she  whips  not  all 
Whom  we  in  specie  do  women  call. 
'Tis  Corinth's  Lais,  Rome's  confronting  whore, 
Which  like  the  Hellespont  we  run  on  shore ; 
Such  as  resemble  Dian  in  their  deedes, 
I  meane  in  giving  large  Actaeons  heads. 
These  are  the  subjects  which  demerit  blame, 
And  such  we  tax  with  earths  eternall  shame. 
Applauding  such  chast  Philomels,  whose  love, 
Idem,  per  idem,  doth  most  constant  prove. 


FINIS. 


I 


Should  I  commend  your  satyres  ?  faith  no ;  tiisli, 

'Tis  an  olde  proverbe,  Good  wine  ncedes  no  bush. 

If  ye  demerit  earth's  condigner  laude, 

Let  graver  censures  grace  you  with  applaude. 

If  ye  deserve  no  poets  lawrell  stem, 

Be  ye  base  orphans,  I  disclaime  ye  then. 

To  praise  good  works  'twere  shame,  indigne,  and  vile. 

For  none  but  counterfeits  do  prayse  their  stile. 

Good  is  but  good ;  and  no  man  can  more  say : 

To  praise  the  bad  makes  satyrists  invay. 

Goe  seeke  your  fortunes,  be  it  good  or  bad, 
If  bad,  I'le  grieve  ;  if  good,  I  shall  be  glad. 

Henry  Hutton. 


SATYRICALL   EPIGRAMS 


COMPILED   BY 


HENRY    HUTTON, 


miNELMENSIS. 


LONDON : 

Printed  for  Mathew  Walbanke,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  his 
Shop  at  Graies-Inne-Gate. 

1619. 


TO  THE  READER. 


He  ARK,  ye  yong  roysters,  that  with  inkehorn  stuffe 

Delude  the  state,  and  rayle  the  worlde  in  snuffe : 

Let  me,  in  court'sie,  beg  a  friendly  Q, 

When  you  have  spent  your  mouths  upon  the  view. 

Chop  logick,  chaw  youi*  cuds  ;  some  leisure  give. 

My  muse,  which  doth  at  rack  and  manger  live, 

Must  halt  about  the  marke ;  for  she's  not  flight : 

And  yet,  though  slowe,  she  sometimes  speaks  aright. 

I  feare  no  colours :  let  mad  satyres  write : 

The  curres  which  bai'ke  the  most  do  seldome  bite. 

Let  coxcombs  curry  favour  with  a  fee, 

Extoll  their  braines,  with  Claw  me,  Tl  claw  thee. 

I  write  the  truth ;  if  any  fault  you  see, 

Impute  it  to  ill  readings,  not  to  me. 

Disjience  with  my  bold  quill :  if  she  be  fell, 

I  doe  it  for  the  best :  I  wish  all  well. 

Connive  yong  wits  (which  on  your  humors  stand) 

I'l,  with  the  proverbe,  Turne  the  cat  i'th'band. 

And  ere  ye  jarre,  for  peace  sake  give  the  way ; 

Sith  few,  or  none,  with  edg'd  tooles  safely  play. 


SATYRICALL  EPIGRAMS. 


Ad  Lectorem. 
Epi.  1. 
Reader,  I  must  present  you  a  shrimp-fish : 
I  hope  you'l  make  no  bones  to  tast  this  dish. 
It  is  no  carpe,  unlesse  you  quit  that  note : 
Wliich  if  you  doe,  I  wish  'twere  in  your  throate. 

Ad  Momum. 

Epi.  2. 
MoMUS,  I  wish  your  love,  and  humbly  crav't : 
My  suite  is  for  the  same ;  pray  let  me  hav't. 
If  that  you  think,  according  be  not  best, 
A  cording  be  your  end :  and  so  I  rest. 

Mahteri  ill  Measure. 
Epi.  3. 
Such  malsters,  as  ill  measure  sell  for  gaine. 
Are  not  mere  knaves,  but  also  knaves  in  grain. 

De  Equisone. 
Epi.  4. 
Can  Equiso  be  wavering  as  the  Avinde  ? 
Faith,  no ;  for  he  is  of  a  stable  kinde. 

n 


34  SATYRICALL  EPIGRAMS. 


In  Calvnm. 
Epi.  5. 
The  commonty  complaine,  Calvus  of  late, 
By  hook  and  crook,  by  pouling  gaineth  state : 
Yet  he  protests  he  takes  few  bribed  gifts, 
And  powling  scornes  above  all  other  shifts ; 
Appealing  to  his  bax'ber,  who  doth  sweare. 
He  is  not  worth  one  hayre  to  reach  one  eare. 
Then  sith  you  tax  him  with  this  faultlesse  ill, 
He'l  leave  off  powling  and  begin  to  pill. 


Epi.  6. 

KiNDE  Kit  disdaines  that  men  him  fool  do  call. 
What  is  he  else  ?     Faith,  nothing  but  wit-all. 


An  action  of  the  Case. 
Epi.  7. 
Shouldring  a  minstrell  in  a  lane,  I  broke 
His  violl's  case  by  an  unlucky  stroke : 
Who  sAvore  he  would  complain,  to  vent  his  grudg. 
And  what  eare  I  what  any  law  will  judge? 
For  why :  I  will  maintaine  it  face  to  face, 
'T  can  be  no  more  but  th'  action  of  the  Case, 


Epi.  8. 
ToM-CoBBLER  sold  liis  tools,  a  matter  small : 
And  yet  unto  this  day  he  keepeth  awl. 


SATYRICALL  EPIGRAMS.  35 

Epi.  9. 

Robin  has  for  tobacclio  sold  his  ehaire, 
Reserving  nothing  but  a  stoole  for's  lare  : 
Whence  all  men  judge  this  silly  sottish  foole, 
Though  seldome  sick  goes  often  to  the  stoole. 

God  a-mercy  Horse. 
Epi.  10. 
A  FRIEND,  who  by  his  horse  receiv'd  a  fall, 
Made  bold  (he  swore)  in  private  for  to  call. 
I  made  him  welcome,  as  dame  Nature  bindes 
All  those  to  doe  that  beare  affecting  mindes. 
Yet  sith  his  steede  did  him  unwilling  force, 
I  thanke  not  him,  but  God  a  mercy  horse. 

Epi.  11. 
Fkancisco  vants  he  gave  his  wife  the  horn. 
She  frouns,  she  frets,  and  takes  the  news  in  scorn. 
And  thogh  you  did  (quoth  she)  yet  you,  indeed. 
Must  weare  the  home,  because  you  are  the  head. 

De  Cah'o. 

Epi.  12. 
Calvus  protests  for  foes  he  doth  not  care : 
For  why  ?  they  cannot  take  from  him  one  hair. 

In  Puriim. 

Epi.  13. 
PuRUS  doth  sermons  write,  and  scripture  quote ; 
And  therfore  may  be  tearm'd  a  man  of  note. 

1)2 


86  SATYRICALL  EPIGRAMS. 

In  Causidicum. 

Epi.  14. 
Causidicus  wears  patched  cloathes,  some  bruit, 
And  must  doe  so :  for  he  has  nere  a  suite. 

Defabro  ligiiario. 
Epi.  15. 
Tom  Joyner  sold  his  tooles,  and  cloaths  of  s  britch, 
To  cure  the  scab ;  and  yet  he  has  an  itch. 

Epi.  16. 

Cuckold  is  a  dangerous  beast.     Why  so  ? 
Nam  cornu  ferit  ille:  caveto. 

De  Vinoso. 

Epi.  17. 
ViNosus  is  a  verbe,  his  person's  good, 
And  must  be  form'd  in  the  potentiall  mood : 
In  which  sole  mood  we  find  each  drunken  man, 
For,  commonly  they're  known  by  the  sign,  can. 

Epi.  18. 

Women  by  nature  doe  a  nazzard  spight. 
Because  he's  a  light-horseman  and  wants  weight. 

Epi.  19. 

Jack-cut-purse  is  and  hath  been  patient  long ; 
For  he's  content  to  pocket  up  much  wrong. 


SATYRICALL  EPIGRAMS.  37 

Epi.  20. 
Tom  vow'd  to  beat  his  boy  against  the  wall ; 
And  as  he  strook,  he  forthwith  caught  a  fall. 
The  boy,  deriding,  said,  I  will  averre, 
Y'have  done  a  thing  you  cannot  stand  to,  sir. 

Epi.  21. 
In  an  outlandish  port,  where  there  were  stoi-e 
Of  bloudy  pyrats  taken  on  the  shore, 
The  magistrate  did  build  (of  squared  stone) 
A  payre  of  gallowes,  for  to  hang  them  on. 
And  being  askt,  why  they  so  strong  were  made, 
Replied ;  that  woodden  gallowes  soone  decaid. 
They  would  not  last  one  age,  but  now  his  care 
Had  built  strong  gallowes  for  himselfe  and's  heire. 

De  Ballivo. 

Epi.  22. 
HoAv  dare  ye  with  a  balive  squabble,  broile, 
Disturbe  the  streets  with  uproares  endlesse  coil  ? 
Though  he  be  poore,  yet  offer  no  disgrace ; 
Balives  are  men-of-calling  in  their  place. 


Epi.  23. 
Bell,  though  thou  die  decrepit,  lame,  forlorne, 
Thou  wast  a  man  of  metall,  I'l  be  sworne. 


88  SATYRTCALL  EPIGRAMS. 

Crooktbaeks  payment. 
Epi.  24. 
Crookt-back,  to  pay  old  scores,  wil  sell  his  state : 
And  thouffh  he  do,  lie'l  never  make  all  strait. 


In  Galium. 

Epi.  25. 
Galla,  'tis  said,  of  late  is  brought  to  bed, 
And  yet  in  Hymens  rites  she  nere  was  wed. 
Which  makes  the  vulgar  judge  and  censure  on  her. 
That  she  betimes  begun  to  take  upon  her. 


Tims  wound. 

Eiji.  26. 
At  quarter  blowes,  Tim  did  of  late  receive 
A  bruise  upon  his  head  that  doth  him  grieve : 
Which,  having  issue,  makes  friends  tax  his  deed, 
And  jesting  say  :  Tim  has  a  running  head. 


Epi.  27. 

Phantastes  chaf't  t'  expresse  his  raging  wit, 

Because  his  stockins  did  not  neately  sit ; 

And  strictly  askt  his  man,  what  as  he  thought 

Concerning's  stockin  he  had  lately  bought. 

Who  said,  I  think  though  't  seeme  too  straight  by  half, 

'Twod  fit ;  but  that  you  are  too  great  i'th'  calfe. 


SATYRICALL  EPIGRAMS.  o9 

De  Conspicilio. 

Epi.  28. 
An  aged  man,  which  spectacles  did  use, 
Having  them  filcht,  begun  one  time  to  muse, 
Fearing  the  thiefe  would  not  his  sights  restoi'e, 
But  rather  plot  how  to  deceive  him  more. 
Feare  not,  said  one,  the  matter  is  but  light, 
And  ten  to  one  but  they  will  come  to  si^^ht. 


De  Chirotheca. 
Epi.  29. 
A  FRIEND  protested  he  was  strangely  crost, 
Because  (forsooth)  his  wedding  gloves  were  lost, 
But  on  your  gloves,  I  said,  sir,  do  not  stand ; 
I  warrant  you,  ere  long  they'l  come  to  hand. 


TrirrCs  cure. 

Epi.  30. 
Neat  barber.  Trim,  I  must  commend  thy  care, 
Which  doest  all  things  exactly  to  a  hayre. 


Epi.  31. 

Tom  Chamberlayne  doth  from  his  guests  convey 
The  fired  logs  which  they  accompt  for  pay : 
Now  Tom  may  sweare,  and  therein  be  no  Iyer, 
Tliat  all  he  has  is  gotten  out  o'th'  fire. 


40  SATYRICALL  EPIGRAMS. 

Idle  ivords. 
Epi.  -32. 
Of  idle-words,  no  capitall  delict, 
One  was  arraigned ;  by  the  lawes  convict ; 
Adjudg'd  to  lose  his  eares  :  which  he  denide  ; 
Complotting  to  escape,  but  one  replide, 
The  pillory  t'  escape  spend  not  your  wit, 
When  all  is  done,  you  must  give-eare  to  it. 

De  Thaide. 

Epi.  33. 
Thais  her  urine  to  a  doctour  bore, 
Who  askt  her,  if  she  were  a  maide.      She  swore 
'Twas  so.     My  wench  (quoth  he)  thou  art  beguil 
My  art  descries  that  thou  hast  had  a  childe : 
What  kind  of  maide  art  then  ?  she  blushing  said, 
And't  like  your  worship,  sir,  a  chamber-maide. 

In  Lesbiam. 

Epi.  34. 
The  sanguine  dy  of  Lesbia's  painted  face, 
Is  often  argued  for  a  doubtfuU  case. 
The  color's  hers  she  sw  eares :   not  so  some  thought  it, 
And  true  she  swears :  for  I  know  where  she  bought  it. 

De  Gallo. 

Epi.  35. 
KiNDE  cock  is  not  a  cock  o'th'  kind,  I  feare. 
His  lien  wud  bring  forth  chickins,  if  he  were : 
Yet  she  hath  none.     Then  surely,  gentle  reader. 
He  is  no  cock  ;  only  a  capon-treader. 


SATYRICALL    EPIGRAMS.  41 

De  Cornuto. 
Epi.  36. 
CoRNUTUS  did  receive  a  liurt  on's  tbigli : 
Of  wliicli,  I  am  perswaded,  be'l  not  die. 
The  wouud's  not  mortall  tliogii  it  inward  bleed ; 
Because  the  signe  rules  most  in  Cornute's  head. 

Epi.  37. 

AVoMEN  are  saints :  yet  was  not  she  a  sprit, 
That  almost  slew  her  husband  with  a  spit  ? 

The  case  is  cdtred. 
Epi.  38. 
Tom  Case  (some  do  report)  was  lately  halterd. 
If  this  be  true,  why  then  the  case  is  altei'd. 

Ad  CcEcum. 
Epi.  39. 
C^cus,  I  pray  respect  your  honest  name, 
Avoide  the  scandall  of  succeeding  shame. 
Y'  have  an  ill  eye,  so  some  do  often  chat : 
'Mongst  other  faidts,  pray  have  an  ey  to  that. 

In  Superhum. 
Epi.  40. 
SupERBUS  swaggers  with  a  ring  in's  eare ; 
And  likewise,  as  the  custome  is,  doth  weare 
About  hfs  neck  a  ribbin  and  a  ring : 
Which  makes  men  think,  that  he's  proud  of  a  string. 


42  SATYRICALL  EPIGRAMS. 

Tofipots  reckonings . 
Epi.  41. 
TosPOT  is  chosen  steward  of  the  house, 
To  sum  theii"  commons ;  as  eld  servants  use. 
I  thinke  he'l  reckonings  more  compleatly  cast, 
Then  any  steward  that  this  place  has  past. 
For  certaine  after  drinkings,  or  a  feast, 
He  casts-up  reckonings  once  a  week  at  least. 

Epi.  4->. 

Will  squabled  in  a  tavern  very  sore. 
Because  one  brought  a  gill  of  wine  ;  no  more. 
Fill  me  a  quart  (quoth  he)  I'  me  called  Will : 
The  proverbe  is,  each  Jack  will  have  his  Gill. 

Tonics  valour. 
Epi.  43. 
One  liundreth  grosse  of  points  Tom  tooke  in  pay, 
Of  bankrupt  mercers  which  were  in  decay. 
Whence  som  report,  that  new  his  fearful  joints, 
That  Tom's  grown  stout,  and  stands  upon  his  points. 

Epi.  44. 

GuiDo  doth  rage,  because  one  jesting  said. 

That  he  of  late  had  got  a  goodly  liead. 

What  man  dare  give  me  homes  (quoth  he)  i'or's  life  ? 

No  man,  said  one,  if  any,  'tis  your  wife. 

Whiles  men  you  tax,  the  halfe  man  you  exclude : 

And  she,  the  old  man  doth  with  horns  delude. 


SATYRICALL  EPIGRAMS.  4o 

De  Milone. 
Epi.  45. 
MiLO  doth  vant  he's  strong,  and  jet  contends 
To  take  the  wall  of  open  foes  and  frends. 
Then  sure  he's  weake,  which  will  in  discord  fall 
For  it ;  sith  none  but  weakest  go  to  th'  wall. 

Epi.  46. 
A  PRocTouR  was  t'  examine  in  the  court 
A  wench.     And  he.  disposed  to  make  some  sport, 
Did  aske  the  maide,  what  he  should  call  her  name. 
Why,  maid  (quoth  she)  or  else  it  were  great  shame. 
Pray,  speake  advised,  quoth  this  gibing  clearke  ; 
You  must  take  oath  of  it,  and  therefore  marke. 
The  wench,  selfe-guiity,  to  him  blushing  said. 
Pray  stile  me  single  Avoman,  leave  out  maid. 

To  his  inconstant  mistrisse. 
Epi.  47. 
Faine  would  I  prayse,  yet  dare  not  write  my  minde. 
Lest  thou  sholdst  vary  like  th'  uncertain  wind. 

Epi.  48. 
A  FELON,  judg'd  to  dy  for  filching  ware. 
At  his  confessing  did  hiraselfe  compare, 
In  metaphors,  unto  the  world ;  wherein 
Contayned  is  the  sentinell  of  sin. 
The  hang-man,  hearing  this,  vrhen  they  had  praid, 
Began  to  scoffe,  and  thus  deriding  said ; 
I  may  attempt  what  I  desire,  were't  land : 
For  why  ?  I  have  the  world  now  in  a  band. 


44  SATYRICALL  EPIGRAMS. 

De  Crepidario. 
Epi,  49. 
Shoo-makers  are  the  men  (without  all  doubt) 
Be't  good  or  bad,  that  set  all  things  on  foot. 

De  Vitriario. 
Epi.  50. 
A  GLAZIER  which  endeavours  to  reape  gaines, 
Endureth  toyle,  is  troubled  much  with  panes. 

Epi.  51. 
Miller,  such  artists  as  thy  pulses  feeles, 
Affirme,  thy  gadding  head  doth  runne  on  wheeles. 

Epi.  52. 
Fat-back,  you  are  to  blame  which  friends  will  crosse. 
Go  too :  you  shew  your  selfe  a  knave  in  grosse. 

Epi.  53. 
Taylors  worke  much,  beleeve't,  and  take  great  paine  : 
Yet  masons  worke  far  harder  i'l  maintain. 

Epi.  54. 
Doth  Jane  demerit  well  ?  I  pray,  why  so  ? 
For  her  good  carriage  which  all  men  know. 

Epi.  55. 
Pray,  pardon  Proeco's  compotations. 
His  head  is  full  of  proclamations. 

In  Gulam. 

Epi.  56. 
Base  Gula,  with  his  teeth  and  nails  doth  teare 
The  commons  which  he  eateth  any  where : 
Now  we  may  say,  what  Gula  doth  assay le, 
He  will  accomplish  it  with  tooth  and  naile. 


EPILOGUS. 

What  satyres  write,  or  oabalists  do  judge, 

I  weigh  but  small ;  sith  they  beare  all  meu  grudg  : 

What  monists  censure,  or  the  roring  sect, 

Be  what  it  will,  'tis  but  their  dialect : 

And  such  applause,  like  to  their  thread-bare  coate, 

Would  but  pollute  me  with  some  evill  note. 

I  doe  referre  my  muse  unto  such  eyes, 

Which  truly  can  their  judgments  equalize: 

Such  will  be  meanes,  to  save  her  from  the  fire, 
And  if  need  stand,  to  draw  dun  out  i'tli'  mire. 

H.  H.  D. 


IXIONS  WHEELE. 


Fortune  empaling  Jove  with  honors  crowne, 

Making  him  victoi-  in  the  Titans  fight ; 

Mars  having  trod  perforce  proud  Saturne  down, 

Depriving  Titan  of's  usurped  right ; 

These  co-supremes,  which  over-rule  the  fate, 

Enthronize  him  in  Saturn's  regall  state. 

Which  grateful!  god,  in  honor  of  his  name, 
To  Mars  did  dedicate  the  crownes  of  bay  ; 
And  in  Olympus  did  a  feast  ordayne, 
To  solemnize  the  glory  of  this  day. 
Each  sacred  deity  had  free  accesse 
To  be  partaker  of  such  happinesse. 

Hermes  did  trudge,  a  jolly  foote-mans  pase, 
T'  invite  the  rectors  of  the  spheres  sublime. 
He  nimbly  trips  the  sun -gods  circled  race, 
Commands  each  power  of  the  Olympick  clime 
To  celebrate  this  festivall,  in  lieu 
Of  all  the  triumphs  which  to  Mars  were  due. 


48  IXIONS  WIIEELK. 

Which  tliaiikefuU  quests  their  joynt  consents  all  gave 
To  gratulate  their  kinde  affecting  host ; 
And,  of  the  store  which  they  in  promptu  have 
(As  a  requitall  of  his  profuse  cost) 
Do,  plena  manu,  regall  bounties  send. 
Whiles  to  exceede  in  giving  they  contend. 

Pan  did  the  first  fruites  of  his  fold  present : 
Neptune  sent  quailes  ;  and  Bacchus  foming  vines  : 
Ceres  did  immolate,  with  like  intent. 
Autumn's  i*ich  prime,  and  Terra's  golden  mines. 
No  god  there  was,  but  sent,  for  love  or  feare, 
Condigne  presents  to  augment  their  cheere. 

At  length,  in  vesture  nitid,  and  facete. 
To  Joves  high  court  heavens  synod  did  repaii-e  : 
Whose  braines  wei'e  busied  how  to  be  compleat, 
To  place  themselves  in  method,  formall,  square. 
Whiles  major  powers  affect  new  forged  shapes. 
The  minors  a^mulate  like  ^sops  apes. 

Warres  austere  God,  with  stout  Achilles  lance, 
And  wrinkled  browes,  doth  Thrasonize  it,  rage  : 
Cornuted  Phoebe,  in  her  coach,  doth  prance  : 
Bacchus  with  grapes,  doth  stretch  it  on  the  stage : 
Whiles  this  cup-saint,  too  lavish  and  pi'ofuse, 
Embrew's  his  temples  in  their  liquid  juice. 

Apollo,  Venus,  Cupid  god  of  love. 

And  chast  Aurora  goddesse  of  the  morne. 

With  all  the  remnant  of  the  powers  above, 


IXIONS  AVHEELE.  49 

111  ro}aIl  vestures  did  their  corps  adorne. 
Thus  they  contend  (if  eminent  in  place) 
T'exceede  in  gesture,  vesture,  decent  grace. 

Vulcan  except,  who  from  his  anvile  hies, 
Lymping  unto  the  trough,  to  scoure  his  face 
And  colly  fists ;  then,  with  his  apron  dries 
The  same,  thinking  them  fit  for  sucli  a  place : 
He,  hating  pride,  vaine-glory,  did  not  strive, 
Or  ajmulate,  to  be  superlative. 

The  smith  of  Lemnos,  malecontent,  did  grudge 
That  Dis  should  loyter  for  his  shackling  chaines : 
Yet,  being  iealous,  he's  constrain'd  to  trudge. 
Lest,  whiles  he  toyle,  some  other  reape  the  gains. 
Curling  his  locks,  he  therefore,  halfe  a  mort, 
Doth  halting  usher  "Venus  to  the  court. 

Swift  winged  Hermes  did  Ixion  cite. 
The  last  to  dance  attendance  at  this  feast : 
AVho,  swolne  with  pride  of  his  puissance,  might, 
Sate  with  the  gods  as  a  coequal  guest : 
And  though  unworthy  to  assume  such  place, 
Yet  did  his  thoughts  aspire  for  greater  grace. 

Earth's  mortaU,  with  immortalls  being  plac't, 
Tooke  Dedalls  flight ;  with  Icarus  would  climbe  ; 
With  Phaeton,  the  deities  disgrac't. 
Deposing  him  for  his  i;ndecent  crime. 
Princes,  in  pride,  attempt  those  vaine  designes, 
"Which  often  times  their  empires  undermines. 

E 


50  IXIONS  WHEELE. 

While  mighty  Jove,  with  Orpheus  sweetest  hymns, 

Aptly  concording  to  Ai'ions  lute, 

With  bouls  of  nectar,  crowned  to  the  brims, 

His  noble  guests  doth  gratulate,  salute : 

This  lusting  king  endeavours  in  despite 

To  wrong  his  host,  to  casheer  Hymen's  right. 

Bacchus  moyst  vapours,  which  doe  sursum  fume. 

Ixions  braine  so  much  intoxicate. 

That  in  his  cup  he  did  (too  rash)  presume 

T'  attempt  the  act :  which  he  repents  too  late. 

So  potent  are  Don  Bacchus  nocive  charmes. 

That  they  intrude  into  apparent  harmes. 

Rapt  Avith  Queene  Junoes  love,  whiles  he  did  fix 
So  princely  object  in  an  abject  eye, 
His  joyes  with  sorrowes  he  doth  intermix : 
For  sanctum  sinnes  doe  often  soare  too  hie. 
Which  grand  default  few  amorists  can  finde ; 
Because  the  naked  god  of  love  is  blinde. 

He  languisht  long,  abhorring  to  reveale, 
T'  expresse  his  dolours  in  externall  shew : 
Yet  they,  more  urgent,  whiles  he  would  conceale, 
Like  Hydi'a's  heads,  did  pullulate,  renew. 
For  shrowded  embers,  which  cannot  aspire, 
Assuming  force,  become  the  greatest  fire. 

With  chast  Adonis  blush,  at  length,  in  art. 
Pie  did  uncase  those  greifs  which  were  represt. 
And  did  the  tenor  of  his  cares  impart, 


IXIONS  WHEELE.  5  I 

(For  words  yeeld  solace  to  distempred  brests,) 
Asswage  the  deluge  of  eternall  woe, 
Which  (sea-like)  altematim  ebbe  and  flowe. 

The  prime  allurement  which  Ixiou  us'd 
To  rob  this  matron  of  her  prizelesse  fame, 
Were  Mammons  gifts ;  which  women  seld  refuse, 
Although  in  obloquie  they  drowne  their  name. 
For  Fates  decreed  each  womans  weaker  power 
Should  not  resist  faire  Danae's  golden  sliowre. 

His  crowne  of  Thessalie,  with  Tagus  sand, 
And  mineralls  of  Ganges  golden  shore. 
He  gratis  did  preferre  into  her  hand, 
Wishing  such  oratours  might  love  implore. 
T'  enjoy  base  lust  he  would  his  life  conderane  ; 
Hazard  his  state,  and  princely  diadem. 

The  modest  queen  (which  waxed  red  with  shame) 
Like  one  that's  planet-strooke,  remayned  mute : 
Collecting  strength  (t'  avoid  succeeding  fame) 
She  did  repell  his  base,  immodest  sute : 
Yet,  more  importunate,  though  she  despise. 
He,  non-plus't  once,  againe  will  rhetorize. 

Lady,  (quoth  he)  behold  my  harmlesse  heart, 
"Wliich  doth,  captiv'd,  in  Sibyls  durance  live. 
Like  to  Achilles  lance,  my  endlesse  smart 
You  must  recure,  which  did  the  anguish  give  : 
Or  I,  poore  Tymon,  must  my  date  expire, 
Whiles  furies  torture  me  in  Cupid's  fire. 

e2 


52  IXIONS  WHEELE. 

Sometimes  in  the  abysse  of  love  I  freeze, 
Like  frigid  places  of  the  artick  clime  : 
Againe,  excessive  heate  those  stormes  appease, 
Scorching  like  Phoebus  in  her  fiery  prime. 
Thus  I,  whom  Titan  fram'd  of  brittle  mold. 
Both  at  one  instant,  burn,  and  am  key-cold. 

My  passive  humors,  and  distemperd  thoughts, 

Do  stimulate  proud  Silla's  ire :  debates 

Vaine-hopes,  which  hote  desires  doe  bring  to  nought, 

Fiercely  pursues  with  Theoninus  hates  : 

Waging  such  warre  within  my  soule  divine, 

That  Trojan  fraies  were  plays  compar'd  with  mine. 

No  artists  skill,  nor  deity  above. 

Can  mee  restore  to  my  desired  blisse. 

The  Energia  sole  is  fixt  in  love. 

Which  may  recure  my  cares  remedilesse. 

At  love  I  ayme ;  yet  have  no  ci'osser  foe, 

Whose  perverse  wrath,  my  state  would  overthrow. 

Thus  doth  he  syllogize,  halfe  malecontent, 

With  fallacies  sophisticating  teares ; 

And  thus  discourse,  unkindnesse  to  prevent. 

Whilst  sighs  unrip  his  melancholy  feares : 

Yet  vaine :  the  king  pursues  a  bootelesse  chase, 

His  deere  both  tappasse  in  a  private  place. 

Whiles  he  acutely  argu'd  this  hard  text, 
(With  writs  of  errour  traversing  his  sute) 
Joves  constant  Daphne,  timorous,  perplext, 


IXIONS  WHEELE.  53 

His  fucall  arguments  doth  still  confute : 

Yet  forward  love,  which  in  extreames  will  erre, 

Uniting  force,  doth  wage  a  second  warre. 

Now  by  authentick  reasons  he  doth  pleade, 

Urging  examples  to  confirm  his  case  ; 

Corroborating  his  undecent  deede, 

With  Corinth's  strumpets,  which  their  sex  debase ; 

A  subtle  shift  to  curry  favour's  truce : 

For  old  examples  women  most  seduce. 

The  nymphs  to  Vesta  consecrated  pure, 

Which  did  (quoth  he)  their  youthful!  dales  confine 

Like  ancors  in  a  cave  to  live  secure, 

Only  devoted  to  the  vestal]  shrine. 

These  trode  their  shooes  awry,  and  did  transgresse. 

Reputing  it  a  frailty  of  the  flesh. 

The  sun-god  Phoebus  subject  bow'd  to  love ; 
Though  he  were  crowned  with  a  willow -with. 
Faire  Cytherea  had  (as  records  prove) 
A  leash  of  loves,  beside  black  Lemnos  smith. 
And  Vulcan  spi'd  false  carding.     What  of  it  ? 
He  was  adjudg'd  but  jealous,  w^anting  wit. 

Sole  monai'ch  of  the  sky,  whom  Cupid's  charms, 

And  fatall  quiver,  did  incite  to  lust, 

Li  lovely  Arethusa's  azure  armes 

Did  oft  repose :  although  it  were  unjust. 

Latmus  can  witnesse,  and  Parnassus  plaine, 

She  plaid  the  wanton  with  a  shepheards-swaine. 


o4  IXIONS  WHEELE. 

Examine  Hermes,  if  he  lov'd  or  no, 

Whiles  he  with  Herse  private  did  conferre, 

Hee'l  not  disclaime  his  wenching  acts,  I  trowe, 

Or  that  with  Yenus  he  did  wilfull  erre. 

Thus  lov'd  the  churlish  starres.     Then  why  shold  I 

Poore  Saturnist,  a  distract  lover  die. 

Nor  wert  thou  chast,  great  Jove :  the  wedlock  band 
In  Hebe's,  and  Alcmena's  arraes  thou  broke : 
Tindar's  proud  bride  thou  used  at  command ; 
Captiv'd  Calisto  in  a  lustfull  yoke ; 
And  with  these  paramours  hast  led  thy  life, 
Wronging  the  pleasures  of  a  jealous  wife. 

What  if  great  Jupiter,  with  Lynx  his  eyes, 
Should  censure  that  chast  Hera  were  too  kiude  ! 
With  Hermes  spells  I  would  conjure  his  spies. 
Till  I  enjoy 'd  the  solace  of  my  minde. 
Admit  you  should  disclose  in  outward  shew 
Apparent  love,  it  were  but  quid  pro  quo. 

Suppose,  that  Earth  impanneld  a  grand  quest, 

And  that  the  barre  of  law  should  rack  this  act : 

It  would  be  thought  a  quaere  at  the  best, 

Sith  affidavit  of  our  conceal'd  fact 

Could  not  be  made ;  whiles  of  each  gods  known  shame 

A  sempiternall  probate  shall  remaine. 

Hee  urg'd  the  queene  too  farre :  yet  she  excus'd, 
Fearing  malignant  times  the  fame  would  broach ; 
And  doth  object,  that  beautie's  oft  abus'd. 


IXIONS  WHEELE.  55 

Ol't  scandaliz'd  with  vulgar  tongues  reproach. 
For  slander  set  on  foote,  though  false,  will  run, 
And  currant  passe  in  ev'ry  Momists  tongue. 

Beautie's  a  common  marke,  apt  to  offence, 
(Quoth  she)  when  roysters  rove  or  court  unwise  ; 
Bad  fame  will  blab,  and  forge  some  lewd  pretence, 
Be  amours  nere  so  secret  or  precise  : 
No  fond  suspect  her  jealous  eare  can  scape, 
For  she  will  colour't  in  a  lively  shape. 

Should  I,  upon  such  tearmes,  ere  condiscend, 
I  double,  treble  should  mine  honour  staine. 
"What  essence  then  my  error  dui'st  defend. 
If  true  accusers  should  my  vice  arraigne  ? 
In  vaine  it  were  to  fly  from  Argus  watch. 
If  in  the  net  Jove  Mars  with  Venus  catch. 

The  unchast  king  now  silent,  all  a  mort, 
Abruptly  interrupts  her  subtile  speech  ; 
And,  vi  et  armis,  must  enjoy  his  sport, 
Move  her  perforce  to  cuckoldry,  spouse-breach. 
He  begd  before  ;  but  now  commands  his  lust : 
And  she  consents,  lest  Jove  their  talke  mistrust 

Who  whilest  they  pro  et  contra  argued  thus, 
Suspecting  mis-demeanor  in  his  guest ; 
Yet  did  conceale,  because  he  sate  non  plus, 
Drowning  despaire  in  his  disquiet  brest. 
Jove  feared  guile  (Mendozas  well  can  gloze) 
And  therefore  urged  Juno  to  disclose. 


56  IXIONS  WHEELE. 

Who,  putting  finger  in  the  eye,  declares 
This  hirge  discourse  ;  which  Jove  unkindely  takes. 
The  lust  seem'd  vile,  such  impudence  was  rare  : 
"Which  to  defraud,  he  of  a  cloude  did  make 
Chast  Junoes  like,  a  formall  shape  invents, 
Which  graphice  her  stature  represents. 

AppoUo's  wagon  having  left  his  sphere. 
Drawing  the  starry  curtaine  of  the  night, 
This  false  idea  did  in  state  appeare. 
To  pay  lusts  king  his  long  desir'd  delight : 
Whom  he  embrac't  (yet  was  deceiv'd,  god  wot) 
And  of  a  cloude  the  massy  Centaures  got. 

Obtained  lust  his  brest  could  not  containe  : 

In  Thrasoe's  tearmes  he  vants  this  act  obscene, 

Falsely  accusing  Hera  in  disdaine, 

Making  lusts  queane  corrivall  with  the  queene. 

Such  are  mens  faults  ;  they  cannot  onely  home. 

But  must  divulge,  and  laugh  the  wrongd  to  scorne. 

The  irefuU  god ;  which  was  supposed  wrong 
To  Aveare  a  cuckolds  badge,  an  armed  head. 
All  court  atfaires  adjourneth,  doth  prolong, 
And  coram  nobis  scans  this  shamefull  deede. 
Lest  by  delay  truth  should  be  staind,  forgot. 
He  wisely  strikes  now  whilst  the  iron's  hot : 

And  of  high  treason  doth  the  king  indite, 
(For  faults  are  great  which  touch  a  mighty  foe) 
Who  by  a  quest  of  Quiere,  which  judge  right, 


IXIONS  WHEELE. 

(Too  strictly  sentenc't  to  eternall  woe) 

Was,  by  that  synod  in  Olympus  held, 

Condemn'd,  contemn'd,  and  from  his  throne  expeld. 

To  pleade,  or  to  recant,  it  was  too  late : 
The  arraigned  king  condemned  stands,  convict ; 
Whom  the  thi-ee  justicers  of  Limbos  state, 
With  new  devised  penalties  inflict. 
Hell's  fatall  judgement  is  a  just  reward 
For  such  as  Hymenasus  rites  discard. 

Fixt  to  the  rigour  of  a  tumbling  wheele, 
Which  furies  move,  and  ever  restless  turnes, 
This  type  of  lust  hells  terrour  amply  feeles, 
AYhiles  serpents  sting  and  Hecats  furnace  burnes. 
Thus  by  just  doome  to  Styx  his  soule  did  dive, 
Being  enrold  amongst  the  damned  five. 

Great  mirth  did  Dis  and  Proserpina  keepe, 
To  give  a  welcome  to  this  leane-cliapt  ghost. 
The  triple-headed  cur  awoke  from  sleepe. 
Caron  in  hast  his  flaming  ferry  crost ; 
Who,  with  the  furies,  which  then  leasure  found, 
Salutes  this  guest,  and  hopt  a  merry  round. 

Tantal  had  lap  enough :  each  ayry  sprite 
And  stai'ved  ghost  had  plenty  of  good-cheere. 
Alecto  skipt,  with  Bacchus  being  light, 
And  plaid  the  divell,  voide  of  love  or  feare  ; 
Whiles  grim  Meg^era  tore  th'  invective  scroles. 
Chasing  the  fiends  with  ever-burning  coles. 


58  IXIONS  WHEELE. 

A  greater  racket  was  not  kept  in  Hell 

When  Hecat  got  the  divells  leave  to  play. 

So  far  this  chaos  cloth  the  wont  excell, 

That  former  tortures  are  a  civill  day. 

vStones,  tubs,  and  wheeles,  do  tumble  up  and  down. 

So  that  no  ghost  escap't  a  broken  crowne. 

And  all  this  time,  Ixion  in  a  maze, 
Spectator-like  beheld  the  furies  sport ; 
At  length,  asham'd  to  stand  still  mute  at  gaze, 
Doth  spend  his  mouth,  and  reveU  in  like  sort ; 
Till  levell  coyle,  which  issued  from  the  pot. 
Made  hell  still  hell,  their  quarrels  were  so  hot. 

Minos  was  shreudly  checkt,  because  the  ghosts 
Disturb'd  the  gods  with  their  unruly  coile : 
Which  quorum  justice  warrants  sent  by  poast. 
To  chaine  each  furie  to  his  former  toile : 
And  eke  the  stranger  which  in  clanks  did  lurke, 
By  strict  command  was  set  unto  his  worke. 

Whose  restlesse  paines  my  poore  Appelles  art, 
VVith  Agamemnon's  vaile  must  rudely  maske. 
By  Herc'les  foote,  conjecture  ev'ry  part; 
And  from  this  briefe  the  totall  of  his  taske. 
Depriv'd  by  lust  in  Limbos  doth  he  dwell : 
Lust  was  his  life ;  his  death  both  Heaven  and  Hell. 

Henry  Hutton. 

Dunelmensis. 


POSTSCRIPT 
TO  THE  AFFECTING  PRINTER. 


Printer,  I  owe,  confesse  a  debt :  not  pay, 

'Twere  shame,  except  I  tooke  a  longer  day ! 

Faith,  I  must  owe  thee  somewhat,  as  a  friend, 

And  thou  must  trust,  for  I  pleade  non  solvend. 

It  is  a  time,  I  must  confesse,  to  owe. 

Which  lie  repay,  ere  long,  in  folio. 

A  good  turne  'tis  likewise :  the  ladders  turne 

I  doe  bequeath  such  criticks  as  will  spurne ; 

My  head,  my  muse,  I  bring  to  thee  to  presse. 

Sir,  presst,  supprest ;  if  it  deserve  no  presse, 

In  quarto's  forme  't  shall  not  be  formed :  tut ! 

Pray,  trim  my  head  in  spruce  octavo's  cut: 

So  shall  my  muse  be  free  from  firing  snuffe, 

From  physicks  di-ugges,  apothecaries  stuffe. 

Be  she  in  quarto  (0  !)  the  vintners  quart 

Would  but  upbraide,  deface  her  rarest  part : 

Th'  advice  of  such  as  adde  vice  unto  vice 

Prethae  detest ;  set  them  no  sale  or  price 

Of  my  rude  workes.     They  lie  in  ambush  :  waite, 

Watching  an  opportunity  for  hate. 

Presse  them,  I  pre  thee,  in  my  sole  defense, 

Which  would  oppresse,  or  presse,  my  harmlesse  sense. 

H.  H.  D. 


NOTES. 


Ad  Lectores,  1.  4, — '■'■  Noddy."  A  game  at  cards,  which  appears 
to  have  been  variously  played. — See  Nares's  Gloss,  in  v. 

—  1.  5, — "  tick-tack."  "  This  is  the  plain  game  of  tick-tack, 
which  is  so  called  from  touch  and  take,  for  if  you  touch  a 
man  you  must  play  him,  though  to  your  loss." — See  The 
Compleat  Gamester,  p.  113,  for  a  detailed  account  of  the 
game;  also  Hall's  Hora  Vacice,  1640,  p.  149. 

P.  9,  1.  1, — '■'■  ivhipt,  stript  satyrs  lines."  An  allusion  to 
Abuses  stript  and  ichipt ;  or  Satirical  Essayes.  By 
George  Wyther,  bid.  1613.  It  has  been  asserted  {British 
Bibliographer,  i.  ISO)  that  there  was  an  impression  of  this 
popular  work  in  1611 ;  and  although  no  copy  of  that  date 
has  come  down  to  us,  the  following  passage  from  the  same 
author's  Warning-piece  to  London,  discharged  out  of  a 
Loop- hole  in  the  Toiver,  1662,  renders  it  highly  probable : 

"  In  sixteen  hundred  ten  and  one 

I  notice  took  of  public  crimes  : 
With  mine  own  faults  I  first  begun, 

Observ'd  the  changes  of  the  times, 
And  what  God  had  on  me  bestown 

Employed  for  the  common  good  • 
Therein  I  sought  to  find  mine  own, 

"Which  was  so  oft  misunderstood, 
That  I,  for  being  so  employ'd, 
Have  been  three  times  nigh  quite  deslroy'd." 


62  NOTES. 

P.  9, 1.  2, — "  witJi  furies  scourye."  In  the  edition  of  Wither's 
Abuses  stript  andwhipt,  published  in  1G17,  there  is  a  print 
of  a  satyr  with  a  scourge,  called  "  Vice's  Executioner." 

P.  10, 1.  8, — "  conduits  scroivls."  Alluding  to  the  inscriptions 
on  the  old  London  conduits. 

P.  10,1.  14, — "apple  squire."  In  a  note  on  Hall's  Satires, 
1824,  p.  8,  the  editor  remarks:  "This  cant  phrase  has 
been  eiToneously  explained  as  meaning  a  pander,  or 
pimp.  The  fact  is,  that  it  meant  what  is  in  modern  slang 
called  a  flash  man  ;  a  squire  of  the  body  had  the  same 
meaning." 

P.  10,  1.  19, — "Dine  with  Duke  Humfrey."  This  phrase, 
which  is  still  current,  originated  in  the  following  manner : 
"  In  the  body  of  Old  St.  Paul's  was  a  huge  and  conspi- 
cuous monument  of  Sir  John  Beauchamp,  binied  in 
1358,  son  of  Guy,  and  brother  of  Thomas  Earl  of  War- 
wick. This,  by  a  vulgar  mistake,  has  been  called  the 
tomb  of  Humphrey  Duke  of  Gloucester,  who  was  really 
buried  at  St.  Alban's,  where  his  magnificent  shrine  now 
remains.  The  middle  aisle  of  St.  Paul's  is  called  the 
Duke's  gallery  in  a  chapter  of  Dekker's  Gull's  Hornebook — 
'  How  a  gallant  should  behave  himself  in  Powles 
Walkes.'  Of  the  humours  of  this  famous  ambulatory, 
the  general  rendezvous  of  the  busy  and  the  idle  of  all 
classes  who  found  it  convenient  to  frequent  the  most 
fashionable  crowd  in  London ,  a  more  particular  descrip- 
tion may  be  seen  in  Dekker's  Deade  Tearme,  or  West- 
minster's Complaint  for  long  Vacations  and  short  Termes, 
1608,  under  the  chapter  '  Pawle's  Steeple's  Complaint. 
A  humorous  poem  was  publi-shed  in  1674,  l)y  Sam.  Speed, 


NOTES.  63 

entitled,  The  Legend  of  his  Grace  Humphrey  Duke  of 
St.  PmiTs  Cathedral  Walk,  Surveyor  of  the  Monuments 
and  Tombs  of  the  Temple,  Patron  to  the  Perambulators 
in  the  Piazzas  in  Covent  Garden,  Master  of  King's 
Bench  Hall,  and  one  of  the  Colleges  Honorable  Privy 
Council;  in  which  the  shifts  of  the  needy  and  idle 
loungers  are  humorously  depicted." 

The  sort  of  character  usually  met  with  in  Pawles  Walk 
is  admirably  depicted  by  Bishop  Hall  in  the  seventh 
satire  of  the  third  book  of  his  Virgidemiarmn,  1597 : 

"  Seest  thou  how  gaily  my  young  master  goes, 
Vaunting  himself  upon  his  rising  toes  ; 
And  pranks  his  hand  upon  his  dagger's  side  ; 
And  picks  his  glutted  teeth  since  late  noontide  ? 
'Tis  Ruffio  :  Trowst  thou  where  he  din'd  today  ? 
In  sooth  I  saw  him  sit  with  Duke  Humfray. 
Many  good  welcomes  and  much  gratis  cheer, 
Keeps  lie  for  every  straggling  cavalier. 
An  open  house,  haunted  with  great  resort : 
Long  service  niix'd  with  musical  disport. 
Many  fair  yonker  ^rith  a  feather'd  crest 
Chooses  much  rather  be  his  shot-free  guest, 
To  fare  so  freely,  with  so  little  cost, 
Than  stake  his  twelvepence  to  a  meaner  host. 
Hadst  thou  not  told  me,  I  should  surely  say 
He  touch'd  no  meat  of  all  this  livelong  day. 
For  sure,  methought,  yet  that  was  but  a  guess, 
His  eyes  seem  sunk  from  very  hollowness. 
But  could  he  have  (as  I  did  it  mistake) 
So  little  in  his  purse,  so  much  upon  his  back? 
So  nothing  in  his  maw  ?  yet  seemeth  by  his  belt 
That  his  gaunt  gut  no  too  much  stuffing  felt. 
Seest  thou  liow  side  it  hangs  beneath  his  hip  ? 
Hunger  and  heavy  iron  makes  girdles  slip. 
Yet,  for  all  that,  how  stiffly  struts  he  by. 
All  trapped  in  the  new-found  bravery. 
The  nuns  of  new-won  Cales  his  bonnet  lent. 
In  lieu  of  their  so  kind  a  conquerment. 


64  NOTES. 

What  needetli  lie  fetch  that  from  farthest  Spain, 

His  granilam  coukl  liave  lent  with  lesser  pain  ? 

Though  he,  perhaps,  ne'er  pass'd  the  English  shore, 

Yet  fain  would  counted  he  a  conqueror. 

His  hair,  Frenchlike,  stares  on  his  frighted  head. 

One  lock  Amazonlike  disheveled, 

As  if  he  meant  to  \\  ear  a  native  cord. 

If  chance  his  fates  should  him  that  hane  aflbrd. 

All  British  bare  upon  the  bristled  skin, 

Close  notched  is  his  beard  both  lip  and  chin ; 

His  linen  collar  labyrinthian  set. 

Whose  thousand  double  turnings  never  met : 

His  sleeves  have  hid  with  elbow-pinionings, 

As  if  he  meant  to  fly  with  linen  wings. 

But  when  I  look  and  cast  mine  eyes  below, 

What  monster  meets  mine  eyes  in  human  show  ? 

So  slender  waist  with  such  an  abbot's  loin. 

Did  never  sober  nature  sure  conjoin. 

Lik'st  a  strawne  scarecrow  in  the  new-sown  field, 

Rear'd  on  some  stick  the  tender  corn  to  shield. 

Or  if  that  semblance  suit  not  every  deal, 

Like  a  broad  shak-fork  with  a  slender  steale. 

Despised  nature  suit  them  once  aright, 

Their  body  to  their  coat,  both  now  misdight. 

Their  body  to  their  clothes  might  shapen  be. 

That  nill  their  clothes  shape  to  their  bodie. 

Meanwhile  I  wonder  at  so  proud  a  back. 

Whiles  th'  empty  guts  loud  rumblen  for  long  lack  : 

The  belly  envieth  the  back's  bright  glee, 

And  murmurs  at  such  inequality. 

The  back  appears  unto  the  partial  eyne, 

The  plaintive  belly  pleads  they  bribed  been  : 

And  he,  for  want  of  better  advocate, 

Doth  to  the  ear  his  injury  relate. 

The  back,  insulting  o'er  the  belly's  need, 

Says,  thou  thyself,  I  others'  eyes  must  feed. 

The  maw,  the  guts,  all  inward  parts  complain 

The  back's  great  pride  and  their  own  secret  pain. 

Ye  witless  gallants,  I  beshrew  your  hearts. 

That  sets  such  discord  'twixt  agreeing  parts. 

Which  never  can  be  set  at  onement  more, 

Until  the  maw's  wide  mouth  be  stopp'd  with  store." 


NOTES.  65 

P.  10,  1.  21, — "<//r  Black-friers  stage."  Tt  was  customary  for 
the  gallants  of  our  author's  time  to  be  allowed  seats  on 
the  stage  during  the  performance.  Ben  Jonson  in  his 
Devil  is  an  Ass,  acted  in  1(516,  thus  pointedly  touches 
their  demeanour : 

'  "  To  daj'  I  go  to  the  Blacklriars  playhouse, 

Sit  iu  the  view,  salute  all  my  ac(juaiutance, 
Rise  Tip  between  the  acts,  let  fall  my  cloak, 
Publish  a  handsome  man,  and  a  rich  suit ; 
And  that's  a  special  end  why  we  go  thither, 
All  that  pretend  to  stand  for't  on  the  stage  : 
The  ladies  ask,  who's  that  ?  for  they  do  come 
To  see  us,  as  we  do  to  see  them." 

Sir  John  Davies  in  one  of  his  Epigrams  (printed  in  1598) 
has  the  following  passage  : 

"  Rufus  the  courtier  at  the  theatre. 

Leaving  the  best  and  most  conspicuous  place, 
Doth  either  to  the  stage  himselfe  transferre, 

Or  through  a  grate  doth  shew  his  double  face  ; 
For  that  the  clamorous  fry  of  Innes  of  Court 

Fills  up  the  private  roomes  of  greater  price ; 
And  such  a  place,  where  all  may  have  resort, 

He  in  his  singularity  doth  despise." 

P.  11,1.  26, — "  yellow  band,"  i.e.  a  band  dyed  with  t/ellow 
starch,  which  was  once  very  fashionable,  and  is  said  to 
have  been  invented  by  Mrs.  Turner,  who  was  executed 
in  November  1615,  for  having  been  concerned  in  the 
murder  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbuiy,  and  wore  at  the  gallows 
a  niff  of  her  favourite  colour.  They  were  worn  as  late  as 
1621,  if  not  later. 

P.  13,  1.  4, — '■'■  (juarded  coate,"  i.e.  trimmed,  faced. 

P.  13,  1.  6, — "  cut  i'  tK  peahe."  The  different  fashions  of 
wearing  the  beard  are  the  constant  subjects  of  allusion 

F 


6Q  NOTES. 

Iiy  many  of  our  old  dramatists.  For  every  information 
upon  this  subject  see  Soijie  Account  of  the  Beard  and 
Moustaehio,  chiefly  from  the  Sixteenth  to  the  Eigh- 
teenth Century,  by  John  Adey  Repton,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

P.  13,  1.  17, — '■'■  frizled  periwig."  It  was  customary  with  the 
gallants  of  Button's  day  to  wear  curled  periwigs.  Sir 
John  Harington  has  an  epigram  "  on  Galla's  goodly 
periwigge  ;"  and  there  are  others  to  the  Periwigyians  in 
Hayman's  Quodlibets,  1628. 

P.  14, 1.  1, — "  Pickt-hatch."  A  notorious  haunt  of  the  worst 
characters  of  both  sexes.  It  is  said  to  have  been  in 
Turnmill  (commonly  called  Turnbull)  Street,  near 
Clerkenwell. 

P.  14,  1.  5, — "her  plume  of  feathers  on  her  fan."  The  fan 
of  our  ancestors  differed  considerable  from  those  of  the 
present  day.  It  had  a  round  handle  (frequently  of  silver) 
and  was  composed  of  feathers.  In  the  frontispiece  to 
the  comedy  of  Englishmen  for  my  Money,  1616,  is  a 
portrait  of  a  lady  with  one  of  these  fans. — See  Nares's 
Glossary  in  v.,  and  the  long  note  in  Boswell's  Shakespeare, 
vol.  viii.  p.  75. 

P.  15, 1.  6, — "  base  Shoreditch  smocks."  Shoreditch  was  one 
of  the  outskirts  of  the  town  where  the  stews  or  brothels 
abounded.  Thus  in  Sam.  Rowland's  Letting  of  Humours 
Blood  in  the  Head  Vaine,  1600, 

"  Some  coward  gull 
That  is  but  champion  to  a  Shoreditch  drah." 

And  Marston  in  the  fourth  satire  of  his  Scoiirge  of  Vil- 
lanie,  1599, 

"  He'll  cleanse  himselfe  to  Shoreditch  purity." 


NOTES.  67 

Shoreditcb,  Southwaik,  Westminster,  aiul  Turnbull- 
street,  Clerkenwell,  were  all  noted  places  of  the  same 
kind. 

P.  15,  1.  17, — "  with  Coriat  he  travell'd,"  (kc.  Thomas  Coryat, 
the  celebrated  traveller,  was  born  in  1577,  at  Odcombe, 
in  Somersetshire.  In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1008 
he  travelled  into  France,  Italy,  Gennany,  (kc.  and  on 
his  return  published  his  travels  under  the  following  title. 
Crudities  hastihj  gobled  up  in  Five  Months  Travel  in 
France^  Savoy,  Italy,  Rhetia,  Helvetia,  sotne  Parts  of 
High  Germany  and  the  Netherlands,  I^ond.  1611,  4to. 
He  afterwards  travelled  into  Constantinople,  Egypt, 
Jerusalem,  &c.  and  died  in  the  East  Indies  in  1617. 

P.  15,  1.  19,—"  Divelin,"  i.e.  Dublin. 

P.  17,  1.  12, — "  Birchin  lane"  in  the  seventeenth  centuiy  was 
chiefly  inhabited  by  mercers  and  woollendrapers.  Dekker, 
in  the  first  chapter  of  his  GuWs  Hom-booke,  1609,  ex- 
claims, "  Did  man,  think  you,  come  wiangling  into  the 
world  about  no  better  matters,  than  all  his  lifetime  to 
make  pri\'y  searches  in  Birchin  lane  for  whalebone 
doublets  ?"  In  the  old  comedy  of  the  London  Prodigal, 
1605,  Act  i.  sc.  1,  one  of  the  characters  says,  "Thou 
sayest  thou  hast  twenty  poimd  :  go  into  Birchin  lane,  put 
thyself  into  cloathes." 

P.  1 7,  1.  23, — "  Palace-garden^'  i.e.  Paris-garden,  a  noted 
place  for  bear-baiting,  near  the  Globe  Theatre  in  South- 
wark.  Sir  John  Davies,  in  one  of  his  Epigrams,  "  The 
Meditations  of  a  Gull,'  says, 

'■  Or  a  journey  be  deliberates 
To  Palis  garden,  cocke  pit,  or  tlie  play. " 


68  NOTES. 

And  in  another, 

"  Publius,  student  at  the  common  law, 
Oft  leaves  his  bookes,  and  for  his  recreation 
To  Paris-Garden  doth  himselfe  withdraw, 
Where  he  is  ravisht  with  such  delectation. 
As  downe  amongst  the  beai's  and  dogs  he  goes, 
Where,  whilst  he  skipping  cries,  to  head,  to  head. 
His  satten  doublet  and  his  velvet  hose. 
Are  all  with  spittle  from  above  be  spread. 
When  he  is  like  his  father's  country  stall. 
Stinking  with  dogges  and  muted  all  with  hawkes  ; 
And  rightly  too  on  him  this  filth  doth  fall, 
Which  for  such  filthy  sports  liis  bookes  forsakes, 
Leaving  old  Ploydon,  Dier,  and  Brooke  alone, 
To  see  old  Harry  Hunks  and  Sacarson." 

The  latter  were  the  njtmes  of  two  celebrated  bears. 

P.  17, 1.  29.—"  Goe  take  a  pipe  of  To.",  i.e.  tobacco.  "  The 
consumption  of  tobacco  in  theatres  is  mentioned  by  in- 
numerable authorities ;  but  it  should  seem  from  a  line  in 
the  epigrams  of  Sir  J.  Davies,  and  Christopher  Marlow 
printed  about  1598,  that  it  was  a  service  of  some  danger, 
and  generally  objected  to : 

'  He  dares  to  take  tobacco  on  the  stage ;' 

but  the  practice  veiy  soon  became  common,  for  two  years 
afterwards  one  of  the  boy-actors  in  the  induction  to 
Cynthia's  Re^jels,  imitating  a  gallant  supposed  to  l)c  sit- 
ting on  the  stage,  speaks  of  his  having  his  '  three  sorts  of 
tobacco  in  his  pocket,  and  his  light  by  him ;'  and  in  the 
Scornful  Lady,  1616,  Captains  of  Gallyfoists  are  ridi- 
culed, who  only  '  wear  swords  to  reach  fire  at  the  play,' 
for  the  pm*pose  of  lighting  their  pipes."  Tobacco  wa^ 
even  sold  at  the  playhouse,  and  in  Bartholonmv  Fair, 
1614,  Ben  Jonson  talks  of  those  who   '  accommodate 


NOTES.  69 

gentlemen  with  tobacco  at  our  theatres.'  In  1602,  when 
Deleter  printed  his  Satiromastix,  ladies  sometimes 
smoked.  Asinius  Bubo,  offering  his,  pipe,  observes: — 
' 'Tis  at  your  senice,  gallants,  and  the  tobacco  too ;  'tis 
right  pudding,  I  can  tell  you  :  a  lady  or  two  took  a  pipe 
full  or  two  at  my  hands,  and  praised  it  'fore  the  heavens.' 
Piynne  states  that  in  his  time,  instead  of  apples,  ladies 
were  sometimes  '  offered  the  tobacco  pipe'  at  plays." — 
Vide  Collier's  History  of  Dramatic  Poetry,  iii.  415-G 

P.  19, 1.  2, — "  sing  Fortune's  my  foe."  See  my  note  to  the 
Percy  Society's  reprint  of  Chettle's  Kind  Harts  Dreame. 

P.  20,  1.  26, — "  Jack  a  Lent."  An  allusion  to  one  of  the 
multitudinous  skits  of  John  Taylor  the  water-poet.  It.^ 
title  is  as  follows  :  Jack-a-Lent,  his  Beyinniny  and  En- 
tertainment, u-ith  the  Mad  Pranks  of  his  Gentleman 
Usher  Shrove  Tuesday^  that  goes  befirre  him  ;  and  his 
Footman  Hunger  attending,  n.d.  4to. 

P.  21,  1.  10,—  "  Heel  jien  a  piihie  tractate  of  A-jax."  Allud- 
ing to  Sir  John  Harington's  Metamorphosis  of  Aja.r 
(a  Jakes),  published  in  1590.  This  veiy  laughable,  but 
indelicate  piece  of  pleasantry,  occasioned  such  displeasure 
in  the  royal  circle,  that  the  author  was  forbid  the  court 
for  writing  it.     Vide  Nugte  Antiqua,  i.  12. 

P.  22,  1.  22, — "  cloakehayge  breeches."  This  alludes  to  the 
ridicidous  fashion  of  wearing  trunk  hose,  as  the  prepos- 
terous, round,  swelling  breeches  then  in  fashion  were 
called.  They  are  ridiculed  in  the  following  passage  of 
Wright's  Passions  of  the  Minde,  IHOl  :  "Sometimes  I 
have  seene  Tarletou  play  the  clowne,  and  use  no  other 
breeches  than  such  sloppes  or  slivings  as  now  many  gen- 


70  NOTES. 

tlemen  weare ;  they  are  almost  capable  of  a  bushel  of 
wheate,  and  if  they  be  of  sacke-cloth  they  would  serve  to 
Carrie  mawlt  to  the  mill.  This  absm'd,  clownish,  and 
unseemly  attire  only  by  custome  now  is  not  misliked,  but 
rather  approved." 

P.  22, 1.  22, — "  yellow  bands."   See  the  previous  note  at  p.  65. 

P.  40. — "  In  Lcsbiam.  Epi.  34."  This  epigram,  from  Mar- 
tial, has  been  very  similarly  rendered  by  Harington  and 
by  Prior. 


P.l>  11  \   ,DS,  PRINTEK,  ST.  MARTIN  S  LANE. 


POEMS* 
BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 


Pormi$ 


SIR    HENRY    WOTTON 


EDITED  Bit 


THE  REV.  ALEXANDER  DYCE. 


LONDON : 
PRINTED  FOR  THE  PERCY  SOCIETY 


M.nccc.xijn. 


COUNCIL 

OF 

President. 
The  Rt.  Hon.  LORD  BRAYBROOKE,  F.S.A. 

THOMAS  AMYOT,  Esq.  F.RS,  Treas.  S  A. 

WILLIAM  HENRY  BLACK,  Esq. 

J.  A.  CAHUSAC,   Esq.  F.S.A. 

WILLIAM  CHAPPELL,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  Treasurer. 

J.  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

T.  CROFTON  CROKER,  Esq.  FS.A.,  M.K.l.A. 

PETER  CUNNINGHAM,  Es-^. 

REV.  ALEXANDER  DYCE. 

WILLIAM  JERDAN,  Esq.  F.«A.,  M.R.S.L. 

SIR  FREDERICK  MADDEN,  K.H.,  F.R.S.,  F.S.A. 

T.  J.  PETTIGREW,  Esq.  F.R  S.,  F.S  A. 

E.  F.  RIMBAULT,  Esq.  F.S.A.  Secretary. 

WILLIAM  .1.  THOMS,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

JAMES  WALSH,  Esq    F.S.A. 

THOMAS  WRIGHT,   Esq.  M.A.,  F.S  A. 


PREFACE. 


The  following  poems,  in  some  of  which  there  is 
great  beauty  both  of  thought  and  expression,  are 
now  reprinted  from  the  Beliquiw  Wottonianw,\Qb\ ^ 
the  text  of  that  volume  having  been  adhered 
to,  except  in  two  or  three  places  where  the  reasons 
for  rejecting  it  are  obvious :  the  order  of  the 
pieces,  however,  has  been  altered. 

Before  his  twentieth  year,  and  while  resident 
at  Queen's  College,  Oxford,  Sir  Henry  Wotton 
composed,  at  the  desire  and  for  the  private  use 
of  that  society,  a  tragedy  called  Tancredo^  which 
doubtless  was  never  given  to  the  press,  and  has 
in  all  probability  perished. 

The  celebrated  copy  of  verses  beginning  "  The 
world 's  a  bubble""  has  been  attributed  by  Farnaby 
and  others  to  Wotton, — on  what  authority,  does 
not  appear :  in  the  Reliquiw  Wottoniance  it  forms 
one  of  the  "  Poems  found  among  the  papers  of 
Sir  Henrv   Wotton,'"  and  in  ed.   1651   of  that 


work  is  signed  '■'•  Ignoto''\  while  in  ed.  1672  it  has 
the  signature  "  Fra.  Lord  Bacon.'''' 

On  the  paper  which  contains  Ben  Jonson's 
transcript  of  Sir  Henry's  Character  of  a  happy 
Life  (see  note,  p.  5),  and  also  in  the  handwriting 
of  Jonson,  Mr.  Collier  found  a  translation  of  one 
of  MartiaPs  epigrams,  which  he  has  printed  in 
the  Memoirs  of  E.  Alley n,  p.  54,  and  which  he 
conjectures  may  have  been  by  Wotton. 

An  account  of  the  author  of  the  following 
poems  will  not  be  expected  here,  as  the  particulars 
of  his  life  have  been  rendered  familiar  to  every 
reader  by  the  fascinating  narrative  of  Walton. 

For  the  use  of  the  two  musical  works  mentioned 
in  a  note,  p.  10,  the  editor  is  indebted  to  the 
kindness  of  Mr.  E.  F.  Rimbault. 

A.  D. 


POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  \YOTTON, 


A  POEM  WRITTEN  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON  IN  HIS 
YOUTH.* 

O  FAITHLESS  world,  and  thy  mostf  faithless  part, 

A  Avoman's  heart ! 
The  true  shop  of  variety,  where  sits 

Nothing  but  fits 
And  feavers  of  desire,  and  pangs  of  love, 

Which  toyes  remove. 
Why  was  she  born  to  please  ?  or  I  to  trust 

Words  writ  in  dust, 
Suffering  her  eys|  to  govern  my  desjiair, 

My  pain  for  air, 


*  A  poem  written  by  Sir  Henry  WoUon  in  his  youtli^  Was 
printed,  under  the  title  of  " An  Elegy  of  a  tvoman's  heart"  in 
Da^dson's  Poetical  Rlmpsodie,  1602.  A  copy  of  it,  \nth  some 
variations,  occurs  in  a  volume  of  MS.  poetry,  which  was  col- 
lected by  Sir  Roger  Twysden,  and  is  now  in  the  possession  of 
Mr.  Rodd,  the  bookseller. 

f  most']  So  Poet.  Rhap.  and  3IS.  Twys. — Rel.  Wot.  "  more.'' 

X  eys]   MS.  Twys.,  "  lookes." 

B 


2      POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

And  fruit  of  time  rewarded  with  untruth, 

The  food  of  youth  ? 
Untrue  she  was  ;  yet  I  beleev'd  her  eys 

(Instructed  spies), 
Till  I  was  taught  that  love  was  but  a  scool 

To  breed  a  fool.* 
Or  sought  she  more,  byf  triumphs  of  deniall. 

To  make|  a  triall 
How  far  her  smiles  commanded  on§  my  weakness  ? 

Yeild,  and  confess ; 
Excuse  no  more  thy  folly,  but,  for  cure,|| 

Blush,  and  indure 
As  well  thy  shame  as  passions  that  were  vain ; 

And  think  'tis^  gain, 
To  know  that  love  lodg'd  in  a  woman's  brest 

Is  but  a  guest. 

*   To  breed  a  fooQ   Is  followed  in  MS.  Twys.  by 

'*  Or  was  it  absence  that  did  make  her  strainge, 
Base  flowre  of  [change  ?]?" 

f  hy']  Poet.  Rhap.  and  3IS.  Twys.,  "  than." 
f  make']  Poet.  Rhap.  and  MS.  Twys.,  "  see." 
§  on]  Found  only  in  MS.  Twys. 

II  Excuse  no   more  thy  folly,  hut,  for  cure]  Poet.  Rhap.  an 
MS.  Twys., 

"  Excuse  not  now  thy  folly,  nor  lier  nature." 

f  'tis]    Poet.  Rhap.  and  MS.  Twys.,  "thy." 


POEMS    BY    SIR    HENRY    WOTTON. 


SIR    HENRY     WOTTON     AND    SERJEANT     HOSKINS 
RIDING  ON  THE  WAY.* 

Hos.      Noble,  lovely,  vertuous  creature, 
Purposely  so  fram'd  by  nature 
To  enthrall  your  servant's  wits. 
Wot.     Time  must  now  unite  our  hearts, 
Not  for  any  my  deserts, 

But  because,  methinks,  it  fits. 
Hos.      Dearest  treasure  of  my  thought. 
And  yet  wert  thou  to  be  bought 
With  my  life,  thou  wert  not  dear. 


*  Sir  Henry  Wottoti  and  Serjeant  Hoskins  riding  on  the  way'\ 
John  Hoskins  was  made  serjcant  at  law  in  the  21  of  Jac.  I. 
{Ath.  Oxon.  ii.  626.  ed.  Bliss)  :  but  we  may  suppose  that  this 
dialogue  was  written  long  before  that  date.  In  the  account 
of  Hoskins  and  his  works,  Wood  {uhi  supra)  informs  us,  "  He 
was  the  most  ingenious  and  admii-ed  poet  of  his  time  [!],  and 
therefore  much  courted  by  the  ingenious  men  then  living.  .  . 
. .  ,'Twas  he  that  polish'd  Ben  Johnson  the  poet  and  made  him 
speak  clean  [!],  whereupon  he  ever  after  called  our  author 
father  Hosk}Tis,"  &c.  See  also  Chalmers's  Biog.  Diet.,  and 
Mr.  Bolton  Corney's  Cur.  of  Lit.  Illuatrated,  Art.  ix.  He  died 
in  1638.  Of  his  poetry,  very  little  has  been  printed  :  the 
following  lines  are  found  in  the  Reliquia:  Wottonianee,  ed.  1672  ; 

"  John  Hoskins  to  his  little  child  Benjamin  from  the  Tower. 

Sweet  Benjamin,  since  thou  art  young, 
And  hast  not  yet  the  use  of  tongue, 
Malie  it  thy  slave,  while  thou  art  free, 
Imprison  it,  lest  it  do  thee. " 

Hoskins  was  sent  to  the  Tower  in  1614,  for  having  made  in  one 
of  his  speeches,  while  member  of  parliament,  what  Wood  calls 
"  a  desperate  allusion  to  the  Sicilian  Vesper." 

b2 


4       POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

Wot.     Secret  comfort  of  my  mind, 
Doubt  no  longer  to  be  kind, 
But  be  so,  and  so  appear. 
Hos.      Grive  me  love  for  love  again  ; 

Let  our  loves  be  clear  and  plain, — 
Heaven  is  fairest  when  'tis  clearest. 
fVot.     Lest  in  clouds  and  in  differring 
We  resemble  seamen  erring, 

Farthest  off  when  we  are  nearest. 
Hos.      Thus,  with  numbers  interchanged, 

Wotton's  Muse  and  mine  have  ranged : 
Verse  and  journey  both  are  spent. 
fVot.     And  if  Hoskins  chance  to  say 

That  we  well  have  spent  the  day, 
I,  for  my  part,  am  content. 


TO  A  NOBLE  FRIEND  IN  HIS  SICKNESS. 

Untimely  feaver,  rude  insulting  guest, 

How  didst  thou  with  such  unharmonious  heat 

Dare  to  distune  his  well-composed  rest, 

Whose  heart  so  just  and  noble  stroaks  did  beat? 

What  if  his  youth  and  spirits  wel  may  beare 

More  thick  assaults  and  stronger  siege  then  this? 

We  measure  not  his  courage,  but  our  fear. 

Not  what  ourselves,  but  what  the  times  may  miss. 


POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.       0 

Had  not  that  bloutl,  which  thrice  his  veines  did  yeild, 
Been  better  treasur'd  for  some  glorious  day, 

At  farthest  west  to  paint  the  liquid  field, 

And  with  new  worlds  his  master's  love  to  pay  ? 

But  let  those  thoughts,  sweet  lord,  repose  a  while. 
Tend  only  now  thy  vigour  to  regain  : 

And  pardon  these  poor  rimes,  that  would  beguile 
With  mine  own  grief  some  portion  of  thy  pain. 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  A  HAPPY  LIFE.* 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught, 
That  serveth  not  another's  will ; 


*  The  character  of  a  happy  life'\  Mr.  Collier  (^Memoirs  of  E. 
Allei/n,  p.  53.)  has  printed  these  verses  from  a  copy  in  Ben 
Jonson's  hand-Avriting  foimd  among  the  MSS.  at  Dulwich 
College,  which  diifers  considerably  from  that  in  the  Reliquia 
Wottoniana. 

"  Sir  Edward  [Henry]  Wotton's  verses  of  a  happie  lyfe  he 
[Jonson]  hath  by  heart."  B.  Jonson's  Conversations  with  W. 
Drummond,  &c.  p.  8,  Shakespeare  Soc.  ed.  Jonson's  visit 
at  Hawthornden  was  a  short  time  previous  to  the  17th  Jan. 
1619  ;  and  it  appears  that  these  verses  were  composed  several 
years  anterior  to  that  period,  as  Mr.  Collier  also  found 
among  the  Dulwich  MSS.  a  portion  of  the  first  stanza  in 
Alleyn's  hand-writing,  upon  a  scrap  of  paper,  on  the  back,  of 
which  is  a  memorandum  dated  1616.  Memoirs  of  E.  Alleyn, 
p.  54. 


6  POEMS   BY   SIR    HENRY    AVOTTON. 

Whose  armour  is  his  honest  thought, 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill  ;* 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are ; 

Whose  soul  is  still  prepar'd  for  death, 
Untide  unto  the  world  by  caref 

Of  publick  fame  or  private  breath  ; 

Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise,  | 
Nor  vice  ;  hath  ever  understood 

How  deepest  wounds  are  given  by  praise, 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good ; 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumors§  freed ; 

Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat ; 
Whose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed. 

Nor  mine  make  oppressors!  great ; 

*  And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skiWj  US.  Jon., 

"  And  silly  truth  his  highest  slcill." 

f   Untide  utito  the  world  by  care,  &c.]   MS.  Jon., 

"  Untied  to  the  ivorld  with  care 

Of  princes  grace  or  vulgar  breath." 

J    Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise,   &c.]    3IS.   Jon., 
where  this  stanza  is  the  fourth, 

"  Who  envieth  none  whome  chance  doth  rayse. 

Or  vice ;  who  never  understood 
How  swordes  give  sleighter  wounds  than  prayse"  &c. 

§  rumois']   MS.  Jon.,  where  this  stanza  is  the  third,  "  hu- 
mors." 

II  oppressors']  MS.  Jon.,  "  accusers." 


POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray, 
More  of  his  grace  then  gifts  to  lend, 

And  entertaines  the  harmless  day 
With  a  religious*  book  or  friend  ! 

This  man  is  freedf  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  rise  or  feare  to  fall ; 

Lord  of  himselfe,  though  not  of  lands, 
And  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 


THIS    HTMN|    was     made    BY    SIR   H,   WOTTON    WHEN 

HE  WAS    AN  AMBASSADOUR  AT  VENICE,   IN  THE 

TIME  OF  A  GREAT  SICKNESS  THERE. 

Eternall  mover,  whose  diffused  glory. 

To  shew  our  grovelling  reason  what  thou  art. 

Unfolds  itself  in  clouds  of  nature's  story, 

Where  man,  thy  proudest  creature,  acts  his  part, 

AVhom  yet,  alas  !  I  know  not  why,  we  call 

The  world's  contracted  sum,  the  little  all ; 


*  religioui]  MS.  Jon.,  "  well-chosen." 

t  freed']  3IS.  Jon.,  "  free." 

J  This  hymn,  &c.]  Of  uncertain  date,  as  Wotton  passed 
many  yeai's  at  Venice,  having  been  thrice  ambassador  to  that 
republic  :  according  to  Walton,  he  went  there  for  the  first  time 
"  about  the  year  1604." 


8      POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

For  what  are  we  but  lumps  of  walking  clay  ? 

Why  should  we  swel  ?  whence  should  our  spirits 
rise  ? 
Are  not  bruit  beasts  as  strong,  and  birds  as  gay, 

Trees  longer  liv'd,  and  creeping  things  as  wise  ? 
Only  our  souls  was  left  an  inward  light. 
To  feel  our  weaknes,  and  confess  thy  might. 

Thou,  then,  our  strength,  father  of  life  and  death, 
To  whom  our  thanks,  our  vows,  ourselves  we  ow, 

From  me,  thy  tenant  of  this  fading  breath. 

Accept  those  lines  which  from  thy  goodnes  flow  ; 

And  thou,  that  wert  thy  regal  prophet's  Muse, 

Do  not  thy  praise  in  weaker  strains  refuse. 

Let  these  poor  notes  ascend  unto  thy  throne. 
Where  majesty  doth  sit,  with  mercy  crown'd. 

Where  my  redeemer  lives,  in  whom  alone 

The  errours  of  my  wandring  life  are  drown'd, 

Where  all  the  quire  of  heav'n  resound  the  same, 

That  only  thine,  thine  is  the  saving  name. 

Well,  then,  my  soul,  joy  in  the  midst  of  pain  ; 

Thy  Christ,  that  conquer'd  hell,  shall  from  above 
With  greater  triumph  yet  return  again, 

And  conquer  his  own  justice  with  his  love. 
Commanding  earth  and  seas  to  render  those 
Unto  his  blisse,  for  whom  he  paid  his  woes. 

Now  have  I  done,  now  are  my  thoughts  at  peace, 
And  now  my  joyes  are  stronger  then  my  griefe  ; 


POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

I  foel  those  comforts  tliat  shall  never  cease, 

Future  in  hope,  but  present  in  beliefe: 
Thy  words  are  true,  thy  promises  are  just. 
And  thou  wilt  find  thy  dearly-bought  in  dust. 


UPON    THE    SUDDEN    RESTRAINT    OF    THE    EARLE    OF 
SOMERSET,  THEN  FALLING  FROM  FAVOR.* 

Dazel'd  thus  with  height  of  place. 
Whilst  our  hopes  our  wits  beguile, 

No  man  markes  the  narrow  space 
'Twixt  a  prison  and  a  smile. 

Then,  since  Fortune's  favours  fade, 
You  that  in  her  armes  doe  sleep, 

Learne  to  swim,  and  not  to  wade. 
For  the  hearts  of  kings  are  deepe. 

But  if  greatness  be  so  blind 

As  to  trust  in  towers  of  aire. 
Let  it  be  with  goodness  lin'd, 

That  at  least  the  fall  be  faire. 


*  Upon  the  sudden  restraint  of  the  Earh  of  Somerset,  &c.] 
The  murder  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury  having  been  discovered, 
Somerset  was  arrested  in  his  own  house,  Oct.  I8th,  1615  (his 
countess  being  secured  at  the  same  time),  and  sent  to  the 
deanery  of  Westminster.  See  Carte's  Hist,  of  Englayid,  vol. 
iv.  32. 


10     POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

Then,  though  darkned,  you  shall  say, 
When  friends  faile,  and  princes  frowne, 

Vertue  is  the  roughest  way, 

But  proves  at  night  a  bed  of  downe. 


ON  HIS  MISTRIS,  THE  QUEEN  OF  BOHEMIA.* 

You  meaner  beauties  of  the  night, 
That  poorly  satisfie  our  eiesf 


*  On  his  mistris,  the  Queen  of  Bohemia]  "  On  that  amiable 
princess,  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  James  I.  and  wife  of  the 
Elector  Palatine,  who  was  chosen  Iving  of  Bohemia,  Sept,  5, 
1619.  The  consequences  of  this  fatal  election  are  well  known : 
Sir  Henry  Wotton,  who  in  that  and  the  following  year  was 
employed  in  several  embassies  in  Germany  on  behalf  of  this 
imfortunate  lady,  seems  to  have  had  an  uncommon  attachment 
to  her  merit  and  fortunes,  for  he  gave  away  a  jewel  worth  a 
thousand  pounds,  that  was  presented  to  him  by  the  Emperor, 
'  because  it  came  from  an  enemy  to  his  royal  mistress  the 
Queen  of  Bohemia.'  "  ["  for  so,"  says  Walton  in  The  Life  of 
Wotton, "  she  was  pleased  he  should  always  call  her."] — Percy. 

This  poem,  with  several  variations,  is  printed  in  The  Sixt 
Set  of  Bookes,  Wherein  are  Anthemes  for  Versus  and  Chorus  of 
5.  and  6.  Parts;  apt  for  Violls  and  Voyces :  Newly  composed  by 
Afichaell  Est,  Batchelar  of  3Iusicke,  and  blaster  of  the  Choristers 
of  the  Cathedrall  Cliurch  in  Litchfield.,  London,  1624  :  it  is  foimd 
also,  much  altered  for  the  worse  and  with  a  wretched  Second 
Part,  in  So?igs  and  Fancies,  &c.  Aberdeen,  1682  :  and  in  the 
sec.  voL  of  Percy's  Bel.  of  An.  Eng.  Poet.,  it  is  given  from  the 
Beliquice  Wottoniana,  with  some  corrections  from  an  old  MS. 
copy. 

f  our  e?es]   Est's  Sixt  Set,  "  mens  eyes." 


POEMS   BY   SIR   HENRY    WOTTON.  11 

More  by*  your  number  then  your  light, 
You  common-people  of  the  skies, 
What  are  you  when  the  moonf  shall  rise  ? 

You  curious  chanters  of  the  wood,| 

That  warble  forth  dame  Nature's  layes, 

Tliinking  your  passions§  understood 

By  your  weake  ||  accents,  what's  your  praise 
When  Philomell  her  voyce  shal^  raise  ? 

You  violets  that**  first  apeare. 

By  your  pure  purpel  mantels  knowne,|f 

Like  the  proud  virgins  of  the  yeare, 
As  if  the  spring  were  all  your  own, 
Wliat  are  you  when  the  rose  is  blowne  ? 


*  hi/1  Est's  Sixt  Set,  "  with." 

f  moon'\  So  Est's  SLvt  Set,  and  Percy's  Bel. — Bel.  Wot. 
"  sun." 

J  You  curious  chanters  of  the  wood,  &c.]  Est's  SLvt  Set 
(where,  as  also  in  Percy's  Bel,  this  stanza  is  the  third), 

"  You  wandring  chanters  of  the  wood, 

Who  fill  the  eares  with  natures  lays." 

§  passions']  So  Percy's  Bel.,  and  Est's  Sixt  Set.— Bel.  Wot. 
"  voyces." 

II  your  weake]  Est's   Sixt  Set,  "  weaker." 

^  shal]  Est's  Sixt  Set,  "  doth." 

**  that]  Est's  Si.rt  Set  (where,  as  also  in  Percy's  Bel.,  this 
stanza  is  the  second),  "  which." 

f"f   By  your  pure  purpel  mantels  knowne,  See]   ^st's  Sixt  Set, 

"By  those  your  purple  mantles  known. 
Much  like  proud,"  &c. 


12  POEMS   BY   SIR   HENRY    WOTTON. 

So  when  my  mistris*  shal  be  seene 
In  form  and  beauty  of  her  mind,f 

By  vertue  first,  then  choyce,  a  queen, 
Tell  me,:l:  if  she  were§  not  design'd 
Th'  eclypse  and  glory  of  her  kind  ? 


TEAKS    AT    THE     GRAVE   OF    SIR    ALBERTUS    MORTON 

(who  was    BURIED    AT  SOUTHAMPTON)  WEPT 

BY  SIR  H.  WOTTON. II 

Silence,  in  truth,  would  speak  my  sorrow  best, 
For  deepest  wounds  can  least  their  feelings  tel ; 

Yet  let  me  borrow  from  mine  own  unrest 
But  time  to  bid  him,  whom  I  lov'd,  farwel. 


*  mistrisl  Est's   Sixt  Set,  "  princesse." 

f  In  form  and  beauty  of  her  mind~\  Percy's  Rel., 

"  In  sweetnesse  of  her  looks  and  minde." 

J  Tell  me]  Est's  S!xt  Set,  "  O  tell." 

§  loere']  Percy's  Rel.,  "  was." 

II  Tears  at  the  grave  of  Sir  Alberttis  Morton,  &c.]  Sir  Al- 
bertus  Morton  was  nephew  to  Wotton  ;  and  had  acted  as 
his  secretary  at  Venice.  He  was  knighted  in  1617.  At  the 
time  of  his  decease,  he  was  one  of  the  secretaries  of  state. 
In  a  letter  to  Nicholas  Pey,  Sir  Henry  notices  "  Sir  Albertus 
Morton  his  departure  out  of  this  world,  who  was  dearer  unto 
me  then  mine  owne  being  in  it."  Rel.  Wot.  p.  507,  ed.  1651, 
where  that  letter  stands  without  a  date  :  in  ed.  1672  it  is  dated 
1626.  According  to  Wood,  the  death  of  Sir  Albertus  took 
place  Nov.  1625.  Ath.  Ox.  vol.  ii.  524.  ed.  Bliss.  I  have  read 
some  verses  by  Sir  Albertus  in  a  MS.  collection  of  poems. 


POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.     13 

0  my  unhappy  lines  !  you  that  before 

Have  serv'd  my  youth  to  vent  some  wanton  cries, 
And  now,  congeal'd  with  grief,  can  scarce  implore 

Strength  to  accent, — here  my  Albertus  lies. 

This  is  the  sable  stone,  this  is  the  cave, 

And  womb  of  earth  that  doth  his  corps  imbrace : 

Wliile  others  sing  liis  praise,  let  me  engrave 
These  bleeding  numbers  to  adorn  the  place. 

Here  will  I  paint  the  characters  of  woe. 
Here  will  I  pay  my  tribute  to  the  dead. 

And  here  my  faithfuU  tears  in  showrs  shal  flow 
To  humanize  the  flints  whei'eon*  I  tread. 

Where,  though  I  mourn  my  matclilesse  losse  alone, 
And  none  between  my  weaknesse  judge  and  me, 

Yet  even  these  gentlef  walles  allow  my  mone, 
Whose  doleful  echoes  to  my  plaints  agree. 

But  is  he  gon  ?  and  live  I  ryming  here. 
As  if  some  Muse  would  listen  to  my  lay, 

When  all  distun'd  sit  wailing|  for  their  dear. 

And  bathe  the  banks  where  he  was  wont  to  play  ? 


*  tvhero7i']  Walton's  Life  of  TV.,  "  on  which.' 
f  gentle']  Ibid.,  "pensive." 
%  icaiUng]  Eds.  "  waiting." 


14     POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

Dwell  tliou  in  endlesse  light,  discharged  soul,* 
Freed  now  from  nature's  and  from  Fortune's  trust; 

While  on  this  fluent  globe  my  glasse  shall  role, 
And  run  the  rest  of  my  remaining  dust. 


UPON  THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  ALBERTUS  MORTON  S  WIFE. 

He  first  deceas'd ;  she  for  a  little  tri'd 
To  live  without  him,  lik'd  it  not,  and  di'd. 


A    SHORT    HYMN     UPON    THE    BIRTH    OF     PRINCE 
CHARLES.f 

You  that  on  starres  do  looke, 

Ai'rest  not  there  your  sight, 
Though  Nature's  fairest  book, 

And  signed  with  propitious  light ; 


*  Dwell  thou  in  endlesse  light,  discharged  soul,  &c.]  Walton's 
Life  of  W., 

"  Dwell  then  in  endless  bliss  with  happy  souls, 
Discharg'd  frotn  natures  and  from  Fortune's  trust, 

Whilst  011  this  fluid  globe  my  hour  glass  rowls, 
And  runs  the  rest  of  my  remaining  dust." 

•j"  A  short  hymn  upon  the  birth  of  Prince  Charles^  Afterwards 
Charles  the  Second.  He  was  born  29th  May  1630,  on  which 
day  there  was  an  eclipse  of  the  moon,  and,  we  are  told,  a  star 
visible  about  noon.  Jonson  and  Corbet  composed  verses  on 
the  same  occasion. 


POEMS   BY   SIR   HENRY    WOTTON.  15 

Our  blessing  now  is  more  divine 
Then  planets  that  at  noone  did  shine. 

To  thee  alone  be  praise, 

From  whom  our  joy  descends, 
Thou  cheerer  of  our  days, 

Of  causes  first,  and  last  of  ends  ; 
To  thee  this  May  we  sing,  by  whom 
Our  roses  from  the  lihes  bloom. 

Upon  this  royal  flower, 

Sprung  from  the  chastest*  bed. 
Thy  glorious  sweetness  shower  ; 

And  first  let  myrtles  crowne  his  head. 
Then  palms  and  lawrels  wreath'd  betweene, 
But  let  the  cypresse  late  be  seen. 

And  so  succeeding  men. 

When  they  the  fulness  see 
Of  this  OMT  joy,  shall  then 

In  consort  joyn,  as  well  as  wee, 
To  celebrate  his  praise  above, 
That  spreds  our  land  with  fruits  of  love. 

*  chastest^  So  Rel.  Wot.  ed.  1672.— First  eel.  "chastesse." 


16  POEMS    BY    SIR   HENRY    WOTTON. 


AN    ODE    TO    THE    KING,*    AT    HIS    RETURNING    FROM 
SCOTLAND  TO  THE  QUEEN,   AFTER   HIS  CORONA- 
TION THERE. 

Rouse  up  thyselfe,  my  gentle  Muse, 

Though  now  our  green  conceip[t]s  be  gray, 

And  yet  once  more  doe  not  refuse 

To  take  thy  Phrygian  harpe,  and  ploy 
In  honour  of  this  cheereful  day. 

Make  first  a  song  of  joy  and  love, 
Which  chastely  flame  in  royal  eies. 

Then  tune  it  to  the  spheres  above. 
When  the  benignest  stares  doe  rise, 
And  sweet  conjunctions  grace  the  skies. 

To  this  let  all  good  hearts  resound, 

While  diadems  invest  his  head ; 
Long  may  he  live  whose  life  doth  bound 

More  then  his  lawes,  and  better  lead 

By  high  example  then  by  dread  ! 

Long  may  he  round  about  him  see 

His  roses  and  his  lilies  bloom ; 
Long  may  his  only  dear  and  hee 

Joy  in  ideas  of  their  own 

And  kingdomes  hopes  so  timely  sown  ; 

Long  may  they  both  contend  to  prove 

That  best  of  crownes  is  such  a  love  ! 

*  An  ode  to  the  King,  &c.]  Charles  the  First  visited  Scotland, 
and  was  crowned  there,  in  1633. 


POEMS    BY    SIR    HENRY    WOTTON.  17 


ON    A    BANCK     AS   I     SATE    A-FISHING  ;*    A 
DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  SPRING. 

And  now  all  nature  seem'd  in  love  : 

The  lusty  sap  began  to  move ; 

New  juice  did  stirre  tli'  embracing  vines, 

And  birds  had  drawne  their  valentines. 

The  jealous  trout,  that  low  did  lie, 

Rose  at  a  wel-dissembled  flie : 

There  stood  my  friend,  with  patient  skill 

Attending  of  his  trembling  quill. 

Already  were  the  eaves  possest 

With  the  swift  pilgrim's  daubed  nest ; 

The  groves  already  did  rejoyce 

In  Philomel's  triumphing  voyce. 

The  showers  were  short,  the  vveather  mild, 

The  morning  fresh,  the  evening  smil'd. 

Jone  takes  her  neat-rub'd  paile,  and  now 

She  trips  to  milk  the  sand-red  cow, 


*  On  a  banck  as  I  sate  a-Jishing,  &c.]  Was  probably  composed 
by  Wotton  during  his  later  years  ;  for  Walton,  in  The  Life  of 
Sir  Henry,  describing  "  the  employment  of  his  time"  after  he 
became  Provost  of  Eton  College,  says,  "  Nor  did  he  forget 
his  innate  pleasure  of  angling,  which  he  would  usually  call 
his  idle  time,  not  idly  spent,  saying  often,  he  would  rather  hve 
five  May  months  than  forty  Decembers  ;"  and  in  the  Epistle 
Dedicatory  before  The  Complete  Angler  he  observes,  "I  re- 
member Sir  Henry  Wotton  (a  dear  lover  of  this  art)  has  told 
nie  that  his  intentions  were  to  write  a  discourse  of  the  art 
and  in  praise  of  angling,  and  doubtless  he  had  done  so,  if 
death  had  not  prevented  him.'" 

B 


18     POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON, 

Where  for  some  sturdy  foot-ball  swaine 
Jone  strokes  a  sillibub  or  twaine. 
The  fields  and  gardens  were  beset 
With  tulip,  crocus,  violet ; 
And  now,  though  late,  the  modest  rose 
Did  more  then  halfe  a  blush  disclose. 
Thus  all  look't  gay,  all  full  of  chear, 
To  welcome  the  new-liveri'd  yeare. 


A    TRANSLATION    OF    THE    CIV.    PSALM    TO    THE 
ORIGINALL  SENSE. 

My  soul,  exalt  the  Lord  with  hymns  of  praise : 
O  Lord,  my  God,  how  boundless  is  thy  might ! 

Whose  throne  of  state  is  cloth'd  with  glorious  raies. 
And  round  about  hast  roab'd  thyself  with  light ; 

Who  like  a  curtain  hast  the  heavens  displaid. 

And  in  the  watery  roofs  thy  chambers  laid ; 

Whose  chariots  are  the  thickned  clouds  above. 
Who  walk'st  upon  the  winged  winds  below  ; 

At  whose  command  the  airie  spirits  move, 
And  fiery  meteors  their  obedience  show  ; 

Who  on  his  base  the  earth  didst  firmly  found, 

And  mad'st  the  deep  to  circumvest  it  round. 

The  waves  that  rise  would  droAvn  the  highest  hill, 
But  at  thy  check  they  flie,  and  Avhen  they  hear 


POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.      19 

Thy  tliundring  voice,  they  post  to  do  thy  will, 

And  bound  tlieir  furies  in  their  proper  sphere, 
Where  surging  flouds  and  valing  ebs  can  tel 
That  none  beyond  thy  marks  must  sink  or  swel. 

"WTio  hath  dispos'd  but  thou  the  winding  way 

Where  springs  down  from  the  steepy  crags  do  beat? 

At  which  both  foster'd  beasts  their  thirsts  alay, 
And  the  Avild  asses  come  to  quench  their  heat ; 

Where  birds  resort,  and,  in  their  kind,  thy  praise 

Among  the  branches  chant  in  warbling  laies. 

The  mounts  are  watered  from  thy  dwelling-place ; 

The  barns  and  meads  are  fiU'd  for  man  and  beast ; 
Wine  glads  the  heart,  and  oyl  adorns  the  face, 

And  bread  the  staiFe  whereon  our  strength  doth  rest; 
Nor  shrubs  alone  feel  thy  suffizing  hand, 
But  even  the  cedars  that  so  proudly  stand. 

So  have  the  fowls  their  sundry  seats  to  breed, 
The  ranging  stork  in  stately  beeches  dwels ; 

The  climing  goats  on  hils  securely  feed. 
The  mining  conies  shi'oud  in  rockie  eels  ; 

Nor  can  the  heavenly  lights  their  course  forget, 

The  moon  her  turns,  or  sun  his  times  to  set. 

Thou  mak'st  the  night  to  over- vail  the  day : 
Then  savage  beasts  creep  from  the  silent  wood, 

Tlien  lions  whelps  lie  roaring  for  their  prey. 
And  at  thy  powerful!  hand  demand  their  food ; 


20     POEMS  BY  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

Who  when  at  morn  they  all  recouch  again, 
Then  toiling  man  till  eve  pursues  his  pain. 

O  Lord,  when  on  thy  variovis  works  we  look, 
How  richly  furnish'd  is  the  earth  we  tread  ! 

Where  in  the  fair  contents  of  Nature's  book 
We  may  the  wonders  of  thy  wisdom  read ; 

Nor  earth  alone,  but,  lo,  the  sea  so  wide, 

Where,  great  and  small,  a  world  of  creatures  glide  ! 

There  go  the  ships  that  furrow  out  their  way ; 

Yea,  there  of  whales  enormous  sights  we  see, 
WTiich  yet  have  scope  among  the  rest  to  play. 

And  all  do  wait  for  their  support  on  thee, 
Who  hast  assign'd  each  thing  his  proper  food, 
And  in  due  season  dost  dispence  thy  good. 

They  gather  when  thy  gifts  thou  dost  divide. 
Their  stores  abound,  if  thou  thy  haijd  enlarge  ; 

Confus'd  they  are  when  thou  thy  beams  dost  hide. 
In  dust  resolv'd,  if  thou  their  breath  discharge  ; 

Again,  '^ilsn  thou  of  life  renew'st  the  seeds. 

The  withered  fields  revest  their  chearfull  weeds. 

Be  ever  gloried  here  thy  soveraign  name, 

That  thou  maist  smile  on  all  which  thou  hast  made. 

Whose  frown  alone  can  shake  this  earthly  frame. 
And  at  whose  touch  the  hils  in  smoak  shal  vade : 

For  me,  may,  Avhile  I  breathe,  both  harp  and  voice 

In  sweet  inditement  of  thy  hymns  rejoice  ! 


POEMS   DY   SIR   HENRY   WOTTON,  21 

Let  sinners  faile,  let  all  profannesse  cease  ; — 
His  praise,  my  soul,  liis  praise  shal  be  tliy  peace. 


A  HYMN*    TO    MY  GOD   IN    A  NIGHT    OF  MY  LATE 
SICKNESS. 

Oh  thou  great  power,  in  whom  I  move. 
For  whom  I  live,  to  whom  I  die  ! 

Behold  me  through  thy  beams  of  love, 
Whilest  on  this  couch  of  tears  I  lye, 

And  cleanse  my  sordid  soul  within 

By  thy  Christ's  bloud,  the  bath  of  sin. 


*  A  hymn,  &c.]  Was  sent  to  Isaac  Walton  with  the  follow- 
ing letter,  which  is  printed,  without  a  date,  in  Rel.  Wot.  p.  513, 
ed.  1651.  "  My  worthy  friend,— Since  I  last  saw  you,  I  have 
been  confin'd  to  my  chamber  by  a  quotidian  feaver,  I  thank 
God,  of  more  contumacie  then  malignitie.  It  had  once  left 
me,  as  I  thought ;  but  it  was  only  to  fetch  more  company, 
returning  with  a  surcrew  of  those  splenetick  vapors  that  are 
call'd  hypocondriacal ;  of  which,  most  say,  the  cure  is  good 
company  ;  and  I  desire  no  better  physician  then  jrself.  I 
have  in  one  of  those  fits  endeavour 'd  to  make  it  more  easie 
by  composing  a  short  hymn ;  and  since  I  have  apparelled  my 
best  thoughts  so  lightly  as  in  verse,  I  hope  I  shall  be  pardond 
a  second  vanitie,  if  I  communicate  it  with  such  a  friend  as 
yourself :  to  whom  I  wish  a  chearfull  spirit,  and  a  thankfull 
heart  to  value  it  as  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  of  our  good 
God  ;  in  whose  dear  love  I  leave  you,  remaining,  your  poor 
friend  to  serve  you,  H.  Wotton."  This  illness  aj)pears  to 
have  been  that  which  terminated  in  his  death,  Dec.  1639. 


22  POEMS   BY   SIR   HEiXRY    WOTTON. 

No  liallowed  oyls,  no  gi-ains  I  need, 
No  rags  of  saints,  no  purging  fii'c ; 

One  rosie  drop  from  David's  seed 

Was  worlds  of  seas  to  quencli  thine  ire : 

O  pretious  ransome  !  which  once  paid. 

That  consummatum  est  was  said  ; 

And  said  by  him  that  said  no  more, 
But  seal'd  it  with  his  sacred  breath  : 

Thou,  then,  that  hast  dispung'd  my  score. 
And  dying  wast  the  death  of  Death, 

Be  to  me  now,  on  thee  I  call, 

My  life,  my  strength,  my  joy,  my  all ! 


THE    END. 


i.^ 


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RICUAKDS,  PRINTER,  ST.  MARTIN'S   I-ANE. 


VlDNVSOl^^         V/5J13A1NI1-31 


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