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m '- Jk is DUE on last date stamped below 

lu »ki \,j 

Angeles; CALtF. 

^ertp ^otietp. 







V-. W 






BY JOHN HALL. 1565. 











4 5 3 1 G 



IJY '1'. lilCllAUDS, 1(10, ST. MAliTlN'.S I..VNE. 

P R W \ 
V. U 


Cf)e ftvt^ ^otitt^* 


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


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







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


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





The curious poem of The Owl and the Nightin- 
gale has already been printed by the Roxburghe 
Chib, in 1838, under the title, " The Owl and the 
Nightingale, a poem of the twelfth century." It 
is found in two manuscripts, both of the thirteenth 
century ; one in the British Museum, MS. Cot- 
ton. Calig. A. IX., from which the present text is 
printed ; the other in the library of Jesus College, 
Oxford. The date of the composition of this 
piece is a matter of some doubt. Mr. Stevenson, 
the editor of the Roxburghe volume, believed that 
it was written in the reign of Richard I, and that 
the king Henry, whose death is alluded to at 
p. 38 of the present edition, was Henry II. On 
the other hand. Sir Frederick Madden (note on 
Warton's History of English Poetry, new edition, 
1840, vol. i. p. 25), thinks the king alluded to was 
Henry III, and that our poem was composed early 
in the reign of Edward I. 

I confess that I am inclined to think the king 
referred to was Henry II. The Cottonian MS. 


is the one which contains the earliest copy of Lay- 
amon, which is followed by a brief chronicle 
brought down only to the beginning of the reign 
of Henry III. These English poems appear to 
be written in the same, or a contemporary hand, 
and I have little doubt that the whole MS. was 
written (perhaps early) in that reign, so that 
Henry HI could not be spoken of as dead. At 
the same time, it does not appear to me, from a 
perusal of the passage in which king Henry is 
mentioned, that it must necessarily have been 
written soon after his death, — it may have been 
composed late in the reign of John. I consider the 
frequent quotations from the proverbs of king 
Alfred (which appear to have been popular during 
the twelfth, and earlier part of the thirteenth cen- 
turies, and are not, I think, alluded to in any writers 
of the end of the thirteenth), a proof of the anti- 
quity of this poem. These proverbs are mentioned 
by Ailred of Rievaux, in the first half of the 
twelfth century. But it is very singular that, 
although one copy of the Proverbs of Alfred* is 
found in the same MS. in Jesus College, Oxford, 
which contains the Oicl and the Nightingale, yet 
not one of the quotations in this latter poem is 

* Tlic two existing texts of the Proverbs of Alfred are 
printed in the Reliquiae Antique, vol. i. p. 170. 

taken from the texts of the Proverbs of Alfred 
now extant ; they seem to have been taken from 
a poem written in a different metre and style. 

The propriety of asci'ibin^ this poem to the 
pen of Nicholas de Guildford, appears also to be 
doubtful. John de Guildford is said to have 
been mentioned in a lost leaf of the Jesus College 
MS. to have been the author of a religious poem 
in that volume, and he has been supposed to be 
the brother, or a near relation, of Nicholas de 
Guildford, and the author of the other poems 
in the same volume. This however is not a 
necessary consequence ; and the way in which 
Nicholas de Guildford is mentioned in our poem, 
leads rather strongly to the presumption that he 
was the author. He is represented as residing at 
Portesham in Dorsetshire, and appears to have 
been smarting under the disappointment of some 
ambitious views. 

I have added to this edition of the Owl and 
Nightingale, seven smaller poems, preserved in 
the same Cottonian manuscript. They are all 
curious, either for their language or for the senti- 
ments they contain ; and they arc by no means un- 
favourable specimens of the English lyric poetry 
of the thirteenth century. The sixth is a collec- 
tion of political adages which were in vogue 
through several centuries, and of which a partial 


copy will be found in the " Reliquiae Antiquse," 
vol. ii. p. 15.* The last piece in the present feol- 
lection, forms a curious illustration of the manners 
of the age. 

It was originally my intention to add a glossary, 
but different circumstances have induced me to 
put this off till another occasion. I could wish 
to publish a few pieces from the Jesus College 
manuscript, and from others of the thirteenth 
century ; and then I shall perhaps give a glossary 
to these, and to the pieces of the same age printed 
in the Reliquiw Antiquw. 

* A somewhat similar piece, in a more modem shape, will 
be fomid in the Reliquiae Antiquse, vol. i. p. 58. See also a 
note to the Political Songs (Camden Society Publication), 
p. 387. 


IcH was in one sumere dale, 

In one suthe dijele hale, 

I-herde icli holde grete tale 

An hule and one nijtingale. 

That plait was stif and stare and strong, 

Sum wile softe, and lud among ; 

An aither a5en other sval. 

And let that wole mod ut al. 

And either seide of otheres custe 

That alre-worste that hi wuste ; ^'^ 

And hure and hure of" otlicre songe 

Hi holde plaiding suthe strongc. 

The nijtingale bi-gon the speche, 
In one hurne of one breche ; 
And sat upone vaire boje, 
Thar were abute blosme i-noje, 
In ore waste thickc liegge, 
I-meind mid spire and grene segge. 
Ho was the gladur vor the rise, 
And song a vele cunne wise : 



riet thu3te the dreim that he were 
Of harpe and pipe, thau he nere, 
Bet thu5te that he were i-shote 
Of harpe and pipe than of throte. 

Tho stod on ohl stoc thar bi-side, 
Thar tho ule song hire tide, 
And was mid ivi al bi-growe. 
Hit was thare hule earding-stowe. 

The ni3tingale hi i-se3, 
And hi bi-hold and over-sej, ^'^ 

An thujte wel wl of thare hule. 
For me hi halt lodlich and fule : 
" Unwijt," ho sede, " awey thu flo ! 
Me is the wrs that ich the so; 
I-wis for thine wle lete 
Wel oft ich mine song for-lete; 
Min horte at-flith, and fait mi tonge, 
Thonne thu art to me i-thrunge. 
Me luste bet speten, thane singe 
Of thine fule 305elinge." ^^ 

Thos hvde abod fort hit was eve, 
Ho ne mi3te no leng bileve, 
Vor hire horte was so gret. 
That wel ne3 hire fnast at-schet ; 
And warp a word thar after longe : 
" Hu thincthe nu bi mine songe ? 
West thu that ich ne cunne singe, 
The3 ich ne cunne of writelinge ? 
I-lome thu dest me grame. 
And seist me bothe tone and schame ; ^'^ 


3 if ich the holde on niine note, 
So hit bi-tide that ich mote ! 
And thu were ut of thine rise, 
Thu sholdest singe an other wse." 

The nijtingale jaf ansAvare : 
'' 3if ich me loki wit the bare, 
And me schikle wit the blete, 
Ne reche ich nojt of thine threte ; 
jif ich me holde in mine hegge, 
Ne recche ich never what thu segge. •50 

Ich wot that thu art un-milde 
With horn that ne muje from se schilde ; 
And thu tukest Avrothe and uvele 
Whar thu mijt over smale fu5ele ; 
Vor-thi thu art loth al fuel-kunne, 
And alle ho the driveth honne. 
And the bi-schricheth and bi-gredet, 
And wel narewe the bi-ledet; 
And ek forthe the sulve mose 
Hire thonkes wolde the to-tose. "^^ 

Thu art lodlich to bi-holde, 
And thu art loth in monie voldc ; 
Thi bodi is short, thi swore is smal, 
Grettere is thin heved than thu al ; 
Thin ejene both col-blake and brode, 
Ri3t swo ho weren i-peint mid wode ; 
Thu starest so thu wille abiten 
Al that thu mist mid clivre smiten ; 
Thi bile is stif and scharp and hoked, 
Ri3t so an owel that is crokcd, 





Thar-inid tliu clackes oft and longe, 

And that is on of thine songe. 

Ac tliu thretest to mine fleshe, 

Mid thine clivres woldest me meshe ; 

The were i-cundur to one frogge, 

[That sit at muhie under cogge], 

Snailes, mus, and fule wijte, 

Both thine cunde and thine ri3te. 

Thu sittest a dai, and fli3t a ni3t, 

Thu cuthest that thu art on un-wi3t ; 

Thu art lodlich and un-clene, 

Bi thine neste ich hit mene, 

And ek bi thine fule brode, 

Thu fedest on horn a wel ful fode : 

Vel wostu that hi doth thar-inne, 

Hi fuleth liit up to the chinne, 

Ho sitteth thar so hi bo bisne ; 

Thar-bi men segget a vorbisne, 

' Dahet habbe that ilke best, 

That fuleth his owe nest.' lOO 

That other 3er a faukun bredde, 

His nest no3t wel he ne bi-hedde, 

Thar-to thu stele in o day, 

And leidest thar-on thy fole ey ; 

Tho hit bi-com that he ha3te, 

And of his eyi'e briddes y-ra3te, 

Ho bro3te his briddes mete, 

Bi-hold his nest, i-se3 hi ete ; 

He i-se3 bi one halve 

His nest i-fuled ut halve : ^^^ 


The faucun was wroth wit his bridde, 

And lude 3al and sterne chidde, 

' Segget me wo havet this i-do, 

Ou nas never i-cunde thar-to ; 

Hit was i-don ou al oth wiste, 

Segge me 3if ^e hit wiste.' 

Tho quath that on, and quad that other, 

' I-wis it was ure 03er brother, 

The 3ond that haved that grete heved, 

Wai that hi nis thar-of bi-reved ! 120 

Worp hit ut mid the ah'e-wrste, 

That his necke him to-berste.' 

The faucun i-lefde his bridde, 

And nom that fule brid amidde. 

And warp hit of than wikle bowe, 

Thar pie and crowe hit to-drowe : 

Her-bi men segget a bi-spel, 

The3 hit ne bo fuliche spel, 

' Al so hit is bi than ungode 

That is i-cumen of fule brode, 130 

And is meind wit fro monne. 

Ever he cuth that he com thonae. 

That he com of than add eye, 

The3 he a fro nest leie.' 

The3 a])pel ti'cndli fron thou trowe, 

Thar lie and other mid growe, 

The3 he bo thar-from bi-cuiiie, 

lie cuth wel whonene he is i-cuiue." 

Thos word U3af the ni3tingale, 
And after tliare loncre tale ii^^ 


He song so lude and so scharpe, 

Rijt so me grulde schille harpe. 

Thos liule luste thider-ward, 

And hold hire eje nother-wa[r]d, 

And sat to-svolle and i-bolye, 

Also ho hadde one fi'ogge i-svol3e. 

For ho wel wiste and was i-war 

That ho song hire a bisemar ; 

And notheles ho 3af andsvare, 

" ^Ylii neltu flon into the bare, ^^^ 

And sewi there unker bo 

Of brijter howe, of vairer bio ? 

No thu havest wel scharpe clawe ; 

Ne kepich no5t that thu me clawe ; 

Thu havest clivers suthe stronge, 

Thu tuengst thar-mid so doth a tonge." 

" Thu tho5test so doth thine i-like, 

Mid faire worde me bi-swike ; 

Ich nolde don tliat thu me radest 

Ich wiste wel that thu me misraddest ; ^^^ 

Schamie the for thin un-rede ! 

Unwrojten is thi svikel-hede ; 

Schild thine svikeldom vram the lijte, 

And hud that wo5e amon the rijte. 

Thane thu wilt thin un-rijt spene, 

Loke that hit ne bo i-sene ; 

Vor svikedom haved scheme and hete, 

3if hit is ope and under-jete. 

Ne speddestu no5t mid thine un-wrenche, 

For ich am war, and can well blenche ; ^'^ 



Ne helpth nojt that thu bo to-thriste ; 

Ich wokle vi5te bet mid liste, 

Than thu mid al thine streugthe ; 

Ich habbe on brede, and ech on lengthe 

Castel god on mine rise ; 

' Wei &}t that wel flijt,' seith the wise. 

Ac lete we awei thos cheste, 

Vor sviche wordes both un-werste ; 

And fo we on mid ri5te dome, 

Mid faire worde and mid y-lome. 180 

Thej we ne bo at one acorde, 

We mu5e bet mid faji'e worde, 

Wit-ute cheste, and bute fijte, 

Plaidi mid £056 and mid I'ijte ; 

And mai hure either wat hi wile 

Mid rijte segge and mid sckile." 

Tho quath the hule, " Thu schal us seme. 
That kunne and wille rijt us deme." 
" Ich wot wel," quath the ni3tingale, 
"Ne tharef tharof bo no tale. i'Jt» 

Maister Nichole of Guldeforde, 
He is wis and war of worde ; 
He is of dome suthe gleu. 
And him is loth evrich unthcu ; 
He wot insi3t in eche songe, 
Wo singet wel, wo singet wronge ; 
And he can schede vrom the rijte 
That woje, that thustcr from the lijtc." 


Tho hule one wile hi bi-tho3te, 
And after than this word up-brojte : 200 

" Ich granti wel that he us deme, 
Vor the3 he were wile breme, 
And lof him were nijtingale, 
And other wijte geute and smale, 
Ich wot he is nu suthe acoled, 
Nis he vor the no5t afoled, 
That he for thine olde luve 
Me adun legge and the buve ; 
Ne schaltu nevre so him queme, 
That he for the fals dom deme. 210 

He is him ripe and fastrede, 
Ne lust him nu to none un-rede ; 
Nu him ne lust na more pleie, 
He wil gon a rijte weie." 

The ni5tingale was al 3are 
Ho had i-lorned wel aiware : 
" Hule," ho sede, " seie me soth, 
Wi dostu that un-wijtis doth ? 
Thu singist a ni3t, and no5t a dai, 
And al thi song is wailawai ; 220 

Thu mi3t mid thine songe afere 
Alle that i-hereth thine i-bere ; 
Thu schirchest and 5ollest to thine fere, 
That hit is grislich to i-here, 
Hit thinchest bothe wise and snepe 
No3t that thu singe, ac that thu wepe. 


Thu fli3St a nijt, and nojt a dai ; 

Tharof ich wndri, and wel mai : 

Vor evrich thing that schuniet ri5t, 

Hit luveth thuster and hatiet li5t ; 230 

And evrich thing that is lof misdede, 

Hit luveth thuster to his dede, 

A wis word, thej hit bo un-clene, 

Is fele manne a muthe i-mene, 

For Alvred king hit seide and wrot, 

' He schuntet that hi ne wl wot.' 

Ich wene that thu dost also, 

Vor thu fli3st nijtes ever-mo. 

An other thing me is awene, 

Thu havest a ni3t eyen wel brijt sene ; 210 

Bi daie thu art stare-blind, 

That thu ne sichst ne bou ne rind ; 

A dai thu art blind other bisne, 

Thar-bi men segget a vorbisne, 

Ri5t so hit farth bi than un-gode, 

That nojt ne suth to none gode, 

And is so ful of uvele wrenche, 

Tliat him ne mai noman at-prenche. 

And can wel thane thurste wai, 250 

And thane bri5te lat a-wai, 

So doth that botli of thine cunde, 

Of li5te nabbeth hi none i-inunde." 

Thos hule luste suthc longe. 
And was of-toned sutlie strongc ; 



Ho quath, " Thu hattest ni3tingale, 

Thu mi3test bet lioten galegale, 

Vor thu liavest to monie tale. 

Lat thine tunge habbe spale ! 

Thu wenest that thes dai both i-noje ; 

Lat me nu habbe mine throje : 

Bo nu stille, and lat me speke, 

Ich wille bon of the a-wreke, 

And lust liu ich con me bi-telle 

JVIid ri5te sothe witute spelle. 

Thu seist that ich me hude a dai, 

Thar-to ne segge ich nich ne nai ; 

And lust ich telle the ware-vore 

Al wi hit is and ware-vore ; 

Ich habbe bile stif and stronge, 

And gode clivers scharp and longe, 270 

So hit bi-cumeth to havekes cuune ; 

Hit is min hijte, hit is mi wune, 

That ich me dra5e to mine cunde, 

Ne mai noman thare-vore schende ; 

On me hit is well i-sene, 

Vor ri5te cunde ich am so kene, 

Vor-tlii ich am loth smale fojle, 

That floth bi grunde an bi thuvele, 

Hi me bi-chermet and bi-gredeth, 

And hore flockes to me ledeth ; 280 

Me is lof to habbe reste, 

And sitte stiEe in mine neste ; 

Vor nere ich never no the betere, 

Thif ich mid chavling and mid chatere 


Horn schende, and mid fule worde, 

So herdes doth, other mid schit worde ; 

Ne lust me wit the screwen chide, 

For-thi ich wende from hom wide ; 

Hit is a wise monne dome, 

And hi hit segget wel i-lome, ^^^ 

That me ne chide wit the gidie, 

Ne wit than ofne me ne 3onie. 

At sume sithe herde I telle 

Hu Alvred sede on his spelle, 

' Loke that thu ne bo thare, 

Thar chavling both and cheste 3are ; 

Lat sottes chide, and vorth thu go ;' 

And ich am wis and do also. 

And 3et Alvred seide an other side 

A word that is i-sprunge wide, ^0 

' That wit the fule haveth i-mene, 

Ne cumeth he never from liim cleine ?' 

Wenestu that haveck bo the worse, 

Tho3 crowe bi-grede him bi the mershe. 

And goth to him mid hoi-e cliirme, 

Rijt so hi wille wit him schirme ? 

Tlie havec fol3eth godc rede. 

And fii3t his wei, and lat hem grcde. 

3et thu me seist of other thinge, 
And telst that ich ne can no3t singe, sio 

Ac al mi rorde is woning, 
And to i-hire grislich thing. 
That nis no5t soth, ich singe efne 
Mid fullc dremc and hide stcfne. 


Tliu wenist that ecli song bo grislich 

That thine pipinge nis i-lich : 

INIi stefne is bold and no5t un-orne, 

Ho is i-lich one grete home, 

And thin is i-lich one pipe 

Of one smale wode un-ripe. 320 

Ich singe bet than thu dest ; 

Thu chaterest so doth on Irish preost ; 

Ich singe an eve a ri3t time, 

And soththe won hit is bed-time. 

The thridde sithe ad middel nijte, 

And so ich mine song adi3te 

Wone ich i-so arise vorre 

Other dai-rim other dai-sterre, 

Ich do god mid mine thi'ote, 

And warne men to hore note. 330 

Ac thu singest alle-longe nijt, 

From eve fort hit is dai-li5t, 

And evre seist thin o song 

So longe so the nijt is long, 

And evre croweth thi wrecche crei, 

That he ne swiketh nijt ne dai ; 

Mid thine pipinge thu adunest 

Thas monnes earen thar thu wunest, 

And makest thine song so un-wrth 

That me ne telth of thar uo5t wrth. 3^0 

Evrich murjthe mai so longe i-leste. 

That ho shal liki wel un-wreste ; 

Vor harpe and pipe and fujeles songe 

Misliketh, 5if hit is to long, 



Ne bo the song never so murie, 

That he ne shal thinche wel un-murie, 

3ef he i-lesteth over un-wille ; 

So thu mijt tliine song aspille. 

Vor hit is soth, Alvred hit seide, 

And me hit mai ine boke rede, 

' Evrich thing mai losen his godhede 

Mid unmethe and mid over-dede.' 

Mid este thu the nii3t over-quatie, 

And over-fuUe maketh wlatie ; 

An evrich murejthe mai agon, 

3if me hit halt evre forth in on, 

Bute one, that is Godes riche, 

That evre is svete and evre i-liche ; 

Thej thu nime evere oth than lepe. 

Hit is evre ful bi-hepe : 

Wunder hit is of Godes riche. 

That evre spenth and ever is i-liche. 

3ut thu me seist on other shome, 
That ich am on mine e3en lome ; 
An seist for that ich flo bi ni3te. 
That ich ne mai i-so be li3te. 
Thu liest : on me hit is i-sene. 
That ich habbe gode sene ; 
Vor nis nones so dim thusternesse, 
That ich ever i-so the lasse. ^"^^ 

Thu wenest that ich ne mi3te i-so 
Vor ich bi daie no3t ne flo ; 
The hare luteth al dai, 
Ac notheles i-so he mai, 



5it" luindes urneth to him-ward 

He gength wel svithe awai-ward, 

And hoketh patlies svithe narewe, 

And haveth mid him his blenches 3arewe, 

And hupth and stard suthe cove, 

And secheth pathes to the grove : 380 

Ne sholde he vor bothe his 656 

So don, 3if he the bet ni seje. 

Ich mai i-son so wel so on hare, 

Thej ich bi daie sitte an dare. 

Thar a5te men bothe in worre, 

An fareth bothe ner an forre, 

An over-vareth fele thoede, 

An doth bi nijte gode noede, 

Ich fol3i than ajte manne, 

An tlo bi ni3t in hore banne." 


The ni3tingale in hire tho3te 
At-hold al this, and longe tho3te 
Wat he thar-after mi3te segge ; 
Vor ho ne mi3te no3t alegge 
That the hule hadde hire i-sed ; 
Vor he spac bothe ri3t an red. 
An hire of-thu5te that ho hadde 
The speche so for-vorth i-ladde, 
An was oferd that hire answare 
Ne wrthe no5t ari3t i-fare. ^^ 

Ac notheles he spac boldeliche, 
Vor he is wis that hardeliche 



With his vo berth grete i-lete, 
That he vor arejthe hit ne for-lete ; 
Vor svich vorth bold 3if thu fli3ste, 
That wle flo jif thu vicst ; 
3if he i-sith that thu nart are3, 
He wile of boi*e wrchen bare5. 
And for-thi the3 the ni3tingale 
Were aferd, ho spac bolde tale. 

" Hule," ho seide, " wi dostu so ? 
Thu singest a winter wolawo ; 
Thu singest so doth hen a snowe, 
Al that ho singeth hit is for avoavc ; 
A wintere thu singest wrothe and 3omere, 
An evre thu art dumb a sumere ; 
Hit is for thine fule nithe, 
That thu ne mi3t mid us bo blithe, 
Vor thu forbernest wel ne3 for onde 
Thane ure blisse cumeth to londe. '*"^^ 

Thu farest so doth the ille, 
Evrich blisse him is un-wille ; 
Grucching and hu-ing him both radc, 
3if he i-soth that men both glade ; 
He wolde that he i-se3e 
Teres in evrich monnes e3e : 
Ne ro3te he the3 fiockes were 
I-meind bi toppcs and bi here. 
Al so thu dost on thire side ; 
Vor wanne snou lith thicke and wide, ^30 

An alle wi3tes habbeth soi'3e, 
Thu singest from ovc fort a nior3c. 


Ac ich alle blisse mid me bringe ; 

Ech wijt is glad for mine thinge, 

And blisseth hit wanne ich cume, 

And hi3teth ajen mine kume. 

The blostme ginneth springe and sprede 

Bothe in tro and ek on mede ; 

The hlie mid hire faire wlite 

"Wolcumeth me, that thu hit wte, 440 

Bid me mid hire faire bio 

That ich shulle to hii'C flo ; 

The rose also raid hire rude, 

That cumeth ut of the thorne wode. 

Bit me that ich shulle singe 

Vor hire luve one skentinge ; 

And ich so do thurj ni5t and dai. 

The more ich singe, the more I mai. 

An skente hi mid mine songe, 

Ac notheles nojt over-longe. 450 

Wane ich i-so that men both glade, 

Ich nelle that hi bon to sade ; 

Than is i-do vor than ich com ; 

Ich fare ajen and do wisdom. 

Wane mon hojeth of his sheve. 

An falewi cumeth on grene leve, 

Ich fare horn, and nime leve. 

Ne recche ich nojt of winteres reve ; 

Wan ich i-so that cumeth that harde, 

Ich fare hom to min erde, ^^^ 

An habbe bothe luve and thouc. 

That ich her com, and hider swonk. 


Wan min erende is i-do, 
Shold ich bi-leve ? nai : war-to ? 
Vor he nis nother 5ep ne wis, 
That longe abid war him nod nis." 

Thos hule luste, and leide, an Iiord 
Al this mot, word after word ; 
And after tho3te hu he mi3te 
Ansvere vinde best mid rijte. 470 

Vor he mot hine ful wel bi-thenche 
That is aferd of plaites wrenche. 

" Thu aishest me," the hule sede, 
" Wi ich a winter singe and grede. 
Hit is gode monne i-wone, 
An was from the worlde frome. 
That ech god man his frond i-cnowe, 
An blisse mid horn sume throwe, 
In his huse, at his horde, 

Mid faire speche and faire worde. ^^^ 

And hure and hnre to Ci'istes masse, 
Wane riche and povre, more and lasse, 
Singeth condut nijt and dai, 
Ich hom helpe Avhat ich inai. 
And ek icli thenche of otlior thinge, 
Thane to pleien other to singe. 
Icli habbe her-to gode ansvare, 
Anon i-redi and al jaro, 
Vor sumeres tide is al to wlonc. 
An doth mis-reken monnes thonk ; 490 

Vor he ne recth no3t of clennesse, 
Al his t1io3t is of golnessc, 



Vol' none dor no leng nabitleth, 

Ac evrich upon other rideth : 

The sulve stottes ine the stode, 

Both botlie wilde and mere wode, 

And thii sulf art thar among, 

For of gohiesse is al thi song ; 

An ajen thet thu wit teme; 

Thu art wel modi and wel breme, 

Sone so thu havest i-trede, 

Ne mijtu leng a word i-quethe, 

Ac pipest al so doth a mose, 

Mid chokeringe, mid stevne hose. 

3et thu singst worse thon the hei-sugge, 

jat flijth bi grunde among the stubbe : 

Wane thi lust is ago, 

Thanne is thi song ago also. 

A sumere chorles awedeth. 

And vor-crempeth, and vor-bredeth ; ''^^ 

Hit nis for luve notheles, 

Ac is the chorles wode res ; 

Vor wane he haveth i-do his dede, 

I-fallen is al his boldhede ; 

Habbe he isstunge under gore, 

Ne last his luve no lenger more. 

Al so hit is on thine mode, 

So sone so thu sittest abrode, 

Thu for-lost al thine wise, 

Al so thu farest on thine rise. ^^^ 

Wane thu havest i-do thi gome, 

Thi stovn*^ cotli anon to shome. 


Ac wane ni3tes cumeth longe, 

And bringetli forstes starke an stronge, 

Thanne erest hit is i-sene 

War is the snelle, war is the kene. 

At than harde me mai avinde 

"Wo geth forth, wo lith bi-hinde ; 

Me mai i-son at thare node, 

Wan me shal harde wike bode, ^^0 

Thanne ich am snel, and pleie and singe, 

And hi3te me mid mi skentinge ; 

Of none wintere ich me recche, 

Vor ich nam non a sunde wrecche, 

And ek ich frouri vele wijte 

That mid hom nabbed none mi3tte. 

Hi both ho5fule and vel arme, 

An secheth 3orne to the wurnie : 

Oft ich singe vor hom the more, 

For lutli sum of hore sore. "-^^ 

IIu thincth the? artu 5ut i-niiiiic ? 

Artu mid ri5te over-cume ?" 

" Nay, nay," sede the ni3tiMgale, 
" Thu shalt i-here anotlier tah;. 
3et nis thos speche i-bro3t to (h)me ; 
Ac bo wel stille, and lust nu to me, 
Ich shal mid one bare wordi' 
Do that thi speche wrht for-wortlic" 

"That nere noht ri3t," the hiile sede, 
" Tlni havest bi-chiped, al so Ihu Itcdc, ^'■''^ 

V 2 


An ich the habbe i-3ive ansvare ; 

Ac ar we to linker dome fare 

Ich wille speke toward the, 

Al so thu speke toward me, 

An thu me ansvare jif thu niijt. 

Seie me nu, thu wrecche ■wi3t, 

Is in the eni other note, 

Bute thu havest schille tlirote ? 

Thu nart nojt to non other tliinjo'e, 

Bute thu canst of chateringe ; ^60 

Vor thu art hitel an unstrong. 

An nis thi rejel nothing long. 

Wat dostu godes among monne ? 

Na mo the deth a wercche wranne. 

Of the ne cumeth non other god, 

Bute thu gredest svich thu bo wod ; 

An bo thi piping over-go, 

Ne both on the craftes namo. 

Alvred sede, that was wis. 

He mi5te wel, for soth hit is, 570 

' Nis no man for his bare songe 

Lof ne wrth no5t suthe longe ; 

Vor that is a for-worthe man, 

That bute singe no5t ne can.' 

Tliu nart bute on for-worthe thing ; 

On the nis bute chatering ; 

Thu art dim, an of fule howe. 

An thinchest a Intel soti clowe ; 

Thu nart fair, no thu nart strong, 

Ne thu nart thicke, ne thu nart long ; -580 


Thu havest i-mist al of fairhede, 

An lutel is al thi godede. 

An other thing of the ich meue : 

Thu nai't vair, ne thu nart clene. 

Wane thu comest to manne haje, 

Thar thornes both and ris i-di-aje, 

Bi hegge and bi thicke wode, 

Thar men goth oft to hore node, 

Thar-to thu di'ajst, thar-to thu wuest, - 

An other clene stede thu schunest. ''^^ 

Wan ich flo ni5tes after muse, 

I mai the vinde ate rum-huse. 

Among the wode, among the netle, 

Thu sittest and singst bi-hinde the setle ; 

Thar me mai the i-lomest finde, 

Thar men worpeth hore bi-hinde. 

jet thu atvitest me mine mete, 

An seist that ich fule wijtes ete : 

Ac wat etestu, that thu ne lije, 

Bute attercoppe and fule vlije ? ^00 

An wormes, jif thu mijte finde 

Among the volde of harde rinde ? 

3et ich can do wel gode wike, 

Vor ich can loki manne wike ; 

An mine wike both wel gode, 

Vor ich lielpe to manne node ; 

Ich can nimen mus at berne. 

An ek at chirclie ine the derne ; 

Vor nie is lof to Cristes, 

To clan.ii liit w illi I'lilc muse ; 61'^ 


Ne scluil thai- nevre come to 

Fill wijt, jif ich hit mai i-vo. 

An gif me lust one mi skentinge, 

To yernen other wnienge, 

Ich habbe at wucle tron wel grete, 

Mit thicke bo5e nothing blete, 

Mid ivi grene al bi-growe, 

That evre stont i-liche i-blowe, 

An his hou never ne vor-lost, 

Wan hit snuith ne wan hit frost ; •*'^'^ 

Thar-in ich habbe god i-liold, 

A winter warm, a sumere cold. 

AVane min hus stont bri3t and giene, 

Of thine uis nothing i-sene. 

3et thu me telst of other thinge, 

Of mine briddes seist gabbinge 

That liore nest nis nojt clene, 

Hit is fale other wijte i-mene ; 

Vor hors a stable, and oxe a stalle. 

Both al that hom wule thar falle ; ''•^^ 

An lutle children in the cradele, 

Bothe chorles an ek athele, 

Both al that in hore 3oethe 

That hi vor-leteth in hore du3ethe. 

Wat can that 3ongling hit bi-hede ? 

3if liit mis-deth, hit mod nede ; 

A vorbisne is of olde i-wrne, 

That ' node maketh old wif uriie.' 

An 5et ich habbe an other andsware ; 

AViltu to mine neste vare, ^^^ 


An loki hu hit is i-di3t ? 

3if thu art wis, lorni thu mijst : 

Mi nest is I10I3 and rum amidde, 

So hit is softest mine bridde ; 

Hit is broiden al abute 

Vrom the neste vor withute, 

Thar-to hi goth to hore node ; 

Ac wat thu menest ich horn for-bode. 

We nimeth 3eme of manne bure, 

An after than we maketh ure. ^^^^ 

Men habbet, among other i-wende, 

A rum-hus at hore bures ende, 

Vor that hi nelleth to vor-go ; 

An mine briddes doth al so. 

Site nu stille, chaterestre ! 

Nere thu never i-bunde vastre ; 

Her-to ne vindestu never andsware ; 

Hong up thin ax, nu thu mi5t fare !" 

The ni3tingale at thisse worde 
Was wel ne3 ut of rede i-worthe, •'*"' 

An tho5te 5orne on hire mode, 
3if ho o5t elles understode, 
3if ho kutlie 05t Ijute singe, 
That mi3te helpe to other tliiuge, 
Her-to ho moste andswerc vinde, 
Other mid alio bon bi-hindc. 
An hit is suthe strong to ii5tc 
A5en sotli and a3en ri5t(' ; 
He mot uon to al mid ginnc. 

24 THE owr. ast> the nightingale. 

Wan tlio liorte both on winne, ^''^ 

An the man mot on other segge, 

He mot bi-hemmen and bi-legge, 

3if muth withute mai bi-wro 

That me the horte nojt ni-so ; 

An sone mai a word mis-reke, 

Thar muth shal a3en horte speke, 

An sone mai a word mis-storte, 

Thar muth shal speken a3en horte. 

Ac notheles 3Ut upe thon, 

Her is to red wo hure kon ; 680 

Vor never uis wit so kene, 

So wane red him is ayene ; 

Thanne erest kumed his 5ephede, 

AYone hit is alre-mest on drede ; 

For Alvered seide of olde quide, 

An 3ut hit nis of horte i-slide. 

' Wone the bale is alre-hecst, 

Thonne is the bote alre-necst,' 

Vor wit west among his sore, 

An for his sore hit is the more. ^^o 

Vor-thi uis nevere mon redles, 

Ar his horte bo witles ; 

Ac 3 if that he for -lost his wit, 

Thonne is his red purs al to-slit ; 

3if he ne kon his wit at-holde, 

Ne vint he red in one volde ; 

Vor Alvrd seide, that wel kuthe, 

Evere he spac mid sothe muthe, 

' Wone the bale is alre-hecst, 

Thanne i.s the bote alre-nest.' ^00 


The ni3tingale al liire 11036 
INIid rede liadde wel bi-toje, 
Among the harde, among the tojte, 
Ful wel mid rede hire bi-thojte, 
An hadde andswere gode i-funde 
Among al hire harde stunde. 

'•Hule, thu axest me," ho seide, 
" jif ich kon eni other dede, 
Bute singen in sume tide, 

An bringe blisse lor and wide. '1^ 

Wi axestu of craftes mine ? 
Betere is min on than alle thine ; 
Betere is o song of mine muthe, 
Than al that evre thi kun kvithe. 
An lust, ich telle the ware-vore ; 
Wostu to than man was i-bore ? 
To thare blisse of hovene riche, 
Thar ever is song and mur3the i-liche. 
Thider fundeth evrich man 

That eni thing of gode kan. 72o 

Vor-thi me singth in holi chirche. 
An clerkes ginneth songes wirclie. 
That man i-thenehe bi the songe 
Wider he shal ; and tliar bon longe, 
That he the mur3tlie ne vor-3cte, 
Ac thar-of thenche and bi-3ete, 
An niine 3eme of chirche stevene, 
Hu murie is tlie blisse of hovene. 
Clerkes, munekes, and kaimiies, 


Tliar both thos gode wicke tunes, 730 

Ariseth up to midel nijte, 

An singeth of the hovene lijte ; 

An prostes upe loude singeth, 

Wane the li3t of daie springeth ; 

An ich liom helpe wat I mai, 

Ich singe mid horn ni5t and dai ; 

An ho both alle for me the gladdere, 

An to the songe both the raddere. 

Ich warni men to here gode, 

That hi bon blithe on hore mode, '^^^ 

An bidde that hi moten i-seche 

Than ilke song that ever is eche. 

Nu thu mijt, hule, sitte and clinge ; 

Her among nis no chateringe. 

Ich graunti that we go to dome 

To-fore tlie sulfe the pope of Rome. 

Ac abid 5ete notheles, 

Thu shalt i-here an other wes ; 

Ne shaltu for Engeloude 

At tliisse worde me at-stonde. 750 

Wi atvitestu me mine unstrengthe, 

An mine ungrete, and mine unlengthe ? 

An seist that ich nam no5t strong, 

Vor ich nam nother gret ne long ? 

Ac thu nost never wat thu menst, 

Bute lese wordes thu me lenst ; 

For ich kan crai't, and ich kan liste, 

An ware-vore ich am thus thriste ; 

Ich kan wit and song manteine. 


Ne ti'iste icli to non other maine ; 't^^ 

Vor soth hit is that seide Alvred, 

' Ne mai no strengthe ajen red ;' 

Oft spet wel a lute liste, 

Thar muche strengthe sholde miste ; 

Mid lutle strengthe, thurj ginne, 

Castel and bur5 me niai i-wiune ; 

Mid liste me nuu walle felle, 

An worpe of horsse kni3tes snelle. 

Uvel strengthe is lutel wurth [thinge], 

Ac wisdom naveth non evening. ''O 

An hors is strengur than a mon ; 

Ac for hit non i-wit ne kon, 

Hit berth on rugge grete semes, 

An di'a5th bi-vore grete teines, 

An tholeth bothe 5erd and spure, 

An stont i-teid at muhie dure ; 

An liit deth that mon hit hot. 

An for than that hit no wit not, 

Ne mai his strenthe hit i-shilde 

That hit nabujth the lutle childe. '«<> 

Mon deth mid strengthe and mid witte 

That other thing nis non his fitte. 

The3 all<; .strengthe at one were, 

Monnes wit 3et more were ; 

Vor tlie mon, mid his craftc, 

Over-kiiineth al orthliche shafte. 

Al so icii do mid luiiic one songc, 

Bet than thu, al the 3er loiige. 

Vor mine crafte men me luvieth, 


Vor tliine strengtlie men the shunieth. 700 

Telstii bi me the wurs for than 

That ich bute anno craft ne kan ? 

3if tveie men goth to wraslinge, 

An either other faste thi'inge, 

An the on can swenges suthe fele, 

An kan his wrenches wel for-hele, 

An the other ne can sweng but anne, 

An the is god with eche manne, 

An mid tlion one leith to grunde 

Anne after other a lutle stunde ; *^oo 

Wat tharf he recche of a mo swenge, 

Wone the on him is swo genge ? 

The seist that thu canst fele wike j 

Ac ever ich am thin un-i-like. 

Do thine craftes alle to-gadere, 

3et is min on horte betere. 

Oft wan hundes foxes cMveth, 

The kat ful wel him sulve liveth, 

The3 he ne kunne wrench bute aune ; 

The fox so godne ne can nanne, 8lo 

The lie kunne so vele wrenche, 

That he wenth eche hunde at-prenche ; 

Vor he can pathes ri3te and wo3e, 

An he kan hongi bi the bo3e, 

An so for-lost the hund his fore, 

An turnth a3en eft to than more ; 

The vox kan crops bi the heie, 

An turne ut from his forme weie, 

An eft sonc kume thar-to ; 


Thonne is the hiindes smel for-do ; 83*) 

He not thurs the i-raeinde smak, 

"Wether he shal avoi'th the abak ; 

jif the vox mist of al this dwole, 

At than ende he cropth to hole ; 

Ac natheles mid alle his wrenche 

Ne kan he hine so bi-thenche, 

The3 he bo 3ep an suthe snel, 

That he ne lost his rede vel. 

The cat ne kan wrench bute anne, 

Nother be dune ne bi venne ; ^"^ 

Bute he kan climbe suthe wel, 

Thar-mid he wereth his greie vel ; 

Al so ich segge bi mi solve, 

Betere is niin on than thine twelve." 

" Abid ! abid !" the ule seide, 
" Thu gest al to mid swikelede ; 
Alle thine wordes thu bi-leist, 
That hit thincth soth al tliat thu seist ; 
Alle thine wordes botli i-sliked, 
An so bi-semed an bi-liked, *^40 

That alle tho that hi avoth, 
Hi weneth that thu segge soth. 
Abid ! abid ! me shal the 3ene, 
Thu hit shal wrthe wel i-sene, 
That thu havest muchel i-loje, 
Wone thi lesing botli uuwroje. 
Thu seist tliat tlin singist niankunne, 
And techest hrmi that hi fiindieth honne 


Up to the songe tliat evre i-lest : 

Ac hit is ake wnder mest, 850 

That thu darst li3e so opeliche. 

Weiiest thu hi bringe so lijtiiche 

To Godes riche al singinge ? 

Nai ! nai ! hi shuUe wel avinde, 

That hi mid longe wope mote 

Of hore sunnen bidde bote, 

Ar hi mote ever kume thare. 

Ich rede thi that men bo jare, 

An more wepe thane singe, 

That fundeth to than hoven kinge. ^60 

Vor nis no man witute sunne ; 

Vor-thi he mot ar he wende honne 

Mid teres an mid wope bete. 

That him bo sur that er was swete. 

Thar-to ich helpe, God liit wot ! 

Ne singe ih hom no foliot ; 

For al me song is of longinge. 

An i-mend sum del mid woninge, 

That mon bi me hine bi-thenche. 

That he grom for his unwrenche ; 870 

Mid mine songe ich hine pulte. 

That ghe grom for his gulte. 

5if thu gest her-of to disputinge, 

Ich wepe bet thane thu singe ; 

3if rijt goth forth, and abak wrong, 

Betere is mi wop thane thi song. 

The3 sume men bo thur5ut gode, 

An thurjut clene on hore mode, 



Hon longeth honne notheles, 

That both her wo is horn thes, 

Vor thej hi bon horn solve i-bor5e, 

Hi ne soth her nowijt bote sorwe ; 

Vor other men hi wepeth sore. 

An for horn biddeth Cristes ore. 

Ich helpe monne on either halve, 

Mi muth haveth tweire kunne salve ; 

Than gode ich fulste to longinge, 

Vor wan him longeth ich him singe ; 

An than sunfuUe ich helpe alswo, 

Vor ich him teche ware is wo. ^^^ 

3et ich the jeve in other wise ; 

Vor wane thu sittest on thine rise, 

Thu dra3st men to fleses luste. 

That wUeth thine songes luste ; 

Al thu fbr-lost the murjthc of hovene, 

For thar-to nevestu none stevene ; 

Al that thu singst is of golnesse, 

Fer nis on the non holinesse, 

Ne wened naman, for thi pipinge, 

That eni preost in chirgce singe. 

jet I the wuUe an oder segge, 

3if thu hit const a-riht bi-legge. 

Wi nuitu singe an oder theode, 

War hit is muchele moi'e neode? 

Thu neaver ne singst in Irlonde, 

Ne tliu ne cumest nojt in Scotlonde : 

Hwi nuItu fare to Noreweie? 

An singiii men of flaUnveie? 



Thar beodli men tliat Intel kunne 

Of songe that is bineodhe the sunne ; ^'*^ 

Wi nnltu thare preoste singe, 

An teche of tliire writelinge ? 

An wisi horn mid thire stevene, 

Hu engeles singeth ine heovene ? 

Thu farest so dodh an ydel wel, 

That springeth bi burne thar is snel, 

An let for-drue the dune, 

And floh on idel thar a-dune. 

Ac ich fare bothe north and soth. 

In eavereuch londe ich am ciuith ; ^^0 

East and west, feor and neor, 

I do wel faire mi meoster. 

An warni men mid mine here. 

That thi dweole song heo ne for-lere. 

Ich wisse men mid mine songe 

That hi ne sunegi nowiht longe ; 

I bidde horn that heo i-swike. 

That heom seolve ne bi-swicke : 

For betere is that heo wepen here. 

Than elle? hwar to beon deovlene fere." ^^^ 

The ni3tingale was i-gremet. 
An ek heo was sumdel of-chamed ; 
For the hule hire atwiten hadde. 
In hwucche stude he sat an gradde, 
Bi-hinde the bnre, among the wede, 
"War men godh to here neode ; 
An sat sum del, and heo bi-thohte, 


An wiste wel on hire tholite ; 

The wraththe bi-nimeth monnes red, 

For hit seide the king Alfred, •' '" 

* Sele endedh wel the lothe, 

An selde plaidedh wel the wrothe.' 

For wraththe meinth the horte hlod, 

That hit floweth so wilde fiod, 

An al the heorte over-geth, 

That heo haveth no thing bute breth, 

An so for-leost al hire liht, 

That heo ne sith sodh ne I'iht. 

The nijtingale hi understod, 

An over-gan lette hire mod ; ^'''^ 

He mihte bet speken a sele. 

Than mid wraththe wordes deale. 

" Hule," heo seide, " lust nu hider, 
Thu schalt fallo, the wei is slider : 
Thu seist ich fleo bi-hinde bure ; 
Hit is riht, the bur is ure, 
Thar laverd liggeth and lavedi, 
Ich schal heom singe and sitte bi. 
Wenstu that vise men for-lete, 
For fule venne the rijtte strete ? 
Ne sunne the later shine, 
The5 hit bo ful ine nest thine? 
Sholde ich for one hole bredo, 
For-lete mine rijte stede. 
That ich ne singe bi the beddc, 
Thar loverd haveth his love i-bedde ? 



Hit is mi rijt, hit is mi la3e, 

Thar-to the herst ich me clra3e. 

Ac 5et thu 3eli)st of thine songe, 

That thu canst 3olle wrothe and stronge, ^'^ 

An scist thu visest mankunne 

That hi bi-wcpen hore sunnc. 

Soldo euch mon wonie and grede, 

Ri3t suich hi weren un-lede ; 

Soldo hi 3ollen also thu dost, 

Hi mi3te oferon hero brost. 

Man schal bo stille, and no3t grede, 

He mot bi-wepe his mis-dode. 

Ac war is Cristes heriinge, 

Thar mo shal grede and lude singe, ^^^ 

Nis nother to lud ne to long, 

At ri3te time chirche song. 

Tliu 5olst and wones, and ich singe, 

Thi stevone is wop, and min skentinge ; 

Ever mote thu 3olle and wepon. 

That thu thi lif mote for-leten, 

An 5ollen mote thu so he3e, 

That thu berste bo thin 030 ! 

Wether is betere of twero twom. 

That mon bo blithe other grom ? ''^"^ 

So bo hit ever in unker sithe. 

That thu bo sori and ich blithe ! 

3ut thu aisheist wi ich ne fare 

In to other londe and singe thare. 

No ! what sholde ich among hom do, 

War never blisse ne com to ? 


That lond nis god, ne hit nis este, 

Ac wildernisse hit is and weste, 

Knarres and eludes hoventinge, 

Snou and hajel horn is genge ; ^^^^ 

That lond is grislich and un-vele, 

The men both wilde and un-i-sele ; 

Hi nabbeth nother grith ne sibbe ; 

Hi ne reccheth hu hi libbe, 

Hi eteth fihs an flehs un-sode, 

Svich wulves hit hadde to-brode ; 

Hi drinketh mile, and wei thar-to, 

Hi nute elles wat hi do ; 

Hi nabbeth noth win ne bor, 

Ac libbeth al so wilde dor ; "^'o 

Hi goth bi-ti5t mid ru3e velle, 

Rijt svich hi comen ut of helle ; 

Thej eni god man to horn come, 

(So wile dude sum from Rome) 

For horn to lere gode tliewes, 

An for to leten hore un-thewes, 

He mijte bet sitte stille, 

Vor al his wile he sholde spille; 

He mi3te bet techc ane bore 

To weje bothe sheld and spere, i<^20 

Than me that wilde folc i-bringe, 

That hi me segge wolde i-here singe. 

Wat sol ich thar mid mine songe? 

Ne sunge ich hom never so longe, 

Mi song were i-spild cch del ; 

For hom ne mai halter ne bridel 

I) 2 


Bringc vrom hore wude wise, 

Ne mon mid stele ne mid ire ; 

Ac tliar lond is bothe este and fjod. 

An thar men liabbetli mildc mod, 1030 

Ifh noti mid horn mine tlivote ; 

Vor icli mai do thar gode note, 

An bringe liom love titliinge, 

Vor ich of cbirclie songe singe. 

Hit was i-seid in olde la3e, 

An 3et i-last tliilke soth-saje, 

That man shal erien an sowe 

Thar he wenth after sum god mowe ; 

For he is wod that soweth his sed 

Thar never gi\as ne sprinth ne bled." ^o^o 

The hule was wroth to cheste rad, 
Mid thisse worde hire e3en a-brad, 
" Tliu seist thu witest manne bm'es, 
Thar leves both and faire flores, 
Thar two i-love in one bedde 
Liggeth bi-clop and wel bi-heddc ; 
Enes thu sunge, ic wod wel ware-, 
Bi one bure, and woldest lere 
The lefti to an uvel luve, 

An sunge bothe loje and buve, 1060 

An lerdest hi to don shome 
An un-rijt of hire licome ; 
The loverd that sone under-3at, 
Limi and grincAv, wel ei wat, 


Sette and ledde the for to lacche ; 

Thu come sone to than hacche, 

Thii were i-nime in one grine, 

Al hit abojte thine shine, 

Thu naddest non other dom ne laje, 

Bute mid wilde horse were to-di'aje, i^'J'^ 

Vonde 3if thu mijt eft mis-rede, 

Wather thu wult wif the maide ; 

Thi song mai bo so longe genge, 

That thu shalt wippen on a sprenge." 

The ni3tingale at thisse worde, 
Mid sworde an mid speres orde, 
3if ho mon, were wolde fijte ; 
Ac tho ho bet do ne mijte, 
Ho vajt mid hire wise tunge, 
'Wei fijt that wel specth,' seith the songe ; '"''^ 
Of hii'e tunge ho nom red, 
' Wel fijt that wel specth,' seide Alvred. 

" Wat ! seistu this for mine shome ? 
The lovei'd hadde her-of grame : 
He was so gelus of his wive, 
That he ne mijte for his live 
I-so that man with hire speke, 
That his horte nolde breke. 
He hire bi-leck in one bure, 
That hire was bothe stronge and sure ; 'o^o 

Ich liadde of hire milse an ore. 
An sori was for hire sore, 



An skente hi mid mine songe, 

Al that ich mi5te, rathe an longe. 

Vor than the kni3t was with me wroth, 

Vor ri3te nithe ich was him loth ; 

He dude me his 03ene shome, 

Ac al him turnde it to grome ; 

That underwat the king Henri, 

Jesus his soule do merei ! ^^^^ 

He let for-bonne thene kni3t 

That hadde i-don so muchel un-wri3t, 

Ine so gode kinges londe, 

Vor ri3te nithe and for fule onde 

Let thane lutle fu3el nime, 

An him for-deme lif an lime ; 

Hit was wrthsipe al mine kunne, 

For thon the kni3t for-les his wunne, 

An 3af for me an hundred punde ; 

An mine briddes seten i-sunde, ^"^^ 

An hadde soththe blisse and hi3te ; 

An were blithe, and wel mi3te ; 

Vor thon ich was so wel awreke, 

Ever eft ich dart the bet speke ; 

Vor hit bi-tidde ene swo, 

Ich am the blithur ever mo ; 

Nu ich mai singe war ich wulle, 

Ne dar me never eft mon a-gruUe. 

Ac thu, eremig ! thu wrecche gost ! 

Thu ne canst finde, ne thu nost, 'i'*^ 

An hol3 stok war thu the mi3t hude, 

That me ne twengeth thine hude. 


Vor children, groiues, heme, and hine, 

Hi thencheth alle of thire pine ; 

3if hi mijte i-so the sitte, 

Stones hi doth in here slitte, 

An the to-tornedh and to-heneth, 

An thine fule bon to-sheneth. 

3if thu art i-worpe other i-shote, 

Thanne thu mijt erest to note. ^i^o 

Vor me the hoth in one rodde, 

An thu mid thine fule codde, 

An mid thine ateliche spore, 

Bi-werest manne corn vrom dore ; 

Nis nother nojt thi lif ne thi blod, 

Ac thu art shueles suthe god. 

War nowe sedes both i-sowe, 

Pinnuc, golfinc, rok, ne crowe, 

Ne dar thar never cumen i-hende, 

jif thi buc hongeth at than ende. H-^o 

War tron shuUe a-3ere blowe, 

An 3unge sedes springe and growe, 

Ne dar no fu3el thar-to vonge 

3if thu art thar-over i-honge. 

Thi lif is evre luther and qued, 

Thu nard n03t bute ded. 

Nu thu mi3t wite sikerliche, 

That thine leches both grisliche, 

The wile thu art on lif-da3e ; 

Vor wane thu hongest i-sla3e, iJif* 

3ut hi both of the of-draddc, 

The fu3eles that the er bi-graddc. 


Mid rijte men both with the wrothe, 

For tliu singist ever of hore lothe ; 

Al that tliu singst rathe other late, 

Hit is ever of manne un-wate ; 

Wane thu liavest a-ni5t i-grad, 

Men both of the wel sore of-drad. 

Thu singst war sum man shal be deci 

Ever thu bodest sumne qued ; ''^^ 

Thu singst ajen eijte lure, 

Other of summe frondes rure ; 

Other thu bodes buses brune, 

Other ferde of manne, other thoves rune ; 

Other thu bodest cualm of oreve ; 

Other that lond-folc wurth i-dorve ; 

Other that wif lost hire make ; 

Other thu bodest cheste an sake ; 

Ever thu singist of manne hareme, 

Thur3 the hi both sori and areme ; ^'^ 

Thu ne singst never one sithe, 

That hit nis for sum un-sithe. 

Her-vore hit is that me the shuneth, 

An the to-torveth and to-buneth, 

Mid stave, and stoone, and turf, and clute. 

That thu ne mijt no war atrute. 

Dahet ever svich budel in tune. 

That ever bodeth un-wreste rune, 

An ever bringeth uvele tithinge. 

An that ever specth of uvele thinge ! - ^"'O 

God Almijti wrthe him wroth, 

An al that werieth linnene cloth !" 


The hule ne abot nojt swith longe, 
All 5ef ondsware starke and stronge : 
" Wat !" quath ho, " hartu i-hoded ? 
Other thu kursest al un i-hoded? 
For prestes wike ich wat thu dest, 
Ich not 5ef thu were 3avre prest ; 
Ich not 3ef thu canst masse singe, 
I-noh thu canst of mansinge. ^1^0 

Ah hit is for thine aide nithe, 
That thu me akursedest odher sidhe ; 
Ah thar-to is lihtlich ondsware : 
' Drah to the !' cwadh the cartare. 
Vfi attwitestu me mine in-sihte, 
An min i-wit, and mine mi5te ? 
For ich am witi ful i-wis, 
An wod al that to kumen is : 
Ich wot of hunger, of hergonge ; 
Ich wot 3ef men schule libbe longe ; 'i^o 

Ich wat 3ef wif luste hire make ; 
Ich wat war schal beo nith and wrake ; 
Ich wot hwo schal beon an-honge. 
Other elles fulne deth a-fonge ; 
3ef men habbetli bataile i-nume, 
Ich wat hwather sclial beon over-kume ; 
Ich wat 3if cwalm seal comen on orfe, 
An 3if dor schul ligge and storve ; 
Ich wot 3ef treon schule blowe ; 
Ich wat 3ef cornes schule growe ; ^^00 

Ich wot 3ef buses scliule berne ; 
Ich wot 3ef men schule eorne other erne ; 


Icli wot jef sea schal scliipes drenclie ; 

Ich wot 3ef snuwes schal uvele clenche ; 

An 3et ich con muchel more : 

Ich con i-noh in bokes lore ; 

An eke ich can of the Goddspelle, 

INIore than ich nule the telle ; 

For ich at chirche come i-lome, 

An muche leorni of wisdome ; ^^^^ 

Ich wat al of the tacninge, 

An of other feole thinge ; 

jef eni mon schal rem abide, 

Al ich hit wot ear hit i-tide. 

Ofte for mine muchele i-witte 

Wei sori-mod and worth ich sitte, 

Wan ich i-seo that sum wrechede 

Is manne neh, innoh ich grede, 

Ich bidde that men beon i-warte, 

An habbe gode reades jarte. '220 

For Alfred seide a wis word, 

Euch mon hit schulde legge on hord, 

' 3ef thu i-sihst [him er] he beo i-cume, 

His strncthe is him wel neh bi-nume.' 

An grete duntes beoth the lasse, 

3ef me i-kepth mid i-warnesse ; 

An fleo schal toward mis-3enge. 

3ef thu i-sihst hu fleo of strenge, 

For thu mi5t blenche wel and fleo, 

3if thu i-sihst heo to the teo. ^230 

That eni man beo falle in odwite, 

Wi schal he me his sor atwite ? 


Thah ich i-seo his harm bi-vore, 

Ne Cometh hit nojt of me thar-vare : 

Thah thu i-seo that sura blind mon, 

That nanne rihtne wei ne con, 

To thare diche his dweole fulied, 

An falleth and thar-one sulied, 

Wenest thu, thah ich al i-seo. 

That hit for me the rathere beo ? i'-*40 

Al swo hit fareth bi mine witte, 

Hwanne ich on mine bowe sitte, 

Ich wot and i-seo swithe brihte. 

An summe men kumed harm thar rihte ; 

Schal he that ther-of nothing not, 

Hit wite me for ich hit wot ? 

Schal he his mis-hap wite me, 

For ich am wisure thane he ? 

Hwanne ich i-seo that sum wrechede 

Is manne neh, i-noh ich grede, ^'■^^^ 

An bidde i-noh that hi heom schilde, 

For toward heom is [harme unmylde] ; 

Ah thah ich grede lude an stille, 

Al hit i-tid thurth Godes wille. 

Hwi wulleth men of me hi mene, 

Thah ich mid sothe heo a-wenc ? 

Thah ich hi warni al that 3cr, 

Nis heom ther-fore harem no the ner. 

Ah ich heom singe, for ich wolde 

That hi wel understonde schulde 1260 

That sum un-selthc heom is i-hcnde. 

Hwan ich min song to heom sende, 


Naveth no man none sikerhede 

That lie ne mai weno and adrede, 

That sum un-hwate ney him beo, 

Thah he ne conne hit i-seo. 

For-thi seide Alfred swithe wel 

And his worde was goddspel, 

That ' evereuch man tlie bet him beo, 

P'aver the bet he hine be-sec' ^^^^ 

Ne truste no mon to his weole 

To swithe, thah he habbe veole ; 

Nis nout so hot that hit nacoleth, 

Ne nojt so hwit that hit ne soleth, 

Ne nojt so leof that hit ne a-lotheth, 

Ne nojt so glad that hit ne a-wrotheth ; 

Ah eavreeuh thing that eche nis 

A-gon schal and al this worldes blis. 

Nu thu mijt wite readliclie. 

That eavere thu spekest gidehche ; ^^80 

For al that thu me seist for schame, 

Ever the seolve hit turneth to grome. 

Go so hit go, at eche fenge 

Thu faUest mid thine ahene swenge, 

Al that thu seist for me to schende, 

Hit is mi wurschipe at than ende. 

Bute thu wille bet a-ginne, 

Ne shaltu bute schame i-winne." 

The nijtingale sat and sijte, 
And hohful was, and ful wel mi3te; ^290 


For the liule swo i-speke hadtle, 

An hire speche swo i-ladde, 

Heo was howful and erede, 

Hwat heo thar after hire sede ; 

Ah neotheles heo hire understod, 

" Wat !" heo seide, " hule, artu wod ? 

Thu 3eolpest of seolliche wisdome, 

Thu nustest wanene he the come, 

Bute hit of wicchecrefte were : 

Thar-of thu, wrecche, moste the skere, ^-'''^ 

3if thu wult among manne boe ; 

Other thu most of londe fleo, 

For alle theo that ther-of cuthe, 

Heo were i-furn of prestes muthe. 

Amanset swuch tliu art jette, 

Thu wiecchecrafte neaver ne lete. 

Ich the seide nu lutel ere, 

An thu askedest 3if ich were 

A bisimere to preost i-hoded ? 

Ah the mansing is so i-broded, '^'^^ 

Thah no preost a londe nere, 

A wrecche neotheles thu were ; 

For eavereuch chil[d] the cleopeth fule, 

An evereuch man a wrecche hule. 

Ich habbe i-herd, and soth liit is, 

The mon mot beo wel storre-wis. 

An wite innoth of wucche thinge kunne, 

So thou seist that is i-wune. 

Hwat canstu, wrecche thing, of storre, 

Bute that tliu bi-haitest hi feorre ? '--'^ 


Al swo deth mani dor and man, 

Theo of hswucclie nawilit ne con. 

On ape mai a boc bi-halde, 

An leves wenden, and eft folde ; 

Ah he ne con the bet thar-vore 

Of clerkes lore top ne more. 

Thah thu i-seo the steorre al swa, 

Nartu the wisure neaver the mo. 

Ah 3et thu, fule thing, me chist, 

An wel grimliche me atwist, ^'^^^ 

That ich singe bi manne huse. 

An teache wif breke spuse. 

Thu liest i-wis, thu fule thing ! 

Thine nas neaver i-schend spusing. 

Ah soth hit is ich singe and grede, 

Thar lavedies beoth, and faire maide ; 

And soth liit is of luve ich singe. 

For god wif mai ispusing 

Bet luvien hire ojene were. 

Thane awet hire copenere ; ^'''^ 

An maide mai luve cheose. 

That hire wurthschipe ne for-leose, 

An luvie mid rihte luve 

Thane the schal beon hire buve. 

Swiche luve ich i-tache and lere, 

Ther-of beoth al mine i-bere. 

Thah sum wif beo of nesche mode, 

For wummon beoth of softe blode. 

That heo for simie sottes lore 

The jeorne bit and siketh sore, *^^** 


Mis-Steppe and mis-do summe stunde, 

Sclial ich thar-vore beon i-bunde ? 

jif wimmen luvieth un-rede, 

Hwitistu me hore mis-dede ? 

jef wimmon tlienclieth luvie derne, 

Ne ne mai ich mine songes werne ; 

"Wummon mai pleie under clothe, 

Wether heo wile wel the wrothe ; 

And heo mai do bi mine songe, 

Hwather heo wule wel the wronge. ^360 

For nis a worlde thing so god, 

Tliat ne mai do sum un-god, 

5if me hit wule turne amis ; 

For gold and seolver god hit is, 

An notheles thar-mid thu mi3t 

Spus-bruche buggen and un-ri3t ; 

Wepne beoth gode grith to halde, 

Ah neotheles thar-mide beoth men a-cwaldc 

Ajeines riht, an fale londe, 

Thar theoves hi beredli an honde. ^^"^^ 

Al swa hit is bi mine songe, 

Thah heo beo god, me hine mai mis-fonge, 

An drahe hine to sothede, 

An to othre uvelc dede. 

Ah schaltu, wreccli, luve tele, 

Bo wueh ho bo vich luve is fele, 

Bi-tweone wcpmon and wiminane ? 

Ah jef heo is at-broide thenne. 

He is un-fele and for-brode, 

Wroth wurthe heom the holi rode, '^^^i^ 


Tlie rihtc i-kundc swo for-breidetli, 

Wuudcr liit is that heo nawedeth ; 

An swo lico doth, for heo beotli wodi^ 

The bute nest goth to brode. 

Wummon is of nesche flesche, 

All flesches lustes is strong to cwcsse ; 

Nis wunder nan thah he abide, 

For flesches lustes hi maketh slide ; 

Ne beoth heo nowt alle for-lore, 

That stumpeth at the flesches more. ^390 

For moni wummon haveth mis-do, 

That a-ris of the slo. 

Ne beoth nowt oiies aUe sunne, 

For than hi beoth tweire kunne ; 

Sun a-rist of the flesches luste, 

An sum of the gostes custe. 

Thar flesch draheth men to drunnesse, 

An to wronehede, and to golnesse, 

The gost mis-deth thurcli nithe an onde, 

And seoththe mid murhthe of monnes hnnde, l^^"^ 

An 5eo[r]neth after more and more, 

An lutel rehth of milce and ore, 

An sti5th on hey thurth modinesse. 

An over-hohedh thanne lasse. 

»Sei me sooth, jef thu hit wost, 

Hwether deth wurse, flesch the gost ? 

Thu mi5t segge, 3ef thu wult, 

Tliat lasse is the flesches gult. 

Moni man is of his flesche clene, 

That is mid mode deovel i-mene ; ^"^'^ 


Ne schal non mon wimman bi-grede, ' 

An flesches lustes hire up-breide ; 

Swuch he may tellen of gohiesse, 

That sunegeth wurse i laodinesse. 

Bet 3if ich schulde a luve bringe 

Wif other maide, hwanne ich singe, 

Ich wolde with the maide holde. 

3if thu hit const ariht at-holde, 

Lustun, ich segge the, hwar-vore, 

Up to the toppe from the more i'*2'> 

3ef maide luveth dernliche, 

Heo stumpeth and faith i-cundeliche ; 

For thah heo sum hwile plcie, 

Heo nis nout feor ut of the wcie ; 

Heo mai hire guld atwendc 

A rihte weie thurtli chirche hende ; 

An mai eft habbe to make 

Hire leofmon withute sake, 

An go to him bi daies lihte, 

That er stal to bi theostre nihte. ^^^o 

An 3unling not hwat swuch thing is ; 

His 3unge blod hit dra5eth amis ; 

An sura sot mon hit tihth thar-to, 

Mid alle tlian that he mai do, 

He Cometh and faretli and beod and bid, 

An heo bi-stant and over-sid, 

An bi-sehth i-lome and longe, 

Hwat mai that chil thah hit mis-fonge? 

Hit neaver hwat hit was, 

For-thi hit thohte fundi thas, MlO 


An wite i-wis hwuch bco the gome 

That of so wihle maketh tome. 

Ne mai ich for rcovve lete, 

Wanne ich i-seo the tohte i-lete, 

The luve bring on the 3unglinge, 

That ich of murjthe him ne singe ; 

Ich reache heom bi mine songe, 

That swucch luve ne lest nojt longe ; 

For mi song lutle hwile i-lest, 

An luve ne deth no3t bute rest ^'^^^ 

On swuch childre and sone a-geth, 

An faith adun the bote breth. 

Ich singe mid heom one thro3e, 

Bi-ginne on heh and endi la3e, 

An lete mines songes faUe 

An lutle wile adun mid alle ; 

That maide wot hwanne ich swilce, 

That luve is mine songes i-liche : 

For ait nis bute a lutel breth, 

That sone kumeth, and sone geth. 1^^® 

That child bi me hit understond, 

An liis un-red to red wend ; 

An i-se3th wel bi mine songe, 

That dusi luve ne last no3t longe. 

Ah wel ich wule that thu hit wite, 

Loth me beoth wives ut-schute ; 

Ah 3if mai of me nime 3eme, 

Ich ne singe nawt hwan ich teme ; 

An wif ah lete sortes lore, 

Thah spusing bendes thuncheth sore ! i"*'^'^ 


Wundere me thungth wel stare and stor, 
Hu eni mou so eavar for, 
That e his heorte mi3te drive, 
An o do hit to others mannes wive. 
For other hit is of twam thinge, 
Ne mai that thridde noman bringe ; 
Othar the laverd is wel aht, 
Other aswunde and nis naht. 
5ef he is wurthful and aht man, 
Nele noman that wisdon can, 1480 

Hure of is wive do him schame, 
For he mai him adrede grame ; 
An that he for-leose that ther hongeth, 
That him eft thar-to nojt ne longeth. 
An thah he that nojt ne adrede, 
Hit is mi-ri3t and gret sothede. 
An o mis-don one gode manne. 
An his i-bedde from him spanne, 
3ef hire laverd is for-wurde, 

An un-orne at bedde and at horde, i*"0 

Hu mi3te tliar beo eni luve, 
Wanne a swuch cheorles buc hire leth buve ? 
Hu mai thar eni luve beo, 
War swuch man gropeth hire theo ? 
Her-lji thu mi3t wel understonde, 
That on his areu, tliat other schonde, 
To stele to othres mannes bedde ; 
For 3if aht man is hire bedde, 
Thu mi3t wcne that the mis-tide, 
Wanne thu list bi hire side ; •'■'0« 



All 5pf thr laverd is a wercclie, 
Hwuch este inijtistu thar vecche ? 
3if thu bi-thenchest hvvo hire of-ligge, 
Thu nii3t mid wlate the este bugge. 
Ich not hu iiiai eni freo-man 
For hire sechen after than ; 
5ef he bi-weiieth bi hwan he lai, 
A\ laai the hive gan awai." 

The hule was glad of swuche tale, 
Heo thojte thatte nihtegale, i^io 

Thah heo wel speke atte frume, 
Hadde at then ende mis-nume ; 
An seide, " Nu ich habbe i-funde, 
That maidenes beoth of thine i-munde ; 
Mid heom thu boldest, and heom bi-werest, 
An over swithe thu hi herest ; 
The lavedies beoth to me i-wend, 
To me heo hire mode send ; 
For hit i-tit ofte and i-lome, 
That wif and were beoth un-i-some, 1^20 

And ther-fore the were gulte 
That leof is over wummon to pulte, 
An speneth on thare al that he haveth, 
An suieth thare that no riht naveth, 
An haveth attom his ri3te spuse, 
"Wowes weste [other] lere huse, 
"Wel thunne i-schud and i-ved wrothe, 
An let heo bute mete and clothe. 


Wan he cometh ham eft to his wive, 

Ne dar heo no3t a word ischire ; ^-'^^o 

He chid and gred swuch he beo wod, 

An ne bringth heom non other god ; 

Al that heo deth him is un-wille, 

Al that heo speketh hit is liim ille ; 

An oft hwan heo no5t ne mis-deth, 

Heo haveth the fust in hire teth. 

Nis nan mon that ne mai i-bringe 

Wis wif amis mid swucche thinge; 

Me hire mai so ofte mis-beode, 

That heo do wule hire ahene neode, 1^*^ 

La, Godd hit wot ! heo nah i-weld, 

Tha heo hine makie kukeweld. 

For hit i-tit lome and ofte, 

That his wif is wel nesche and softe. 

Of faire bleo and wel i-diht ; 

Thi hit is the more un-riht 

That he his luve spene on ware, 

That nis wurth one of hire heare. 

An swucche men beoth wel manifolde, 

That wif ne kunnc notht arijt holde ; 1*^50 

Ne mot non mon with hire speke, 

He venedh heo wule anon to-breke 

Hire spusing, 3cf heo loketh, 

Other with manne faire speketh. 

He hire bi-lutli mid keie and lok(! : 

Thar-thurli is spusing ofte to-broke. 

F(n* 5ef heo is thar-to i-broht, 

lie deth that heo naddc ear i-thoht. 


Dahet that to swuthe hit bi-speke, 

Thah swucche wives hire awreke ! 1*^ 

Iler-of the lavedies to me meiieth, 

An wel sore me ahweneth ; 

Wei neh min heorte wule to-chine, 

Hwon ich bi-holde hire pine ; 

]Mid heom ich wepe swise sore, 

An for heom bidde Cristis ore, 

That the lavedi sone a-redde, 

An hire sende betere i-bedde. 

An other thing ich mai the telle. 

That thu ne schald for thine felle 1570 

Ondswere none thar-to finde ; 

Al thi sputing schal aswinde. 

Moni chapmon, and moni cniht, 

Luveth and hlad his wif ariht ; 

An swa deth moni bonde-man ; 

That gode wif deth after than, 

An serveth him to bedde and to borde, 

jMid faire dede and faire worde. 

An 3eorne fondeth hu heo muhe 

Do thing that him beo i-duje. ^^SO 

The laverd into thare theode 

Fareth ut on thare beire nede, 

An is that gode wif un -blithe. 

For hire laverdes houdsithe, 

An sit and sihdh wel sore of -longed, 

An liire sore an horte on-gred; 

Al for hire loverdes sake 

Haveth daies kare and nijtes Avake ; 


An swuthe longe hire is the hwile, 

An ek steape hire thunth a mile, i^^o 

Hwanne othre slepetli liire abute, 

Ich one hist thar wiJh wute. 

An wot of hire sore mode, 

An singe a nijt for hire godc, 

An mine gode song for hire thinge 

Ich turne sundel to murni[n]ge ; 

Of hure seorhe ieli here sume. 

For than ich am hii'e wel welcume ; 

Ich hire helpe hwat I mai, 

For-ho5eth thane rehte wai. i^'OO 

Ah thu me havest sore i-gramed. 

That min heorte is wel neh a-lamed. 

That ich mai un-neathe speke ; 

Ah jet ich wule for thure reke. 

Thu seist that ich am manne y-ladh. 

An evereuch man is widh me wrodh, 

An me mid stone and lugge thrcteth. 

An me to-busteth and to-beteth ; 

An hwanne heo habeth me of-slahe, 

Heo hongeth me on heore halie, i^'O 

Thar ich aschewele pie an crowe 

Fron than the thar is i-sowe. 

Thah hit beo soth, ich do heora god. 

An for heom ich chadde mi blod ; 

Ich do heom god mid mine deathe, 

Thar-vore the is wel un-neatlio, 

For thah thu ligge dead and clinge, 

Thi deth nis nawt to none thinge ; 


Icli not nearer to Invan tlui mi3t, 

For tliu nart bute a wi^ecche wi}!. 1*20 

Ah tliah mi lif me beo at-schote, 

The 3et ich mai do gode note, 

Me mai upone smale sticke 

Me sette a wude ine the thicke, 

An swa mai mon tolli him to 

Lutle briddes and i-vo, 

An swa me mai mid me bi-jete 

Wei gode brede to his mete. 

Ah thu nevre mon to gode 

Lives ne deathes stal ne stode. i^^* 

Ich not to hwan thu breist thi brod. 

Lives ne deathes ne deth hit god." 

The nihtegale i-h[e]rde this, 
An hupte uppon on blowe ris, 
An herre sat than heo dude ear ; 
" Hule," he seide, " beo nu wear, 
NuUe ich with the plaidi namore. 
For her the nust thi rihte lore ; 
Thu 5eilpest that thu art manne loth, 
An evereuch wiht is widh the worth ; 1640 

An mid julinge and mid i-grede, 
Thu wanst wel that thu art un-lede. 
Thu seist that gromes the i-fodh, 
An heie on rodde the an-hodh. 
An the to-twichet and to-schakedh, 
An summc of the schawles makedh ; 


Me thuncli tliat thu for-leost that game, 

Thu 3ulpest of tliire 036 scliame ; 

Me thuncli that thu me gest an honde, 

Thu julpest of thire o3ene schomme." ^^^'^ 

Tho heo hadde theos word i-cwede, 

Heo sat in one faire stude, 

An thar after hire stevene dihte. 

An song so schille and so brihte, 

That feor and ner me hit i-herde. 

Thar-vore anan to hire cherde 

Thrusche, and throstle, and wudewale. 

An fuheles bothe grete and smale ; 

For than heom thuhte that heo hadde 

The houle over-come, vor than heo gradde, ^^'^^ 

An sungen alswa vale wise, 

An blisse was among the rise ; 

Ri3t swa me gred the manne a-schame. 

That taveleth and for-leost that gome. 

Theos hule tho heo this i-herde, 
" Havestu," heo seide, " i-banned ferde ? 
An wultu, wrecche, widh me fi3te ? 
Nai, nai, navestu none mi3te. 
Hwat gredeth theo that hider come ? 
Me thuncth thu ledest ferd tome. 1670 

30 schule wite ar 30 fleo heonne, 
Hwuch is the strenthe of nunc kumu; ; 
For theo the havetli bile i-lioked, 
An clivrcs charpc and wel i-croked, 


Alle heo beoth of mine kunrede, 

An walile come, 3if ich bede ; 

The seolfe coc, that wel can fijte, 

He mot mid me holde mid ri5te, 

Foi' bothe we habbeth stevene bri3te, 

An sitteth under weoluce bi nijte. i<>'^> 

Schille ich anutest uppen ow grede, 

Ich shal swo stronge ferde lede, 

That other proude schal avalle, 

A tort ne 3ive ich for ow alle ; 

Ne schal, ar hit beo fulliche eve, 

A wreche fether on ow bi-leave. 

Ah hit was unker voreward, 

Tho we come hider-ward, 

That M-e thar-to holde scholde, 

Thar riht dom us jive wolde. ^'^'-'^ 

Wultu nu breke foreward ? 

Ich wene dom the thing to hard ; 

For thu ne darst domes abide, 

Thu wult nu, wreche, fijte and chide. 

30t ich ow alle wolde rede, 

Ar ihc utheste uppon ow grede, 

That other fiht-lac leteth beo, 

An ginneth rathe awei fleo. 

For, bi the clivres that ich here ! 

3ef 30 abideth mine here, ^^^^ 

3e schule on other wise singe, 

An acursi alle fi3tinge ; 

Vor nis of ow non so kene. 

That dux're abide mine onsene." 


Theos hule spac wel baldeliche, 
For thah heo nadde swo liwatliche 
I-fare after hire here, 
Heo walde neotheles jefe anewere. 

The ni3tegale mid swucche worde, 
For moni man mid speres orde, i^'" 

Haveth lutle strencthe, and mid his chelde, 
Ah neotheles in one felde 
Thurh helde worde an mid i-lete, 
Deth his i-vo for arehwe swete ; 
The wranne, for heo cuthe singe, 
War com in thare more3eiing, 
To helpe thare ni3tegale : 
For thah heo hadde stevene smale, 
Heo hadde gode thorte and schille. 
An fale manne song awille ; ^^'-** 

The wranne was wel wis i-holde, 
Vor the3 hfeo nere i-bred a wolde, 
Ho was i-t03en among mankunne, 
An hire wisdom brohte thenne ; 
Heo mi3te speke hwar heo walde, 
To-vore the king thah heo scholde, 
" Lusteth," heo cwath, " lateth me speke : 
Hwat, wulle 3e this pes to-breke, 
An do thanne swuch schame ? 
3e, nis he nouther ded ne lame, 1730 

Hunke schal i-tidc harm and schonde, 
3ef 3c doth grith-bruche on his londe. 


Lateth beo, and bcoth i-some, 
An farcth riht to other dome, 
An lateth dora this phiid to-breke, 
Al swo hit was erur bi-speke." 

" Ich, an wel," cwadh the ni5tegale ; 
" Ah, wrannc, nawt for thire tale, 
Ah do for mire lahfulnesse : 

Ich nolde that un-rihtfulnesse ^'^^ 

Me at then ende over-kome ; 
Ich nam of-drad of none dome. 
Bi-hote ich habbe, soth hit is, 
That maister Nichole, that is wis, 
Bi-tuxen us deme schulde ; 
An 5ef ich wene that he wule ; 
Ah war mihte we hine finde ?" 
The wranne sat in ore linde, 
"Hwat, nii5te 3e," cvrath heo, "his horn? 
He wuneth at Porteshom, 1'50 

At one tune ine Dorsete, 
Bi thare see in ore ut-lete ; 
Thar he demeth manie ri3te dom, 
An dilit and writ mani wisdom. 
An thurh his rauthe and thurh his honde 
Hit is the betere into Scotlonde. 
To seche hine is lihtlich thing. 
He naveth bute one woning : 
That his bischopcn mucliel schame ; 
An alle than that of his nome ^'^'^ 


Habbeth i-hert and of his dede, 
Hwi nulleth hi nimen heom to rede, 
That he were mid heom i-lome 
For teche heom of his wisdome, 
An 5ive him rente a vale stude, 
That he mijte heom i-lome be mide ?" 

" Certes," ewath the hule, " that is sodh : 
Theos riche men wel muche mis-dodli, 
That leteth thane gode men, 
That of so feole thinge con, i''^** 

An jiveth rente wel mis-liche, 
An of him leteth wel lihtliche ; 
Widh heore cunne heo beoth mildre, 
An 3eveth rente litle childre, 
Swo heore wit hi demth adwole, 
That ever abid maister Nichole. 
Ah ute we thali to him fare, 
For thar is unker dom al jare." 

" Do we," the ni3tegale seide : 
" Ah wa schal unker speche rede, ^~^0 

An telle to-vore unker deme ?" 

" Thar-of ich schal the wel i-cwcme," 
Cwath the houle, " for al ende of orde, 
Telle ich con word after worde ; 
An jef the tliincth that icli mis-rempe, 
Thu stond a3cin and dome crenipe." 


Mid thisse worde forth hi ferden, 

Al bute liero and bute verde, 

To Portcshain that hco bi-come ; 

Ah hu hco spedde of heore dome ^'^^^ 

Ne chan ich eu namore telle ; 

Her nis namore of this spelle. 



NoN mai longe lives thene, 

Ac ofte him liedh the wrench : 

Feir weder turnedh ofte into reine, 

An wunderliche hit makedh liis blench. 

Thar-vore, mon, thu the bi-thench, 

Al schal falewi thi gi'ene. 

Weilawei ! nis kin ne quene 

That ne schal drincke of deathes ch'cnch. 

Mon, er thu falle of thi bench, 

Thine sunne thu aquench. 

Nis non so strong ne sterch ne kene, 
That mai ago deathes wither blench : 
3ung and olde, brihet and schene, 
Alle he riveth in one strench. 
Fox and ferlich is his wrenli, 
Ne mai no mon thar-to 3eines, 
Weilawei ! threting ne bene, 
Mede, liste, ne leches drench. 
Mon, let sunne and lustes thine ; 
Wei thu do and wel thu thencli. 


Do hi Salemones rede, 

Mon, and tliennc tliu schald wel do ! 

Do ase he talite and scide, 

That thin endinge the bringeth to ; 

Thenne ne schal thu never mis-do. 

Ac fore thu mijt the adi*ede, 

Weilawei ! shuc thenedh to lede 

Long lif, and blisse under-fo. 

Ac deth luteth in his scho, 

Him stillich to for-do. 

Mon, hwi nultu the bi-cnowe ? 
Mon, hwi nultu the bi-seo ? 
Of fole fulthe thu ai*t i-sowe, 
Wormes fode thu schald beo. 
Her navestu blisse daies threo. 
Ac thi lif al thu last ine wowe ; 
Weilawei ! deth the schal adun throw e, 
Ther thu wenest hejest to steo. 
Ine dedh schal thi lif endi, 
And ine wop al thi gleo. 

World and weole the bi-swikedh, 
I-wis heo beodh thin i-fo. 
jef the world widh weole the slikedli, 
That is for to do the wo. 
Thare-fore let lust over-go ; 
And eftzones hit the likedh, 
Weilawei ! sore he him bi-swikedh, 
That for on stunde other two 



Wurclieth him ])ine evei-mo : 
Mon, ne do thu nowt swo. 


On hire is al mi lit" i-long, 
Of hwam ich wule singe, 
And herieii hire, that among 
Heo gon us bote bringe. 
Of helle pine that is strong 
Heo brohte us blisse that is long, 
Al tliurh hire childeringe. 
Ich bidde hii'e one mi song, 
Heo 5eove us god endinge, 
Thah we don wrong. 

Thu art hele and lif and light. 
And helpest al mon-kunne ; 
Thu us havest ful wel i-dijt, 
Thu jeve us weole and wunne ; 
Thu brohtest dai, and Eve ni5t ; 
Heo bro3te woht, thu brojtest ri3t, 
Thu almesse, and heo sunne. 
Bi-sih to me, lavedi bri5t, 
Hwenne ich sclial wende hconne, 
So wel thu miht. 

Al this world s(dial ago, 
Widh seorhc and widli sore ; 


And al this lif" we schule for-go, 
Ne of-tluinche hit us so sore. 
This world nis butent ure i-fo ; 
Thar-fore ich thenche hiriie at -go, 
And do bi Godes lore. 
This lives blisse nis wurdh a slo : 
Ich bidde, God, thin ore, 
Nu and evere mo. 

To longe ich habbe sot i-beo : 
Wei sore ich me adi'ede ; 
I-luved ich habbe gomen and gleo, 
And prude and feire wede. 
Al that is dweole wel i-seo, 
Thar-fore ich thenche sunne fleo 
And alle mine sot dede. 
Ich bidde hire to me bi-seo, 
And helpe me and rede, 
That is so freo. 

Agult ich habbe, weilawei I 
Sunful ich am an wrecche. 
Awrec the nu on me, levedi, 
Er deth me honne fecche. 
Do nim the wreche, ich am redi. 
Other let me liven and ameudi, 
That no feond me ne drecche. 
For mine sunnes ich am sori, 
Of this world ich ne recche ; 
Levedi, merci. Amen. 



HwENNE SO wil wit oter-stiedh, 
Thenne is wil and wit for-lore ; 
Hwenne so wil his hete hiedh, 
Ther nis nowiht wit i-coi'e. 
Ofte wil to seor5e siedh, 
Bute 3if wit him wite to-fore. 
Ac hwenne so wil to wene wriedh, 
The o fo of wisdom is to-tore. 

Hwenne ich thenche of domos-dai, 

ful sore ime adrcde. 
Ther schal after his 

euch mon fongen niedo. 
Ich habbe Crist agult 

widh tho3tes and widh dcde. 
Laverd Crist, Godes sone, 

wat is me to rede ? 

That fur schal kumen in this world 

one one sune nijte, 
For-bernen al this middel-erd, 

so Crist hit wolde dijtc ; 
Bothe in the water and in that lond 

the flures that beotli brihte. 
I-herd bco tliii, lav^erd, 

.so muchel beth tliinc, niilite ! 

F -J 


The engles in the dai-red 

blewedh heore heme : 
Thenne cometh ure laverd Crist, 

his domes for to deme. 
He helpedh hit noht thenne 

to wepen ne to remen, 
That havedh Intel i-don, 

that Godd were i-cweme. 

Fi'oni that Adam was i-schapen 

to comen domes-dai, 
Moni of thisse riche 

that wereden foh and grei, 
An rideth uppe stede 

and uppen palefrai, 
Heo schulen atte dome 

suggeii weilawei ! 

Ne schulen heo nowdher fijte 

mid schelde ne mid spere, 
Mid helme ne mid bruuie, 

ne mid non other gere ; 
Ne schal ther nomon other 

mid wise wordes were, 
Bute heore almes-dede 

heore ernde schal here. 

Heo schulen i-seon the lavedi 
that Jhesu Crist of-kende ; 

Bi-tweonen hire amies 
sweteliche he wende. 


The wile that we mihte, 
to litte we hire sende ; 

That makede the owed, 
so fule he us blende. 

Heo schul i-seon thene king 

that al this world wrohte, 
An uppon the rode 

mid stronge pine abohte. 
Adam and liis ofspring 

in helle he heom sohte, 
To bidden his milce 

to late we beod bi-thohte. 

Ther stondeth the rijtwise 

on his rijt honde, 
An the sunfule 

so ateliche heo stondeth, 
Mid heore sunnen i-writen, 

that is so muchel schonde, 
Ther hit schulen alle i-seon 

al that her weren a londe. 

Widh the ri3twise 

he speketh wordes swete : 
Cometh her, mine freond, 

oure sunnes for to lete, 
In mine fader boure 

ow is i-maked sete, 
Ther ow schulen engles 

ful swetelichc j^rete. 


"VVidh the sunfule, 

al so 36 mahen i-here : 
Godh, awariede gostes, 

feondes i-fere, 
Into berninde fur, 

of blisse 56 beotli skere ; 
For 36 owre sunneii 

of thiss6 world6 bere. 

Bidd6 we ure lavedi, 

swet6St ab'6 thinge, 
That heo ur6 erende beore 

to then hevon-kinge ; 
For his holi nome, 

and for hire herendinge, 
That heo ure sawle 

to heoven-rige bringe. 


I-heredh of one thinge 

that 30 ohen of thenche, 
5e that weriedh riche schrud, 

and sittedh on oure beuche. 
Thah nie kneoli ou bi-vore, 

and mid win schenche, 
From the dreorie deadh 

ne mai nomon at-blenche. 


36 that sittet i-schrud 

widh skarlet and widh palle, 
Wei sothe tithinge 

ich ou wile telle. 
The feond thenchedh i-wis 

the sawle foi- to cwelle, 
Ase we hit findeth i-writen 

in the Goddspelle. 

All ot" one thinge, 

we schule nime gome, 
That we weren povre 

tha we hider come. 
We hit heredh i-wis 

swithe ofte and i-lome, 
The sawle and the licome 

selde heo beoth i-some. 

Hwenne the child bid i-boren, 

and on eorthe i-faUe, 
Nolde ich 3even enne peni 

for his weden alle : 
Ah seodhdhen moni mon 

bi-jet bores and halle ; 
For-hwi the wrecche sawle 

schal into pine valle. 

Thenche we on the laste dai 
that w(! schule heonne fare, 

Ut ot" thisse worldo, 

widli pine and widli karc 


Al so we liider couien 

naked and bare, 
And of ure sunnen 

3even ondsweare. 

Kabbe no men so niuchel, 

al hit wolle agon, 
His lond and his hus, 

and his horn ; 
The sorie soule 

maketh liire mon : 
I-wis ne mai at-blenche 

ure neaver non. 

Thenne the latemest dai 

deth havedh i-brouhit, 
Bi-nimedh ure speche, 

ure siht and ure thoht, 
And in euche Hrae 

deth us hafdh wuth-soht, 
Thenne beodh ure bhsse 

al i-turnd to noht. 

Ne mijte no tunge tellen, 

that ever wes i-boren, 
The stronge jjine of helle, 

thah he hedde i-sworen, 
Er the sawle and the bodi 

a two beon to-di'ehen, 
Bute Crist that lesede his folc 

that ther wes for-loren. 


Anon so the sawle 

bidli i-faren ut, 
Me nimedh the licome 

and preonedh in a clut, 
That wes so modi and so strong, 

and so swithe prud. 
And wes i-woned to werien 

moni a feir schrud. 

Nu lidh the clei clot 

al so the ston. 
And his freondes strivedh 

to gripen his i-won ; 
The sorie sowle 

makedh hire mon, 
Of alle hire errure freond 

nu nafdh heo non. 

" Henne," saidh the sawle 

widh sorie chere ; 
" Awai ! thu wreeche fole ball, 

nu thu list on here, 
Ich schal habben for the 

fendes to i-fere. 
Awai ! that thu evere 

to monne i-schape were ! 

Ne schaltu neaver sitten 
on bolstre ne on benche, 

Ne never in none halle, 
thcr ine vin schciichcdh. 


For thine fiile snnncn, 
and for tliin um wrenche, 

Hi schal, wrecche sawle, 
to ateliche stenche. 

Ilwer beodli alle thine frond, 

that faire the bi-hete, 
And feire the i-gretten 

bi weies and bi strete ? 
Nu heo woUedh, wrecche, 

alle the for-lete ; 
Nolden he hore stonkes 

non nu the i-mete. 

Hwer beodh thine dihsches, 

midd thine swete sonde ? 
Hwer beoth thine nappes, 

that the glideth to lionde ? 
Plwer is thi bred and thin ale ? 

thi tunne and thine stonde ? 
Nu thu schalt in the putte 

wunie wid the wonde. 

Of me thu havedest nu3te 

to don al thine wille ; 
Ever thu were abuten 

us bo for to spille. 
Nu thu schalt, wrecche, 

liggen ful stille ; 
And ich schal thine gultes 

abuggen ful ille. 


Hwi noldest tliu mid Crist 

makeu us i-sahte, 
Masse leten singe 

of that he the bi-tahte ? 
Ever thu were abuten 

to echen thin ahte : 
For-thi we beodh an ende 

bothe bi-pahte. 

Thelde wole me for the 

masse lete singe, 
Other in holi chirche 

don ei offringe. 
]Me wide for thin ahte 

make strivinge, 
And pute the widh-uten 

of alle thine thinge. 

Li, awariede bali, 

that neaver thu ne arise ; 
Hwenne ich thenche the uppcjii, 

fnl sore me mai agrise. 
For ich schal bernen in fur, 

and chiverin in ise. 
And ever beon in pinen 

a feole kunne wise. 

Nu schal thin halle 

mid spade beon i-wro5t ; 

And thu schald ther-inne, 
vvrecchc, l)coii i-bro5t. 


Nu scliulen thine weden 

alle bei)n i-so5t, 
Me wule swopen thin hus, 

and lit mid the swost. 

Thi bur is sone i-buld, 

that thu schald wunicn inne ; 
The rof the firste 

schal legge o thine chinne. 
Nu the sculen wormes 

wunien widhinne ; 
Ne mai me heom ut driven 

widh nones kunnes ginne. 

Nu is afered of the 

thi mei and thi mowe ; 
Alle heo weredh the weden 

that er weren thin owe. 
And thu schald nu in eorthe 

liggen ful lohe : 
Wai ! hwi noldestu er 

of thisse beon i-cnowe. 

Nu schal for-rotien 

thine tedh and thi tunge, 
Thi mahe and thi milte, 

thi livre and thi lunge, 
And thi throte bolle 

that thu mide sunge ; 
And thu schal in the putte 

faste beon i-thrunge. 


Hwer bedh thine theines 

that the leove were ? 
Of alle thine riche weden 

nu thu ard al skere. 
Beo thu in the putte 

woi'mes i-fere, 
Hit bidh sone of the 

al so thu neaver nere. 

Al that ich hatede 

hit thujte the ful god, 
That makede the qued ther 

that the bi-stod. 
Hevedest thu thi wille, 

thu were al wod ; 
And ich am wreeche sawle 

ful sori mod. 

Nu thu schald bi-leven, 

and icht mot fare nede : 
For alle thine gultes 

fongon ischal mede, 
That is hunger and chele, 

and fur-berninge glede, 
And so me wule Satlianas 

ful ateliche brede. 

Ich am sori i-noh 

bi dai and bi nilit, 
Ischal theostre stude 

ther neaver iic knnicdii lilit, 


That ischal i-mete 

moiii a ful wiht ; 
Ne schal ich neaver i-seo 

Crist that is so briht. 

In ful a bitter baclh 

bathieii ieli schal naked, 
Of pisch and of brimeston 

wallinde is i-maked. 
Ther is Sathanas the cwed 

redi widh his rake, 
And swo he me wule for-swolelien 

the fur-berninde drake. 

Tliah al the fur in this world 

to-gedere were i-broht, 
Ajeines thare hete 

nei"e hit al noht. 
Wo is him alive 

that ther-inne is i-broht ! 
Awai ! thas iike pine 

thu havest me bi-soht. 

Hwo i-sehe thene cwed, 

hu lodlich he beo, 
Homes on his'heaved, 

homes on his cneo, 
Nis no thing alive 

til at so ateliche beo. 
Wo is heom ine belie 

that bine schule i-seo ! 



He 3eoneth mid his muthe, 

and staretli mid his eje ; 
Of his neose thui-les 

cumedh the rede leie ; 
The fur springeth him ut 

of everuche breye ; 
He moste deie for care, 

hwase hine i-seje. 

Al so beodh his e^e puttes 

ase a bruthen led ; 
The fur springeth him of 

wunderliche red. 
Ne mai no tunge telle 

hu lodlich is the qued. 
Hwase lokede him on, 

for care he mijte beo dead. 

Holde we us clene 

ut of hordom ; 
Masse leten singen, 

and almes-dede don, 
And widh hali chirche 

maken us i-som : 
Thenne mohe we cwemen 

Crist at the dom. 

The king that al this world scheop 

thurh his holi mijte, 
Bi-wite m*e sawle 

from than ful(3 wi3t«^. 


And Icte us hatie the woli 

and In vie the rijte, 
And bringe ure sawle 

to heoveriche lijte ! Amen. 


Hwan thu sixst on leode 
King that is wilful, 
And domes-mon niminde, 
Proest that is wilde, 
Bischop slou, 
Old mon lecliur, 
3unch mon lie5er, 
Wimmon schonieles, 
Child un-theand, 
Thral vni-buxsura, 
Atheling britheling, 
Lond widhute laje, 
Al so seide Bade, 
Wo there theode ! 

Harknied, alle gode men, 
and stille sitteth aduu, 

And ioh foil wule telleu 
a Intel sei'muni. 


Wei we witen alio, 

thag ich eou nojt ne telle, 
Hu Adam ure vorme-fader 

adun vel into helle ; 
Sfihomeliche he vor-lef 

the blisse that he hedde, 
To 3ivernesse and prude 

none neode he nedde ; 
He nom then appel of the tre, 

that him for-bode was ; 
So reusful dede 

i-don never non nas. 
He made him into helle falle, 
And efter hira his children alle. 
Ther lie was fort ure drihte 
Hine bohte mid his mihte : 
He hine alesede mid his blode, 
That he scedde upon the rode ; 
To dethe he jef him for us alle, 
Tho we weren so stronge at-falle. 
Alle bac-biteres 

wendet to helle, 
Robberes and reveres, 

and the mon-queUe ; 
Lechurs and horlinges 

thider sculcn wende. 
And ther lieo sculen wunien 

evere buten ende. 
Alle theos false chepmen, 

the feond heom wule habbe, 


Bachai-es and brueres, 

for alle men lieo gabbe ; 
Loje heo holdet liore galun, 

mid berme heo hine fuUetb, 
And ever of the purse 

that selver heo tulleth. 
Bothe heo maketh feble 

heore bred and heore ale ; 
Habbeu heo that selver, 

ne tellet heo never tale. 
Godemen, for godes luve, 

bi-leveth suche sunne ; 
For atten ende hit bi-nimeth 

heveriche wunne. 
Alle prestes wifes, 

ich wot heo beoth for-lore ; 
Thes persones, ich wene, 

ne beoth heo nojt for-bore, 
Ne theos prude junge-men 

that luvieth Malekin, 
And theos prude maidenes 

that luvieth Janekin. 
At chirche and at cheping 

hwanne heo to-gadere come, 
Heo runeth to-gaderes 

and speketh of derne luve ; 
Hwenne heo to chirche cometh, 

to the haliday, 
Everuch wile his leof i-seon, 


tlier jeth he may. 
Heo bi-holcleth Wadekin 

mid swithe gled eye, 
Atom his hire pater noster 

bi-loken in hire teye. 
Masses and matines 

ne kepeth lieo nouht. 
Robin wule Gilot 

leden to then ale, 
And sitten ther to-gederes, 

and tellen heore tale ; 
He mai quiten hire ale, 

and so then do that gome, 
An eve to go mid him 

ne thuchet hire no schome. 
Hire sire and hire dame 

threteth hire to bete ; 
Nule heo for-go Robin 

for al heore threte ; 
P>ver heo wile hire schere, 

ne com hire nomon neh, 
Fort that hii'e wombe 

up a-rise an heh. 
Godemen, for Godes luve, 

bi-leveth eoure sunne ; 
For atcn ende hit bi-ninieth 

heveriche wunne. 
Bidde we seinte Marie, 

for hire milde mode, 


For the teres that heo wep, 

for hire sone blode, 
Al so wis so he god is, 

for hire erndinge, 
To the bhssc of hevene, 

he us alle bringe. Amen. 





C|)irteen psalms 










€\)t iSercp ^ofietp. 


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


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







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


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





The circumstances under which the present tract 
appears, are of a very painful nature. The MS. 
from which the Psahns are printed, was purchased 
for Sir Alexander Croke, at the sale of the late Mr. 
Craven Ord, and the transcription and preparation 
of the little volume for publication by the Percy 
Society, may be said to have been the last literary 
act of Sir Alexander's life : for although he lived 
to receive the first proof, yet it arrived on the very 
day on which he was first confined to his bed, and 
within a week the amiable and accomplished 
editor was no more ! It will however be grateful 
to the members of the Percy Society to know, that 
their acceptance of his offering was an event that 
gave him the most lively satisfaction ; and it is 
only to be regretted that the volume, as it now 
appears, had not the benefit of his own accurate 
eye and varied and extensive information. A 
few dates and memoranda of the person to whom 
we owe this number of the Society's publications, 
may not here be out of place nor unacceptable. 


Sir Alexander Croke was descended from an 
old and highly honourable family, originally (as 
will be seen in another part of this volume) of the 
name of Le Blount, but changed, during the 
reign of King Henry the Fourth, to that of Croke, 
which has, from that period, been continued by 
the various branches of this ancient house.* 

Sir Alexander, the son of a father of both his 
names, was born July 22, 1758, at Aylesbury. 
His mother was Anne, daughter of the Rev. 
Robert Armistead, rector of EUesborough in 
Buckinghamshire. He was educated at a private 
school, at Bierton, in that county, by the vicar, 
]\Ir. Shaw, himself an excellent scholar, and the 
father and early instructor of two sons, equally 
distinguished for their diversified dispositions and 
acquirements in after life : the learned, and jocose, 
and high-spiritedf Dr. Shaw, of Magdalene Col- 
lege, Oxford, editor of ApoUonius Hhodius, — and 
the no less learned, but difl&dent and gentle Dr. 

* Sir Alexander was proud of the antiquity and nobility of 
his ancestors ; but nothing gave him greater delight than the 
knowledge, recently obtained, of an affinity between the 
Croke family and that of William Shakspeare, through 
their common ancestors the Caves and the Hambdens. 
t " Vale, O dulcis, facete, simplex, fortis, sapiens!" 

Imcription on Dr. Shaw's Monument in Magdalene 
College Chapel. h)j Dr. Roiith. 


Shaw, of the British Museum ; the latter better 
known, perhaps, to the present age, as the author 
of British Zoology, and of whom an acute and 
eminent, and not usually very complimentary, 
critic, Dr. Parr, is said to have affirmed, that 
" he wrote the best Latin of any man since the 
time of Erasmus." 

With such companions did Sir Alexander 
pass his earlier years ; and he has left a pleasing 
and honourable testimony to the value he himself 
placed on these his school-boy days : " The years 
which I passed at Bierton, I always looked back 
to as some of the happiest days of my existence. 
I there acquired a general love for literature and 
science, which has been a never-failing source of 
amusement during the whole of my life." 

In 1775, he was matriculated as a gentleman 
commoner of Oriel College, Oxford, and went to 
reside in the university in the following year. He 
remained there nearly five years, his father dying 
in the interval ; and thus becoming his own mas- 
ter, he has often confessed to the writer of these 
notices, that his academical career was not such 
as to give him any great satisfaction in the retro- 
spect. This is now mentioned, because no man 
more thoroughly redeemed his lost time, nor more 
sincerely regretted the extravagances of his youth- 

ful days, than did Sir Alexander Croke in after- 

Having, during his residence in the university, 
entered at the Inner Temple, he took up his resi- 
dence there in 1780; and it would seem that 
during the time passed in London, he improved, 
by a more diligent study of ancient as well as 
modern writers, the learning he had previously 
gained at school and in the university. It will 
be readily acknowledged by all who knew him, 
that his acquirements in almost every branch of 
literature were as accurate as they were extensive ; 
add to which, he was gifted with a very retentive 
memory, and possessed the valuable faculty of 
communicating his ideas with clearness and per- 
spicuity, and at the same time in the most forcible 
and appropriate language. The readiness of his 
wit, and the facility with which he expressed him- 
self in verse, were also equally remarkable. 

In 1786, he was called to the bar as a member 
of the Inner Temple ; and it may be added, that 
he became a bencher of that society in 1823, was 
elected reader in 1829, and served the honourable 
office of treasurer in 1830. 

Upon leaving residence in the university, 
he removed his name from the college books, 
but replaced it about the year 1794, when from 
motives of prudence, and a desire no longer to 


lead a life, which though it could not be called 
idle, was yet scarcely to be considered as positively 
active, he resolved to adopt the law as a profes- 
sion ; and with this view he recommenced his legal 
studies, intending to become an advocate in Doc- 
tor's Commons. Having, in 1796, united himself 
to a lady, whose beauty was as universally acknow- 
ledged at the time, as her sound sense, integrity 
of principle, and amiability of disposition were 
afterwards known and appreciated, he had another 
inducement for exertion ; and accordingly, after 
taking the degrees of Bachelor and Doctor in Civil 
Law, he was, at the accustomed time, admitted to 
the Commons, Here he very soon attracted the 
notice of Sir William Scott, with whom he had 
been previously acquainted at Oxford, and, after 
a short interval, he was selected by that eminent 
civilian, to report an important judgment delivered 
by himself, in a case relative to the marriage of 
illegitimate minors. To this report Dr. Croke 
prefixed a very masterly essay on the theory and 
history of laws relating to illegitimate children, 
and to the encouragement of marriage in general. 
The publication of this report soon brought the 
author into notice, and practice quickly followed 
fame. In 1 798, he was requested by the govern- 
ment to answer an attack made upon the proceed- 
ings in the Court of Admiralty, with respect to 

neutral nations, by M. Schlegel, a Danish lawyer 
of some eminence. This Dr. Croke performed 
in a manner which obtained the unqualified appro- 
bation of those most competent to express an 
opinion upon so abstruse a subject ; and it is most 
probable that it was the immediate cause of an 
offer made to him, soon after the publication of 
his Reply, to become a judge in one of the Vice- 
Admiralty Courts in America, a post for which 
his line of study and forensic practice rendered 
him peculiarly eligible. Having the option of the 
several stations of Jamaica, Martinique, or Ha- 
lifax, in Nova Scotia, Dr. Croke made choice of 
the latter, and repaired thither at the close of 
1801. With the exception of a short absence in 
England in 1810, he remained at Halifax in the 
active discharge of his official duties, which were 
as various as they were important, till 1815, when 
he finally returned to England, and having re- 
ceived the honour of knighthood at the hands of 
the Prince Regent in 1816, as a testimony of the 
royal approbation of his services, he retired to 
his seat at Studley Priory, where, in the bosom 
of his family, and in the society of his friends 
and neighbours, he passed the remainder of a long 
life in the enjoyment of much of literary leisure, 
and every other rational recreation, beloved 
and respected by all who knew him. He died. 


after a few days' illness, on the night of the 27th 
of December 1842, in his eighty-fifth year, leaving 
a widow, two sons (George and John), and two 
daughters (Adelaide and Anne), to lament him. 

The loss of Sir Alexander Croke was a severe 
one to those with whom he associated. Notwith- 
standing his advanced age, he was a cheerful 
companion, easy of access, and hospitable to every 
one. Well informed on a variety of subjects, 
and not unwilling to communicate what he knew, 
hia conversation was agreeable and instructive ; 
and as he delighted in the society of literary and 
scientific men, his proximity to the university 
enabled him to hold frequent intercourse with 
those whose pursuits were in accordance with his 
own ; an advantage he well knew how to appre- 
ciate, and of which he availed himself to within 
a very short period before his death. He was an 
excellent public speaker, and never failed to seize, 
with great adroitness, the facts and arguments 
that were most suited to the occasion ; nor did 
he spare those who were opposed to him ; for he 
was quick to discern any weak point in the state- 
ment or reasoning of his antagonist, and, although 
no person ever heard him say an ill-natured thing, 
he was never at a loss to reply to and confute an 

In politics, Sir Alexander Croko was a Conserv- 

ative of the old school ; and he has left upon record 
an avowal of his sentiments, which will be read 
with higher interest now that he is no more. His 
Patriot Queen, written and published after he had 
attained to fourscore years of age, will show how 
extensive was his knowledge of English history, 
how just his estimate of the several political par- 
ties, past and present, and how sound his views 
of the part befitting the ruler of so mighty 
and powerful a nation as Great Britain. This 
pamphlet, although it was not so extensively 
known as it deserved, would, even now, well repay 
perusal, and reflects high credit on the author. 

Sir Alexander was not only a varied and volu- 
minous writer, but he was an accomplished artist. 
Many of his sketches of scenes in Nova Scotia 
have been spoken of in high terms by those whose 
praise would be in itself a sufficient commend- 
ation ; and there are some paintings at Studley 
Priory, which obtained the unqualified approval 
of Mr. West, the late venerable President of the 
Royal Academy. His etchings also exhibit much 
of artistical talent, and will be highly valued 
hereafter by collectors, for the impressions taken 
from the plates were too limited to supply even 
his own immediate friends. 

We shall conclude this brief sketch with a list 
of Sir Alexander Oroke's works : 


1 . The Possibility and Advantagesof Drainingaud Enclosing 

Otmoor. Lond. 1787. 

2. Report of the Case of Horner v. Liddiard : with an In- 

troductory Essay. Lond. 1800. 
;}. Remarks on Mr. Schlegel's Work upon the Visitation of 
Neutral Vessels under Convoy. Lond. 1801. 

4. Statutes of the University of King's College, Windsor, 

Nova Scotia. Halifax, 1802. 

5. An Examination of the Rev. Mr. Burke's Letter of In- 

struction to the Catholic Missionaries of Nova Scotia. 
Halifax, 1804. (Puhlished under the name of Robert 
Stanser, but written by Sir A. C.) 

6. The Catechism of the Church of England, with Pas- 

sages from the Confession of Faith, and the Larger 
and Shorter Catechisms of the Church of Scotland. 
Halifax, 1813. 

7. Letters on the Respective Merits of the Bell and Lan- 

castrian Systems of Education. Printed in the Ha- 
lifax Papers. 

8. Reports of Cases decided by Alexander Croke in the 

Court of Vice-Admiralty at Halifax. Lond. 1814. 
(Published by James Stewart, from the notes of Dr. 

9. An Answer to the Swedish Memorial, addressed to Lord 

Castlereagh, by the Baron Rehausen. Lond. 1814. 
(Published as an Appendix to Croke's Reports.) 

10. The Genealogical History of the Croke Family, 2 vols- 

Oxford, 1823. Of this very valuable Collection one 
hundred and fifty copies only were printed. 

11. An Essay, with various Specimens, on Rhyming Latin 

Verses. Oxford, 1828. 

12. Regimen Sanitatis Salernitanum, with an Introduction 

and Notes. Oxford, 1830. 


13. The Case of Otmoor, with the Moor Orders. Oxford, 


14. Plain Truths: Five Letters addressed to the Members of 

the Conservative Association of Oxford. Originally 
published in a Provincial Paper ; afterwards collected 
and printed at Oxford, 1837. 

15. The Patriot Queen. Lond. 1838. 

16. The Progress of Idolatry, a Poem : with other Poems, 

2 vols. Oxford, 1841. 

17. An Essay on the Consolato del Mare, an ancient Code of 

Maritime Law. Prepared for the press, but it is 
doubtful if ever printed. 

18. Certain Psalms tran.slated by John Croke, one of the Six 

Clerks in Chancery. 

P. B. 


Nov. Int. 1843. 













Hos moa me coiiiunx psalinos Prudcntia fecit 
Vcrtero : nee tedet siuisiim Virtutis amorc. 

Translated in thk tvme of K. II. the 8. 

* Theso notes arc in tho handwriting of Sir Jolin Croke, 
father to Sir John and Sir George, the two judges. Virtutis 
amore, is the motto of the coat of arms of the familv. 


6. Domine ne 
32. Beati quorum 
38. Domine ne in furore 
51. Miserere mei Deus 
102. Domine exaudi 
130. De profundis 
143. Domine exaudi 

Gloria Patri 
19. Coeli enarrant 
13. Usque quo Domine 
43. Judica me Deus 
139. Domine probasti 
91. Qui habitat 
31. In te Domine speravi 

Only to the 6th verse inclusive. 
The first chapter of Ecclesiastes. 

The numbers are those of our translation, but in the Vulgate 
to psalm 9 is added our 10th, and not numbered separately — 
From the 9th therefore our psalms are one before the Vulgate ; 
thus 31 of the Vulgate is 32 of ours. 



Dne ne in furore. 
LoRDE holde thy hande yn thy great rage ; 
Stryke me not after my desert, 
Nor yn thy wrath ley to my charge 
The faultes founde yn my synf'ule hert. 

Miserere mei. 
Ilaue mercy Lorde vppon the weake, 
]My body feble and lowe brought, 
I tr}nnble as my bones wohl breake, 
When thy stroke cumeth yn my thought. 

Et anima mea. 
And yet my sovvle is tro1)led more 
With vanyties, with thouglit, and cui'c,* 
And with teraptacions to sore ; 
O Lorde, how longe shall this endure? 

Cure, from cura, care. 


Turne to ine, Lorde, and haue respecte 
Vnto tliyiic accustomed grace, 
Aiul save my sowlc so f'arre abiecte. 
To meiide my lyfe geve me suiue space. 

Quoniam non est. 
For I am sure, amonge the deade 
Tlier is no eallyng on thy name ; 
In hell who can holde vp his heade, 
To geve prayse worthy to thy fame ? 

Laboraui in getnitu. 

My syni'ull lyfe I do lament : 
Every nyght when I shuld slepe. 
My bed with tears is over sprent, 
Myne hert doeth brayde* the sighes depe. 

Tarhatus est. 

Myne ies wax dyme, my sight doeth faile, 
And yet my trobles done encrease. 
For fear of foes. I may bewaile 
My chaunce for that they never cease. 

Discedite a me. 
Yet boldly trustyng yn thyne ayde, 
I sey, goo backe you enmyes all, 
For God woU heare what shalbe saide, 
My wepyng voyce doeth on hym call. 

* Brayde, break out. 


Exaudiuit Dns. 
My sute is heard, there is no doubt, 
And granted to, I dare well saye : 
Cause is, how that is brought aboute, 
God gave good eare when I dyd praye. 


Therfor my foes may turne and falle. 
And not without reproche and blame : 
So let my mortall enmyes all 
Quykly be gone, and go with shame. 


Beati quorum. 
Blessed be they that may obteyne 
Of theire yniquyties releace. 
Whose synnes ben hid, likewise, agayne 
May sey, is blessed and yn peace. 

Beatus vir. 
Blessed is he that God woll not 
Impute to hym his synfulnes : 
And in whose spryte there is no blot. 
Of fraudc, or of deceitfulnes. 


Quoniam tacui. 
Tliougli 1 do seme to hold my peace, 
Speakyng no worde, as it is thought, 
I howle, I crye, and do not cease ; 
At length my strength is brought to nought. 

Quoniam die. 
For day and nyght, thy myghty hande 
Is leide ofi me full grevously, 
So that my strength cannot withstands, 
This thorne doeth pryk so paynefully. 

Delictum meum. 
Therfore my syn I woll declare 
To the, O Lord, and shew my grefe : 
Myue yniustice I woll not spare 
To tell, and truste yn thy relefe. 

Dixi coiijitebor. 
I sey I woll confesse the truthe, 
Vnto the Lorde, of myne offense : 
Vppon me then thou wolt take ruthe,* 
And with my faults clerely dispense. 

Pro hac or obit. 
And for like cause, all feithfull men 
Woll praye to the for thy behest, 

* ruthc, compassion. 


In tyme of necle, for helpe, and then 
They shall obteyne all theire request. 


To such the surges cannot ryse 
Of worldly waves, to change theire chere, 
If they had powre so to devise, 
They shuld not dare to cume so nere. 

Tu es refiigiutn. 
For refuge, Lorde, I rune to the. 
And there I fynde it even at hande : 
For thou doest both delyuer me. 
And loosest me out of my bande. 

And he doeth sey, I woll the teache, 
And geve the wit my way to cast : 
Kepe that way strayte, and make no breache, 
INIyne ies on the I woll set fast. 

Nolite fieri. 
Ye may not be lyke horse or mule, 
That hath no wit nor perfecte sense : 
Nor lyve like beastes, that knowe no rewle, 
For that they lackc yntelligence. 

In canto. 
Bynde fast theire iawes vp to the racke, 
7\.nd l)ry<k'll thcyiii, that beastes wul be; 


Pryk tlieym ibrward that woU drawe bak, 
And woU not loavne to drawe to the. 

Great paynes for such prepare he must, 
The sume of theym cannot be founde, 
But those that yn the Lorde woll trust, 
His mercy shall envyrond rounde. 

Now joye yn God that such grace sent 
To make you good, and gave you space, 
And all that ben of pure entent, 
Eeioyce agayne for his great grace. 

PSALM xxxvni. 

Domine ne. 
Lorde, yn thy rage, for myne offense, 
Wherof to the I am detecte. 
Reprove me not, voide of defense. 
Nor yn thyne anger me correcte. 

Quoniam sagitte. 

Thyne arrows sharp none can wstande, 

For they yn me so much the more 

Ben fyxed, that thy hevy hande 

Thou havest uppon me leide so sore. 

PSALMS. 1 1 

Non est sanitas. 
I haue no health yn flesshe, nor brcst, 
Thy wrath doeth so vppon me treat, 
And, in my bones, I fynde no rest, 
Bycause my synnes do shew so great. 

Quoniam iniquitates. 
For myne yniquyties do go 
Beyonde the compasse of my head : 
They presse me downe and burdon so, 
As it were a great weight of lead. 


Myne old sores do breake out agayn, 
And are corrupte and putrefie, 
Bycause the daungier of the blayne,* 
My folyshnes coulde not espie. 

Miser fact us. 
I am made feble like a wretch. 
Extremely croked, backe and bone : 
Tlie depe sighes from the hert I fetch, 
Syttyng withyn all daye alone. 

Quoniam lumbi. 

Witli illusions rouiide aboute, 

I\Iy loynes ben full, and W(,'ak witliaii; 

And though my fieshe seme faire woute, 

There is yn it no health at aU. 

* Blayne, a sore. 

1 2 PSALMS. 

Afflictua sum. 
I am tormented without rest, 
And am brought lowe with ynward smert, 
So that I rored lyke a best, 
For tlie great sorowe of myne hert. 

Domine ante te. 
O Lorde, to the all my desyre 
It is well knowen, for thou doest se 
My wofuU hert ; lo, my retyre, 
And waylyng, is not hyd from the. 

Cor meum. 
Mjme hert is dou without recure, 
I am so trobled day and nyght, 
My strength no lenger can endure, 
Myne ies also haue lost theire light. 

Amid met. 
For my more grefe, those I did thynke 
Had ben my frends, and neighbours good, 
Drewe nere to wayte how I shuld shrynke, 
And without cause agaynst me stoode. 

£i qui iuxta. 
And such as I did favour most, 
Stoode ferthest fro me at my nede, 
And with great force, crakyng, and host, 
They sought to haue my lyfe with spede. 

PSALMS. ] 3 

Et qui inquirehant. 

To seke my hurt alhvays they wolde, 
With vayne words fyrst they did assaye, 
And then to trap me, yf they coulde, 
They studied wiles all the longe daye. 

Ego auteni. 
Lyke as a man were deafe become, 
Me thought it best to gyve none eare ; 
I shewde my selfe, as I were dome, 
And kept full close my mowth for feare. 

Etfactus sum. 
I stode as one that hearde no more. 
Then doeth a stone, but let theym vaunt : 
When they rebuked me so sore, 
I wold not render taunt for taunt. 

Quoniam in te. 
For I haue put my trust yn the, 
O Lorde, to whom I me betake ; 
Wherfor thou wolt delyuer me, 
My Lorde, my God, for thyne owne sake. 

Quia dixi. 
And I complayne, how that my foes, 
On me tryumphe, nowe beyng weake. 
And when I slyde, both hele and toes. 
Then stowtly they of me do speake. 

1 4 PSALMS. 

Ego autem in JiageUa. 
I am so poynted to be set, 
In all the plages that can be sought ; 
That I my sorowe cannot let, 
To be still yn my sight and thought. 

Quoniam iniquitatem. 
For myne yniquyties I se, 
Thies sorows cume : this I confesse, 
I woll bethynke me what may be, 
That may my synfuU lyfe redresse. 

Inimici auiem. 
In this meane tyme, my braynes did beat, 
To se myne enmyes growc so stronge ; 
And those yn nombre wax so great, 
That hated me of theire owne wronge. 

Qui retribuunt. 
They that did render evill for good, 
With open mowth and fowle araye, 
Detracted me, as they were wood, 
Bycause I folowed the good waye. 

Ne derelinquas me. 
Now that thou seest how I do stande, 
O Lorde, staye me, that I ne fall ; 
Forsake me not, but be at hande, 
And shewe thy selfe when I shall call. 

PSALMS. 1 5 

Intende in adiutorium. 
Vnto my helpe haue sume regarde, 
For yn the resteth all my wealth ; 
And comfort me with thy rewarde, 
O Lorde, the God of all my health. 


Miserere met Deus. 
All myghty God, Lorde eternall.. 
Whose propertie is to forgeve ; 
For thy great mercy I do caU, 
And to obteyne I do bylevo. 

Et secundum. 
My syn is great, thy mercie more, 
An heape, a multitude, I sey, 
Of mercies hen Avith the yn store. 
Put therfor cleans my syn awaye. 

Amplius lava me. 
Wasshe of my syn with water clere, 
That stilleth downe from thy pytie, 
In ample wise, while I lyve here, 
Clense me of rnyno yniquytie. 

Quoniam iniquitafem. 
For I confesse, and it is m, 
That I hauo synned dyversly ; 
Where so ever I syt or go 
My syn is ol)iecte to myne iye. 

I (»■ PSALMS. 

Tibi soli peccani. 
I haue offended the alone, 
And haue done evill yn thy presence ; 
Just is thy worde, high is thy ti'one, 
Victorious is thy sentence. 

Ecce enim in. 
Beholde how tliat I am compacte, 
And fyrste begoten, all yn syn ; 
My mother so with synfull acte 
Conceyved me withyii her skyn. 

Ecce enim veritatem. 
Loo, this is trewe, and truth with the 
Belouyd is : Thus of thy grace 
Thou havest shewed partely vnto me 
Of thy wisdom the secrete place. 

Asperges me. 
With isop, bitter tears I meane, 
Sprynkell me ofte, my faultes to knowe ; 
Then if that thou wolt wasshe me cleane, 
I slial be whiter then the snowe. 

Auditui meo. 
Vnto myne ears, withyn short space. 
Of ioye or blysse shall cume the choyse, 
The bones that bowed to the for grace, 
Shall yn th)- mercy then reioyce. 


Auerte Jaciem tuam. 

Turne fro my synnes tliy face awaye, 
For they woll shame me if thou loke, 
And therfor, Lorde, I the do praye, 
Put my mys dedes out of thy boke. 

Cor mundum erect. 
Myne herte of nature filthy is, 
A pure herte now yn me make new : 
Refourme the spryte that doeth amys, 
And the right spryte yn me renew. 

Ne proijcias me. 
Lyke an abiecte let not me be, 
Cast from thy face and favoure to. 
Thy holy spryte take not fro me, 
That shuld teach me what I shuld do. 

Redde mihi. 
Make me glad that doeth mourne so longe, 
Put of my siknes with tliy health, 
And with that good spryte, make me stronge, 
That is the grounde of all oure wealth. 

Docebo iniqaos. 
And then thy wayes 1 slialbe mete 
To teach theym, that those wold pervert, 
And such as holde that syn is swete, 
By myne example shall eonverte. 


Libera me. 
Lorde God of all my health the flowre, 
Graunt that I nether slee, nor kyll, 
And my tonge shall both daye and houre, 
Dewly exalte thy iustice styll. 

Domine labia. 
Open my lippes first to confesse 
My syn conceyued ynwardly ; 
And my mowth after shall expresse, 
Thy lawde and prayses owtwardly. 

Quoniam si. 
If I shuld offer for my syn 
Or sacrifice do vnto the, 
Of beast or fowle, I shuld begyn, 
To stier thy wrath more towardes me. 

Sacrificiu Deo. 
Offer we must for sacrifyce 
A trobled myiide, with sorows smert, 
Can thou refuse ? nay, nor despise 
The humble and the eontryte hert. 

Benigne fac. 

To V9 of Syon that ben borne, 
If thou thy favom-e wolt renewe ; 
The broken sowle, the temple torne, 
The walles, and all, shalbe made newe. 


Time acceptabis. 
The sacrifyce then shall we make 
Of iustice and of pure entent, 
And all th) iig els thou wolt well take, 
That we shall offer or present. 


Domine exaudi. 
Mercifuil Lorde, my prayer heare, 
Graunt it as thou art gracious ; 
And let ascende vp to thyne eare, 
My wofiiU voyce, and clamorous. 

Non auertas. 

Turne not asyde fro me thy face, 
When perplexitie doeth appere, 
But then without abode* or space, 
Bowe downe thyne ears, let theym drawe nere. 

In quacumq. die. 
And yn that day, I sey agayne, 
That I shall call vppon tliy name : 
Full spedely let me obteyne 
Thy socoure, and perceyue the same. 

* Abode, (Ic'lay. 


Quia defecerunt. 
For like the smoke that sone is gone, 
My dayes do vanysshe out of sight, 
My bones ben wasted, one by one, 
Lyke burnyng brands* they are yn plight. 

Percussus sum. 
I am mowde downe, like hey or wede, 
My witherd liert doeth wax so drye : 
Vnto my mowth, when I shuld fede, 
My fode doeth taste vnsauourly. 

A voce gemitus. 

My sap consumed is with thought, 

The voyce lamentyng this doeth tell : 

My bones seme broken all to nought, 

And can vnnethf cleave to the fell.J 

Similis f actus. 
Lyke to the pellicane that fowle, 
Which lyveth sole yn desert wide. 
Am I, and like the backe or owle, 
That lurketh yn an olde house syde. 

Vigilaui, Sfc. 
I wake full ofte, and seldome slepe. 
No frende draweth nere, I syt alowfe ; 

* Brands, — cremium, Vulgate. + Unneth, scarcely. 

X Fell, skin. 


Solytarye I do me kepe, 

Lyke a sparrowe vnder the rowfe. 

Tota die. 

But for all this, my spitefull foes 
Cease not to rayle, from day to day, 
And they that me with tales wold glose,* 
Agaynst me worke the worst they maye. 

Quia cinerem. 
This causeth me my breade to eate 
As one doeth asshes, and, for thurst, 
The drynke is skant, when yn my heate 
Myne owne salt teares nedes drynke I must. 

A facie ire. 
Thy wrath doeth troble me full ofte, 
And I do feare, and good cause why, 
Lest thou havest lyfted me alofte. 
That I shuld fall more grevously. 

Dies 7nei sicut. 
My dayes drawe downe to the pyttes brynke, 
Lyke a shadowe awayo tliey rune : 
And so my selfe like hey doeth shrynkc. 
That drieth vp yn somers sune. 

Gloso, (latter. 


Tu autem Dne. 
This comfort yet I take to me, 
How thou art God that cannot faile, 
Thyne acts ben knowen how great they be, 
Thyne entrepryse dyd neuer quayle.* 

Tu exurgens. 
Therfor nowe Lorde aryse at ones, 
And on Syon be mercyfull : 
The tyme doeth serve the for the nones, f 
To shew thy mercy bountyfull. 

Quonid placuerimt. 
For ther is none that seeth the fall 
Of this thyne house, buylt here tofore, 
But that there at his hert woll pall,J 
And he the chaunce woll pytie sore. 

Et timehunt. 
And all the strangers on the grownde, 
Woll feare, and geve prayse to thy name : 
And all the kynges that may be fownde 
To thy glory shall do the same. 

Quia edijicauit. 
When thou havest buylt Syon agayne, 
Thyne howse, where thou wolt set thy seat, 

* Quayle, fail or shrink. f Nones, occasion. 

X Pall, faint. 


Then as oure God there shalt thou reigne, 
In maiestie and glorye great, 

Respexit in oraconem. 
Then shall the prayers take efFecte 
Of such as humble theym to the : 
Thow wolt despise none, nor reiecte, 
Of what lande so ever he be. 

Sciibantur hec. 
This shalbe wrytten of recorde, 
And lefte to theym that be not borne, 
That they likewise may prayse the Lorde, 
As we do nowe, both even and morne. 

Quia prospexit. 
It shalbe seide, and tryed yn sight. 
How he hath from his holy place, 
Even from high heaven, loked downe right 
Vppon the earthe, to shewe his grace. 

Ut audiret. 
How that he myght the gronynges hearc, 
Of such as ben yn pryson l)ownde : 
And to loose theym that stande yn fearc, 
With dreadfull death to be confound(!. 

Vt annuncient. 
By this yn Syoii shall tlie name. 
Of God, our Lorde, declared be : 

-4 PRAT.MS. 

And yn Jerusalem the same 
Hys prayses set forthe yn degre. 

In coinieniendo. 
And all the world, with one acoi'de, 
Both high and lowe, thus shall it be : 
Both kyng and prynce vnto the Lorde 
Shall render thanks, and bowe theire kne. 

Respondit ei. 
But are this thyng doeth cume to passe, 
I I'eale my strength abated much : 
I seme as one that neuer was, 
My daies ben shorte, my tyme is such. 

Ne revoces me. 
Yet cutt me not in the mydde waye, 
Of my short dayes, which sone be gone ; 
Ther is no tyme can the decaye, 
Thy yeres and dayes ben allwaies one. 

Initio tu Dne. 

Byfore all tyiue, the earth was wrought 
By the, O Lorde, and thy great myglit : 
The heavens also, as with a thought. 
Thou havest set vp with all theire light. 

Ipsi peribunt. 
Yet tliey shall peryshe out of dowbte, 
But thou art allweys permanent ; 


All other thynges shall, lyke a clowte, 
Both weare and teare and all to rent. 

Et sicut opertorium. 
Thou mayst theyra like a garment change, 
And they must change ; obey, and bende : 
Thou art thy selfe all one, thy range, 
Thy course, thy yeres, shall knowe none ende. 

Filii seruorum tuorum. 

For thy true servandes yet provide, 

And for theire childerne place reserve. 

Where they may dwell, with the theire guyde, 

And to thy selfe theire seade preserue. 


De profundis. 
Plonged yn thoughts, with sighes depe, 
O Lorde, to the I call, and crye ; 
From the lowe earth, where I do crepe, 
Let my pore voyce be hearde on high. 

Fiant aures tue. 

And let thy most pytyfuU cars 
Ilauc to my voyc(.' comjjassion ; 
Consyderyug the ynwarde tears 
Of my wofull peticion. 


Si iniquitates. 
For if thou wolt oure synnes beholde, 
And plage tlieym with thy myghty hande, 
O Lorde, who then dai'e be so bolde 
The to abyde, or yet withstande. 

Quia apud te. 
But thou art allwaies mercyfuU, 
And pitie reigneth yn thy place ; 
In hope therfore abide I wuU, 
For thy lawes sake, that is of grace. 

Sustinuit anima. 
Thy worde is true, therfore I shall 
In hope abyde thy wyll to do : 
The Lorde is he that fourmed all, 
Whom that my sowle hath trust vnto. 

A custodia matutina. 
From mornyng watch I cownte it weU 
Tyll nyght, tyll daye, how that we must 
In aU this tyme, as Israel, 
Hope yn the Lorde, without mystrust. 

Quia apud Dominum. 
Mercy with God is bounteous : 
Wherfor he is, without distance, 
More redy to delyuer vs, 
Then we can praye delyuerance. 


Et ipse redimet. 

So Israel, and vs, and all, 
The other nacions extreme 
From oure offenses, great and small, 
He shall delyver, and redeme. 


Domine exaudi. 
Heare me, good Lorde, for nowe I praye, 
And let thyne ears perceyue my sute, 
In truthe heare me agayne, I saye, 
And yn thy iustice me condute. 

Et non intres. 
Spare thy iudgement to do me right, 
I feare me sore, so to be tryed : 
For no man lyuyng, yn thy sight. 
Can of hym selfe be iustifled. 

Qiiia persequutus est. 
Myne enmye hatli longe tyme pui'sued 
My wofull sowle, it to betray e : 
And onwardcs hatli iny life subdued, 
And brought it lowe, downe yn the clayc. 


Collocauit me. 
He hath appoyntcd me a place 
In darkciies, lyke us one were dead ; 
My spryte dotli langwysh yn this case, 
With troblous thoughtes myne hert is fed- 

Memor fui dierum. 
In the old dayes, I not forgeat 
How tor thy servantes thou havest wrought ; 
On all thy workes, and thy great feat, 
Done by thy handes, longe haue I thought. 

Exj)andi manus. 
For helpe to the, of helpers chief, 
I spread my hands ; releace my payne, 
]My di'ye soAvle gapyng for relief, 
Is like the earth that lacketh rayne. 

Velociter exaudi me. 
If that thou wolt, Lorde, me preserve, 
Heare me quykly for nowe is nede : 
Or els I am like for to sterve, 
My spryte doeth faile, therfor make spede. 

Non auertas. 
Turne not awaye fro me thy face. 
For if thou do, and me forsake, 
I shalbe such, as yn like case. 
Fall downc yn to the deadly lake. 


Betyme therfore do me excuse, 
And let me heare of thy mercy ; 
All other helpe I cleane refuse, 
And put yn the my trust onely. 

Notamfac mihi. 
How I shall walke haue'yn regarde, 
From foes make cleare the waye to me. 
For socours therfore, and safegai'de, 
I haue lyfte vp my sowle to the. 

Eripe me. 
Save me, Lorde, fro myne enmyes all, 
From tlieym to the for helpe I fle : 
Teach me thy wiU, to the I call. 
Thou art my God, so must thou be. 

Spiritus iuus. 
I shalbe brought by thy good spryte. 
In to the lande where thou doest raigne : 
And for thyne owne name, and of right, 
Thou shalt restore my lyfe agayne. 

Educes de trilmlacione. 
So shall my sowle delyuerd be. 
From all thies trobuUs, by thy myght. 
For by thy mercye, shewde to me, 
Myne enmyes all ben put to fliglit. 


Et perdes omnes. 
And Jill ben cleane put out of place, 
That my sowle trebled, and ben fade : 
For that I thankc the, of thy grace 
Thou liavest me nowe thy servant made. 

Gloria patri. 
Glorye be to God all myghtye, 
To the father of myghtes most,* 
And to the sonne full of mercye. 
And also to the holy gost. 

Sicut erat. 
As it hath ben, and euer was, 
And shalbe sty 11, vnto hym kuyt,f 
By tyme and tymes, as they shall passe, 
And thus for ever. vSo be it. 


Cell enarrant. 
The maiestie of God above, 
And his glorye, the heavens confesse : 
The firmament, that still doeth move. 
His handyworke doeth playne expresse. 

* Myghts most, greatest powers. + Kuyt, quite, entirely. 


Dies diet. 
The daye doeth tell how tyme doeth passe, 
His worde hath wrought this purvyaunce :* 
The nyght that is, by it that was, 
Declareth his high ordynaunce. 

Non sunt loguele. 
There is no place of speach so ddme, 
Nor ears so dull, his workes ben such. 
But they may heare of whom they cume. 
The voyce of theym doeth spread so much. 

In omnem terrain. 
In all the earth, both far and wyde, 
The sounde of theym doeth stretch and go : 
Through the worlde, on every syde. 
The fame of theym doeth rune also. 

In sole posuit. 
His seat is set yn the sune bright. 
That first doeth ryse with coloure red, 
Lyke as when passed is the nyght. 
The fresshe bi-yde grome doeth ryse from bed. 

Exultauit vt gifjas. 
Lyke a lusty gyant, and stronge, 
Redy to runne for the best game : 
He setteth furth his course alonge 
The heaven, and doeth perfourme the same. 

* Purveyaiic(>, prnvidiii^-. 


Et occursus eius. 
So from the heigth liis course doeth reach, 
Not ceassyng thither to returne : 
None to hyde hym can other teach, 
But with his heat he woll hym l)urne. 

Lex Domini inmiacixlaUt. 
The lawe of God ymmaculate 
Conuerteth myndes, that swarve from triilln', 
His feithfull will, of perfecte date, 
Geveth wisdom to the weake yougth. 

Justicie Domini recte. 

Of God the iustice is so ryght, 
That all hertes glad therwith may be : 
The precept of the Lorde so bryght. 
That it maketh blynde iyes to se. 

Timor Domini sanctus. 
The feare of God is sanctified, 
And euermore it doeth endure ; 
His iudgementes true ben iustified. 
Even of theym selfe they are so sure. 


More than gold desirable, 
Or stones most precious to se. 
And more swete and delectable 
Then the honycombe of the lie. 


Justieie Domini rede. 
Of God the iustice is so ryglit, 
That all herts glad therwith may be ; 
The precept of the Lorde so bryght, 
Tliat it maketli blynde iyes to se. 

Timor Domini sanctus. 
The fear of God is sanctified, 
And euermore it doeth endure ; 
His iudgements true ben iustified, 
Even of theym selfe they are so sure. 

More then gold desiderable, 
Or stones most precious to se, 
And more swete and delectable, 
Then the honycombe of the be. 

Etenim seruus tuus. 
Let not thy servant do amys, 
But observe theym, both yong and olde ; 
For kej)yng theym thy promysc is, 
The rewarde shalbe manyfolde. 

Delicta quis. 

Secrete synnes who can vnderstande ? 
To the, O Lorde, nothyng is hid, 
Such close consents let me witlistantle, 
And be made eleare, and from theym ryd. 


34- PSALMS. 

Si mei iionftterint. 
If they of me shal haue no powre, 
And I for mercy do entreat, 
I slialbe cleane as the wheat flowre 
From syn, be it never so great. 

Et erunt vt complacedt. 

To truthe my mowth I woll convert, 

My speach shall the then much delyte, 

The ynward thoughts of my close hert 

Shall evermore be yn thy sight. 

Dominus adiutor. 

Lorde, thou art all waies my helper, 
And so I nede not be afrayde, 
Thou art also my redemer, 
For that thou havest my raunsom paide. 

PSALM xm. 

Usque quo Dne. 
How longe, Lorde, wolt thou me forget, 
Shall no helpe cumme vnto the ende ? 
Thy face allwey thus wolt thou let 
Be turned froward ? Lorde defende ! 

Quamdiu ponam. 

How longe yn vayne my tyme shall wast ? 
Now this, now that, musyng allwaye ? 


The sorowe that myne hert doeth taste, 
Encreaseth yn me daye by daye. 

Usque quo exaltabitur. 

How ferfurth shall my foo reioyce 
On me ? to the I make my mone, 
Loke toward me, and heare my voyce. 
Thou art my Lorde and God alone. 

Illumina oculos. 
Clere thou mine iyes, so that I may 
Scape from the death, by thy great myght ; 
Least that myne enmye prowdely sey, 
I haue prevayled yn the fight. 

Qui tribulant me. 
How they tryumphe that wold me spill. 
When I am trobled lyke to dye. 
Yet let theym all sey what they wyll, 
I haue trusted yn thy mercy. 

Exultauit cor meu. 
And for that trust myne hert doeth sprynge, 
In hope of helpe, when I shall call ; 
To thy name therfor I woll synge. 
And prayse the highest over all. 




Judica me Deus. 
Judge me Lorde, and discerne* my node 
From thongodly ; and from that man, 
That gilefull is yn worde and dede, 
Delyver me as thou best can. 

Qrda tu es Deus. 
For thou art God myne onely strength, 
T\nierfor then doest thou me repell ? 
Shall I passe furth thus sad at length, 
Both beat and scourged flesshe and fell. 

Emitte lucem tuam. 
Send furth thy light and truthe also. 
For thies ben they that must me guyde 
To se thy mount, and safe to go 
In to thy tabernacle wyde, 

Et introiho. 

Where I shall enter to the borde 
Of the great Lorde of myght and mayne, 
To God him self e, I sey the worde, 
That shall revyve my yougth agayne. 

Confitebor tibi. 
1 shall confesse the with my souge. 
And with the harpe, my Lorde, my God, 

* Discerne, Vulgate, discerne de gente non sancta. 


Why tlien my sowle thou must wax stronge, 
And fear thou not for any rod. 

Spera in Deo. 
Plucke up thyne hert, and trust yn hym 
That all hath made, for yet I sey, 
Hym I confesse, for lyfe and lym, 
He is the God we must obey. 


Domine probasti me. 
Lorde thou havest proved what I am, 
And knowest what shall of me befall, 
And when, from whens, and how I came. 
Sit I, ryse I, thou doest knowe aU. 

My thoughts, byfore I can conceyve, 
Thou doest well knowe and vnderstande ; 
My trade, and walke, thou doest perceyve, 
My lyne of lyfe is yn thy hande. 

Et omncs vias. 
And all my wayes thou doest forsee, 
Yea my softe speach, though it be weake, 
My tonge can hide no worde from the, 
Tliou knowest my woi-dt; byfore I speake. 

l]S rSALMS. 

Ecce Dne tu. 

Lo thou (loest knowe, both fyrst and last, 
And all thyng'S wrought withyn that tyme ; 
Thy hande thou havest vppon me cast, 
And f'ormede me of earthy slyme. 

Mirabilis facta est 
Mervelously thou havest me wrought, 
To studye how my witts wold faile ; 
The workers worke is by his thought. 
To serch the cause woll not prevayle. 

Quo ibo a spu tuo. 
Now from thy spryte where shuld I flee ? 
If I wold hyde me for the nons. 
What shuld avayle I cannot se, 
Syns thou doest se all thyng at ons. 

Si ascendero. 
If I coulde in to heaven ascende, 
There fynde I the, orels no where : 
And if to hell I wold descende, 
I shuld perceyve that thou art there. 

Si sumpsero. 
If I had wyngs, or were so stowte 
To rune as faste as doeth the daye, 
Compassyng all the seas abowte. 
And there to dwell I wold assaye. 

PSAI.MS. 39 

Etenim illuc. 

Even thither me thy hande hath brought, 
And helde me fast I shukl not flyt : 
There safe I shulde be, as me thought, 
But thy great power doeth passe my wit. 

Et dixi forsitan. 
And then I seide, it may betyde, 
When nyght is come, and day is gone. 
In darkenes depe I may me hyde, 
But nyght and day to the ar one. 

Quia tenebre. 
Darknes can have no place at all 
Where thou art present, and the nyght 
Shall change his darke, and shyne wythall ; 
The daye dyd never shyne so bryght. 

Quia tu possedisti. 
Where shuld I loke from the to flee ? 
Syns backs and bone thou doest possede : 
My mothers wombe conceyved me, 
Thou brought me furth, that was thy dedc. 

Confitebor tibi. 
1 woU the prayse, and haue it tolde, 
That thou art to be inagnyfied 
In all thy works, wliicli to })eholdc 
My mynde cannot bo satisHcd. 


iV^o?j est occultatiim. 
There is in me no bone nor joynte 
So secrete set, but thou doest know 
Howe they stande, in every poynte, 
And yet the place is dark and lowe. 

Imperfectum meiim. 
Are J was borne thyne eyes didde ken 
What thynge I was, and yn thy boke 
My dayes did wryt, how large they ben, 
When that on theym I could not loke. 

Mihi autem. 
Now therfore, Lorde, thy dere frends all 
Ben dere to me, as they were myne. 
Thou art their chiefteyne pryncipall, 
The comfort theyrs, the honoure thyne. 

Dinuberabo eos. 
How shuld I nombre all that flocke ? 
The sea-sand I might soner tell ; 
As they did ryse, I ryse and knocke, 
And wold be one with the to dwell. 

Si occideris, Deus. 
Lorde, if all synners thou wolt spyll, 
Moi*e gi'evous then I knowe thou art 
Agaynst blind sheders* that woll kyll, 
I say to theym fro me departe. 

* Shedders of bloud. 


Quia dicitis. 
Your thoughts be naught, your wordes ben wurse. 
Your acts do shewe furth your deceyte ; 
Your vayne attempts your cyties curse, 
You stande to stowte yn your conceyte. 

Nonne qui oderunt te. 
Haue not I hated all that sorte 
That haue not had regarde to the ? 
Thyne enmyes those I may reporte, 
With whom at one I woll not be, 

Perfecto odio. 
But pursue theym with ynwarde hate, 
Bycause thy lawes they do forsake : 
I wolbe styll with theyme at bate, 
And for myne enmyes woll theym take. 

Proba me, Deus. 

Prove me, my God, thou knowest my mynde, 
Myne hert and all, at all assayes : 
Without great seekyng thou canst fynde 
All my whole trade*, and all my wayes. 

Et vide si via. 
And if thou se me treade the trace 
Of synfull lyfe, without delaye, 
Byfore I tcmpte tlie, yn that case, 
I beseche the leade me awaye. 

* Tratle, way of life. 



Qui habitat. 

lie that woll seke a place for rest, 
Trustyng the liighest for his guyde, 
Li God of heaven, which is the best 
Proteccion, he shall abyde. 

Dicet Domino. 
And then boldly thus he may sey, 
Now, Lorde, to the I me betake ; 
Thou art my refuge, God, allwaye, 
I trust thou wolt not me forsake. 

Quoniam ipse. 
For why, he hath delyverd me 
From those that wolde me apprehends 
By trap and gyn, it woll not be, 
Their threatnyngs shall nothyng offende. 

Scapulis siiis. 
With his shoulders he woll the bear, 
And shadowe the yn tyme of nede. 
His wyngs shall cloke thee from all fear. 
Thy trust hath made the thus to spede. 

Scuto circiidabit te. 
His truthe shall compasse the abowte 
With a good sliielde, for thy defense, 
Daye nor nyght thou shalt not dowbte. 
To be afrayde of such pretense. 


A sagitta volante. 
The arrowe fleyng feare thou not, 
Nor thyngs that vse yn the dead houre 
Of nyght to walke ; for well I wot 
The devill hym selfe shalhaue no powre. 

Cadent a latere. 
Here a thowsande shall fall to grounde, 
And there shall fall ten thowsande mo ; 
And if they wolde byset the rounde, 
They shall not cume so nere thereto. 


Lo, thus agaynst thyne enmyes all, 
How God doeth worke thyne iyes shall see ; 
And what rewarde shall theym befall, 
And punyshment, that synners be. 

Quoniam tu es. 
Thy hope is cause thou mayst well thynke, 
That God hath done this of his grace ; 
Trust therfore styll, and do not shrynke, 
Thy helpe is yn the highest place. 

Non accedet. 
If thou do thus, thou mayst be sure, 
There is no hurt may cume to the, 
Syns God hath take on hym thy cure. 
From all i)lags .safe thy house shalbe. 


Angelis suis. 
He hath commaundecl, that at hande, 
His angelis shall vppon the wayte ; 
At all tynies where thou go or stande, 
To kepe thee from all hurtefull bayte. 

In manibus. 

They shalbe redy the to staye 
From stomblyng, if one of his hate, 
Byfore the logge or stone wold ley, 
His purpose shall cume all to late. 

Super aspidem. 
Vppon the adder thou mayst tread. 
The basilyske shall the obey. 
The lyon and the dragon lead 
Thou shalt, and make theym both to stey. 

Quoniam in me. 
For bycause, seith the Lorde, that he 
Hath trusted me, and kept my worde. 
And knowen my name eterne to be, 
I woll defende hym from the sworde. 

Clamauit ad me. 
When he shall call I woll hym heare, 
And presently I woll not let 
To make hym safe from care and feare, 
And yn high honoure hym to set. 


Longitudine dierum. 
He shall lyve longe prosperously, 
Vntill that he be brought to grave : 
My saluacion, then, that I 
For hym prepared, he shal haue. 


In te, Domine, speraui. 

Lorde, yn the is all my trust, 
Wherfor I hope I shall not be 
Confounded, nor leafte yn the dust : 
Thy iustice shall delyver me. 

Inclina ad me aurem. 
For I woU call, and never cease, 
Vntill thyne eare thou do enclyne, 
And graunt that I may reste yn peace : 
Make haste to helpe, for I am thyne. 

Esto mihi in Deum. 
Thou art my God, I do confesse. 
My socoure also, and defense, 
Myne howse of strength, and stronge fortresse, 
Save me when I shall flyt fi-om hense. 

Quoniam Jbrtitudo mea. 

1 haue none other strength but the, 
Nor other refuge yn my nede ; 


When yn tliy name I shall passe fre, 
Then with great ioyc thou wolt me fede. 

Educes me de laqueo. 
Out of the snare thou shalt me brynge, 
That pryvely for me was layde, 
Lyke a protectoure, yn all thynge 
At all tymes ready with thyne ayde. 

In manus tuas, Dne. 
Into thy handes my fearfull spryte 
I do comende, and yelde to the : 
It is thyne owne, O Lordc. of right, 
For deare thou havest redemed me. 


EccLESiASTES Salomou 

Son of David, that wortliy kynge, 
Doeth teach vs, and doeth grounde vppon, 
That vanytie is yn all thynge, 
From vanytie vanyties sprynge : 

This yn his boke affirmeth he, 

That all thynge is but vanjtie. 

For what hath man for all his payne, 
Vppon the earth, vnder the sone, 
But thyngs of nought, or litle gayne, 
He passeth furth, his course is rone. 
One doeth succede, his thread is spone. 

Nothing can stande yn one degre, 

Excepte the earth that cannot fle. 

Jn the mornyng the sone doeth ryse, 
And towards nyght downe doeth he go, 
Makyng his course, that in like wise 
The nexte daye lie may sprynge also : 
The wynde likewise blowth to and fro 
Now sowth now north, though he go rounde. 
Yet to hymselfe he woll rcljowiMlc. 


All lludds yn to the sea descende, 

Yet nothyng highei- doeth it swell, 

And from the sea waters ascende 

To fall agayiie where they dyd dwell ; 

The right cause how no man can tell : 
Of all thyngs ells, both high and lowe, 
The causes are diffuse to know. 

The iye is never satisfied 

With sight of thies varieties : 

From this to that the iye doeth glyde, 

The eare hath much like properties : 

For sownds haue their dyversities, 

Summelowde,summe lowe,summe great, summe small, 
Yet woU the eare rfeceyve theym all. 
The thyngs that haue ben longe tyme past. 

Shall yn like sorte be newe begone : 

And what thynge hath ben done at last, 

Shalbe agayne as it was done : 

Nothynge is newe vnder the sone : 
Who can affirme this to be trewe, 
And sey, beholde this thynge is newe ? 

Truthe is byfore vs the same thynge. 
Was seen, and done, and nowe forgote : 
Tydyngs therof no man can brynge : 
Of thyngs to ciime so may ye note 
There shall remayne of theym no iote. 

Men may well sccke, they shall not fynde. 

For they shalbe cleane owt of mynde. 


J, the same Ecclesiastes, 

In Jerusalem reignyng kynge, 

Applied my mynde, with loiige proces, 

To knowe the causes of all thynge, 

Vnder the sone that hath beynge. 
Such travaile God doeth sende to man, 
To studie on, geat what he can. 

There is nothynge vnder the sone. 

But that J haue considred well : 

Nought fynde I but vexacion 

Of spryte and mynde, therfore J tell 

That all thyngs of vanyte smell. 
The frowarde J cannot perswade, 
There be such nombi*e yn that trade.* 

J to my selfe seid in this wise : 

Lo J am brought to high estate, 

And haue founde owt, by my devise, 

More wisdome then hath ben of late ; 

And may compare J had no mate 
Byforc ine, kynge in Jsrael, 
In wisdome knowleage and counsell. 

For J haue had experience, 

As by such sute as J haue made, 
I knowe wisdome from negligence, 

* trade, way of life. 


And liow tlicy varic in tlieire trade ; 

And if in errours J did wade, 
It was to knowe where they were sowen, 
That therby wisdome myght be knowen. 

This studie doth not satisfie, 

Put rather vexeth hert and mynde. 
"\Mio studieth to be wise, sey J, 
More then is nede, is more then blynde, 
For this displeasure shall he fynde : 
The more knowleage he doeth attayne, 
The more shall that put hym to payne. 

Finis cap'' p\ 



John Croke, esquire, the author of these translations, 
was descended from an ancient and illustrious family, 
originally named Le Blount. His ancestors were 
Counts of Guisnes in Picardy, and derived their pedi- 
gree from Sigefrede, a Danish prince, cousin to Canute 
the Great, who landed and took possession of that 
territory, about the year 965, like RoUo, and other 
Scandinavian adventurers. 

Sir Robert Le Blount, and Sir William Le Blount, 
came over to England with William the Conqueror, 
Robert was dux navium militarium, or commander of 
the ships of war ; and William was general of the foot. 
The high stations they held, and the great rewards 
which they received, are testimonies of their merit. 
In Domesday book, Robert possesses thirteen lord- 
ships in vSussex, and one in Middlesex, and he Avas 
Baron of Icksworth. William had seven lordships in 
Lincolnshire. One branch of the family was called to 
the House of Loi'ds by writ, as Barons of Belton, in 
the reign of Edward the First. 

Sir Thomas Le Blount, witli liis cousin Nicholas, 
engaged deeply in the conspiracy wliich was formed in 
1400, to replace Richard the Second upon his throne, 



which was usui-peil, and himself imprisoned, by Henry 
the Fourth. Their designs were defeated. Sir Tho- 
mas Le Blount Avas taken prisoner, and put to death 
with great barbarity, and his estates and honours con- 
fiscated. Nicholas Le Blount, with several others, 
made their escape, and, by the way of Paris, went into 
Italy, and entered into the military service of Giovanni 
Galeazzo Visconti, Duke of Milan, in his war with the 
emperor Robert. In the decisive battle of Brescia, the 
English by their bravery contributed to the defeat of 
the Imperialists, and the Emperor and all his army 
were driven out of Italy. For these, and other services, 
they received splendid rewards from the magnificent 
Duke of Milan. 

In 1404, Nicholas and his friends returned to Eng- 
land. To avoid the persecution of Henry, they all 
changed their names: Le Blount took that of Croke, and 
with the riches he had acquired in Italy, purchased an es- 
tate at Easington, in the parish of Chilton in Bucking- 
hamshire. Master Croke was his great grandson. The 
year of his birth does not appear. He was in the 
profession of the law, and obtained many important 
ofiices in Chancery. He appears first as one of the six 
clerks, namely in 1522, the fourteenth year of Henry 
the Eighth, Avhen he joined in a petition to Parliament 
that they should be permitted to marry, which passed 
into a statute. In 1529, the Chancellor, Sir Thomas 
More, directed Mr. Croke to make a docket of all 
injunctions granted, that he might remedy the great 
delay of causes depending in his Court. In 1529, he 


was appointed Controller and Supervisor of the Hana- 
per. In 1534, he was made Clerk of the Inrollments. 
He was perhaps made a Serjeant-at-Law in 1546. In 
1547, the second year of Edward the Sixth, he was 
elected member of Parliament for Chippenham. Being 
much in favour with the king, in 1549 he was appointed 
one of the masters in Chancery. From these transla- 
tions of the psalms, it appears that he was an early 
friend to the Reformation. 

There is extant a report by him, in 1554, upon the 
estate of the court of Chancery, in which are some 
curious particulars of the manners of the olden times. 
It is well knoAvu that the original patronage of the Chan- 
cellor to li^angs, was limited to those of twenty marks, 
or under, and has since been extended to twenty pounds. 
To Blackstone, bishop Gibson, and other ecclesi- 
astical antiquai'ies, how this enlarged patronage was 
obtained, did not appear. By Master Croke's report, it 
is proved that it was first usurped by Cardinal Wol- 
sey. And as he was one of the six clerks at that time, 
of course he knew it from his own knowledge. 

Sir Thomas Pope, the founder of Trinity College in 
Oxford, was originally destined for the profession of 
the law, and his earliest preferments were in that de- 
partment, as Clerk of the Briefs in the Star-Chamber, 
and Clerk of the Crown in Chancery. He was under 
the tuition of Mr. Croke, and lie testified liis remem- 
brance and affection by liis will in 155G, in wliich is a 
bequest of "his black satin gown, faced with J^uccrne 
spots, to his old master's son, Master Croke." Lu- 


cei'nc was the spotted fur of a Russian animal. In 
such a gown he was painted by Hans Holben, and in 
all his portraits. 

He availed himself of the privilege granted to the 
six clerks, and about the year 1529, or earlier, he 
married Prudentia, third daughter of Richard Cave, 
Esquire, of Stanfart-upon-Avon in Northamptonshire, 
of ancient family, and sister to Sir Thomas Cave, and 
to Sir Ambrose Cave, Chancellor of the Dutchy of 
Lancaster, of the Privy Council to Queen Elizabeth, 
and an intimate friend of Lord Burleigh, the ancestor 
of the present baronets, and of the learned Doctor 

Master Croke was very rich. His property arose 
from three sources: the munificence of the Duke of 
Milan, the marriage of Nicholas Le Blount with Agnes 
Haynes, a Berkshire heiress, and the emoluments of 
his offices. As to those of one of the six clerks, in 
the reign of Charles the First, the sum of six thousand 
pounds was paid to the Earl of Portland for procuring 
a man that appointment. The office of a Master of 
the Chancery was of great rank and emolument. In 
the reign of Richard the Second, a complaint was 
exhibited against them in Parliament, " that they were 
overfatte, both in boddie and purse, and over well found 
in their benefices, and jjut the king to verry great cost 
more then needed." 

With this wealth, in 1529, he purchased the estate 
and manor of Chilton, in which parish was Easington, 
where his ancestors had settled. On the suppression 


of the monasteries in the same year, he bought the 
manor of Canon court in Cliilton, which had belonged 
to Notley Abbey, and an estate at Merlake, and a house in 
Chancery-Lane, the [)roperty of the knights of St. John 
of Jerusalem. In 1539 he purchased the Priory of 
Studley. In 1545 he had a grant of the Manor of Sen- 
ders, and the Rectory of Stone, in Buckinghamshire. 
Besides his new-built house at Chilton, he resided at 
a house and garden in Fleet Street, called the Chary- 
ate, which he purchased. 

He died on the second day of September, 1554, and 
is buried at Chilton, in a chapel adjoining the chancel, 
still the buryiug-place of the family. 

His monument is a flat stone in the pavement, with 
this inscription in black letter, on brass fillets. 


Sit gravis hie somnus tarnen ipse rcsurgere sperat, 
Marmoreo clausus Crocus in hoc tumiilo. 


Qui timent Dominuai sporaverunt in Domino. 
Adjutor eoruin et protector eorum est. 


Here lyeth buried John Croke the ealder, sumtyme one of the 
six Clerkys of the Kyngys Courte of the Chauneery and after- 
wards (one of) the Maisters of the said Chauneery, (which John) 
departed the second day of September, in the yere of our Lorde 
God, M.ccccc.i,.iiii.* 

* For a full account of Master Croke and his family, and the 
authorities, see the Goneahjgieal History of the Croke family, 
originally named Le Blount, by Sir Alexander Croke ; 2 vols. 
4 to. Oxford, for Murray and I'arkcr, 1823. 

56 :\rRMOiR of joiin croke, esquire. 

Tlie coat of arms, a fesse between six martlets, with 
a crescent of difference. It is not known whetlier lie 
left any children besides Sir John Croke. 

The Manuscript of these translations is a square 
book of parchment, three inches and three-quarters in 
height, by two inches and three-quarters in breadth, 
bound in blue Turkey, pannelled with gold lines, and 
acorns at the sides, the leaves gilt. It was originally 
tied with blue strings, and consists of forty written 
leaves and seven blank. The places of the first words 
of each psalm are left blank, for the purpose of being 
illuminated, as was usual in manuscripts. This neat 
book was most probably written in his ow:n hand, and 
the very copy presented by him to his wife Prudentia. 

The dedication to her may be thus translated : 

To turn these psalms to English verse, injoined 
By my much valued wife, Prudentia hight, 

Love, stationed in the -sirtues of her mind, 
My pen directed, and the task was light. 

The translation, apparently from the Vulgate, was 
made before the year 1 547, when Henry the Eighth 
died, and consequently before that of Sternhold, of 
which the first fifty-one psalms were first printed in 
1549, and the whole in 1562. It was prior likewise 
to the translations of Surrey and Wyat, and any others 
that are known. It would otherAvise have been unne- 

This translation is better than Sternhold's. It is 
more literal ; there are fewer expletives to eke out a 


verse ; the lines run smoother, and the first and third 
lines rhyme, which the others do not, and which shews 
a greater facility of versification. The chapter of 
Ecclesiastes is more finished, and is a sort of Spencer- 
ian stanza. 

A. C. 




In the old orders of the Chancery, it is found theis 
necessary officers and ministers have bene admitted to 
write to the seal ; videlt. 

The Clarke of the Crowne. 

The Prothonotary. 

The XII Masters of the Chaunceiy, in which num- 
ber the ]VIi\ of the Rolls is one, and the Prothonotary 
is another. 

The VI Clarkes, beinge attorneys onely in the Chaun- 
cery, and writinge in the ]Mr. of the Rolls his name. 

The III Clarkes of the Petty Bagge, writing in the 
Mr. of the Rolls name, and the two Examiners, wri- 
ting in the Mr. of the Rolles name. 

One other, the INIr. of the Rolles Clarke in liis 

There were xii Bowgiers of old tyme, of which 
nomber the Clarke of the Crowne was one and chief. 
Every of them might have a Clarke at his finding. 

Twelve Curcisters, every one to write in his owne 
name, and of old tyme with his owne hand ; but of 
late it hath bene sufFred and licensed unto some of them 
to bring up a Clarke to write to the seal. 

Likewise there Avere in or iiii Clarkes of the Almon- 
ry at meate and driuke in the Lo. Chauncelor's house, 
which for their diett served the poor© suiters with 
pens without fee. 


Theis bene all the officers and ministers that of old 
tyme did use to write to the Great Seal, saveinge that 
the Clarke of the Crowne, the six Clarkes, and the 
Clerkes of the Pety Bagg, were never stinted to any 
nomber of Clarkes for ii causes. One was for and in 
consideration of bringing up of youth, and the other 
more special for the redy dispatch of the Kinges busi- 
ness and his subjects. 

The Lord Chauncelor hath his diett out of the 
hanaper towards such charges as he is and was wont 
to be at, of which charges some be now out of use, 
as to have in Terme tyme such M''^- of the Chauncery 
as would come to his house, to be at his table, and a 
Chauncery table in the hall for their Clarkes. 

All kinde of comissions and confirmations of treaty 
betwene Prince and Prince, and all consultations, 
belonge to the Prothonotary onely to make. 

The guifte of benefice of the King's patronage, of 
xxlb. and under, be in the distribucon of the Lord 
Chauncellor, the old rate xxtie marks ; but because the 
CardinaU, being Lord Chauncelor, did present, in the 
King's name, his Clarks to Benefices of twenty pounds 
by year, all Lord Chauncelo''* since have done likewise 
and soe may doe justly, because they liave the office in 
tam amplis modo et forma. 

The M""* of the Cfiauncery may make all kinds of 
patents, commissions, and writts (except such as 
belongeth to the Prothonotary, the Clarke of the 
Crowne, the vi Clarkes, and Petty Bagge) and all 
other common proces, except such as belonged to the 
Crowne, and tlu-y made all writts of supersedeas oncIy 


they may take oatlies in all cases in tlie Chauncery, in 
cases there dei)endinge, or pi'oces ysueing ; also take 
knowledge of deeds, and recognisances, and examine 
exemplificacons, and confirmacons. 

Bowgicrs might write as before, and examine exem- 
plificacons, and confirmacons, but neither take oathes 
or knowledges, nor make superseds. 

Cureisters, and all other Clarks may write as before, 
except superseds. 

All IVI' -• of the Chauncery bene admitted and sworne 
by the Lord Chauncellor onely. 

The VI Clarkes, the Clarkes of the Pety Bagg, the 
II Examiners, and the Crier, bene admitted by the M'- 
of the RoUes onely. The Bowgiers, and the Cursitors 
be admitted by the Master of the Eolles onely. 

The proces that bene befoi-e excepted, that the M""^- 
of the Chauncery, nor any other but the proper officers 
may make, be theis, viz : All Commissions and proces 
of the Crowne, and generally all proces that toucheth 
eyther life or member, doth belong to the Clarke of 
the Crowne to make, and to none other, as Comissens 
of Peace, Comissions of Oyer and Terminer, Circuits 
and Gaole Delivery, and all writts of Appeale of 
murder, felony, rape, mayme, and such other. 

All kinds of proces whereof Eecord must be made in 
the Rolls by way of inrollm*- or taking out of any 
inrollment and constat and exemp"- shall be made by 
the VI Clarks, or the Clark of the Petty Bagge, and 
writts of diem clausit extremum, mandamus, melius 
inquirendum que plura, scir. fa. uppon Irs patents, 
recognisance, or other records, and such like. These 


proces bene indifferent to be made eyther by the vi 
Clarks, or the Clark of the Petty Bagge, the examyners 
and the M''*' of the Rolls' clarke having recourse to 
the records may make the same. 

All patents for Sheriffes and Escheators, and all 
kindes of proces that is awarded in the Courte after 
the suite commenced, and Attachm*^- Compulsaries, 
Injunctions, Comissions to examine witnesses, writts 
of Procedend, and of execucons upon judgements, and 
such like, should be made by the six Clarks onely, and 
commissions for subsidie, relief, disme, and such other, 
to be made by the six Clarks, and also the writts of 

The six Clarks have the inroUmt- of all l''*^*- patents 
made by any of the Chauncery (except it be by the 
Clarks of the Petty Bagge) in the term tyme, and out 
of the terme, soe long as they keepe commons together 
and the Lorde Chauncellor lye at London, Westm'-, 
Lambeth, or the suberbes of London, and doe scale 
there. Yf the Lord Chauncelor in the term tyme 
scale at any other place then in London, Westm''" or 
within the suberbes of London, then the riding Clark 
hath onely the inrollement. And after the terme, and 
commons broken, the riding Clark hath in some places 
the cnrollement of all patents made by any of the Court, 
except the residue of the vi Clerks and Pety Bagge 
w'^^- have their owne inrollnients in that tyme and place. 
All Owstre le Maynes, Monstrans de Droit, Petitions 
of Right, Restitucons, Liveries, Speciall and General 
writts of Dower, Elegit, Levar. fac. Liberates upon 
execucon of the Statute for Debts, Custuniers, Alna- 


gers, Gaigers, Searchers, Controllers of Custome, and 
generally all such proces where the Mr. of the Rolles 
hath a fee, belong to the Pety Bagge to make, excepte 
Sheriffes, and Escheators, and finable writts. 

The Pety Bagge must inroUe the Comissions of 
Subsidy, Reliefe, and such other, and also the writts 
of Pai'liament, and make the same. 

The Clarke of the Crowne, the Clark of the Hana- 
per, and the Ridinge Clark, have allowance for their 
chambers and diett in the Lorde Chancelor's house, for 
themselves or their deputies, one Clark, and one horse- 
keeper a peace ; the Sergeant-at-Armes, and one ser- 
vant ; the sealor and the chafer of waxe ; and all theis 
except the Clark of the Hanaper, have allowance for 
their horses when the Lord Chauncelor doth jorney, 
and not otherwise. The Clarke of the Hanaper hath 
his allowance for horse meat in resl. patents. 

From the Lansdowne MSS. No. 163, foL 141, 
recto, corrected by another copy in Hargrave's MSS. 
No. 249, page 180. 

I believe a Bowgier was a person who had an allow- 
ance of provisions. Bowge, or budge, from the 
French bouche, was such an allowance in old language. 
The French have the old expression avoir bouche a la 
cour, to have a maintenance at court. There is an 
indenture between Thomas Beauchamp, Earl of War- 
wyke, and John Russel, in which the former, amongst 
other things grants John to have Bouche au Cour pur 
lui mesme, un Chamberlein et un Garson, provendre 
et ferrure pur trois Cliivaulx. Blount's Laio Dic- 
tionary, sub voce Bouche of Court. 



In the name of God, Amen, the xi day of June, in 
the yere of our Lord God a thousand, fyve hundreth, 
fiftie and fower : and in the firste yere of the reigne 
of our sovereign Lady Queue Mary: I John Croke, 
of Chilton, th' Elder, make my testament and last 
will in this wise followinge. First, I bequeath my 
soule unto Almightie Godd, and my bodie to the erthe 
to be buried in Christian burial. I bequeath to every of 
my servants men and women, a blacke lyvery, at seven 
or eight shillinges the yarde : the men to have coates, 
and the women gownes, as speedily after my decease 
as may be provided. And I bequeath to Thomas 
Springe fortie shillinges : to Oswald thre pounds : to 
Smewyn fortie shiUinges : to Stephen fortie shilKnges : 
to Meade fortie shillinges : to Arthuse fortie shillinges : 
to Henry Chilton fortie shillinges : to Henry the Bruer 
fortie shillinges: and to Francis fortie shillinges. I 
bequeath to Byrdesey twentie shillinges : to the miller 
twentie shillinges : to Hawkyns twentie shillinges : to 
Thomas the carter twentie shillings : to John Cliapman 
twentie shillinges: to Alyanor Adys fortie shillinges: 
to Sibill fortie shillinges: to Amye twenty sliillinges: 
to Johan Lovell twenty shillinges : to AUice twenty 


shillinges : To Johan Maygott tenne sliillinges : I 
boqueath to John Coventree thre pounde six sliillinges 
eight pence, and a black gown at tene shillinges the 
yarde: and to Sir Eauffe fortie sliillinges; and a black 
gowne of tenne shillings the yarde : and to Migell 
twentie shillings : I bequeath to Jack twentie shepe : 
and to Robyn twentie shepe, and keping for them in 
Adingrove, or ells where sufficientlie, so long as they 
shall contynue in service with my sonne, and my 
duughter, or at their bestow^nge. I bequeath to Roger, 
the boye in my kitchen, twentie shillinges : and to 
Alexander xx^- and to Norrice xx*- : I bequeath to 
Anne Hunt tenne powndes : and to my cousen Anne 
Mason thre pounde six shillinges eight pence : and to 
her sister Wise fortie shillinges: and to Prudence 
Mason that fyve pownde which my wife willed unto 
her, and xxxiii^" iiii'^' of my bequest besides : and to 
Mystris Conysby twentie shillinges : and to Prudence 
Edwardes £iii. vi*- vni"^- to her marriage. I bequeath 
to Anne Lee a tablett of golde, with a pommaunder 
in it. I will and bequeath to Anne Hunt, besides her 
annuity of twentie six shillinges eight pence by the 
yeare, thii'tene shillinges fewer pence by the yere : to 
be taken and received of the rentes of my bowses in 
Flete-street at London, during her life. Also I will 
and bequeath to Oswalde, ray Butler, twentie shillinges 
by yere during his lyfe, to be taken of the same rentes ; 
also to Smewyn, twentie shillinges by yeare, to be 
taken of the same rentes during his lyfe. And also to 
my cosin Thomas Ashwell fortie shillinges by yere, 


during his lyfe to be taken of the same rentes. Also 
I geve unto the same Thomas Asshwell the best of 
my geldinges that he will chose, after my executour 
hath first chosen out twain for himself. I give to Sir 
George Gifforde a signet of gold, with a blue stone, 
and the best of my gownes that he will chose. Also I 
bequeath to John Croke my sonne, and to Elizabeth 
his wilfe, my ferme of Addingrove : to have to them 
and to their assignes, for so many yeres as they and 
eyther of them shall lyve, enduring the term and lease 
of the said ferme : and after their deceases, I give and 
bequeath the residue of yeres of the said ferme then 
to come and of the lease of the same, to the heirs of 
the bodie of the said John, my soonne, lawfully begot- 
ten : and for lack of such issue, to the right heirs of 
me John Croke, th' elder. Also I geve and bequeath 
to every of my godchildren, in Chilton, and Esendon, 
five shillinges a pece : and to Thomas Golde, the Attor- 
ney of the Common Place, eight poundes, in satisfac- 
tion for the cropp at Hayes that was in variance 
between him and me, and never yet dyscussed : yt 
contayned by estimation xii acres of wheate and rye 
newly sowen. Also I bequeath to the poore people of 
Beckeley, Studley, and Ilorton, fortie shillinges ; and 
to the pore people of thes townes following, (that is to 
say) to Borstal! twentic shillinges : to Oakeley twentie 
sliillinges: to Brill fortie shillinges: to Ludgarsall 
twenty shillinges : to Dorton twentie shillings : to 
Wotton twentie shillinges : to Asshendon and Pollicott 
twentie shillinges: to Neathcr Wynchendon twentie 



shillingcs : to Cherdesley twentie shillinges : to Cren- 
don twentie shillinges : to Shobyndon twentie shil- 
linges : to Ikford twenty shillinges : to Woi'nall twen- 
tie shillinges: to Chilton and Esinden twentie shillinges. 
Also 1 give and bequeath to yonge Ciceley Croke my 
chain of golde, contayning in lyncks the nomber of a 
148, and also my late wyffe's wedding ring. Also I 
give and bequeath to my olde companyons, the fellow- 
shipp of the six clarks, tenne pounds : to be bestowed 
by them in manner and forme following, that is to say, 
tenne marks thereof upon such thinges as they shall 
thynk moste necessary for their house ; and fyve max'ks 
residue uppon a convenyent dynner ; whereunto I will 
require them to call Sir Richard Reade, the Clarks of 
the Petie Bagge, th' examiners, and the Register. I 
give unto Maister Leder my hope of golde. And of 
this my last will and testament, I ordeyn and make 
John Croke, my son, my executour, to whom I will 
and geve all the residue of my goodes not before be- 
queathed. In witness whereof I have subscribed this 
my last will and testament, and sett to my seale, the 
day and year above written. Per me Johannem 
Croke. Robert Keylway, Edward Unton, Ciceley 
Unton, J. Coventre. 



From a copy temp. Car. I., found amongst the papers of Sir 

William Dugdale, communicated in 1824 by 

Mr. Hamper of Birmingham. 

[The Croke family was originally named Le Blount, 
and changed its name in the reign of Henry IV., 1404. 
The account of this event is contained in two original 
documents. The first is a contemporary history of it, 
written hy John Carrington, a party in the transactions 
which occasioned it, preserved by Sir William Dugdale, 
and alluded to in his Baronage ; the other has been 
preserved in the Croke family. Nicholas le Blount 
was great grandfather to John Croke, who translated 
the Psalms.] 

This historical discourse, w"^ the arms depicted in 
the margents of the petigree of the Caringtons of the 
North parts of England, is truely coppied from two 
other : the one in the custody of W™- Smith, of Cres- 
sing Temple, Com. Essex, Esq'"^-, certified under the 
hand of Sir W™- Dethick, kn'- Garter, th'other \v^^ Sir 
Chas. Smith of Wootten and Ashbye, in the countyes 
of Warwick, and Leicester, knt., under the hand of 
Robert Cooke, Clarenceulx, and W Smith Rougedra- 
gon. [A.D. 1577.] 



John Carington, yonger brother of Edm^'- C. .and 
second and yonger sonne of S*" Tlio^- C, was nui-terred 
np l)y Sir Tho^- Nevile, in the tyme of his youngth 
in Gascoj^ne, and when lie was a man hem serving King 
Rychard in those countryes hentall hem was nere 
twenty-six yeares ould, and about thike season, hem 
hearing tidings how his brother deceased was, and eke 
that he had hem made executor, he sped him into Eng- 
land, and in a while after, hem becommen King Ry- 
chard's servant, and serven him, hentall Heniy of Lan- 
caster comen was over sea out of Britayne, whome 
eftsone gathered to hem a stronge power of men, and 
hasted him agaynst King Rychard, and tooke him 
p'soner in a castle in Wales, and brought him p'soner 
to London, and maden himself king. Albeit so in 
a while after, the Earle of Huntington, the Earle 
of Salisbury, and the Earle of Kent, and eke the 
Lord Spencer, and many moe knights, esquires, and 
eke yeomen, followen hym, for the love they bearen 
to her leige lord. King Rychard, and for cause many 
of hem weren his servants, did w'^ a stronge power, 
speaden hem in all hast agaynst Henry of Lan- 
caster, whome now cleped was kinge, and was eke at 
the ilke same season at the castle of Windsore, where 
they hopen to take hem, and to set at lardge theyi'e 
naturall leige lord King Rychard. But Henry of Lan- 
caster anone beinge hereof aware, and forwarned by 
one Myles Hubberd, a false yeoman, and an unthriftye, 
of the Earle of Kent, whome over even cowerdlye 


wounded a fellowe of his, and on the morrowe rade* 
forsaken the Earles, and flyen to Henry of Lancaster 
and ded him forewarne, how thilk lords comyng woren 
w^ her powers to slayen him. Whereof King Henry 
of Lancaster, being aware, hem taken horse in all hast, 
w*^ such folke as at thilk season mought maken hem 
areadye, and sped hem anone to London. But right 
so whene the lords w'^'' theyre powers comen weren to 
thilk castell, them found King Henry of Lancaster 
w'^ all his folk escaped, and flyen to London. So now 
hem being out of all hope to overtaken him, hem 
w* theyre powers, turned thilkself night to Colbrooke, 
where the lords gathered to them theyre counsells to 
bene advised what should hem behoulfe to done. So 
as all night, and eke the morrowe, there were many 
letters indited, and many esquires and yomen sent into 
sundry countries to raise men for King Richard. At 
whilke season John Cai'ington nigh of lineage to the 
Earle of Salisburye, and eke another es<|"^ that hight 
Rob'- Arden, servant eke to King Richard, w"^ an yeo- 
man of the Earle of Huntington's, that hight Willia 
Loucey, woren sent into Dorsetshire, and eke into 
Wiltshire, to rayse kniglits, esquires, and other folke, 
of thilke countryes, that were frends of King Rychard; 
whoo, whilen theye were there doing the behests of 
the ylke lords for love of King Rychard, hem woren 
forewarned in secret to sheften for hemselves, for cause 
certes the lords, and most of hes powers woren slayne 

* rude, I'urly ? 


and taken prisoners. On w"'' tjdings they in great 
dread rode all that even and night, toward the sea- 
coast, and on the niorrowe radc there comen were to a 
towne standing fast on the sea-coast, ycliped Poole, 
where, after they had refreshed themselves, they found- 
en a small shipp of Britayne, that bounded was to St. 
Mallos, in Britayne. Into w'^'^ ship, w''' all her goods, 
they had then gotten hem, leaveing six horses and one 
man, behind hem, and the second daye hem arrived at 
St. Mallos, where abiding a few dayes, they sped them to 
Paris in France, where in a while after, tydings comen 
were to King Charles of France, that King Richard, 
thilk had wedden his daughter Isabell, was murdred 
and dead, w*^*^ tourned King Charles to so mickle dis- 
content, that w*^ wroth and radge, hem fallen nigh 
wood. And when John Carington, and Robt. Arden, 
did understand that her leige lord was murdered, and 
eke that many her frindes and kyn weren cruellye slayne, 
hem abiding in Paris were twelves monethes after, 
hentall tidings comen were to King Charles of France, 
that John Gallius Viscount, Duke of Millen, in Italye, 
soughten both farre and nere to get Englishmen and 
Gascones, and eke other strange nations, to serven him 
in his warres agaynst the emperour that there y called 
was Robert, promising hem great wage and solarie. 
On w'^^ tydings, John Carington, and Rob*^- Arden, 
w'^'^in a while after, tooke hem to Millin, in Italic, where 
bene arrived hem founden William Northburie, and 
Robert* Blunt, and 'RoU- Bricket the sonne, and many 

* It was Nicholas le Blount. 


moe Englishmen, and Gascons, and eke other strange 
nations, that thether comen woren in hope of solaria. 
Where all they serven Duke Galias in many stronge 
townes and castells, hentaU Duke Gallias had tydings 
that thylke Emperor Robert, w'*^ a mighty host of 
Germaynes, and eke other strange nations comen wore 
into Italic agaynst hem, gatheren all his powers 
together in one mighty host, purposing to give the 
ilke Emperour battaile at his coming, w'^'' shortly 
after hem did, nere to a greate lake or maire twenty 
[miles] fro the citty of Millen, in w'^'' feild the emper- 
ors forward, and eke all the remnant of his host, weren 
in great mischeife and distress, and had them all over- 
throwe, had not thilke same night w* mightye 
tempest and thunder drawn on, but natheles many 
weren slayne and moe taken prisoners. Albeit so the 
emperour thilke night, w"^ all the remnant of his host, 
w'^outen deyen tourned hem back in great dreed 
toward a great towne in the ilke waye to Germany e, 
that hight Trent, where hem saved hemselfe, and eke 
the remnant of his folke out of Duke Galias danger. 
And in this foughten feild, Robert Arden and John 
Carington token a prisoner, that was a Dutch esquire, 
neare of lineage of the Busshop of CuUen, and chefe 
of office of his liousehold, wliome payd to hem in six 
weekes, eight hundred Dutch Reynsgilders for his 
ransome. But after this feyld, thylk Emperour 
Robert abiding in Italic nigh fourc moncthes, during 
w'^'^ season hem dcd but small annoyance to Duke 
Galias. And so with mickle shame and lose tourned 


hem back agayne into Germanye w'*^ his people. Now 
John Carington and Rob*^- Arden did abiden in service 
w'*" Duke Galias, under an earl thilk cliped was 
Alberico, who had the guidance of the dukes hoste, 
w*^*^ Counte Alberico did vanquish a great man that 
cleped was Ventivolco, and all his host, and ded great 
slaughter on his people, and chased hem, and his 
power, to a great citye that cleped is Bolonia, whereof 
Ventivolco was lord, and the bene beseiged in his 
citye, and shortly after he and his citye taken weren, 
and spoyled by Counte Alberico and his host, w*^ was 
to hem and his host great profit. But shortly after, 
tydens comen to Earle Aberico, that Duke Galias, his 
lord, deceased was, w"^*^ turned the earle and eke his 
host to great sadness, so as the earle on his tidings 
w'^ all spede yan w'^'^ his host to tourne back towards 
the ilk citty of Millin. When hem comen was in 
fifteene dayes after, all strangers, Englishmen, and 
Gascoigns, and other strange nations, weren well 
payde her wage and salarye, w'"^ liberty eke to goen 
where hem lesten. But John Carington and Rob*- 
Ai'den tooken her way out of Italie in Burgony, 
minding to gone unto Henaulde, and into those 
countryes neare unto the sea side to England, there to 
herken tydings out of England. But it befallen when 
hem commenge wore to a great towne in Burgony 
called Bizanson, where they wened to abode thre dayes 
to rest theire horses, but even thilke same night, after 
her comen thither, Rob* Arden fallen in a grevous 
maladye, of a bruoose as hem thought he had itaken 


by a fall of liis horse upon the great mountaynes 
ecleped Alpes, w*""^ maladie grew so stronge on hem 
that sixteene dayes after hem dyen, and Avas buried by 
John Carington helpe in the Grey Fryers Church in 
ilke same citty ; after whose decease buriall diridge, 
John Carington w^ heavy chere tooke his waye 
towards Heynaulde, where being comen he aboden 
longe heare, and in Brebant, and eke in other lands 
thereabout, and lived hardly on that he had wonne in 
Italye, and thilke that Rob' Arden bequeathed hem at 
his decease, and oft lodged in monasteries w'^^ was to 
him great succor, and coulden never heare at all thilke 
season any such tydings as hem motten ne durst goen 
into England, hentall at length it betiden that two 
friers comen out of England and eke going Avere to 
Rome, whome for certes geven hem to witten, that 
one W^- Curson, a yonger sonne of a knight cleped 
Sir John Curson, was and eke had bene Abbott of 
St. Ooses in Essex a yeare and moe, w''*' tidings was 
to him great joye for cause this abbott was a sonne of 
his fathers sister cleped EUyn, sometime wif of S"" John 
Curson, both whom weren deceased longe beforen. 
But John Carington bethought hem liowe he mowten 
get him into England w^'^outen perill, for he hard oft 
saying of King Henry of Lancaster was full fell and 
cruell to alle whome had trespassed hem agaynst. 
Natheless hem thought better to make venture then to 
live in trail, in want. He therefore gotten hem out of 
Henauld to Amsterdam, a citty in Holland, and 
chaunged his name, and called himself John Smyth, 


that lie mowten by thilke name eveiy where avoyden 
suspect and perill when he mowten comen be into 
England, and eke to servant token a yonge man, and 
a tall, thilk hight W"- Burgin, borne at Newcastell 
in the North, whom he had founden in Holland in evell 
plight and araye. And in a while after shipt hem- 
selves in a shipp of a towne cleped Ipeswiche, and on 
the second day after, on a Friday, hem landed fast by 
Ipswiche, An"- D"^- 1404. And on the morrow hem 
rode towards St. Ooses, where being comen, he offered 
hemselfe to thilk abbott, whome had nigh forgotten 
hem, for cause this abbott had never hem scene ere, 
but only at Reading Abbey, where thilke Abbott 
was then a monke, at what tyme John Carington 
comen out of Gascony. But natheles when thilk 
Abbott talked w* him in secreat, he eftsone under- 
stood of his streene and lineage, and deed him greatly 
welcome and cherishe, and eke hem warne not to 
discerne whome he was, but liven soberly and secrett 
for dread of King Henry's cruelty, and not long after 
ded on hem bestowe mickle benefits, and did him after 
advance to wedlock e, mickle to his content, and eke 
never fallen hem in lies mede, but purchased hem, and 
indowed him w*'^ fayre lands and livehoode, or five 
years woren wende about, so mickle he ded hem love 
and like. 

Et hec supra fuerunt scripta ppria manu ejusdem 
Johis Carington. Et relata et relicta uxori ejus no- 
mine Milicenta paulu ante qua obiit. 





John Carrington, second son of S"" Tho. Carrington, 
was brought up by S"" John Nevill, in Gascony, where 
he served Rich''- 2nd to twenty-five years of age. His 
eldest bro' being dead, he came into England, and 
served Rich. II. there, until Henry of Lancaster caught 
him in Wales, brought him to London, and from thence 
to Windsore Castle, where the Earle of Huntingdon, 
John Holland, and Tho. Holland, Earl of Kent, John 
Montacute, E. of Sarum, y'^ Dukes of Surrey, and 
Exeter, and Aumarle, y" Lord Spencer, &c., thought 
to have set him at liberty, and have destroyed Henry 

D. of Lancaster. But Miles Hobart, a servant of the 

E. of Kent, discovered the whole plot to Henry D. of 
Lancaster, who thereupon left the castle of Windsor, 
fled to London, w'*" Rich'^- y« Second. The L"^' follow- 
ing hard after, and out of hopes to overtake him, 
returned to Colebrook, and sent letters into all parts 
by y** John Carrington, Rich''' Atwick, Rob'' Newbo- 
rough, W"*' Lindsey, &c. to let y™ understand y*^ truth 
of matters. And Wm. Fitz-Williams, a younger son 
of John Fitzwilliams, of Emly Ebor, and Capt" Blont 


of Warwickshire, having called out each of them a 
good party of stout horsemen, they scouted out so far 
as Brentford, near w'' place they met w''' a strong 
party of Henry Lancaster's, namely 160, worsted 
them, and brought away many prisoners, of w™, and 
of some friends living on the road, they had true infor- 
mation of Henry of Lancaster's resolution, and speed- 
ily by those faithfull and valiant capt"* came newes of 
their great danger by H. of Lancaster ; hereupon they 
called a councell of war, presently ab* 12 at night, 
and ordered the comon soldiers to betake themselves 
each to his owne home, and so many as would to goto 
certain sea-ports, where they should have shipping to 
pass them into France. Most of the chieftanes fled to 
Poole, and in a small ship bound for St. Malo, from 
Brittain, they there arrived, and thence to Paris. And 
so tydings came to King Charles of France y' King 
Richard, who had wedded his daughter Isabell als Ann, 
was murderd. Carrington, Atwick, Newborough, 
Lindsey, Fitzwilliams, Blont, and other commanders, 
w'^ many English soldiers, got y™ into Italy, where 
they served the Duke of JNIillan, against the emperour, 
and in y® fight bet y™, w"^in twenty miles of Mil- 
launi; y^ English being put upon the hardest service, 
did give such an onset on y"^ Imperialists, y' they were 
routed and put to flight. Carrington and Newborough 
took prisoners an Esq'"- of kin to y^ Bishop of Collen, 
had of him in six weeks a great sum for his ransom ; 
(the rest were taken prisoners). The emperor being 
overthrown, left INIillayn w^*" shame. The English 


continued in Millan w**^ great credit, and got great 
rewards of y*^ duke for their service. 

Carrington, Newborough, Blont, Fitzwilliams, and 
other comanders, continued there from 1399, -f year 
they left England, to 1404: and they had y'^chieftane 
under y* Duke of Millayn, an earl, called Alberico, 
y« duke's general. Galias, y^ Duke of Millayn, being 
dead, y® Earle Alberico greived at y® English, disbanded 
y™ and let y™ goe where they pleased. For y® young 
duke, a milksop, made peace w''* y*^ emperor, tlio' at a 
dear rate ; and J. Carrington, and y^ rest of y® English, 
left Italy, and got into Burgundy, minding to get into 
Hanault, so to ye sea-side to England. But being come 
to Bizanson, there Rob' Newborough fell sick, and 
being much bruised by a fall from his horse, dyed, and 
was buried by John Carrington and y"" rest, in y*^ Grey 
Fryer Ch. in that city ; and thence they passed to Ha- 
nault, and so into Brabant, and lived upon w' they had 
gotten. Newborough bequeathed the greatest part of 
his riches to his friend John Carrington. They being 
in Hanault were much releived in y* Monasterie, and 
at length met w"* two fryars come from England, wlio 
told Carrington, yt William, a younger son of S'" John 
Curson, was an abbot. Now the abbot was a son of 
his father, Carrington's eldest sister, wife of Sir John 
Curson, but he and y^ rest fearing to return bee. Henry 
of Lancaster was cruell to all y' had taken part agst. 
him, they therefore, in order to get a more safe pas- 
sage, further changed y"" names, and so ventured, and 
got to Amsterdam ; John Carrington calling himself 


Smith, Fitzwilliams made his name English, and Blont 
changed his name to Croke, &c. And thus they called 
each other ; and were bound for England. Carring- 
ton, or Smith, took a servant called AV^- Bureyn, as 
J" rest also did, and being thus attended, went into a 
ship of Ipswich, near w*^** place they landed in 1404. 
Carrington on y'' morrow rid to St. Neses, where he 
presented himselt to the abbot, who had forgot him, 
the abbot having never seen him but once, namely, at 
Reading Abby, where the abbot was y" a monk. How- 
ever y* abbot was glad to see him, and did privately 
keep him, and bestowed on him mickle benefits, ad- 
vanced him to wedlock, and endowed him with fair 

Henry y® Fourth being dead, 1413, they boldly 
adventured abroad to see each other, and having pro- 
cured their peace, they purchased lands. Carrington, 
or Smith, was settled in Essex, was very healthy, 
scarce ever sick, til his last sickness of which he dyed, 
1446, aged 72, and was buryed in Reinshall ch. yard, 
erected by himself. 

Blont, or Croke, lived most in Bucks at a place 
called Essendon. His friends Carrington, and Fitz- 
williams, &c. visited him, and had mickle mirth toge- 

Thomas le Blont, a knight of Warwickshire, Ed. I. 
bare for his arms, geules, a fesse bet. six martlets ar- 
gent, &c. 

Nicholas le Blont, of Warwickshire, lived 35 of 


Edw. m., and had Nicholas le Blont, who lived in 
Rich''' y« Second's time, and bare the same armes, &c. 
and coat of armes y® Crokes bare at j^ day. 



fj^istoviall €)iipo$ttilaticin : 


^ Qoolilge Doctrine anlr Instruction, 












Clje ierrp ^onetp* 


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


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







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


E. F. RIMBAULT, E.sq. F..S.A. Svcrelary. 





The following tract is appended to a rare work 
which forms one of the earliest English books in 
surgery. It is a translation of Lanfranc's " Ohi- 
rurgia Parva," by John Hall, surgeon. Of the 
translator little is known. There are no biogra- 
phical notices of him beyond those which can be 
gathered from his writings, and from these we 
learn that he was a surgeon in practice at Maid- 
stone, in Kent, and a " member of the worshipful 
Company of Chirurgeons." He addresses his 
book to the members of that body, for protection, 
as well as to call upon them to unite with him in 
his endeavours to put down empiricism, and to 
advance the knowledge of surgeons in general. 
He appears to have been a man of strong mind, 
and of great zeal in his profession. A portrait, 
(wood cut), of which a facsimile is here given, 
taken when thirty-five years of age, shows that he 
was born in 1529 or 1530, and is prefixed to the 

Following his " Vera EffigicH," is, in seven 
(piatrains : — 



As some deliglite nioste to beholde, 
Eche newe devyse and guyse, 

So some in workes of fathers olde, 
Their studies exercise. 

Perusing with all diligence 
Botes written long before : 

Wherin they learne experience. 
To beale both sicke and sore ; 

Which I alowe in dede and werde, 
In those that understande ; 

For otherwyse it is a sworde 
Put in a mad mans hande. 

Let idiotes and betles blynde, 

Therefore lay me aparte : 
Leste conti'arie myne author's mynde 

They rudly me perverte. 

For as the bee doth honie take 

From every goodly flowre, 
And spyders of the same doe make 

Veuim that wyll devoure : 

So all that learned men and wj-se 

To good pui-pose can use, 
The rude, that knowledge doe despise, 

Will ever more abuse. 

Wherefore all those that use me right 
I shall increase their fame : 

And vyle abusers all my mighte 
Shall be to doe them shame. 

In his address "unto the "Worshipful the Mais- 
ters, Wardens, and consequently to all the whole 
Company and Brotherhood of Chirurgiens of Lon- 
don," he strongly laments the prevalent ignorance 
of the profession, " and alas," says he, " where as 
there is one in Englande, almoste throughout al 
the realme, that is indede a true minister of this 
arte, there are tenne abhominable abusers of the 
same. Where as there is one chirurgien that was 
apprentise to his arte, or one physicien that hath 
travayled in the true studie and exercise of phisique, 
there are tenne that are presumptions swearers, 
smatterers, or abusers of the same ; yea, smythes, 
cutlers, carters, coblars, copers, coriars of lether, 
carpenters, and a great rable of women." He 
afterwards says, " I would to God, therfore, my 
dere maisters and brethren, that there might no 
fault be found in us concerning these thinges ; for 
truly if we weare such men of science as we ought 
to be, these false abusers would be more fearful to 
medle as they doe." He contrasts the conduct 
and information of the professors of other arts and 
sciences, with those of surgery, and he demon- 
strates the necessity of drawing attention to the 
works of the learned and experienced, to improve 
their condition. With this view he undertook the 
translation of Lanfranc's work. 

Lanfranc was a physician, born at Milan, and 

flourished in the thirteenth century. He was a 
pupil of Guliehnus de Saliceto, and having com- 
pleted his studies, he went into France and settled 
at Lyons, whence he was, by his great reputation, 
called to Paris, where he taught his profession 
with great eclat. Plis work is intitled " Ars Chi- 
rurgica," the MS. of which is in the Bibliotheque 
du Roi de France. It gives a miserable picture of 
the state of surgery in France in his time, and 
was first published at Venice, in 1490, and again 
in 15 19, and 1546. It was also printed at Lyons, 
in 1 558, together with the works of Guy de Chau- 
liac, Roger, &c., and it was translated into Ger- 
man by Otho Brunfels, and published at Frankfort 
in 1566. Altogether it is of little importance, 
and relates to the " treating of woundes, of apos- 
themes, of ulcers, (the cancer and the fistula), of 
algebra or restoration, (dislocations and fractures), 
and of the diseases of the eyes." Then ensues 
" The Antidotarie," or account of remedies em- 
ployed, which concludes " Lanfranc's Briefe." 
Halle says that it was translated " out of Frenshe, 
into the olde Saxony English, about two hundred 
years past." 

John Halle is bold in his expressions against 
the quacks of his day, a most determined enemy 
to ignorant empirics, exulting in the exposure of 
their nefarious practices, their urinoscopical 

examinations, &c., and loud in his protestations 
against the combination of magic, divination, and 
physic. In one place he says, " I will not cease 
while breath is in my body, to lay on with both 
handes till this battell be wonne, and our adver- 
saries convinced and vanquished; which, although, 
as I saide afore, they are tenne to one, yet truthe 
being our weapon, and good science our armoure, 
with our generall the high author of them, we 
nede not to doubt but that one shal be good enough 
for a thousand, not so strongly armed, but naked 
men, and bare of all knowledge." He seems, how- 
ever, to have had some misgivings as to the pub- 
lication of the "Historian Expostulation," as a 
letter from Dr. William Cuningham, a reader of 
lectures at Surgeons' Hall, and dated from his 
house in Colman Street, April 18th, L565, is af- 
fixed in recommendation of the undertaking, and 
advises him not to withhold his condemnation of 
the " rabble of ronnagates." This is succeeded 
by another letter, from the pen of Thomas Gale, 
a *•' maister in chirurgeryc," approving his work, 
and urging its publication in the following manner : 
" Aspire, therf ore, and take breth unto you ; let no 
vayne and frivolous opinion overcome you, for I 
see no cause wherfore you shoulde excruciate your 
selfe. Every wyse man wyll accepte your indevours, 
oxcepto those wliiche neyther niynde tluyr otHce, 

neither the utilitie of the publique wealth ; every 
good man will embrase, and with great gladnee 
revolve over your boke as sone as it is published, 
and wil, at the first sight of your good travell, 
have you in more estiraaeion then ever they had. 
And why ? because you set forth the most famous 
and excellent arte of medicine."" 

Some lines addressed to the " loving readers," 
precede John Halle's own epistle to the reader, in 
which occur many good observations, and in 
which the character of the man is well displayed. 
He lays on most lustily against the empirics, and 
ignorant surgions, the " very caterpyliers to the 
publique orders." He accuses them of running 
about the country, " like pedlars, tynkers, ratte 
katchers, and very vacaboundes, some only to set 
bones, some to drawe tethe, some to let blood, 
some to cutte ruptures, and take out stones ; but 
all thys rather (under suche colour), to mayntayne 
an idle and thevyshe lyfe, then to profyte the com- 
mon weale, to the great uprobrie of all the whole 
profession of medicine." He then laments that 
less attention is paid to the making of good sur- 
geons, than of other artificers. " Alas, there are 
goodly orders taken, and profitable lawes made, 
for makyng of clothe, tannyng of leather, raakyng 
of shoes, and many other externall thynges, the 
abuse whcrof is but a dearth or disprofite of 

the purse ; and shall there not be a redresse had 
for the true use of a science whereupon dependeth 
the health of mans body ? without whiche what is 
mans lyfe but a very misery or wTetched werines ? 
the abuse of whiche science is not only a disprofite 
to the purse, but a farre greater charge, that is to 
saye, the losse of helth and lyfe." He descants 
upon the neglect shown to apprentises taken by 
many, as he says, "not for to teache them science, 
but only to be their drudge, and to doe their toyle 
and labore, which is the cause, that so many come 
out of their yeares so ignorant. For their intent 
is to have servantes to dooe the toyle in their 
house, and not to make them cunnyng men ; yea, 
and some will refuse a yonge man that is learned, 
and apte to understande, to have an ignorant slave, 
to bears the water tankard, and scoure pannes ; 
suche a one, (as the common proverbe is), that 
will never doe man of science harme, unles he steale 
away his dynner." 

The necessary consequence of this conduct is 
thus pointed out ; " And yet will suche a one 
bragge and boaste, at seven years ende, as though 
he had all the learnyng and cunnyng under the 
sunne, although in very dede, the mostc know- 
ledge that he hath is, to poule, or shave, drawe a 
toothe, or dresse a broken pate, Alas, is not this 
a great pytye, that suche a noble arte shall thus 


be abused every way, through the filthie lucre and 
avaricious myndcs of men ? Is it not a shame to 
use such robcrie ? Doe ye not steale lyke robers 
the service of your apprentyses, when contraiy to 
your covenants, ye hyde your science from your 
servantes, to whom ye are bounde to teache it ; 
and yet, (in the meane season), receive the labor 
of their bodyes more lyke slaves then men ; be- 
side the great dishonor that therby you doe to 
your own profession, God graunt that I may see 
this amended, as I trust I shall." 

Halle objects to the division of medical science, 
shows the dependence of the several departments 
upon each other, by reference to the opinions of 
ancient authors ; asserts that by " pernicious 
division all hath been brought to confusion, so 
that neither parte is nowe used only of the experte 
professors therof, but rather of every smearer, 
that listeth to abuse them. For as the phy- 
siciens thynke their learnyng sufficient, without 
practyse or experience, so the chirurgien, for the 
moste parte, havyng experience and practise, 
thinketh it unnedeful to have any learnyng at all, 
which also hath boldened every ignorant rusticall, 
ye and foolyshe women, to think them selves 
sufficient to profess and worke in so noble and 
worthy an arte." He then states what a surgeon 
should be : Ic xrned, expert, of good discretion, «fec. 


and having established these points, he asks, 
" Why is every rude, rusticke, braynsicke beast, 
fond foole, undiscrete idiote; yea every bedlem 
baude, and scoldinge drabbe, suffered thus (with- 
out all order) to abuse this worthy arte upon the 
body of man ? What avayleth the goodly orders, 
taken by our forefathers and ancient authores, 
that none should be admitted to the arte of 
chirurgery, that are miscreate or deformed of 
body ; as goggle or skwynte eyed, unperfecte of 
sight, unhelthy of body, unperfecte of mynde, not 
hole in his members, boystrous fingers or shakyng 
handes. But contrary- wyse, that all that should 
be admytted to that arte, should be of cleare and 
perfect sight, well formed in person, hole of mynde 
and of members, sclender and tender fingered, 
havyng a softe and stedfast hande: or as the 
common sentence is, a chirurgien should have 
three dyvers properties in his person. That is to 
saie, a harte as the harte of a lyon, his eyes like 
the eyes of an hawke, and his handes as the 
handes of a woman : what avayleth this order I 
saye, sithe the contrary in all poyntes is put dayly 
in use, and that almost without hope of redresse ? 
scyng also, that those auncicnt authors had not 
only this regarde to the forme of the body, but 
also, and as well to the bcwtie or ornament of the 
mynde, and honest conversation of hirti that should 


be admitted to chirurgery, as are thes : He ought 
to be well manered, of good audacitie, and bolde 
Avliere he may worke surely ; and, contrariwise, 
doubtfull, and fearfull, in things that be dangerous 
and desperate. He must be gentyll to his pacients, 
witty in prognostications, and forseyng of dangers^ 
apte and reasonable to answere and dissolve all 
doubtes and questions belongynge to his worke. 
He muste also be chaste, sober, meeke, and merci- 
full; no extorcioner, but so to accomplishe his 
rewarde, at the handes of the ryche, to maynteine 
his science and necessary lyvynges, that he may 
helpe the poore for the only sake of God : what 
meaneth it, I saye, (those things considered) that 
so many sheepe heades, unwytty, unlearned, 
unchaste, ribaudes, lecheours, fornicators, dronk- 
ardes, belygoddes, beastly gluttons, wrathfull, 
envious and evell manered, shall thus myserably 
be suffred to abuse so noble an arte ; yea, that 
they shall also be mayntayned (in despyght of 
those that are men of science indede) preferred 
lyvynges for that profession, contrary to the 
ordinances and lawes of a citie, beyng a carpenter, 
a cobler, or a corier of lether, or whatsoever he be : 
the wyttye, the learned, the man of knowledge, 
the citizen, and the free man, in the raeane season 
wantyng preferrement and lyvyng V 

He professes much anxiety for the success of 

his observations, and trusts that if his book, being 
read by any abuser of chirurgery, he should find 
himself "rubbed on the galle," he will leave his 
vice and improve. He also admonishes the young 
to study, to attend to their anatomy, to the nature 
and complexions of their patients, and the pro- 
perties of their medicines ; to let their practise be 
founded on their reason, and that "none may 
worke without knowledge joyned to experience." 
Finally, he warns the young man entering the 
profession, to avoid "games and spendyng the 
time in playe. And hereof assure thy selfe, that 
if thou have not as great desyre to thy boke, as 
the greatest gamner hath to his game, thou shalte 
never worthily be called cunnyng in this arte. 
For thou must thynke and esteme all tyme of 
leysure from thy worke and busynes, even loste 
and evill bestowed, in which thou hast not pro- 
fyted somewhat at thy boke. Let thy boke there- 
fore, I say, be thy pastyme and game : which (if 
thou love it as thou oughtest) will so delight thee, 
that thou shalt thinke no tyme so well bestowed 
as at it. Yea, thou must desyre it as the child 
doeth his mother's pappe ; and so will it nourishe 
thee, that thou shalt worthily growe and increase 
to a worsliypfuU fame of cunnynge and learnyng.'" 
To the work of Lanfranc, Halle has added an 
expositive table of the " strange wordes, names, 


diseases, syraples, &c. which occur in the book; 
' A very frutefull and necessary bricfe worke of 
Ancitomie," and the "Historiall Exy)ostulation," 
herewith reprinted. To the first of these is 

affixed the following acrostic 


If reason maye the justice be 
Of this my niinde the truthe to trye : 
Howe can ther be dispaire in me 
No truthe sithe reason can denye. 

Happye it is when men esterae : 
All one in truthe, the same to tell : 
Let no man voyde of reason deme, 
Lest he agaynste the truthe rebell. 

The proheme contains a very creditable defence 
of the ancients and their modes of study, and 
concludes with some quaint lines which terminate 
thus : — 

In wicked men, so wickednes 

Will alway have alway : 
Dispraising still, throughe hatefidnesse, 

Eche good and perfect way. 

Thomas Halle, the brother of the author, then 
addresses the "• Gentle Readers that thirst for 
science," and adds several stanzas in praise of the 
intent of the work, and also some lines which bear 


the signature of " Ihon Yates, Ohirurgion." In 
the table, under the head of Algebra, is said : 
" This Araby worde A Igehra sygnifyeth as well 
fractures, as of bones, &c. as somtyrae the 
restauratyon of the same." Of Scabiosa " Men 
saye that S. Urban at the peticions of a certaine 
asthmatike sister of his, (that used scabiosa 
continually) sente to hir these verses, of the 
vertues therof : — 


Non puvgat pectus quod ccimprimit aegra senectus ; 
Lenit pulmoneni, purgat laterum regiuuem ; 
Apostema frangit, si locum bibita tangit : 
Tribus uncta foris authracem liberal horis. 

To Urbane him selfe, it is uiicertaiue 
Howe many vertues in scabiose reygue : 
But excellently it clenseth the breste 
Of sicke aged folke, that there are opreste. 

The pypes of the lunges, if rough they apere, 
It makcth them smothe, yea gentle and clere ; 
The roumcs of the breste, that we the sydes call, 
It purgeth well, from in(;uTnl)riuices all. 

If it be drunke, so that it touclie the place, 
Apostemes it breakes, by peculiar grace ; 
Without to carbuncles if it layde be, 
It doth lose and brcake them within liowrcs thi-ce." 

At the end of the table are these verses : — 

Tlioiuvli t'uvie me accuse, 

In suche as wyll disdayne ; 
It can not make me muse, 

Noi nothyng rere my brayue. 

For they that doe misuse 

Their tongues in suche a case, 
Wyll styll them selves abuse, 

In runnyng of that rase. 

But reason is myne ayde 

To take my cause in hande : 
And I nothyng afrayde 

With hir in place to stande. 

Havyng my hope so stayde, 

That those who lyste to rayle 
Wyllbe ryght sore dismayde, 

Wlien reason shall prevayle. 

For truthe, by reason strong, 

Wyll have the upper hande ; 
When envie vyle and wronge, 

Shall fayntly flee the lande. 

And truthe hath alwaye been, 

A daugliter unto tyme ; 
AVhiche as it hath been seen, 

Detecteth every cryme. 

The " Treatise of Anatomie" forms the prin- 
cipal work of our author. He quotes from a 
writer, Henricus de Ermunda Villa, who compareth 


" the chirurgien ignorant in anatomy, to a blynde 
man whiche woude hewe a pece of tymber ; for 
as a blynd man that heweth on a logge knoweth 
not how muche he should hewe tlierof, nor in what 
maner, (and therfore commonly crreth in hewyng 
more or lesse than he ought to doe :) so lyke wyse 
doth the chyrurgien that worketh on the body of 
man, not knowing the anatomy." The frame of 
man, he tells us, has been called by the Greeks 
" Microcosmos, a little world, because in the same 
(even as in the frame of the greate worlde) so 
manye wonders maye bee seene of natures works 
to the hygh honor and glorye of Almyghtye God. 
Maye it not be proved, that the brayne (lyke unto 
the heavens) hangeth without any maner of staye 
or proppe, to holde by the same I nay, it is so 
evident, that every learned anatomiste writeth 
of the same, as a thyng not to be doubted of, and 
therfore judge the same to have a certeyne lyke- 
nes with the heavenly nature. And as the world 
hath two notable lyghtes to governe the same, 
namely, the sonne and the moono ; so hath the 
body of man, planted lykewyso in the hyghcst 
place, twoo lyghtes, called eyes, whiche are the 
lyghtes of the body, as the sonne and the moone 
are tho lyghtes of the world. And it is also 
wrytten of some doctors, that the brayne hath vii 
coneavites, being instrumentes of tho wyttcs. 


which answere unto the vii spheres of the planetes. 
And to be briefe, it is a worlde to beholde, and a 
wonderful wonder to thynke, that as great mer- 
veyles may bee seene, wrought by God in nature 
in this little worlde, man his body, as tlier is to 
be considered in any thyng in the unyversall great 
worlde, above or benethe at any tyme. 

" Secondly, it is called a common weale, for as 
muche as there is therin conteyned as it were a 
ryghteous regiment, betwene a prynce and his 
subjectcs, as for example. Let us call the harte 
of man a king, the brayne and the lyver the chiefe 
governours under hym, the stomache and the 
guttes, with other aperteinyng to nutryments, the 
officers of his courte, and all the members 
universally his subjectes. And then let us see, if 
any man can devyse any necessary instrument of 
a common weale, nedefull for the wealth of the 
same, from the hyghest to the lowest, that the 
lyke shall not be founde in the body of man, as 
it is so well knowne to all those that travel in the 
knowledge of anatomic, that I nede not here 
muche therof to wryte. Can it be perceyved that 
the hande or the fote, or any part of them or such 
lyke (which we may lyken to the labourers, or as 
some call them vyle members of a common weale) 
at any tyme to resiste or rebel againste the harte 
their soveraigne lord, or any other officer under 

liym their superiors? No, truly. The body of 
man is a common weale without rebellion : the 
kyng so lovyng his subjectes, and the subjectes so 
lo^^■ng their kyng, that the one is ever redy to 
mynister unto the other all thynges nedeful ; as 
if the harte by any occasion susteyne damage, as 
we may see in the disease called Sincope, or 
swoundyng. At suche a tyme I saye the face, the 
handes, and the fete, are founde colde and without 
felynge, strengthe or lyfe ; and what proveth it, 
but that as lovynge and obedient subjectes they 
thynke nothyng theyr own wherof the harte hath 
nede, which is their lorde and governour ; yea, 
they utterly dcpryve themselves of altogether to 
serve and please their lord. Immediately as the 
swoundyng ceaseth, the bloude resorteth to the 
face, the handes and the feete are warme agayne, 
as it were benefittes done, rendered agayne with 
thankes and joye. And is not such a lorde and 
kyng worthye of good subjectes, that for the helpe 
of one of the leaste of them wyl spend all that he 
hath, so long as lyfe endureth ? as if a member be 
hurte, wherby any veyne or artery is cutte, the 
bloude or spirit will issue in suche wyse that it 
wyll not cease commyng thyther so longe as any 
is lefte, if it be not in tyme prevented. Oh kynd 
and gcntyll governour, oh wcl wyllyng and obe- 
dient subjectes." 


His anatomy is composed to the end of advanc- 
ing his chirurgery, and for the time in which it 
was written, is a very fair compendium. There 
are two figures whole length, cut in wood, but the 
references apply only to the exterior parts of the 
body and its regions. The conclusion of the work 
gives a good summary in relation to the temper- 
aments. All his writings appear to be terminated 
by rhyming verses, and those attached to his 
anatomy are in praise of chirurgery, as founded 
upon a knowledge of anatomy, and condemnation 
of those who practise without learning. 

Halle's antipathy to quacks was inveterate. 
Throughout his writings he omits no opportunity 
of expressing his horror of, and aversion to them ; 
but in the following and concluding " Historiall 
Expostulation," he enters into particulars, gives 
many curious details of the practices of itinerant 
impostors, principally such as resided in, or visited 
Maidstone, in Kent, where it appears he exercised 
his profession. His " Goodly e Doctrine and Instruc- 
tion" is drawn up in verse, and is marked by good 
sense, and in itself is a curious composition. 

According to Watt and other authorities. Hall 
or Halle was also author of " The Court of Vir- 
tue, containing many Holy or Spretual Songs, Son- 
nettes, Psalmes, Ballets, and Shorte Sentences, as 
well as of Holy Scripture as others, with Music, 
Notes, London, 1565," 16mo. 

But an earlier production, (being in 1550), may 
be mentioned : " Certayne Chapters taken out of 
the Proverbes of Solomon, with other Chapters of 
the Holy Scripture, and certayne Psalmes of Da- 
vid, translated into English Metre, by John Hall." 
By the remainder of the title it appears that the 
proverbs had been, in a former impression, unfairly 
attributed to Thomas Sternhold. 

A copy of verses by Halle, is prefixed to " The 
Enchiridion of Surgery, by Thomas Gale, London, 
1563, 12mo." Halle and Gale seem to have enjoyed 
much intimacy, and to have had minds congenial 
to each other. Gale served in the army of Henry 
Vni, at Montreal, in 1544, and in that of King- 
Philip, at St. Quintin, in 1557 ; he was serjeant- 
surgeon to Queen Elizabeth, and his picture of the 
state of military surgery in his time, appears to 
have been no better than the civil surgery as de- 
scribed by Halle. The following extract may not 
be uninteresting to the reader : — 

" I remember," says he, "whenlwas in thewars," 
in the time of that most famous prince. King 
Henry VHI, there was a great rabblement there, 
that took upon them to be surgeons. Some were 
sow-gclders, and some horse-gcldcrs, with tinkers 
and coblers. This noble sect did such great cures 
that they got themselves a perpetual name ; for, 
like as Thessalus's sect were called Thessalians, so 



was this rabblement, for their notorious cures, 
called dog-leachers, for in two dressings they did 
commonly make their cures whole and sound for 
ever, so that they neither felt heat nor cold, nor 
no manner of pain after. But when the Duke of 
Norfolk, who was then general, understood how 
the people did die, and that of small wounds, he 
sent for me and certain other surgeons, command- 
ing us to make search how these men came to 
their death, whether it were by the grevousness of 
their wounds, or by the lack of knowledge of the 
surgeons ; and we, according to our command- 
ment, made search through all the camp, and 
found many of the same good fellows, which took 
upon them the names of surgeons, — not only the 
names but the wages also. We asking of them 
whether they were surgeons, or no, they said they 
were ; we demanded with whom they were brought 
up, and they with shameless faces would answer, 
either with one cunning man or another, who was 
dead. Then we demanded of them what chi- 
rurgery stuff they had to cure men withal, and 
they would show us a pot or a box, which they had 
in a budget, wherein was such trumpery as they 
did use to grease horses heels withal, and laid 
upon scabbed horses backs, with nerval, and such 
like. And other that were coblers and tinkers, 
they used shoe maker's wax, witti the rust of old 


pans, and made therewithal a noble salve, as they 
did term it. But in the end this worthy rabble- 
ment was committed to the Marshalsea, and threat- 
ened by the duke's grace to be hanged for their 
worthy deeds, except they would declare the truth 
what they were, and of what occupations, and in 
the end they did confess, as I have declared to you 

The Bodleian Library contains a MS. (178), 
being a translation by J. H. of Bened. Victo- 
rius's " Cure of the French Disease"; also some 
letters between J. H. and Dr. William Cuning- 
ham, dated 1565. The latter is well known 
by his " Cosraographical Glasse, containing the 
pleasant principles of Cosmographie, Geographie, 
Hydrographie, or Navigation, London, 1559, folio." 
Many of the cuts of this work were executed by 
the author, who is reported to have been ingenious 
in the art of engraving on copper ; the map of 
' Norwhich"" is his own production. The work is one 
of the finest that issued from the press of Day. 
Mr. Halliwell tells me that a few years ago he saw 
the original MS. of this work at Denloy's, a book- 
seller, near Drury Lane. Dr. Cuningham resided 
at Norwich about 1556-59, and afterwards in Lon- 
don, where he was appointed to read the lectures 
at Surgeon's Hall, in 1563. He commented on the 
book of Galon upon " Tumours against Nature." 


He also wrote a Commentary [on the book " De 
Aere Aquis et Re^ionibus," by Hippocrates. He 
calls Morbus Gallicus Chamoeleontiasis. 

T. J. P. 



Against the beastlye Abusers, bothe of Chyrurgerie, 

and Physyke, in oure tyme : with a goodlye 

Doctrine and Instruction, necessarye to 

be marked and folowed, of all true 

Chirurgiens : 

Gathered and diligently set forth 

JOHN HALLE, Chyrurgyen. 

Imprinted at London in Flete Streate, nyphe unto Saint Dun- 
stones Churche, by Thomas Maj-she. 

An. 1565. 



For as muclie as in the epistle and prefaces, I have 
declared the dishonor that the noble arte of medicyne 
susteyneth by deceavynge fugitives, and other false 
abusers ; I thinke it good here to blasen the dedes of 
some in this our tyme, that it maye apere that not 
withoute a sufficiente cause, I have so there of them 

Fyrst, there came into the towne of Maydstone, in 
the yere of our Lorde, 1555, a woman whiche named 
hir selfe Jone, havyng with hir a walkyng mate whome 
she called her liusbande. This wicked beast toke hir 
inne at the sj'gne of the Bell, in the towne aforesayde, 
where she caused within short space to be published 
that she could heale aU maner, bothe inward and out- 
ward diseases. One powder she caried in a blader, 
made of the herbe daphnoydes, and anise sede together, 
whiche shee (as an onclye sufficient remedie for all 
grefes), administred unto all liir folishe patientes, in 
lyke quantite to all people, neyther regardyng tyme, 



streiigtlie, nor age. All the tyme of her being there, 
(whiche was about iii wekes), there resorted to her 
company, divers ruffians, and vacaboundes, under pre- 
tence of being diseased, and sekyng to her for remedye, 
so that liir false profession, was unto their wicked 
behavioure, for the tyme in that towne a safe suppor- 

This beastlie deceaver, amonge manie others, tooke 
in hand an honest mans child, who had a suppurat 
tumor in his navell, percynge dangerouslye the pani- 
cles of the belye, to whome she administered the sayde 
pouder in great quantitye, in so muche, that the childe 
dyd vomyte continuallye for the space of halfe a daye 
and more, withoute ceassynge, whereby the sayde 
aposteme brake. 

The parentes of the chylde then feared much, by 
the grevousnesse of the syghte, that his stomache 
woulde breake, wliiche may be thought that in very 
dede it so dyd. For in processe of tyme ther issued 
out by the orifice of the same vii. wormes, at vii. seve- 
rall tymes (such as children are wont to avoyde eyther 
upwarde or downwarde, from the stomache and guttes, 
called teretes i. rotundi), with also a certayne yelowe 
substance, not stinkynge, suche as we sometymes fynde 
in the stomaches of dead men when we open them. 

Tliis fearful! syght, I saye, caused the childes pa- 
rentes to sende for me, to knowe therein myne opinion 
and counsell ; unto whome I prognosticated (as I sawe 
good cause), that the mater was very dangerous, and 
not lyke to be cured. But this beastly forme of a 


woman, hearyng me so saye, answered that she douted 
therein no daunger, and f arthermore offered hirselfe to 
be locked up in a chamber with the chyhle, and that 
yf she healed him not, shee myghte be punished ; with 
a great deale more circumstance of prating and deceyt- 
fuU braggynge werdes. Unto whose moste wicked 
and divlishe boldnes I thus answered. Wher as you 
saye that ye doubte not any daunger in this childe, I 
verye well beleue you, for ignorante fooles can doubte 
no perils, and who is bolder then blynde bayerd ? howe 
shoulde they doubte that knowe not what a doubt 
meaneth ? Notwithstandyng this preheminence you 
deceavynge rennegates have, ye maye bragge, lye, and 
face, tyll ye have murdered, or destroyed suche as cre- 
dyte you, and then are ye gone, ye shewe your lieles, 
and that is onelye your defence. But honest menne of 
arte muste have truthe for theyr defence, and expe- 
rience of their true worke, and maye promyse no more 
then they may performe. 

What should I make manye wordes, the parentes of 
the childe all to late discharged this deceaver, and the 
child, notwithstandyng the counsell had of dyvcrs 
learned men, dyed afterwarde of the sayde grefe. But 
the sayde deceaver, accordyng to my prophesie, after 
iii. dayes, ran away, she and her walkyng mate, rob- 
bynge their hoste where they lay, of the shetes, pillow- 
beres, and blankets that they laye in ; and by their 
entysement of one of the mayde servauntes of their 
sayd hoste, they hadde muscadcll served them insteade 
of here, whyle they laye there for the moste i)arte ; 


which entyced servant ranne awaye also with them, 
and coulde not synce be herde of. 

Secondly, in tlie yere of our Lord 1556, there re- 
sorted unto Maydstone, one Robert Ilaris, professynge 
and pretendyng an hyghe knowlege in physike ; under 
cloke wherof he deceaved mervaylouslie with vyle sor- 
cerie. This deceaver could tel (as the folish people 
reported of hym), by only lokyng in ones face, all se- 
crete markes and scarres of the bodie, and what they 
had done, and what hadde chaunced unto them all theyr 
lyfe tyme before. Wherwith he had so incensed the 
fonde and waveryng myndes of some, that pitie was 
to here. Amonge whome one woman (whoe for hir 
yeares and profession, ought to have bene more dis- 
crete). AVhen I reasoned with hir agayuste his doynges, 
she ernestlie afRi^med that she knewe well that he was 
then dystant from hir, at the leaste vii. myles, and yet 
she verelye beloved that he knewe what she then sayde. 
Oh greate beastlynes and infydelitie, specially in suche 
as have borne a face to favour the worde of God. 

"Well, for jestyng a lyttell agaynste the madnes of 
thys deceaver, I hadde a dagger di-awne at me not 
longe after. The wordes that I spake were to his 
hostes, when T sawe him goe by, in this wyse. Is this 
(quod I), the cunnyng sothsayer, that is sayde to lye 
at your house ? Sothesayer, quod shee ; I knowe no 
suche thynge by him, therefore ye are to blame so to 
name him. Why, quod I, suche men and suche en- 
formed me that he can tell of thynges loste, and helpe 
children and cattell bewitched and forspoken, and can 


tell by lokyng in ones face, what markes he hathe on 
his bodie, and where, and tell them what they have 
done, and their fortune to come. Yea, and all this in 
dede he can doe, quod she. Why, then, he is a sothe- 
sayer and a sorcerer, quod I. Well, quod she, yf he 
have so muche cunnynge in his bellye, he is the hap- 
py er, and it is the more joye of him. Nay, quod I, 
it were mere folyshnes for hym to carye his cunnyng 
in his bellye. And why ? quod she. Why, quod I, 
thynke you that men of lerning and knowledge caiy 
their cunnynge in their bellies ? Wher else, quod she, 
and why not ? Mary, quod I, yf he should beare his 
cunnyng there, he should alwayes waste it when he 
wente to the privye, and so in time he should lose all 
his cunnyng. This beyng merylye spoken, turned me 
afterwards not to a little displeasure, even at their 
handes, where I had deserved and loked for frendship as 
of dutie; butlmust cease to marveyle any longer at this, 
when almoste everie suche abhominable vylaine is de- 
fended, upholden, and mayntayned, by suche as of 
righte, and according to the holesome lawes of this 
realme, shoulde punish them for these their abusions. 
Yet surelie the grieffe were the lesse, yf onely the 
blynde, and supersticious antiquitie had a regarde and 
love to suche deceavers. But nowe a great number 
that have boi-ne an outwarde shcwe of great holynes, 
and love to Gods holie worde ; we see them soke day- 
lie to suche divelishe wyches and sorcerers, if their 
fyng(n- doe but ake, as though they were Goddes, and 
coulde presentlic helpe them witli wordes, although 


they knowe that God in his Israeli, hath called them 
an abhominacion, and hath farther commaunded that 
none suche should be suffred among them to lyve. 

Thyrdlic, in the year of our Lord a thousand fy\'e 
hundred fyftie and eyght, there came to Maydstone 
one Thomas Lufkyn, by occupacion a fuller, and bur- 
ler of clothe, and had bene brought up (by reporte of 
divers honest men ), at the fuUyng mylles there besyde 
the towne, nevertheles he had ben longe absent from 
that contrie, in whiche tyme he had by roving abroade, 
become a phisician, a chirurgien, an astronomier, a 
palmister, a phisiognomier, a sothsayer, a fortune de- 
vyner, and I can not tell what. This deceaver was 
the beastliest beguiler by his sorcerys that euer I herd 
of, making physike the onely colour to cover all his 
crafty thefte and mischieves, for he set uppe a byll at 
hys fyrste commynge, to publishe his beyng there, the 
tenour wherof was in effect as foUoweth : — 

If anye manne, womanne, or childe bee sicke, or 
would be let bloud, or bee diseased with anye maner of 
inward or outwarde grefes, as al maner of agues, or 
fevers, plurises, cholyke, stone, strangulion, impos- 
tumes, fistulas, kanker, goutes, pocks, bone ache, and 
payne of the joynts, wliich commeth for lacke of bloud- 
lettyng, let them resorte to the sjgne of the Sarazens 
Hedde, in the easte lane, and brynge theire waters 
with them to be sene, and they shall have remedie. 

By rae, Thomas Luffkin. 

Unto this divell incarnate, resorted all sortes of 


vayne and undiscrete persons, as it were to a God, to 
knowe all secretes, paste and to come, specially women, 
to know how manie husbandes and children they 
shoulde have, and whether they shoulde burie their 
husbandes then lyving. And to be brefe, there was 
not so great a secrete, that he would not take upon 
him to declai'e, unto some he prophecied death within 
a moneth, who thankes be to God are yet lyving, and 
in healthe. All this he boasted that he could do by 
astronomic ; but when he was talked with of one that 
had but a yonge and smalle skyll in that arte, he coulde 
make no directe answere no more then puppe my 

This vilayne coulde wyth a wodden face, bragge, 
face, and set oute his maters wyth boulde talke, that 
the symple people was by him mervelously seduced to 
beleve his lies, and boastiuge tales. 

Amonge manye that talked with him, one of mine 
acquaintance asked him this question: Sir, quod he, if 
you be so cunnynge as ye are named, or as you woulde 
fayne be estemed to be, wherefore goe ye, and travaile 
ye from place to place ? for beinge so cunning, ye can 
not lacke wheresoever ye dwell, for people will resorte 
unto you farre and nere, sekynge upon you, so that you 
shoulde not neede thus to travaile for your livynge. 
Unto whom he made thys beastlyc answere ; I knowe, 
quod he, by astronomyc the influence of tlie starres, 
and tlicrby perccavc wlien, and howe long any place 
shall be unto inc foitmiatc, and when 1 pcrccave by the 
starres that any evell fortune is like to chaunce to me 


in that place, I streighte waye wiselye avoid the daun- 
ger, and goe to an othei* place, wheras I knowe it wil 
be fortunate and luckye. For what use they to cloke 
theyr vilanies wyth but astronomye, phisicke, and chi- 
rurgery, as I shewed you before. 

But thys false knave had answered more truelye if 
he had sayd thus : though for a tyme as all newe fan- 
gels are highlye sette by and mervailed at amonge the 
folishe and rude people, so naughtye false merchantes, 
wyth their craftye, and vilainous deseightes, maye for 
a time have credite and successe according to theyr 
wicked expectations ; yet in a whyle wyth use, the 
people will begin to smell oute, and be werye of theyr 
doynges, whiche they at the fyrste so gredelye did 
seeke, for the strange newes. For suche false decea- 
vers perceave and knowe that the fonde myndes of the 
common rude multytude of people, at the fyrste, in 
seekynge to see straunge thynges, are madde of desire, 
and as they are unreasonable in seekynge the newes, 
so are they sone werye of the use therof ; for muche 
familiaritye engendereth contempte, even in good 
thinges ; therfore when men begin to perceave and to 
espye the crafte and subtilty of suche deceavers, it is 
time for them to change their place, that they maye the 
easilyer deceave agayne, where theyr falshode is strange 
and newe, and all together unknowne. If I saye he 
hadde thus answered, he hadde sayde the very truthe. 
Thys deceaver hadde sufficiente audacitye, wyth talke 
to sette oute hys falshode, and to beare downe all that 
be ignorante, so longe as his knaverye knackes were 


unknowne ; well, the ende of bys being tbere, was as 
it is common wytb tbem all, wytboute anye difference, 
for be sodainlye was gone wytb manye a poore mannes 
monye, wbycbe he had taken before bande, promisinge 
them helpe, whiche onlye he recompensed wytb the 
winge of his beles. 

Fourthlye, in the yeare of our Lorde a thousande 
fyve hundred and three score, one Valentyne came 
into a paryshe in the welde of Kente, called Staple- 
burste ; wheras be changed hys name, callynge hyni 
selfe master Wynkfylde, af&rmynge hym selfe to be the 
Sonne of a worshipful knight of that name. Thys 
abbominable deceaver made the people beleve that be 
could tel all tbinges present, past, and to come ; and 
the very thoughtes of men, and theyr diseases, by onlye 
lokinge in theyr faces. When anye came to hym wytb 
urines (wbycbe commanlye in the countrye they bring 
in a stone cruse), be made tbem beleve tliat onelye by 
feling the weight therof, he would tell them all theyr 
diseases in their bodies, or wythout ; and otherwbile 
made them beleve that he wente to aske councel of the 
devel, by going a litle asyde and mumblyng to him 
selfe, and then comming agayne, would tell tbem all, 
and more to ; for what care of shame or evell have 
these hell boundes who see theyr abhomination ? but 
even as the ape tourneth his liltbye partes to every 
mannes sygbte, so shame they not to acknowledge 
them selves to have conference with the divell, that so 
yet all wyse men may know theyr dedcs to be all divell- 
ish, wherin the vaine opinion of some (though not of 


the wysest sort), helpetli them not a litle, who esteme 
those dampnable artes to be hygh poyntes of learnyng. 
Oh ethiiike madncsse ! 

Tliys beastlye beguyler so incensed in shorte space 
the vayn inyndes of the rude and waverynge multitude 
of people, that he was sought unto, and estemed more 
a greate deale then God, (oh heathenish and idolatrous 
people ! not much unlyke this was their outragious 
madnes to their pevysh pilgrimages, wherwith in times 
past they were most miserably bewiched). Yea suche 
a wonderfuU fame and brute wente abroad of his do- 
ynges, that some of the verie AvorshipfuUes of those 
partes were striken with admiraeion, and desyre to 
seke to him, to knowe manie good morowes ; wherof 
also he would not a lytle bragge and boaste. 

But as tyme revealeth all thynges, so this devylyshe 
beaste in short tyme was knowne in his righte kynde 
and name ; and that he had iii. wyves lyving at that 
present, of which the fyrste lyved very porelye and 
myserably in Canturbury ; the second, after she knewe 
his wickednes, departed from him, and maried after 
with a preste ; the third, w'liiche he at that present 
had, he maried at Westmynster, as I was credible in- 
formed, beyng there a riche widowe. But nowe after 
this vylaynie was knowne, by his fyrst wyfe comming 
to Staplehurste, he ran awaye from hyr also, leavynge 
her desolate, undone, and in muche miserie, for he had 
spent all her substaunce by riotous fare ; for he was 
reported to fare at his table lyke a lorde, and was 
served as fynelye a.-; a prynce ; but suche shamefull 


dedes can never be withoute wicked ende, at the leaste 
at Gods hande, thouglie it be neglected of the magis- 

This laste wyfe beyng sente on his errande to Mayd- 
stone, to an apothicaries wydo^Ye for certeyne drougges, 
chaunced to forgette some of their names, wherewith 
the women beyng bothe not a lytle troubled, the apo- 
thecaries widowe asked whye her husbande dydde not 
wryte for hys thynges, wherunto his womanne answer- 
ed that Mayster Wynkfylde was a ryght Latynist, for 
he coulde wryte no Englyshe. By this ye maye per- 
ceave he was a well learned manne. 

This woman beyng as I saide, lefte desolate, maried 
after with one Thomas Riden, who was his man, who 
wente together to Westminster, there to dwell, whither 
not lang after, this Winkefield came, minding agayn 
to seduce the woman to folowe hym, as before she had ; 
who so detested his late beastly usance, that she com- 
playned him so to the archebyshop of Canturbury, and 
other of the queues majesties honorable councell, that 
he was long imprysoned in the gate house, and for his 
wickednes sore puny shed.* Yet in the ende beynge 
delyvered, he ceased not any wliit to use his olde prac-, 
tise, for he came immediately to Eobardesbridge, in 
Sussexe, where he wrought the lyke wickednesse as 
afore, and beyng there espied, witliin a whyle with 
divers wycked factes, he removed, putting on a brasen 
face, and came again into Kente, to Staplehurst, wher 

* He was whipped. 


he freshly renewed the use of his odiouse feates, for 
the which maister Bissey, person of Staplehurste, caused 
him to he ascited of the ordinary to the spirituall courte, 
as an adulterer, and a woorker by divUshe and magi- 
call artes. Wherfore he removed two myles from 
thence, to a paryshe called Harden, thynkinge him 
selfe therby the more salfe, but the lawe notwithstand- 
ing, proceded so against him, that he was ther upon 
his contemiDte, excommunicated ; and yet never lefte 
his olde fashions. He spent in his house weekely sixe 
pound (as dyverse honeste menne reported), in meate 
and drynke, with suche resorte and banketyngee, as it 
was a wonder to see, whereby he not a litle augmented 
his fame ; the people resorting to him farre and nyghe, 
for he woulde tell them suche wonders, that all had 
hym in admiration. But especially, he was cunnyng 
to inchaunte women to love, and did for rewardes, 
dyverse feates in suche cases ; and lastly, he began to 
worke properly for himself as foloweth : 

At a paryshe called Loose, in the hundred of Mayd- 
stone, a certayne blynde man, called blynde Orgar, 
hadde a wyfe who was sycke of dyvers aches and 
swellynges, who hearyng of this marvellous monster, 
sente hir daughter upon a Wednesday, downe to Mar- 
den, with hir water, to this maister Wynkfelde, who 
so inchaunted hir, that she forgate hyr waye home to 
hyr father and mother in so much that hyr mother 
thoughte hyr loste, for she taried there tyll the Satur- 
daye folowyng : then takynge hyr waye homewarde, 
and beyng come halfe waye, hyr mynde was so intox- 


icate, that she retourned backe agayne to hyr lover ; 
who lovyngly (fearynge leaste hyr frendes shoulde 
make exchimation therof), accompanied hir, tyll she was 
nyghe at home, and then returning, he promysed hyr 
to come to hir mother by a certayne daye, whiche he 
in deede performed ; and so fylled he the symple wo- 
man with suche flatteryng and craftie perswasions, and 
fayre promyses of healthe, that she thoughte nothynge 
to whotte or to heavy for hym, no, not hyr daughter, 
as it apeared, for he forsoke Harden (where he was 
xii. pounde in debte, and upwarde), and came to inha- 
bite at Loose, in this poore blynde mans house, in so 
muche that in a whyle, all people theraboute spake 
muche shame, that it was suffered. 

The whiche reporte, at suche tyme as it came to the 
eares of the worshipfull justices thereaboutes, Avith also 
the trade of his former lyfe, the complaynte of dyverse 
honest men whose money he had taken, and deceaved 
them : and the clamour of his creditours, to whom he 
ought, as is aforesayd. They sent out their war- 
ranto, to all constables of that hundred, chargynge 
them to aprehende and brynge hym before them at 
Maydstone, the Thursdaye folowyng. Who beynge 
warned therof by certeyne disemblyng men, and chiefly 
a flatteryng minister, he fledde, and coulde not be 
founde, neyther was he synce heard of in that coun- 
trey. This later fitte chanced in the yere of our Lorde 
1562, in Lent. Many more particuler histories coulde 
I here wryte of his detestable factes, but to avoyde 
l)rolixity, I leave them at this tyme, trustyng that this 


may suffyce to describe what he is, and to geve al men 
warning of hym and all other lyke deceivers. 

The truthe was so ; he had no learnyng in the world, 
nor coulde reade Englishe (and, as I suppose, knewe 
not a letter, or a b from a bateldore), as it was weU 
proued, yet made he the people beleve that he coulde 
speake Latin, Greek, and Hebrue. 

Item in the yere 1562, there came to the towne of 
Maidstone an olde felowe, who tooke upon him to heale 
all diseases, as a profounde phisitien, whom (for be- 
cause men had been so deluded by divers former de- 
ceivers,) I caused to be examined before the officers of 
the said towne. And when he was asked his name, he 
said, John Bewly ; secondly, wher he dwelte, and he 
answered at London, in the Old Bayly, against Sir 
Roger Chamley. Thirdly, if he were a phisitien, he 
sayde yea. Fourthly, where he learned that arte, 
and he sayde by his owne study. Fiftly, where he 
studied it, he answered, in his owne house. Sixtly, 
what authours he had redde, he sayde, EKote, and 
others. Seventhly, we asked what other, and he 
said, he had forgotten. Eightly, we asked him what 
weare the names of Eliotes bookes, he sayd, he re- 
membered not. Then we brought him an Englyshe 
booke to reade, whiche he refused ; but when he was 
commaunded to rede, he desired us to be good to him, 
for he was a poore man, and in deede coulde not reade, 
and sayd that he intended not to tary there, but to re- 
payre home agayne. This beyng done on a Sondaye, 
after evensong, his hoste was bounde for his foorth- 


comming the next daie, when upon his humble sute, 
he was let goe ; beyng warned with exhortations, to 
leave suche false and naughty deceytes. 

Farther in the same jerG, one William, a shomaker, 
came into Kente, pretending to be very cunning in 
curing diseases of the eyes ; and being brought to a 
frende of myne, to have his judgement in ones eye, 
whereof the sight was weake ; first putting them in 
muche feare of the eye, he at lengthe promised to doe 
great thinges therto. But the frendes of the partie 
diseased desired me first to talke with him, to under- 
stande his cunning ; which I, at their request, did, at a 
tyme appointed, and asked him if he understoode what 
was the cause of hir infirmitie. He said he could not tel, 
but he wold heale it he doubted not. Then I asked 
him whether he were a surgien, or a phisitien ; and he 
answered, no, he was a shomaker, but he coulde heale 
all maner of sore eyes. 

I asked him where he learned that ; he sayde that 
was no matter. Well, sayde I, seyng that you can 
heale sore eyes, what is an eye ? whereof is it made ? 
of what members or partes is it composed ? and he 
sayde he knewe not that. 

Then I asked hym if he weare worthy to be a shoe- 
maker, or to be so called, that knewe not howe, or 
wherof a shoe was made ? he answered no, he was not 
worthy. Then, sayde I, how dare you worke upon 
suche a precious and intricate member of man as is tlie 
eye, seyng you knowe not the nature therof ? and vvhy, 
or by what reason, it doth see more then a mans nose, 



or his hand dothe ? He answered, that though he could 
not tell this, yet could he heale all maner of sore eyes. 
And that where as maister Luke of London, hath a 
great name of curyng eyes, he coulde doe that which 
maister Luke could not doe, nor turne his hande to. 
Thus bragged this proude varlette, against and above 
that reverent man of knowne learning and experience. 

And I sayde I thought so, for Maister Luke, sayde 
I, is no shoemaker. Well, sayde he, I perceive you doe 
but skorne me, and flunge out of the doores in a great 
fume, and coulde not be caused to tary and drynke by 
any intreaty, neither have I since that tyme heard any 
thyng of hym. 

"What other men and women, besydes these, have 
come into the forsayde place, if I should rehearse them, 
and the discourse of their doinges, it weare to tedious, 
yea, it wold abhorre any honest mans eares to heare 
of it. There came a woman thither, (as she reported 
hirself), a ministers wife, (but I thynke she falsely 
lyed), in the aforesayde yeare. The officers hearing 
of hir prophession, called hir before them, and exa- 
mined hir, with whom she was so stoute, as to say 
(when she was warned to departe the towne, in payne 
of imprysonment), these wordes : I have, quod she, 
travelled through all partes of this realme, and I was ne- 
ver yet forbidden in any place to minister my physike, 
and hath (sayde she), your towne a privilege above 
all other, to forbydde me to doe good, and to heale the 
queenes leige people ? Then was she asked what autho- 
ritic she hadde, or of whom she was allowed thus to 


dooe, or what certificat she haclde brought with hir, to 
witnes with hir of hir good beliavour in places where 
she was before ? and she sayde she was never before so 
examined, neither feared to be put to suche triall, 
neither sawe she ever the place, that a woman eoulde 
fjnde so little curtesie, especially sithe she asked no- 
thynge gratis of any man, or otherwyse then for hir 
niony : these stoute wordes notwithstanding, she was 
expelled the towne. 

And not longe after, came thither a make shifte, 
with two men wayghting on hym, as very rakehelles as 
him selfe, bragging that he was a profounde phisicien ; 
and being called by the officers to examination, was 
so streyghtly charged, that he confessed himselfe and 
his men, to be felowes in frendshippe, and all of one 
krewe ; and this was a shifte, mutually devised among 
them to get mony ; and so weare they expelled the 
towne ; or rather they shifted sodainly away for feare 
of punyshement ; whiche if they had taried, they could 
not have escaped, so good then was the mynde of the 
officers for that yeare. And now one historic of the 
tyme present, to knitte up this my tale of vagabondes 
and rennegates most hatefull. 

One Robert Nicols, a false deceiver, and moste igno- 
raunt beaste, and of the profession of vagaboundes, (as 
weare his former felowes), hath in tymes passed boasted 
him selfe to have been the servaunt of Maister Vicary, 
late sargeant chyrurgien to the queenes highnes. But 
now the matter being put in triall, he sayeth he was 
apprentice with a priest, among whose wicked and pro- 

c 2 


digions doynges, (wliiclie are infinite, one very notable 
chaunced in the yere of our Lorde 1564, the 26 of 
September ; he poured iu a purgation to an honest 
woman of good fame, one Riches, wydowe, of Linton, 
(a paryshe of three myles distant from Maydestone), 
whiclie within three or foure houres at the moste, 
purged the lyfe out of hir body, so violent was this 
mortal potion. The woman being before in perfecte 
health, to all mens judgementes, beinge onely of sim- 
plicitie perswaded to take the same, by the deceivable 
perswasions of this Nicols, who made fayre wether of 
all thynges, and hir to beleve that he would deliver hir 
of suche diseases as in deede she had riot. For he 
should have had by composition, xx. shillinges for the 
saide drynke. 

For this murderous facte, he was by the queenes 
majesties justices apprehended, and imprisoned in the 
gaile of Maydstone, where he was communed with all, 
concernyng his knowledge and doynges, and for what 
cause he gave hir that purgation, and howe she was 
perswaded to take it. He answered, that he knewe 
by hir complexion, that liyi" ly ver and hyr lunges weare 
rotten, and therfore he toulde hyr so. Wherunto one 
replyed sayinge, naye, she was not sycke, but thou tould- 
est hyr so for thy fylthye lucre, and she beleved thee. 
And because (as thou saydest), thou knewest all this 
by hyr complexion, I praye thee what complexion am 
I of ? He answered, you are sanguine. 

Then was it asked him, whether it weare proper to 
a sanguine man to have blacke heare, as that partye 


liaclde on bis bearde ? to this he answered, O, ye wyll 
saye ye are more a the choler. Then the partie gave 
hym hys hande to feele, which was commonly colde, 
saiynge, is a cliolericke man wonte to be so colde ? 
whiche when he hadde felte, he sayde : O then ye 
woulde be of the fleme. Then was he asked, what is 
a sanguine man ? or why is he called sanguine ? he 
answered, a sanguine man is he that hathe a good dis- 
gesture. Mary, as thou sayest, quod the demaunder, 
here in hast thou shewed howe great thy cunnynge 
is in judgyng complexions. Then was it saide to hym, 
ye professe bothe phisicke and chirurgerie, what au- 
thours have you redde ? He answered, Vigo and 

Then was it demaunded, what medicyne gavest thou 
the woman wherwith thou haddeste so evyll lucke ? 
And he sayde, catapussis. Then beynge rebuked for 
that he would take on hym to geve medicyne inwardlye, 
whereof he knewe not the names, muche lesse the 
nature : he sayde as stoutely, as obstinatly, that he 
knewe as many purgations as the partie that reproved 
hym. Then he asked hym of foure or five, such as 
came first to minde, as tamar indes, mirobalanes, aga- 
rick, &c., of all the whiche he sayd he knew none. 
Then was he requyred to name them that he dyd know, 
and he sayde he knewe catapussis, and catapistela. 

Then was he asked what catapistela Avas. Why, 
quod he to the demaunder, doc not you knowe it ? 
No, sayde the partie, not by that name. And it was 
further asked whether it weare an herbe, a roote, a 


tree, a stone, the liove, home, or tayle of a beaste, or 
what it was ? Nicols answered that it was none of those, 
but a thynge made beyoiide the seas. It is not made 
in Englande, quod he, I thyuke it be made in Fraunce. 
Then was he agayne reproved for his beastly braggyng. 
And here maiest thou see, quod the person that rea- 
soned with hym, thyne owne ignoraunce, in that thou 
sayest it is made, wher it is in deed the fructe of a 
tree called cassia Jistula, (as I thynke thou meanest), 
and not catapistela. And he answered, (not withstand- 
yag his former impudencie), it is so ; saiyng also thus, 
oh, you call it casia, belyke because it is lyke a case. 

Then this man begynning to prove his cunnyng in 
the natures of symples, asked hym the nature of peper. 
He sayde it was hotte in the firste degree, and colde 
in the seconde. Why then, sayde the demaundaunt, 
what saye you to the nature of an oyster ? and he, 
(answerynge as before of the temperamente), sayde 
colde in the fyi'St degree, and hotte in the thyrde. 
Then was it sayde to the standers by, here may you 
see his beastly ignorance, dyd ye ever heare that two 
contraries coulde dwelle together and agree in one sub- 
jecte? Wherunto this lewde felowe most proudly 
answered, though I can not reason so well as you, but 
am confounded at your hande, yet have I done great 
and many cures, whiche, sayd he, commeth of some- 
what, though you saye I knowe nothyng. After this, 
one asked him if he weare by authoritie admitted, 
accordinge to the lawes of this realme, to use phisicke 
and chirurgcry, as a practiser of the same ? To whom 


an other sayde ; thynke you that any such ignorant 
asse as this is, can be any where so admitted ? Unto 
all this he sayde, if none should be suffered to use them 
but the learned, or suche as are permitted, a great 
manye poore people should perishe for lacke of helpe. 
To this he was answered, nay, rather a great nimibre 
that are daily kylled or lamed, by suche ignorant 
beastes as thou arte, might, (by the benefite of nature, 
and other good helpes of cunnyng men), recover right 
well, and lyve, if suche as thou art weare not. 

Among other questions of the anatomie, to al the 
which he answered as beastly as in other thinges before. 
It was asked him what the splene was, and he answered, 
that it was a disease in the syde, baked hard lyke a 
bisket ; deniyng that there was any thyng called the 
splene, but the disease, (sayeth he), so called. 

Then was it further demaunded of him, (because he 
boasted muche of chirurgerie), what a wounde was ; 
and he ansAvered, a wounde is a hurte, or a bruse. 
What is an ulcer, then, sayde the opponente ? he an- 
swered, an ulcer is a wounde. And then beyng asked 
whether a wounde and an ulcer weare all one, he sayde, 
a wounde is that whiche is newe, and an ulcer is that 
whiche is olde. To this it was replied, that an ulcer 
might also be newe, and that it was an ulcer though it 
weare but one daye olde. After this he sayde that he 
knewe an ulcer witli a cankei', also a marmole and a 
fistula. Wherfore he was asked what was a canker, 
and he sayde, a canker is when an ulcer doth by rank- 
ling become a canker. VV her unto one replied, saying, 


a cancer may in dcde be ulcerate, and is often so; but 
that every ulcer may by rankling (as thou saiest) be- 
coiue a cancer, it hath not been redde nor seen. But 
then he sayde that he spake of a canker, and not of a 
cancer ; for a cancer, sayde he, is when an ulcer 

Muchc more coidd I wryte of his beastly answeres, 
if I thought this not enough, yea, to much, except it 
weare better. And though I thinke this enough to 
grave any wyse mans eyes to see, or eares to heare, 
yet shall I desyre them to beare with a worde or twayne 
more, that what they are, even the unskilfull may per- 
ceive, and learne to beware of them. 

A certaine pacient of myne, (having lately been 
cured at my hande), metynge with this Nicols at his 
brothers house, reasoned w^ith hym of a payne that he 
somet;)Tne hadde in his hyppe ; I trowe, quod he, ye 
cal it a sciatica, doe ye not ? Yea, sayde Nicols, there 
is a sciatica, and a sciitica. Then sayde my pacient, I 
never hearde my chyrurgien name any suche. Who 
is that, sayde Jsicols ? and my pacient named me. 
Then began Nicols to praise a neighbour of myne, sai- 
yng that he was cunninger then I, but my pacient 
praysed me to be cunninger then my neighbour. Yea, 
sayd ^Nicols, in talke, Halle can talke better. Then 
sayde my paciente, I hadde a grevous sore legge, with 
greate apostemacious and hollownes, wherefore if he 
coulde have done notliing but talke, he myght have 
talked long enough to my legge before it would so have 
been whole. 


Unto the same man also lie made liis vaunte 
on a a tyme, that he sawe his maister, close a mans 
head together, that was clefte from the crowne of the 
head, down to the necke, who sayde he was after healed, 
and did live. This shamles lye, beyng hearde of a mery 
man, was Avith an other like lye quited, on this sorte. 
Tushe, (sayd this mery man), I have heard of as great 
a matter as this ; for a certayne man fallyng into the 
handes of theves, was robbed, and his head was so 
smoothe cutte off, that it stoode styll upon his necke 
tyll he rode home ; whose wyfe metyng hym at the 
doore, perceived his bosorae bloudy, and asked hym if 
hys nose had bledde ; whiclie wordes when the man 
hearde, he tooke his nose in his hand to blowe it, and 
therwith threw his head in at the dore. And nowe as 
it is tyme I leave also this monster, least I should to 
muche weary the lovynge reader, with the long readyng 
of these moste frivolous communications, and tragedi- 
ous doynges, (which I have with griefe of harte writ- 
ten, trusting that it will not ouely be a warning unto 
some, that they committe not their lyfe and healthe in 
sicknesse, unto suche lyfe purgers, but also that in com- 
myng to the handes of some vertuous menne, may 
with the pitie of other mens myseries, move them to 
laboure, to the most of their power, to redi-esse these 
evels). Omitting also oiie Carter, otherwyse called 
Carvcll, otherwyse Maye, who is a sorcerer, and a 
worker by dyvelyshe spirites, clokyng the same under 
the colour of phisick, and hath done much mischief 
among the pooph', with his abhorrefuU doynges, whiche 


I will hereafter (as leysoure and occasion shall serve), 
farther declare. 

I will here also omitte to talke of Grigge the poul- 
ter, with divers other, whose endes have made their 
doinges knowne. And also of a joyner in London, a 
Frencheman borne, that is of late becomme a phisitien, 
who is esteined at this daye, among dyverse ryght wor- 
shipfull, to be very learned and cunnyng, that knowe 
not his originall ; yea, they call him doctor James ; 
but an honest woman, an olde neighbour of his, (not 
longe synce), at a man of worshy^jpes house in Kente, 
merveyled to see hym in suche braverye, and lordly 
apparell ; who, when she tooke acquaintance of hym, 
he wrouge hyr harde by the hande, and rounded hyr 
in the eare, saiyug: if thou be an honest woman, 
kepe thy tongue in thy headde, and saye nothinge of 

For surely a monstrous great legende should I make, 
if I shoulde here recite all suche, as I have knowne 
and heard of ; but if any man would knowe more of 
the doynges of these deceyvers and runnegates, let hym 
reade a little booke called a Galley late come into En- 
glande, from Terra Nova, laden with Phisitiens, Apo- 
thecaries, and Chirurgiens, &c., the author w^ierof I 
knoAve not. Also let them reade a little worke, enti- 
tuled, A Poesie, made in forme of a vision, 8sc., lately 
imprinted. Also let them reade the verses of maister 
Bulleyne, in his Bulwark e, in the dialogue betwene sere- 
nes, and chirurgery ; where he ryghte truly and plea- - 
sautly describeth them in their ryght colours. In the 


whiche boke also in clivers places, he noteth the sleighty 
practises of suche abusers as he hath knowne in di- 
vers countries. 

What shall we thinke Diogenes would saye, if he 
now lived, and sawe so many rusticall craftesmen 
leave their misteries, and become pliisitiens? seynge 
he sayde to one that was a weake wrestler, (and after 
became a phisitien), these wordes in effecte : what in- 
tendest thou nowe, quod he, craftily and privily be 
revenged of them that weare wont to vanquishe or 
overthrowe thee ? Or what would Socrates nowe saye, 
who saide (upou like occasion), to a paynter that became 
a phisitien; nowe thou workest subtillye, (quod he), for 
wheras before thyne eiTors were espied, and judged of 
aU men, nowe thou wylt hyde them in the earth, or 
bury them in the ground. Meanyng (without doubt), 
that such phisiciens are more like to kil men, than to 
save or heale them. 

Well sure if there were good orders in all places, 
and the holesome lawes of this realme well executed, 
thei'e coulde none such deceyve, Avith theyr running 
about, and kreping into corners, unsuspected, and ex- 
amined. For it is easy to conjecture, or rather per- 
fectlye to knowe, that no honest cunning man, tliat 
meaneth trulye and justlye, will refuse to dwell and 
continue in some estemed city or towne, (for unto such 
wise and learned men delight to resort), and to run 
about here and there, through all the realme, thus like 
vacaboundes, to deceive t!ie unskilfull people wyth 
theyr beastly doinges. 


I trust yet one tlay to see it better lokod on : and in 
the meane season, let a great many abusers (whome 1 
knowe, especially in Kent, bothe men and women, and 
have not here named them), repent and leve their 
Avickednes, otherwise let them assure them selves I wil 
no more stay to publysh them with their wicked 
doings, and knavery knackes, bringing them into this 
register, then I have don to set forth these. 

It shall behove every good chirurgien therfore, to 
place hym selfe in some good towne, or famous citye, 
and surelye the people will resort unto hym, and send 
for him at theyr nede, to hys suiRcient profit and liv- 
ing ; neither wyll anye good man despeyre of thys. 

It can not be without suspicion therfore, either of 
the lacke of cunnyng, or of a deceivable false con- 
science, that a chirurgien, or phisitien, shall refuse to 
fixe himselfe constantly in some dweUyng place, and 
to become a wanderynge fugitive, as these were and 
are, of whom I have wrytten. 

Notwithstanding, I am not ignorant that constante 
dwellers may be also deceavyng abusers, so long as ther 
is no punyshment, nor execution of lawes to the con- 
trary, as for example. 

One named Kiterell, dwelleth in Kente, at a parysh 
called Bedersden, that hath been all his lyfe a sawyer 
of tymber and borde, a man very symple, and altoge- 
ther unlearned ; who at this present is become a phisi- 
tien, or rather a detestable deceavyng sorcerer. He 
wyll geve judgement on urines, and wliyles he loketh 
on the water, he will grope and fele him selfe all about ; 


and otherwhyle, where as he feleth, he will shrynke, as 
though he were pricked, or felte some great painc. 
Then he tourueth to the messenger and telleth him 
where, and in what sortc the partie is greved ; whiche 
maketh the people thynke him very cunning. They 
seeke to hym farre and neere for remedy for suche as 
are bewyched or inchanted, and as they commonly 
terme it, forespoken. Whatstuffeis this, let the wyse 
and learned judge. And he hath so prospered with 
these doynges, that in shorte space he hath been able 
bothe to purchase and buykle, as I am credibly enform- 
ed of divers men that doe knowe and have seen the 
same. For there are many that reporte, (and they no 
small fooles,) that he hath cured suche as al the learned 
phisitiens in England coulde doe no good unto, beleve 
it who wyll. 

Notwithstanding Cardanus, a learned philosopher, 
in his worke De Subtilitate, in the tenthe booke therof, 
intituled of spirites or divels, seemeth to prove that 
there are certayne griefes, chaunsing sometime to mans 
body by enchauntement, or the workyng of cursed 
sciences ; wherof for so muche as phisicke and chirur- 
gcrie knowe no cause, they are also to seeke of a re- 
medy. For in these laudable artes, there is a reason- 
able cause founde of every disease, upon the reason 
wherof, ther is ordeincd a remedy. But when through 
divilyshe and wicked sciences there is any sycknesse 
procured, wherof the laudable arte of medicine know- 
eth not the cause, so can it procure no helpe, but only 
by helpe of some of those sciences most detestable. 


must the same be taken away agayne ; so that it seem- 
eth to be a common composition among them, the one 
to tormente the bodies both of man and beastes, that 
an other may be sought unto to remedy the same. So 
one beyng ever a workynge instrument to an other. 

It may chance nowe that some whose myndes are 
ah-eady affectionate to those artes, will saye, that it is 
necessary that such men should be, for the comforte of 
them that have neede, when as no helpe otherwise wil 
serve. To whom it may be answered, that if they be 
Christian men, they ought not to seke helpe at divels, 
sithe the Holy Ghost, by the mouth of Sayncte Paule, 
hath warned, that no man doe evell that good may come 
therof. Farthermore, if none suche (as God in his 
holy lawe hath commaunded), were suffred to lyve, 
there could no such inconvenience chaunce, wherby 
any man should have neede to seke to them for helpe, 
seynge that there is never any neede of their ayde, 
but Avhere the effect is firste caused, through the wycked 
workyng of those damnable artes. But let this suffice 
that we have spoken, concernyng the wycked abuses of 
phisicke and chirurgerie, and lette us nowe precede to 
the dutie of the chirurgien, and the good observation 
of his office, whiche wyll avoyde these, and all lyke 
abuses, wherunto at this day (God amende it), phisicke 
and chyrurgery is made a cloke. For none of these 
false merchantes wyll wyllyngly be called by the name 
of that whiche they moste use, but they wyll be called 
phisiciens, chirurgiens, and astronomers, when they can 
as muche skyll in any of them as brute beastes. 


And concernynge the behavour that is requyred in 
a true chirurgien to his paciente, and of one chirur- 
gien to an other concernynge councell, honeste work- 
yng, and knowledge, I have thought good to gather 
the councels, and good documentes of dyvers good and 
veterate authores, (and have formed the same into 
Englyshe verses, or metre), and here to place the same, 
for the better instruction of all yonge chirurgiens, that 
it may as well be easy to learne, as apte to be kepte in 
memorie, of all wyllynge learners. 

Harke, and di-awe nere, ye younge studentos, 

Your eares loke ye unclose ; 
The worthye arte chirurgery, 

To practise that purpose. 

And marke what the greate masters saye, 
That here before have wroughte ; 

And did to theyr disciples leave. 
In wrytinge what they taughte. 

And to theyr scliolers did dcscrive, 

A briefe methode or waye ; 
Commaundinge them the same to marke, 

On thys wise gan they saye : — 

When thou arte callde at anye time, 

A ])atient to see ; 
And doste perceave the cure to greate, 

And ponderous for thee : 


See that thou hiye disdeyne aside. 
And pride of thyne owne skyll : 

And thinke no shame counsell to take, 
But rather wyth good wyll 

Gette one or two of experte men, 

To helpe thee in that nede ; 
And make them partakers wytli thee, 

In that worke to precede. 

For in so doinge, thine houestye 
Thou shalte well kepe and save ; 

Also thy patiente therby 

Righte greate comforte shall have. 

By thys meanes thou mayste haplye learne, 

Ryghte seldome sene before ; 
Of thee, or hym, whyche fyrste thee taughte, 

Thoughe thou have cunnynge store. 

And also if oughte goe a wrye. 

Or hinder in thy cure, 
The one maye mende the others faulte. 

While frendship dothe endure. 

The wounded or sore man also. 

Shall have no cause to grudge 
In you suche uniformitye, 

Whyle he maye see and judge. 


And farthermore thou haste thy parte, 

Bothe of profyt and fame ; 
When that your worke hathe good successe, 

And luckilye dothe frame. 

And if it happe to frame amisse, 

Suspicyon can be none ; 
Sythe thou haste soughte all meanes of healthe, 

And wouldste not be alone. 

So eche man shall with other beare, 

Thy juste cause to defende ; 
All wise and learned men also, 

Shall thee prayse and commende. 

For all that be discrete doubtlesse, 

Wyll judge thee to be wyse ; 
In that thou doest desyre to learne, 

And augmente thy practise. 

And wylte not that throughe negligence. 

And pride of thine owne waye ; 
Thy pacient in paine shoulde spill, 

To perishe and dekaye. 

Thy purpose tlius thou shalte attaine, 

Wyth ease and honestye ; 
Where otherwyse it maye thee brynge. 

Shame and ignorainyc. 



And farther if thou waye it righte, 

It is easie to gesse ; 
That better two, then one alone, 

All errores maye redresse. 

For as aU men that here doe live. 
Borne in this wretched vale, 

Are fraughted full of errores greate, 
Oure boote mixed wyth bale ; 

From whyche the prudent Salomon, 

Was never voide and free ; 
As of him selfe he wryteth playne, 

Wlio so will reade maye see. 

So if thou in chirurgerye. 

Alone wylte walke and wade ; 

Thine errores will thy worke confounde, 
And all thine honoure quade. 

Sithe Bernarde* knewe not all hym selfe, 
Thinke never in thy minde ; 

But that at laste by painfull proofe. 
Thou shalt thine errores fynde. 

For errores, not staide at the firste, 
But suffred to precede. 

* This is an allusion to Lanfranc's " Clururgia Parva," which 
was addressed to his pupil Bernard. 


To mischiefes greate, as Plato saythe, 
Will growe in verye dede. 

But the beginninge if thou stoppe, 

By good counsell and pure ; 
All doubtfull thynges thou shalt prevent, 

And harde diseases cure. 

For all to late comes remedye, 

When throughe thy negligence 
The griefe is growne paste aide and cure, 

And all experience. 

But one thinge note, when two or moe 

Together joygned be ; 
Aboute the paynfuU patient, 

See that ye doe agree. 

See that no discorde doe arise. 

Nor be at no debate ; 
For that shall sore discoinforte hjm. 

That is in sycke estate. 

And when alone with your foreman, 

One of you is presente ; 
Defame nor dis[)raise in no wise. 

The same that is absente. 

For noughtc can more discomforte him. 
That lies in griefe and peyne, 



Tlien lieare that one of you dothe beare, 
To other suche disdeine. 

Wherfore what so ye have to saye, 
In thmges aboute your arte ; 

Let it be done among your selves, 
In secrete and a parte. 

Wyth one consent uniformlye 
Comforte the wounded man ; 

But unto some good frende of hys 
Expresse all that ye can. 

And let them knowe the daunger greate, 

That like is to succede ; 
Prognosticatinge wittilye, 

And in convenient spede. 

Wherfore ecbe one of you shall take, 

At other his counsell, 
Howe that in moste convenient wise, 

Ye may the griefe expell. 

And so that one in anye wise, 

From other nothinge hide ; 
But by all meanes consulte, and for 

The sicke mannes healthe provide. 

For in that nede if any doe 
His counsell kepe a loofe, 


And so the wounded man decaye, 
It shall be his reproofe. 

See that for goulde or covetise, 

Ye take no thing in hande, 
Whiche incurable for to be, 

Ye doe well understand. 

Or oughte unlesse to cure the same 
Thou have some perfecte grounde ; 

For if thou doe, it will thy fame 
In utter shame confounde. 

Looke of thy selfe in anye wise, 

Thou make no praise nor boste ; 
For that shall turne to thy dispraise, 

When thou doest use it moste. 

See thou dispraise none other man, 

His error thoughe thou knowe ; 
For sure an other for thy plage. 

Shall thee like curtsye showe. 

Comraende the dedes of eche good man. 

The best loke that thou saye ; 
So shall good fame redounde to thee, 

From all men day by daye. 

Not oidye in ohirurgery, 

Thou oughtest to be experte ; 


But also in astronomye, 
Bothe prevye and aperte. 

In natui'all philosophy e, 

Thy studye shoulde be bente ; 
To knowe eche herbe, slirubbe, roote, and tree, 

Muste be thy good intente. 

Eche beaste and foule, wyth worme and fishe, 

And all that beareth lyfe ; 
Their vertues and their natures bothe, 

With thee oughte to be rife. 

And in the grounde metall and stone, 

And veines of earthe also ; 
Their powres and vertues in degre, 

Shoulde not be hid the fro. 

But chieflye the anatomy e, 

Ye ought to understande ; 
If ye will cure well anye thinge, 

That ye doe take in hande. 

For by the same above the rest, 

Ye shall greate fame deserve ; 
The life of man from manye streightes, 

To save and well preserve. 

Withoute the knowledge of whyche arte, 
Thou canste not chose but erre ; 


In all that tliou shalte goe aboute, 
Thy knowledge to preferre. 

As if ye cutte or cauterize, 

Or use phlebotomye ; 
Ye can not but erre in the same, 

"VVithoute anatomye. 

He is no true chirurgien, 

That can iiot shewe by arte, 
The nature of evrye member, 

Eche from other aparte. 

For in that noble handye worke. 

There dothe nothinge excell 
The knowledge of anatomye. 

If it be learned well. 

Endevoure therfore by all meanes. 

The same to know and cunne. 
For when thou haste it perfectlyc, 

Thine arte is halflye wunne. 

For therby shalt thou understande. 

Of eche member in dede. 
Their nature and their offices. 

And howe they doe procede. 

And unto what good use they serve, 
As well tlic leaste as moste ; 


Antl by their liurte prognosticate 
What action will be loste. 

Wherby of knowledge and greate skill, 

Thou shalt obteine the brute ; 
And men to thee in generall, 

For helpe shall make their sute. 

Wherfore all honour, laude, and praise, 

To God ascribed be ; 
The Father, Sonne, and Holye Ghoste, 

One God and personnes three. 

Perhappes nowe some man wyll object and saye, tliat 
it is not possible alwayes to observe these rules. For 
if I dwell farre from expert men of wdiome to aske 
councell, and peradventure am matched in the place 
where I dwell, with some braggynge proud boye, that 
came latelye oute of his prentishode, who shall for 
lacke of knowledge and discretion seke myne infamy 
and dishonour, and is therfore not mete to associate my 
selfe wyth, but rather to be avoided. 

To tliis I answer, that it behoveth a good chirurgien 
to be ingenious, and that in this case is thy remedy. 
To be ingenious, is to be apte to devise newe remedies 
for new diseases, and suche as thou haste not before 
seene nor hearde of. 

In suche a case in deede it behoveth thee to be verye 
polytique, and that AUmightye God maye the better 
prosper all thy workes and devises, serve God faith- 


fullye in hartye contemplacions daye and nighte, desir- 
inge God for Jesus Clu-istes sake, hys dere Sonne oure 
Savyoure, to enspire thee wytli suclie grace, that thou 
maiste to his honor and glory, ende all suche enter- 
prises as thou takest upon thee to doe; (of whyche 
prayer I will hereafter wryte an example), for if God 
be on thy syde, feare not who so ever be agaynst thee. 
And that thou mayste the better knowe what thou 
doste, that wilt be a chirurgien, and what thou takest 
upon thee to professe, knowe oute of good and learned 
authores, what chirurgerye is, and so shalte thou be the 
better able wiselye to worke alone, where the nedefull 
society of counsell dothe wante. 

Chirurgery, therefore, (as Angelus Bolognius in the 
prologe to his boke of the cure of externall ulcers, 
sayeth), is the moste aunciente, ye the moste sure and 
excellente parte of the arte of medicyne, whiche work- 
eth by handy operation. For the name thereof whiche 
was geven thereto by moste auncyent authores, signi- 
lieth nothynge elsse ; for chirurgery is Operatio Man- 
ualis, that is handye worke. "Wlierfore syth it is a 
parte of phisike, we can not so rightlye name it in 
Englishe, as to call it the handye worke of medicine. 
And farthermore the arte of medicine or phisicke, 
(wherin chirurgery is comprehended), is an arte, and 
so it oughte to be named, and not a science ; and clii- 
rurgery is not an arte properlye of it selfe wythoute 
phisike, or seperated from the same, as some doe thinke ; 
neyther can phisike be an whole and perfecte arte 
wythout chirurgery, as some woulde imagin. For 


sythe they are both partes one of an other, how can 
they be devided or separate wythout detriment to 
them bothe ? for it is not a whole body that lacketh 
one of hys chiefe members, or partes ; for nether can 
chirurgerye be perfectlye learned wythoute theorike, 
nor phisike wythoute practise. And wheras theorike 
and practise goe not together, whether ye call it phi- 
sike or chirurgery, I dare boldlye affirme, that there is 
in them no manner of perfection worthy commenda- 
tion. Yet some there be that thinke that onlye to 
phisike belongeth theorike, or speculation, and that to 
chirurgei'y belongeth onlye practise ; but howe farre 
their judgementes differ from truthe, let everye wyse 
man judge. What knowledge is there in phisike that 
is not requisyte in chirurgerye ? whether it be gramer, 
philosophy, astronomye, anatomye, or anye other ; ye, 
the very j udiciall of urine, and the pulse, as good doc- 
tor Record, our worthye countrye man wituesseth ; 
wherfore I aifyrme, accordynge to the sentence of moste 
wise authoures, that the knowledge of chirurgerye 
consisteth in ii. thinges, namelye, speculation and prac- 
tise, and therfore it is not only a workinge, but an 
excellente knowledge, and understandynge howe to 
worke well and perfectly. But the effectuall actes of 
chirurgerye in deede, (as Guide saythe), consyste in 
cuttinge, in knittinge, in bindinge, in purgyng, purify- 
ing, and exercisynge the handye operation, and all this 
upon the bodye of man, to heale, or bring health to the 
same, as muche as is possible. Whiche addition we 
put to, because it never hath ben, is, nor shalbe possi- 


ble for any cliirurgien to heale all that are diseased and 
sore. Therfore we maye thus conclude that chirurgery 
is an ai'te both workynge and teachinge how to worke 
upon the bodye of man, to heale all suche diseases as 
are possible to be cured. 

Nowe therfore, let the good cliirurgien, (that wil 
avoyde wicked crafts and abuses), first learne, and then 
worke and use experience ; wherin thou shalt under- 
stande that the onlye readinge in bookes is not suffi- 
cient, as manye a one at this day, (to the great hurt of 
muche people), thinketh. For there is no science that 
can wythoute seinge the practyse and experience of 
cunnyng masters therin, be lerned ; and surelye in the 
arte of medicine, (chieflye chirurgerye), practise and 
experience is the chiefest learnyge ; although withoute 
other learnynge (I confesse) no man can attayne to the 
perfection that therin is required. And for this dothe 
learnynge (in bookes conteined), chiefly serve to teache 
men to knowe the workes of learned masters of old 
tyme ; but assure thy selfe, (what so ever suche mas- 
ters have wrytten), thou shalt never perfectlye digest 
to thine owne use, anye thinge in them, except thou 
be able to joyne by comparison, tliat which thou haste 
sene in other mennes workes before thine eies, and in 
the practise of thine owne handes, wyth that whiclie 
thou findest wrytten in olde authors ; for lyttle profit, 
swetenesse, or understandinge shall one gette of au- 
thores except he seethe same also put in practise. Ther- 
fore when thou haste sene proved by cunning mastei's, 
the whyclie thou haste red, thou arte trulye learned in 


thine arte, and tlierfore apte to worke and use expe- 
rience thy selfe. 

And this regarde to experience in learninge made 
Socrates say, that lerning ought not to be wrytten in 
bokes, but rather in mennes mindes. For this excel- 
lent philosopher weE perceived that the committinge 
of cunnyng to wrytten bookes, made men to neglect 
the practise and experience of their wittes by meanes 
wherof they became uncunninge. 

Galen also hathe frendly admonished us, that we 
ought not, (if we will be perfectlye cunninge), to trust 
onelye to doctrine wrytten in bokes, but rather cure 
propre eyes, whiche are to be trusted above all other 
authores, ye, before Hippocrates and Galen ; for wyth- 
out the eyes consent, (saith Socrates), the eares oughte 
not to be trusted ; for the eares are subjectes, and often 
deceived, but the eyes are judges bothe true and cer- 

As I woulde therfore, that aU chirurgiens shoulde 
be learned, so woulde I have no man thinke him selfe 
lerned otherwise then chiefly by experience ; for learn- 
ing in chirui'gery consisteth not in speculation only, 
nor in practise only, but in speculation well practised 
by experience. Therfore when we saye that a chi- 
rurgien muste firste be learned, and then worke, it is 
not ment that any man by the reading of a booke, or 
bokes onlye, may learne how to worke, for truelye that 
hathe caused so many deseivinge abusers, as there are 
at this daye. 

Good chirurgien, therfore, have a regard to these 


things, even as thou wilte answer for the same at the 
dredfiil daye, when the eternall Lord, and ahnighty 
Master, shall call for accompt of eche mannes talent, 
whether they have gained therwith, accordinge to his 
will, or whether they have abused, or vainlye hid the 

Furthermore, these thinges considered and observed, 
it is expedient chiefly, and before all thinges, that thou 
have Goddes feare alwaies befoi-e thine eies, that thou 
leade a vertuous life, and (as nere as God shal geve 
thee grace), unspotted to the world, doing just and ver- 
tuous dedes, abhorring and abstaining from all vicious- 
nesse. Let wicked pride be farre fi-om thy hart, and 
rather with all humility confesse that thou canst doe 
nothing of thy selfe, (as thou canste not in deede), but 
through the grace and mercifuU ftivoure of God. 

Likewise avoide envye and wicked wrathe ; be ney- 
ther wrathfull, nor envyous, that an other man of thyne 
arte hathe better successe then thy selfe, but rather 
endevoure thy self in the feare and service of God, to 
learne to doe better, and to excede others. For to a 
diligente and wyllynge minde, there is nothing to harde 
ne impossible. 

Let charitye surmounte covetise, so that it have no 
place in thy harte, otherwise then it shall be requisite 
for thee to live like a man of science with a decent and 
honest maintenance of necessaryes. Let no slouthe 
cause thee to neglecte thy cures, wherof tliou haste 
taken charge, least through thy negligence they pear- 


islie, and their bloud call for vengance on thee at the 
handes of God. 

In anye wise he thou no lechoure, but adorne thy 
life wyth honest, chaste, and sober manners ; for that 
uncleane and lilthye vice is niuche to be abhorred in a 
chirurgyen, consideringe the secretes of manye honest 
folkes, that to liys charge and cure muste be com- 

Lastlye, and above all these, beware of dronken- 
nesse, a vyce that was never more used, then it is of 
manye at this tyme. For when hathe this vile reporte 
(or rather reproche), gone of so manye as it dotke at 
this daye, he is a good chirurgyen in the forenone ? 

abhomination of all other in a chirurgien to be de- 
tested ! but how unmete suclie arte to be chirurgiens 

1 have touched more at large in my preface. 

Let vertue, therfore, I saye, be thy guide ; let hir be 
bothe thy rule and compasse, wherby to frame all thy 

And consider that chirurgerye is an arte to heale 
dyseases, whyche is a vertuous exercise, ye, a gifte of 
Goddes spiryte, as saythe S. Paule ; and therfore can 
never be well used of vicious personnes, althoughe they 
have never so muche leruinge ; for vice and vertue can 
never accorde, but alwayes one is expelled by the other, 
for two contraries can never agree in one subjecte. 

Consider, also, howe by vertuous and holye lyfe, and 
by faithfuU prayer, the very angelles at Goddes ap- 
poyntment have descended from heaven to aid and 
helpe men in their nede, teachinge them remedies for 


divers griefes ; as holye Rapbaell was sent to Tobye. 
And as tliou mayste reade in the xxxviii. chapiter of 
Jesus, the sonne of Sirache, wher he, (treatinge of the 
phisitien), saythe : the houre maye come that the sycke 
niaye be healetl throughe them when they praye unto 
the Lorde, that he maye recover and get health to lyve 
longer. Loe, here mayste thou see that thy duety is 
to praye unto God for thy pacient, and for helpe and 
grace to heale him. Praye, therefore, faithfully unto 
God, serve hym devoutlye, call rightlye upon his holy 
name daye and night, wyth an holye abstinence as 
scripture teacheth, not omyttinge dedes of almes, the 
frutes of perfecte faytlie. 

Moreover, be not ingrate nor unthankefuU unto God 
when he sendeth good successe to thy businesse, good 
lucke to thy handes, and graunteth thee thy liartes 
desyi'e. For unthankfulnesse many times is the cause 
that our prayers are not heard. Praise God, therfore, 
for his benefites, and pray faithfullye to hym in all thy 
streightes of nede, and this doinge, be sure that God 
will prosper all thy wayes, and geve good successe to 
all thy workes. Take here, therefore, an example of 
prayer whiche thou mayste use, I trust, to the glorye 
of God. 


O ALMiGiiTYE, ctcrnall, impassible, and incomprehen- 
sible Lorde God, whiche haste created all thinges of 
nothinge, and man out oi' the slime of the earthe, set- 


tinge him in paratlysc to live ever in felicitye, from 
wliiche lie most disobedientlye fell into this worlde of 
infyrmities ; whiche infirmities yet neverthelesse thou 
haste, (of thy greate mereye), so pityed, that for the 
helpe and curation of them, thou haste, (by thy spe- 
ciall grace), geven vertue unto trees, herbes, rootes, 
beastes, foules, fishes, wormes, stones, and metalles ; 
and in fyne hast left nothing among aU that thou haste 
made wythout a propre vertue, for man his utilitye and 
helpe in tyme of neede, and haste also, moste gracious- 
lye geven knowledge unto men for to use and minister 
thy creatm-es to the helpe of their griefes, graunte 
unto me, moste mercifull God, that (as I trtiely beleve, 
and faithfully trust, that aU healthe and vertue com- 
meth from thee), I maye so knowe and use thy crea- 
tures to the helpe of my Christen bi-ethren and neigh- 
boures, in that arte that I, throughe thy providence, 
have from my youthe up bene trained and instituted 
unto, that not onlye I for the prosperous successe of 
mine arte, but my poore pacientes also, and all other 
together, maye praise and honor thy holy and blessed 
name, which livest and reignest one God in trinitye, 
and trinitye in unitye, world wythout end. Amen. 


Lorde God, everlasting and almighty chirurgien, 
who only art the Lord that healest Israeli, (that is 
thine elect), and hast created medicin out of the earth, 
(of no wise man to be abhorred), so that bitter water 
was made swete by the vertue of a tree, that men 


mighte learne therby to knowe that thou haste geven 
vertue to all thinges, and hast geven wisdome and 
knowledge unto men from time to time, that thou 
maist be honored in thy wonderous workes. For Sa- 
lomon spake of all rotes and trees, even from the cedar 
that groweth in Libanon, unto the hisope that spring- 
eth out of the wall. Ye. he spake also of beastes, foules, 
wormes, and of fishes. I reade also, O Lorde, that by 
a little meale, the bitternesse of colocinthis was cured 
in the potage pot of the prophets children ; and by a 
plaster of figges kinge Ezechias was healed of his sick- 
nesse sore. I also remember that by the gaule of a 
fyshe, the bliudnesse was taken from olde Tobies eyes. 
Innumerable, Lorde, are the testimonies of scripture, 
beside dailye exjierience, whiche provoketh and stir- 
reth me to laud and praise thy moste glorious name ! 
I beseche thee therfore, oh moste mercifull Lord, that 
I maye so use, and all my patientes so receive, thy 
creatures, that thou so graciously haste ordeined for 
medicine, that health may be obteined, and thy name 
for the same everlastingly honored, Graunt this, Oh 
Lorde, holy and everlivyng God, for the merites of 
thy dere vSonne, our only Saviour and mercyc scate, 
thy holy wisdome Jesus Christ, in whom is all vertue 
to cure all thynges, worldc witliout ende. Amen. 


O ALMiGHTiE Lordc God, heavenly Father, who by 



thy divine pi'ovitlence forseest and disposest allthinges 
to thy glory, and the profite of thy Churche. Thou 
seest all thinges before they come to pass, and thinges 
that yet are not are with thee as though they were ; 
but man thou hast inclosed within metes and boundes 
of knowyng thinges after they are chanced, so that we 
only judge of thinges present, and as for thynges to 
come, we can not before hande certenly decerne them. 
Not withstanding for so much as thou hast mercifully 
decreed through our Lorde Jesus Christe, that all 
thinges turne to the beste to those thy chosen chyldren, 
who rightly love and feare thee. Thy strengthe sup- 
plieth our weakenes, thy wysdome our folye, and thy 
knowledge our ignorance ; and causest us, neverthe- 
lesse, to fele by faithe in our soules, that whiche our 
carnall senses can in no wyse taste. My prayer, ther- 
fore, oh mercifull Lorde, is that of thy gracious good- 
nes, and merciful benignitie, thou wilt so forsee and 
provide for me, most unworthy and wretched sinner, 
(yet thy servant through Christe), that I never take 
upon me to ciu'e either this, or any other thing, unles 
thy godly will be, that I may through thy grace so 
ende the same that not only I may thereby attayne an 
honest fame, and the partie greved joye, gladnes, and 
health; but chiefly that we both, and all other good 
people, (the same consideryng), may remember thee 
with thankes, laud, honor, and prayse, for thyne abun- 
dant mercie, grace, and vertue, to our lyves ende. 
Graunt this, O Lorde God, eternall and omnipotent, 
for the sake of thy everlasting word, thy dere Sonne, 


our only Saviour and Mediatour, by whome thou work- 
est all in all tliynges, who lyveth and reigneth with 
thee and the Holy Ghost, one God in trinitie, and tri- 
nitie in unitie, worlde witliout end. Amen. 

Nowe that after my symple skiU I have formed 
praiers mete for chirurgiens, I thinke it mete to shew 
also an example howe to prayse God for the good 
successe of the chirurgiens busines, as foloweth. 

O ETERN ALL father, almyghtie God, maker of al things, 
howe great and glorious are all thy wonderous workes, 
thy lovyng kyudnes and mercies to mankynde excedynge 
them all, for thy benefites bestowed on mankynde are 
infinite and incomparable. Among whiche thy crea- 
tures and workes of thy handes, I, moste poore unwor- 
thy man, and wretched sinner, have endlesse cause to 
acknowledge thy grace and mercies. 

If, oh Lord, I should once imagin to gratifie thy 
goodnes, beholde what hath mortal man to geve unto 
God ? or what hath man that is not Gods ? neyther 
hast thou, O God, any nede of man, or ought that man 
hath. But not withstandyng, thy Sonne our Saviour, 
by divyne providence, hath satisfied for us thy wyll, 
and apeased tliy wrath, justly bente on us for our ma- 
nifold sinnes, and through the Holy Ghoste, thy spirit 
of truthe, (who leadcth us unto all truthe), we are in- 
formed that thou askeste of us from henceforthe no 
more, but a lyvely sacrifice of thankes gcvyng and 
prayse of thy holy name. 


Wlierfore not withstanding mine unwortliines, 
through Cln-iste I am bohlened, (fully hopyng that of thy 
great mercyethou wilt fatherly accepte the same), moste 
hartily to thanke thee with all my harte and soule, for 
the good successe that haste geven to the exercise of 
my handes to bringe even wonderfull thinges to passe. 
Wlierfore, OLorde, holy and just, all possible thankes, 
honour, glory, and prayse, be geven unto thee. Be- 
seching thee, (for Jesus Christes sake), to geve me 
grace that I never forgette or put out of mynde for 
any tliynge whyle I lyve, to remember styll to offer 
thee this sacrifice, so that I receyve not this thy great 
graces unthankefully unto my lyves end ; and after this 
lyfe that I may with the holy patriarkes, prophetes, 
apostles, evangelistes, martyrs, confessors, angels, and 
archangels, synge with incessant voyce before thy 
throne, holy, holy, holy, Lorde God of Sabaoth, for 
ever and ever. Amen. 

Finally, see that ye ascribe al honor unto the holy 
Trinitie, and seke not in any wyse your owne prayse 
and vayne glorie, least ye therin displease God, and 
justely provoke hym to withdrawe his grace frome you, 
whose instrumentes ye are, whyle ye dooe well, as is 
the hammer in the hande of the woorke manne. For 
as sayeth the prophete Esaie, (cap. 10.) Num gloriabi- 
tur securis adversus eum qui ea secat ? aut serra mag- 
nificahitur adversus eum qui se tractate Quod perinde 
esset ac si virga sese elevaret contra eum qui ipsam fert, 
et bacidus sese extollerel quasi lignum non esset. That 


is, shall the axe boste it selfe against him that hew- 

eththerwith? or shall the sawe bragge against 

him that handleth it ? Whiche were 

even lyke as if the rodde did exalte 

it selfe against hym that bear- 

eth it, and the staffe should 

extolle it selfe as 

though it weare 

no woode. 


P. 3, 1. 1. — Epistle and Prefaces. These allude to the work 
of Lanfranc, to the translation of which, by John Halle, 
the " Historian Expostulation" is appended. 

P. 3, 1. 16, — Daphnnydes. Aa(pvoEiSi^c, the Greek tenn for the 
laui-el plant. 

P. 5, 1. 10. — Blind Bai/erd, or Bayard. Bayard signifies 
properly a bay horse, and is .sometimes used for a horse 
in general. " As bold as blind Bayard," is to be found 
in Kay's Collection of Proverbs, alluding to a person who 
leaps before he looks ; and Chaucer (edit. Uitv, p. 126.) 

" Though ye prolle aye, ye shall it nevir find, 
Ye ben as bolde as is hayarde the blinde." 

P. 16, 1. 20. — Eliotes bookes. This must be an allusion to 
Sir Thomas Elyot, an eminent scholar in the reign of 
Henry VIII, who excelled in the knowledge of gram- 
mar, rhetoric, philosophy, physic, and history. He died 
in 1 546, having, besides other works, written " The Go- 
vernour," " The Castle of Helthe," " Of the Education 
of Children," " The Banquet of Sapience." The only 
medical work he published was the Castle of Health, 
which went through many editions, printed by Berthelet, 
Marsha, and others, and which subjected him to much 
censure from members of the medical profession, as well 

NOTES. 55 

as the community in general. The latter conceived it to 
be a subject beneath the dignity of the pen of a knight, 
and the former were incensed that it shovdd be written in 
English. Sir Tliomas Elyot was one of the most learned 
and virtuous men of his time, and an intimate of Sir 
Thomas More. 

P. 18, 1. 3. — Maister Luke, of London, hath a great name for 
curyng eyes. I can find no other notice of this practi- 
tioner ; he does not appear to have published any work, 
or detailed his modes of practice. Several interesting 
notices of quack oculists will be found in j\Ir. Eim- 
bault's edition of Chettle's " Kind-Hearts Dreame," 
printed by the Percy Society (pp. 22-26-75.) I have also 
given several in a Memoir of the late James Ware, Esq. 
See Medical Portrait Gallery, vol. iii. 

P. 19, 1. 27. — Maister Vicary. Thomas Vicaiy was one of 
the earliest writers on anatomy in the English language. 
He was seijeant-surgeon to four sovereigns, namely : 
Henry VIII, Edward VI, and queens Mary and Eliza- 
beth. He was also chief surgeon to St. Bartholomew's 
Hospital, the principal scene of his labours. In 1548 he 
published " The Englishman's Treasure, with the true 
Anatomy of Man's Body," London, 4to. This was seve- 
ral times reprinted, and an edition with the title some- 
what altered, was put forth in 1577, by the surgeons of 
St. Bartholomew's Hospital. 

P. 21, 1. 13. — He answered Vigo, and Gasken. Of the latter 
nothing is known. John de Vigo was physician to Pope 
Julius II, and wrote largely and wisely on several sub- 
jects of surgery. He composed many treatises, the whole 
of which were collected together, and translated into 


Eng^Iish by Baitholoinew Tiaheron, and published in 
folio, in 15413, and again in 1550, from the press of 
Edward Whytchurch ; it was reprinted in 1571, by 
Thomas East, and Henry Middelton, and again in 1586, 
4to., together with some pieces by Thomas Gale, with a 
preface by George Baker, Gent, who together with 
Eichard Norton, diligently revised and corrected the 
whole work, which was printed by Thomas East. 

P. 26, 1. 3. — Grigge the Poulter. In the reign of Edward VI, 
Grigg, a poulterer in Surrey, was put in the pillory at 
Croydon and again in Southwark, for cheating people 
out of their money by pretending to cure them by charms, 
or by looking at them, or by casting their water. (Gentle- 
man's Magazine, Vol. xxxiii. p. 105). Many other 
quacks have at various times been also subjected to punish- 
ment. — Anthony was punished for his Aurum Potabile ; 
Arthur Dee for advertising medicines to cure all diseases ; 
Foster for selling a powder for the cure of chlorosis ; 
Tenant, an urine caster, who sold pills at £6 each ; Aires 
for selling purging sugar plums ; Hunt for putting up bills 
for the cure of diseases in the streets. The Council in the 
reign of James I despatched a warrant to the Magistrates 
of the City of London, to take up all reputed empirics, 
and cause them to be examined by the censors of the 
Royal College of Physicians. Several were taken up and 
acknowledged their ignorance ; Lamb, Reed, Wood- 
house, &c. In the reign of King William, Fairfax was 
fined and imprisoned for doing injury to persons by his 
Aqua Coelestis. And in Stow's Chronicle it is recorde<l 
that a water caster was punished for exercising his quack- 
ery. He was set on horseback, his face to the horse's tail, 
which he held in his hand, with a collar of urinals about 
his neck, led by the hangman through the city, whipped, 
branded, and then banished. 

NOTES. 57 

P. 20, 1. 28. — Maister Bidleyne. William Biilleyn, or Bul- 
lein, was a learned physician, born about the year 1500, 
in the Isle of Ely. He was intimately versed in the 
writings of the Greek and Arabian physicians, and he 
travelled over various parts of England and Scotland, to 
acquire botanical knowledge. He studied both at Cam- 
bridge and at Oxford, and was an ecclesiastic as well as 
a physician. He was rector of Blaxhall, in Suffolk, 
where he preached divinity, and practised physic. Upon 
the accession of Queen Mary, being a protestant, he 
thought it best to retire from his rectory, and he removed 
to Durham; where he became intimate with Sir Thomas 
Hilton, governor of Tinmouth Fort, engaged with him in 
a commercial speculation, and had occasion, also, to 
attend upon him in an attack of malignant fever, of which 
he died. Bulleyn was pursued and charged, by the bro- 
ther of the governor, with the murder of his relative, but 
of this he was honourably acquitted. He was, however, 
detained in prison for a debt, and during his incarceration 
composed his medical works, which are distinguished by 
learning, fancy, and humour. They consist of "The 
Governement of Helthe," " A Comfortable Regimen 
against the Pleurisie ;" Bulvvarke of Defense against 
all Sicknes, Sornes, and Wounds, that doe daily as- 
saulte Mankind ;" and " A Dialogue both pleasaunt and 
pietieful against the Fever Pestilence." He was elected 
into the Royal College of Physicians of London, and 
had a great practice. He died in 1.576, 

P. 27, 1. l.'i. — For tvhcre as before thyne errors were c.ipied. 
This of Socrates appears to be the original of that which 
has been reported of others. The eccentric Dr. Radcliffe 
is known never to have paid his bills without much im- 
poilunity ; a paviour, after long and fmitless attempts, 


68 NOTES. 

caught the Doctor just as he was alighting from his cha- 
riot, at his own door in Bloomsbury Square, and accosted 
him. " Why you rascal," said the Doctor, " do you pre- 
tend to be paid for such a piece of work ? why you have 
spoiled my pavement, and then covered it over with 
earth to hide your bad work." " Doctor," said the pa- 
vioiu-, " mine is not the only bad work that the earth 
hides." " You dog, you," said the Doctor, " are you a 
wit? you must be poor, come in." — and paid him. — Sec 
Medical Portrait Gallery, vol. i. 

P. 38, 1. 1. — But also in Aatronomye. Sir George Ripley, in 
his ' Compound of Alchimie,' tells us that — 

" A good pbisytian who so intendeth to be, 

Oiir lower astronomy him nedeth well to knowe ; 
And after that to leme, well, urine in a a glasse to see. 

And if it neede to he chafed the fyre to blowe, 
Then wyttily it, by divers wares to thro we, 

And after the cause to make a medicine blive. 
Truly telling the ynfirmities all on a rowe : 

"VMio thus can doe by his physicke is like to thrive." 

Chaucer's picture of a good physician, will furnish also 
another instance of the prevalent opinion of the necessity 
of a knowledge of astronomy, in practitioners of the 
medical art. I have adduced many other authorities in 
my work " On Superstitions connected with the History 
and Practice of Medicine and Surgery." 

P. 41, 1. 14. — Angelus Bolognius. Angelo Bolognini was an 
Italian surgeon and professor of surgery at Padua, from 
1.308 to 1517. He is generally regarded as the inventor 
of the use of mercmial frictions. The able work of this 
surgeon referred to by Halle, is inserted in the collection 
of Gesner and Uffenbach, entitled " De cura Ulceium 
exteiioiiim et de Unguentis communibus ui Solutione 

NOTES. 69 

42, ]. 17. — Good Doctor Record. Robert Recorde, doctor 
of medicine, is a person of whom we have to regret that 
but few biographical particulars are known. My friend 
Mr. James Orchard Halliwell has, in an interesting 
little tract ou " The connexion of Wales w4th the early 
science of England," published by Rodd in 1840, col- 
lected together several circumstances which show that he 
is to be regarded as the first original writer on arithmetic 
in English ; the first on geometry ; the first person who 
introduced the knowledge of algebra into England ; the 
first writer on astronomy in English ; the first person in 
this coimtry who adopted the Copemican system; the 
inventor of the present method of extracting the square 
root ; the inventor of the sign of equality ; and the in- 
ventor of the method of extracting the square root of 
multinomial algebraic quantities. He lived in the reigns 
of Henry VIII, Edward VI, and Queen Mary ; to the 
latter sovereign he was physician. He was a native of 
Tenby in Pembrokeshire, and, according to Fuller, a 
protestant: he publicly taught rhetoric, mathematics, 
music, and anatomy, at Oxford, about the year 1525, and 
was elected a fellow of All Souls College in 1531. He was 
created M.D. at Cambridge in 1545, resided in London 
in 1547, and is supposed to have died in 1558. His will, 
from which Mr. Halliwell has given some extracts, bears 
the date of June 28, 1558, and he therein styles himself 
as "sicke in body, yet whole in mynde." This will 
was made in the King's Bench prison, where he was 
confined a prisoner for debt. His works, which are 
all written in the fonn of Dialogue between pupil and 
teacher, consist of " The Grounde of Artes ;" (arithmetic) ; 
" The Urinall of Physick;" (a work entitled " the Judicial 
of Urines" is supposed to be liie same with a diticrcnt 
title ; I have never been able to see a coj)y of it). " 'J'hc 

60 NOTES. 

Pathway to Knowledge," (Geometry) ; *' The Gate of 
Knowledge," (Mensuration) ; " The Castel of Knowledge," 
(Astrology and Mathematics) ; " The Treasure of Know- 
ledge," (Astronomy) ; " The Wlietstone of Witte," 
(Algebra and Arithmetic). All these were printed 
between theyears 1540, and 1557,andmostof them several 
times reprinted. Recorde also edited the early edition 
of Fabyan's Chronicle, and Sherburne attributes to him 
" Cosmographiaj Isagoge," " De Arte Faciendi Horolo- 
gium," and " De Usu Globorum et de Statu Temporum," 
He is said to have been well slvilled in the Saxon lan- 
gaiage, and to have made large collections of historical 
and other ancient manuscripts. 

P. 42, 1. 25. — As Guido saythe. Guy de Chauliac was in 
surgical science one of the most distinguished men of 
the 14th centuiy. He studied at Bologna, and at Mont- 
pellier, where he afterwards was appointed a professor. 
He practised at Lyons, and was physician to Pope Cle- 
ment VI in 1348. He has given an excellent account 
of the plague as it appeared at Avignon. His principal 
efiforts were directed to the improvement of surgei-y, which 
he relieved from many of the barbarous practices of his 
age. He improved the method of perfonning many 
operations, and invented several instmments. His works 
were collected together, and published as Chirurgise 
Tractatus Septem cum Antidotario, which first appeared 
at Venice in 1490, and was afterwards published under 
the editorial care of several smgeons, and repeatedly 









(Maitft an Jntrotiurtion antt flolcs 




Cf)e \Bttt^ Society. 


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


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







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


E. F. RIMI5AULT, Esq. LL.D., F.S.A. Secretary. 





Barnaby Rich was a prolific pamphleteer in the 
reigns of Queen Elizabeth and King James. His 
first known production is dated in 1574, and his 
last in 1624. His tracts, some six-and -twenty in 
number, are all of them curious pictures of the age, 
and all are scarce. 

It is not known when or where he was born, 
or when or where he died. He was perhaps of 
Welsh descent. 

Like Gascoigne, Churchyard, and other poetic 
spirits of that age, he was a soldier carrying arras. 
Ireland and the Low Countries were then the seats 
of war, and Churchyard, in his " True discourse 
historical of the succeeding Governors in the 
Netherlands," refers to Captain Barnahy Rich his 
notes, as his authority for several circumstances 
related therein. 

Rich is a vehement inveigher against vice in all 
its subdivisions. He is a school of abuse, like 
Gosson, or like Prynnc. He anathematizes peri- 
wigs, picardils, and shaparownes, rich wines and 
yellow-starch, side saddles, and coaches, — no new 
enormity escapes him, and he blows a Counterblast 

to Tobacco, carryinpf odour to the nostrils of King 

Rich, in one of his early productions, employed 
the poet Lodge to lop the superfluities of his pen. 
But Lodge became one of the wicked, and Rich 
relied in future on his own unassisted knowledge. 

That his writings were read and admired there 
is other testimony than their number, or the suc- 
cessive editions they went through. In his 
" Have with you to Saffron Waldon,'''' Nash says : 
" A rich spirit, quoth-a ? nay then, a spirit in the 
way of Honesty too. Loe ! this it is to he read in 
nothing hut Barnahy Riches icorJcesy 

I have been at some pains to make out a correct 
catalogue of Riclfs wTitings. Mr. Collier's kind- 
ness has enabled me to add the name of another 
work to the hitherto ascertained list of his 


1. "ARigbtExelent aud pleasaunt Dialogue, betwene Mer- 
cvry and an English Souldier : contayniug his Supplica- 
tion to Mars : Bewtified with sundry worthy Histories, 
rare inuentions, and politike deuises. Wrytten by B. 
Rich, Gen. 1574."— 16mo., b. 1. 

The dedication (signed Barnabe Rych) is 
addressed to Ambrose Earl of Warwick, " Gene- 
rail of the Queenes Maiesties Ordinance, within 
her highnes Realms and Dominions." 

" In this little book," he says, " I hauedescrybed 
certayne noble facts and other high exploytes. 

achiued by ^reat and mighty Princes, and other 
valiaunt Captaines ; also not forgetting to manifest 
the great abuse that is generally vsed, in the 
setting forth of Souldiers, in the tyme of seruice, 
which I my selfe haue scene and marked." 
The maner of chosing Souldiers in England. 
" The Prince, or Counsayll, sendeth downe 
theyr warrant, to certayne Commissioners, of 
euerye such Shyer where they mynde too haue 
suche a number of Souldyers to bee leuyed and 
appoynted, the Commissioner he sendeth hys 
precept to the hye Constable of euerye Hundred, 
the hye Constable of euerye Hundred, he geueth 
knowledge to euerye petye Constable of euerye 
Parrysh within his cjTquet, that uppon such a 
daye, he must bring two or three able and 
suifycient men, to serue ye Prince, before such 
Comissioners, to such a place. The pety Constable 
when he perceyueth that wars are in hand, 
foreseeing the toyles, the infinite perilles, and 
troublesome trauayles that is incident to Souldyers, 
is loth that anye honest man, through his pro- 
curement, shuld hazard himselfe amongst so many 
daungers, wherfore if within his office, there hap 
to remayne any idle folow, some dronkerd, or 
eediciouse quarilcr, a priuyo picker, or such a one 
as hath some skill in stealing of a Goose, these 
shall bee presented to the seruyco of the Prince ; 
and what seruyce is too bee loked for amongst 
such fcllowcs, I thinkc may easily be deemed." 


There is a copy in the J3o(llciaii Library, and a 
second, imperfect at the end, in Mr. Collier's 

2. " AUanne to Eng-laiid, foresliewing what perilles are pro- 
cured, where the people liue without regarde of Martiall 
Lawe. With a short discourse coiiteyniug the decay of 
Warlike Discipline, conuenieut to be perused by Gentle- 
men, such as are desirous by seruice to seeke their owne 
deserued prayse, and the preseruation of their Countrey. 
Newly deiiised and written by Barnabe Kiche, Gentle- 
man. Malui me diuitem esse quam vocari." Pemsed 
and allowed, 157«." 
Dedicated to Sir Christopher Hatton. " What 
I have written," he says, " was onely done in 
Ireland where there is no great choice of bookes 

to be had My training up," he adds, "has been 

more with my pike than with my pen ; not in the 
schools among clerks, but in the fields among 
unlettered soldiers." 

There is a copy in the British Museum, another 
in the Bodleian, and a third in the possession of 
the Right Hon. Thomas Grenville. 

Churchyard has a copy of verses, and Barnabe 
Googe a prose letter, prefixed. Googe's letter is 
dated from Kingstone, to his " very louing friend 
Captaine Barnabe Riche : That noble gentleman," 
he writes, " Sir William Drurie, a paragon of amies, 
at this day was wont ( I remember) to say that the 
Souldiers of England had alwayes one of these 
three ends to looke for — to be slaine, to begge, or 
to be hanged." 

"I was never able,"" says Rich, "to climb 
Parnassus hill, although I have travailed over 
(jraddes hyll in Kent, and that sundrie tynies and 

3. " Riche his Farewell to Militaiie profession : conteinyng 
verie pleasaunt discourses fit for a peaceable tytne : ga- 
thered together for the onely delight of the courteous 
Gentlewomen, bothe of Englande and Irelaude, for whose 
onely pleasure thei were collected together, and unto 
whom thei are directed and dedicated by Barnabe Riche, 
Gentleman." Mahii me diuitem esse quam vocari. Im- 
printed at London, by Robart Walley, 1581." 

The only copy known of this edition is in 
the Bodleian Library. The second edition is 
dated 1606. 

Shakespeare is said to have been indebted to the 
history of" Apolonius and Silla," in this book, for 
part of the story of " Twelfth Night." Apolonius 
and Silla forms a part of Mr. Collier's " Shake- 
speare's Library" (2 vols, 8vo.) n. d. 

Rich's interesting account, in this book, of Sir 
Christopher Hatton's house at Holdenby in North- 
amptonshire, has been copied by Mr. Collier into 
his Poetical Decameron, vol. ii. p. L38. " Riche 
his Farewell" is about to be reprinted by the 
(Shakespeare Society. 

•1. " The straunge and wondcrfull adventures of Don Siniou- 
ides, a gentilman Spaniardc. Conteinj'ng verie pleasaunt 
discourse : Gathered for the recreation as well of our noble 
yong gentilmcii, as our honoural)le courtly Ladies; by 

Banuibe Riche, gentleman, &c. Imprinted at London 
by Robert Walley, kc. 1581. b. 1. 4to., 71 leaves. 

The dedication is addressed to Sir Christopher 
Hatton. The poet Lodge corrected this book, 
for the soldier Barnaby ; he has a copy of verses 

There is a copy of this book in the Bodleian, 
and another in the library at Bridgewater House. 
(See Collier's Bridgewater Catalogue, p. 251). 

5. " The true Report of a late Practise enteii)rised by a Papist, 
with a yong Maiden, Eliz. Ortou, born in Orton Madocke, 
in the Co. of Kent, in Wales. London, by Robert Wal- 
ley, 1582," 4to. 

Dedication addressed to Sir Francis Walsing- 
ham. There is a copy in the British Museum. 

6. " The Second Tome of the Travailes and Adventures of 
Don Simonides, enterlaced with varietie of Historie, 
wherein the curteous and not curious Reader male find 
matters so leveled as male suffice to please all humours, 
&c. Written by Barnabe Rich, Gentleman, &c. Im- 
printed at London, for Robert Walley, &c., 1584," b. 1. 
4to., 75 leaves. 

This, like the first volume of the same romance, 
is dedicated to Sir Christopher Hatton. There 
is a copy in the Bodleian, and another in the 
Bridgewater Library. (See Collier's Catalogue, 
p. 252). 

7. " The Famous Hystory of Herodotus. Conteyning the 
Discourse of dyuers Countreys, the succession of theyr 
Kyngs, the actes and exploytes atchieued by them, the 

lawes and eustomes of every nation, with the true De- 
scription and Antiqiiitie of the same. Deuided into nine 
Bookes, entituled with the names of the nine Muses, at 
London, Printed by Thomas Marshe, 1584." 4to., b. 1. 

Dedication signed B. R. addressed to " Mayster 
Robert Dormer, sonne to the noble Knight Sir 
WilHam Dormer." There is a copy in the King's 
Library at the IMuseum. 

8. " A Path-way to Military Practise, whereunto is annexed 
a Kalender of the Imbattlinge of Men ; Loudon, by 
John Charlewood, 1587," 4to. 

There are three dedications, one to the ' Prin- 
cesse Elizabeth,' another ' To the most noble 
Captaines and renowned Souldiers of England,' 
and the third ' To the friendly Readers in 
generall,' — Lowndes. 

9. " The Aduentures of Brusauus, Prince of Hungaria, 
Pleasant for all to read, and profitable for some to follow. 
Written by Barnal)y Riche, seaveu or eight yeares 
sithence, and now published by the great intreaty of 
diuers of his frcendes. Lnprinted at London for Thomas 
Adames, 1592," 4to., 1). 1. 

The dedication is " To the woorshipfull and 
vertuous yoong Gentlewoman, mistresse Jayes As- 
ton, daughter to the right worshipftdl Sir Edward 
Aston, Knight ;" but it gives no information, ex- 
cepting that Rich subscribes himself " your loving 
Cosyn," showing that he was a man of some family. 

The only perfect copy known is in Dulwich 


Mr. Collier has favoured me with the following 
extract from this rare tract. Rich is describing 
the character of Gloriosus a courtier of Epirus. 

" The lof tines of his lookes was much to be 
raarveld at, but the manner of his attire was more 
to be laughed at. On his head, he woare a hatte 
without a band, like a Mallcontent, his haire 
hanging downe to both his shoulders, as they use 
to figure a hagge of hell, his beard cut peecke a 
deuawnt, turnde uppe a little, like the Vice of 
a playe." 

10. " A Looking Glass for Ireland. London, for John 
Oxenbridge, 1599." 

11. "A Souldier's wisbe to Briton's welfare : or a discourse 
fit to be read of all gentlemen and souldiers, written by 
a captaine of Experience, 4to., London, 1604." 

There is a copy in the Bodleian. 

12. " The Fruites of long Experience. A pleasing view for 
Peace, A Looking-Glasse for Warre, or call it what you 
list. Discoursed betweene two Captaines. By Barnabie 
Rich, Gentleman. Malui me diuitem esse quarn vocari. 
Imprinted at London by Thomas Creede, for Jeffrey 
Charlton, &c., 1604." 4to.,b. 1. 

The fruits of Rich's long experience ("forty 
yeares training in the warres") is here set forth, 
in a dialogue between Captain Pill and Captain 

The dedication to Prince Henry. The only 
copy Mr. Collier has ever seen is in Dulwich 

13. "Faultes Faults, and nothing else but Faultes. At 
London, Printed for Jeffrey Charleton, kc, 160(i." 66 

Dedication addressed to Prince Henry. There 
is a copy in the Bridgewater Library, see Collier's 
Catalogue, p. 253, and another in Mr. Grenville's 

14. " A short survey of Ireland, truely discovering who it is 
that hath so armed the hearts of that people with disobe- 
dience to their Prince : With a description of the coun- 
trey, and the condition of the people. No lesse neces- 
sai^e and needful to be respected by the English, then 
re([uisite and behoovefull to be reformed in the Irish. 
London, N. O. for B. Sutton, and W. Barenger. 1609." 

There is a copy in the Bodleian, and another 
in the possession of the Right Hon. Thomas 

1 5. " Roorae for a Gentleman, or the Second part of Faultes, 
collected and gathered for the true Meridian of Dublin 
in Ireland, and may serve fitly elsewhere about London, 
&c. By Barnabe Rych, Souldier, &c. London, printed 
by J. W. for Jeffrey Charlton , fkc. 1609." 4to, 33 leaves. 

Dedication addressed to " Sir Thomas Ridge- 
way, Knight, Treasurer and Vice-Treasuror at 
Warres in his Majesties Realme of Ireland." 
There is a copy in the Bridgewater Library; 
(see Collier's Catalogue, p. 254,) and another in 
Mr. Grenville's Library. 

16. "A New Description of Ireland : Wherein is described 
the disposition of the Irish, whereunto they are inclined. 

No lesse a(lmiral)le to be perused, then credible to be 
beleeued ; neither vnprofitable nor vnplcasant to be read 
and vnderstood by those worthy Cittizens of Loudon, 
that be now Vndcrtakers in Ireland : by Barnabe Rich, 
Gent. Malui me diuitem esse quam vocari. Printed at 
London for Thomas Adams, 1610." 

Dedication to Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury. 
Copies in the British IMuseum, the Bodleian and 
the Library of INIr. Grenville. 

"In the time of Sir John Parrate's Gouernment, 
I myself lay at Colrane, with a hundred souldiers 
vnder my leading, I may therefore speake some- 
thing of mine owne experience." 

" One of the diseases of this age is the multitude 
of books." 

" It is but a thriftlesse, and a thanklesse occupa- 
tion this writing of bookes ; a man were better to 
sing in a cobler's shop, for his pay is a penny a 
patch; but a booke-writer, if hee get sometimes a 
few commendations of the judicious, he shall be sure 
to reepe a thousand reproaches of the malicious." 

" I haue lined in Ireland of a poor pay, the full 
recompence of forty-seven yeares spent in my 
prince and countrey's seruice ; I have not begged 
nor purchased any man's lands, rents, or reuen- 
newes ; I haue not heaped to my selfe eyther 
offices or church-liuinges, yet something I haue 
noted of the country by observation." 

■■' For maister Stanihurste"' himselfe, I knew him 

* Richard Stanihurste, the poet. 

many years sithence at Antwarpe, where hee pro- 
fessed Alcuiny, and vndertooke the practise of the 
Philosophers stone, and when hee had multipHed 
lies so long that euery body grew weary of him, 
hee departed from thence into Spaine, and there 
(as it was said) he turned Physition, and whether 
he bee aliue or dead, I knowe not." 

A New Description of Ireland was reprinted in 
1624, under the title of '• A New Irish Prognosti- 
cation or Popish Callender. Wherein is described 
&c." There is a copy of this re-issue in the 
Bodleian, and another in the Library of Mr. 
Grenville. They are word for word the same, the 
dedications only omitted. 

17. " A true and a kinde excuse, written in defence of that 
book intituled ' A newe description of Ireland.' Plea- 
sant and Pleasing both to English and Irish. London, 
for Thomas Adams, 1G12." 4to., 28 leaves. 

There is a copy of this book in the Bodleian, 
and another in the Library of Mr. Grenville. 

18. "A Catholicke conference bctvvcenc Syr Tady Mac 
Mareall, a poi)ish priest of Watcrforde, and Patricke 
Plaine, a young student in Trinity Colledge, by Dublin, 
in Ireland. Wherein is delivered the certayne manner 
of execution that was used upon a popish Bishop and a 
Popish priest, that for several matters of treason were 
executed at Dublin the first of Febraaiy now last past, 
1611. Strange to be related, credible to be beleeved, and 
pleasant to bee perused. London, lor Thomas Adams, 
1612." 4to. 

Therft is a copy in the Bodleian, and another in 
the Library of Mr. Grrenville. 

19. " The Excellencj' of good Women. London, 1613." 4to. 
There is a copy in the Bodleian. 

20. " Opinion Deified. Discouering the Ingins, Traps, and 
Traynes that are set in this age, whereby to catch Opin- 
ion. Neither Florished with Art, nor Smoothed with 
Flatterie. By B. R., Gentleman, Seniant to the King's 
most Excellent Maiestie. London, Printed for Thomas 
Adams. 1613." 4tn. 

There are two copies of this book in the British 
Museum, with two different dedications, the first 
is addressed to Prince Charles (afterwards Charles 
I), and the second to Sir Thomas Rydgeway, 
Treasurer, and Treasurer at Warres in his 
Maiesties Realme of Ireland. Copies of this book 
in the Bodleian, and in the Library of Mr. Grenville. 

21. "The Honestie of this Age, proouing by good circum- 
stance that the world was neuer honest till now. By 
Barnabie Eych, Gentleman, Sel^lant to the Kings most 
excellent Maiestie. Malui me diuitem esse quam vocari. 
Printed at London for T. A., 1614." 

Rich, in the Epilogus, (p. 68 of this reprint), 
calls this his twenty-foiirtk publication. The copy 
in the Bodleian Library is dated 1615, and in 
Mr. Grenville's Library, 1616. 

The edition of 1614, from which this reprint 
has been made, is in the British Museum. 

22. " My Ladies Looking Glasse. ^^^lerein may be dis- 
cerned a wise man from a foole, a good woman from a 

bad, and the true resemblance of Vice masked under the 
vizard of Vertue. By Barnabe Kicb, Gentleman, Ser- 
vant to the Kings most Excellent Majestie. Malui me 
divitem esse quam vocari. London, printed for Thomas 
Adams, 1616." 4to., 40 leaves. 

Dedication addressed to " the wife of Sir 
Oliver St. Johns, Knight, Lord Deputy of Ire- 
land" There is a copy in the Bridgewater Library 
{See Collier's Catalogue, p. 254), another in the 
Bodleian, and a third in ]\Ir. Grenville's library;. 

23. " The Irish Hvbbvb, or, The English Hve and Crie. 
Briefely pursuing the base conditions, and most notorious 
offences of this vile, vaine, and wicked Age. No lesse 
smarting then tickling. A merriment whereby to make 
the wise to laugh, and fooles to be angiy. By Barnaby 
Rich, Gentleman, and Seruant to the Kings most excel- 
lent Maiestie. 

" Mounted aloft vpon the world's great stage, 
I stand to note the t'oUies of the Age."* 

" Malui me divitem esse, quam vocari." 

London, Printed for John Marriot, and are to be sold at 
his shop at the little doore in St. Dimstane's Church-yard 
in Fleet-street, 1619. 

The dedication to Sir Oliver Saint John, Lord 
Deputy of Ireland, is dated from " Dublin, the 
4th of May, 1619." There is a copy in the 
Bodleian, dated 1(517. Mr. Grenville's copy is 
the edition of 1619. 

" That which in England we doe call the Hue 

* From the Iiitrddiictorv Verses to " The Hoiiestie of this Age." 


and Cry, in Ireland they doe call the Hubbub. 
The intent of it was, at the first, that when any 
Rebels or Thieues came to doe any robbery in the 
Countrey, they should then raise the Cry (which 
they call the Hubbub), thereby to give notice to 
the inhabitants round about, that they might com- 
bine and gather themselves together in a maine 
strength, either to recover any prey that the 
Theeues or Eebels had taken, or at the least to 
make resistance in their own defence, and as 
much as in them did lie, to save the countrey from 
any further spoyle." 

Of Stanihurste he says, " first he was a Chron- 
icler, then a Poet, and after that he professed 
Alchymie, and now he is become a massing 

" The vicious lecher will call him Puritan, that 
will not beare him company to a Bawdy house." 

" The bold-faced stage player that trades in 
poysoning all sorts and ages with verses reesed in 
the smoke of lust and blasphemous Scripture 
jests ; these and the like slinke in the presence of 
God, and one day God will send them all to him 
whom in this life thoy served." 

"What isbecome of our ancient bounty in house- 
keeping ? Those whose ancestors lived in stately 
Palaces, like Princes in their Country, bravely 
attended by a number of proper men, now come 
and live in the Cittie, where they are but inmates, 
rogues by statute : and my young master and his 


boy spend that which was wont to maintain so 

"Gentle-men were wont to bring vp their Heires 
in the knowledge of arts and literature ; it now 
sufficeth if hee can but write his own name in a 
Mercer's book, put his hand to an obligation, or 
to a bill of bargain and sale : this is learning 
enough for a gentleman in these dayes." 

"AYee buy Titles of honour with gold, that our 
Predecessors purchased with virtue," 

"Now they doe paint with Indian excrements, 
and besmear themselves with Jewish spittle." 

"I protest I do not know a dishonest woman in 
England nor in Ireland of my owne experience." 

"Many in pledging of Healths have ended their 
lives presently, as example lately in London." 

"In former ages they had no conceits whereby to 
draw on drunkennesse ; their best was, I drinke 
to you, and I pledge yee, till at length some 
shallow-witted drunkard found out the Carowse, 
which shortly afterwards was turned into a hearty 

"The institution of drinking of an health is full 
of ceremony, and observed by Tradition, as the 
Papists doe their praying to Saints. 

"He that beginnes the health, hath his prescribed 
orders : first vncovering his head, hee takes a full 
cup in his hand, and settling his countenance with 
a grave aspect, hee craves for audience. Silence 
being once obtained, hee beginnes to breathe out 

the name, poradventurc of some Honourable 
Personage that is worthy of a better regard than 
to have his name polluted at so vnfitting a time, 
amongst a company of Drunkards ; but his health 
is drunke to, and he that pledgeth must likewise 
off with his cap, kisse his fingers, and bowing 
himselfe in signe of a reverent acceptance ; when 
the Leader sees his Follower thus prepared, hee 
soups vp his broath, turnes the bottom of the cup 
vpward, and in ostentation of his dexteritie giues 
the cup a phillip, to make it cry Twango ; and 
thus the first scene is acted. 

"Thecup being newdy replenished to the breadth 
of an haire, he that is the pledger must now 
beginne his part, and thus it goes round through- 
out the whole company, provided alwaies by a 
canon set downe by the Founder, there must be 
three at the least still vncovered till the health 
hath had the full passage ; which is no sooner 
ended, but anotherbeginnes again, and hee drinkes 
an Health to his Ladi/ of little worthy or, peradven- 
ture, to his light-heeld mistris" 

"There was sometime a poore Farmer, who 
dwelling neere a Gentleman, a Justice of Peace, 
that would have bought a yoke of Oxen which 
this Farmer could not spare, and, therefore, vpon 
necessitie was driuen to make deniall ; whereupon 
Master Justice conceived such displeasure, that 
after this repulse the poore man found himselfe to 
bee continually crossed and disturbed, and from 

time to time so many wayes wronged, that he 
came to this gentleman to seeke justice ; whom 
hee found still to bee rather supporting those that 
did oppresse him, than seeming any wayes to ren- 
der him right ; but perceiving at the length the truth 
from whence it grew, in a submissive manner he 
came to Master Justice. Why (sayd the Justice) 
doe you thinke mee to bee your enemy ? Alas 
(sayd the Farmer) I doe feele the smarte of it, and 
am come in this humble manner to beseech your 
good will. Why then (sayd the Justice) you see 
I can bite, though I doe not barke. I doe see 
and feele it (quoth the Farmer) but, Sir, if I had 
a Dogge of that condition, I protest I would hang 
him as soone as I came home." 

He illustrates the old proverb " It's no more 
pitty to see a woman weep, than to see a goose 
goe bare-foot," by the following story : — 

" Like the woman, that when her Husband was 
hanged on the fore-noon, shee felle a weeping in 
the afternoone, and did lament with such vehement 
shewes of sorrow, that her neighbours comming 
about her, began to exhort her to patience; telling 
her that she was not the first woman that had had 
a Husband hanged ; and although the manner of 
his death was somewhat disgracefull to the world, 
yet they wisht her to play a wise woman's part, 
and not to take such griefe, wherby to hurt lier- 
selfe for that which could not now be holpen. True, 
true indeed, answered this sorrowful! woman, it 


cannot now bee holpen, and 1 would bee loathe to 
hurt myselfe by playing too much the fool ; 
neither doe I take this greefe for that my Hus- 
band was hanged, but for that he was not hanged in 
a eleane shirt ; if his linen had bin cleanly about 
him, his hanging would never have greeved me." 

" Hee that should haue come to a Lady in Ire- 
land but some hue or six yeeres sithence, and haue 
asked her if she would haue had a Bliaparowne^ 
she would haue thought he had spoken bawdy, and 
would haue wondred what he meant. They are 
now conuersant to euery Chamber-maide, and shee 
that came but lately out of a kitchen, if her hus- 
band doth beare an office, (how meane soeuer), if 
she be not suted in her Shaparovme, in her loose 
hanging gowne, in her peticoates of sattin, yea, 
and of veluet, that must be garded with siluer or 
gold lace, from the knee downe to the foote, her 
Husbande may happen to hear of it, and, (perad- 
uenture), to fare the worse till she be prouided." 

" There is not a people under the face of Heauen 
that be of a more haughty and proud spirit then 
are the Irish ; proud mindes they have euer had, 
but for any pride in their apparell, they neuer knew 
what it meant till they learned it from the English. 
It was a great daintie within these very few 
yeares, euen amongst their greatest Nobilitie, to 
see a cloake lined thorow with Veluet ; they were 
not acquainted with a paire of silke stockings, 
they had no Veluet Saddles, nor the greatest num- 

ber of them so much as a paire of bootes to draw 
on when they were to ride. For their Ladies and 
Gentlewomen, (euen those that were of the most 
great and honourable houses), they little knew 
what belonged to this frizling, and this curling of 
haire ; and for this lowsie commoditie of pery wigs, 
they were not knowne to the Ladies of Ireland ; 
they were not acquainted with these curling sticks, 
setting sticks, smoothing irons ; they knew not 
what to make of a Picadilly* they neither vsed 
pouldring nor painting stuffe, they knew not what 
a coach meant, nor scarce a side saddle, till they 
learnt them from the English." 

Among Sir Julius Csesars Papers now in the 
British Museum, (Lansd. MSS. 156), are two 
Discourses by Barnabe Rych, in his own hand- 
writing, touching the state of Ireland. The first 
is called by Sir Julius Osesar, " A Discourse of 
Capten Barnaby Riche touching Ireland," and is 
dated by Sir Julius 28th July, 1612. "I have 
knowne Ireland," says Ryche, " thes 40 yeares." 

The second is called by Rich himself, — 

" The Anothomy of Ireland in the man'', of a dyalogue, 
truly dyscoverynge the state of the Cuntrye, for hys 
ma'^s- especyall servyce. By Barnabe Ryche, Gentyll- 
man, Servant to the kynges most Excelent niat'*^- 

The date at the end is 15th December, 1615. 
Sir Julius Csesar had read the paper with atten- 

* See note at p. 73. 

tion, and has written at the sides of several pas- 
sages underscored, "name the woman," "name the 
knight," " name the man," " name the persons." 
In the same vohime is an Establishment of the 
King's Pensioners in Ireland, dated 16th October, 
1606. Among the "pensioners by patent during 
life," I find : (fol. 242).— 

" Barnaby Riche, per (lieni, ij.?. yjd. 

Meagre as are these notices, they contain all 
that is known of Barnaby Rich, and I have now 
only to thank my friends for prompt and valuable 
assistance. The communications of Mr. Collier 
have been made with his customary kindness, and 
Mr. Halliwell has directed my researches in a way 
that calls for an acknowledgment. 

P. 0. 




Proouing by good circumstance 

that the world was neuer holiest 

till now. 

By Barnabee Rych, Gentleman, Seruant to the Kings 
most Excellent Maiestie. 

Malui me diuitem esse quam vocari. 

Printed at London for T. A. 1614, 




Most Honourable Lord, to auoid idlenes I have, 
with Domitian, endeauoured to catch flies; I have 
taken in hand a text that will rather induce hatred, 
then winne loue, I have spoken against those abhomi- 
nations that are not lesse odible in the sight of the 
powers of heaven, then monstrous to bee tollerated 
heere upon the face of the earth ; I have grasped at 
greater matters, then (some will say), is fitting to be 
handled by a Souldier's penne. 

The adulterer will not indure it, the drunkard wil 
be angry with it, the blasphemer will sweare at it, the 
bribetaker will despite it, the Papist will malice it, to 
conclude (most honorable), there is no guiltie con- 
science that will willingly entertainc it. 

Remayning then in some doubtfulnes of mind to 
whom I might bequeath it, that would eyther grace or 
give countenance vnto it, I was prompted by report of 
your lordship's worthinesse, that now in the course of 
your gouernement in this honorable cittie of London, 


you have set up those lights for the suppressing of 
seuerall sorts of sinnes, that as they haue ah-eady 
aduanced your applause amongst those that bee of the 
best approoued honesty, so they will remaine for euer 
in record to your perpetuall prayse. 

Let not, therefore, my boldnes seeme presumptuous 

that being altogether vnknowne to your lordship, have 

yet presumed to shelter my lines vnder your honorable 

name, and thus in affiance of your honorable 

acceptance, I rest to doe your 

lordshippe any other 

kinde of 

Your Lordship's to commaund. 

Barnabe Rvch. 


Gentlemen, there are but fewe in these dayes that 
are willing to heare their faultes, but they ai'e fewer by 
a great number that are willing to amend them. Find 
faults could neuer yet get grace, for Adulation is crept 
so closely into our bosomes that smoothing Flatterie is 
more dearely esteemed then reprehending Veritie. 

I confesse my selfe to be ill beholding to mine owne 
tongue, that could neuer flatter, lispe, nor lye. Nature 
hath made the carriage of my wordes to bee something 
harsh and dull, yet when they seeme to be most slow, 
perhaps sometimes they be most sure. I speake plainly, 
and I meane honestly, and although my wordes be not 
imbroydered with high morality, I cai'e not, for I leave 
that to Schollers, Maisters of Art and Methode. 

If my lynes be plaine and true, they so much the 
more resemble their Sier, and for children to bee like 
their parentes, besides the midwife will giue it a bless- 
ing, so it is a signe they be legitimate ; defectes I know 
they cannot want, that in their procreation were bred 
and borne before their time, for as I conceyued of them 
in an instant, so I was deliuered againe in a moment, 

and these abortiue brates that arc thus hastely brought 
into the world, though they seldome prooue to haue 
any great vigor or strength yet I hope these will proue 
to be of as honest and plaine dealing as their father. 

I make no doubt but they will please as many as I 
desire to content, and those are good men and vertuous 
women ; for the rest that are gauled, if I rubbe them 
unawares, it is but Chance-medly, and then I hope I 
shall obtaine a pardon, of course protesting afore- 
hand that I haue not aymed at any one par- 
ticularly that hath not a guiltie con- 
science to accuse himselfe : if any man 
will thinke them to be too bitter, 
let him use it as an apothe- 
caries pill, that the 
more bitter, the 
better purg- 


Pierian sisters, Types of true Renowue. 
The radyant lights of Art and sacred skill, 

I come not to implore a Lawrell Crowne, 
Wherewith to decke my rude untutred quill. 

Nor doe I seeke to climbe Parnassus hill. 
In briefe, the world of folly I vpbrayde. 
Yet dare not presse, Faire Dames, tocraueyour aide. 

I smooth no sinne, I sing no pleasing song, 

I cloake no vice, I seeke to bleare no eyes ; 

I would be loath to doe Minerua wrong, 

To forge untruths, or decke my lynes with lyes ; 

I cannot fable, flatter, nor disguise. 

Yet mounted now on Tyme's discerning stage, 
I stand to note the Follies of our Age. 



When PhiKp, that was the father of the great Alex- 
ander, was leuying an armie for the warres, which 
hee intended against the Athenians, and that, through 
all the partes of Macedonia, tlie countrey was filled 
with the noyse of shriU sounding trumpets and of 
ratling drums, and that the people, in like maner, as 
busily bestirred themselue to helpe and set forward 
the souldiers, that were then making readie to follow 
the captaines. 

Euery man being thus in action, about this great 
preparation, in the midst of all this busines, Diogenes 
beganne to roUe and rumble his Tubb, still tossing and 
tumbling it from place to place in that vnaccustomed 
manner, that some that did beholde him, demanded of 
him his meaning in the matter ; why (said Diogenes) 
do you not see this strange alteration, that euery man 
is doing of somewhat, now on the sodaine, and why 
should not I be as busie as the best ! I cannot be idle, 
and although I can do nothing else, yet I will rumble 
my Tubb amongst them, if it be but to hold them 

I would apply this j)resident in mine owne excuse 


that nowe in this quicke sprited age, when so many 
excellent wittes are indeuouring by their pennes to 
set vpp lightes, and to giue the world new eyes to see 
into deformitie, why should not I, that can doe little, 
yet apply my selfe to doe something, if it be but with 
Diogenes to rumble my Tubb? yet I know I shall offend, 
for the world is so luld a sleepe in pleasures lap, that 
they cannot indure any rumbling noyse that should 
awaken tliem out of that sweete sleepe of securitie. 
Hee that would please the time must learne to sing 
lullaby to Folly, and there is no musicke so delightfuU 
as the smoothing vp of sinne. 

How many worthy preachers be there in these dales, 
that haue with Heraclitus bewayled the iniquitie of 
the time, and that haue thundered forth the judgements 
of God, which the Holy Scriptures haue threatned to 
fall vpou impenitent sinners, but what doe lamentations 
auayle ? they doe but make a rumbling like Diogenes 
Tubb, the sound is no sooner past, but it is as quickly 
forgotten ; let them weepe therefore that list with 
Heraclitus, I will make my selfe a little merrie with 
Democritus; I will laugh at the follies of the world, let 
the world laugh as fast againe at me, I looke for no 
better, and not onely to be mocked at, but likewise to 
be wounded and tortured with lying and slaunderous 

The blaspheming wretch that is ready to make the 
heauens to tremble, with whole voUies of oathes, that 
hee will thunder forth but for the wagging of a straw, 
will bitterly sweare and protest against me. 


The licentious whooremaster, that in hunting after 
harlots consumes himselfe both in body and soule, will 
censure me. 

The beastly drunkard more loathsome than a swine, 
when he hath so ouercharged his stomacke, that hee 
can no longer holde, (together with his drafFe) will 
vomit out my reproches. 

The finicall foole, that by his nice and queint atyre, 
may weU be resembled to the Sea Mermayd, seeming 
halfe a man and halfe a harlot, will not forbeare to 
mocke and deride me. 

The bribing officer will bitterly curse me. 

The tradesmen and shopkeeper, that doe buy and 
sell vanities, will grudge and murmure at me. 

The country swayne, that will sweate more on Sun- 
dayes dancing about a May pole, then hee will doe all 
the weeke after at his worke, will haue a cast at me. 

The infamous harlot, that prostitutes her selfe to 
euerie vicious lecher, will pronounce me an open 
enemie to woman kind. 

Olde mother B. the bawd, will shut her doors against 

Now what will become of me that shall be thus beset 
with such a graceles company ? let me beseech your 
prayers, you that be wise and iudicious, you that bee 
endued with wisedome and knowledge, let me yet finde 
fauour in your eyes. I rather desire my confirmation 
from those fewer in number, whose names are enrolled 
in the book of life, then from the multitude treading 
those steppes that doe assuredly lead to a second death. 


And you good and gracious women, whom the Holy 
Scriptui'es doc auow to be more precious then pearle, 
let mee intreat your fauourable aspect. 

You damoseles and yong gentle-women, that are 
no lesse adorned with modestie, then garnished with 
beautie, I haue euer regarded you with a reuerent 

You marryed wiues, that are ornified with honestie, 
wisedome, and vertue, I doe acknowledge you to be 
the glory of your husbands. 

The whole sexe of woman kinds in generall, as well 
old as young, that haue not tainted their owne credites 
with ouer much immodest boldnesse, I doe honour 
them, and I doe prostitute my selfe for euer to doe 
them humble seruice. 

I haue heard speaking of the Golden Age of the 
worlde, and some will say it is long sithens past, yet 
some others doe thinke that the true golden age 
(indeed) was neuer till now, when gold and gifts doe 
compasse all tilings ; but, if I might giue my censure, 
I would call this the Honest Age of the Worlde ; I 
confesse that in former ages the worlde hath beene 
simple and plaine dealing, but neuer honest till now. 

Till now that bribery, vsury, forgery, periury, and 
such other like impieties, are honest mens professions, 
and that those indeuours that in times past were ac- 
counted abhominable, are now made vsuall trades for 
honest men to liue by. 

Till now that rich men be faultlesse and must not 
be reprehended in their drunkenuesse, in their bias- 


phemies, in their adulteries, they must not be blamed, 
nor how soeuer they oppresse and extort, the poore 
must not complaiue. 

And who dares take exceptions but to a meane ma- 
gistrate, that is crept into an office perhaps by cor- 
ruption. No, it is dangerous to looke into his abhomin- 
ations, but hee is sure to perish that will but open his 
lippes to speake against his ill. 

And what a dangerous matter would it bee to call 
such a lawyer a pick-purse, that will take vpon him 
the defence of a matter that in his owne conscience he 
knoweth to be uniust, and yet will send his clyent home 
foure tymes a yeare with an empty purse. 

And he that robbes the realme of corne, and of all 
other commodities, transporting it beyond the seas, is 
hee not an honest trading marchant, and what is he that 
dares call him theefe ? 

And how many tradesmen and shop-keepers are 
there, to vent their counterfeite stuffe, will not sticke 
both to lye, to sweare, and to vse many other colusions 
whereby to deceiue, yet who dares tell him that he is 
but a common cosiner. 

No, it is more safetie for a man to commit sinne, 
then to reproue sinne ; and what an easie matter is it 
nowe for a man to be honest ouer it hath beene in 
times past, when euery vsurer, euery briber, euery 
extortioner, euery picker, euery robber, euery adul- 
terer, and euery common drunkard, is an honest man. 

And he that will otherwise depraue them, there is 
law for him ; he must stande to the mercy of twelue 


men ; a jury shall passe vppon him, and hee shall be 
conuict in an action of slander. 

I am halfe ashamed to speake of the honest men, 
that be in this age ; and mee thinkes when I have to 
doe with some of them I should borrow his manners, 
that liauing to tell a sober tale to a Justice of peace, 
would still begin his speeches with Sir reuerence of 
your worships honesty. 

The fellow had learned good manners, and we may 
well put a Sir reuerence when wee doe speake of 
honesty nowe a dayes ; for euery rich man is an honest 
man, there is no contradiction to that, and this makes 
a number of them to gather wealth, they care not 
howe, by the vndoing of their poore neighbours, be- 
cause they woulde be honest. 

In former ages he that was rich in knowledge, was 
called a wise man, but now there is no man wise 
but he that hath wit to gather wealth, and it is a hard 
matter in this age for a man to rayse himselfe by honest 
principles, yet we doe all seeke to climbe, but not by 
Jacobs ladder, and we are still desirous to mount, but 
not by the Chariot of Elyas. 

Vertue hath but a few that doe fauour her, but they 
bee fewer, by a great many in number, that are desir- 
ous to follow her. 

But is not this an honest age, when ougly vice doth 
beare the name of seemely vertue, when drunkennes 
is called good fellowship,' murther reputed for man- 
hoode, lechery is called honest loue, impudency good 
audacitie, pride they say is decency, and wretched 


misery they call good husbandry, hypocrisie they call 
sinceritie, and flattery doth beare the name of 
eloquence, truth and veritie ; and that Avhich our pre- 
decessors would call flat knavery passeth now by the 
name of wit and policy. 

Then fie vppon Honestie, that is thus pointed by 
men ; I hope yet amongst women wee shall finde it 
more pure and vndeflled. 

In former ages there were many imperfections 
attributed to women that are now accounted no defects 
at all, neyther are they thought to bee any scandals to 
their reputations. 

Moses seemeth in a sorte to scoffe at some foolish 
nicities that were vsed amongst women in his time. 
Deut. 28. 

And the Prophet Esay agayne reprehendeth the 
wanton gestures that were vsed by tlie daughters of 
Sion in his dales, at their haughtinesse of minde, at 
their stretched out neckes, at their wandering eyes, 
at their walking and their mincing as they passe 
through the streets; then he setteth downe (as it were) 
by innumeration, so many vanities as for breuities sake 
I will here omit to speake of. Esay. 3. 

As Salomon pronounceth the prayses of those women 
that be good, so hee marketli out a number of capitall 
offences whereby we might know the ill. And the 
ancient Romans banished out of their cittie, all women 
that were found to be dishonest of their tongues, yet 
toUerating with those others, that were well knowne 
to be dishonest of their bodies, thinking the first to 


bee more pernicious then the last, because the infirmity 
of the one proceeded but from the frailtie of the flesh, 
but the wickedness of the other from an vngracious 
and a wicked minde ; but now the bitternesse of a 
tongue, the pride of a haughtie heart, the shameles- 
nesse of a face, the immodesty of a mind, the impu- 
dency of lookes, the rowling of wanton eyes, the 
lewdnes of manners, the lightnesse of behauiour, the 
loosenesse of life, nor all the rest of those notes that 
Salomon hath left vnto vs (the true markes of a wicked 
woman), all this is nothing nor these imputations are 
no blemish to a womans credit. 

Is shee not to be charged with the abuse of her 
bodie, it is well shee is honest, what care we for the 
deformities of the minde. 

Will you see now a womans honestie is pent vp in 
a litle roome, it is still confined but from her girdle 

Is not this a happie age for women. Menne haue 
manie faults whereby to taynt their credites ; there is 
no imperfection in a woman but that of her bodie, 
and who is able to proue that, one payre of eyes will 
not serue, two paire of eyes will not be beleeued ; there 
must be three witnesses at the least to testifie the 

How shall we be now able to iudge of a harlot, 
especially if shee be rich, and hath abilitie to bring 
her accuser to the Comissaries Court? Wee must not 
conderane her by her outward show, by her new com- 
pounded fashions, by her paynting, by her pondering 


by her perfuming, by her ryoting, by her roysting, by 
her reuelling, by her companie keeping, it is not enough 
to say she was lockt vppe with a gentleman all night 
in a chamber or that she had beene seene in a strangers 
bedde, her Proctor will make you to vuderstand a little 
Latine, if you be not able to proue, Rem in Re, you liaue 
slandered her, you must not beleeue your owne eyes 
in such a case, but you must cry her mercy. 

This is it that doth make harlots so scant as they be 
now in England, not a strumpet to be found if a man 
would seeke from one end of the towne to another. 

A generall corruption hath ouergrowne the vertucs 
of this latter times, and the world is become a Brothell 
house of sinne. It is enough for vs now if we seeke 
but for the resemblance of vertue, for the soueraigntie 
of the thing it selfe we neuer trouble our selues about 

Both men and women that are the very slaues of 
sin, will yet stand vpon their credites and reputations, 
and somtimes putting on the visard of Vertue will 
seeme to march vnder the ensigne of Ilonestie. 

Whether will you tend your steppes, which way will 
you turne your eyes, or to whom Avill you lend your 
listing eares, but you shall meetc with vice, looke v2)on 
vanitie, and heare those speeches that doe not onely 
tend to folly but sometimes to ribauldry, other whiles 
to blasphemy, and many times to tlic great dishonor 
of God. 

Will you walke the streetes, there you shall meete 
Sir Lawrence Lack-land in a cloakc lined throujrli 


with veluet, and besides his dublet, his liose, his rapier, 
his dagger not so much, but the spurs that hang ouer 
his heeles but they shall be beguilded. 

Will you nowe crosse the way a little on the other 
side, there you shall meete with Sir Henry Haue-little, 
so trickt vppe in the spicks and span new fashion that 
you would sooner take him to be Proteus the God of 
Shapes, or some other like Celestiall power, then a 
vaine Terestiall foole. 

Your eares againe shall be so incumbred with the 
rumbling and rowling of coaches, and with the 
clamours of such as doe follow them, that are still 
crying out, " good my lady bestow your charitable 
almes vpo)i the lame, the blind, the sicke, the diseased ; 
good my lady one peny, one halfepeny for the tender 
mercy of God, ive beseech it,''"' but let them call and 
cry till their tongues do ake, my lady hath neyther 
eyes to see nor eares to heare, shee holdeth on her 
way perhaps to the Tyre makers shoppe, where she 
shaketh out her crownes to bestowe vpon some new 
fashioned atire, that if we may say there be defoi'mitie 
in art, vppon such artificiall deformed periwigs that 
they were fitter to furnish a Theater or for her that in 
a stage play should represent some Hagge of hell, then 
to bee vsed by a christian woman or to be worne by 
any such as doth account her selfe to be a daughter in 
the heauenly Jerusalem, 

I am ashamed nowe to aske you to goe into any of 
these Drinking houses, where you should as well see 
the beastly behauiour of drunkardes, as likewise heare 


such swearing and blasplieming as you would thinke 
the whole house to bee dedicated to loathsome sinne 
and that hell and damnation were both together there 
alreadie resident. 

Will you now goe visit the shop keepers that are so 
busie with their Jfliat lack you sir, or What is it you 
would haue hovght, and let vs take a good suruey what 
the commodities be that they would thus set forth to 
sale and we shall find that as Diogenes passing through 
a fayre cryed out ! how many things are here to be 
vented that nature hath no need of, so wee may like- 
wise say, O howe many gaudy trifles are here to bee 
solde that are good for nothing but to maintaine pride 
and vanitie. 

If sometimes wee happen to hyt vppon such neces- 
saries as are (indeede) behouefull for the vse of man, 
let the buyer yet looke to himselfe that he be not 
ouerreached by deceit and subtiltie. 

Shall we yet make a steppe to Westminster Hall, a 
little to ouer-look the lawyers. 

My skill is vnable to render due reuerence to the 
honorable Judges according to their worthinesse but 
especially at this instant as the benches are nowe sup- 
plyed, neyther would I eclips the honest reputation of 
a number of learned lawyers, that are to be held in a 
reuerent regard, and that are to be honoured and es- 
teemed, yet amongst these there bee a number of others 
that doe multiplie sutes, and drawe on quarrelles be- 
tweene friend and friend, betweene brother and brother 
and sometimes betweene the father and sonno. and 


amongst these, although there bee some tliat can make 
good shift to send their clients home with penilesse 
purses, yet there he other some againe, that, at the 
end of the tearme, doe complaine themselues that their 
gettings haue not bin enough to defray their expences, 
and doe therefore thinke that men are become to be 
more wise in these dayes, then they haue beene in 
former ages, and had rather put vppe a wrong, then 
fee a lawyer, but, I doe not thinke there is any such 
wisedome in this age, when there are so many wrang- 
ling spirits that are so ready to commence suites, but 
for a neighbours goose, that shall but happen to looke 
ouer a hedge : now what conceipt, I haue in the matter 
I will partly make manifest by this insuing circum- 

As the worthy gentlemen that haue beene Lords 
Maiors of the honourable cittie of London haue beene 
generally renowned for their wisedome in gouernment, 
so they haue beene no lesse famed for their hospitality 
and good housekeeping during the time of their Mair- 

Amongst the rest there was one who long sithens 
being readie to set himselfe downe to his dinner with 
his company that were about him, there thronged in on 
the sodaine a great company of strangers in that vnre- 
uerent manner as had not formerly beene accustomed, 
whei'eupon one of the officers comming to the L Mayer 
sayd vnto him, — If it please your lordship, here be 
too few stooles. Thou lyest, knaue, (answered the 
Maior), There are too many guests. 


Now I am perswaded that if lawyers, (indeed), 
haue iust cause to complaine of their little gettings, it 
is not for that there be too few suites, but because 
there be too many lawyers, especially of these aturnies, 
soliciters, and such other petty Foggers, whereof there 
be such abundance, that the one of them can very 
hardly thriue by the other ; and this multitude of them 
doe trouble all the partes of Englande. 

The profession of the Law I doe acknowledge to be 
honorable, and, (I thinke), the study of it should especi- 
ally belong to the better sort of gentlemen, but our 
Innes of Court now, (for the greater part), are stuffed 
with the ofspring of farmers, and with all other sorts of 
tradesmen, and these, when they haue gotten some few 
scrapings of the law, they do sow the seedes of suites, 
they doe set men at variance, and do seeke for nothing 
more then to checke the course of iustice by their 
delatory pleas ; for the better sort of the learned law- 
yers I doe honour them. 

They say it is an argument of a licentious common- 
wealth, where Phisitians and Lawyers haue too great 
comminges in, but it is the surfeits of peace that bring- 
eth in the Phisitian's gaine, yet in him there is some 
dispatch of businesse, for if he cannot speedily cure 
you, he will yet quickly kill you ; but witli the Lawyer 
there is no such expedition, he is all for delay, and if 
his tongue be not well typt with gold, he is so dull of 
language, that you shall not heare a comfortable worde 
come out of his mouth in a whole Michaelmasse 
Tearme ; if you will vnlocke his lips, it must be done 


with a golden fee, and that, perhaps, may settc his 
tongue at libertie to speake, (sometimes), to as good a 
purpose as if he hadde still beene mute. 

Let vs leaue the LaAvyer to his study, and let vs now 
looke a little in at the Court gate, and leauing to speake 
of those few in number that do aspire to the fauour 
of the prince by their honest and vertuous endeuours, 
let vs take a short suruey of those others that doe 
labour their owne aduancements by base and seruile 
practises ; by lying, by slandering, by backbiting, by 
dissembling, that haue no other meanes whereby to 
make themselues gratious in the eye of greatness but 
by surrendering themselues to base imployments, that 
doe sometimes poyson the eares of princes, and under 
the pretence of common good, do obtaine those suits 
that doth oppresse a whole common-wealth, and but 
to maintaine the pride and prodigalitie of a priuate 

In the courts of princes, euery great man, (placed 
in authority), must be flattered in his follies, praysed 
in his pleasures, commended in his vanities, yea, his 
very vices must be made vertues, or els they will say 
Ave forget our duties, wee malice his greatnes, we enuy 
his fortunes, and hee that will offer sacrifice to Thraso, 
must haue Gnato to be his priest, for the itching eares 
of Vaine glory are best pleased when they be scratched 
by Flattery. 

By these steps of smoothing, courtiers must learne 
to climbe, and more hyts vppon preferment by occa- 
sion then eyther by worthines or good desei't. 


In the courts of princes, fornications, adulteries, and 
rauishments, and such other like, haue bin accounted 
young courtiers' sports. 

Honest men haue beene there oppressed, rybaulds 
preferred, simple men scorned, innocent men persecut- 
ed, presumptuous men fauoured, flatterers aduanced. 

Let the prince himselfe be neuer so studious of the 
publique good, yet not seeing into all enormities, he is 
compassed about with those that be enormious. Let 
Tryan prescribe good lawes for eternall memory, yet 
where are they sooner broken then in the court of 
Tryan. Let Aui'elius store his court with wise men, 
yet euen there they doe waxe dissolute. 

A prince's court is like a pleasant garden, where the 
bee may gather honny, and the spyder sucke poyson ; 
for as it is a schoole of vertue to suche as can bridle 
their minds with discretion, so it is a nursery of vice 
to such as doe measure their willes with witlesse 

It hath beene holden for a maxime that a proud 
court doth make a poore countrey, and that there is 
not so hatefull a vermine to the common wealth as 
those that are surnamcd the Moathes of the court, 
but courtiers will not l)ee easely dasht out of counte- 
nance, for it is a courtier's vertue to be confident in 
his owne conceipt, and he that is so resolute will blush 
at nothing. 

But now to make an end of this suruey of vanity, 
let vs yet make one iourney more, and it shall bee to 
the church, and at that time when the preacher is in 


the pulpit, and we shall there see such hypocrisie, such 
countei't'eiting, such dissembling, and such mocking 
with God, that Avere it not but that as his wrath so 
often kindled against vs for our sinnes should not yet 
as often be quenched againe by his mercy, it coulde not 
bee but that the iustice of God would euen there 
ataynt us. 

There you shall see him that in his life and conuer- 
sation (to the shewe of the world), when hee is out of 
the church, liueth as if he made doubt whether there 
were any God or no, yet he will there ioyne with the 
preacher in prayer, and wiU cry out, " O our Father 
which art in heauen." 

" Hallowed be thy name," (sayth the common swear- 
er), who with vnhallowed lyps doth euery day blas- 
pheme the name of God. 

And he that reposeth his whole felicitie in the trans- 
itory pleasures of this world, that doth make his gold his 
God, and whose heauen in vpon this earth, will there 
besseech in prayer, " Lord, let thy kingdome come." 

Another that doth repine at the ordinances of God, 
that will murmure and grudge at those visitations 
wherewith it pleaseth him sometimes to afflict vs, will 
yet make petition, " Thy will be done on earth as it is 
in heauen." 

Thex'e you shall see him to make intercession for his 
dayly bread, that will polute himselfe all the weeke 
after with his daily drinke. 

But Avhat a misery is this, that the contentious, the 
malicious, the wrathfull, and for him that doth seeke 


I'euenge for tlie least offence that is offered vnto him, 
somtimes by bloudie reuenge, sometimes by sutes of 
law, and at all times with great rigor and violence, and 
will yet crave by petition, Lord, forgiue vs our tres- 
passes, as ive forgiue them that trespasse against vs, 
drawing therby their own damnation vpon their owne 
heades, when at the day of the generall sessions the 
great judge shall say vnto them, Ex ore tuo, te judi- 
cabo; depart from me, thou cui-sed creature, thy por- 
tion is amongst the hypocrites, for as faith without 
obedience is no faith, but the true marke of an hypo- 
crite, so profession ioyned with malice is as certaine a 
note of hypocrisie. 

There you shall see the extortioner, the adulterer, 
the blasphemer, vnder the colour of deuotion, so trans- 
forme themselues into a show of sanctimony, that dur- 
ing the time of the sermon they doe seeme to bee 
Saynts, but being out of the church doore, a man 
would thinke them to bee Demy Deuils. 

There you shall see the usurer, the briber, the brea- 
ker, with their books laid open before them, turning 
ouer leaues as busily as if they were in their counting 
houses, casting vp of their debts, and calculating wliat 
summes were owing vnto them ; tlicrc you shall see the 
marchant, the shopkeeper, the tradesman, and such 
others as doe line by trafi([ue, by buying and by selling, 
lifting vp their eyes, heauing vp their liaiids, and 
making show as if they were inflamed with a hot 
burning feuer of a fiery burning zeale. 

But they doe vse religion as women doe vsc their 
paynting stuffe, it serues but to couer their deform i- 


ties ; they haue one conscience for the church, another 
for the market, and so they keepe a good one for Sun- 
dayes it makes no matter for all the weeke after. 

Should I speake now of women, they doe make as 
great a show of deuotion as men, and although there 
be a number of them graue and godly matrones, zeal- 
ous and well inclined marryed wiues, gratious and 
godly disposed damosels and yong maydens, that are 
no less vertuous, indeed, then they doe make showe for, 
yet there bee a number of others that do rather fre- 
quent the church to see new fashions then to gather 
good instructions, and a number of them rather to be 
scene themselues then to seeke God. 

Now what zeale is that zeale, that will neyther 
lette slippe a sermon, nor lette goe a new fashion ? this 
strange atiring of themselues, may well bring admir- 
ation to fooles, but it breeds laughter to the wise. 

You shall see some women goe so attyred to the 
church, that I am ashamed to tell it out aloud, but 
harke in your eare, I will speake it softly, fitter in 
good fayth to furnish A. B. H. then to presse into the 
House of God, they are so be paynted, so be periwigd, 
so be poudered, so be perfumed, so be starched, so be 
laced, and so bee imbrodered, that I cannot tell what 
mentall vertues they may haue, that they do keepe 
inwardly to themselues, but I am sure to the outward 
show it is a hard matter in the church it selfe, to 
distinguish between a good woman and a bad. 

Our behauiours, our gestures, and our outward 
attyres are tongs to proclaime the inward disposition 


of the mind : then away with this pi'etended zeale, let 
vs not make religion a cloake for Impietie. 

If we wille seeke Christ, let vs seeke him so as we 
may finde him in the high way of humilitie, but not 
of pride and impudency. 

I thinke amongst many women that are thus fre- 
quenting sermons, there be some that will catch at 
some prety sounding words and let the matter slip, 
that they ought especially to attend, as the poore gen- 
tle-woman, that was so dismayed at the preachers 
wordes, who discoursing to his auditory of the generall 
day of judgement, how we should be then called to a 
stricte and strayght account, the poore gentle-woman 
being returned to her own house with this newes, be- 
ganne to fall into a sodaine fit of weeping, which being 
marked by some friends that were about her, they be- 
sought her to make knowne vnto them the cause of 
her griefe ? her answere was that shee was now but 
come from a sermon, that had so troubled her in her 
thoughts, that shee could not refraine from sheding 
of teares. Those that heard her, thinking that shee had 
beene stricken with some godly remorse in remem- 
brance of her former misled life, beganne to comfort 
her, telling her how God had mercy in store for all 
penitent sinners ; and her teares so distilled, being an 
argument of her heartie repentance, there was no 
doubt in her but to hope of saluation. 

Alas ! (said shee), it is not the remembrance of my 
sins that doth thus perplexe me, but when I consider 
with my selfe, what a great assembly will then make 


their appearance at the day of that generall sessions, 
which the preacher spake of, it maketh me to weepe 
to thinke howe ashamed I shalbe to stand starke naked 
before such a presence (as he saies) will be then in 

See here the very height of a gentlewomans disquiet, 
what a scruple it was that thus incumbred her con- 
science, God grant there be not many others that doth 
make the like colections, and that will sometimes be 
disputing of the preachers wordes, which they be no 
lesse able to conceiue, then vnwiUing to followe, there 
be many that will seeme to professe religion, as well 
men as women, and that with great zeale and feruency ; 
but they live not thereafter: euen those that by their 
outward show do thirst after knowledge, those that 
will turne ouer many leaues, and seeke out seueraU 
chapters, and when they hyt vppon some interpretation 
to nourish their sensualitie, they stay there and are 
the worse for their reading. 

" Sonne of manne, (sajth God to the prophet Eze- 
chiell) my people sit before thee and they heare my 
wordes, but they loill not doe them, their hearts goeth 
after couetousnesseJ''' 

To speake against sinne, in this age, it is like the 
filling of Daneas Tubs, and eyther they thinke there 
is no God at all, or else they thinke him to be such a 
one, as it were as good there were none at all, for it 
is lesse dangerous for a man to commit sinne, then to 
reproue sinne. 

To reprehende drunkennesse, whordome, blasphemy. 


or to speake against that pryde that God will surely 
punish, wee must not doe it ; they will say wee are too 
bitter, too byting, too satiricall, and thus we are more 
afraid to offend vicious men, then we are desirous to 
please God. 

But tell me now, thou beastly drunkard, thou vicious 
adulterer, thou swearer and prophaner of Gods holy 
name, which of you if you had a wife that had played the 
strumpet if shee should come vnto thee with submissiue 
words and shewes of repentance, and that vpon the 
hope of her amendment, thou wouldst pardon w^hat 
was past, wouldst thou not thinke it much if thou hadst 
forgiuen her once, that shee should afterwardes play 
the harlot againe ? but if thou hadst so much kindnesse 
to remitte the second fault, if she should yet come the 
third time with one of her Roaring boyes in her com- 
pany, and should play the harlot before thine owne face, 
(thou thy selfe standing present), and would yet with 
smyling countenance and inticing shewes oifer to come 
and kisse thee, wouldest thou not defie hei', wouldest 
thou not spite at her, wouldest thou not spurne at her, 
wouldst thou not abhorre her ? 

Then what doest thou thinke of thy God, (if I may 
so tearme him to be tliy God,) whom thou thy selfe 
hast disavowed, and broken that contract which was 
made between him and thee, when thou wert baptized, 
that runnest euerie day from sinne to sinne, a whoring, 
till perhaps on Sundaies and then thou goest to church 
with a smiling countenance, to dissemble and flatter 
with God, and wilt seenie to come and kisse him, nay 


thou commcst to mocke liiiii, and to speak the truth to 
tempt him, for Sunday it selfe is scarce ouerpast, but 
thou returnest back againe to tliine adultery, to thy 
drunkennesse, to thy bhisphemie, to thy vsery, to thy 
brybery, to thy periurie, to tliy pride, to thy vanitie, 
and to all the rest of thy former impieties. Dost thou 
not tremble now at the iudgements of God, dost thou 
not feare his vengeance sodainly to fall vppon thee ? 

Perhaps thou wilt thinke thy selfe to be in no dan- 
ger, and wilt but iest at me, that would but put thee 
into some foolish feare. Well iest at it and spare not, 
but when Time hath done his office, thou shalt see what 
will come of iesting. 

They were wont to say, the world did runne on 
wheeles ; and it may well bee it hath done so in times 
past, but I say now it goes on crouches, for it is waxen 
old, blind, decrepit and lame, a lymping world God 
knowes, and nothing but halting betweene neighbour 
and neighbour, betweene friend and friend, betweene 
brother and brother, and downe right halting, (some- 
times) betweene the father and the childe, the son that 
will craue his fathers blessing in the morning will wish 
him dead before night that he might enioy his inher- 
itance. And as the world is become thus lame and 
lymping, so it is otherwise growne so far out of repa- 
rations, that (I thinke) there is no hope of amendment, 
the best remedy were if euery man would mend one, 
and that will not bee performed in hast, for we imitate 
nothing but what we doe see, and whom doe we see 
setting vj) that light, that might shine vnto vs, in 


example ; no the world is become feeble, ber spirits are 
spent, sbee is growne Bispuer, sbee is become cbildish 
and begins to doat afresh on that shee sometimes 

The possession of gold vnlawfuUy gotten was wont 
to be called a capitaU offence, nowe there is nothing 
more desired. 

In diebus illis they bent their whole indeuours to 
winne honourable reputation, but now for popular 
praise and vaine ostentation. 

Our predecessors ordained lawes, whereby to re- 
strayne the prodigall from spending their owne wealth 
in ryot and excesse, but nowe there is no expence so 
laudable as that which is spent in vanitie. 

In former ages they thought him to be but a badde 
statesman, that had aspired to ouermuch wealth, but 
now there is nothing more dispised then for a man to 
be poore and honest. 

The olde fashion was to doe well, but nowe enough 
to speake well. 

In the olde time to performe, but nowe enough to 

Men were wont to blush when they went to borrowe 
money, Ijut now they are ashamde to pay their debts. 

Flatery hath beene accounted the profession of a 
knaue, but now it is better for a man to flatter too 
much then not to flatter at all. 

The monuments of goodnes are so weather beaten, 
that inifjuitie and antiquitic hath almost left no cha- 
racter therof vndefaced. 


If men slioulil degenerate as fast the next age as 
they haue done bnt within the compasse of our owne 
memory, it will be a madde world to Hue in. 

Children must receiue by tradition what is left vnto 
them by example from their parents, they can goe no 
further then Imitation, and what was it but example 
that brought downe fire and brimstone vpon Sodome 
and Gomorah, when the abhominations of the elder 
were still imitated by the yonger ? 

Children can neyther heare nor see, eyther at home 
or abroad, but that which is altogether eyther vaine 
or vnlawfuU. 

How is it possible that the daughter should bee 
bashfull where the mother is past shame, or that shee 
should bee continent w^here the mother is impudent ? 

The olde prouerbe is : If the mother trot how 
should the daughter amhle? but there be some parents 
that doe thinke, the most speedie way of preferment 
is to bring vppe their daughters in audacious bold- 
nesse, to make them impudent, and past shame 

Cato depriued a Senator of Rome, but for kissing 
his wife in the presence of bis daughter. 

We doe not fashion our selues so much by reason 
as wee doe by example, for custome and example are 
arguments good enough to make vs to follow any 

We are become like Labans sheepe, led by the eye ; 
we conceiue but of what we do see, and the vulgare 
seeing nothing but apparances maketh iudgement onely 
by that which is subiect to the sight. 


To bee vertuous, why it is a capitall crime; and there 
is nothing more dangerous then to be securely innocent. 

Our auncients sought for the true efFectes of vertue, 
and we onely but hunt after a vayne popular prayse. 

How innumerable and (almost) ineuitable, traps, are 
set in the tract of vertue, and that in all her walks, 
perhaps we may hyt of some one now and then, that 
will kisse the vizard of vertue, but shewe them the 
true face, and you turne all their kisses into curses. 
There be few that doe vndertake the tract aright. No, 
our whole studie is how wee may line in pompe, in 
pride, in pleasure ; but we haue no cai-e at all, neither 
how to Hue, nor how to die well. 

"Wee doe seeke rather how to couer faults, then howe 
tomendfaults ; yea the most sharpest and quickest witted 
men those, that bee called the wise-men of the world, 
what bee their policies, or whereunto do they apply 
their wits, but to couer their naughtinesse. 

If they haue a litle good amongst a great deale of 
ill, they thinke that good to be vttcrly lost, that hath 
not the eyes of the world to witnesse it and to glue it 
an applause ; so that if they doe any good, it is but to 
the end to bee scene and to be praysed by men, for in 
secret they will doe nothing. 

If they forbeare to doe euill, it is for feare the world 
should knowe it ; and were that feare taken away, tliey 
would sticke at nothing. 

I thinke there is not a more i)ernicious creature in 
the world then is a man, if hee bee both wise and 
wicked ; for where the wit is bribed by affection, there 



the weapons of reason ai'e many times wrested, and 
sometimes managed against reason it selfe ; neyther is 
there any thing that maketh vs to be more vnreason- 
able then that which we call naturall reason, 

Tlie wisedome of the flesli, (tliat is indued with 
knowledge) hath often times more indangered then the 
feeble force of simple ignorance. 

A wicked man indued with literature is the worst 
of all men, and amongst Christians, none more per- 
nicious then the Holy hypocrite. 

Origine hath left vnto vs this caueat for our in- 
struction. The hereticke, (sayth he), that is of good 
life, is much more hurtfuU, and hath more authoritie 
i?i his tvords then lie that doth discredite his doctrine 
ivith the lewdnes of his life ; so that we may conclude 
those vices to be most abhominable, that are most de- 
sirous to looke like vertues. Now it were a hard matter 
for me to distinguish betweene men who were good, 
and who were bad ; but if I might giue my verdict to 
say who were the wisest men nowe in this age, I would 
say they were Taylers. Would you heare my reason, 
because I doe see the wisedome of women to be still 
ouer-reached by Taylers, that can euery day induce 
them to as many new fangled fashions as they please 
to inuent, and the wisedome of men againe are as 
much ouer-reached by women that canne intice their 
husbandes to surrender, and giue way to all their newe 
fangled follies. They are Taylers then that canne ouer- 
rule the wisest women, and they be women, that can 
besot the wisest men ; so that if Ma. Maiors conclusion 


be good, that because Jackc his yongest sonne ouer- 
ruled his mother, and Jackes mother agayne ouerruled 
M. Maior himselfe, and M. Maior by office ouerruled 
the towne, ergo the whole towne was ouerruled by Jacke 
Ma. Maiors sonne. By the same consequence, I may 
likewise conclude that Taylers are the wisest men; the 
reason is akeadie rendered, they doe make vs all fooles, 
both men and women, and doe mocke the whole world 
with their newe inueutions. But are they women alone, 
that are thus seduced by Taylers? doe but looke amongst 
our gallants in this age, and tell )ne if you shall not 
finde men amongst them to be as vaine, as nice, and as 
gaudie in their attyres, as shee that amongst women 
is accounted the most foolish. 

And liowe manie are there that if they doe thinke 
themselues to be but a little out of the Tayler's disci- 
pline, they will beginne to grow as melancholy and to 
looke as drousily as the poore amorist that is but newly 
stricken to the heart with the coy aspect of dame Folly, 
liis dearest beloued (and scarce honest) mistris. 

Wee are foi'bidden by the scriptures to call our bro- 
ther foole, this is it that makes mec something to for- 
beare ; yet when I chance to meete witli such a newe 
fangled fellowe, though 1 say nothing to him, yet God 
knowes what I tliiiike. 

Tlie holy scriptures hauedenotuiced a curse nolesse 
grieuous to the Idole-makcr, then to the Idole it selfe ; 
now, (vnder the correction of diuinitie), I would but 
demaund what are these puppet-making Taylers that 
are euery day inuenting of newe fashions? and wlint 


arc these that they doe call Attyre-niakers ? the first 
inuenters of these monstrous periwygs? and the find- 
ers out of many other like immodest attyres? what 
are these and all the rest of these fashion mongers? 
the inuenters of vanities that are euery day whetting 
their wits to finde out those gaudes that are not onely 
ofix3nsiue vnto God, but many wayes preiudiciall to the 
whole common wealth ; if you will not acknowledge 
these to be idolemakers, yet you cannot deny them to 
be the deuil's enginers, vngodly instruments to decke 
and ornifie such men and women as may well be reputed 
to be but Idolles; for they haue eyes, but they see not 
into the wayes of their owne saluation ; and they haue 
eares, but they cannot heare the judgements of God, 
denounced against them for their pride and vanitie. 

These enginers of mischiefe, that like moles doe lye 
and wrot in sinne, till they haue cast vppe a mount of 
hatefull enormitie against heauen, they may well be 
called the souldiers of the deuill, that will fight against 
the mightie hand of God. 

There are certaine new inuented professions, that 
within these fourtie or fiftie yeares were not so much 
as heard of, that are now growne into that generalitie, 
and are hadde in such request, that if they doe flourish 
stiU but as they haue begunne, I thinke within these 
very fewe yeares, the worthy cittizens of Loudon must 
bee enforced to make choj'se of their Aldermen from 
amongst these new vpstart companies, which in the 
meane time doe robbe the realme of great summes of 
money that are daily spent vpon tlieir vanities. 


As these Attyre-makers that within these forty yeares 
were not knowne by that name, and but nowe very 
lately they kept their lowzie commoditie of pei'iwygs, 
and their other monstrous attyres, closed in boxes, they 
might not be seene in open show, and those women 
that did vse to weare them would not buy them but in 

But now they are not ashamed to sette them forth 
vppon their stalle, such monstrous May-powles of hayre, 
so proportioned and deformed, that but within these 
twenty or thirtie yeares would haue drawne the 
passers by to stand and gaze, and to wonder at them. 
And howe are Coach-makers and Coach-men in- 
creased, that fiftie yeares agoe were but fewe in num- 
ber, but nowe a Coach-man and a Foot-boy is enough, 
and more then euery knight is able to keepe. 

Then haue we those that be called Body-makers, 
that doe swarme through all the parts both of London, 
and about London, that are better customed, and more 
sought vnto then he that is the Soule maker. 

And how many items are brought in for the bodie's, Ijut not so much as a memorandum for 
the soule's blissednesse. 

The bodie is still pampered vppe in pompe, in 
pride, and in tlie very dropsie of excesse, whilest the 
soule remayneth poor, naked, and needy, and the soule 
that giueth a feeling to the bodie doth not yet feele 
her owne euill, nor neuer remembreth her owne mise- 
rie but in the euill which shee there endureth. 

But he that some fortie or fifty yeares sithens should 
haue asked after a Pickadilly, I wonder who could 


haue vnderstood him, or could liaue told wliat a Pick- 
adilly had beene, either fish or flesh.* 

But amongst the trades that are newly taken vp, 
this trade of Tobacco doth exceede, and the money that 
is spent in smoake is vnknowne, and, (I thinke), vn- 
thoiight on, and of such a smoake as is more vaine 
then the smoake of fayre words, for that, (they say), 
will serue to feede fooles, but this smoake maketh fooles 
of wise men ; mee thinkes experience were enough to 
teach the most simple witted, that before tobacco was 
euer knowne in England, that we liued in as perfect 
health, and as free from sicknesse as we haue done 
sithens, and looke vjjpon those, (whereof there are a 
number at this present houre), that did neuer take 
tobacco in their Hues, and if they doe not Hue as 
healthsome in bodie, and as free from all manner of 
diseases as those that doe take it fastest. They say it is 
good for a cold, for a pose, for rewms, for aches, for 
dropsies, and for all manner of diseases, proceeding of 
moyst humours ; but I cannot see but that those that 
doe take it fastest are asmuch, (or more), subiect to all 
these infirmities, (yea, and to the poxe it selfe), as those 
that haue nothing at all to doe with it. Then what a 
wonderfuU expence might very well bee spared, that is 
spent and consumed in this needlesse vanitie. 

There is not so base a gi*oome that commes into an 
Ale-house to call for his pot, but he must haue his 
pipe of Tobacco ; for it is a commoditie that is now as 
vendible in euery tauerne, inne, and ale-house, as eyther 
wine, ale, or beare ; and for apothicaries' shops, grosers' 
shops, chaundlers' sliops, they are (almost) neuer with- 


out company, that from morning till night are still 
taking of tobacco. What a number are there besides 
that doe keepe houses, set open shoppes, that haue no 
other trade to line by but by the selling of tobacco. 

I haue heard it tolde that now very lately there hath 
bin a cathalogue taken of all those new erected houses 
that haue set vppe that trade of selling tobacco in Lon- 
don, ande neare about London, and if a man may 
beleeue what is confidently reported, there are found to 
be vpward of 7000 houses that doth Hue by that 

I can not say whether they number apothicaries' 
shoppes, grosers' shops, and chaundlers' shops in this 
computation, but let it be that these were thrust in to 
make uppe the number ; let vs now looke a little into 
the vidimus of the matter, and let vs cast vppe but a 
sleight account what the expence might be that is con- 
sumed in this smoakie vapoure. 

If it be true that there be 7000 shops in and 
about London, that doth vent tobacco, as it is cre- 
dibly reported that there be ouer and aboue that num- 
ber,^ it may well bee supposed to be but an ill customed 
shoppe that taketh not fine shillings a day, one day with 
another, throughout tlie wliole year, or if one doth take 
lesse, two other may take more; but let vs make our ac- 
count but after two shillings sixe-pencc a day, for 
he that taketh lesse then that would be ill able to pay 
his rent, or to keepe open his shop windowes, neither 
would tobacco houses make such a muster as they doe, 
and that almost in eucry lane, and in euery by-corner 
round altoiit Loinldii. 


Let vs then reckon thus : 7000 half crownes a 
day amounteth iust to three hundred ninetine thou- 
sand, three hundred seuentie-fiue poundes a yeare, 
summa totalis. All spent in smoake. 

I doe not reckon now what is spent in tauernes, in 
innes, in ale-houses, nor what gentlemen doe spend in 
their owne houses and chambers, it would amount to a 
great reckoning, but if I could deliuer truly what is spent 
throughout the whole realme of Englande in that idle 
vanitie, I thinke it would make a number of good peo- 
ple, (that haue anie feare of God in them), to lament 
that such a masse of treasure should be so basely con- 
sumed that might be imployed to many better purposes. 

I haue hitherto perused the vayne and idle expences 
that are consumed in tobacco, now by your fauours, a 
little to recreate your wearyed spirits, I will acquaint 
you with a short Dialogue that was sometime dis- 
coursed betweene a schoUer and a shoe-maker, which 
happened thus. 

A schoUer, (and a maister of artes),^ that vpon some 
occasions being here in London, driuen into want, 
hytting vpon a shooemaker, beganne to make his mone, 
and told him that he was a maister of the seauen 
Sciences that was in some distresse, and besought him 
to bestow some small courtesie on him for his reliefe. 

The shoe-maker having ouer heard him, first wyj^ing 
his lippes with the backe of his hande, answered him 
thus : are you a maister of seauen Sciences and goe 
vppe and downe a begging ? I will tell you my friende, 
I haue but one Science, and that consistes but in 


making of shoes, but with that one Science I doe Hue, and 
with it I doe keepe my selfe, my wife, and my family, 
and you with your seauen Sciences to bee in want, I 
cannot beleeue ye. 

Sir (said the schoUer), I tell you a true tale, the 
more is my griefe. I am a scholler, and I haue pro- 
ceeded maister in the seauen Liberall Sciences, and yet, 
(as my fortune hath conducted me,) I am diyuen into 
distresse, and would bee glad but of a poore reliefe. 

Aha (quoth the shoe-maker), nowe I vnderstand 
yee, you are a maister of the seauen liberall Sciences. 
I haue heai-d of those same liberall Sciences before, 
but I perceiue they are not halfe so bountifull to the 
purse, as they bee liberall in name. Well, I am sory for 
ye, but I haue no money to bestowe ; yet if good coun- 
sell would serue your turne, I coulde sette you downe 
a course how you might liue, you should not neede to 

Sir, (sayd the scholler) good counsell commes neuer 
out of season to a man that is wise ; I will giue you 
thankes for any aduise you will giue me that is good. 

Then (quoth the shoe-maker,) you shall let alone 
those same seauen Sciences, that you name to be so 
liberall, and you shall enter you selfc into any one of 
the three companyes, that haue nowe better taking, 
and are growne to be more gainefull, then all the seauen 
Sciences that you haue hitherto learned, and put them 
all together. 

And what be those three companies (sayde the 
scholler) that you so much commend? 


They are three companies, (sayde the shoe-maker) 
that are now in most request, and haue gotten all the 
trade into their owne handes, the first is to keepe an 
Ale house, the second a Tobacco house, and the third to 
keepe a Brothell house. 

I haue done with my dialogue, and I thinke of my 
conscience the shoe-maker aymed something nearethe 
marke ; for he that did but see the abundance of Ale- 
houses that are in euery corner, I thinke he would 
wonder howe they coulde one liue by another; but if 
he did beholde againe, how they are all replenished 
with drunkardes, euery houre in the dale, (and almost 
euery minute in the night), and did yet agayne see 
their beastly deraeanures, heare their blasphemies and 
their vngodly words, their swearing, and their 
ribauldrie, would tremble for feare least the house 
should sinke. For Tobacco houses and Brothell houses, 
(I thanke God for it) I doe not vse to frequent them, 
but actiue mindes must haue exercise, and I thinke to 
auoyd the inconuenience of a Brothell house, it were 
better of the twayne to sitte in a Tobacco house. 

It hath beene a great faction that in former ages 
would still vndertake to support bawdery, and they 
haue bin better men then justices of peace that would 
both countenance a curtizan, and boulster out a bawd. 

These poore harlots haue sometimes bin brought to 
ride in a cart, when the silken strumpets (perhaps) 
haue ryden in coaches ; but there are no harlots nowe 
a dayes, but those that are poore, for shee that hath 
any freindes at all to take her part, who dares call her 
harlot ? 


Some good mans liuery the countenance of office, 
the bribing of a constable, or any thing will serue ; 
and shee that hath not twenty companions at a becke, 
that will stick to her at a dead lift, let her ride in a 
cart, in the deuils name ; shee deserues no better. 

Should I now speake of spirituall whordome which 
the scriptures doe call idolatry, I dare scarce speake 
against it, for oiFending of papists, that were neuer 
more dangerous then they be at this houre. 

I remember that many yeares sithens I sawe a fewe 
printed lines intituled The Blazon of a Papist, written 
by some Herault of armes, that had pretily contriued 
a papist in the compasse of armory. 

Hee first made description of a Papist rampant, a 
furious beast, and although it be written that the deuill 
goeth about like a roaring lyon, yet the deuill himselfe 
is not more fierce and rigorous then is a papist, where 
he is of force and abilitie to shew his tyrranny, witnesse 
the murthers, the massacres, the slaughters, the poy- 
soning, the stabbing, the burning, the broyling, the 
torturing, the tormenting, the persecuting, with their 
otlier bloudie executions euery day fresh in example, 
infinite to be told, and horrible to be remembred. 

The next is a Papist passant, this is an instrument 
of sedition, of insurrection, of ti'eason, of rebellion, a 
priest, a jesuite, a seminary, and such other as doe finde 
so many friendes in England and in Ireland, both to 
receiire and harbour them as it is much to bee feared 
wee shall finde the smart <jf it in time to come. We 
haue then a Papist volant, I thinke amongst the rest, 


these can doe least liarme, yet they will say they Hie 
for their consciences ; when it is knowne well enough 
they doe both practice and conspire. 

Then there is a Papist Regardant, he obserueth 
times, occasions, places and persons, and although he 
be one of the Popes intelygencers, yet he walketh 
with such circumspection and heede, that hee is not 
knowne but to his owne faction. 

We are now come to a Papist Dormant, a slye com- 
panion, subtill as a foxe ; he sleepes with open eyes, 
yet sometimes "seeming to winke, he lookes and prys 
into opportunities, still feeding himselfe with those 
hopes, that I am in hope shall neuer doe him good. 

There is yet againe a Papist Couchant, this is a 
dangerous fellow and much to be feared ; he creepes 
into the bosome of the state, and will not sticke to 
looke into the Court, nay (if he can) into Court counsels, 
he will shewe himselfe tractable to common wealths, 
prescriptions, and with this shew of obedience to law, he 
doth the pope more seruice then twentie others that 
are more resisting. 

The Jast we shall speake of is the Papist Pendant; 
indeede a Papist Pendant is in his prime perfection ; a 
Papist Pendant is so fitting a peece of armory for the 
time present, as all the herauldes in Englande are not 
able better to display him ; a papist is then in chiefe 
when hee is pendant, and hee neuer commes to so high 
preferment but by the popes especiall blessing. 

But if lawes 'were as well executed as they be 
enacted, popery could not so spread itselfe as it doth. 


neyther iu England nor in Irelande, nor it could not 
bee but that these diuelish practises, of poysons, of 
pistoles, of stabbing kniues, andof gunnepoudertx-aynes, 
would bee important motiues to stir vppe the consi- 
derations of those that be in authority to spy out these 
masked creatures that haue tongs for their Prince, but 
doe reserue their hearts for their Pope. 

But, alas, good Vertue, art thou becomme so faint 
hearted that thou wilt not discouer thy selfe that art 
thus iniured ? I wis thou hadst neuer more need to 
look about thee ; I w^ould I could wish thee for a time 
to put away Patience, and to becomme a little while 
Cholericke, if not for their sakes that do loue thee, 
yet for thine owne security. If Vice dare take bold- 
nesse to offend, why should not Vertue take courage to 
correct ? but I know it is but losse of tyme to speake 
against Popery, and as little it will pi'euaile to speake 
against any manner of sinne ; yet we want no positiue 
Lawes whereby to bridle abuse, but the example of a 
good life in those that should minister the due execu- 
tion of those Lawes would bee more effectuall then the 
Lawes themselues, because the actions of those tliat be 
))laced in autlioritie are receiued by the common peo- 
ple for precepts and instructions. 

But the greatest number of them doe rather shewe 
their authorities in correcting of other mens faults 
then in mending their owne, and it is hard when hee 
that cannot order his owne life should yet bee made a 
minister to correct the misdemeanours of others. There 
can neuer bee good discipline amongst inferioui's where 


there is but bad example in superiours; but where supe- 
riours haue beene more ready to support sinne then to 
punish sinne, and Avhen a Nobleman's liuery was 
countenance good enough to keepe a Drunkard from 
the Stockes, an Adulterer from the cart, and some- 
times a Theefe from the Gallowes; Avhen knowne 
Strumpets could vaunt themselves to be supported and 
vpholden by great persons, and to receiue such coun- 
tenance from them, that it was holden for a Maxime 
amongst a great number of young wantons, that to 
surrender themselues to the lust of such men as were 
in great place and authoritie, was the next way to get 
preferment, and to winne them many friendes. 

This was it that made a number of yong women, 
(in those times), to shake oft' the vayles of shamefast- 
nes, and to offer the vse of their intemperate bodies 
to common jirostitution, though not verbally in wordes, 
yet vnder the showes of their gaudie and gadish 

I am not yet ignorant but that in these dayes there 
bee a number of women, that in respect of any abuse of 
their bodies, are both good and honest, and yet if wee 
should iudge of them but according to their outwarde 
shewes they doe seeme more Curtizan like then euer 
was Lais of Corinth, or Flora of Rome. 

The ancient Romanes prohibited all sortes of people, 
as well men as women, from wearing of any light 
coloured silkes, or any other gaudie garmentes, Players 
and Harlotes onely excepted ; for to them there was 
tolleration in regard of their professions. 


There is mention made of a Canon in tlie Ciuill 
Lawe where it was ordayned, that if a man did offer 
violence to any woman, were shee neuer so vertnous 
and honest, yet attjnred like a Strumpet, shee hadde no 
remedie agaynst him by Law. 

And we doe finde it testified of a great Ladij who 
vppon some occasion of busines, casting oner her a 
light coloured vayle, and being thus met withall by a 
young gallant, he beganne to court her with comple- 
ments of loue, the which the Lady taking in great 
disdaine, reproued his sauciness that would offer that 
disgrace to her that was honest, that shee was not as 
shee seemed to be to the outward shewe ; the young 
gallant, as angry as shee, returned her this answere. 

Be what you list to be, (sayd he), I know not what 
you be, but if your honestie bee such as you say, be so 
attyred then, or els be as you are attyred. Vertue is 
neuer decked vp with extern all pompe to procure re- 
spect ; her very countenance is full of maiestie, that 
commaundeth admiration in all that doe behold her. 

It hath beene questioned whether Chastitie ioyned 
with Vanitie doth merite any commendation or no, but 
that a proud and a gaudie garment should shroud an 
humble or a modest mind it is liara Auis in Terris, a 
matter seldome scene ; but tliis is out of doubt that 
this ouermuch affected Folly, doth Hue with no lesse 
suspected Honestie. 

She is but an ill liuswife, therefore, of her ownc 
credite, that will bring it into construction. 

The Philosophers would ayme at the inner disposi- 


tion of the minde, by tlie externall signes of the bodie, 
affirming tliat the motions of the body are the true 
voyces of the mind. 

Augustus, on a time of great assembly, obserued 
with diligence what company they were that courted 
his two daughters, Liuia and Julia ; who perceiuing 
the first to bee frequented with graue and wise Sena- 
tors, SLud the other againe to be solicited with witlesse and 
wanton Roysters, he discouered thereby their seuerall 
dispositions, being not ignorant that custome and 
company doth, for the most part, simpathize together, 
according to the prouerbe. Simile Simili gaudet, like 
will to like, quoth the Deuill to the Collier. 

A womans blush is a signe of grace, and a good 
woman will quickly blush at many thinges ; nay it 
were enough to make a vertuous woman to blush, but 
to thinke with her selfe that shee could not blush. 

The blush of a womans face is an approbation of a 
chast and honest mind, and a manifest signe that shee 
doth not approue any intemperate actions, or any other 
wanton speeches or demeanors that are eyther offered 
to her selfe, or to any other in her presence. 

The woAan that forgetteth to blush, it is an argu- 
ment that shee is past grace ; for shamefastnesse is 
not onely a brydle to sinne, but it is likewise the com- 
mon treasury of feminine Vertue. 

The bold audacious woman cannot but be taxed of 
Impvdeiicy, it is one of the notes that Salomon giueth 
whereby to distinguish a good woman from a bad. 
The beautie of behauiour is more precious in esti- 


mation then the beautie of the bodie, and the woman 
that will maintaine her credite, must not be too con- 
uersant, but the time rather serueth to looke Bahyes 
in womens Eyes, then to picke out JMoates. 

Yet I am sorj for some of them that, (I thinke), 
will care little for going to Henuen, because there is no 
good Coachway. 

Licurgus ordayned the Laconian women the exercise 
of their limmes, as running, leaping, wrastling, heau- 
ing, and throwing of waights. 

These exercises hee permitted whereby to increase 
their vigor and strength, that their propagation and 
ofspring might be the more strong and sturdie. 

But now our women are trained vp in Idlenesse. in 
ignorance, in pride, in delicacy, and their issue (for 
the most part), are leaning to their mother's constitu- 
tions, feeble of bodie, weake in minde, effeminate, and 
fearefull, fitter to ryde in a Curtizaii's Coach vp and 
downe the streets, then to bestride a stirring Horse in 
the Fielde ; and doe better knowe howe to mannage a 
Tobacco-pipe, then howe to charge a Pyke or a Lance. 

The Laconian women brought foorth a propagation 
of men of haughty courage, able both in bodie and 
minde to serue their countrey, to defend and fight for 
their liberties ; but our women in these times, they 
bring a generation of Meacockes that doe bend their 
whole endeuours to effeminate nicitie, to pride, and 

Cato, being Censurer, to make choiso of (Icnerall for 
the Panoninn warres, opfnly disgraced and disniissed 



Publius, because he had seene him to walke the streets 
of Rome perfumed ; but now our gallants doe thinke 
themselues nothing more disgraced if they be not so 
perfumed, be spiced, and be pondered, that a man may 
well vent them the breadth of a streete. 

And from whence commeth this wearing and this 
imbrodering of long lockes, this curiositie that is vsed 
amongst men in freziling and curling of their hayre ? 
this gentlewoman-like starcht bands, so be edged, and 
be laced, fitter for Mayd Marion in a Moris dance, 
then for him that hath either that spirit or courage that 
should be in a gentleman ? 

But amongst all the rest of these ill becomming 
follies that are now newly taken vppe, (me thinkes), 
these yellow starcht bandes" shoulde bee euer best suited 
with a yeUowe Coate. 

I haue heard of a Gentle-man that protested him- 
selfe to bee so fierce and furious, if hee were but a 
little displeased, that during the time whilest his anger 
did last he neuer durst looke in a glasse for feare he 
should aifraight himselfe with the terrour of his owne 

And are not our gentlemen in as dangerous a plight 
now, (I meane these Apes of Fancy\ that doe looke 
so like Attyre-makers maydes, that for the dainty deck- 
ing vp of themselves might sit in any Seamsters shop 
in all the Exchange'?'' 

Me thinkes a looking glasse should be a dangerous 
thing for one of them to view himselfe in, for falling in 
loue with his owne lookes, as Narcissus did with his 
owne shadow. 


I am yet perswaded that our women in this age are 
as really endued with Nature's abilities as they haue 
beene in times past, but they doe faile in that educa- 
tion that they had in times past ; they doe now, (for 
the most part of them), see nothing but vanitie, ney- 
ther doe I thinke but tliat the same defect is it that so 
infeebleth their of-si)ring. 

But I cannot altogether blame the carelesnes of the 
world, that it is become so sparing of good endeuours, 
when there is neyther rewarde nor recompence for 
good desert, nor scarce so much as a Memorandum for 
the most honourable enterprise, how worthily so euer 

We doe read of forraine estates, euen at this present 
time, what care they haue in rewarding the good, and 
punishing the ill, and in these two poynts, that is as 
I haue sayd in rewarding and punishing, consisteth so 
high a policie of good government, that it may well 
bee sayd that the Turkes, the Persians, the Tartarians 
and many other barbarous infidels haue built the foun- 
dation of their estates, especially vppon that ground 
worke, and haue aduanced themselues to thatgreatnesse 
that they be now growne vnto onely by these two 
vertues, in rewarding the good and punishing the ill. 

For whom reward they Ijut Captaines and Souldiers; 
or where vse they liberalitie, but in tlic field amongst 
weapons ? 

How seuere againe are they in punishing of those, 
that do bcarc themselues carelesscly in their places 
and offices, committed vnto tliem, yea they keejie no 

E 2 


nieane in disgracing base cowardly mindes, nor in 
honouring of haughty spirits and valiant souldiers. 

But with vs our Parasites, our Panders, our Fauou- 
rets, our Fidelers, our Fooles, our instruments of ambi- 
tion, our ministers of our wanton pleasures shall be re- 
warded, but wee neuer cherish wisedome, till wee have 
cause to vse her counsell, and then (perhaps) shee 
may bee rewarded with some Court holy water wordes, 
and which wee will bestowe but for our owne aduan- 
tage ; and when our turne is serued our kindnes is 

The world is not now the world that it hath beene, 
when the sauing of a Romane Citizen, was rewarded 
with honor : the humoure of preseruing our country is 
now spent ; there is not a Curt'ms now to be found, 
and where should we seeke for another Sceuola? 

Desert may now goe to Cart, and he that cannot 
rufFell it out in silkes, will hardly gette passage in at 
a great mans gate. 

Hee that is thought to bee poore, is neuer thought 
to bee wise, nor fit to haue the managing of any matter 
of importance ; all is well accepted that is spoken by 
authoritie, but truth it selfe is not beleeued, if it pro- 
ceede from the mouth of pouertie. 

By this contempte of pouertie, vice hath beene ad- 
uanced ; and sithens riches haue thus crept into credite, 
the world is rather growne to giue way to the humour 
of a rich Foole, then to foUowe the direction of a poore 
wise man. 

Let vs nowe a little looke into the actions of this 


age, and speake truly wlien was Vertue and Honestie 
more despised ; when was pride, r jot, and excesse, more 
inordinate ; when was adultery and all other vnchast 
lining either more apparant, or lesse punished ; when 
were all manner of abhominations more toUerated, 
when those that should minister correction will some- 
times fauour their owne vices in others, euery man 
accounting that to bee most excellent in fashion that 
is most taken vppe and envied by those that be most 

Thou shall not follow the multitude to doe euill, the 
commandement of the lining God, Ejcod. 23 : but for 
these Adulterers, these Drunkards, these Swearers, these 
Blasphemers, they haue made a sacrifice of their owne 
soules to the deuill, and haue cast of all care both of 
honour and honestie. 

But to leaue thegenerall, and come to the perticular, 
I tell thee, thou Adulterer, I speake it to thy face, that 
besides the poxe, and many other loathsome diseases 
that are incident to whore-maisters whilst they line 
in tliis world, thy hot burning fire of lust will bring 
thee to the hot burning lire of hell. 

And I tell thee Diues, tliat pamperest thy selle in 
excesse, whilst Lazarus lyeth crying out at thy gate 
readie to famish, Lazarus shall be comforted when 
thou shalt intreat but for one drop of cold water to 
coole thy tongue. 

And thou beastly Drunkard, thou monster of nature, 
that amongst all other sinners art the most base and 
seruile, if a drunkard were as seldonie to be seene as 


the bird of Ai-abia, he would be more wondered at 
then the owle, and more loathed then the swine. 

How many Crafts men, that will laboure all the 
weeke for that which on Sun-day tliey will spend in 
an ale-house, that will there most beastly consume in 
drinke, that would relieue their poore wiues and chil- 
dren at home, that other whiles doe want wherewith 
to buy them bread. 

But if drunkennesse were not so common as it is, 
a number of tauernes and ale-house keepers might 
shutte uppe their doores ; but the custome of it doth 
make it so conuersant, that it taketh away the sence 
of sinne. 

The generallitie of it T shall not neede to expresse, 
when there is no feasting, no banqueting, nor almost 
anie merrie meeting, but drunkennesse must bee a 
principall guest, and what a glory is it after the in- 
counter of their cups, for one drunkard to see another 
carryed away vppon mens shoulders to the beds. 

The fruits of drunkennesse haue beene very well 
knowne, since Lot committed incest with his owne 
daughters, since Alexander kild his Clitus, and since 
Lucius Pius obtained that victory against his enemies, 
by making of them drunke, that hee coulde neuer 
attayne vnto so long as they were sober. 

When the fume of the drinke once beginnes to as- 
cend to the braine, the mind is oppressed with idle 
thoughts which spurreth on the tongue to contentious 
quarrelling, to slandering, backbiting, to idle and 
beastly talking, to swearing and blaspheming, and in 
the ende to stabbing and murthering. 


I neuer yet knewe a Drunkard to be fitte for any 
good or godly exercise, and Cajsar was wont to say 
that liee stoode more in doubt of Brutus and Cassius 
that were noted to bee sober, then he did of drunken 
Marcus Antonius. 

Let him be of what title he list, if he be a Drunkarde, 
doe but strippe him out of his gay cloathes, and scrape 
his name out of the Heraulds booke, and he is without 
eyther euidence or preheminence of the basest rascall 
that ever was drunke in an ale-house. 

Now I tell thee againe, thou Swearer and Blasphe- 
mer, that theheauie curse of God is still depending oner 
thy head, thou that vppon euery light occasion dost 
polute the name of God, that is to bee reuerenced and 
feared, and doest sette that tongue which by the right 
of creation shoulde bee the trumpet to sound forth his 
glory, thou doest make it the instrument to prophane 
and blaspheme his holy name. 

How many blasphemous wretches are there in these 
dales that do make oathes their pastime, and will sweare 
vpon pleasure, and he tliat hath not for euery word 
an oath, and can sweare voluntarily without any cause, 
is holden to be but of weak spirit, a signe of want of 
courage, and he that should reproue him in his blasphe- 
mies, they say liee is a puritan, a precise /bo/e, not fitte 
to hold a gentleman company. Their greatest glory 
and the way to shewe themselues generous, is to sette 
their tongues against heauen, and to abuse that name, 
at the which they should tremble and quake with feare. 

In the commandements of the first table God him- 


selfe is the obiect, tor they immediately iipi)ertaiiie vnto 
him, and thertbre he that taketh his name in vaine, (I 
thinke) displeaseth God as much, or more, as he that 
against the commaundement of the second table com- 
mitteth murther, and therfore those positiue lawes that 
doe soe seuerely punish the actuall breaches of the 
second table, without any respect to the sinnes that 
are committed against the first, were rather sette downe 
by the policies of men, then by the rule of the written 
word of God. 

He that should but touch a man in credite, (if he 
be a man of any sort or calling) that should impeach 
his reputation, or slaunder his good name, there 
wanteth no good lawes to vexe and molest him, and 
to inflict those punishments vpon him that they will 
make him to cry peccaui; but hee that should depraue 
God in his maiestie, that shall depriue him of his 
glory or blaspheme his holy name, there is no maner 
of lawe whereby to correct him, there is not so much 
as a write of Scandtlum Magnatum to be granted 
against him. 

A common sivearer hath no excuse to pleade in his 
owne defence, but doth shew himselfe to be a bond- 
slaue to the deuill, and a fire brand of hell. 

God himselfe hath pronounced against him ; The 
I^ord will not holde him guiltlesse that taketh his name 
in vaine; and the vision of the flying booke scene by 
Zacharias, that was twelue cubits in length and tenne 
in breadth, doth witnesse that the curses are many 
that are written, and doe hang in record against 


I thinke bribery is no siuiie at all ; or if it be, it is 
but veniall, a Light offence, a matter of no reckoning 
to account on. 

It is like the disease Morbus Gallicus, which in 
poore men we vse plaine dealing and call it the poxe, but 
in great personages, a little to gilde ouer the loathsom- 
nesse, wee must call it the goivt or the Sciatica, so that 
which amongst inferiors we call a bribe, in superiors 
it is called a gift, a present, a gratijication. 

If a lawyer for a fee of tenne shillinges doe some- 
tjmes take tenne poundes, it is a curtesie, a beneuo- 
lence; but these curtesies and kindnesses are bestowed 
with as much good will as the true man when he giuetli 
his purse to the theeje. 

Yet he that hath iudgement to giue a bribe with 
discretion, may worke wonders ; he may run through- 
stitch with any businesse. 

Jacob by sending of presents may appease the anger 
of Esau. 

Claudius by gluing of bribes may escape correction, 

though he commit sacriledge in the Temple of Minerua. 

Thou shalt take no giJts,Jor the gift bindeth the wise, 

and peruerteth the ivords of the righteous. JSxod, 23. 

But to make an end of this text, I will but adde 
thus much, that the giuing and taking of bribes, and the 
buying and selling of offices, are two such plague sores 
to a common wealtli where they be suffered, that they 
are no lesse hurtful! to the prince, then prciudiciall to 
the poore subiect. 

Should I speake nowc of Couetousnesse, of Vsury, 
and of Pride. 


Couetousnesse is a sin tliat euermore hath beene 
hated, and Ysury is a sinne that the workl hath still 

But the pride of these times, (if it were well con- 
sidered) is much more odious in the sight of God, and 
many wayes more pernicious to the common wealth 
then both those other of Couetousnesse and Vsury, that 
are (and haue euer bin) accounted so loathsome. 

Couetousnesse (I confesse) is the Curre that thinketh 
nothing to be vnlawfull that bringeth in gainc, it is 
the canker that eatetli and deuoureth the gettings of 
the poore. 

It is the Viper that spareth neyther friend nor foe, 
vertuous nor vicious, but where there is golde to be 
gotten, it teareth the very intrailes of whom soeuer. 

He yeeldeth yet a reason for his scraping and pleades 
the feare of want, alledging that his greedie heaping 
and gathering together, to be but a Christian-like care, 
that euerie man should haue to prouide for his family. 

Simonides being demanded why he beganne to growe 
so miserable in his latter yeares, to fall a hurding vp 
of riches when he was readie for the graue, to acquit 
himself of a couetous disposition, answered because 
(sayd hee) I had rather haue goods to leaue to mine 
enemies when I am dead, then to stande in ueede of 
my friends whilst I am aliue. 

Thus wee may see there is not a vice so odible, but 
they haue skill to maske it with the visard of vertue. 

And the Vsurer, on the other side, he pleades not 
guiltie ; nay he will hardly be perswaded that vsury is 


any sinne at all, or if it be a sinne, it is such a sin, as 
it lies in its owne will and disposition, what manner 
of sin hee himselfe will make of it, whether a little 
sinne or a great sin, or a sinne of any assize, that he 
himselfe doth list to forme or fashion it. 

Nowe the Vsurer doth acknowledge that the scrip- 
tures doe prohibite the taking of vsury, and (sayth 
hee) so God himselfe hath commanded ; Thou shall 
not steale. 

Now for a rich man to be a theefe, euery man can 
say hee deserues to be hanged ; but for a poore man 
that is ready to famish, and in his necessitie hee stealeth 
a loafe of bread to saue his life, here is now a theft 
committed, and a direct breach of Gods commandement 
yet to be comiserated. 

From hence they would inferre a tolleration in some 
persons, namely to men that be aged, to widdowes, and 
to orphanes, and there be some that publiquely in 
writing haue maintained a tolleration to be had in 
these, and do thinke it a matter drawing nearer charitie 
for these to make profite of their money, rather then 
to waste or spend awaie the stocke. 

Here is yet a second collection that is gathered by 
the Vsurer ; yet, (sayth he,) if a man be driuen 
into that necessitie that he is inforced to steale, 
(though it be but a loafe of bread for his i-eliefe), 
yet the theft is to be accounted so much the more, 
or so much the lesse, in respect of the person from 
whom it is committed ; for in suchc a case, to steale 
from him tliat is ricli, tlie robbery is notlung so 


intollerable in the eies of the world as for him that is 
poore to steale from another no lesse poore then him- 
selfe ; therefore, (sayth the Vsurer), we may take vse 
of hiiu that is rich, so we hauc a conscience to him 
that is poore ; and to fortifie his conceit he alledgeth 
certaine places of Scripture, If thou lend money to 
my people, that is to the poore. Thou shalt take no 
Vsury, Exod. 22. 

Here is nowe no prohibition, but that we may take 
vse of those that be rich, it is but the poore that are 
only excepted. 

And wee are yet agayne forbidden that we shoulde 
take no Ysury, but it is of thy brother that isfalne in 
decay. Leui. 25. 

When the Deuill came to tempt our Sauiour Christ, 
hee beganne with Scriptum est, and the Vsurer, to 
salue vp that sinne that all ages hath detested, all 
places haue denounced, and all good men haue euer 
abhorred, haue learnd of the Deuill to alledge the holy 

But Ysury is forbidden by God's owne mouth, and 
therefore sinne ; neyther is that reliefe to be found in 
it that many do expect, for wher it maketh show to 
giue, there it taketh, and where it pretendeth to succour, 
there, againe, it doth oppresse. 

And, therefore, hee that seeketh to assist himselfe 
by the helpe of the Vsurer, is like the poore Sheepe 
that seeketh in a storm to shrowde himselfe vnder a 
Bramble where hee is sure to leave sonie of his Wool 
behind him. 


There hath beene question made of Vsury, what it 
is : for some woulde haue it to consist onely in the 
letting out of money, according to the letter as it is 
written, Thou shall not giue to Vsury to thy Brother. 
Deut. 23. 

Other some doe thinke him to be as great an Ysurer 
that taketh excessiue gaines in any thing, as the other 
that taketh vse for his money. 

He would vphold his reason thus : if a poore man 
that is driuen into distresse should come to borrowe 
the summe of twentie shillings of a monyed man vppon 
a garment, (or some other pawne), that not long before 
had cost him fortie, promising within one moneth or 
two not onely to redeerae his pawne, but also to giue 
him reasonable vse for the loane of his money. 

He is answered, that to lend money vpon Vsury is 
against the rule of Gods word, and, therefore, (to 
auoyde that sinne), if he will sell his garment out right 
hee will buy it, (if twentie shillings be his price), but 
other money he will not lend, nor a greater summe he 
will not giue. 

The poore man, inforced by necessitie, is dryuen to 
take that twentie shillings, and to forgoe his garment, 
which he had beene better to haue pawned to an Vsu- 
rer, though hee had payd him after sixe-pence or eyght- 
pence, yea, or after twclue-i)ence a monetli, if it hadde 
beene for a whole yeare together. 

There bee some that will in no wise acknowledge 
this to be Vsury ; but let them distinguish howe they 
list, if I should giue my censure, I would say it were 
flat Knanery. 


Euciy man can call him an Vsurer that setteth out 
his money ; but hee that taketh aduantage of his poore 
neighbours necessitie, as when he knoweth. him to be 
enforced to sell for neede, lie will then haue it at his 
owne price, or hee will not buy, and when he is con- 
strayned agayne, (by occasion), to buy, he wiU make 
him then to pay deare for his necessitie ; yet howsoeuer 
he oppresse him, eyther in bu}dng or selling, (they 
say), it is no Vsury, it is but honest trade and trafRque. 

He that selleth vpon trust, if it bee but for one 
moneth or sixe weekes, and maketh the buyer to pay 
fiftie shillings, for that which in readie money he might 
haue bought for fortie, is he not an Vsurer ? 

These Shop-keepers that can blind mens eyes with 
dym and obscure lights, and deceiue their eares with 
false and flattering words, be they not Vsurers ? 

These Tradesmen that can buy by one weight and 
sell by another, be they not Vsurers ? 

These Marchants that doe robbe the Realme by 
carrying away of Corne, Lead, Tinne, Hydes, Leathei', 
and such other like, to the impouerishing of the com- 
mon wealth, bee they not Vsurers ? 

These Farmers that doe hurde vppe their Corne, 
Butter, and Cheese, but of purpose to make a dearth, 
or that if they thinke it to rayne but one houre to 
much, or that a drought doe last but two dayes longer 
then they thinke good, will therfore the next market 
day hoyse vp the prises of all manner of victuaU, be 
not these Vsurers ? 

The Land-Lordes that doe sitte out their liuings at 


those high rates that their Tenants that were wont to 
keepe good Hospitalitie, are not nowe able to giue a 
peece of Bread to tlie Poore, be they not Vsurers ? 

K these, and such other like Capitall Crimes be not 
reputed to be Vsury, let them guilde them ouer with 
what other titles they list, I think to be as ill, (or worse), 
then Vsury. 

If the Bookes of 3Ioses be aduisedly considered of, 
there be as dangerous menaces against great Piirchacers 
as there be against Vsurers, and God himselfe hath 
sayd. Thou shall not couet thy Neighbour's House, and 
our Sauiour Christ hath pronounced a loo vnto him 
that ioyneth house to house, or land to land. 

I would not haue men, therefore, to flatter them- 
selues too much, or to thinke themselues more honest 
then, (indeede), they be, for if we relye so much vppon 
the bare letter, hee breaketh the commandements of 
God in as expresse a manner that hath money in his 
purse, and will not lend to his needle Neighbour, as he 
that lendeth money to vse ; for the same God that for- 
biddeth to take Vsury, sayth, agayne. Thou shall not 
shut vp thy co)npassion, but shall Lend. And Daiiid, 
in his 1 12 Psalme, sayth, A good man is mercifull, and 

Our blessed Sauiour agayne in the 6 of LAihe, Doe 
good and lend, looking for nothing againc. 

It followeth, tlien, wlien man is enforced by neces- 
sitie to borrowe, he that hath money and will not lend, 
is no better then an Vsurer. 

And as he is thus commanded to lend, so he is en- 


ioyned againe not to keojie his noighl)oui's pawne, If 
thon take thy neighbour's rayment to pledge, thou shalt 
restore it before the sunne goe doivne, Exod. 22. And 
for feare of forgetting, in tLe 24 of Deut. it is yet 
again Itterated in these words : If it bee a poore body, 
thoti shalt not sleepe with his pledge. 

So that wee may conclude the Vsurer that will not 
lend but for gaine, the Miser that will not lend at all, the 
Land-Lord that racketh vppe his rents, the Farmer 
that hoyseth vp the market, the March ant that robbeth 
the Realme, and all the rest what some euer that doe 
oppresse the poore, they are all in one predicament, 
and may bee all called the Deuils Jorny-men, for they 
doe the Deuils Jorny-worke. 

Here is now to be considered that these loathed sinnes 
of Couetousnes and Vsury, though they haue pleaded 
in their owne excuses, yet they haue euermore beene 
condemned, euen from the beginning, and so they are 
continued euen at this present houre. 

But this monstrous sin of pride, for the which 
Angels were throwne out of LLeauen, and by the which 
the vengeance of God hath beene so many times drawne 
vppon this Globe of Earth, it is now growne into a 
fashion, and it is become so general that it is but in 
vaine for any man to speak against it. 

It is community that taketh away the sence, and 
then example is it that bloteth out the shame ; for the 
power of example being so common as it is, is a motive 
good enough to perswade that pride is no sinne, which 
is in such generalitie amongst them that be of the best 


Pride, if in a Prince, it mines the loue of his Sub- 
iects ; if amongst Subiects, it breedeth neglect of dutie 
to the Prince ; if in any States-man, it draweth con- 
tempt both of Prince and Subiect, The pride of this 
age is growne to that height that wee canne hardly 
knowe a Prince from a pesant, by the view of his ap- 
parrell, and who is able, by the outward show, to dis- 
cerne betweene Kobilitie and Seruilitie, to knowe a 
Lord from a Lowt, a Lady from a Landresse, or to 
distinguish betweene a man of worthiness and a base 
Groome, that is not worth the clothes that belonges to 
his backe ; they doe shine in silke, in silver, in golde, 
and that from the head to the very heele. 

With titles, with worship, and with words, we may 
distinguish estates, but Ave cannot discerne them by 
their apparell. 

It is pride that hath depryued the Angels of the 
ioyes of Heaueii, it hath beene the ouerthrow of king- 
domes and common wealthes here vpon the Earth, it 
is the inhaunser of all our miseries ; nowe in this age 
it hath banished Hospitalitie and good housekeeping, 
it hath raysed the rates and prises of all things, it 
breedeth dearth and scarsitie, it inforceth theft and 
robbery, it is pride that fiUeth the prisons, and bring- 
eth numbers to the gallowes, it is only pride that im- 
l)Ouerisheth Cittic, Towne, and Country, it is it that 
maketh so many Townes-men and Trades-men to play 

It is pride that hath expelled our Yeomandry, that 
hath impouerished our Gentility, it hath replenished 


the Realmc with bai'C and needie Knights, and it 
threatneth a worse succeeding mischiefe then I dare 
set downe with my pen. 

It is pride that hath banished Hospitalitie, and where 
hospitalitie is once putte to flight there Charitie doth 
seldome shewe his face, for charitie is so combined 
with hospitality, that vvliere the one becommeth lame 
the other immediately begins to halt. 

I did neuer beleeue the Popes Transubstantiation, 
but now I see charitie is transubstantiated into braue 
apparreU, when we shall see him that in a Hat-band, a 
scarfe, a payre of Garters, and in Roses for his shoe- 
strings, will bestow more money, then would haue 
bought his great grandfather a whole suite of apparell 
to haue serued him for Sun-dayes. 

Thus we doe see it is pride that wasteth and con- 
sumeth all things; to vphold it selfe, it destroyeth both 
loue and hope ; it is pernicious in the poore, it is ma- 
ligned in the rich, neyther can a Prince himselfe that 
is proud, bee able to shroude himselfe from contempt 
of the vulgare, but he shalbe despised. 

Marry, the best sport in this sinne of pride, is this; 
we shall neuer see two proud persons, but the one will 
enuie and despise the other, for pride doth malice pride, 
and it will mocke and scorne at that pride in another, 
that it will neuer marke nor see in it selfe; it is a vice 
that is left destitute of all helpe or defence, or of 
friendes, it was expelled from Heauen, and it is the 
most consuming plague that may happen vpon the 
earth, and the best reward that belongeth to it is the 
burning fire of Hell. 


Tell me nowe, thou proud presumptuous flesh, hast 
thou not reason to turne ouer another leafe when wrath 
seemeth so to threaten, as though there were no sauing 
fayth left vpon the eai-th ? 

Nature hath sufficiently taught vs to lift vppe the 
hande before the head, because the head is more wor- 
thy then the hand, and the spirit of God that hath 
created this Nature, should it not teach vs to forsake 
our owne willes and to giue place vnto his, without 
the which our willes could not be. 

We doe neglect the Judgements of God, and not- 
withstanding the myracles he hath shewed vnto vs we 
aske with Pharao, Who is the Lord? but we doe not 
lay holde of them to our instruction, perhaps we may 
sometimes wonder at them, but neuer profit by them. 
I haue thus farre presumed to thrust my lynes into 
the wide woi'lde to abide the fury of all weathers. If 
they proue distastfull to some palates, yet I hope there 
bee other some, that will better relish them, for those 
that shall thinke them too tart, let them 
vse them in the stead of Veriuyce, 
for sweete meates are euer 
best relished with 



Now after 23 Bookes by me alreadie published, to 
make them vp iust 2 dosen, and for my last farewell to 
the Printers Presse, / haue tasked my selfe to such a 
kinde of suhieet, as is better fitting to be roughly rubbed 
with a reprehending veritie theti slightly to he blanched 
otter with any smoothing flattery. 

I know I shall offend a number, for I haue inueighed 
against sinnes and that of seuer all sorts : 'perhaps some 
will say I am too hitter, but can ive he too serious in 
exclaiming against Pride, against Aclulterie, against 
Drunkennesse, against Blasphemy, and against such 
other and so great Impietie, as I thinke since it rayned 
fire and brim-stone vppon Soclome and Gomorah, there 
was neuer the like, if it be not now time then both to 
speake and to write against those abhominations, it is 
high time the world were at an end. 

I haue not medled tvith any thing that is repugnant 
to religion ; and for matters of state, it fits me not to 
deale withalL For Satyryck inueyghing at any mans 
pryuate person, it is farre from my thought. Yet I 
am sure to loant no censuring, but I haue armed my 
selfe against all those reproehes wherwith malice it selfe 
is able to loade me, my soide and conscience bearing witnes 
that my intent hath beene no other then to drawe meyiinto 
a due consideration how much they loose of Time, in 


hunting after vanities: then lette Detraction whet his 

tongue, and spare not. If I displease any, if they he not 

such as are but weake of ludgement, 

I am then sure they bee such as 

doe knowe themselues to 

bee faidtie. 



Note 1. 
Sir Thomas Middleton was lord mayor iu 1613-14. He was 
of the Grocers^ Company, and Thomas Middleton the drama- 
tist wTote the pageant for his mayoralty. 

Note 2. 

Rich is a great repeater of himself. This seems to have 
been a favomite passage : — I find it in The Irish Hubbub, and 
elsewhere : — 

" Doth not this deserue the Hubbub, to see vgly vice doth 
beare the name of seemely vertue, and drunkennesse reputed 
good-fellowship, miirther called manhood, lecheiy named 
honest loue, impudency good audacitie, pride they call decen- 
cy, and wretched miserie they call good husbandrie, hypocrisie 
they call sinceritie, and flatterie doth beare the name of elo- 
quence, truth, and veritie, and that which in former ages was 
called flat knauerie, passeth by the name of wit and policie." — 
The Irish Hubbub. 

Peacham speaks of drinking as the plague of our English 
gently: — 

" Within these fifty or three score years, it was a rare thing 
with us in England, to see a drunken man, our nation caiTying 
the name of the most sober and temperate of any other in the 
world. But since we had to do in the quarrel of ihc Nether- 
lands, a])Out the time of Sir John Norris, his first l)eing there, 
the custom of drinking and pledging healths was brought 
over to England, wherein let the Dutch be their own judges 

72 NOTES. 

if wc e(iual them not, yea, I think rather excel them." — 
Pcacham, p. 223, (Ed. 1634). 

And thus, in the very next page, Peacham speals of the 
dnmkards of his day. Men, in Dekker's language, " drunke 
according to all the learned rules of drunkenness, as Vpsy- 
Freeze, Crambo, Parmizuut, &c. — Seven Deadhj Sins. 

" They daily invent new and damnable kinds of carrowsing, 
(as that in North Holland and Frizelaud, though among the 
baser sort), of ufsie Monikedam, which is, after you have 
drunke out the drinke to your friend or companion, you must 
breake the glass full upon his face, and if you miss, you must 
drinke again, whence proceed quarrelling, reviling, and many 
times execrable murthevs. 

" If you tell them how in former ages their forefathers drank 
water, they swear water is the frogs' drink, and ordained only 
for the driving of mills, and carrying of boats." — Peacham, 
p. 224, Ed. 1634. 

Thomas Heywood, the poet, in his Philocothonista, illus- 
trates the drinking customs of his time in a most interesting 
passage : — 

" To title a drunkard by, we (as loath to give him such a 
name so gross and harsh), strive to character him in a more 
mincing and modest phrase, as thus : — 

" He is a good fellow — or A boon Companion — A mad 
Greek — A true Trojan — A stiff Blade — One that is steel to 
the back — A low-Country Soldier— One that will take his 
rowse — One that will drink deep, though it be a mile to the 
bottom — One that knows how the cards are dealt — One that 
will be flush of all four — One that bears up stiff — One whom 
the Brewer's horse hath bit — One that knows of which side 
his bread is buttered — One that drinks upse-freeze — One that 
lays down his ears and drinks — One that drinks supernaculum 
— One that can sup off his cider. 

NOTES. 73 

" Next for variety of drinking cups we ha ve divers and sundry 
soils, some of glass, some of box, some of maple, some of 
holly, &c., mazers, broad-mouthed dishes. Noggins, Whiskins, 
Piggins, Crinzes, Ale-bowles, Court-dishes, Tankards, Kannes, 
&c., from a pottle to a pint, from a pint to a gill ; other bottles 
we have of leather, but they most used amongst the shepherds 
and harvest people of the countiy ; small jacks we have in 
many Ale-houses of the City and suburbs, tipt with silver, 
besides the great black-jacks, and bombards at the Court, 
which when the Frenchmen first saw, they reported, at their 
return into their country, that the Englishmen used to diink 
out of their boots ; wee have, besides, cups made of horns of 
beasts, of Cocker-nutts, of goords, of the eggs of Estriches, 
others made of the shells of divers fishes brought from the 
Indies and other places, and shining like mother of Pearle. 
Infinite there are of all measures and fashions." — HeywocuVs 
Philocothonista, 1635, p. 45. 

For further infomiation on this subject see an extract from 
Rich's Irish Hubbub in the preface to this reprint. 

Pickadill, a peece fastened about the top of the coUer of a 
doublet. — MinsheUy ed. 1627. 

Note 3. 

" A Pickadil is that round hem, or the several divisions set 
together about the skirt of a gamient or other thing ; also a 
kinde of stiffe collar, made in fashion of a band. Hence, 
perhaps, the famous ordinary near St. Jameses, called Picka- 
dilbf, took denomination, because it was then the outmost, or 
skirt house of the Suburbs, that way. Others say it took name 
from this ; that one Iliggins, a Tailor, who built it, got most 
of his estate by PicJiudillcs, which in the last age were much 
worn in England." — BluunCs Glossiii/raphia, ed. MibO, first ed. 

Philips adopts this interpretation in his " World of Words •" 

74 NOTES. 

" Pickadil, the Hem about the skirt of a Gannent; the ex- 
tremity or utmost cud of auything. Whence a great Gamiug 
House built by one Higgins, a Taylor, famous for making 
such old-fasliion'cl skirts, was called Pickadilly, and a street 
in the suburbs of London is still knowii by that name." — The 
Modcrne World of Words, or A Universall Enylhh Diction- 
ary, collected from the best Authors, by E. P. fol. 1696. 

Ben Jonson speaks of a picardill as a new cut of band, 
much in fashion among men of quality, — men squeamish, sick — 

" Beady to cast at one %vhose band sits ill, 
And then leap mad on a neat picardill." 

Works by Gifford, viii. 370. 

Middleton, in 1620, {The World tost at Tennis), speaks of a 
pickadill in connexion with the shears, the needle, and the hell 
of a tailor, and the pickadill of the poet is explained by Mr. 
Dyce as " a collar stiffened with plaits." Surely the pickadill 
of Middleton was some implement used by the tailor in the 
manufactiure of this stiffened collar. 

There is one other use of the word which requires quotation. 
In Ben Jonson's Devil is an Ass, Pug affectedly says to Mrs. 

" Although, 
I am not in due sjinmetry, the man 

Of that proportion 

Or of that truth of Picardil in clotlies, 
To boast a sovereignty o'er ladies ; yet 
I know to do my turns, sweet mistress." 

Mr. Gifford has a note on this ; — " Picaldil is simply a dimi- 
nutive of picca, {Span, and Ital.), a spear head, and was given 
to this article of foppery from a fancied resemblance of its 
stiffened plaits to the bristled points of those weapons. Blount 
thinks, and apparently with justice, that Piccadilly took its 
name from the sale of the ' small stiff collars so called,' 

NOTES. 75 

which was first set on foot in a house near the western [east- 
ern] extremit}' of the present street, by one Higgins, a Tailor." 

Beaumont and Fletcher speak of a French pickadel. (The 
Pilgrim, Act ii. Scene 2.) 

The first direct mention made of Piccadilly, is made by the 
great Lord Clarendon in his History, under the year 1641, 
where he speaks of " going to a place called Piccadilly, which 
was a fair house for entertainment and gaming, with hand- 
some gravel walks with shade, and where were an upper and 
lower bowling green, whither very many of the nobility and 
gentry of the best quality resorted, both for exercise and con- 

This is thought by Pennant to have been the building 
referred to six years earlier by GaiTard, the gossiping corres- 
pondent of the great Lord Strafford : " since Spring Gardens 
was put down," wintes Ganard, " we have by a servant of the 
Lord Chamberlain's, a new Spring Gardens erected in the 
fields beyond the Mouse, [i.e. the Mews at Charing Cross,] 
where is built a fair house and two bowling gi'eens, made to 
entertain gamesters and bowlers, at an excessive rate ; for I 
believe it hath cost him above four thousand pounds ; a dear 
undertaking for a gentleman-barber. My Lord Chamberlain 
much frequents this place, where they bowl great matches."! 
The lord chamberlain referred to was Philip Herbert, Earl of 
Pembroke and Montgomeiy ; but Garrard's Gaming House was 
a distinct building from Clarendon's ' fair house' called Picca- 

* Clar. HLst. vol. i. p. 422, ed. 1826. 
+ Strafford Letters, vol. i. p. 435. Garrard's Letter is dated .rune 24 
1635. See aUo p. 377 of the same volume. "There was a diflerence 
like to fly betwixt my Lord Chamberlain and my Lord of Leicester 
about a bowling green that my Lord Chamberlain has given his burlier 
leave to set tip, in lieu of that in the common garden [Spring Gardens] 
in the field under my Lord of Leicester's House ; but the matter after 
some ado is made up." — Uou-ell to Lord Strafford, March 5, 1634. 

76 NOTES. 

dilly. Peiiuant tells us, moreover, that the name of this new 
gaming house was Piccadilla-haU, and that it stood where 
Sackville Street stands. He is incorrect in the name and in 
the site, for " Vertue saw, in Mr. Bagford's Collection," writes 
Walpole, " a view of London, published by Norden in 1603, 
and another plan by T. Porter (Vertue gives no date), in 
which he obsened these particulars : — At the upper end of the 
Haymarket was a square building called Pecadilhj Hall ; at 
the end of Coventry Street, a Gaming house, afterwards the 
mansion and garden of the lord keeper Coventry ; and where 
Gerard Street is was an Artilleiy giound or garden, made by 
Prince Henry." Lord Coventry's mansion I conceive to have 
been the gaming house of Garrard. There is a copy of 
Porter's map in the library of the society of Antiquaries. The 
gaming house is in the North East corner of the Haymarket, 
and Pecadilly Hall over against it. The map is without date, 
but evidently prior to the Eestoration. 

Aubrey, in his anecdotes of Suckling, says: '■'■Mem. his 
sisters coming to the Peccadillo-bowling-green, crying for the 
feare he should lose all [their] portions." {Letters from the 
Bodleian, ii. 545). Suckling died in 1641. 

The first Piccadilly was a very short line of road, nmning 
no further West than the foot of Sackville Street, the remaining 
portion of what is now called Piccadilly was known then as 
Portugal Street (in compliment to Catherine of Braganza), 
and all beyond was the great Bath Road, or as Agas calls it 
the road to Reading. {See Strype's map in his Ed. of Stow, 
2 vols.fol. 1720). The street now called Pall Mall, was first 
known as Catherine Street. 

I found the other day, in the bmial register of St. Martin- 
in-the-Fields the following entry : — 

" 26 Aug. 1636. Mulier ignota e Piccadilly septa fuit," 
and in the Sexton's Book under the 8 June, 1685, " Ann Hill 
in Piccadilly next the White Bear." 

NOTES. 77 

Note 4. 

" It bath been accounted the sum that may be consumed in 
Enghind iu one yeere in Tobacco, is fiue hundieth and 
nineteene thousand three hundred and seventie fiue pounds, all 
spent to smoake, beside spriuate spendings, besides gentlemens 
chambers, and tauernes, innes and alehouses." — Rich (The 
Irish Hubbub). 

" I remember a pretty iest of Tobacco, that was this. A 
certain Welchman commiug newly to London, and beholding 
one to take tobacco, neuer seeing the like before, and not 
knowing the manner of it, but perceiuing him vent smoake so 
fast, and supposing his inward parts to be on fire ; cried out 
O Jhesu, Jhesu man, for the passion of Cod hold, for by Cods 
splud ty snowts on fire, and hauing a bowle of beere in his 
hand, threw it at the others face to quench his smoking nose." — 
Rich (The Irish Hubbub). 

This is the story commonly told of Sir Walter Raleigh. 
See it also told of Tarlton in his Jests (ed. Halliwell, p. 26). 

Note 5. 
Here is, as I conceive, a distinct allusion to Robert Greene, 
Utriusque Academice in Artihus il/a^is<er as on some of his title- 
pages he ostentatiously tei-ms himself. Greene died in great 
distress, at the house of a poor shoemaker in Dowgate. Mr. 
Dyee and Mr. Collier have both of them overlooked this 
distinct allusion to Greene. 

Note 6. 
"Yellow-bands arc become so common, to every young 
giddy-headed gallant, and light hecld niistresse, that mc thinks 
a man should not hardly be hanged without a yellow band, a 
fashion so much in vse with the vaine fantasticke fooles of this 
age, for I neuer see or heard a wise man that did vse this base 
and lewd fashion. — Rich (The Irish Hubbub). 

78 NOTES. 

" It is not yet so long since the new-found-out foolery of 
yellow starclit bands were taken vp, but that it is within the 
conipasse of oiur own memories. 

" Yet the open exclamation that was made by Tnrner's wife, 
at the home of her death, in the place where she was executed, 
cannot be hidden, when before the whole multitude that were 
then present, shee so bitterly protested against the vanitie of 
those yellow-starcht bands, that her out-cry es (as it was thought) 
had taken such impression in the hearts of her hearers, that 
yellow-starcht bands would haue bin ashamed for euer after to 
haue shewed themselves about the necks, either of men that 
were wise, or of women that were honest ; but we see our expecta- 
tion hath failed vs, for they began euen then to be more generaL 
then they were before." — Rich (The Irish Hubbub). 

Note 7. 
The Royal Exchange contained stalls for milliners and toy 
women, but Rich alludes to the New Exchange in the Strand. 


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