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Volume I V. 




Contents of the JFouttb Oolume. 


[ ? THO^rAS OccLEVE, Clerk in the Office of the Privy -Seal.] T/ie 

Letter of Cupid. (1402.) 54 

Edward Underhili., Esq., of the Band of Gentlemen Pen- 
sioners, surnamed, "The hot Gospeller." Exaiiii'itation and 
Imprisonment in Aus^nst 1553/ •with anecdotes of the Time 

(?'562.) : 72 

\}^3v.v.^\^Y.VYi■B.v.■D,'bA.\i?[JoHN Botf AND MAST Parson. (?is5i.) ioi 

Robert Tomson, of Andover, Merchant. Voyage to the West 

Indies and Mexico, I'ild-iy^^, \.D 11 

John Fox, the Martyrologist. The Imprisonment of the Princess 

Elizabeth. (1563.) 112 

Rev. Thomas Brice. A compendious Register in metre, containing 
the names and patient siifferins^s of tlie members of fesus Christ, 
and the tormented, and cruelly burned within England ; '^ince 
the death of our famous King, of immortal memory, Edjvard 
the Sixth, to the entrance and beginning of the reign of our 
Sovereign and dearest Lady Et.iZAri; ni, of England, France, 
and Ireland, Queen; Defender of the Faith j to whose High- 
ness truly and properly apperlaineth, next and immediately 
under GOD, the supreme power and authority of the Churches 
of England and Ireland, (1559.) 143 

George Ferrers, the Poet. The winning of Calais by the 
French, January 1558 A.D. General Narrative of the Re- 
capture. (.'156S.) 173 

The Passage of our dread Sovereis^n Lady, Queen Elizabeth, 
through the City of London to Westminster, the day before her 
Coronation. (155S.) 217 

Lord Wentworth, the Lord Deputy of Calais, and the Council 

there. Letter to Queen Makv, 2yd May, i^t)-] 1S6 

Lords Wentworth and Grev, and the Council at Cal.iis. Report 

to Queen Mary, T]th December, xy^t 187 

Lord Wentworth, at Calais. Letter to Queen Mary, i January, 
1558,9 A"' 190 

Letter to Queen Mary, 2 Januaiy, 

155S, 10 p.m 192 

JnuN HlOHFlELD, Master of the Ordnance at Cable. To the 

Queen, our so7>creig?i Lady. (? 155S.) ig6 

6 Contents oi' tiik Fouutii Voi.umi;. 

Rev. Wir.i.iAM Harrison, B.l)., Canon of Windsor, and Rector 
of RacUvinter. lil.iAAnETll a7ms England, which Mary had 
left defenceless. (.'1588^) ' 2.',S 

Ai.ctUA : PiiiLOPARriir.s's I^viiii; Folly. (1595.) 253 

Lyrics, Elegies, S-'C. The First Book of Soiv^^s or Airs. 

By John DowLAND, Bachelor of Music. (1597.) 28 

The Second Hook of Sons^s or Airs. 

By John DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music. (1600.) '. 519 

The Third and Last Book of Soni^s 

or Airs. By John Dowland, Bachelor of Music. (l6oj.)... 609 

A Pilf,rini's Solace. By JOHN DOW- 
LAND, Bachelor of Music. (1612.) 644 

Sir T//O.VAS OvERBURV his Observations in his Travels, upon the 
State of the Seventeen Pro7'inces, as they stood Anno Domini 
\(xiii : the Treaty of Peace beini; then on foot. (1626.) 297 

ToiJlAS Gentleman, Fisherman and Mariner. England's Way 

to Win Wealth, and to employ Ships and Mariners. (1614.)... 32 j 

Ben Johnson. Answer to Master Wither's Sons;, Shall I, 

wasting in despair. (1617.) 577 

King Jame.s. The Kintfs Majesty's Declaration to his Subjects, 

concerning lawful Sports to be used. (1618.) 511 

The Famous and Wonderful Recovery of a Ship of Bristol, called 
the Exchange,/r(?;« the Turkish Pirates of Argier. With the 
tinmatchable attempts and good success oj Jot/.w RAir/./.vs, 
Pilot in her, and other slaves: who, in the end (with the 
slaughter of about forty of the Turks and Moors), brought the 
ship in/0 Plymouth, the ij//; of February [1622] last, with the 
Captain a Renegado, and five Turks more; besides the re- 
demption of txventy-four men and one boy from Turkish 
slavery. (1622.) 5S1 

Geo. Wither. Fair Virtue, the Mistress of P/iil'arete. (1622.) 353 

A Miscellany of Epigrams, Sonnets, Epitaphs, and 

such other Verses as were found written with the Poem df ore- 
going. (1622.) 495 

John Rushworth, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn. The Sequestration of 

Archbishop ABBOT from all his Ecclesiastical Offices, in 1627. 535 
R[ichard] Y[?0UNG]. The state of a Christian lively set forth, 

by an allegory of a Ship under Sail. (1636.) 49 

Auraham Cowley. The Chronicle. A Ballad. (1669.) 319 

.,•/ true and just Relation of Major-General Sir Tito.MAS MoRGAX's 
Progress in France and Flanders with the Six Thousand 
English, in the years 1657 and 1658, at the taking of Dunkirk, 
and other important places. (1699.) 623 


Adieu 478 

Atiieu, fond Love ! 291 

Adiiiire not-. Shepherd... 423 

A foul vice it is 59 

After dark night, the ... 268 

After long sickness 271 

After long storms 285 

"Ah, Lady mine!" 55 

''Ah,mer 476 

A lad, whose faith 399 

Alas, poor fools ! loi 

Albeit that men find 59 

Ai-CIlia's eyes have set 267 

All the day, the sun 45 

All tlieir riches 492 

All the night, my sleeps 45 

All ye, whom love 42 

A lover 0/ the 456 

Although through 57 

And all the little lime ... 322 

And for that every 56 

And, furthermore, have 57 

And GOD, to whom ... 63 

And if thine Ears 525 

And if those, -who 491 

And Love itself is 621 

Attd, flow, no more 426 

And of mercy, hath 6g 

And O grant, thou 359 

Ami this shaii'be't'he "... ^86 

And though I nei^er 3S6 

And thuugh the work ... 260 

And touching this 67 

And trustelh well 63 

And when he saddest ... 46 

And when this man 56 

And where men say 68 

And yet although 426 

And yet, I do not fear... 424 

And you, my Thoughts 35 

An old proverb there ... 60 

Another Mary then 320 

Another wretch, unto ... 57 

•' Are we the two that... 433 

Are you false gods ! 616 

Are you fled, Fair ! 616 

As Heat to Life 648 

A Shepherd in a shade... 530 

As Hupe halh here 169 

As Love had drawn 266 

**.-i thniisnnd lives I ... 401 

Awake, sweet love ! 46 

Away with these 47 

A wicked tree 60 

Rase servile thoughts ... 292 

Kehold a wonder 612 

Be not proud, because ... 487 

IJetter a thousand times 37 

Blush not, my Love ! ... 266 

Both knit in one 654 

Bound to none 484 

Boy! ha done! 406 

Burst fot ih my tears I ... 38 

"But CO J. d thy fiery 613 

But fie ! myJooliUi 426 

But her in heart 62 

But in her eyes 385 

But in her place 321 

But I will briefer 322 

Butkissingand 431 

But let nor Nymph 405 

But lest this conaiiest ... 41^ 

/'...' 508 

^''■■■- ' 505 

]'■''''■ 70 

li;:;:::;:;,:'„v;,:.:::::; JJ 

Butvhy 4;6 

But yet, at last, J 456 

But yet it is a sport 622 

By greatest titles 484 

]iy process moveth 55 

By these intper/ectious 506 

By this, thy tunes 520 

'By thy Beauty 359 

Can he prize the 428 

Can Love be rich 36 

Care that consumes 43 

'Cause her fortunes seem 579 

'Cause her/ortunes 579 

Cause her fortune 454 

Ce.ise, cease, cease 656 

Clear or cloudy 5^3 

Clerkis feign also there 65 


Cold as ice frozen 617 

Cold, hold ! the sun 619 

Come again ! Sweet 44 

Come again ! that I 44 

Come away ! come 40 

"Come, gentle Death 1 265 

Come, heavy Sleep!.,.... 47 

Come, my Muse ! 381 

Come, Shadow of my ... 47 

Come, when I call 622 

Come, ye heavy States 528 

Come, You Virgins of ... 528 

CuPiDO (unto whose 54 

Daphne was not so 613 

Dear ! if I do 38 

Dear, if you change ! ... 38 

Dear ! let me die 648 

Dear ! when I from thee 37 

Declare the griefs 273 

Die not before thy day [ 523 

Disdain me still 648 

Do as thou ivonldst joo 

Down her cheeks^ the ... 509 

Down vain lights ! 523 

Each hour, amidst 44 

Each natural thing 295 

Ear, ,c.,r heard 0/ 405 

Earth With her flowers... 38 

Eliza, til! this hour 319 

Enough of this ! 275 

Ere 1 had twice 4 So 

" Every woman " 58 

Experience which 536 

Failed of that hap 289 

Fain would I speak 269 

F^ir IS inyLove! !!!!!!!!! 265 

Fair! Since thy 453 

Fair tree, but fruitless ! 273 

Fair with garlands 618 

False World ! farewell ! 653 

Farewell, too dear ! 611 

Farewell, Unkind ! 6ig 

Fast fixed in my heart... 262 

Fear to offend forbids ... 271 

Fie on this feigning ! ... 620 

Fine knacks for ladies I 526 

Flow, my tears ! 523 

¥\7!myv°c^ir::::::::. tx 

'' For i/lh, heart 432 

8 F I i; S T L I N K S O I* P O E M S A N n S T A N Z A S. 

For if tkflu sfutit tu>i ... 493 

J-'or Hkt tw(* Sims 455 

For^ /r», a t/rrnifi I had 402 

Fot Lave fuith kiniHed 404 

For my heart, M-'//i'A ... 53^ 

Far nfxt, shnli thy 507 

Foron $Hy chin 481 

•' For thoHid tve do 433 

For when I ivnkiug. 403 

From Fame's desire 5=5 

From silent night 653 

Fulfilled be it 1 71 

Full hard it is 55 

Gemie Hhnkibtte 321 

Gentle Lf>VE draw 45 

CentU Swain I 490 

reiscivhere .. 
r heard that.. 

Love Is sorrow mixt 284 

Ix>ve is the sickness 284 

LovR, then I must 650 

Lovers* Conceits 291 

Luvers, lament [ 273 

Love stood amazed 616 

Love I those beams 650 

Lnie I Arise and 520 

Malice of women! 66 

^L'l^y one eke would ... 58 

Maktha soon did it ... 319 

Maky then, and 320 

Means 0/ lusrbour. 381 

Meanwhile, vouchsafe... 260 

Melnie! and none 613 

M.H. alas, arc- too 381 

Mm, 1.,',n,Tij, .:\.:- 64 

\1.-. -.■. .:- ..■,, 66 

Ml ■■■ ■^ M, .- .-.. 534 

iiapt^y are these 
Hark, you shadow 

My Heart ami Tonsi 
My luart is /nil ni^/i . 

Mylie^e^'^ocURram '. 



lin is Vouth 295 

rsayl 5:^3 

I Italian lover ... 361 

X sick, and yet ... 264 

iw inclined 534 

---•— 478 

11 all lor aid .,. 259 

1 : ! ! ythis a6o 

Kiu'iv I my Love 481 

Lea7'c nu I then 429 

Lend your ears to my ... 617 

i\c nu Wight d.sceivelh 67 

Never hour of pleasing... 41 

New found, and only ... 654 

No charge is what 62 

None comes hit/ier 490 

No ! No ! Where 36 

No paiu so great 271 

No sooner had the 474 

O crjstal tear; 
O do fu>t smiie 
O'ertried by a 

O fairer than <. 


First Lines of Poems and Stanzas. 9 


O fairest mind 652 

Oft have I dreamed 615 

Oft have the Nympits ... 404 

Of thy worth, this 358 

Of Troy also 65 

Of twelve Apostles 60 

**0 Heavens l" gnoth... 400 

O, how honoured are ... 436 


^■O.iJthcKoMcst ... 

O judge me not 

(luce did I love 

Once, I lived ! 

One man hath but one 
One month, three da; 
Oh cz'ery l'nsh,tlte ... 
On this Glass of thy... 

Open the sluices 

O fiity 7ue,yoit Poiuers 
O, rather let me die... 

O, sweet words 

O that Love should .,, 

O that thy sleep 

Out, alas ! my faith ... 

Ovm, in his book 

O well were it, Nature 
O what a life 

O' hath ....'.'..'.'..'.'. 
(1. i,,hy hmi I a hr.T t 



Should iny foolish 578 

Should my heart be 454 

lid then my love ... 40 

Show some relenting I ... 620 

Silly wretch ! Korsake ... 531 

"Since Reason ought... 278 

Since you desire 269 

> see my 653 

as there made 522 
'irtiies. 493 


Then mote it follow 64 

Then sit thee down ! 524 

Then Thoit, thai art ... 503 

Then thus I buzzed 620 

Then u./mt ne,o stndy... 383 



, .;. .. ,,;. ,: . ■ ■:•: ... 481 

•Jhere w.xsbut One 291 

These faults had 285 

These Ladies 63 

These, thy /lochs do 49° 

The Spring of Youth ... 292 

The sun hath twice 296 

The sweet content 268 

The tender Sprigs 274 

" The things we have ... 293 

Tell I. 

J^crnse with fiattcnce ... 

Pity is but a poor 

roorCOU.IN jrieves ... 

Poor, or Bad, or 580 

Praise blindness 

Pray we, therefore 

Princes hold conceit 

Proud she seemed 

Retire, my wandering .'.'.' 
Sad Eyes '. What da yon 384 
Sad pining Care 

Say. you purchase 

See ! these trees 

Sh.all a woman's vices ... 

.Shall aiooman's 

Shall a -.uomans 

, UMc moved imt, 


That Gait and those ... 
That GOD'S true Word 

That Forehead 

That Lust, mhichthy... 

Tliat Strength 

The acts of Ages past ... 
The ancient poets write 

The child, for ever 

The Cynic being asked 
The day I see is clear ... 
The days are now come 

Thee ! entirely 

The envious swelling ... 

Thee ! uiiknoion 

The fire of Love 

ne force oj Love 

Tlu irief whereof 

The Ladies ever 

■)he Ladies smiled oft ... 
The longest day 

Their wordis, spoken .. 

TJion^h I vainly do .. 

Though little sign 

Thonah of dainties .. 

Precious Ge, 

'I'hus sang the Nymph ! 493 

Thy Affection 49° 

Thy grief in my deep ... 36 

Thy large smooth 295 

Thy leave 477 

Thy joints are yet 504 

Thy Teeth, that stood ... 506 

Time can abate the 615 

Time's eldest son 524 

Time stands still 611 

'Tis not the vain 619 

■Tisthe Eye thai 382 

T i I r .r all ihy love... 649 

I 'r,''N!.y!' !""'::: le 

.::.... yield 614 

I . Ab. I'-l h AN 64 

iu yaiiu her outward ... 265 

lo First Lines of Poems and Stanzas, 

To sttk advCTlures . 


Tolhcc, AlciUaI 259 

To Ihj-Klf, the 5»9 

Tuss not my soul 53' 

To whom oholl I 651 

True love cannot 43 

Trust, Perfect Love ... 66 

Truth is not pL-iced 610 

'Twixt Hope and Fear... 274 

Twopntty rills do 363 

" Uncouth, unkisl S71 

Vnh.ippy Eyes ! 863 

Unquiet thoughts ! 34 

Unwise was he, that 267 

Upon the altar where ... 270 

Upon the ocean 27S 

Vowsi and oaths 529 

Walkineio a pleasant... 508 

Was I so base, that I ... 37 

Weep you no more 6ig 

Welcome, Night... 655 

Were every lliomht 651 


What although in .. 
What, ami 
" What goodly Ihii 
Wlwt kites have J 

What if I never 

Wliat is the cause 45= 

" What is the cause 266 

•' ly/tat I waking; 510 

What, John Bon ! 103 

What poor astronomers 621 

What thing is Beauty? 292 

What Hill, ^ is l„.vi,; ... jS9 

When Ai i'> ^'^i u ':;' ^il 

When ,\-,n .. , .I1..I ., ,1,5 

When .\k: I, |■^l^M ic ,.,2 

When AwcoCKK, in 155 

When blessfed Butter... 155 

When Bradbriuge 158 

When Bradford 156 

When bright 508 

When constant 160 

When Dale dece.ised ... if.7 

When Dkni.v died 156 

When D.KICK 156 

When Ui'NSTON 163 

When fair Rebecca 320 

When Fortune 612 

When George Egles... 165 

When Glover 158 

When godly Gore 159 


lyiien I have reached ... 404 

ll^heti in thraldom 488 

When I swore my 529 

When JaIOkson ih. 

When John Lowmas ... is9 

When John Newman... 157 

When John Oswold ... i6t 

When John Roughe ... 166 

When JovcETioWKS 166 

WhenKATMBKlNB 161 

When, la-stofall 169 

When Laurence 157 

When leamtd Ridley... 158 

When lowly Lister i6i 

When Margaret j6i 

When on my bed 482 

When other noble 386 

WhcT. ,.ll,. ,- -,nj ,..5 

When, , .M 

When 1 .',< 

When l;i H 11 I- is6 

When KltH.^Ki) 166 

When Richard Smith 158 

When Richard Yehan 168 

When Rogers 154 

When Rowland 154 

When Samuel 157 

When Contention... 171 

When shall Jerusalem ... 170 

When shall that Man "... 171 

When shall that painted 171 

When shall the .70 

When shall the blood ... 171 

When shall the faithful... 172 

I the : 


When shall the time 

When shall the Trump... 
When shall the walls ... 
When sh.ill this flesh ... 

When shall this life 

When shall this time ... 

When shall Thy Spouse 

When shall True 

When S,.i jii,\N 


When Stanley's wife... 
When Srn.NCER 


udden cha 

When ten, at 
When that Jo 
When the higl 
When the wes 
When Thom.1 
When Thoma 
When Thoma 
When 1'. . 1 



When William 160 

When William 156 

When William 15s 

When William Allen 157 

When William Harris 167 

When William Nicoll 167 

When worthy Wattes... 15s 

When worthy Web 159 

When your/aults 486 

When your hearts 487 

Wherefore 1 say 67 

Wliereforey Muse I 382 

Wherefore proceedeth ... 58 

Where, retchless boy ! .. 261 

Where waters smoothest 621 

Whetlier thrallU 492 

Which if Ifittd 385 

While season served to... 293 

Whilom, formally 62 

Whilst thus she if, ike. .. 4 ,4 

Whilst youth 384 

White as lilies was 528 

Whoever thinks, or 35 

Who seats his love 293 

Who spends the weary 273 

Who thinks that 35 

Who would be rapt 291 

WIty are idlebrains 491 

Why court I thy 453 

Why Jojooliih men 491 

" Why do IJouJly 400 

Why should 1 love 272 

Why should we hope ... 290 

Wilt thou be abused 37 

Wilt thou, Unkind ! 43 

;i Ith hand in ham! 430 

Within this pack 527 

With pit 

I tic. 



Vol. IV. 
Robert Tomson, of Andovcr, Merchant. 

Voyage to the West Indies and Mexico^ 
1556-155^, A.D. 

[Hakluyt. Voyages. 15S9.] 

The marvel is, that at this date, these Englishmen were allowed to go to 
New Spain at all ; it was probably one of the results of the marriage 
of Philip with Mary Tudor. Blake, Field, and Tomson were 
probably the first British islanders who reached the city of Mexico. 
This narrative also gives us an account of the first auto-da-J'i in that 


nOr.UKT ToMSON, born in the town of 
Andover, in Hampshire, began his travels 
out of England in the month of March, 
anno 1553 I ;'.t;., 1554] ; who departing Qut of 
the city of Bristol in company of other 
merchants of the said city, in a good ship 
called the bark Yomi!^, within days 
after, arrived at Lisbon, at Portugal : where 
the s:iiJ KoiiERT ToMSON remained fifteen days. At the end 
of wliich, lie shipped himself for Spain in the said ship, and 
within fourdays arrived in the bayof Cadiz in Andalusia, which 
is under the kingdom of Spain : and from thence, travelled up 
to the city of Seville by land, which is twenty leagues; and 
there, he repaired to the house of one John Field, an 
English merchant who had dwelt in the said city of Seville 
eighteen or twenty years married, with wife and children. 
In whose house, the said Tomson remained by the space of 
one whole year or thereabout, for two causes • the one, to 
learn the Castilian tongue ; the other, to see the orders of 
the country, and the customs of the people. 

At the end of which time, having seen the fleets of ships 
come out of the [^West] Indies to that city, with such great 
quantity of gold and silver, pearls, precious stones, sugar, 
hides, ginger, and divers other rich commodities ; he did 
determine with himself to seek means and opportunity to 
pass over to see that rich country, from whence such a great 
quantity of rich commodities came. 

And it fell out, that within short time after, the said JoHM 
Field, where the said Tomson was lodged, did determine to 
pass over into the West Indies himself, with his wife, chil- 
dren, and family : and, at the request of the said Tomson, he 
purchased a license of the King, to pass into the Indies, for 
himself, wife, and children ; and among them, also, for the said 
Tomson to pass with them. So that presently they made 
preparation of victuals and other necessary- provision for the 
voyage. But the ships which were prepared to perform the 
voyage being all ready to depart, were, upon certain con- 
siderations by the King's commandment, stayed and arrested, 
till further should be known of the King's pleasure. 


Whereupon, the said John Field, with his company an:l 
Robert Tomson (being departed out of Seville, and come 
down to San Lucar de Rarrameda, iifteen leagues off) seeing 
the stay made upon the ships ot the said fleet, and not being 
assured when they would depart, determined to ship them- 
selves for the isles of the Canaries, which are 250 leagues 
from San Lucar, and there to stay till the said fleet should 
come hither ; for that is continually their port to make stay 
at, six or eight days, to take fresh water, bread, flesh, and 
other necessaries. 

So that in the month of February, in anno 1555, the said 
Robert Tomson, with the said John Fiei.d and his com- 
pany, shipped thembelves in a caravel of the city of Cadiz, 
out of the town of San Lucar; and within six days, they 
arrived at the port of the Grand Canary: where at our 
coming, the ships that rode in the said port began to cry out 
of all measure, with loud voices ; insomuch that the Castle, 
which stood fast by, began to shoot at us, and shot six or 
eight shot at us, and struck down our mainmast before we 
could hoist out our boat to go on land to know what the 
cause of the shooting was; seeing that we were Spanish 
ships, and coming into our country. 

So that being on land, and complaining of the wrong and 
damage done unto us; they answered that "they had thought 
we had been French rovers, that had come into the said port 
to do some harm to the ships that were there." For that 
eight days past, there went out of the said port a caravel 
much like unto ours, ladened with sugars and other merchan- 
dise for Spain ; and on the other side of the Point of the 
said island, met with a French Man of War : which took the 
said caravel, and unladed out of her into the said French 
ship, both men and goods. And it being demanded of the 
said Spaniards, "What other ships remained in the port 
whence they came ? " ; they answered, " There remained 
divers other ships, and one ladened with sugars as they 
were, and ready to depart for Spain." Upon the which 
news, the Frenchmen put thirty tall men of their ship, well 
appointed, into the said caravel that they had taken, and 
sent her back again to the said port from whence she had 
departed the day before. 

Somewhat late towards evening, she came into port, not 

J4 English Factors at the Canarif.s. ['*-7'™;™: 

!.lio\vinf( past three or four men • and so came to an anchor 
hard by the other ships that were in the said port. Beinj,' 
seen by the Castle and by the said sliips, they made no 
reckoning; of her, because they knew her: and thinking,' that 
she had found contrary winds at the sea, or having forgotten 
sometiiing behind them.tliey had returned back again for the 
same, they made no account of her. but let her alone riding 
quietly among the other ships in the said port. So that 
about midnight, the said caravel, with the Frenchmen in her, 
went aboard touched] the other ship that lay hard by, ladened 
with sugars; and driving the Spaniards that were in her 
under the hatches, presently let slip her cables and anchors, 
and set sail and carried her clean away: and after this sort, 
deceived them. And they thinking or fearing that we were 
the like, did shoot at us as they did. 

This being past : the next day after our arrival in the said 
port, we did unbark ourselves, and went on land up to the 
city or head town of the Grand Canaria, where we remained 
eighteen or twenty days ; and there found certain Englishmen, 
merchants, servants of Anthony Hickman and Kiuvakd 
Castklin, merchants in the city of London, that lay there 
for traffic : of whom we received great courtesy and much 
good cheer. 

After the which twenty days being past, in which we had 
seen the country, the people, and the disposition thereof; we 
departed from thence, and passed to the next isle of the 
Canaries, eighteen leagues off, called Teneriffe ; and being 
come on land, went up to the city called La Laguna : where 
we remained seven months, attending the coming of the 
whole fleet, which, in the end, came; and there having 
taken that which they had need of, we shipped ourselves in a 
ship of Cadiz, being one of the said fleet, belonging to an 
Englishman married in the city of Cadiz in Spain, whose 
name was John Sweeting. There came in the said ship as 
Captain, an Englishman also, whose name was Leonard 
Chilton, married in Cadiz, and son-in-law to the said John 
Sweeting : and another Englishman also, whose name was 
Ralph Sarre, came in the same ship, which had been a 
merchant of the city of Exeter; one of fifty years of age or 

So that we departed from the said islands in the month of 

''■?^°";5S7.] Santo Domingo in 1555. 15 

October, the foresaid year [1555], eight ships in our company', 
and so directed our course towards the Bay of New Spain 
[Gulf of Mexico] ; and, by the way, towards the island ot 
Santo Domingo, otherwise called Hispaniola: so that within 
forty-two days [i.e., in December] after we departed from the 
said islands of Canaries, we arrived with our ship at the 
port of Santo Domingo ; and went in over the bar, where our 
ship knocked her keel at her entry. There our ship rid [rode] 
before the town ; where we went on land, and refreshed 
ourselves sixteen days. 

There we found no bread made of wheat, but biscuit 
brought out of Spain, and out of the Bay of Mexico. For 
the country itself doth yield no kind of grain to make bread 
withal : but the bread they make there, is certain cakes made 
of roots called cassavia; which is something substantial, but it 
hath an unsavoury taste in the eating thereof. Flesh of beef 
and mutton, they have great store ; for there are men that 
have 10,000 head of cattle, of oxen, bulls, and kine, which 
they do keep only for the hides : for the quantity of flesh is 
so great, that they are not able to spend the hundredth part. 
Of hog's flesh is there good store, very sweet and savoury ; 
and so wholesome that they give it to sick folks to eat, 
instead of hens and capons : although they have good store of 
poultry of that sort, as also of guinea cocks and guinea hens. 

At the time of our being there, the city of Santo Domingo 
was not of above 500 households of Spaniards : but of the 
Indians dwelling in the suburbs, there were more. Th^e 
country is, most part of the year, very hot : and very full of 
a kind of flies or gnats with long bills [inosqnitof;], which do 
prick and molest the people very much in the night when 
they are asleep, in pricking their faces and hands and other 
parts of their bodies that lie uncovered, and make them to 
swell wonderfully. Also there is another kind of small worm, 
which creepeth into the soles of men's feet, and especially of 
the Black Moors [Indians] and children which use to go 
barefoot, and maketh their feet to grow as big as a man's 
head, and doth so ache that it would make one run mad. 
They have no remedy for the same, but to open the flesh, 
sometimes three or four inches, and so dig them out. 

The country yieldeth great store of sugar, hides of oxen, 
bulls and kine, ginger, cana fistula, and salsaparilla. Mines 

i6 IhuRirAN'i-: ix Tiir. Gui.r of Micxico. ["^ TTss"'. 

of silver and gold there are none ; but in some rivers, there 
is found some small quantity- of gold. The pri, cipal coin 
that they do traffic withal in that place is black money, made 
of copper and brass: and this they say they do use, not for 
that they lack money of gold and silver to trade withal out 
of the other parts of West] India, but because, if they 
should have good money, the merchants that deal with them 
in trade would carry away their gold and silver, and let the 
country commodities lie still. And thus much for Santo 
Domingo. So we were, coming from the isles of Canaries 
to Santo Domingo, and staying there, until the month of 
December: which was three months. 

About the beginning of January [1556^, we departed thence 
towards the Bay of Mexico and New Spain ; towards which 
we set our course, and so sailed twenty-four days, till we 
came within fifteen leagues of San Juan de Ulua, which was 
the port of Mexico of our right discharge. 

And being so near our said port, there rose a storm of 
northerly winds which came off from Terra Florida ; which 
caused us to cast about into the sea again, for fear lest that 
night we should be cast upon the shore before day did break, 
and so put ourselves in danger of casting away. The wind 
and sea grew so foul and strong, that, within two hours after 
the storm began, nine ships that were together, were so 
dispersed, that we could not see one another. 

One of the ships of our company, being of the burden of 
500 tons, called the " Hulk of Carion," would not cast about 
to sea, as we did ; but went that night with the land : 
thinking in the morning to purchase the port of San Juan 
de Ulua; but missing the port, went with the shore, and was 
cast away. There were drowned of that ship, seventN'-five 
persons, men, women, and children ; and sixty-four were saved 
that could swim, and had means to save themselves. Among 
those that perished in that ship, was a gentleman who had 
been Pres| idjent the year before in Santo Domingo, his wife and 
four daughters, with the rest of his servants and household. 

We, with the other seven ships, cast about into the sea, the 
storm fenjduring ten days with great might, boisterous winds, 
fogs, and rain. Our ship, being old and weak, was so tossed 
that she opened at the stern a fathom under water, and the 
best remedy we had was to stop it with beds and pilobiers 


[? pillows for litters] : ahd for fear of sinking we threw and 
lightened into the sea all the goods we had, or could come 
by ; but that Would not serve. 

Then we Cut our mainmast, and threw all our ordnance 
into the sea, saving one piece ; which, early in a morning, 
when we thought we should have sunk, we shot off: and, as 
it pleased GOD, there Was one of the ships of our company 
near unto us, which we saw not by means of the great fog; 
which hearing the sound of the piece, and understanding 
some of the company to be in great extremity, began to make 
towards us, and when they came within hearing of us, we 
desired them " for the love of GOD ! to help to save us, for 
that we were all like to perish !" They willed us " to hoist 
our foresail as much as we could, and make towards them ; 
for they would do their best to save us ; " and so we did. 

And we had no sooner hoisted our foresail, but there came 
a gale of wind ; and a piece of sea struck in the foresail, and 
carried away sail and mast all overboard : so that then we 
thought there was no hope of life. And then we began to 
embrace one another, every man his friend, every wife her 
husband, and the children their fathers and mothers ; com- 
mitting our souls to Almighty GOD, thinking never to escape 
alive. Yet it pleased GOD, in the time of most need, when 
all hope was past, to aid us with His helping hand, and 
caused the wind a little to cease ; so that within two hours 
after, the other ship was able to come aboard us, and took 
into her, with her boat, man, woman and child, naked without 
hose, or shoes upon many of our feet. 

1 do remember that the last person that came out of the 
ship into the boat was a woman Black Moore [Indian] ; who 
leaping out of the ship into the boat, with a young sucking 
child in her arms, leapt too short, and fell into the sea, and 
was a good while under the water before the boat could come 
to rescue her i and, with the spreading of her clothes rose 
above water again, and was caught by the coat and pulled 
into the boat, having still her child under her arm, both of 
them half drowned ; and yet her natural love towards her 
child would not let her let the child go. And when she came 
aboard the boat, she held her child so fast under her arm 
still, that two men were scant able to get it out. 

»So we departed out of our ship, and left it in the sea. It 

JtKli. GAR. IV. 2 

1 8 TiiKv AKUivr. AT San Juan de Uii'A. P?'"";'™ 

was worth 400,000 ducats [= about £100,000 then = abuut 
£900,000 uow], ship and goods, when we left it. 

Within three days after, we arrived at our port of San Juan 
de Ulua, in New Spain. 

I do remember that in the great and boisterous storm of 
this foul weather, in the night there came upon the top of 
our mainyard and mainmast, a certain little light, much like 
unto the light of a little candle, which the Spaniards called 
the corpos saiicto, and said " It was Saint Elmo " [sec \'ol. III. 
/>. 417;, whom they take to be the advocate of sailors. At which 
sight, the Spaniards fell down upon their knees and wor- 
shipped it: pra_\ing GOD and Saint Elmo to cease the 
torment, and save them from the peril they were in ; with 
promising him that, on their coming on land, they would repair 
unto his chapel, and there cause masses to be said, and other 
ceremonies to be done. The friars [did' cast relics into the 
sea, to cause the sea to be still, and likewise said Gospels, 
with other crossings and ceremonies upon the sea to make 
the storm to cease : which, as they said, did much good to 
weaken the fury of the storm. But I could not perceive it, 
nor gave any credit to it ; till it pleased GOD to send us the 
remedy, and delivered us from the rage of the same. His 
name be praised therefore ! 

This light continued aboard our ship about three hours, 
flying from mast to mast, and from top to top ; and sometimes 
it would be in two or three places at once. I informed myself 
of learned men afterward, what this light should be ? and they 
said that " It was but a congelation of the wind and vapours 
of the sea congealed with the extremity of the weather, and 
so flying in the wind, many times doth chance to hit the 
masts and shrouds of the ship that are at sea in foul weather." 
And, in truth, I do take it to be so : for that I have seen the 
like in other ships at sea, and in sundry ships at once. By 
this, men may see how the Papists are given to believe and 
worship such vain things and toys as God ; to whom all 
honour doth appertain : and in their need and necessities do 
let [cease] to call ujxjn the living GOD, who is the giver of 
all good things. 

The i6th of April in anno 1556, we arrived at the port of 
San Juan de Ulua in New Spain, very naked and distressed 
of apparel and all other things, by means of the loss of our 

"TTs™:] Noble generosity of a Spaniard. 19 

foresaid ship and goods ; and from thence we went to the 
new town called Vera Cruz, five leagues from the said port 
of San Juan de Ulua, marching still by the sea shore : where 
we found lying upon the sands a great quantity of mighty 
great trees, with roots and all, some of them four, five, or six 
cart load, by estimation ; which, as the people told us, were, in 
the great stormy weather which we [en]dured at sea, rooted 
out of the ground in Ta'ra Florida right against that place 
(which is 300 leagues over the sea), and brought thither. 

So that we came to the said town of Vera Cruz ; where we 
remained a month. There the said John Field chanced to 
meet an old friend of his acquaintance in Spain, called 
GoNZALO Ruiz de Cordova, a very rich man of the said 
town of Vera Cruz ; who (hearing of his coming thither, 
with his wife and family ; and of his misfortune by sea) came 
unto him, and received him and all his household into his 
house, and kept us there a whole month, making us very 
good cheer ; and giving us good entertainment, and also gave 
us, that were in all eight persons, of the said J. Field's 
house, double apparel, new out of the shop, of very good 
cloth, coats, cloaks, shirts, smocks, gowns for the women, 
hose, shoes, and all other necessary apparel ; and for our 
way up to the city of Mexico, horses, moyles [)nules], and 
men ; and money in our purses for the expenses by the way, 
which by our account might amount unto the sum of 400 
crowns [=jf 120 that = about £1,000 now]. 

After we were entered two days' journey into the country, 
I, the said Robert Tomson, fell sick of an ague : so that the 
next day I was not able to sit on my horse ; but was fain to 
be carried upon Indians' backs from thence to Mexico. 

And when we came within half a day's journey of the city 
of Mexico, the said John Field also fell sick; and within 
three days after we arrived at the said city, he died. And 
presently sickened one of his children, and two more of his 
household people ; who within eight days died. So that 
within ten days after we arrived at the city of Mexico, 
of eight persons that were of us of the said company, there 
remained but four of us alive : and I, the said Tomson, at 
the point of death, of the sickness that I got on the way, 
which continued with me for the space of six months [till 
October 1556J. At the end of which time, it pleased GOD 

20 T II K C 1 T V o I- M K X I c: o I N 1556. [■* 7'™"": 

to restore me my health again, though weak and greatly 

Mexico was a city, in my time, of not above 1,500 house- 
holds of Spaniards inhabiting there ; but of Indian people in 
the suburbs of the said city, there dwelt about 300,000 as it was 
thought, and many more. This city of Mexico is sixty-five 
leagues from the North Sea [the Gulf of Mexico] and seventy- 
five leagues from the South Sea [the Pacific Ocean] ; so that it 
standeth in the midst of the main land, betwixt the one sea 
and the other. 

It is situated in the midst of a lake of standing water, and 
surrounded round about with the same ; save, in many places, 
going out of the city, are many broad ways through the said 
lake or water. This lake and city are surrounded also with 
great mountains round about, which are in compass above 
thirty leagues; and the said city and lake of standing water 
doth stand in a great plain in the midst of it. This lake of 
standing water doth proceed from the shedding of the rain, 
that falleth upon the said mountains; and so gathers itself 
together in this place. 

All the whole proportion of this city doth stand in a very 
plain ground ; and in the midst of the said city is a square 
Place, of a good bow shot over from side to side. In the 
midst of the said Place is a high Church, very fair and well 
built all through, but at that time not half finished. 

Round about the said Place, are many fair houses built. 
On the one side are the houses where Montezuma, the 
great King of Mexico that was, dwelt ; and now there lie 
always the Viceroys that the King of Spain sendeth thither 
every three years : and in my time there was for Viceroy a 
gentleman of Castille, called Don Luis de Velasco. 

And on the other side of the said Place, over against the 
same, is the Bishop's house, very fairly built ; and many other 
houses of goodly building. And hard by the same are also 
other very fair houses, built by the Marquis DE la Valle, 
otherwise called Hernando Cortes ; who was he that first 
conquered the said city and country. After the said con- 
quest (which he made with great labour and travail of his 
person, and danger of his life), being grown great in the 
country; the King of Spain sent for him, saying that he had 

" f^^TX'.] ThEGREAT building in progress. 21 

some particular matters to impart to him : and, when he 
came home, he could not be suffered to return back again, as 
the King before had promised him. With the sorrow for 
which, he died : and this he had for the reward of his good 

The said city of Mexico hath streets made very broad and 
right [straight] that a man being in the highway at one end 
of the street, may see at the least a good mile forward : and 
in all the one part of the streets of the north part of their 
city, there runneth a pretty lake of very clear water, that 
every man may put into his house as much as he will, with- 
out the cost of anything but of the letting in. 

Also there is a great ditch of water that cometh through 
the city, even into the high Place; where come, every morn- 
ing, at break of the day, twenty or thirty canoes or troughs 
of the Indians ; which bring in them all manner of provisions 
for the city that is made and groweth in the country : which 
is a very good commodity for the inhabitants of that place. 
And as for victuals in the said city, beef, mutton, hens, capons, 
quails, guinea cocks, and such like, are all very good cheap; 
as the whole quarter of an ox, as much as a slave can carry 
away from the butcher's, for five tomynes, that is, five rials 
of plate [i.e., of silver. See Vol. III. p. 184], which is just 
2s. 6d.[ = £i 5s. od. now] ; and fat sheep at the butcher's, for 
three rials, which is is. 6d. [= 12s. 6d. now], and no more. 
Bread is as good cheap as in Spain ; and all other kinds 
of fruits, as apples, pears, pomegranates, and quinces, at a 
reasonable rate. 

The city goeth wonderfully forward in building of Friaries 
and Nunneries, and Chapels ; and is like, in time to come, to 
be the most populous city in the world, as it may be sup- 

The weather is there always very temperate. The day dif- 
fereth but one hour of length all the year long. The fields and 
woods are always green. The woods are full of popinjays, 
and many other kind of birds, that make such a harmony of 
singing and crying, that any man will rejoice to hear it. In 
the fields are such odoriferous smells of flowers and herbs, 
that it giveth great content to the senses. 

In my time, were dwelling and alive in Mexico, many 
ancient men that were of the Conquerors, at the first con- 

22 ToMSON si;kvi;s Gonzalo S i: k i;zo. ['"j'"'""'';^: 

quest with Hernando Cokths : for, then, it was about 
thirty-six years ago, that the said country was conquered. 

Being something strong, I procured to seek means to live, 
and to seek a way how to profit myself in the country seeing 
it had pleased GOD to send us thither in safety. 

Then, by the friendship of one Thomas Blake, a Scottish- 
man born, who had dwelt, and had been married in the said 
city above twenty years before I came to the said city [i.e., 
before 1536', I was preferred to the service of a gentleman, a 
Spaniard dwelling there, a man of great wealth, and of one of 
the first conquerors of the said city, whose name was Gonzalo 
Sekezo : with whom I dwelt twelve months and a half [i.e., 
up to November 1557! ; at the end of which, I was maliciously 
accused by the Holy House for matters of religion. 

And because it shall be known wherefore it was, that I 
was so punished by the clergy's hand ; I will in brief words, 
declare the same. 

It is so, that, being in Mexico, at table, among many 
principal people at dinner, they began to inquire of me, being 
an ILnglishman, " Wiiether it were true that in England, 
they had overthrown all their Churches and Houses of Re- 
ligion ; and that all the images of the saints of heaven that 
were in them, were thrown down and broken, and burned, 
and [that they] in some places stoned highways with them ; 
and [that they] denied their obedience to the Pope of Rome : 
as they had been certified out of Spain by their friends ? " 

To whom, I made answer, " That it was so. That, in 
deed, they had in England, put down all the religious houses 
of friars and monks that were in England ; and the images 
that were in their churches and other places were taken 
away, and used there no more. For that, as they say, the 
making of them, and the putting of them where they were 
adored, was clean contrary to the express commandment of 
Almighty GOD, Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven 
ima:^c &c. : and that, for that cause, they thought it not 
lawful that they should stand in the church, which is, the 
House of Adoration." 

One that was at the declaring of these words, who was my 
master, Gonzalo Serezo, answered and said, " If it were 
against the commandment of GOD, to have images in the 

'^TTs's";] Table Talk in Mexico in Nov. 1557. 23 

churches ; that then he had spent a great deal of money in 
vain ; for that, two years past [i.e., in 1555] he had made in 
the Monastery of Santo Domingo in the said city of Mexico, 
an image of Our Lady, of pure silver and gold, with pearls 
and precious stones, which cost iiim 7,000 and odd pesos " 
(and every peso is 6s. 8d. of our money) [ = about ;r2,400, or 
about -^24,000 nuw] : which indeed was true, for I have seen 
it many times myself where it stands. 

At the table was another gentleman, who, presuming to 
defend the cause more than any one that was there, said, 
" That they knew well enough, that they were made but of 
stocks and stones, and that to them was no worship given ; 
but that there was a certain veneration due unto them after 
they were set up in church : and that they were set there with 
a good intent. The one, for that they were Books for the 
Simple People, to make them understand the glory of the 
saints that were in heaven, and a shape of them ; to put us 
in remembrance to call upon them to be our intercessors unto 
GOD for us : for that we are such miserable sinners that we 
are not worthy to appear before GOD; and that using devo- 
tion to saints in heaven, they may obtain at GOD's hands, 
the sooner, the thing that we demand of Him. As, for 
example," he said, " imagine that a subject hath offended his 
King upon the earth in any kind of respect ; is it for the 
party to go boldly to the King in person, and to demand 
pardon for his offences? No," saith he, "the presumption 
were too great ; and possibly he might be repulsed, and have 
a great rebuke for his labour. Better it is for such a person 
to seek some private man near the King in his Court, and to 
make him acquainted with this matter, and let him be a 
mediator to His Majesty for him and for the matter he had to 
do with him; and so might he the better come to his purpose, 
and obtain the thing which he doth demand. Even so," 
saith he, " it is with GOD and His saints in heaven. For 
we are ^'retched sinners ; and not worthy to appear or 
present ourselves before the Majesty of GOD, to demand of 
Him the thing that we have need of: therefore thou hast 
need to be devout ! and have devotion to the mother of God, 
and the saints in heaven, to be intercessors to GOD for thee ! 
and so mayest thou the better obtain of GOD, the thing that 
thou dost demand ! " 

24 TlIK DANG K ROU S TAI.K IS S T O 1' 1' E U. ["^j^^^g": 

To this I answered, " Sir, as touching the comparison you 
madeof the intercessors to the King, how necessary they were, 
I would but ask of you this question. Set the case, that this 
King you speak of, if he be so merciful as when he knoweth 
that one or any of his subjects hath offended him ; he send 
for him to his own town, or to his own house or place, and 
say unto him, ' Come hither ! I know that thou hast offended 
many laws ! if thou dost know thereof, and dost repent thee 
of the same, with full intent to offend no more, I will forgive 
thee thy trespass, and remember it no more ! ' " Said I, " If 
this be done by the King's own person, what then hath this 
man need go and seek friendship at any of the King's private 
servants' hands ; but go to the principal ; seeing that he is 
readier to forgive thee, than thou art to demand forgiveness 
at his hands !" 

" Even so is it, with our gracious GOD, who calleth and 
crieth out unto us throughout all the world, by the mouth of 
His prophets and apostles; and, by flis own mouth, saith, 
' Come unto me all ye that labour and are over laden, and I 
will refresh you 1 ' besides a thousand other offers and 
proffers, which He doth make unto us in His Holy Scriptures. 
What then have we need of the saints' help that are in 
heaven, whereas the LORD Himself doth so freely offer 
Himself for us ? " 

At which sayings, many of the hearers were astonied, and 
said that, " By that reason, I would give to understand 
that the Invocation of Saints was to be disannulled, and by 
the laws of GOD not commanded." 

I answered, "That they were not my words, but the words 
of GOD Himself. Look into the Scriptures yourself, and you 
shall so find it ! " 

The talk was perceived to be prejudicial to the Romish 
doctrine ; and therefore it was commanded to be no more 
entreated of. And all remained unthought upon, had it not 
been for a villainous Portuguese that was in the company, 
who said, Basta scr Ingles para saber ioda csto y mas, who, the 
next day, without imparting anything to anybody, went to the 
Hishop of Mexico and his Provisor, and said, that " In a 
place where he had been the day before was an Englishman, 
who had said that there ivas no need of Saints in the Church, nur 
(if any Invocation of Saints. Upon whose denomination [i/c- 


iiouncement], I was apprehended for the same words here re- 
Iiearsed, and none other thing ; and thereupon was used as 
hereafter is written. 

So, apprehended, I was carried to prison, where I lay a 
close prisoner seven months [till July 1558], without speaking 
to any creature, but to the gaoler that kept the said prison, 
when he brought me my meat and drink. In the meantime, 
was brought into the said prison, one Augustine Boacio, an 
Italian of Genoa, also for matters of religion ; who was taken 
at Zacatecas, eighty leagues to the north-westward of the city 
of Mexico. 

At the end of the said seven months [i.e., in jfuly 1558], we 
were both carried to the high Church of Mexico, to do an 
open penance upon a high scaffold made before the high altar, 
upon a Sunday, in the presence of a very great number of 
people ; who were, at least, 5,000 or 6,000. For there were 
some that came one hundred miles off to see the said auto, 
as they call it ; for that there was never any before, that had 
done the like in the said country: nor could tell what 
Lutherans were, nor what it meant ; for they never heard of 
any such thing before. 

We were brought into the Church, every one with a san benito 
upon his back ; which is, half a yard of yellow cloth, with a 
hole to put in a man's head in the midst, and cast over a 
man's head : both flaps hang, one before, and another behind ; 
and in the midst of every flap a Saint Andrew's cross, made 
of red cloth, and sewed in upon the same. And that is called 
San Benito. 

The common people, before they saw the penitents come 
into the Church, were given to understand that we were 
heretics, infidels, and people that did despise GOD and His 
works, and that we had been more like devils than men ; and 
thought we had had the favour [appearance] of some monsters 
or heathen people : and when they saw us come into the 
Church in our players' coats, the women and children began 
to cry out and made such a noise, that it was strange to 
hear and see ; saying, that " They never saw goodlier men 
in all their lives ; and that it was not possible that there 
could be in us so much evil as was reported of us ; and 
that we were more like angels among men, than such 
persons of such evil religion as by the priests and friars, we 


were reported to be ; and that it was a Rieat pity that we 
should be so used for so small an offence." 

So that we were brought into the said high Church, and set 
upon the scaffold which was made before tlie high altar, in 
the presence ot all the people, until Hii^h Mass was done; and 
the vSermon made by a friar concerning our matter: put- 
ting us in all the disgrace they could, to cause the people not 
to take so much compassion upon us, for that "we were 
heretics, and people seduced of the Devil, and had forsaken 
the faith of the CathoHc Church of Rome " ; with divers other 
reproachful words, which were too long to recite in this place. 
Ilii^'h Mass and Sermon being done; our offences (as tivjy 
called them) were recited, each man what he had said and 
done : and presently was the sentence pronounced against us, 
that was that — 

The said Augustine Boacio was condemned to wc r 
his San Benito all the days of his life, and put into per- 
petual prison, where he should fulfil the same; and all 
his goods confiscated and lost. 

And I, the said Tomson, to wear the San Benito for 
three j'ears; and then to be set at liberty. 

And for the accomplishing of this sentence or condem- 
nation, we must be presently sent down from Mexico to 
Vera Cruz, and from thence to San Juan de Ulua, which 
was sixty-five leagues by land ; and there to be shipped 
for Spain, with straight commandment that, upon pain 
of 1,000 ducats, every one of the Masters should look 
straightly unto us, and carry us to Spain, and deliver us 
imto the Inquisitors of the Holy House of Seville ; that 
they should put us in the places, where we should fulfil 
our penances that the Archbishop of Mexico had en- 
joined unto us, by his sentence there given. 
I'\)r the performance of the which, we were sent down 
from Mexico to the seaside, with fetters upon our feet; and 
there delivered to the Masters of the ships to be carried for 
Spain, as is before said. 

And it was so, that the Italian fearing that if he presented 
himself in Spain before the Inquisitors, that they would have 
burnt him ; to prevent that danger, when we were coming 
homeward, and were arrived at the island of Terceira, one of 
the isles of Aijores, the first night that we came to an anchor 

'^"? "Tsii'?^ 'N Seville; then marries well. 27 

in the said port [i.e., of Angra], about midnight, he found 
the means to get him nailed out of the ship into the sea, and 
swam naked ashore ; and so presently got him to the further 
side of the island, where he found a little caravel ready to 
depart for Portugal. In the which he came to Lisbon ; and 
passed into France, and so into England; where he ended his 
life in the city of London. 

And I, for my part, kept still aboard the ship, and came 
into Spain ; and was delivered to the Inquisitors of the Holy 
House of Seville, where they kept me in close prison till I 
had fulfilled the three years of my penance, li.e., till about 

Which time being expired, I was freely put out of prison, 
and set at liberty. 

Being in the city of Seville, a cashier of one Hugh Typton, 
an English merchant of great doing, by the space of one year 
[i.e., till about 1562! ; it fortuned that there came out of the 
city of Mexico, a Spaniard, Juan de la Barkera, that had 
been long time in the Indies, and had got great sums of gold 
and silver. He, with one only daughter, shipped himself for 
to come to Spain ; and, by the way, chanced to die, and gave 
all that he had unto his only daughter, whose name was 
Maria de la Barrera. 

She having arrived at the city of Seville, it was my chance 
to marry with her. The marriage was worth to me £2,500 
[=£"25,000 now] in bars of gold and silver, besides jewels of 
great price. This I thought good to speak of, to show the 
goodness of GOD to all them that trust in Him ; that I, being 
brought out of the Indies in such great misery and infamy 
to the world, should be provided at GOD's hand, in one mo- 
ment, of more than in all my life before, I could attain unto 
by my own labour. 

After we departed from Mexico, our San Benitos were set 
up in the high Church of the said city, with our names written 
in the same, according to their use and custom ; which is and 
will be a monument and a remembrance of us, as long as the 
Romish Church doth reign in that country. The same have 
been seen since, by one John Chilton ; and divers others of 
our nation, which were left in that country, long since [i.e., 
in October 1568J by Sir John Hawkins. 


Lyrics^ Elegies, &'c. from Madrigals, 
Canzonets, &'c. 

Wc purpose giving in the present Volume, all the printed Songs to 
which music was set by John Dowland, the Lutenist ; of whom, 
probably, Barnfield wrote the following lines, which first appeared in 
the surreptitious Collection //le Passionate Pilgrim, in 1 599 ; but which 
are usually included in Shakespeare's Works: 

If Music and sweet Poetry agree ; 
As they must needs, the sister and the brother : 
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me ! 
Because thou lov'st the one ; and I, the other. 

Dowland to thee, is dear ; whose heavenly touch 
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense : 
Spenser, to me ; whose deep conceit is such 
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. 

Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound 
That PHfEBUS's Lute, the (jueen of Music, makes : 
And I, in deep delight, am chiefly drowned 
When as himself to singing he bet.tkes. 

One god is god of both, as Poets feign : 

One knight loves both, and both in thee remain ! 

The other poems set to music by Dowland, will be found at pp. 519- 
534, 609-622, 644-656. 

John Dowland, Bachelor of Music. 

The Fii^gT Book of 3oNqpORAiRp. 



To THE Right Honourable 


Baron of Hunsdon, Captain of Her Majesty's 

Gentlemen Pensioners, Governor of the Isle of Wight, 

Lieutenant of the County of Southampton, Lord 

Chamberlain of Her Majesty's most royal 

House; and of Her Highness's most 

honourable Privy Council. 

TTat harmony, Right Honourable! which is 
skilfully expressed by instruments : albeit, by 
reason of the variety of number and propor- 
tion of itself, it easily stirs up the minds of the 
hearers to admiration and delight; yet for 
higher authority and power, hath been ever 
worthily attributed to that kind of music which 
to the sweetness of [the] instrument applies the lively voice of man, 
expressing some worthy sentence, or excellent poem. Hence, as all 
antiquity can witness, first grew the heavenly Art of Music: for 
Linus, Orpheus, and the rest, according to the number and 
time of their Poems, first framed the numbers and times of Music. 
So that Plato defines Melody to consist of Harmony, Number, 

30 D K I) I c A T I o N TO Lord II u n s d o n . [J- ^""['"fj] 

and Words: Harmony, naked of itself; Words, tJie ornament of 
Harmony ; Number, the common friend and uniter of them both. 

This small book containing the consent of speaking harmony, 
joined with the most musical instrument, the Lute, being my first 
labour, I have presumed to dedicate to your Lordship : who, for 
your virtue and nobility, are best able io protect it ; and for your 
honourable favours towards me, best deserving my duty and se7-vice. 
Besides, your noble inclination and love to all good arts, and 
namely [particularly] the divine science of Music, doth challenge 
the Patronage of all Learning; than which no greater title can be 
added to Nobility. 

Neither in these your honours, may I let pass the dutiful re- 
membrance of your virtuous Lady, my honourable mistress, whose 
singular graces towards me have added spirit to my unfortunate 

What time and diligence I have bestowed in the Search of Music, 
what travels in foreign countries, what success and estimation, even 
among strangers, I have found, I leave to the report of others. 
Yet all this in vain, were it not that your honourable hands have 
vouchsafed to uphold my poor fortunes : which I now wholly recom- 
mend to your gracious protection, with these my first endeavours, 
humbly beseeching you to accept and cherish the same with your 
continued favours. 

Your Lordship's most humble servant, 


To the Courteous Reader. 

|0w hard an enterprise it is, in this skilful and 
curious Age, to commit our private labours to the 
public view, mine own disability and others' hard 
success do too well assure me : and were it not 
for that love [which] I bear to the true lovers of music, 
I had concealed these my first fruits; which how they will 
thrive with your taste I know not, howsoever the greater 
part of them might have been ripe enough by their age. The 
Courtly judgement, I hope will not be severe against them, 
being itself a party ; and those sweet Springs of Humanity, I 
mean our two famous Universities, will entertain them for 
his sake whom they have already graced, and, as it were, en- 
franchised in the ingenuous profession of Music: which, from 
my childhood I have ever aimed at, sundry times leaving my 
lative country, the better to attain so excellent a science. 

About sixteen years past [i.e., in 1580], I travelled the 
chiefest parts of France, a nation furnished with great variety 
of Music; but lately, being of a more confirmed judgement, I 
bent my course towards the famous provinces of Germany, 
where I found both excellent Masters, and most honourable 
patrons of music, namely, those two miracles of this Age for 
virtue and magnificence, Henry Julio, Duke of Brunswick, 
and the learned Maurice, Landgrave of Hesse ; of whose 
princely virtues and favours towards me, I can never speak 
sufficiently. Neither can I forget the kindness of Alexandko 
HoROLOGio, a right learned master of music, servant to the 

32 T O r II F. C O U K T !• O U S R I-. A D E K . ['■ °""'',';4 

niyal Trince, the Landfjrave of Hesse, and Gregorio Howet, 
Lutenist to the maRnilkent Duke of Brunswick; both [of; 
whom I name, as well for their love to me as also for their 
excellency in their faculties. 

Thus having spent some months in Germany, to my great 
admiration of that worthy country ; I passed over the Alps 
into Italy, where I found the Cities furnished with all good 
arts, but especially music. What favour and estimation I 
had in Venice, Padua, Genoa, Ferrara, Florence, and divers 
other places, I willingly suppress ; lest I should, [in] any way, 
seem partial in mine own endeavours. Yet I cannot dis- 
semble the great content I found in the proffered amity of 
the most famous LucA Marenzio, whose sundry letters I 
received from Rome ; and one of them, because it is but 
short, I have thought good to set down, not thinking it any 
disgrace to be proud of the judgement of so excellent a man. 

Multo magnifico Stgnior mio osservandissimo. 

Per una lettera del Stgnior Alberigo Malvezi ho inteso 
ijiianto cim cortcse affcto si mostri desideroso di essermi congionlo 
d'amicitia,dovc infinitamente la ringratio di qucsto siio buon'aniino, 
ojjcrcndomegli aU'incontro se in alciina cosa la posso servire, poi 
die gli mcriti dcllc siie infinite virtu, e qualita meritano clie ogni 
nno e vie I'ammirino e osservino, e per fine di qiiesto le bascio le 
viani. Di Roma, a' 13. di Luglio. 1595. 

D.V.S. Affettionatissimo scrviture, 


Not to stand too long upon my travels : I will only name 
that worthy Master, Giovanni Crociiio, Vice-master of the 
Chapel of Saint Mark's in Venice; with whom I had familiar 

And thus what experience I could gather abroad ; I am 
now ready to practice at home, if I may but find encourage- 
ment in my first assays. 

J. nowh,^.-j Jq ^jjj. Courteous Reader. 33 

There have been divers Lute Lessons of mine lately 
printed without my knowledge, false and imperfect : but I 
purpose shortly myself to set forth the choicest of all my 
Lessons in print, and also an Introduction for Fingering ; with 
other Books of Soitf^s, whereof this is the first. And as this 
finds favour with you, so shall I be affected to labour in the 
rest. Farewell ! 

John Dow land. 

Thom^ Campiani. 
Epigramma. De institute aiithoris. 

Fcimam, posteritas quain dedit Orpheo. 
Dolandi melius MusiCA dat sibi, 
Fttgaces reprimens archctypis soiios ; 
Quas et dclitias prccbuit auribus, 
Jpsis conspicuas Itiniinibns facit. 



Lyrics y Elegies^ &'c./rom Madrigals^ 
Canzonets^ &'c. 

John Do w i. and. 
The Fir?t Book of Sonq? or Air3 

3 Nquiet thoughts! your civil slaughter stint! 
And wrap your wrongs within a pensive 

heart ! 
And you, my tongue! that makes my 

mouth a mint, 
And stamps my thoughts, to coin them 
words by art, 
Be still ! For if you ever do the like; 
I'll cut the string, that makes the hammer strike ! 

But what can stay my thoughts, they may not start ? 

Or put my tongue in durance for to die ? 

When as these eyes, the keys of mouth and heart 

Open the lock, where all my love doth lie. 

I'll seal them up within their lids for ever! 

So thoughts and words and looks shall die together. 

How shall I then gaze on my mistress' eyes ? 

My thoughts must have some vent, else heart will break. 

My tongue would rust, as in my mouth it lies ; 

If eyes and thoughts were free, and that not speak. 

Speak then ! and tell the passions of Desire ! 

Which turns mine eyes to Hoods, my thoughts to fire. 

li] Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 35 

iHoEVER thinks, or hopes of love for love ? 
I Or who beloved, in Cupid's laws doth glory ? 
jWho joys in vows, or vows not to remove : 

Who, by this light god, hath not been made sorry? 

Let him see me ! eclipsed from my sun ; 

With dark clouds of an earth, quite overrun. 

Who thinks that sorrows felt, desires hidden> 
Or humble faith in constant honour armed, 
Can keep love from the fruit that is forbidden ? 
Who thinks that change is by entreaty charmed ? 
Looking on me ; let him know Love's delights 
Are treasures hid in caves, but kept by sprites ! 

Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes With 
Mount Love unto the moon in clearest night ! 
And say, " As she doth in the heavens move. 
In earth so wanes and waxeth my delight." 
And whisper this, but softly, in her ears ! 

" Hope oft doth hang the head, and Trust shed tears." 

And you, my Thoughts, that some mistrust do carry ! 
If for mistrust, my mistress do you blame. 
Say, " Though you alter, yet you do not vary 
As she doth change ; and yet remain the same : 
Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect ; 

And love is sweetest, seasoned with suspect." 

If she for this, with clouds do mask her eyes. 
And make the heavens dark with her disdain ; 
With windy sighs disperse them in the skies ! 
Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain 1 
Thoughts, Hopes, and Love return to me no more, 
Till Cynthia shine, as she hath done before ! 

L V K I t: S , E 1. I-. (i I E S , & C . FROM ['^•' ''>■ ■>• ""' 

F MY complaints could passions move, 

Or make Love see wherein I suffer wrong ; 

My passions were enough to prove 

That my despairs had governed me too long. 

O Love, I live and die in thee ! 

Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me ! 

Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks, 

Yet thou dost hope when I despair ! 

My heart for thy unkindness breaks ! 

Thou say'st, " Thou can'st my harms repair." 

And when I hope : thou mak'st me hope in vain ! 

Yet for redress, thou let'st me still complain ! 

Can Love be rich, and yet I want ? 

Is Love my judge, and yet am I condemned ? 

Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant ! 

Thou made a god, and yet thy power contemned! 

That I do live, it is thy power ! 

That I desire, it is thy worth ! 

If love doth make men's lives too sour, 

Let me not love, nor live henceforth ! 

Die shall my hopes, but not my faith, 

That you, that of my fall may hearers be, 

May hear Despair, which truly saith, 

" I was more true to Love, than Love to me." 

|An she excuse my wrongs with virtue's cloak ? 
I Shall I call her good, when she proves unkind ? 

Arc those clear fires, which vanish into smoke ? 

Must I praise the leaves, where no fruit I find ? 

No ! No ! Where shadows do for bodies stand. 
Thou may'st be abused, if thy sight be dim. 
Cold love is like to words written on sand ; 
Or to bubbles, which on the water swim. 

Ed.byJ.Dowland.J jyi^p j^H3 ALS, CaNZONETS, &C. 3" 

VVilt thou be abused still, 
Seeing that she will right thee never ? 
If thou can'st not o'ercome her will, 
Thy love will be thus fruitless ever ! 

Was I so base, that I might not aspire. 

Unto those high joys, which she holds from me? 

As they are high, so high is my desire, 

If she this deny, what can granted be ? 

If she will yield to that which reason is. 
It is Reason's will, that Love should be just. 
Dear ! make me happy still, by granting this, 
Or cut off delays, if that die I must ! 

Better a thousand times to die, 
Than for to live thus still tormented : 
Dear! but remember it was I, 
Who, for thy sake, did die contented ! 

|0w, O now, I needs must part, 

|Parting, though I absent mourn ; 

Absence can no joy impart, 

Joy once fled, cannot return. 

While I live, I needs must love. 

Love lives not, when hope is gone. 

Now at last despair doth prove 

Love divided, loveth none. 

Sad despair doth drive me hence, 
This despair, unkindness sends ; 
If that parting be offence, 
It is she which then offends. 

Dear ! when I from thee am gone. 
Gone are all my joys at once. 
I loved thee, and thee alone ! 
In whose love I joyed once : 

jS LvKics, Elegies, &c. ekom [FJi'yJ uowi-m-i. 

And although your siglit I leave, 
Sight wherein my joys do lie ; 
Till that death do sense bereave. 
Never shall affection die ! 

Sad despair doth drive me hence, &c. 

Dear ! if I do not return. 
Love and I shall die together. 
For my absence never mourn ! 
Whom you might have joyed ever. 
Part we must, though now I die. 
Die I do, to part with you : 
Him despair doth cause to lie 
Who both lived and dieth true. 

Sad despair doth drive me hence, &c. 

IRar, if you change ! I'll never choose again. 
Sweet, if you shrink ! I'll never think of love. 
Fair, if you fail ! I'll judge all beauty vain. 
Wise, if too weak! more wits I'll never prove. 

Dear! sweet! fair! wise! change, shrink, nor 

be not weak ; 
And, on my faith ! my faith shall never break. 

Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn ; 
Heaven her bright stars, through earth's dim globe shall move. 
Fire, heat shall lose ; and frosts, of flames be born ; 
Air made to shine, as black as hell shall prove : 

Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed 
shall view, 

Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you ! 


Urst forth my tears ! Assist my forward grief ! 
And show what pain, imperious love provokes ! 
Kind tender lambs, lament love's scant relief. 
And pine, since pensive care my freedom yokes. 
O pine to see me pine, my tender flocks ! 

by J. Bo'^vi^^i'd-J Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 39 

Sad pining Care, that never may have peace, 
At Beauty's gate, in hope of pity knocks ; 
And Mercy sleeps while deep disdains increase; 
And Beauty, hope in her fair bosom yokes, 

grieve to hear my grief, my tender ilocks ! 

Like to the winds, my sighs have winged been, 
Yet are my sighs and suits repaid with mocks ; 

1 plead, yet she repineth at my teen. 

O ruthless rigour ! harder than the rocks ! 

That both the shepherd kills, and his poor Hocks. 

Crystal tears ! like to the morning showers, 

And sweetly weep into thy lady's breast ! 

And as the dews revive the drooping flowers. 

So let your drops of pity be addresst ! 

To quicken up the thoughts of my desert. 
Which sleeps too sound ; whilst I from her 

Haste hapless sighs ! and let your burning breath 

Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart ! 

Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death. 

Feels never any touch of my desert. 

Yet sighs and tears to her, I sacrifice : 
Both, from a spotless heart, and patient eyes. 

JIIink'st thou, then, by feigning 

Sleep, with a grand disdaining ; 
|0r. with thy crafty closing. 

Thy cruel eyes reposing ; 

To drive me from thy sight ! 

When sleep yields more delight, 

Such harmless beauty gracing : 

And while sleep feigned is 

May not I steal a kiss 

Thy quiet arms embracinL' ? 

40 Lykics, Elegies, &c. f k o m p^' '"' ^^" 

O that thy sleep dissembled, 
Were to a trance resembled! 
Thy cruel eyes deceiving, 
Of lively sense bereaving : 
Then should my love requite 
Thy love's unkind despite, 
While fury triumphed boldly 
In beauty's sweet disgrace; 
And lived in deep embrace 
Of her that loved so coldly, 

Should then my love aspiring, 
Forbidden joys desiring, 
So far exceed the duty 
That Virtue owes to Beauty ? 
No ! Love seek not thy bliss 
Beyond a simple kiss ! 
For such deceits are harmless 
Yet kiss a thousand fold ; 
For kisses may be bold 
When lovely sleep is armless. 

jlOME away ! come, sweet love ! 
The golden morning breaks ; 
All the earth, all the air, 
Of love and pleasure speaks ! 
Teach thine arms then to embrace. 
And sweet rosy lips to kiss. 
And mix our souls in mutual bliss ! 
Eyes were made for beauty's grace 
Viewing, ruing, love's long pains ; 
Procured by beauty's rude disdain. J. nowb„d.-| Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 

Come away ! come, sweet love ! 

Do not in vain adorn 

Beauty's grace, that should rise 

Like to the naked morn ! 

Lilies on the river's side, 

And fair Cyprian flowers newly blown, 

Desire no beauties but their own : 

Ornament is Nurse of Pride. 

Pleasure measure, love's delight, 

Haste then, sweet love, our wished flight ! 

|EsT awhile, you cruel cares ! 

Be not more severe than love ! 

JBeauty kills and beauty spares, 

And sweet smiles, sad sighs remove. 

Laura, fair Queen of my delight ! 

Come grant me love, in love's despite I 

And if I ever fail to honour thee, 
Let this heavenly light I see, 
Be as dark as hell to me ! 

If I speak ! My words want weight. 

Am I mute ! My heart doth break. 

If I sigh ! She fears deceit. 

Sorrow then for me, must speak ! 

Cruel ! unkind ! with favour view 

The wound that first was made by you ! 

And if my torments feigned be. 
Let this heavenly light I see, 
Be as dark as hell to me ! 

Never hour of pleasing rest. 
Shall revive my dying ghost, 
Till my soul hath repossesst 
The sweet hope, which luve hath lost ; 

\2 L Y K I C S , E L i: G 1 IC S , & C. I'" K O M ['■'' 

Lauua! redeem the soul that dies 
Ily fury of thy murdering eyes ! 
And if it proves uni<ind to thee, 
Let this heavenly light I see, 
Be as dark as hell to me ! 

^I.i'EP wayward thoughts, and rest j'ou with my Lovi 
],Lt not my Love, be with my love diseased ! 
Touch not proud hands, lest you her anger move ! 
I)Ut pine you with my longings long displeased . 
Thus while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake, 
So sleeps my Love ; and yet my love doth wakt. 

But O, the fury of my restless fear ! 
The hidden anguish of my flesh desires ! 
The glories and the beauties that appear 
Between her brows, near Cupid's closed fires ! 
Thus while she sleeps, moves sighing for her sake, 
So sleeps my Love ; and yet my love doth wake. 

My love doth rage, and yet my Love doth rest ; 
Fear in my love, and yet my Love secure ; 
Peace in my Love, and yet my love opprest ; 
Impatient, yet of perfect temperature. 
Sleep dainty Love, while I sigh for thy sake ! 
So sleeps my Love ; and yet my love doth wake. 

JLl ye, whom love or fortune hath betrayed ! 
All ye that dream of bliss, but live in grief! 
All ye whose hopes are evermore delayed ! 
y\ll ye whose sighs or sickness want relief ! 
Lend ears and tears to me, most hapless man ! 
That sings my sorrows like the dying swan ! 

i.M. by J. U"wb,ui.j Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 

Care that consumes the heart with inward pain, 
Pain that presents sad care in outward view ; 
Both, tyrant-like, enforce me to complain. 
But still in vain, for none my plaints will rue : 
Tears, sighs, and ceaseless cries alone I spend. 
My woe wants comfort, and my sorrow, end. 

Ilt thou, Unkind ! thus 'reave me 
Of my heart, and so leave me ? 

Farewell ! 
But yet, or ere I part, Cruel ! 
Kiss me Sweet, my Jewel ! 

Farewell ! 

Hope by disdain grows cheerless 
Fear doth love, love doth fear 
Beauty peerless. 
Farewell ! 

If no delays can move thee ! 
Life shall die, death shall live 
Still to love thee. 
Farewell ! 

Yet be thou mindful ever ! 
Heat from fire, fire from heat, 
None can sever. 
Farewell ! 

True love cannot be changed, 
Though delight from desert 
Be estranged. 
Farewell ! 

L \- K 1 C S , E L i; G I li S , & C . FROM [''"''• ''" ■"• """',5^'); 

OuLD my conceit that first inforced my woe, 
Or else mine eyes, which still the same increase. 
Might be extinct, to end my sorrows so ; 
Which now are such, as nothing can release. 
Whose life is death ; whose sweet, each chanj^e of 

sour ; 
And eke whose hell reneweth every hour. 

Each hour, amidst the deep of hell I fry. 
Each hour, I waste and wither where I sit ; 
But that sweet hour, wherein I wish to die, 
My hope, alas, may not enjoy it yet. 
Whose hope is such bereaved of the bliss, 
Which unto all, save me, allotted is. 

To all, save me, is free to live or die ; 
To all, save me, remaineth hap or hope. 
But all, perforce, I must abandon ! 
Since Fortune still directs my hap aslope ; 
Wherefore to neither hap nor hope I trust, 
But to my thrals I yield: for so I must. 

|Ome again ! Sweet love doth now invite 

Thy graces that refrain 

To do me due delight ; 
"To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss. 
To die with thee again in sweetest sympathy ! 

Come again I that I may cease to mourn 

Through thy unkind disdain ! 

For now, left and forlorn, 
I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die 
In deadly pain, and endless misery. 

)owbrri.j Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 45 

All the day, the sun that lends me shine 

By frowns doth cause me pine, 

And feeds me with delay. 
Her smiles, my springs, that make my joys to grow : 
Her frowns, the winters of my woe. 

All the night, my sleeps are full of dreams, 

My eyes are full of streams ; 

My heart takes no delight 
To see the fruits and joys that some do find, 
And mark the storms are me assigned. 

Out, alas! my faith is ever true; 

Yet she will never rue. 

Nor yield me any grace. 
Her eyes, of fire ; her heart of flint is made : 
Whom tears nor truth may once invade. 

Gentle Love draw forth thy wounding dart ! 

Thou can'st not pierce her heart ! 

For I (that do approve 
By sighs and tears, more hot than are thy shafts) 
Did 'tempt, while she for triumph laughs. 

{On the British Museum Cofiy, G 9, there is the folloimng pencil note to 
this Son-;. These words by [RoiiERT DevereUX] the Earl of EsSE.v, 
and sung before Queen Elizadeth, in a Masque at Greenwich.) 

|Is golden locks, Time hath to silver turned. 
iO Time too swift ! O swiftness never ceasing ! 
|His Youth, 'gainst Time and Age hath ever spurned, 

But spurned in vain. Youth waneth by increasing. 

Beauty, Strength, Youth are flowers but fading seen ; 

Duty, Faith, Love are roots, and ever green. 

.\h 1,V 

E I. F, G I E S , cS: c 

.OM ['^''- 

His helmet, now, shall make a hive for bees, 

And lover's Sonnets turn to holy Psalms; 

A man-at-arms must, now, serve on his knees, 

And feed on prayers, which are Age's alms: 

But though from Court to cottage he depart. 
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart. 

And when he saddest sits, in homely cell, 
iril teach his swains this Carol for a Song; 
lUcst be the hearts that wish my Sovereipi well ! 
Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong ! 

Goddess ! Allow this aged man his right ! 

To be your Beadsman now; that was your Knight. 

IWake, sweet love ! Thou art returned ! 
jAIy heart, which long in absence mourned, 
iLives now in perfect joy. 
Only herself hath seemed fair ; 
She only could I love. 
She only drave me to despair, 
When she unkind did prove. 

Let love which never, absent, dies; 
Now live for ever in her eyes ! 
Whence came my first annoy : 
Despair did make me wish to die 
That I my joys might end, 
She only, which did make me fly, 
My state may now amend. 

If she esteem thee now ought worth ; 
She will not grieve thy love henceforth 

Which so despair hath proved. 
Despair hath proved now in me 
That love will not unconstant be, 

Though king in vain I loved. 

Ed. by J. Dowlan.: 

] Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 47 

If she, at last, reward thy love 

And all thy harms repair! 
Thy happiness will sweeter prove, 

Raised up from deep despair. 
And if that now thou welcome be, 

When thou with her doth meet ; 
She all this while, but played with thee. 

To make thy joys more sweet. 

IOme, heavy Sleep ! the Image of true Death ! 
And close up these my weary weeping eyes! 
I Whose spring of tears doth stop my vital breath, 
And tears my heart with sorrow's sigh-swollen cries. 
Come, and possess my tired thoughts ! worn soul ! 
That living dies, till thou on me bestoule I 

Come, Shadow of my End ; and Shape of Rest ! 
Allied to Death, Child to this black-fast Night ! 
Come thou, and charm these rebels in my breast ! 
Whose waking fancies doth my mind affright. 
O come, sweet Sleep ! Come, or I die for ever I 
Come ere my last sleep comes, or come never I 

|Way with these self-loving lads, 
Whom Cupid's arrow never glads I 
I Away poor souls that sigh and weep. 
In love of them that lie and sleep ! 
For Cupid is a meadow god. 
And forceth none to kiss the rod. 

God Cupid's shaft, like Destiny, 

Doth either good or ill decree ; 

Desert is borne out of his bow. 

Reward upon his feet doth go. 

What fools are they, that have not known 
That Love likes no laws, but his own ! 

L V K I c s , E I. F r, I r s , & c . [f-'^ '' 

My songs, they be Cynthia's praise : 

I wear her rings on holidays. 

On every tree, I write her name. 

And every day I read the same : 

Where Honour, Cupid's rival is, 
There miracles are seen of his. 

If Cynthia crave her ring of me, 
I'll blot her name out of the tree ! 
If doubt do darken things held dear, 
Then " Well fare nothing ! " once a year : 

For many run, but one must win. 

Fools only, hedge the cuckoo in ! 

The worth that worthiness should move 
Is love ; which is the bow of Love : 
And love as well the For'ster can, 
As can the mighty Nobleman. 

Sweet saint, 'tis true, you worthy be ! 

Yet, without love, nought worth to me ! 


R [? I C H A R d] . Y [? O U N g] . 

T/je state of a Christian lively set forth ^ 
by an allegory of a Ship under Sail. 

[This Writer was evidently a forerunner of John Bunvan.] 

Prov. xxxi. 14. Job ix. 26. Isaiah xxiii. i. Rev. viii. 9. 

[Original broadside, inserted in a 
distinct work of the Author, called 
The Victory of Patience. 1636.] 

|Y BODY is the Hull, the Keel my back, my neck 
the Stem ; the Sides are my ribs, the Beams my 
bones, my flesh the Planks ; gristles and ligaments 
are the Pintels and Knee-timbers ; arteries, veins, 
and sinews, the several Seams of the ship ; my 
blood is the Ballast, my heart the Principal Hold, my stomach 
the Cook-room, my liver the Cistern, my bowels the Sink ; 
my lungs the Bellows, my teeth the Chopping-knives; except 
you divide them, and then they are the 32 Points of the Com- 
pass, both agreeing in number. Concoction is the Cauldron, 
and hunger the Salt or Sauce. My belly is the Lower Deck, 
my kidneys Close Cabins or receptacles, my thighs are Long 
Galleries for the grace of the ship ; my arms and hands the 
Canhooks, my midriff is a large partition or Bulkhead. With- 
in the circumference of my head is placed the Steeridge Room 
and Chief Cabins, with the Round-house [now called the 
Captain's Cabin] where the Master lieth : and these for the 
more safety and decency are enclosed in a double fence ; the 
one Dura mater, something hard and thick [the skull], the 
other Pia mater, very thin and soft [the hair], which serveth 
instead of hangings. The ears are two doors or Scuttles 
fitly placed for entertainment; the two eyes are Casements to 
let in light ; under them, is my mouth, the Stowage or 
Steward's Room. My lips are Hatches for receipt of goods, 
my two nostrils serve as Gratings to let in air. At the one 
end stands my chin, which is the Beakhead. My forehead is 

50 The CONSTRUCTION OF THE Christian Pinnace. [."^jJ; 

the Upper Deck; all which being trimmed with my fat instead 
of Pitch, and hair instead of Oakum, are coloured with mj- skin. 

The Fore Deck is humility, the Stern, charity. Active 
obedience, tlie Sails ; which being hoisted up with the several 
Yards, Halliards, and Bowlines of holy precepts and good 
purposes ; are let down again by fickleness, faintings and in- 
constancy. Reason is my Rudder, experience the Helm, hope 
of salvation my Anchor, passive obedience the Capstan, holy 
revenge the Cat and Fish to haul the Sheet Anchor or last 
hope. Fear of offending is the Buoy, virtues are the Cables, 
holy desires and sudden ejaculations the Shrouds. The zeal 
of GOD's glory is my Mainmast, premeditation the Foremast, 
desire of my own salvation the Mizenmast, saving knowledge 
the Bowsprit, circumspection a Sounding line. 

My Light is illumination ; justice is the Card [Map] ; GOD's 
Word, the Compass ; the meditation of life's brevity, a Four- 
Hour Glass [i.e., the length of a ship's watch] ; contemplation of 
the creatures, the Cross-staff or Jacob's-staff ; the creed, a 
Sea-Grammar ; the life of Christ, my Load-Star. The saint's 
falls are Sea-marks; good examples. Land-marks. Repentance 
pumps out the sink of my sins, a good conscience keeps me 
clean. Imputative righteousness is my Flag, having this 
motto. Being cast down, we perish not ! the Flag-staff is 

The ship is victualled afresh by reading, hearing, receiving. 
Books are Long-boats, letters are little Skiffs to carry and 
recarry my spiritual merchandise. Perseverance is my Speed, 
and patience my Name. My Fire is lust, which will not be 
clean extinguished : full feeding and strong drink are the Fuel 
to maintain it ; whose Flame, if it be not suppressed, is jealousy ; 
whose Sparks are evil words, whose Ashes are envy; whose 
Smoke is infamy. Lascivious talk is a Flint and Steel, con- 
cupiscence as Tinder, opportunity the Match to light it, sloth 
and idleness are the Servants to prepare it. 

The Lawof GOD is my Pilot, Faith my Captain, Fortitude 
the Master, Chastity the Master's Mate, my Will the Cox- 
swain, Conscience the Preacher {or, as we now say. Chaplain], 
Application of Christ's death the Surgeon, Mortification 
theCook, ViviFicATiON the Caulker, Self-denial an Appren- 
tice of his, Temperance the Steward, Contentation his 
Mate, Truth the Purser, Thankfulness the Purser's Mate, 

^636:] The Crew and Passengers of the same. 51 

Reformation the Boatswain, the Four Humours, Sanguine, 
Choler, &c., are the Quarter-masters; Christian Vigilancy 
undertakes to supply the office of the Starboard and Larboard 
Watches, Memory is the Clerk of the Cheque, Assurance 
the Corporal, the Armour Innocency, the Mariners, Angels. 
Schismatics are Searchers sent abroad. My Understand- 
ing, as Master Gunner, culls out from those two Budgecasks 
of the Old and New Testaments certain threats and promises 
which are my only Powder and Shot ; and with the assistance 
of the Gunner's Mate, Holy Anger against Sin, chargeth my 
tongue, which, like to a piece of ordnance, shoots them to 
the shame and overthrow of my spiritual Adversaries. 

My noble passengers are Joy in the Holy Ghost and 
Peace of Conscience, whose retinue are Divine Graces. 
My ignoble or rather mutinous passengers are Worldly 
Cogitations and Vain Delights which are more than a 
good many ; besides some that are arrant thieves and traitors, 
namely, Pride, Envy, Prejudice : but all these I will bid 
farewell to, when I come to my journey's end; though I 
would, but cannot, before. 

Heaven is my Country, where I am Registered in the Book 
of Life, my King is JEHOVAH. My Tribute almsdeeds: they 
which gather it are the poor. Love is my country's Badge, 
my Language is holy conference, my Fellow Companions are 
the saints. . 

I am poor in performances, yet rich in GOD's acceptation. 
The Foundation of all my good is GOD's free election. I be- 
came Bound into the Corporation of the Church to serve Him, 
in my baptism. I was Enrolled at the time when He first called 
me. My Freedom is justification. It was Purchased with the 
blood of Christ. My Evidence is the earnest of His spirit. 
My Privileges are His sanctifying graces. My Crown, 
reserved for me on high, is glorification. 

My Maker and Owner is GOD; who built me by His 
Word, which is Christ ; of earth, which was the Material ; 
He freighted it with the essence of my Soul, which is the 
Treasure ; and hath set me to sail in the Sea of this world, 
till I attain to the Port of death : which letteth the terrestial 
part into the Harbour of the grave, and the celestial part into 
the Kingdom of Heaven. In which voyage, conveniency of 
estate [comfortable circwnstances] is as sea room ; good affections 

52 Sailing in thk Ska of this World. [f^^J- 

serve as a tide ; and prayer as a prosperous gale, a wind to 
help forward. 

But innumerable are the impediments and perils. For 
here I meet with the prefers of unlawful gain and sensual 
delights, as so many Sirens ; the baits of prosperity, as High 
Ranks, on the right hand or Weather Shore ; and there with 
evil suggestions and crabbed adversity, as Rocks, on the left 
hand or Lee Shore, ready to split me. The fear of hell, like 
Quicksands, threatens to swallow me; original sin like \\'eeds 
clog me, and actual transgressions like so many Barnacles 
hang about me. Yea, every sin I commit springs a new Leak. 
My senses are as so many Storms of Rain, Hail, and Snow to 
sink me. Lewd affections are Roaring Billows and Waves. 
Self-confidence, or to rely upon anything but the Divine 
assistance, is to lose the Bowsprit. Restitution is heaving 
goods overboard to save the ship. Melancholy is want of 
Fresh Water. The scoffs of atheists, and contempt of 
religion in all places is a notable becalming; the lewd lives and 
evil e.xamples of them most a contagious air. Idleness furrs 
it, and is a shrewd decay, both of the Hull and Tackling. 

Moreover, sailing along, and keeping Watch (for they that 
be Christ's friends, you know! must look for all they meet 
to be their enemies), we no sooner look up, but presently we 
ken a Man of War, and then we must be for war too, and 
provide for a skirmish. 

Now the Galleon that hath our Pinnace in chase, and always 
watcheth for advantages to surprise it, is the Piracy of Hell; 
the Synagogue of Satan. Her Freight is temptations and 
persecutions, with all the engines of mischief. In w^hich the 
Devil is Master, Malice the Master's Mate, Cruelty the 
Captain, Murder the Cook, Flattery the Caulker, 
Profaneness a Quartermaster, Riot the Steward, Never 
Content his Mate, Pride the Coxswain, Superstition the 
Preacher, Hypocrisy the Boatswain, Covetousness the 
Purser, Lust the Swabber, Fury the Gunner, Presumption 
the Corporal, Sedition the Trumpeter, Drunkenness the 

Vices are the Sails, custom the Mainmast, example of the 
multitude the Foremast, lusts and passions the Cables, 

1*63^] Pinnace chased by the Galleon of Hell. 53 

blindness of mind the Rudder, hardness of heart the Helm, 
the wisdom of the flesh the Card, the mystery of iniquity the 
Compass. The five senses, or if you will, scoffing Atheists, 
profane foul-mouthed drunkards, and all the rabble of hell 
are the Mariners. Lewd affections the Passengers, Little 
Conscience the Load star. 

She hath two tire of great ordnance planted in her, 
Heresy and Irreligion; being either for a false god, or none. 
Oaths, blasphemy, and curses are the Powder and Shot : 
which they spit against all that worship the Lamb, or fight 
under the Ensign of Faith. Her Armour is carnal security. 
The Flag in her Top is infidelity: the motto, There is no 
god, but gain ! 

Her Ballast, which keeps her upright, is Ignorance. Most 
of her Tackling she has from Rome, or Amsterdam. Anti- 
christ, as Pilot, steers her in such a course that she goes on 
swiftly, proudly, securely, scorning and scoffing (Sennache- 
rib like) to hear that any Lord should deliver this poor 
Pinnace out of her hands. 

Yet in the sequel, this silly Pink, having the Insurance of 
GOD's omnipresence, finds not only succour from the Stock 
of the Church's prayers, which, like another Merchantman, 
come in to the rescue: but, likewise that GOD's Almighty 
power and providence is near at hand, as a strong Castle of 
Defence to free her, whereby she escapes, even as a bird out 
of the snare of the hunter, to praise the LORD : who hath 
not given her as a prey unto their teeth, that would have 
swallowed up all quick; but delivered her from such swelling 
waters, floods of affliction and streams of persecution, as 
else had gone over her and even drowned her soul, as it is 
Psahn cxxiv. While this great Galleon (though it seems like 
that Invincible Armada) flies; and, having no Anchor, when the 
storms of GOD's wrath arise, down she sinks to desperation ; 
and perisheth in the bottomless pit or burning lake of fire 
and brimstone : where we will leave her to receive a just 
recompense of reward. R. Y. 

London. Printed by Thomas Cotes for the Atithor ; and 

are to be sold by Sarah Fairbeard, at the 

North Door of the Royal Exchange, 



[? Thomas Occleve, 

Clerk in the Office of the Privy Seal.] 

The Letter of C u p i d . 

[Old forms like servin, serve ; wolliii, will ; tellin, tell ; doitty done ; 
and the Imperatives bethe, be ; tcllith, tell ; occur in this Poem.] 

[Urrv's edition of Chaucer-s Wcrkt. ii. 534. Ed. .721.1 

Upido, (unto whose commandement 

The gentle kindred of goddis on high 
And people infernal be obedient ; 
And all mortal folk servin busily), 
Of the goddess son, Cytherea only ; 
Unto all those that, to our deity 
Be subjects, heartily greeting, send we ! 

In general, we woUin that ye know 

That Ladies of honour and reverence, 
And other Gentlewomen havin sow[nj 
Such seed of complaint in our audience, 
Of men that do them outrage and offence ; 
That it our earis grieveth for to hear, 
So piteous is the effect of this matere. 

Passing all landis, on the little isle 

That cleped is Albion, they most complain. 
They say that there, is crop and root of guile : 
So can those men dissimulin and feign. 
With standing dropis in their eyin twain ; 
When that their heartis feeleth no distress, 
To blindin women with their doublencss. 

■°"!402:] The Letter of Cupid. 55 

Their wordis, spoken be so sighingly, 

With so piteous a cheer and countenance 
That every wight that meaneth truly 

Deemeth they in heart havin such grievance. 
They say, "So importable is their penance, 
That but their lady lust to shew them grace 
They, right anon, must starvin in the place." 

" Ah, Lady mine! " they say, " I you ensure 

As doth me grace ! and I shall ever be. 
While that my life may lasting and endure 
To you as humble and low in each degree 
As possible is, and keep all things in secre[t] 
Right as your selfin listeth that I do 1 
And ellis mine hearte must burst in two." 

Full hard it is, to know a manis heart 

For outward may no man thetruthe deem, 

When word out of the mouth, may none astert 

But it, by reason seemed a wight to queme, 

So it is said of heart, as it would seem. 

O faithful woman ! full of innocence ! 

Thou art deceived by false appearance ! 

By process moveth oft woman's pity. 

Weening all things were as these men ysay, 
They grant them grace, of their benignity, 
For that men shouldin not, for their sake die, 
And with good heart, settin them in the way 
Of blissful love: keepin it, if they con ! 
And thus, otherwhile, women bethe ywon. 

56 The Letter OF Cur ID. [' 

And when this man, the pan hath by the steel 

And fully is in his possession ; 
With that woman keepeth he no more to deal 
After, if he may findin in the town 
Any woman, his blind affection 

Unto bestow. But evil mote he preve 1 
A man, for all his oaths, is hard to believe ! 

And for that every false Man hath a Make. 

(As unto every wight is light to know) 
When this traitor, this woman hath forsake, 
He fast speedeth him unto his fellow. 
Till he be there, his heart is on a low ; 
His false deceit ne may him not suffice, 
But of his treason telleth all the wise. 

Is this a fair avaunt ? Is this honour? 

A man himself accuse thus and defame ! 
Is it good to confess himself a traitor ? 
And bring a woman into slanderous name 
And tell how he her body hath do shame ? 
No worship may he thus, to him conquer, 
But great dislander unto him and her ! 

To her ! Nay ! Yet ywas it no reprefe ; 

For all for virtue was, that she ywrought ! 
But he that brewed hath all this mischief. 
That spake so fair, and falsely inward thought 
His, be the slander ! as it by reason ought 
And unto Her be thank perpetual 
That, in such a need, helpin can so well. 

'^""IZli] The Letter of Cupid. 57 

Although through manis sleight and subtilty, 

A silly simple and innocent woman 
Betrayed is : no wonder ! since the city 
Of Troye, as the story tellin can, 
Betrayed was, through the deceit of man, 
And set on fire, and all down overthrown ; 
And finally destroyed, as men knowen. 

Betrayin not men, cities great and kings ? 
What wight is it that can shape remedy 
Against these falsely proposed things ? 
When can the craft, such crafts to espy 
But man ? whose wit is e'er ready to apply 
To thing that sowning is into falshede ? 
Woman ! bethe'ware of false men 1 I thee rede ! 

And, furthermore, have these men in usage 
That where they not likely been to sped 
Such as they been, with a double visage, 
They procurin, for to pursue their need 
He prayeth him, in his cause to proceed. 
And largely guerdoneth she his travail. 
Little wot women, how men them assail 

Another wretch, unto his fellow saith, 

" Thou fishest fair! She which that thee hath fired 
Is false, inconstant, and she hath no faith. 
She for the road, of folk is so desired ; 
And, as an horse, from day to day she is hired ! 
That when thou twinnest from her company, 
Cometh another ; and bleared is thine eye ! 

58 T HE Letter of C u i- i d . [ • ■'"•"' 

Now prick on fast ! and ridin thy journey 

While thou art there ! For she, behind thy back, 
So liberal is, she will nothing withsay, 
But smartly of another take a smack. 
And thus farin these women all the pack 
Whoso them trusteth, hanged mote he be ! 
Ever they desire change and novelty." 

Wherefore proceedeth this, but of envy ? 

For that he himself, her ne winnin may, 

He speaketh her reprefe and villainy ; 

As manis blabbing tongue is wont alway. 

Thus divers men full often make assay. 

For to disturbin folk in sundry wise. 

For they may not eschuin their emprise. 

Many one eke would speakin for no good, 

That hath in love his time spent and used. 

Men wist, his Lady his asking withstood ; 

Ere that he were of her, plainly refused. 

Or waste and vain all that he had ymused : 

Wherefore he can none other remedy, 

But on his Lady, shapeth him to lie. 

" Every woman," he saith, " is light to get, 

Can none say, ' Nay ! ' if she be well y sought ; 
Whoso may leisure have with her to treat 
Of his purpose, ne shall be failin ought 
But he on madness be so deep ybrought 
That he shende all with open homeliness 
That loven women. They doting ! as I guess.' 

^"l'":] T H E L !•: r r E K ok Cupid. 59 

To slaunder women thus, what may profit 

To gentleness? namely, that them arm should 
In defence of women, and them delight 
As that the Order of Gentleness would ? 
If that a man list gentle to be held 

He must all eschew that thereto is contrary. 
A slanderous tongue is his great enemy ! 

A foul vice it is, of tongue to be light. 

For it'hoso mochil clappeth, gabbeth oft. 
The Tongue of Man so swift is, and so wight 
That when it is yraised up on loft, 
Reason is shewed so slowly and soft, 
That it him never overtakin may. 
Lord ! so these men been trusty in assay ! 

Albeit that men find one woman nice, 
Inconstant, recheless, and variable, 
Deignous and proud, full filled of malice, 
Without faith or love, and deceivable, 
Sly, quaint, false, in all untrust culpable, 
Wicked or fierce, or full of cruelty : 
Yet followeth not that such, all women be ! 

When the high GOD, angellis formed had : 

Amongis them all formed, were there nine 
That foundin were malicious and bad ? 
Yet all men wotin, there were many one 
That for their pride fell from heaven anon. 

Should we, forthy, give all angels proud name ? 
Nay, he that that sustaincth, is to blame ! 

6o T 11 E L E T r E K OK Cupid. [ ' '^ 

Of twelve Apostles, one a traitor was ; 

The remenant yet good werin and true. 
So if it happen men findin, percase, 

A woman false ; such, good is to eschew : 
And deem not all that they therefore be untrue. 
I see well, that menis own falseness 
Them causeth, woman for to trust the less. 

O, every man ought have a heart tender 

To a woman, and deem her honourable; 

Whether her shape be thick, or else slender, 

Or she be good or bad 1 It is no fable. 

Every wight wot, that wit hath reasonable, 

That of a woman, he descended is : 

Then is it shame of her to speak amiss 1 

A wicked tree, good fruit may none forth brin§ 

For such the fruit, is aye as is the tree. 
Take heed of whom thou take thy beginning ! 
Let thy mother be mirror unto thee 1 
Honour her, if thou wilt honoured be ! 
Despiseth her then not, in no manere ! 
Lest that thereby thy wickedness appear. 

An old proverb there said is, in English, 

That bird or fowl, soothly, is dishonest 
What that he be, and holdin full churlish 
That itscth to defoulin his own nest. 
Men to say well of women, it is the best : 
And naught to despisin them, ne deprave ; 
If that they will their honour keep or save. 

""""moj'.] The Letter of Cupid. 

The Ladies ever complain them on Clerks 

That they have made bookis of their defame ; 
In which they despise women and their works, 
And speakin of them great reproof and shame : 
And causeless give them a wicked name. 
Thus they despised be, on every side, 
Dislandered and blown upon full wide. 

Those sorry books make mention 

How women betrayed in especial 
Adam, David, Sampson, and Solomon, 

And many one more ; who may rehearse them all. 
The treasons that they havin done, and shall ? 
The world their malice may not comprehend 
(As Clerkis feign), for it ne hath none end. 

Ovid, in his book called Remedy 

Of Love, great reproof of woman ywriteth. 
Wherein, I know that he did great folly ; 

And every wight who, in such case, him delighteth. 
A Clerkis custom is, when he enditeth 

Of women (be it prose, or rhyme, or verse) 

Say, " They be wicked ! " all know he the reverse. 

And the book Scholars learned in their childhead 

For they of women beware should in age. 
And to lovin them, ever be in dread. 
Sith to deceive, is all their courage, 
They say, of peril, men should cast the advantage. 
Namely, of such as men havin bewrapped : 
For many a man, by woman hath mishapped. 

62 T II E L IC T r !• R O K C U 1' I o . [ • '^• 

No charge is what so these Clerkis ysain 

Of all their writing, I ne do ne cure 
All their labour and travail is in vain 
For between me and my Lady Nature 
Shall not be suffred, while the world may 'dure. 
Thus these Clerkis, by their cruel tyranny, 
On silly women, kithin their mastery. 

Whilom, for many of them were in my chain 

Ytied ; and now, for unwieldy age 
And unlust, they may not to love attain : 

And sain, now, that " Love is but very dotage ! " 
Thus, for they themselfin lackin courage, 
They folk excitin by their wicked saws 
For to rebell against Me, and my laws ! 

But, maugre them that blamin women most, 

Such is the force of mine impression 
That, suddenly, I can fell all their boast. 
And all their wrong imagination. 
It shall not be in their election. 
The foulest slut in all the town to refuse ; 
If that me lust, for all that they can muse ; 

But her in heart, as brenningly desire 

As though she were a Duchess, or a Queen ; 
So can I folkis heartis set on fire 

And, as me list, sendin them joy or teen. 
They that to women ben ywhet so keen. 

My sharpe piercing strokis ! how they smite ! 
Shall feel and knowin, how they kerve and bite 

"^MoaG The Letter of Cupid. 63 

Pardie! this Clerk, this subtle sly Ovid, 

And many another deceived have be 
Of women, as it is knowin full wide. 
What ! no men more ! and that is great dainty 
So excellent a Clerk as was he ! 

And other more, that couldin full well preach 
Betrapped were, for aught that they could teach ! 

And trusteth well, that it is no marvail ! 

For women knowin plainly their intent. 
They wist how softily they could assail 

Them ; and what falsehood they, in hearte meant 
And thus they Clerkis, in their danger hent, 
With one venom, another is destroyed ! 
And thus these Clerkis often were annoyed. 

These Ladies, ne these gentles ne'ertheless, 

Where none of those that wroughtin in this wise ; 
But such women as werin vertueless 

They quiltin thus, these old Clerkis wise. 
To Clerkis muchil less ought to suffice 
Than to dispravin women generally ; 
For worship shallin they none get thereby. 

If that these men, that lovers them pretend, 
To women werin faithful, good, and true, 
And dread them to deceive, or to offend ; 
Women, to love them wouldin not eschew. 
But, every day, hath man an heart new ! 
It, upon one abidin can, no while. 
What force is it, such a wight to beguile? 

04 T II F L E T T K R OF C l' T I D . [ ' ■^• 

Men bearing, eke, the women upon hand 

That lightly, and withoutin any pain 
They women be ; they can no wight withstand 
That his disease list to them to complain ! 
They be so frail, they may them not refrain ! 
But whoso liketh them, may lightly have ; 
So be their heartis easy in to grave. 

To Master Jean de Meun, as I suppose, 

Then, it was a lewd occupation, 
In making of the Romance of the Rose, 
So many a sly imagination, 
And perils for to rollin up and down, 

The long process, so many a slight cautel 
For to deceive a silly damosel ! 

Nought can I say, ne my wit comprehend, 

That art, and pain, and subtilty should fail 
For to conquer, and soon to make an end ; 
When men, a feeble place shullin assail : 
And soon, also, to vanquish a battle 

Of which no wight may makin resistance; 
Ne heart hath none, to make any defence. 

Then mote it follow, of necessity, 

Sith art asketh so great engine and pain 

A woman to deceive, what so she be ? 

Of constancy be they not so barren 

As that some of these silly Clerkis feign ; 

But they be, as women oughtin to be. 

Sad, constant, and full filled of pity. 

"■""ho':] The Letter of Cupid. 65 

How friendly was Medea to Jason 

In his Conquering of the Fleece of Gold ! 
How falsely quit he, her true affection, 
By whom victory he gate as he would ! 
How may this man, for shame, be so bold 
To falsin her, that, from his death and shame 
Him kept, and gate him so great a prize and name ? 

Of Troy also, the traitor ^Eneas, 

The faithless wretch ! how he himself forswore 
To Dido, which that Queen of Carthage was 
That him relieved of his smartis sore ! 
What gentleness miglit she have doin more 
Than she, with heart unfeigned, to him kidde ? 
And what mischief to her thereof betid 1 

In my Legend of Natures may men find 
(Whoso yliketh therein for to read) 
That oathis ne behest may man not bind 
Of reprovable shame have they no dread 
In manis heart truth ne hath no stead. 

The soil is naught; there may no troth ygrow. 
To women, namely, it is not unknow[n]. 

Clerkis feign also there is no malice 

Like unto woman's wicked crabbcdness. 
O Woman ! how shalt thou thyself chevice ; 
Sith men of thee, so mochil harm witness ? 
Beth ware ! O Woman ! of their iickleness. 
Kepeth thine owne ! what men clap or crake ! 
And some of tiiem shall smart, I undertake ! 

F.HG.Car IV. 5 

66 The L f. t t f. k of Cupid. [ ' ■^■ 

Malice of women ! What is it to dread ? 
Tl)cy slay no man, destroyin no cities, 
Ne oppress people, ne them overlaid, 
Betray Empires, Realms, or Duchies, 
Nor bereaven men their landis, ne their mees, 
Empoison folk, ne houses set on fire, 
Ne false contractis makin for no hire. 

Trust, Perfect Love, and Entire Charity, 
Fervent Will, and Entalented Courage, 
All thewis good, as sitteth well to be, 
Have women, ere, of custom and usage. 
And well they canin manis ire asuage. 
With soft wordis, discreet and benign. 
What they be inward, they show outward by sign! 

Womanis heart unto no cruelty 

Inclined is ; but they be Charitable, 
Piteous, Devout, Full of Humility, 
Shamefast, Debonaire, and Amiable, 
Dread full, and of wordis measurable : 

What women, these have not, peradventure ; 
Followeth not the way of their nature. 

Men sayin that our First Mother na'theless 

Made all mankind lesin his liberty. 
And nakid it of joye, doubtless, 
For GODis best disobeyed she, 
When she presumed to taste of the tree, 

That GOD forbade, that she eat thereof should. 
And ne had the Devil be, no more she would ! 

""moI,] The Letter of Cu r i d . 67 

The envious swelling, that the Fiend our foe 

Had unto man in heart, for his wealth, 
Sent a serpent, and made her for to go 

To deceive Eve ; and thus was manis wealth 
Bereft him by the Fiend, in a stealth. 
The woman not knowing of the deceipt, 
God wot ! Full far was it from her conceipt ! 

Wherefore I say, that this good woman Eve 

Our father Adam, ne deceived nought. 
There may no man for a deceipt it prove 

Properly, but that she, in heart and thought, 
Had it compassed * first, ere she it wrought, c Embraced.) 
And for such was not her Impression, 
Men may it call no Deceipt, by reason. 

Ne no wight disceiveth, but he purpose ! 

The Fiend this deceipt cast, and nothing She. 
Then it is wrong to deemin or suppose 

That of his harm She should the cause be. 

Wytith the Fiend, and his be the maugre ! 

And all excused have her innocence, 

Save only, that she brake obedience! 

And touching this, full fewe men there be, 

Unnethis any, dare I safely say ! 

From day to day, as men may all day see. 

But that the best of GOD they disobey. 

Have this in mmde, siris ! I you pray. 

If that ye be discreet and reasonable ; 

Ye will her hold the more excusable ! 

1 11 i: L K T T K R OF C U r I 1) . L ' 

And where men say, " In man is stedfastness; 

And woman is of her courage unstable." 
Who may of Adam bear such a witness ? 
Tellith me this ! Was he not chan<::;eable ? 
They both werin in one case semblable. 
Save that willing, the Fiend deceived EvE j 
And so did she not Adam, by your leave ! 

Yet was this sinne happy to mankind, 

The Fiend disceivcd was, for all his sleight ; 

For aught he could him in his sleightis wind. 

For his trespass, came from heaven on height 

GOD, to discharge man of his heavy weight 

He, flesh and blood ytook of a Virgine, 

And suffered death, him to deliver of pine. 

And GOD, to whom there may nothing hid be, 

If he, in woman knowen had such malice. 
As men record of them in generalty ; 
Of our Lady, of Life Reparatrice 
He n'old have be born : but that she of vice 
Was void, and full of virtue, well He wist, 
Endowid ! of her, to be born Him list. 

Her heaped virtue hath such excellence 

That all too lean is manis faculty 
To declare it ; and therefore in suspense 
Her due praising put, needis must ybe. 
But this I sayin, Verily, that she 

Next GOD, best friend is, that to Man 'longcth. 
The Key of Mercy by her girdle hangeth ! 

""1^4^^;] The Letter of Cutid. 69 

And of mercy, hath every man such need, 

That razing that, farewel the joy of man ! 
And of her power, now takith right good heed ! 
She, mercy may well, and purchasin can. 
Depleasith her not ! Honoureth that wo nan ! 
And other women, honour for her sake ! 
And but ye do, your sorrow shall awake 1 

In any book also, where can ye find 

That of the workis of death or of life. 
Of Jesu spelleth or maketh any mind 

That women. Him forsoke, for woe or strife ? 
Where was there any wight so entenlife 
Aboutin Him as woman ? Provid none ! 
The Apostles him forsokin everichone. 

Woman forsoke Him not ! For all the faith 

Of holy church in woman left only ! 
These are no lies, for thus Holy Writ saith. 
Look! and ye shall so find it hardily ! 
And therefore I may well provin thereby 
That in woman reigneth stable constancy; 
And in men is change of variancy. 

Thou Precious Gem ! Of martyrs, Magarite ! 

That of thy blood, dreadest none effusion ! 
Thou Lover true ! Thou Maiden mansuete ! 
Thou, constant Woman ! in thy passion 
Overcame the Fiendis temptation I 

And many a wight, convertid thy doctrine, 
Unto the faith of holy GOD, thou Virgin ! 

T II K L V. T r I', R o I C u r I I) . [ ''•" 

But, understandeth this ! I commend her nou^lit, 

By encheson of her virj^inity. 
Trusteth, it came never into thought ! 
For ever were I against Chastity. 
And e\er shall. But, lo, this movcth mc! 
llijr l(iviii,!4 heart ; and, constant to her lay, 
Drive out uf my remembrance I ne may. 

Now holdith this for firm, and for no lie ! 
That this true and just commendation 
Of women, tell I for no ilattery ; 
Nor because of pride or elation : 
But only, too, for this intention 

To give them courage of perseverance 
In virtue ; and their honour to advance. 

The more the virtue, the less is the pride. 
Virtue so digne is, and so noble in kind, 
That Vice and he will not in fere abide. 
He putteth vices clean out of his mind. 
He llyeth from them, he leaveth them behind. 
O, Woman ! that of Virtue, art hostess ; 
Great is thy honour, and thy worthiness ! 

Then will I thus concludin and define. 

We, you command ! our ministers each one 
That ready ye be, our bests to incline ! 
That of these false men, our rebell foen 
Ye doin punishment ! and that, "anon ! 

Void them our Court ! and banish them for ever 
So that therein more comin, may they never ! 

M02:] The Letter of C u i' i d 

Fulfilled be it ! Ceasing all delay, 

Look that there be none excusation ! 
Written in the lusty month of May, 
In our Palace, where many a million 
Of lovers true, have habitation; 

In the year of grace, joyful and jocond, 
A thousand, four hundred and second. 

Thus endeth 
"The letter of Cupid. 


Edward Underhill, Esq. 

of the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners, 

surnamed, " The hot Gospeller." 

Exajnination and hnprisonfnent in August 
1553 i 'with anecdotes of the Time, 

(Harl. MS. 4»Sl 
INitrratives of the Daft 0/ tht Reformation. Camden Society. 1859.) 

A Note of the Examination and Imprisonment of Edward 
Underhill (son and heir of Thomas Underbill of 
Honin^ham, in the county of Warwick, Esquire) being 
of the Band of the Pensioners [sec pp. 93-94!, for a ballet 
that he made against the Papists, immediately after the 
Proclamation of Queen Mary at London ; she being in 

IHe next day [4th] after the Queen was come to 
the Tower {on the ^rd of August, 1553] ; the fore- 
said ballet [ballad] came into the hands of Secretary 
;Sir John] Bourne; who straightways made 
inquiry for me, the said Edward, who dwelt at 
Limehurst [Li)nehouse]; which he having intelligence of, sent 
the Sheriff of Middlesex, with a company of bills and glaives 
lances, with a cutting blade at the end uf each] ; who came unto 
my house, I being in my bed, and my wife being newly laid 
in child-bed. 

The High Constable, whose name was Thomas Ive, dwelt 
at the next house unto me, the said Edward ; whom the 
Sheriff brought also with him. He, being my very friend, 
desired the Sheriff and his company to stay without, for [fear 
of af jfrighting of my wife, being newly laid ; and he would go 
and fetch me unto him. Who knocked at the door, saying, 
" He must speak with me." 

I, lying so near that I might hear him, called unto him, 
willing him " to come unto me ! " for that he was always my 
very friend, and earnest in the Gospel. Who declared unto 

E. unjurhiu. j Under II ILL at the Council Door, jt, 

me that the Sheriff, with a great company with him, was 
sent for me. 

Whereupon I rose, made me ready, and came unto him, 
demanding, " What he would with me ? " 

" Sir," said he, " I have commandment from the Council 
to apprehend you, and forthwith to bring you unto them." 

" Why," said I, "it is now ten o'clock in the night; ye 
cannot, now, carry me unto them ! " 

" No, Sir," said he, " you shall go with me to my house to 
London, where you shall have a bed : and to-morrow, I will 
bring you unto them at the Tower." 

" In the name of GOD ! [=most certainly],'" said I : and so 
went with him, requiring [inquiring of] him, " If I might 
understand the cause." 

He said, " He knew none." 

"This needed not, then," said I; "any one messenger 
might have fetched me unto them " : suspecting the cause 
to be, as it was indeed, the ballet. 

On the morrow [^th of Aiin;iist, 1553], the Sheriff, seeing me 
nothing dismayed, thinking it to be some light matter, went 
not with me himself : but sent me unto the Tower with two of 
his men, waiting upon me with two bills [men with halberts], 
prisoner-like, who brought me unto the Council Chamber; 
being commanded to deliver me unto Secretary Bourne. 

Thus standing waiting at the Council Chamber door, two 
or three of my fellows, the Pensioners, and my cousin-german 
Gilbert Wvnter, Gentleman Usher unto the Lady Eliza- 
beth [seep. I20|, stood talking with me. 

In the meantime, cometh Sir Edward Hastings [sec 
Vol. III. p. 147], newly made Master of the Horse to the 
Queen, and seeing me standing there prisoner, frowning ear- 
nestly upon me, said, " Are you come ? We will talk with you 
or your party, I warrant you!" and so went into the Council. 

With that, my fellows and kinsman shrank away from me, 
as men greatly afraid. 

I did then perceive the said Sir Edward bare in re- 
membrance the controversy that was betwixt him and 
me in talk and questions of religion at Calais, when the 
Right Honourable the Earl of Huntingdon, his brother, 
went over. General of 6,000 men : with whom I went the 
same time, and was Controller of the Ordnance. 


O 1. 1 1 ij I s I' u T A T I o N s A -1' Calais. [^ 

The Earl being visited with sicl<ness when he came 
thither, for that I went over in his company, and could 
play and sing to the lute, therewith to pass away 
the time, on the nights being long, for we went over 
in Christmas 1I552;, would have me with him in his 
chamber ; and had also a great delight to hear his brother 
reason with me in matters of religion. Who would be 
very hot, when I did overlay him with the texts of the 
Scripture concerning the natural presence of Christ in 
the sacrament of the altar ; and would swear great oaths, 
specially, " by the Lord's foot ! " that after the words 
spoken by the priest there remained no bread, but the 
natural body that Mary bare. 

" Nay, then, it must needs be so," would I say, " and 
[if] you prove it with such oaths !" 

Whereat the Earl would laugh heartily, saying, 
" Brother, give him over ! Underhill is too good for 
you ! " Wherewith he would be very angry. 

The greatest hold that he took of, was of the 3rd of 
John, upon those words, "And no man ascendeth up to 
heaven, but He that came down from heaven, that is to 
say, the Son of Man which is in heaven." I drove him 
from the 6th of John and all other places that he could 
allege ; but from this, he would not be removed, but 
that those words proved his natural body to be in heaven 
and in the sacrament also. I told him he as grossly 
understood Christ, as Nicodemus did in the same place, 
of " being born anew." 

In my opinion, any man that is not given up of GOD, 

may be satisfied concerning the natural presence in the 

Supper of the Lord, by the Gospel of Saint John, reading 

from the first chapter to the end of the seventeenth ; with 

the witness of the first of the Acts of the Apostles of 

Christ's ascension and coming again ; if ever he will be 

satisfied, without the help of any Doctors. 

Undoubtedly, the apprehending of me was for this matter : 

but the great mercy of GOD so provided for me, that Master 

Hastings was not at my examination. For tarrying thus at 

the Chamber door, Doctor Cox [afterwards Bishop of Ely] 

was within ; who came forth, and was sent to the Marshalsea. 

Then came forth the Lord Ferrers, [Viscount Hereford], 

. ^- ""''"563:] Before the Privy Council. 75 

and was committed to the Tower. Then it was dinner time, 
and all were commanded to depart until after dinner. 

My two waiting men and I went to an alehouse to dinner ; 
and, longing to know my pain [punishment], I made haste to 
get to the Council Chamber door, that I might be the first. 

Immediately, as they had dined. Secretary Bourne came 
to the door, looking as a wolf doth for a lamb; unto whom 
my two keepers delivered me, standing next unto the door : 
for there were more behind me. 

He took me in greedily, and shut to the door; leaving 
me at the nether [lower] end of the Chamber, he went unto 
the Council showing them of me : and then beckoned me to 
come near. 

Then they began the table, and sat them down. The Earl 
of Bedford sat as chief, uppermost upon the bench. Next 
unto him, the Earl of Sussex ; next him. Sir Richard 

On the side next me, sat the Earl of Arundel; next him, 
the Lord Paget. By them, stood Sir John Gage, then 
Constable of the Tower; the Earl of Bath, and Master 
[aftcrzmrds Sir John] Mason. 

At the board's end, stood Serjeant Morgan [who, later on, 
condemned Lady Jane Grey] that afterwards died mad ; and 
Secretary [Sir John] Bourne. 

The Lord Wentworth [the Lord Deputy of Calais, when 
lost; see p. 173I stood in the bay window, talking with one, 
all the while of my examination, whom I knew not. 

My Lord of Bedford being my very friend, (for that my 
chance was to be at the recovering of his son, my Lord 
Russell, when he was cast into the Thames against the 
Limehurst, whom I carried to my house and got him to 
bed ; who was in great peril of his life, the weather being 
very cold) would not seem to be familiar with me, nor 
called me not by my name, but said, " Come hither, 
sirrah ! did not you set forth a ballet of late, in print ? " 
I kneeled down, saying, " Yes, truly, my Lord ! Is that 
the cause I am called before your Honours ? " 

"Ay, marry," said Secretary Bourne, "you have one ol 
Ihem about you, I am sure." 

" Nay, truly, have I not," said I. 

76 SlIAUri-Y QUKSTIONI'D FOR IIIS BaLLAU. [*^- ""''"se". ■ 

Then he took one out of his bosom, and read it over dis- 
tinctly ; the Council giving diligent ear. 

When he had ended, " I trust, my Lords," said I, " I have 
not offended the Queen's Majesty in this ballet ; nor spoken 
against her title, but maintained it." 

" You have, sir," said Morgan, " yes, I can divide your 
ballet, and make a distinction in it ; and so prove at the least 
sedition in it." 

" Ay, sir," said I, " you men of law will make of a matter 
what ye list ! " 

"Lo," said Sir Richard Southwell, "how he can give 
a taunt ! You maintain the Queen's title, with the help of 
an arrant heretic, Tvndale." 

" You speak of Papists there, sir," said Master Mason, "I 
pray you, how define you a Papist ? " 

I look upon him, turning towards him ; for he stood on the 
side of me, " Why, sir," said I, " it is not long since you 
could define a Papist better than I " [meauiiir; that he had 
turned with the new change of religion]. With that some 
of them secretly smiled ; as the Lords of Bedford, Arundel, 
Sussex, and Paget. 

In great haste, Sir John Gage took the matter in hand, 
" Thou callest men Papists there," said he, "who be they 
that thou judgest to be Papists ? " 

I said, " Sir, I do name no man, and I came not hither to 
accuse any, nor none will I accuse ; but your Honours do 
know that in this Controversy that hath been, some be called 
Papists, and some Protestants." 

" But we must know whom thou judgest to be Papists, and 
that we command thee, upon thine allegiance to declare 1 " 

" Sir," said I, " I think if you look among the priests in 
Paul's, ye shall find some old Mitnipsiiniises there." 

" Mmnpsimnses, knave ! " said he, " Mninpsiinnses ! Thou 
art an heretic knave, by God's blood ! " 

" Ay, by the mass ! " says the Earl of Bath, " I warrant 
him an heretic knave indeed." 

" I beseech your Honours ! " said I, speaking to the Lords 
that sat at table ; for those other stood by, and were not 
then of the Council, " be my good Lords ! I have offended no 
laws, and I have served the Queen's Majesty's father and 
brother a lung time ; and in their service have spent and con- 

'^■""''"562.] Ordered to be sent to Newgate, -j-] 

sumed part of my living, never having, as yet, any preferment 
or recompense ; and the rest of my fellows likewise, to our 
utter undoings, unless the Queen's Highness be good unto 
us. And for my part, I went not forth against Her Majesty; 
notwithstanding that I was commanded, nor liked those 

" No, but with your writings, you would set us together by 
the ears ! " said the Earl of Arundel. 

" He hath spent his living wantonly," saith Bourne, " and 
now saith he has spent it in the King's service; which I am 
sorry for. He is come of a worshipful house in Worcester- 

" It is untruly said of you," said I, " that I have spent my 
living wantonly : for I never consumed any part thereof until 
I came into the King's service ; which I do not repent, nor 
doubted of recompense, if either of my two masters had lived. 
I perceive you [to be] Bourne's son of Worcester; who was 
beholden unto my uncle WynTer, and therefore you have no 
cause to be my enemy : nor you nevef knew me, nor I you 
before now, which is too soon." 

" I have heard enough of you," said he. 

"So have I of you," said I, "how that Master Sheldon 
drave you out of Worcestershire, for your behaviour." 

With that, came Sir Edward Hastings from the Queer), 
in great haste, saying, " My Lords ! you must set all things 
apart, and come forthwith to the Queen." 

Then said the Earl of Sussex, " Have this gentleman Unto 
the Fleet until we may talk further with him ! " though I 
was " knave," before, of Master Gage. 

" To the Fleet ! " said Master Southwell, " have him to 
the Marshalsea 1 " 

" Have the gentleman to Newgate ! " saith Master Gacti 
again, " Call a couple of the Guard here." 

" Ay," saith Bourne, " and there shall be a letter sent to 
the keeper how he shall use him ; for we have other manner 
of matters to him than these." 

" So had ye need," said I, " or else I care not for you ! " 

" Deliver him to Master {after Sir William] Garrard, 
the Sheriff [of London]," said he, " and bid him send him to 

" My Lord," said I, unto my Lord of Arundel, (for that he 

was next to me) as they were rising, " I trust you will not 
see me thus used, to be sent to Newgate. I am neither thief 
nor traitor." 

" You are a naughty fellow ! " said he, " you were always 
tutting in the Duke of Northumberland's ear, that you 
were ! " 

" I would he had given better ear unto me," said I ; "it 
had not been with him then, as it is now" [waiting his trial in 
the Tower]. 

Master Hastings passing by me, I thought good to prove 
him ; although he threatened me, before noon. 

" Sir," said I, " I pray you speak for me, that I be not 
sent to Newgate ; but rather unto the Fleet, which was first 
named. I have not offended. I am a Gentleman, as you know; 
and one of your fellows, when you were of that Band of the 

Very quietly, he said unto me, " I was not at the talk. 
Master Underhill; and therefore I can say nothing to it." 
But I think he was well content with the place I was ap- 
pointed to. 

So went I forth with my two fellows of the Guard, who 
were glad they had the leading of me, for they were great 

"Where is that knave, the printer [of the ballad]?" said 
Master Gage. 

" I know not," said I. 

When we came to the Tower gate, where Sir John 
Brydgbs [afterwards Lord Chandos of Sudcky, seep. 128J had 
the charge, 'who was there] with his brother Master Thomas ; 
with whom I was well acquainted, (but not with Sir John) 
who, seeing the two of the Guard leading me, without their 
halberts, rebuked them ; and stayed me while they went for 
their halberts. 

His brother said unto me, " I am sorry you should be an 
offender. Master Underbill." 

" I am none. Sir ! " said I, " nor went I against the Queen." 

" I am glad of that," said he. 

And so forth we went at the gate, where was a great throng 
of people to hear and see what prisoners were committed : and 

E. underhiiL-j Befriended BY SnERiFF, & Lord Russell. 75 

amongst whom stood, my friend Master IVE, the High Con- 
stable, my next neighbour. 

One of the Guard went forth at the wiclvet before me, to 
take me by the arm, the other held me by the other arm ; 
fearing, belike, I would have shifted [escaped] from them 
amongst the people. 

When my friend, who had watched at the gate all the fore- 
noon saw me thus led ; he followed afar off, as Peter did 
Christ, to see what should become of me. Many also fol- 
lowed, some that knew me : some to learn who I was ; for 
that I was in a gown of satin. 

Thus passed we through the streets, well accompanied, 
unto Master Garrard, the Sheriff's house, in the Stocks 
Market. My friend Master Ive tarried at the gate. 

These two of the Guard declared unto Master Sheriff, that 
they were commanded by the Council to deliver me unto him, 
and he to send me unto Newgate : saying, " Sir, if it please 
}'ou, we will carry him thither." 

With that, I stepped unto Master Sheriff, and, taking him 
a little aside, requested him that, forasmuch as their commis- 
sion was but to deliver me unto him, and he to send me into 
Newgate, that he would send me by his officers : for tlie 
request was of mere malice. 

" With a good-will I " Said Master Sheriff. 

" Masters ! " said he, " you may depart ! I will send my 
officers with this gentleman anon ; when they be come in." 

"We will see him carried. Sir! " said they) " for our dis- 

Then the Sheriff said sharply unto them, " What ! do you 
think that I will not do the Council's commandment ? You 
are discharged by delivering him unto me ! " 

With that, they departed. 

My friend, Master Ive, seeing them depart and leave me 
behind, was very glad thereof: and tarried stiH at the gate 
to see farther. 

All this talk in the Sheriffs hall, did my Lord Russell, 
son and heir to the Earl of Bedford, hear and see ; who was 
at commandment [under arrest] in the Sheriff's house, and his 
chamber joining into the hall, wherein he might look : v/ho 
was very sorry for me, for that I had been familiar with him 
in matters of religion, as well on the other side the seas as 

So I S L O C K E D V V IN N E \V G A T E. [''-• ^"'^"^^t. 

at home. He sent me on the morrow, 20s. [■=about £"10 now] ; 
and every week as much, while I was in Newgate. 

Wlicn these two companions of the Guard were gone, the 
Sheriff sent two of his officers with me, who took no bills 
with them, nor lead me ; but followed a pretty way behind 
me : for as I said unto Master Sheriff, "But for order's sake 
and to save him blameless, I would have gone unto Newgate 
myself, at the Council's commandment, or his either." 

When I came into the street, my friend Master Ive, seeing 
me have such liberty, and such distance betwixt me and the 
officers, he stepped before them, and so went talking with me 
through Cheapside : so that it was not well perceived that I 
was apprehended, but by the great company that followed. 

The officers delivered me unto the Keeper of Newgate, as 
they were commanded : who unlocked a door, and willed me 
to go up the stairs into the Hall. My friend Ive went up 
with me ; where we found three or four prisoners that had the 
liberty of the house. 

After a little talk with my friend, I required him not to let 
my wife know that I was sent to Newgate, but [to say] to 
the Counter, until such time that she were near her churching : 
and that she should send me my night-gown, my Bible, and 
my Lute. And so he departed. 

In a while after, it was supper time [i.e., about 5 p.m.]. 
The board was covered in the same hall. The Keeper, whose 
name was Alexander, and his wife came to supper ; and 
half a dozen prisoners that were there for felonies : for I was 
the first, for religion, that was sent unto that prison; but the 
cause why, the Keeper knew not. 

One of those prisoners took acquaintance of [recognised] 
me, and said, " He was a soldier under Sir Richard Crom- 
well in the journey [in July, 1543] to Landreci [in Hain- 
ault], where he did know me and whose servant I was, 
at the same time ; and who, the next year following 
[1544], when the famous King Henry VHI. went unto 
Boulogne, did put me unto his Majesty into the room of 
a man-at-arms. Of the which Band, there were 200 of 
us, upon barded horses, all in one suit of red and yellow 
damask, the bards of our horses and plumes of feathers 
of the same colours, to attend upon his Majesty for the 
defence of his person." 

E. underhiu.j Becqmes THE WiiiTE Son of the Keeper. 8i 

After supper, this good fellow whose name was Brystow 
procured me to have a bed in his chamber. He could play well 
upon the rebeck [violin]. He was a tall man, and afterwards 
of the Queen Mary's Guard, and yet a Protestant, which he 
kept secret : " For else," he said, " he should not have found 
such favour as he did at the Keeper's hands, and his wife's ; 
for to such as love the Gospel, they were very cruel." 

" Well," said I, " I have sent for my Bible ; and by GOD's 
grace, therein shall be my daily exercise. I will not hide it 
from them." 

" Sir ! " said he, " I am poor; but they will bear with you, 
for that they see your estate is to pay well ; and I will shew 
you the nature and manner of them : for I have been here a 
a good while. They both do love music very well ; where- 
fore you with your lute, and I to play with you on my rebeck, 
will please them greatly. He loveth to be merry, and to 
drink wine ; and she also. If you will bestow upon them 
every dinner and supper a quart of wine, and some music : 
you shall be their white son, and have all the favour that 
they can shew you ! " And so it came to pass. 

And now I think it good a little to digress from my 
matter concerning my imprisonment and my deliverance; 
and to note the great mercy of GOD shewed unto his 
servants in that great Persecution in Queen Mary's 
time : how mightily and how many ways he preserved 
such as did fear Him, even as He preserved Daniel, 
Jeremy, Paul, And many in the old time. 

Some were moved by His Spirit to flee over the seas. 
Some were preserved still in London, that, in all the 
time of persecution, never bowed their knees unto Baal: 
for there was no such place to shift [hide] in, in this 
realm, as London, notwithstanding their great spiall and 
search ; nor no better place to shift the Easter time 
[to avoid being hoiiselled, i.e., taking the sacmiiicnt] than in 
Queen Mary's Court, serving in the room I did, as shall 
be shewed hereafter [p. 88J. 

A great number, God did strengthen constantly to 

stand to His Word, to glorify His name, which be 

praised for ever and ever, world without end ! And some 

be preserved for these days. 

And now again to prosecute the matter of my trouble and 

Ji.VG. Cm. IV. G 

S2 Falls daxgerouslv ill, of Tiir: Aouii. [*"•■ ""''"5';"; 

wonderful duliveraiice out of that loathsome gaol of New- 

When that I had heen there about two weeks '^th-iSth 
Auf^ust, 155.3 , throupjli the evil savours, and great unquietness 
of the lodgings, as also by occasion of drinking of a draught 
of strong Hollock !a sweet, wine, as I was going to bed, 
which my chamber fellow would needs have me to pledge 
him in, I was cast into an extreme burning ague, that I could 
take no rest, and desiring to change my lodging. And so did, 
from one to another, but none could I abide; there was so 
many evil savours, and so much noise of prisoners. 

The Keeper and his wife offered me his own parlour, where 
he himself lay : which was furthest from noise ; but it was 
near the kitchen, the savour of which I could not abide. 
Then did she lay me in a chamber, where she said never a 
prisoner lay, which was her store chamber, where all her 
plate and money lay ; which was much. 

So much friendship I found at their hands, notwithstand- 
ing that they were spoken unto, by several Paptists. And 
the Woodmongers of London, with whom I had had a great 
conflict for presenting them for false marking of billets ; 
they required the Keeper to show me no favour, and to lay 
irons upon me, declaring that " I was the greatest heretic in 

My very friend Master Recorde, Doctor of Physic, 
singularly seen in all the seven sciences, and a great Divine, 
visited me in the prison (to his great peril if it had been 
known, who long time was at charges and pains with me, 
•gratis), and also after I was delivered. By means whereof, 
ind the Providence of GOD, I received my health. 

My wife then was churched before her time, to be a suitor 
for my deliverance ; who put up a Supplication unto the 
Council declaring my extreme sickness and small cause to be 
committed unto so loathsome a gaol ; requiring that I might 
be delivered, putting in sureties to be forthcoming to answer 
farther when I should be called. Which she obtained by the 
help of Master [afterwards Sir] John Throgmorton, being 
the Master of the Requests, and my countryman [i.e., of 
Worcestershire] and my kinsman. He, understanding who 
were my enemies, took a time in their absence, and obtained 

E. UmlcrhiU.J ^Q^y j^jg gQN GuiLDFORD WAS CHRISTEXED. 83 

[on 21st August, 1553] a letter to the Keeper, subscribed by the 
Earl of Bedford, the Earl of Sussex, [Stephen Gardiner 
the Bishop of] Winchester, [Sir Robert] Rochester 
f Comptroller of the Household], and [Sir Edward] Walde- 
GRAVE, to be delivered ; putting in surety, according to the 
request of my wife's Supplication. 

With whom Winchester talked, concerning the 
christening of her child at the church at the Tower Hill; 
and the gossips [sponsors], which were the Duke of 
Suffolk, the Earl of Pembroke, and the Lady Jane, 
then being Queen : with the which, he [Gardiner] was 
much offended. 

My Lady Throgmorton, wife unto Sir Nicholas 
Throgmorton, was the Queen's deputy; who named 
my son Guildford after her [the Queen's] husband. 

Immediately after the christening was done [on the 
igth of July, 1553], Queen Mary was proclaimed in 
Cheapside ; and when my Lady Throgmorton came 
into the Tower, the Cloth of Estate was taken down, 
and all things defaced. A sudden change ! She would 
have gone forth again ; but could not be suffered. 
But now again to m}- matter. 

When my wife had obtained the letter, joyful she was ; and 
brought her brother, John Speryne of London, merchant, 
with her; a very friendly man, and zealous in the LORD : 
who was bound with me, according to the Council's letters 
before Master Chedely, Justice of the Peace : who came 
into the prison unto me ; for I was so sick and weak that I 
was constrained to tarry a while longer, and my wife with me 
day and night. 

During all the time of my sickness, I was constrained to 
pay 8^?. [ = about 6s. 81/. now] every meal; and as much for 
my wife, and for every friend that came to see me, if they 
were alone with me at dinner or supper time, whether they 
came to the table or not ; and paid also 40s. for a fine for 
irons [i.e., for not being chained] which they said, "They 
shewed me great favour in ; I should have else paid £4 or £^." 
Thus, when they perceived I did not amend, but rather 
[grew] worse and worse ; they thought it best to venture the 
the matter ; and provided a horse litter to cany me home to 
Limehurst. I was so weak that I was not able to get down 

S4 Is I) !•: 1. 1 V l: R e d o u t o f N e w g a t e . [^- %'"^"^l: 

the stairs ; wherefore one that was servant to the gaoler, who, 
beforetime, had been my man, who was also very diligently 
and friendly unto me, took me in his arms, and carried 
me down the stairs to the horse-litter, which stood ready 
at the prison door; and went with me to my house. 

Many people were gathered to see my coming forth, who 
praised GOD for my deliverance, being very sorry to see my 
state, and the lamentation of my wife and her friends, who 
judged I would not live until I came home. 

I was not able to endure the going of the horse-litter, 
wherefore they were fain to go very softly, and oftentimes 
to stay ; at which times, many of my acquaintances and 
friends and others resorted to see me : so that it was two 
hours ere we could pass from Newgate to Aldgate; and so 
within night, before I could get to my house. Where many 
of my neighbours resorted to see me taken out of the horse- 
litter; who lamented and prayed for me, thinking it not pos- 
sible for me to escape death, but by the great mercy of GOD. 

Thus I continued for the space of eight or ten days, with- 
out any likelihood or hope of amendment. 

I was sent to Newgate, the 5th day of August ; and was 
delivered the 5th day of September. 

The 1st day of October, was Queen Mary crowned ; by 
which time I was able to walk up and down my chamber. 
Being very desirous to see the Queen pass through the City, I 
got up on horseback, being scant able to sit, girded in a 
long night-gown ; with double kerchiefs about my head, a 
great hat upon them ; my beard dubbed [clotted] hard too. My 
face so lean and pale that- 1 was the very Image of Death ; 
wondered at of all that did behold me ; and unknown to any. 
My wife and neighbours were too too sorry that I would needs 
go forth ; thinking I would not return alive. 

Thus went I forth, having on either side of me a man to 
stay [uphold ] me ; and so went to the West end of Paul's ; and 
there placed myself amongst others that sat on horseback to 
see the Queen pass by. 

Before her coming, I beheld Paul's steeple bearing top and 
top-gallant [yards] like a royal ship, with many flags and 
banners : and a man [Peter, a Dutchman] triumphing and 
dancing in the top. 

'^■^"''"jfe] Queen Mary's Coronation Procession. 85 

I said unto one that sat on horseback by me, who 
had not seen any coronation, " At the coronation of King 
Edward, I saw Paul's steeple lie at anchor, and now she 
weareth top and top-gallant. Surely, the next will be 
shipwreck, ere it be long!" which chanceth sometimes 
by tempestuous winds, sometimes by lightnings and fire 
from heaven. 

But I thought that it should rather perish with some 

horrible wind, than with lightning or thunderbolt 

[evidently alluding to the destruction by lightning of the 

Steeple, on the 4th June, 1561] ; but such are the wonderful 

works of GOD, whose gunners will not miss the mark 

that He doth appoint, be it never so little. 

When the Queen passed by, many beheld me, for they 

might almost touch me, the room [space] was so narrow ; 

marvelling, belike, that one in such a state would venture 

forth. Many of my fellows the Pensioners, and others, and 

divers of the Council beheld me : and none of them all knew 


I might hear them say one to another, " There is one that 
loveth the Queen well, belike; for he ventureth greatly to 
see her. He is very like never to see her more." Thus my 
men whose hearing was quicker than mine, that stood by me, 
heard many of them say. 

The Queen herself, when she passed by, beheld me. Thus 
much I thought good to write, to shew how GOD doth pre- 
serve that which seemeth to man impossible; as many that 
day did judge of me. Thus returned I home. 

And about two months after [i.e., in December], I was able 
to walk to London at an easy pace ; but still with my kerchiefs 
and pale lean face. I muffled me with a sarsenet, which the 
rude people in the streets would murmur at, saying, " What 
is he ? Dare he not show his face ? " 

I did repair to my old familiar acquaintance, as drapers, 
mercers, and others : and stood talking with them, and 
cheapened their wares ; and there was not one of them that 
knew me. 

Then would I say unto them, "Do you not know me? 
Look better upon me ! Do you not know my voice ? " For 
that also was altered. 


" Truly," would they say, " you must pardon me ! I can- 
not call you to remembrance." 

Then would I declare my name unto them ; whereat they 
so marvelled, that they could scarcely credit me, but for the 
familiar acquaintance that I put them in remembrance of. 

Thus passed I forth the time at Limehurst until Christmas 
[15531 was passed, then I waxed something strong. I then 
thought it best to shift from thence ; for that I had there 
fierce enemies; especially [Henry MokEj the Vicar of 
Stepney, Abbot quondam of [St. Mary de Grace onj Tower 
Hill. [He died in November, 1554.] 

Whom I apprehended in King Edward's time, and 
carried him to Croydon to Cranmer, Bishop of Canter- 
bury, for that he disturbed the Preachers in his Church [at 
Stepney] causing the bells to be rung when they were at 
the Sermon ; and sometimes begin to sing in the Choir 
before the sermon were half done, and sometimes chal- 
lenge the Preacher in the Pulpit. For he was a strong 
stout Popish prelate : whom the godly men of the parish 
were weary of; specially my neighbours of the Lime- 
hurst, as Master Driver, Master Ive, Master Pointer, 
Master Marche, and others. 

Yet durst they not meddle with him, until it was my hap 
to come and dwell amongst them : and for that I was the 
Iving's Servant, I took it upon me ; and they went with 
me to the Bishop to witness those things against him. 
Who was too full of lenity. A little he rebuked him, 
and bad him do no more so. 

"My Lord," said I, "methinks, you are too gentle 
unto so stout a Papist ! " 

" Well," said he, " we have no law to punish them by." 
"We have, my Lord!" said L "If I had your 
authorit)-, I would be so bold to un-Vicar him ; or minister 
some sharp punishment unto him, and such other. If 
ever it come to their turn ; they will show you no such 

"Well," said he, "if GOD so provide, we must abide it." 
" Surely," said I, " GOD will never cone you thank 
for this ; but rather take the sword from such as will not 
use it upon His enemies." And thus wc departed. 

t. underhni.-j -p j^ g PRINCIPAL Dicers of the time. 87 

The like favour is shewed now [i.e., in Elizabeth's 
reign] ; and therefore the like plague will follow. 

There was also another spiteful enemy at Stepney, 
called 13ANBEKY, a shifter, a dicer, &c., like unto Dapers 
the dicer, Morgan of Salisbury Court, busking [Sir 
Thomas, also called Long] Palmer, lusty Young, [Sir] 
Ralph Bagnall [see Vol. III. p. 147], [Sir] Miles Part- 
ridge [idem], and such others. With which companions, 
I was conversant a while ; until I fell to reading the 
Scriptures, and following the Preachers. 

Then, against the wickedness of those men, which 
I had seen among them ; I put forth a ballet, uttering the 
falsehood and knavery that I was made privy unto. 
Fur the which, they so hated me that they raised false 
slandtrs and bruits of me, saying that " I was a spy for 
the Duke of Northumberland": and calling me 
[Bishop] " Hooper's companion," for a bill that I set 
up upon Paul's gate, in defence of Hooper ; and another 
at St. Magnus's Church, where he was too much abused, 
with railing bills cast into the pulpit and other ways. 

Thus became I odious unto most men, and many times 
in danger of my life, even in King Edward's days. As 
also for apprehending one Allen, a false prophesier 
[of whom Underbill says clscivhcrc, This Robert 
Allen was called the God of Norfolk, before they re- 
ceived the light of the Gospel] ; who bruited [in January, 
1551I that King Edward was dead, two years before it 
came to pass ; who was a great calculator for the same. 
But these jugglers and wicked dicers were still in favour 
among the magistrates, and were advanced ; who were the 
sowers of sedition, and the destroyers of the two Dukes. 

I pray God the like be not practised by such flatterers 
in these days [i.e., in Elizabeth's reign], according to 
the old proverb, " He that will in Court dwell, must curry 
Fauvell." And 

He that will in Court abide, 
Must curry Fauvell back and side, 

[i.e., he must curry or groom a horse, of Fauvell (a bright yellow oi 
tawny) colour (opposed to Sorell, a dark colour), back and side.] 

for such get most gain. 

S8 "He is all of the S pi kit!" [''• 'J"''"^^;';;^: 

I was also called "the hot Gospeller!" jesting and 
mocking me, saying, " He is all of the Spirit I " 

This was their common custom, at their tables, to 
jest and mock the Preachers and earnest followers of the 
Gospel ; even among the magistrates : or el^e T speakj in 
wanton and ribald talk ; which when they fell into, one 
or other would look through [aloni^] the board, saying, 
"Take heed that Underbill be not here ! " 

At Stratford on the Bow [now Stratford at Bow], I 
took the pix of the altar; being of copper, stored with 
copper gods : the Curate being present, and a Popish 
Justice dwelling in the town, called Justice Tawe. 

There was commandment it should not hang in a 
string over the altar ; and then, they set it upon the 

For this act, the Justice's wife with the women of the 

town, conspired to have murdered me; which one of 

them gave me warning of, whose good will to the Gospel 

was not unknown unto the rest. Thus the Lord preserved 

me from them, and many other dangers more; but 

specially from hell fire, but that, of His mercy, He called 

me from the company of the wicked. 

This Banbery, aforesaid, was the spy for Stepney parish ; 

as John Avales, Beard, and such others were for London : 

who [i.e., Banbery] caused my friend and neighbour Master 

IvE to be sent unto the Marshalsea, but the LORD shortly 

delivered him. Wherefore I thought it best to avoid [leave]; 

because my not coming to the church there, should by him be 

marked and presented. 

Then took I a little house in a secret corner, at the nether 
{lower] end of Wood Street ; where I might better shift the 

Sir Humphrey Ratcliffe was the Lieutenant of the 
Pensioners, and always favoured the Gospel ; by whose 
means I had my wages still paid me [70 marks a year— £46 
13s. /^d.-=about £500 now ; besides a free diet]. 

When [Sir Thomas! Wyatt was come to Southwark [6/A 
February, 1554] the Pensioners were commanded to watch in 
armour that night, at the Court : which I hearing of, thought 
it best, in like sort, to be there ; lest by my absence I might 

'^' "'""Tje!!.] The Pensioners watch at Whitehall. 89 

have some quarrel piked unto [picked with] me; or, at the 
least, be stricken out off the book for receiving any more 

After supper, I put on my armour as the rest did ; for we 
were appointed to watch all the night. 

So, being all armed, we came up into the Chamber of 
Presence, with our poleaxes in our hands. Wherewith the 
Ladies were very fearful. Some lamenting, crying, and 
wringing their hands, said, " Alas, there is some great mis- 
chief toward ! We shall all be destroyed this night ! What 
a sight is this ! to see the Queen's Chamber full of armed 
men. The like was never seen, nor heard of! " 

The Master [John] Norris, who was a Gentleman Usher 
of the Utter [Oiitcr] Chamber in King Henry VIII.'s time, 
and all King Edward's time ; alwajs a rank Papist, and 
therefore was now Chief Usher of Queen Mary's Privy 
Chamber : he was appointed to call the Watch, and see if any 
were lacking. Unto whom, MoORE, the Clerk of our Cheque, 
delivered the book of our names ; which he perused before he 
would call them at the cupboard. And when he came to my 
name, " What ! " said he, " what doth he here ? " 

" Sir," said the Clerk, " he is here ready to serve as the 
rest be." 

" Nay, by God's body ! " said he, " that heretic shall not 
be called to watch here ! Give me a pen ! " So he struck out 
my name out of the book. 

The Clerk of the Cheque sought me out, and said unto me, 
" Master Underhill, you need not to watch ! you may depart 
to your lodging ! " 

" May I ? " said I, " I would be glad of that," thinking I 
had been favoured, because I was not recovered from my 
sickness : but I did not well trust him, because he was also 
a Papist. " May I depart indeed ? " said I, "will you be my 
discharge ?" 

" I tell you true," said he, " Master Norris hath stricken 
you out of the book, saying these words, ' That heretic 
shall not watch here ! ' I tell you true what he said." 

" Marry, I thank him ! " said I, " and }0u also ! You 
could not do me a greater pleasure ! " 

" Nay, burden not me withal ! " said he, " it is not my 

So departed I into the Hall, where our men were appointed 
to watch. I took my men with me, and a link ; and went 
my ways. 

When I came to the Court pate, there I met with Master 
Clement Thkogmgrton i father of Jon Tiirogmurton, the 
Martinist of 1589], and George Ferrers Jhe Pod and His- 
torian; seep. 173', tending their links, to go to London. 
Master Throgmorton was come post from Coventry ; and 
had been with the Queen to declare unto her the taking of 
the Duke of Suffolk. Master Ferrers was sent from the 
Council unto the Lord William Howard, who had the 
charge of the watch at London Bridge. 

As we went, for that they were both my friends and 
Protestants, I told them of my good hap, and manner of dis- 
charge of the Watch at the Court. 

When we came to Ludgate, it was past eleven o'clock. 
The gate was fast locked ; and a great watch within the gate 
of Londoners, but none without : whereof Henry Peckham 
had the charge, under his father; who, belike, was gone to 
his father, or to look to the water side. 

Master Throgmorton knocked hard, and called to them, 
saying, " Here are three or four gentlemen come from the 
Court that must come in ; and therefore open the gate !" 

" Who ? " quoth one, " What ? " quoth another ; and much 
laughing they made. 

"Can ye tell what you do, sirs?" said Master Throg- 
morton, declaring his name, and that he had been with the 
Queen to shew her Grace of the taking of the Duke of 
Suffolk, " and my lodging is within, as 1 am sure, some of 
you do know ! " 

" And," said Ferrers, " I am Ferrers, that was Lord of 
Misrule with King Edward; and am sent from the Council 
unto my Lord William, who hath charge of the Bridge as 
you know, upon weighty affairs : and therefore let us in, or 
else ye be not the Queen's friends ! " 

Still there was much laughing amongst them. 

Then said two or three of them, " We have not the keys. 
We are not trusted with them. The keys be carried away 
for this night." 

" What shall I do ? " said Master Throgmorton, " I am 

E. Underhill.j jjy^ (,g^. ADMITTANCE THROUGH NeWGATE. 9 I 

weary and faint, and I now wax cold. I am not acquainted 
hereabout ; nor no man dare open his doors at this dangerous 
time ; nor am I able to go back again to the Court. I shall 
perish this night ! " 

" Well," said I, " Let us go to Newgate ! I think I shall 
get in there." 

" Tush ! " said he, " it is but in vain. We shall be answered 
there as we are here." 

" Well," said I, " and \if] the worst fall, I can lodge ye in 
Newgate. Ye know what acquaintance I have there ! and the 
Keeper's door is without the gate." 

" That were a bad shift ! " said he, " I had almost as leave 
die in the streets; yet I will, rather than wander again to the 

"Well," said I, "let us go and prove! I believe the 
Keeper will help us in at the gate, or else let us in through 
his wards, for he hath a door on the inside also. If all this 
fail, I have a friend at the gate, Newman the ironmonger ; in 
whose house I have been lodged : where, I dare warrant you, 
we shall have lodging, or at the least, house-room and fire." 

" Marry, this is well said ! " saith Ferrers. 

So to Newgate, we went: where was a great Watch without 
the gate, which my friend Newman had the charge of; for 
that he was the Constable. They marvelled to see there, 
torches coming at that time of the night. 

When we came to them, " Master Underhill," said 
Newman, " what news, that you walk so late ? " 

" None but good! " said I, " We come from the Court, and 
would have gone in at Ludgate, and cannot be let in : where- 
fore, I pray you, if you cannot help us in here, let us have 
lodging with you ! " 

" Marry, that ye shall! " said he, " or go in at the gate 
whether ye will ! " 

" Godamercy, gentle friend ! " said Master Throgmorton ; 
" I pray you let us go in, if it may be ! " 

He called to the Constable within the gate, who opened 
the gate forthwith. " How happy was I ! " said Master 
Throgmorton, " that I met with you. I had been lost 

When Wyatt was come about [i.e., from Sonllinjark, tliyuu;:;Ji 

y2 Sir J . Gage all in t ii i: n i k t . [■=• ^'"''^;™: 

Kingston, to Westminster on yth February 1554], notwith- 
standing my discharge of the watch by Master Nokris, I put 
on my armour, and went to the Court [at Wliitehall Palace] : 
where I found all my fellows in the Hall, which they were 
appointed to keep that day. 

Old Sir John Gage was appointed without the utter [outer] 
gate, with some of his Guard, and his servants and others with 
him. The rest of the Guard were in the Great Court, the gates 
standing open. Sir Richard Southwell had charge of the 
back sides, as the Wood Yard and that way, with 500 men. 

The Queen was in the Gallery by the Gatehouse. 

Then came Knevett and Thomas Cobham with a com- 
pany of the rebels with them, through the Gatehouse from 
Westminster: wherewith Sir John Gage and three of the 
Judges [of the Common Pleas] that were meanly armed in 
old brigantines [jackets of quilted leather, covered with iron 
plates] were so frighted, that they fled in at the gates in such 
haste, that old Gage fell down in the dirt and was foul 
arrayed : and so shut the gates, whereat the rebels shot many 

By means of this great hurly burly in shutting of the gates, 
the Guard that were in the Court made as great haste in 
at the Hall door ; and would have come into the Hall amongst 
us, which we would not suffer. Then they went thronging 
towards the Water Gate, the kitchens, and those ways. 

Master Gage came in amongst us, all dirt; and so 
frighted that he could not speak to us. Then came the three 
Judges; so frighted that we could not keep them out, except 
we should beat them down. 

With that we issued out of the Hall into the Court, to see 
what the matter was ; where there were none left but the 
porters, the gates being fast shut. As we went towards the 
gate, meaning to go forth. Sir Richard Southwell came 
forth of the back yards into the Court. 

" Sir ! " said we, " command the gates to be opened that 
we may go to the Queen's enemies ! We will else break them 
open ! It is too much shame that the gates should thus be 
shut for a few rebels ! The Queen shall see us fell down her 
enemies this day, before her face ! " 

" Masters ! " said he, and put his morion off his head, " I 
shall desire you all, as you be Gentlemen, to stay yourselves 

^' 'f"''";^.] The Pensioners.the Queen's last refuge. 93 

here ; that I may go up to the Queen to know her pleasure ; 
and you shall have the gates opened. And, as I am a Gentle- 
man ! I will make speed ! " 

Upon this, we stayed ; and he made a speedy return : and 
brought us word, the Queen was content that we should have 
the gates opened : " But her request is," said he, "that you 
will not go forth of her sight ; for her only trust is in you, for 
the defence of her person this day." 

So the gate was opened, and we marched before the Gallery 
window: where she spake unto us; requiring us, "As we 
were Gentlemen, in whom she only trusted, that we would 
not go from that place." 

There we marched up and down the space of an hour ; and 
then came a herald posting, to bring the news that Wyatt 
was taken. 

Immediately came Sir Maurice Berkeley and Wyatt 
behind him ; unto whom he did yield at the Temple Gate : 
and Thomas Cobham behind another gentleman. 

Anon after, we [the Gentlemen Pensioners] were all brought 
unto the Queen's presence, and every one kissed her hand ; 
of whom we had great thanks and large promises how good 
she would be unto us : but few or none of us got anything, 
although she was very liberal to many others, that were 
enemies unto GOD's Word, as few of us were. 

Thus went I home to my house, where[in] I kept, arid came 
little abroad, until the marriage was concluded with King 

Then was there [the] preparing [in July, 1555! to go with 
the Queen, unto Winchester; and all the Books of the 
Ordinaries were perused by [Stephen Gardiner] the Bishop 
of Winchester and the Earl of Arundel, to consider of 
every man. 

Sir Humphrey Ratcliffe, our Lieutenant, brought unto 
him the Book of the Pensioners ; which when they overlooked, 
they came unto my name. 

" What doth he here ? " said the Earl of Arundel. 

" I know no cause why he should not be here," said Master 
Ratcliffe, " he is an honest man. He hath served from 
the beginning of the Band {founded in December, 1539, as the 

94 The Queen's Marriage at Winchester. [^' V"'''*'''.' 

Band of Spears. It consisted of a Captain, Lieutenant, Standard 
bearer. Clerk of the Cheque, and Gentleman Harbinger, and fifty 
Gentlemen ; chosen out of the best and most ancient families of 
England. Some of thcni sons to Earls, Barons, Knii^hts, and 
Esquires : men thereunto specially recommended for their worthi- 
ness and sufficiency ; without any stain or taint of dishonour, or 
disparagement in blood \, and was as forward as any to serve the 
Queen, in the time of Wyatt's rebellion." 

" Let him pass then ! " said the Bishop. 

" Well," said the Earl, " you may do so ; but I assure you, 
my Lord ! he is an arch-heretic 1 " 

Thus I passed once again. 

When we came to Winchester, being in the Chamber of 
Presence, with my fellows, Master Norris came forth of the 
Queen's Privy Chamber ; unto whom we did reverence, as 
his place required. 

" What I " saith he unto me ; " what do you here ? " 
" Marry, sir I " said I, " what do you here ? " 
" Eh ! " said he, " are you so short with me ? " 
" Sir ! " said I, " I must and will forbear, for the place you 
be in ; but if you were in the place you were in, of the Outer 
Chamber, I would be shorter with you ! You were then the 
doorkeeper ; when we waited at the table. Your office is not 
to find fault at my being here. I am at this time appointed 
to serve here, by those that be in authority ; who know me, 
as well as you do ! " 

" They shall know you better ! " said he, " and the Queen 

With that, said Master John Calvelev, one of my fellows 
(brother unto Sir Hugh Calveley, of Cheshire), who served 
at the journey to Laundercei in the same Band that I did, 
" In good faith ! Master Norris, methinks you do not well ! 
This gentleman, our fellow, hath served of long time, and 
was ready to venture his life in defence of the Queen's Majesty 
at the last service, and as forward as any was there ; and 
also being appointed and ready to serve here again now, 
to his great charges, as it is unto us all, methinks you do 
than the part of a Gentleman thus to seek him 1 " 

" What ! " said he, " I perceive you will hold together I " 
" Else we were worse than beasts," said my fellow ; " if wc 


would not, in all lawful cases, so hold together ; he that 
toucheth one of us, shall touch all." 

So went he from us, into the Privy Chamber ; and from 
that time never meddled more with me. 

On the mavriR^eday [2^th July, 1555, rti Winchester], the Kinf^ 
and the Queen dined in the liall in the Bishop's Palace ; 
sitting under the Cloth of Estate, and none else at that table. 
The Nobility sat at the side tables. We were the chief 
servitors, to carry the meat ; and the Earl of Sussex, our 
Captain, was the Sewer. 

The second course at the marriage of a King is given unto 
the bearers ; I mean the meat, but not the dishes, for they 
were of gold. 

It was my chance to carry a great pasty of a red deer in a 
great charger, very delicately baked ; which, for the weight 
thereof, divers refused [i.e., to carry]. The which pasty I sent 
unto London, to my wife and her brother; who cheered there- 
with many of their friends. 

I will not take upon me, to write the manner of the mar- 
riage, of the feast, nor of the dancing of the Spaniards, that 
day ; who were greatly out of countenance, specially King 
Philip dancing with the Queen, when they did see my Lord 
Bray, Master Carew, and others so far exceed them ; but 
will leave it unto the learned, as it behoveth him to be, that 
shall write a Story of so great a Triumph. 

Which being ended, their repair was to London. Where, 
shortly after, began the cruel persecution of the Preachers 
and earnest professors and followers of the Gospel ; and 
searching of men's houses for their books. Wherefore I got 
old Henry Daunce, the bricklayer of Whitechapel ; who 
used to preach the Gospel in his garden, every holiday, where 
I have seen a thousand people : he did inclose my books in a 
brick wall by the chimney's side in my chamber ; where they 
were preserved from moulding or mice, until the first year 
of our most gracious Queen Elizabeth, &c. 

Notwithstanding that, I removed from thence, and went 
unto Coventry ; and got me a house a mile out of that city in 
a wood side. I3ut before I removed from the said house [in 
Wood Street] in London ; I had two children born there, a 

wench [i.e., a girl, his fifth daughter, Anne, born 4th January, 
1554], and a boy [his second son, Edward, born 10th February 

It was a great grief to me, to see so much innocent blood 
shed for the Verity. I was also threatened by John Avales 
and Beard: which I understood by Master Luke [Shepherd], 
my very friend, of Coleman Street, physician ; who was great 
with some that kept them company, and yet were honest 
men. Whom I caused to let them understand, that " If they 
did attempt to take me, except they had a warrant signed 
with four or five of the Council's hands, I would go further 
with them than Peter did, who strake off but the ear of 
Malchus ; but I would surely strike off head and all." 
Which was declared unto them ; so that I oftentimes met 
them, but they would not meddle with me. So mightily the 
merciful LORD defended me ; as also from being present at 
that blasphemous Mass, in all the time of Queen Mary. 

This Luke [Shepherd] wrote many proper books 
against the Papists, for the which he was imprisoned 
in the Fleet J especially a book called John Bon and 
mast. Person, who reasoned together of the natural pre- 
sence in the Sacrament [see pp. loi-iii]. Which book he 
wrote in the time of King Edward ; wherewith the 
Papists were sore grieved, specially Sir John Gresham, 
then being Mayor [i.e-., October i^^y-Octobcr 154S ; but the 
true date of Allen's arrest would appear, from p. 87, to have 
been in 1551 ; when Sir Andrew J u DDE was Lord Mayor]. 
John Day did print the same book [? in 1551]; whom 
the Mayor sent for, to know the maker [author] thereof 
saying " He should also go to prison, for printing the 

It was my chance to come in the same time ; for that 
I had found out where [Robert] Allen the Prophesier, 
had a chamber ; through whom there was a bruit in the 
city, that the King was dead : which I declared to the 
Mayor, requiring him to have an Officer to apprehend 

" Marry," said the Mayor, " I have received letters to 
make search for such this night at midnight." 

He was going unto dinner ; who willed mc to take part 
of the same. 

"""[i'''':] R O B E R T A I. I. E X, THE P R O P II E S I E R. 97 

As we were at dinner, he said " There was a book put 
forth, called John Bon ; the maker whereof, he would 
gladly search for." 

" Why so ? " said I, " that book is a good book. 1 
have one of them here, and there are many of them in 
the Court." 

" Have you so ? " said he, " I pray you, let me see it ; 
for I have not seen any of them." 

So he took it, and read a little of it, and laughed 
thereat, as it was both pithy and merry. By means 
whereof, John Day, sitting at a sideboard after dinner, 
was bidden [to] go home; who had, else, gone to prison. 

When we had dined, the Mayor sent two of his 
Officers with me to seek Allen ; whom we met withal 
in Paul's [Church], and took him with us unto his 
chamber ; where we found figures set to calculate the 
nativit}' of the King, and a judgement given of his death ; 
whereof this foolish wretch thought himself so sure, 
that he, and his counsellors the Papists, bruited it all 

The King lay at Hampton Court, the same time ; and 
my Lord Protector [the Duke of Northumberland] 
at the Sion [Sion House, near Islcworth] ; unto whom 
I carried this Allen, with his books of conjurations, 
calculations, and many things belonging to that devilish 
art : which he affirmed before my Lord, " was a lawful 
science, for the statute [^-^ Hen. VIH. c. 8.] against 
such was repealed [by i Edw. VI. c. 12]." 

" Thou foolish knave ! " said my Lord, "if thou, and 
all that be of thy science tell me what I shall do to- 
morrow, I will give thee all that I have ! " Com- 
manding me to carry him unto the Tower : and wrote a 
letter to Sir John Markham, then being Lieutenant, to 
cause him to be examined by such as were learned. 

Master Markham, as he was both wise and zealous 
in the LORD, talked with him. Unto whom he did 
affirm that " He knew more of the science of Astronomy 
than all the Univ^ersities of Oxford and Cambridge." 
Whereupon he sent for my friend, before spoken of. 
Doctor Recorde ; who examined him : and he knew 
not the rules of Astronomy ; but " Was a very unlearned 

ass ; and a sorcerer, for the which he was worthy hang- 
ing," said Master Recorue. 

To have further matters unto [in refcvcnce to] him, we 
sent for Thomas Robyns alias Morgan, commonly called 
Little Morgan or Tom "Morgan (brother unto great [big] 
Morgan, of Salisbury Court, the great dicer) ; who, when 
I was a companion with him, told me many stories of 
this Allen : what a cunning man he was ! and what 
things he could do ! as, to make a woman love a man, to 
teach men how to win at the dice, what should become 
of this realm ; [there was] nothing, but he knew it ! So 
he had his chambers in divers places of the city, whither 
resorted many women, for things stolen or lost, to know 
their fortunes, and their children's fortunes ; where the 
ruffling roister[er]s and dicers made their ma[t]ches. 

When this Morgan and Allen were brought together; 
Morgan utterly denied that ever he had seen him, or 
known him. 

" Yes," said Allen, "you know me! and I know you !" 
For he had confessed that, before his coming. 

Upon this. Master Lieutenant stayed Little Morgan 
also a prisoner in the Tower. 

1 caused also Master Gaston the lawyer [not to he con- 
founded with Gascoigne the Poet, of Gray's Inn ; who did 
not marry Widow BRETON till after i^th June, 1559], who 
was also a great dicer, to be apprehended. In whose 
house, Allen was much ; and had a chamber there, 
where many things were practised. 

Gaston had an old wife, who was laid under the board 
all night, for dead ; and when the women, in the morning, 
came to wind her, they found that there was life in her ; 
and so recovered her: and she lived about two years 

By the resort of such as came to seek for things 
stolen and lost, which they would hide for the nonce, to 
blear their husband's eyes withal, [afterwards] saying, 
"the wise man told them"; of such, Gaston had choice 
for himself and his friends, young lawyers of the Temple 
[, not of Gray's Inn], 

E. Underhm.-j U N D E R H I L L ' S DAILY P R A V E K . 99 

Thus became I so despised and odious unto the 
lawyers, Lords and ladies, gentlemen, merchants, knaves, 
and thieves ; that I walked as dangerously as Daniel 
amongst the lions. Yet from them all, the LORD de- 
livered me : notwithstanding their often devices and 
conspiracies by violence to have shed my blood, or with 
sorcery [to have] destroyed me. 

These aforesaid were in the Tower about the space of 

a year; and then by friendship delivered. So 'scapeth 

alwaysthe wicked, and such as GOD commandeth should 

not live among the people. 

Yea, even now in these days also ; so that, methinks, I see 

the ruin of London and this whole realm to be even at hand ; 

for GOD will not suffer any longer. Love is clean banished. 

No man is sorry for Joseph's hurt. 

A Prayer, taken otit of tJie Psalms of Da vid, 

daily and nightly, to be said of 

Edward Underhill. 

|0rd ! teach me the understanding of Thy com- 
mandments ! that I may apply myself for the keep- 
ing of the same, as long as I live ! Give me such 
wisdom that 1 may understand, and so to fulfil the 
thing that Thy law deviseth ! to keep it also with my whole 
heart, that I do nothing against it! Guide me after the true 
understanding of Thy commandments ! for that hath been 
always my special desire. Incline mine heart unto the love 
of Thy statULLS, and cause me utterly to abhor covetousness ! 
Turn mine eyes aside 1 lest they be 'tangled with the love of 
most vain things ; but lead me, rather, unto life through Thy 
warnings ! Set such a Word before Thy servant, as may 
most chiefly further him to worship Thee ! Take away the 
shame that I am afraid of! for Thy judgements are greatly 
mixed with mercy. As for me, veiily, I have loved Thy 
commandments ; wherefore keep me alive according to Thy 
righteousness ! 

loo SrM'.mrKN of his Ri 

/,07V GOD. above all thitv^a ! and thy neighbour as thyself! 

That this is Christ's doctrine, no man can it deny, 
Which little is regarded in England's commonwealth, 

Wherefdre great plagues at hand be, the realm for to 

Do as thou woiildst be done unto ! No place here he can have. 

Of all he is refused. No man will him receive. 
But Private Wealth, that cursed wretch, and most vile 
slave ! 

Over all, he is embraced ; and fast to him, they cleave. 

He that hath this world's goods, and seeth his neighbour lack ; 

And of him hath no compassion, nor sheweth him no love. 
Nor relieveth his necessity, but suffers him to go to wrack ; 

GOD dwellethnot in that man, the Scriptures plainly prove. 

Example we have by Dives, that daintily did fare, 
In worldly wealth and riches therein he did excel ; 

Of poor Lazarus's misery he had thereof no care : 
Therefore was suddenly taken, and tormented in hell. 

Edward Under hill. 

3obn Son anti 
mast J^arson. 

Picture of a 

procession of Priests 

bearing the Host. 

rs" aia£f, poor foolsi i so 0oi-e je be lalie ? 
iPo martcl is ft, tljouglj pour sljoulDers adje: 
ifor pe bear a great pti toljitlj pc pouroclties niat)e. 
a^abe of it, toljat pc toill? it is a Mlafer Cake -, 
Sinn bettoeen ttoo irons, printeO it is anO bafee. 
anO look, tobere iDolatrp is, Cljrist toill not be tljere? 
(laiterefore, lap Doton pour burtien i an iDol, pe Do bear ? 
IS' alas, poor fools ? 

[This attack on the Mass, written by Doctor Luke Shepherd, one of 
the very earliest productions of the press of the celebrated Elizabethan 
printer, JOHN DAY, was apparently printed in 1551 ; and is reprinted 
here from the Percy Society% text, on account of Underhill's story 
respecting it at/. 96.] 

3o()n iSon anti 
mast JParson^ 

What, John Bon ! Good morrow to thee ! 
gioljn Bon. 

Now, good morrow, mast[er] Parson, so mut I thee ! 


What meanest thou, John ! to be at work so soon ? 


The sooner I begin, the sooner shall I have done, 
For I 'tend to work no longer thsjn none. 


Marry, John, for that, GOD's blessing on thy heart ! 
For, surely, some there be, will go to plough and cart ; 
And set not by, this holy Corpus ChrisH even. 

They are the more to blame, I swear by Saint Stephen ! 
But tell me, mast[er] Parson, one thing, and you can ; 
What Saint is Copsi Cursty, a man, or a woman ? 

I04 TiiK Intkki.ude ok 7o//.v i5o.v ['"'^'^'7'"="''Vs5": 

Why, John ! knowest not that ? I tell thee, it was a man. 
It is Christ His own self, and to-morrow is His day. 
We bear Him in procession, and thereby know it ye may. 

I know ! mastier] Parson ! and nay, by my fay ! 
But methink it is a mad thing that ye say, 
That it should be a man. How can it come to pass ? 
Because ye may Him bear within so small a glass. 


Why, neighbour John, and art thou now there ? 
Now I may perceive ye love this new gear. 

God's forbod ! master! I should be of that faction. 
I question why, your masship, in way of cumlication. 
A plain man, ye may see, will speak as cometh to mind : 
Ye must hold us excused, for ploughmen be but blind. 
I am an eld fellow, of fifter winter and more, 
And yet, in all my life, I knew not this before. 

No did ! Why sayest thou so ? Upon thyself, thou lyest ! 
Thou hast ever known the sacrament to be the body of 
Christ ! 

Yea, sir, ye say true ! All that, I know indeed ; 
And yet, as I remember, it is not in my Creed : 
But as for Cropsy Cursty to be a man or no, 
I knew not till this day, by the way my soul shall tol 


Why, foolish fellow ! I tell thee it is so ! 

r'or it was so determined by the Church long ago ; 

It is both the sacrament and very Christ himself. 

Luke sh=p:,.rd. M.a-j ., ^^. ^ J/ ^ y y,[- ^, ^, ] /-> ^ ^. ^ ^ ^r, jq- 

No spleaser, mast[er] Parson! Then make ye Christ an elt ; 
And the maddest made man, that ever body saw ! 

What ! peace, mad man ! Thou speakest like a daw 1 
It is not possible his manhood for to see. 


Why, sir ; ye tell me it is even very He : 

And if it be not His manhood. His godhead it must be. 

^a 1-3311. 

I tell thee, none of both 1 What meanest thou ? Art thou 
mad ? 


No, neither made nor drunk; but to learn I am glad: 
But to displease your masship, I would be very loath, 
Ye grant me here plainly, that it is none of both, 
Then it is but a cake : but I pray ye, be not wroth I 


Wroth, quoth ha ! By the mass ! (thou makest me swear 

an oath), 
I had leaver with a Doctor of Divinity to reason. 
Than with a stubble cur, that eateth beans and peason. 

I cry ye mercy, mast[erj Parson ! Patience for a season ! 
In all this cumlication is neither felony nor treason. 


No, by the mass ! But hearest thou ! It is plain heresv. 

io6 Till-; Interlude ok yor/.v /io.v [L"'^'Si,=p''"d,M.r.. 

I am glad it chanced so, there was no witness by ; 
And if there had, I cared not ; for ye spalte as ill as I. 
I speak but as I heard you say, I wot not what ye thought. 
Ye said " It was not God, nor man," and made it worse than 

I meant not so. Thou tookest me wrong ! 


A, sir ! Ye sing another song ! 
I dare not reason with you long. 
I see well, now, ye have a knack 
To say a thing, and then go back. 


No, John ! I was but a little overseen ; 
But thou meantest not good faith, I ween, 
In all this talk that was us between. 

I ! No, trow, it shall not so been 

That John Bon shall an heretic be called, 

Then might he lay him so foul befald. 


But, now, if thou wilt mark me well ! 
From beginning to ending, I will thee tell 
Of the godly service that shall be to-morrow ; 
That, ere I have done, no doubt, thou wilt sorrow 
To hear that such things should be foredone. 
And yet, in many places, they have begun 
To take away the old, and set up new. 
Believe me, John ! this tale is true. 

Luk. Shepherd, M.n.-j ^ ^ J) M A S t\^E K^ P A R S O N . lOJ 


Go to, mast[erj Parson ! Say on, and well to thrive ! 
Ye be the jolliest gemman [gentleman] that ever saw in my 

We shall first have Matins. Is it not a godly hearing ? 

Fie ! yes. Methink 'tis a shameful gay cheering. 

For oftentimes, on my prayers, when I take no great keep, 

Ye sing so arrantly well, ye make me fall asleep 1 

Then have we Procession, and Christ about we bear. 

That is a poison holy thing, for GOD Himself is there. 


Then come we in, and ready us dress. 
Full solemnly to go to Mess. 


Is not here a mischievous thing ! 

The Mess is vengeance holy, for all their saying I 


Then say we Confiteor and Miscriaiur. 

Jeze lord ! 'tis abominable matter ! 

And then wc stand up to the altar. 

This gear is as good as Our Lady's Psalter. 

And so go forth with the other deal 
Till we have read the Pistcl and Guspcl. 

That is good, mast[erj Parson, I know right well. 

Is that good ! Why, what say'st thou to the other ? 


Marry! horribly good ! I say none other. 


So is all the Mess, I dare avow this, 

As good in every point as Pistel or Gospel is. 

The foul evil it is ! Who would think so much ? 
In faith, I ever thought that it had been no such. 


Then have we the Canon, that is holiest. 

A spiteful gay thing, of all that ever I wist. 

Then have we the Memento, even before the sacring. 

Ye are morenly well learned ! I see by your reck'ning 
That ye will not forget such an elvish thing. 

And after that, we consecrate Very God and Man ; 
And turn the bread to flesh, with five words we can. 

I.uke Shepherd, M.D.J ^ ^. ^ M A S T^ E Ji'\ P A li S X . 1 OQ 

The devil ye do ! I trow this is pestilence business ! 
Ye are much bound to GOD for such a spittle holiness ! 
A gallows gay gift ! With five words alone, 
To make both God and Man ; and yet we see none ! 
Ye talk so unreasonably well, it maketh my heart yearn, 
As eld a fellow as I am, I see well I may learn. 

Yea, John! and then, with words holy and good, 
Even, by and by, we turn the wine to blood. 

Lo ! Will ye se ? Lo ! who would have thought it ? 
That ye could so soon from wine to blood ha brought it ? 
And yet, except your mouth be better tasted than mine, 
I cannot feel it other but that it should be wine. 
And yet I wot ne'er a cause there may be, why 
Perchance, ye ha drunk blood oftner than ever did I. 

Truly, John, it is blood, though it be wine in taste. 

As soon as the word is spoke, the wine is gone and past ! 


A sessions on it ! for me. My wits are me benumme: 
For I cannot study where the wine should become ? 


Study, quoth ha ! Beware, and let such matter go 1 
To meddle much with this, may bring ye soon to woe. 


Yea, but, mastfer] Parson ! think ye it were right, 
That, if I desired you to make my black ox white ; 
And you say, " It is done ! " and still is black in sight ; 
Ye might me deem a fool, for to believe so light? 

iio Tun Intkkluue of 70//.V i?(;.v['-"^°V"''''s5;: 

I marvel much, ye will reason so far I 
I fear if ye use it, it will ye mar! 


No, no, sir! I trust of that I shall be 'ware, 
I pray you, with your matter again forth to fare ! 

And then we go forth, and Christ's body receive ; 
Even the very same that Mary did conceive. 

The devil it is ! Ye have a great grace 
To eat GOD and Man in so short a space. 


And so we make an end, as it lieth in an order. 

But now the blessed Mess is hated in every border, 

And railed on, and reviled, with words most blasphemous: 

But I trust it will be better with the help of Catechismus. 

For though it came forth but even that other day. 

Yet hath it turned many to their old way: 

And where they hated Mcsse, and had it in disdain. 

There harve they Messe and Matins in Latin tongue again. 

Ye I, even in London self, John, I tell the truth I 

They be full glad and merry to hear of this, GOD knoweth ! 

By my troth! mast[er] Parson, I like full well your talk ! 
But mass me no more messings I The right way will I walk. 
For, though I have no learning, yet I know cheese from 

And each can perceive your juggling, as crafty as ye walk ! 
But leave your devilish Mass, and the Communion to you take ! 
And then will Christ be with you ; even for His promise 

sake ! 

Luke Shepherd, M^D.J A N D M A S i\e li'\ P A li S O N . Ill 

What, art thou such a one, and kept it so close ! 

Well, all is not gold, that hath a fair gloss. 

But, farewell, John Bon ! GOD bring thee in better mind ! 

I thank you, sir ! for that you seem very kind ; 
But pray not so for me ! for I am well enough. 
Whistle, boy 1 drive forth 1 GOD speed us and the plough I 
Ha 1 browne done ! forth, that horson crab ! ^^tTtLZkT" 

Reecomomyne, garled ! with haight, black hab ! Ao««.i 

Have a gain, bald before ! hayght ree who ! 
Cherrily, boy, come off! that homeward we may go. 

jf in is. 

iss- gimprinrcti at HouDon, bv 31oljii 3Dap, anO 

JLiUilliain »»ere0, Utodling; in »>cpulcl)i-c£( 

i8an0l), at tlje jsiiyn oE tlje Eesurtrection, 

a little aliotc Il^olboca ConHtiite. 


John Fox, the Martyrologist. 

The Impriso?i7nent of the Princess 
Eliza B E th . 

|Irst, therefore, to begin with her princely birth, 
being born at Greenwich, anno 1534, of the famous 
and victorious Prince, King Henry VIII., and of 
the noble and most virtuous Lady, Queen Anne 
her mother ; sufficiently is committed to the story 
before. Also of the solemn celebration of her baptism in the 
said town, and Grey Friar's Church, of Greenwich ; having 
to her godfather, Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canter- 

After that, she was committed to godly tutors and gover- 
nors. Under whose institution her Grace did so gieatly 
increase, or rather excel in all manner of virtue and know- 
ledge of learning, that I stand in a doubt whether is more to 
be commended in this behalf, the studious diligence of them 
that brought her up, or the singular towardness of her own 
princely nature to all virtuous disposition ; so apt and so 
inclinable : both being notwithstanding the gifts of GOD, for 
which we are all bound to give Him thanks. What tongue 
is it that Her Grace knoweth not ? What language she 
cannot speak ? What liberal art or science, she hath not 
learned ? And what virtue wherewith her noble breast is not 
garnished ? In counsel and wisdom, what Councillor will go 
beyond Her Majesty ? 

If the goodness of nature, joined with the industry of Her 
Grace's institution, had not been in her marvellous, how 
many things were there, besides the natural infirmity of that 
sex, the tenderness of youth, the nobility of estate, allure- 
ments of the world, persuasions of flatterers, abundance of 
wealth and pleasures, examples of the Court, enough to carry 

^'.iTi'.] The Princess's maidenly modesty. 113 

lier Grace away after the common fashion and rule of many 
other Ladies, from gravity to Hghtness, from study to ease, 
from wisdom to vanity, from religion to superstition, from 
godliness to gawishness, to be pricked up with pride, to be 
garish in apparel, to be fierce in condition ? 

liloquently is it spoken, and discreetly meant of Tully, 
the eloquent orator: "To live," saith he, "a good man in 
other places, is no great matter : but in Asia, to keep a sober 
and temperate life, that is a matter indeed praiseworthy ! " So 
here, why may I not affirm without flattery, that [which] 
every man's conscience can testify ? In that age, that sex, 
in such State and fortune, in so great occasions, so many 
incitements : in all these, to retain so sober conversation, so 
temperate condition, such mildness of manners, such humble- 
ness of stomach, such clemency in forgiving, such travailing 
in study : briefly, in the midst of Asia, so far to degenerate 
from all Asia ; it hath not lightly been seen in Europe ! 
Hitherto, it hath been seen in very few. Whereby it may 
appear not only what education, or what Nature may do ; but 
what GOD, above Nature, hath wrought in her noble breast, 
adorning it with so worthy virtues. 

Of which her princely qualities and virtuous disposition, 
such as have been conversant with her youth can better 
testify. That which I have seen and read, I trust I may 
boldly repeat without suspicion either of feigning or flattery. 
For so I have read, written, and testified of Her Grace by 
[according to] one, both learned and also that can say some- 
thing in this matter. Who in a certain book, by him set 
forth, entreating of Her Grace's virtuous bringing up, what 
discreet, sober, and godly women she had about her; 
speaketh, namely, of two points in Her Grace to be con- 
sidered. One concerning her moderate and maidenly be- 
haviour ; the other one concerning her training up in learning 
and good letters. Declaring, first, for her virtuous modera- 
tion of life, that seven years after her father's death [i.e. in 
1553], she had no little pride of stomach, so little delight in 
glistering gazes of the world, in gay apparel, rich attire, and 
precious jewels, that in all that time [i.e., through her brother 
Edward's reign] she never looked upon those, that her father 
left her (and which other Ladies commonly be so fond upon) 
but onlv once ; and that against her will. And, moreover, 

£y^. C.,K. IV. S 

114 GliNKRAl. ADMIRATION OK THE PuiNCli-SS. [J'^^il 

after that, so little gloried in the same, that there came 
neither gold nor store upon her head, till her sister enforced 
her to lay off her former soberness, and bear her company in 
lier glistening gains: yea, and then, she so ware it, as every 
man might see that her body bare that which her heart 
misliked. Wherein the virtuous prudence of this Princess, 
not reading but following the words of Paul and Peter, 
well considered True Nobility to consist not in circumstances 
of the body, but in substance of the heart ; not in such things 
which deck the body, but in that which dignifieth the mind, 
shining and blazing more bright than pearl or stone, be it 
never so precious. 

Again, the said author, further proceeding in the same 
matter, thus testifieth, that he knew a great man's daughter 
receiving from the Lady Mary, before she was Queen, goodly 
apparel of tinsel, cloth of gold and velvet, laid on with 
parchment lace of gold. When she saw it she said, " What 
shall I do with it ? " 

" Marry ! " said a gentlewoman, "wear it ! " 

" Nay! " quoth she, " that were a shame ! To follow my 
Lady Mary, against GOD's \\'ord ; and leave my Lady 
Elizabeth, which followeth GOD's Word." 

Let noble Ladies and gentlewomen here learn either to 
give, or to take good example given : and if they disdain to 
teach their inferiors, in well doing ; yet, let it not shame 
them, to learn of their betters. 

LikeAvise also at the coming in of the Scottish Queen [in 
1553], when all the other Ladies of the Court flourished in 
their bravery, with their hair frounced and curled, and double 
curled; yet she altered nothing; but to the shame of them 
all, kept her old maidenly shamefastness. 

Let us now come to the second point, declaring how she 
hath been trained in learning ; and that not vulgar and 
common, but the purest and the best, which is most com- 
mended at these days, as the Tongues, Arts, and GOD's 
Word. Wherein she so exceedingly profited, as the foresaid 
author doth witness, that being under twenty yeais of age 
[i.e., before 1554J, she was not, in the best kind of learning, 
inferior to those that all their life time had been brought up 
in the Universities, and were counted jolly fellows. 

And that you may understand that there hath not been, 

^'Sj] Testimony of Aylmer and Castiglione. 115 

nor is in her, learning only without nature, and knowledge 
without towardness to practice ; I will tell what hath been 
heard of her first schoolmaster [John Aylmer], a man very 
honest and learned : who reported of her, to a friend of his, that 
" He learned every day more of her, than she of him." Which 
when it seemed to him a mystery, as indeed it was, and he 
therefore desired to know his meaning therein, he thus 
expounded it : "I teach her words," quoth he, " and she, me 
things. I teach her the tongues to speak ; and her modestly 
and maidenly life teacheth me words to do. For," saith he, 
" I think she is the best inclined and disposed of any in all 

It seemed to me a goodly commendation of her, and a 
witty saying of him. 

Likewise [Castiglione] an Italian, which taught her his 
tongue (although that nation lightly praise not out of their 
own country), said once to the said party, that " He found in 
her two qualities, which are never lightly yokefellows in one 
woman ; which were a singular wit, and a marvellous meek 

If time and leisure would serve to peruse her whole life 
past, many other excellent and memorable examples of her 
princely qualities and singular virtues might here be noted ; 
but none, in my mind, more worthy of commendation, or that 
shall set forth the fame of her heroical and princely renown 
more to all posterity, than the Christian patience, and incre- 
dible clemency of her nature showed in her afflictions, and 
towards her declared enemies. Such was then the wicked- 
ness and rage of that time, wherein what dangers and 
troubles were among the inferior subjects of this realm of 
England, may be easily gathered when such a Princess, of 
that Estate, being a King's daughter, a Queen's sister, and 
Heir Apparent to the Crown, could not escape without her 

And therefore, as we have hitherto discoursed [of] the afflic- 
tions and persecutions of the other poor members of Christ, 
comprehended in this History before ; so likewise, I see no 
cause why the communion of Her Grace's afflictions also, 
among the other saints of Christ, ought to be suppressed in 
silence : especially seeing the great and marvellous workings ot 
GOD's glory, chiefly in this Story, appeareth above allthe rest. 

1 1.6 Edward YI.'slove for Elizauetii. [^'^^o]'. 

And though I should, through ingratitude or silence, pass 
over the same; }et the thing itself is so manifest, that what 
Englishman is he which knowetli not the afflictions of Her 
(jrace to have been far above the condition of a King's 
daughter : for there was no more behind, to make a very 
Ii'HiGiiN'iA of her, but her offering up upon the altar of the 

In which her storms and tempests, with what patience 
Her Highness behaved herself, although it be best known to 
them who, then being her adversaries, had the minding [im- 
prisouing] of her. Yet this will I say, by the way, that then 
she must needs be in her affliction, marvellous patient : which 
sheweth herself now, in this prosperity, to be utterly without 
desire of revenge ; or else she would have given some token, 
ere this day, of remembrance, how she was handled. 

It was no small injury that she suffered, in the Lord Pro- 
tector's days, by certain venomous vipers ! But to let that 
pass ! was it no wrong, think you ! or small injury that she 
sustained, after the death of King Edward, when they sought 
to defeat her and her sister from their natural inheritance 
and right to the Crown ? 

But to let that pass likewise ! and to come more near to 
the late days of her sister. Queen Mary. Into what fear, 
what trouble of mind, and what danger of death was she 
brought ? 

First, with great solemnity, with bands of harnessed men 
[i.e., in arms and ariiwuy] (Happy was he that might have 
the carrying of her !) to be fetched up, as the greatest traitor 
in the world ; clapped in the Tower : and, again, to be tossed 
from thence, from prison to prison, from post to pillar. At 
length, also prisoner in her own house ; and guarded with a 
sort [number] of cutthroats, which ever gaped for the spoil of 
the same, that they might have been fingering of somewhat. 

Which Story, if I should set forth at large, through all the 
particulars and circumstances of the same, and as the just oc- 
casion of the history requireth ; peradventure, it would move 
offence to some, being yet alive. Yet notwithstanding, I 
intend, by the grace of Christ, therein to use such brevity 
and moderation as may be to the glory of GOD, the discharge 
of the Story, the profit of the reader, and hurt to none : sup- 
pressing the names of some, whom here, although I could 

'■ ■'563:] Sue is a r r e s r k u at A s h r i d g e . 117 

recite, yet I thought not to be more cruel in hurting their 
name, than the Queen hath been in pardoning their hfe. 

Therefore, now to enter into the description of the matter. 
First, to declare her undeserved troubles ; and then, the 
most happy deliverance out of the same, this is the Story. 

N THE beginning of Queen Mary's reign, mention 
is made before, how the Lady Elizabeth, and the 
Lord Courtney were charged with false suspicion 
of [being being concerned inj Sir Thomas Wvatt's 
rising [in January, 1554, sec p. 88]. 

Whereupon, Queen jMarv, whether for that surmise, or for 
what othercause I know not, being offended with the said Lady 
Elizabeth her sister, at that time lying in her house at Ash- 
ridge [near Great Berkhainpstcad], sent to her two Lords [or 
rather WILLIAM, Lord Howard, Sir Edward Hastings, 
afterwards Lord Hastings of Lougliborongh ; and Sir 
Thomas Cornwallis], and Sir John Williams, after- 
wards Lord [Williams] of Thame, with their retinue, and 
troop of horsemen, to the number of 250, who at their sudden 
and unprovided [unexpected] coming on^ the nth February, 1554], 
found her at the same time, sore sick in bed, and very feeble 
and weak of body. 

V/hither, when they came ; ascending up to Her Grace's 
Privy Chamber, willed there, one of her Ladies whom they 
met, to declare unto Her Grace that " There were certain 
Lords come from the Court, which had a message from the 

Her Grace having knowledge thereof, was right glad of 
their coming : howbeit, being then very sick, and the night 
far spent, which was at ten of the clock, requested them by 
the messenger, that they would resort thither in the morning. 

To this, they answered, and by the said messenger sent 
word again, that "They must needs see her ; and would do 
so, in what case soever she were in." Whereat, the Lady 
being aghast, went to shew Her Grace their words ; but they 
hastily following her, came rushing as soon as she, into Her 
Grace's chamber, unbidden. 

At whose so sudden coming into her bedchamber, Her 
Grace being not a little amazed, said unto them, " My Lords ! 

1 1 S Brought in a i. i t t e r t o L o n d o n. [•'■ ^^]\ 

is the haste such, that it might not have pleased you to come 
to-morrow, in the morning ? " 

They made answer, that " They were right sorry to see Her 
Cirace in that case." 

" And I," quoth she, " am not glad to see you here, at this 
time of the night ! " 

W'hereunto, they answered that "They came from the 
Queen to do their message and duty ; which was to this 
effect, that the Queen's pleasure was that she should be at 
London, the yth ;? i2th| day of that present month." 

Whereunto, she said, " ^Iy Lords! no creature [can bej 
more glad than I, to come to Her Majesty ; being right sorry 
that I am not in case at this time, like to wait on her ; as 
you yourselves, my Lords ! do see and can well testify ! " 

" Indeed, we see it true," quoth they, "that you do say ; 
for which we are very sorry : albeit we let you to understand 
that our Commission is such, and so straineth us, that we 
must needs bring you with us, either quick or dead." 

Whereat she being amazed, sorrowfully said that " Their 
commission was very sore ! but yet, notwithstanding, she 
hoped it to be otherwise, and not so straight." 

" Yes, verily ! " they answered. 

Whereupon the Lords calling for two physicians. Doctor 
Owen and Doctor Wendif, demanded of them, " Whether 
she might be removed from thence, with life or not ? " whose 
answer and judgement was this, "That there was no impedi- 
men to their judgement to the contrary ; but that she might 
travel without danger of life." 

In conclusion, they willed her to prepare against the 
morning, at nine of the clock, to go with them, declaring 
that " they had brought with them, the Queen's litter for 

After much talk, the Lords declaring how there was no 
prolonging of times and days, so departed to their chamber; 
being entertained and cheered as appertained to their 

On the next morrow [i2th February], at the time pre- 
scribed, they had her forth as she was, very faint and feeble ; 
and in such case as she was ready to swoon three or four 
times between them. What should I speak here that [which! 
cannot well be expressed ! What a heavy house there was 

to behold the unreverent and doleful dealing of the Lords ; 
but especially the careful fear and captivity of their innocent 
Lady and mistress. 

Now to proceed in their journey. From Ashridge, all sick 
in the litter, she came to Redborne ; where she was guarded 
all night. 

From thence, to St. Albans, to Sir Ralph Rowlet's 
house; where she tarried that night all heavy, both feeble in 
body, and comfortless in mind. 

From that place, they passed to Master Dodd's house, at 
Mimms [near Potters' Bar] ; where they also remained that 

And so from thence, she came to Highgate : where she, 
being very sick, tarried that night and the next day : during 
which time of her abode, there came many pursuivants and 
messengers from the Court unto the Lords; but what about, 
I cannot tell. 

From that place, she was conveyed to the Court ; where 
by the way came to meet her, many gentlemen to accompany 
Her Highness, which were very sorry to see her in that case: 
but especially a great multitude of people that were standing 
by the way ; who then flocking about her litter, lamented 
and greatly bewailed her estate. 

Now when she came to the Court, Her Grace was there 
straightways shut up, and kept as close prison r for a 
fortnight, seeing neither Queen, nor Lord, nor friend at that 
time ; but only then, the Lord Chamberlain, Sir John Gage, 
and the Vice-Chamberlain, which were attendant upon the 

About which time, Sir William St. Lo was called before 
the Council ; to whose charge was laid, that he knew of 
Wyatt's rebellion : which he stoutly denied, protesting that 
he was a true man, both to God and his Prince, defying all 
traitors and rebels. But being straitly examined, was, in 
conclusion, committed to the Tower. 

The Friday before Palm Sunday [i6th March], [Stephen 
Gardiner] the Bishop of Winchester, with nineteen others 
of the Council (who shall be here nameless, as I have 
promised) came unto Her Grace, from the Queen's Majesty ; 
and burdened [acciised] her with Wyatt's conspiracy : which 

r20 Examined u y t h li Council. \J-[^l]; 

she utterly denied, anitniing that " she was altogether guilt- 
less therein." 

They being not contented with this, charged Her Grace 
with the business made by Sir Petkr CAKiiW and the rest of 
the Gentlemen of the West Country ; which she also utterly 
denying, cleared her innocency therein. 

In conclusion, after long debating of matters, they declared 
unto her, that " It was the Queen's will and pleasure that she 
should go unto the Tower, while the matter were further 
tried and examined." 

Whereat, she being aghast, said that " She trusted the 
Queen's Majestj- would be a more gracious Lady unto her ; 
and that Her Highness would not otherwise conceive of her, 
but that she was a true woman." Declaring furthermore to 
the Lords, that " She was innocent in all those matters, 
wherein they had burdened her, and desired them therefore 
to be a further mean to the Queen her sister, that she, being 
a true woman in thought, word, and deed, towards Her 
Majesty, might not be committed to so notorious and doleful 
a place": protesting that she would request no mercy at 
her hand, if she should be proved to have consented unto 
any such kind of matter as they laid unto her charge. And 
therefore, in fine, desired their Lordships to think of her what 
she was ; and that she might not so extremely be dealt 
withal for her truth. 

Whereunto, the Lords answered that " There was no 
remedy. For that the Queen's Majesty was fully determined 
that she should go unto the Tower" ; wherewith the Lords 
departed, with their caps hanging over their eyes [this was 
a purposed sign of disrespect]. 

But not long after, within the space of an hour or a little 
more, came four of the foresaid Lords of the Council, with 
the Guard, who warding the next chamber to her, secluded 
all her Gentlemen and yeomen. Ladies and gentlewomen ; 
saving that for one Gentleman Usher, three Gentlewomen, 
and two Grooms of her Chamber, were appointed in their 
rooms, three other men, and three waiting women of the 
Queen's, to give attendance upon her ; that none should have 
access to her Grace. 

At which time, there were a hundred of Northern soldiers, 
in white coats, watching and warding about the gardens all 

•'■,*5°6j-] Ordered to be sent to the Tower. 121 

*.hat night : a great fire being made in the midst of the Hall ; 
and two certain Lords watching there also with their Band 
and company. 

Upon Saturday, being Palm Sunday Eve [lyth March], two 
certain Lords of the Council, whose names here also we do 
omit [but who were the Marquis of Winchester and the Earl 
of Sussex], came and certified Her Grace that "forthwith 
she must go unto the Tower ! the barge being prepared for 
her, and the tide now ready, which tarrieth for nobody." 

In heavy mood. Her Grace requested the Lords, that " She 
might tarry another tide ; " trusting that the next would be 
more joyous and better [because in the day time]. 

But one of the Lords [i.e., Winchester] replied that 
" Neither tide nor time was to be delayed ! " 

And when Her Grace requested him, that she might be 
suffered to write to the Queen's Majesty, he answered that 
"He durst not permit that;" adding that, "in his judge- 
ment it would rather hurt than profit Her Grace in so doing." 

But the other Lord, who was the Earl of Sussex, more 
courteous and favourable, kneeling down, told Her Grace 
that " She should have liberty to write, and, as he was a true 
man, he would deliver it to the Queen's Highness ; and 
bring an answer of the same, whatsoever came thereof." 

Whereupon she wrote ; albeit she could not, nor might 
not speak with her; to her great discomfort, being no offender 
against Her Majesty. 

[ 7'/ie actual letter 7vritten by the Princess, at this moment, is in the State 

Paper Office. Domestic, Mary, Vol. IV. No. 2. 

The Lady Elizabeth to the Queen. 

If any ever did try this old saying, that A Kinifs word was more than 
another inan^s oath, I most humbly beseech your Majesty to verify it in 
me ; and to remember your last promise, and my last demand, that " I be 
not condemned without answe rand due proof," which it seems that I now 
am : for, without cause proved, I am, by your Council, from you, com- 
manded to go to the Tower, a place more wonted for a false traitor than a 
true subject, which, though I know I desire it not, yet, in the face of all 
this realm, fitl appears proved. While I pray to GOD I may die the 
shamefuUest death that ever any died afore, if I may mean any such thing ! 
and to this present hour I protest before GOD (who shall judge my truth, 
whatsoever malice shall devise), that I never practised, counselled, nor 
consented to anything that might be prejudicial to your person any way, 
or dangerous to the Slate by any means. And therefore, I humbly be- 

122 Hi:k passionate, touching letter. [■'•,^0^ 

seech your Majesty to let me answer afore yourself and not sufller me to 
trust to your Councillors ; yea, and that afore 1 go to the Tower, if it be 
possible, if not, before I be further condemned. Howbeit, I trust assuredly 
your Highness will give me leave to doit, afore 1 go ; that thus shamefully, 
I may not be cried out on, as I now shall be : yea, and without cause ! 

Let conscience move your Highness to take some better way with me 
than to make me be condemned in all men's sight afore my desert known ! 
Also I most humbly beseech your Highness to pardon this my boldness, 
which innocency procures me to do ; together with hope of your natural 
kindness which I trust will not see me cast away, without desert : which 
what it is, I would desire no more of GOD but that you truly knew ; but 
which thing, I think and believe you shall never by report know ; unless 
by yourself you hear. 

I have heard of many, in my time, cast away for want of coining to 
the presence of their I'rince ; and, in late days, I heard my Lord of 
Somerset say that ''If his brother [T/ie Admiral Lord Thomas 
Seymour] had been suft'ered to speak with him, he had never suffered ; 
but persuasions were made to him so great that he was brought in belief 
that he could not live safely if the Admiral lived, and that made him give 
consent to his death." Though these persons are not to be compared to 
your Majesty; yet, I pray GOD, as evil persuasions persuade not one 
sister against the other! and all for that they have heard false report, and 
not hearken to the truth not known. 

Therefore, once again, kneeling with humbleness of heart, because I 
am not suffered to bow the knees of my body ; I humbly crave to speak 
with your Highness : which I would not be so bold as to desire, if I knew 
not myself most clear, as I know myself most true. 

And as for the traitor Wv.^TT, he might peradventure, write me a letter ; 
but, on my faith, I never received any from hiin. And as for the copy ot 
the letter sent to the French King, I pray GOD mayconfound me eternally 
if ever I sent him word, message, token, or letter, by any means ! And to 
this truth, I will stand in to my death. 

Your Highness's most faithful subject, that hath been from the begin- 
ning, and « ill be to my end, Elizabeth. 

1 humbly crave but only one word of answer from yourself.] 

And thus the tide {scasonl and time passed away for that 
time, till the next day, being Palm Sunday, when, about nine 
of the clock, these two came again, declaring that " it was 
time for Her Grace to depart." 

She answered, " If there be no remedy, I must be con- 
tented ; " willing the Lords to go on before. 

And being come forth into the garden, she did cast up her 
eyes towards the window; thinking to have seen the Queen, 
which she could not. Whereat she said, " She marvelled 
much, what the Nobility of the realm meant ; which, in that 
sort, would suffer her to be led forth into captivity, the 
LORD knew whither! for she did not." 

'TsTj;] 1 S S H U T UP IN THE T O W E R . 1 23 

After all this, she took her barge, with the two aforesaid 
Lords, three of the Queen's Gentlewomen,and three of her own, 
her Gentleman Usher, and two of her Grooms : lying and 
hovering upon the hour; for that they could not shoot 
the Bridge [the tide used to rush through the narrow spaces of 
old London bridge, with the force of a mill-race] : the bargemen 
being very unwilling to shoot the same so soon as they did, 
because of the danger thereof. For the stern of the boat 
struck upon the ground, the fall was so big, and the water 
was so shallow. 

Then Her Grace desired of the Lords, that " She might 
not land at the stairs where all traitors and offenders 
customably used to land" [called the Traitors Gate]. 

They answered that " it was past their remedy ; for that 
otherwise they had in commandment." 

"Well," said she, "if it be so, my Lords ! I must needs 
obey it : protesting before all your Honours, that here now 
steppeth as true a subject as ever was, towards the Queen's 
Highness. And before thee, O GOD! I speak it; having 
none other friends, but only Thee ! " 

The Lords declared unto her that "there was no time then 
to try the truth." 

" You have said well, my Lords ! " quoth she, " I am 
sorry that I have troubled you ! " 

So then they passed on [i.e., through the Traitor's Gate], and 
went into the Tower: where were a great company of har- 
nessed men, and armed soldiers warding on both sides: 
whereat she being amazed, called the Lords to her, and 
demanded " the cause, why those poor men stood there ? " 

They declared unto her, that " it was the use and order of 
the place so to do." 

" And if it be," quoth she, " for my cause ; I beseech you 
that they may be dismissed." 

Whereat, the poor men kneeled down, and with one voice, 
desired GOD to preserve Her Grace; who, the next day, 
were released of their cold coats. 

After this, passing a little further, she sat down upon a 
cold stone, and there rested herself. 

To whom, the Lieutenant [Lord Chandos, seep. 78] then 
being, said, " Madam, you were best to come out of the rain 1 
for you sit unwholesomely." 

124 Lord S u s s i: x, again ii k r friend. [•'■,'■563: 

She then replying, answered again, " Better sitting here, 
than in a worse place ! For, GOD knoweth ! I know not 
whither you will bring me ! " 

With that, her Gentleman Usher wept. She demanded of 
him, " What he meant so uncomfortably to use her, seeing 
she took him to be her comforter, and not her dismayer : 
especially for that she knew her truth to be such, that no 
man should have cause to weep for her." But forth she 
went into the prison. 

The doors were locked and bolted upon her; which did 
not a little discomfort and dismay Her Grace. At what 
time, she called to her gentlewoman for her book [i.e., her 
Bible], desiring GOD, "Not to suffer her to build her 
foundation upon the sands, but upon the rocks ! whereby all 
blasts of blustering weather should have no power against 

After the doors were thus locked, and she close shut up ; 
the Lords had great conference how to keep ward and watch, 
every man declaring his opinion in that behalf, agreeing 
straightly and circumspectly to keep her : while that one of 
them, I mean the Lord of Sussex, swearing, said, " My 
Lords ! let us take heed ! and do no more than our Com- 
mission will bear us! whatsoever shall happen hereafter. 
And, further, let us consider that she was the King our 
Master's daughter! and therefore let us use such dealing, 
that we may answer unto it hereafter, if it shall so happen ! 
For just dealing," said he, " is always answerable." 

Whereunto the other Lords agreed that it was well said of 
him : and thereupon departed. 

It would make a pitiful and strange story, here by the way, 
to touch and recite what examinations and rackings of poor 
men there were, to find out the knife that should cut her 
throat ! what gaping among the Lords of the Clergy to see 
the day, wherein they might wash their goodly white rochets 
in her innocent blood ? But especially the Bishop of Win- 
chester, Stephen Gardiner, then Lord Chancellor, and 
ruler of the rost. 

Who then, within few days after [March, 1554], came unto 
her, with divers other of the Council, and examined her of 
of the talk that was at Ashridge, betwixt her and Sir James 
A Croet concerning her removing from thence to Don- 

■'•,563:] Is CONFRONTED WITH SiR Ja.MES A CrOFT. 1 25 

nington Castle, requiring her to declare, "What she meant 

At the first, she, being so suddenly taken, did not well 
remember any such house : but within a while, well advising 
herself, she said, " Indeed, I do now remember that I have 
such a place : but I never lay in it, in all my life. And as 
for any that hath moved me thereunto, I do not remember." 

Then to enforce the matter, they brought forth Sir James 
A Croft. 

The Bishop of Winchester demanded of her, "What she 
said to that man ? " 

She answered that, " She had little to say to him, or to 
the rest that were then prisoners in the Tower, But my 
Lords ! " quoth she, "you do examine every mean prisoner 
of me ! wherein, methinks, you do me great injury ! If they 
have done evil, and offended the Queen's Majesty, let them 
answer to it accordingly. I beseech you, my Lords ! join not 
me in this sort with any of these offenders ! And as con- 
cerning my going unto Donnington Castle, I do remember 
Master Hoby and mine Officers, and you Sir James a Croft ! 
had such talk : but what is that to the purpose, my Lords ! 
but that I may go to my own houses at all times?" 

The Lord of Arundel, kneeling down, said, " Your Grace 
saith true ! and certainly we are very sorry that we have so 
troubled you about so vain matters." 

She then said, "My Lords, you did sift me very narrowly ! 
But well I am assured, you shall do no more to me, than 
GOD hath appointed : and so, GOD forgive you all ! " 

At their departing, Sir James a Croft kneeled down, 
declaring that " He was sorry to see the day in which he 
should be brought as a witness against Her Grace." " But, 
I assure your Grace," said he, " I have been marvellously 
tossed and examined touching your Highness ; which, the 
Lord knoweth ! is strange to me. For I take GOD to 
record ! before all your Honours ! I do not know anything 
of that crime that you have laid to my charge ! and will 
thereupon take my death, if I should be driven to so straight 
a trial." 

[There seems no doubt that at the back of all the following efforts to alle- 
viate and terminate the imprisonment of the Princess, was the ever faithful 
Sir William Cecil, working by many secret means, as far as he dare.] 

That day or thereabouts, divers of her own Officers, who 
had made provision for her diet, brought the same to the 
The««erenoi "tter [outcr' gate of the Tower; the common 
the om«rs of rascal soldiers receiving it: which was no small 
'uchis"'wcnt'in' gHef unto the Gentlemen, the b-^-arers thereof. 
whi>..-«ndRreen. whercfore they required to speak with [Sir 
John Gage] the Lord Chamberlain, being then Constable of 
the Tower: who, coming before his presence, declared unto 
his Lordship that " they were much afraid to bring Her 
Grace's diet, and to deliver it unto such common and 
desperate persons as they were, which did receive it ; be- 
seeching His Honour to consider Her Grace, and to give 
such order that her viands might at all times be brought in 
by them which were appointed thereunto." 

" Yea, sirs ! " said he, " who appointed you this office ? " 

They answer, " Her Grace's Council ! " 

" Council! " quoth he, "there is none of them which hath 
to do, either in that case, or anything else within this place ; 
and, I assure jou ! for that she is a prisoner, she shall be 
served with the Lieutenant's men, as the other prisoners are." 

Whereat the Gentlemen said that " The}- trusted for more 
favour at his hands ! considering her personage," saying 
that " They mistrusted not, but that the Queen and her 
Council would be better to Her Grace than so ! " and there- 
with shewed themselves to be offended at the ungrateful 
[harsh] words of the Lord Chamberlain, towards their Lady 
and Mistress. 

At this, he sware, by GOD ! stroking himself on the breast ; 
that " If they did either frown or shrug at him ; he would set 
them where they should see neither sun nor moon ! " 

Thus taking their leave, they desired GOD to bring him 
into a better mind towards Her Grace, and departed from him. 

Upon the occasion whereof [there being aluutys a fear oj 
poisoned food], Her Grace's Officers made great suit unto the 
Queen's Council, that some might be appointed to bring her 
diet unto her ; and that it might no more be delivered in to 
the common soldiers of the Tower : which being reasonably 
considered, was by them granted. Thereupon were appointed 
one of her Gentlemen, her Clerk of the Kitchen, and her two 
Purveyors, to bring in her provisions once a day. All which 
was done. The warders ever waiting upon the bringers 

^•,^5^3^ Her Cook is too much for Sir John. 127 

thereof (and the Lord Chamberlain himself, being always 
with them), circumspectly and narrowly watched and 
searched what they brought ; and gave heed that they should 
have no talk with any of Her Grace's waiting servants; and 
so warded them both in and out. 

At the said suit of her Ofikers, were sent, by the command- 
ment of the Council, to wait upon Her Grace, two Yeomen 
of her Chamber, one of her Robes, two of her Pantry and 
Ewry, one of her Buttery, another of her Cellar, two of her 
Kitchen, and one of her Larder : all which continued with 
her, the time of her trouble. 

Here the Constable (being at the first not very well pleased 
with the coming in of such a company against his will) would 
have had his men still to have served with Her Grace's men: 
which her servants, at no hand, would suffer; desiring his 
Lordship to be contented, for " that order was taken that no 
stranger should come within their offices." 

At which anbwer, being sore displeased, he brake out into 
these threatening words : " Well," said he, " I will handle 
you well enough ! " 

Then went he into the kitchen, and there would needs 
have his meat roasted with Her Grace's meat ; and said 
" His cook should come thither, and dress it." 

To that. Her Grace's Cook answered, " My Lord ! I will 
never suffer any stranger to come about her diet, but her 
own sworn men, so long as I live ! " 

He said, "They should ! " 

But the Cook said, " His Lordship should pardon him for 
that matter! " 

Thus did he trouble her poor servants very stoutly : though 
afterward he were otherwise advised, and they were more 
courteously used at his hands. And good cause why ! For 
he had good cheer, and fared of the best ; and Her Grace 
paid well for it. 

Wherefore he used himself afterwards more reverently 
towards Her Grace. 

After this sort, having lain a whole month there, in close 
prison ; and being very evil at ease therewithal ; she sent 
[in April] for the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Chandos 
[see p. 78] to come and speak with her. 

Who coming, she requested them that "She might have 

128 The Princess may walk in a garden. [' ."^"^ 

liberty to walk in some place, for that she felt herself not 

To the which, they answered that " They were right sorry 
that they could not satisfy Her Grace's request ; for that 
they had commandment to the contrary, which they durst 
not in any wise break." 

Furthermore, she desired of them, " If that could not be 
granted; that she might walk but into the 'Queen's Lodgings.'" 

" No, nor that ! " they answered, " could, by any means, 
be obtained, without a further suit to the Queen and her 

" W'ell," said she, " my Lords ! if the matter be so hard 
that they must be sued unto, for so small a thing ; and that 
friendship be so strait, God comfort me ! " 

And so they departed : she remaining in her old dungeon 
still; without any kind of comfort, but only GOD. 

The next day after, the Lord Chandos came again unto 
Her Grace, declaring unto her that " He had sued unto the 
Council for further liberty. Some of them consented there- 
unto. Divers others dissented, for that there were so many 
prisoners in the Tower. But in conclusion, they did all 
agree that Her Grace might walk into those ' Lodgings ' ; 
so that he and the Lord Chamberlain, and three of the 
Queen's Gentlewomen did accompany her: and the windows 
were shut, and she not suffered to look out at any of them." 
Wherewith, she contented herself; and gave him thanks for 
his goodwill in that behalf. 

Afterwards, there was liberty granted to Her Grace to walk 
in a little garden, the doors and gates being shut up ; which, 
notwithstanding, was as much discomfort unto her, as the 
walk in the garden was pleasant and acceptable. At which 
times of her walking there, the prisoners on that side straightly 
were commanded not to speak, or look out at the windows 
into the garden, till Her Grace were gone out again : having 
in consideration thereof, their keepers waiting upon them for 
that time. 

Thus Her Grace, with this small liberty, contented herself 
in GOD, to whom be praise therefore. 

During this time, there used a little boy, the child of a 
man in the Tower, to resort to their chambers, and many 

^'lT,~\ Till': iJTTLE Flower Bov of tiik Towkr. 129 

times to bring Her Grace flowers; which likewise he did to 
the other prisoners that were there. Whereupon naughty 
and suspicious heads thinking to make and wring out some 
matter tliereof, called, on a time, the child unto them, pro- 
mising him figs and apples, and asking, " When he had been 
with the Earl of Devonshire ? " not ignorant of the child's 
wonted frequenting unto him. 

The boy answered that " He would go by-and-by thither." 

Further they demanded of him, " When he was with the 
Lady Elizabeth ? " 

He answered, " Every day ! " 

Furthermore they examined him, " What the Lord Devon- 
shire sent b}' him to Her Grace ? " 

The child said, " I will go [and] know what he will give to 
carry to her." Such was the discretion of the child, being 
yet but three yenrs of age. 

" This same is a crafty boy I " quoth the Lord Chamber- 
lain ; " what say you, my Lord Chanuos ? " 

" I pray you, my Lord ! give me the figs ye promised me !" 

" No, marry," quoth he, "thou shalt be whipped if thou 
come any more to the Lady Elizabeth, or the Lord 
Courtney! " 

The boy answered, " I will bring the Lady, my Mistress, 
more flowers ! " 

Whereupon the child's father was commanded to permit 
the boy no more to come into their chambers. 

And the next day, as Her Grace was walking in the garden, 
the child, peeping in at a hole in the door, cried unto her, 
saying, "Mistress! I can bring you no more flowers!" 
Whereat, she smiled, but said nothing; understanding 
thereby, what they had done. 

Wherefore, afterwards, the Lord Chamberlain rebuked his 
father highly ; commanding him to put him out of the house. 

" Alas, poor infant I " quoth the father. 

" It is a crafty knave I " quoth the Lord Chamberlain. 
" Let me see him here no more ! " 

The 5th day of May [1554J, the Constable was discharged 
of his office of the Tower ; one Sir Henry Bedingfield being 
placed in his room. A man unknown to Her Grace, and 
therefore the more feared : which so sudden [a' mutation 
was unto her, no little amaze. 

130 Sl.NT FROM TIIK ToWKR TO WoOl is ITiCK. [■'.j^^; 

He brought with him a hundred soldiers in blue coats ; 
wherewith she was marvellously discomforted ; and demanded 
of such as were about her, " Whether the Lady Jane's scaf- 
fold were taken away or not ? " fearing, by reason of their 
coming, least she should have played her part. 

To whom, answer was made, that " The scaffold was taken 
away; and that Her Grace needed not to doubt [fcav, any 
such tyranny, for GOD would not suffer any such treason 
against her person." 

Wherewith, being contented, but not altogether satisfied, 
she asked, "What Sir H. Bedingfield was ? and whether he 
was of that conscience or not, that if her murdering were 
secretly committed to his charge, he would see the execution 
thereof? " 

She was answered that " They were ignorant what manner 
of man he was." Howbeit they persuaded her that GOD 
would not suffer such wickedness to proceed. 

" Well ! " quoth she, " GOD grant it be so ! For Thou ! 
GOD ! art the withdrawer and mollifierof all such tyrannous 
hearts and acts ! and I beseech Thee ! to hear me thy 
creature ! which am Thy servant and at Thy commandment ! 
trusting by Thy grace ever so to remain." 

About which time, it was spread abroad, that Her Grace 
should be carried from thence ; by this new jolly captain and 
his soldiers; but whither, it could not be learned. Which 
was unto Her Grace a great grief, especially for that such a 
kind of company was appointed to her guard : requesting 
rather to continue there still, than to be led thence with such 
a rascal company. 

At last, plain answer was made by the Lord Chandos, 
that " There was no remedy ; but from thence she must needs 
depart to the Manor of Woodstock, as he thought." 

Being demanded of her, " For what cause ? " 

" For that," quoth he, " the Tower is like[ly] further to be 

Whereat she, being more greedy, as far as she durst, de- 
manded, " wherewith ! " 

He answered, " With such matter as the Queen and 
Council were determined in that behalf: whereof he had no 
knowledge." And so departed. 

Jfj"^:] Lord Williams, her staunxii frii-nd. 131 

In conclusion, the i6th day of May she was removed from 
the Tower : the Lord Treasurer [the Marquis of Winchester 
being then there, for the lading of her carts, and discharging 
the Place of the same. 

Where Sir Henry Bedingfield, being appointed her 
goaler, did receive her with a company of rakehells to guard 
her; besides the Lord of Derby's Band [sevvanh] wafting in 
the country about, for the moonshine in the water[! !. Unto 
whom, at length came, my Lord [Williams] of Thame, 
joined in Commission, with the said Sir Henry for the safe 
guiding of her to prison. And they together conveyed Her 
Grace to Woodstock, as hereafter folioweth. 

The first day [i6//f May , tliey conducted her to Richmond, 
where she continued all night : being restrained of her own 
men, which were laid out in chambers; and Sir Henry 
Bedingfield his soldiers appointed in their rooms, to give 
attendance on her person. 

Whereat she, being marvellously disma3'ed, thinking verily 
some secret mischief a working towards her, called her Gen- 
tleman Usher, and desired him with the rest of his companj- 
to pray for her, " For this night," quoth she, " I think to die." 

Whereat he being stricken to the heart, said, " GOU 
forbid that any such wickedness should be pretended {in- 
tended] against your Grace ! " 

So comforting her as well as he could, he at last burst out 
in tears ; and went from her down into the court where were 
walking the Lord [Williams] of Thame, and Sir Henry 
Bedingfield; and he staying aside the Lord of Thame, who 
had proffered to him much friendship, desire to speak with 
him a word or two. 

Unto whom, he familiarly said, " He should with all his 

Which when Sir Henry standing by, heard, he asked, 
" What the matter was ? " 

To whom the Gentleman Usher answered, " No great 
matter, sir, but to speak with my Lord a word or two ! " 

Then when the Lord of Thame came to him he spake in 
this wise, " My Lord ! you have always been my good Lord, 
and so I beseech you to remain. Why I come to you at this 
time, is to desire j'our Honour, unfeignedl}' to declare unto 

132 Sir II. B !• 1) I N G F I F. I. D G R U X T S ! [^',^6^ 

me, whether any danger is meant unto my Mistress this ni^'ht 
or not ? that I and my poor fellows mu}- take such part as it 
shall please GOD to appoint. For certainly we will rather 
die, than she should secretly and innocently miscarry." 

"Marry," said the Lord of Thame, "GOD forbid that 
any such wicked purpose should be wrought ! and rather than 
it should be so, I, with my men, are ready to die at her feet also." 

And so, GOD be praised! they passed that doubtful night, 
with no little heaviness of heart. 

The next day [lyth May] passing over the water [i.e., the 
Thames] at Richmond, going towards Windsor ; Her Grace 
espied certain of her poor servants standing on the other side, 
which were very desirous to see her. Whom, when she 
beheld, turning to one of her men standing by, said, " Yonder, 
I see certain of my men ; go to them I and say these words 
from me, Tauquani ovis ! " 

So, she passing forward to Windsor, was lodged there that 
night, in the Dean of Windsor's house : a place indeed more 
meet for a priest, than a Princess. 

And from thence [on xSth May] Her Grace was guarded and 
brought the next night, to Master Dormer's house; where 
much people standing by the way, some presented to her one 
gift, and some another. So that Sir Henry was greatly 
moved thereat, and troubled the poor people very sore, for 
shewing their loving hearts in such a manner ; calling them 
" Rebels ! " and " Traitors I " with such like vile words. 

Besides, as she passed through the villages, the townsmen 
rang the bells, as being jo}ful of her coming ; thinking verily 
it had been otherwise than it was indeed : and as the sequel 
proved after, to the poor men. For immediately the said 
Sir Henry hearing the same, sent his soldiers hither: who 
apprehended some of the ringers, setting them in the stocks, 
and otherwise uncourteously misused some others for their 
good wills. 

On the morrow [18th May] Her Grace passed from Master 
Dormer's, where was, for the time of her abode, a straight 
watch kept; came to the Lord of Thame his house [at Thame] 
where she lay all the next night ; being very princely enter- 
tained, both of Knights and Ladies, gentlemen and gentle- 
women. ■^^'hereat Sir Henry I^edingfield gronted ^grunted^ 


and was highly offende a, saying unto them that " They could 
not tell what they did, and were not able to answer to their 
doings in that behalf; letting them to understand that she 
was the Queen's Majesty's prisoner, and no otherwise; ad- 
vising them therefore to take heed, and beware of after claps ! " 

Whereunto, the Lord of Thame answered him in thiswise, 
that " He was well advised of [in] his doings, being joined in 
Commission as well as he," adding with warrant, that " Her 
Grace might, and should, in his house, be merry." 

After this, Sir Hexry went up into a chamber, where were 
appointed for Her Grace, a chair, two cushions, and a foot- 
carpet, very fair and prince-like ; wherein presumptuously he 
sat, calling for Bakwick, his man, to pull off his boots : which 
as soon as it was known among the ladies and gentles, every 
one musing thereat, did laugh him to scorn ; and observed his 
indiscreet manners in that behalf, as they might very well. 

When supper was done, he called my Lord, and willed him 
that all the Gentlemen and Ladies should withdraw them- 
selves ; every one to his lodging : marvelling much that he 
would permit there such a company ; considering so great a 
charge was committed to him. 

" Sir Henry !" quoth my Lord, "content yourself! All 
shall be voided, your men and all." 

" Nay, my soldiers," quoth Sir Henry, "shall watch all 

The said Lord of Thame answered, " It shall not need." 

" Well," said he, " need or need not, they shall do so," 
mistrusting, belike, the company ; which, GOD knoweth, was 
without cause. 

The next day [igth May] Her Grace took her journey from 
thence, to Woodstock ; where she was enclosed, as before 
in the Tower of London ; the soldiers guarding and warding 
both within and without the walls, every day to the number 
of three score, and, in the night, without the walls forty ; 
during the time of her imprisonment there. 

At length, she had gardens appointed for her walks, which 
were very comfortable to Her Grace. Always when she did 
recreate herself therein, the doors wei-e fast locked up, in as 
straight a manner as they were in the Tower; there being at 
the least five or six locks between her lodging and her walks ; 
Sir Henry himself keeping the keys, trusted no man therewith. 

T34 Tin; jokic of the stkav Wklsii goat. [J'.'j^^; 

Whereupon she called him " her gaoler : " : nd he, kneelinj^ 
down, desired Her Grace not to call him so, for he was 
appointed there to be one of her Officers. 

"From such Officers," quoth she, "good Lord, deliver me!" 

And now, by way of digression, or rather of refreshing the 
reader (if it be lawful in so serious a story to recite a matter 
incident, and yet not impertinent to the same) occasion 
here moveth or rather enforceth me to touch briefly what 
happened in the same place and time, by a certain merry con- 
ceited man, being then about Her Grace. Who (noting the 
straight and strange keeping of his Lady and Mistress by the 
said Sir Henry BEDiNnFii'.LD, with so many locks and doors, 
with such watch and ward about her, as was strange and 
wonderful) spied a goat in the ward \\here Her Grace was; 
and (whether to refresh her oppressed mind, or to notify her 
straight handling by Sir Hi:nky; or else both), he took it up 
on his neck, and followed Her Grace therewith, as she was 
going to her lodging. Who, when she saw it, asked him, 
" \Miat he would do with him ? " willing him to let it alone. 

Unto whom, the said party answered, "No, by Saint 
Mary! if it like your Grace! will I not ! For I cannot tell 
whether he be one of the Queen's friends or not. I will, GOU 
willing 1 carry him to Sir Hen'uy Bedingfield, to know what 
he is." 

So, leaving Her Grace, went, with the goat on his neck, 
and carried it to Sir Henry Bedingfield ; who, when he saw 
him coming with it, asked him half angrily, " What he had 
there ? " 

Unto whom the party answered, saying, " Sir! I cannot 
tell what he is. I pray you, examine him ! for I found him 
in the place where my Lady's Grace was walking, and what 
talk they lia\-e had, I cannot tell. I^or I understand him not, 
but he should seem to me to be some stranger • and I think 
verily a \\'elshman, for he hath a white frieze coat on his 
back. And forasmuch as I being the Queen's subject, and 
perceiving the strait charge committed to you of her keeping, 
that no stranger should have access to her, without sufficient 
license : I have here found a stranger (what he is, I cannot 
telh in the place where Her Grace was walking ; and, there- 
fore, for the necessary discharge of my dut\-, I thought it 

^'■"sS] Sir Henry nervous as to pens and paper. 135 

good to bring the said stranger to you to examine, as you see 
cause." And so he set him down. 

At which his words, Sir Henry Bedingfield seemed much 
displeased, and said, " Well ! well ! you will never leave this 
gear, I see." And so they departed. 

Now to return to the matter from whence we have digressed. 

After Her Grace's being there a time [i.e., about a year], 
she made suit to the Council, that she might be suffered to 
write to the Queen ; which, at last, was permitted to Her 
Grace. So that Sir Henuy Bedingfield brought her pen, 
ink, and paper; and standing by her, while she wrote, which 
he very straitly observed ; always, she being weary, would 
carry away her letters, and bring them again when she called 
for them. 

In the finishing thereof, he would have been messenger to 
the Queen of the same; whose request Her Grace denied, 
saying, " One of her own men should carry them ; and that 
she would neither trust him, nor none of his thereabouts." 

Then he answering again, said, " None of them durst be so 
bold," he trowed, " to carry her letters, being in her present 
case ! " 

" Yes," quoth she, " I am assured I have none so dishonest 
that would deny my request in that behalf; but will be as 
willing to serve me now as before." 

" Well," said he, " my Commission is to the contrary ; and 
may not suffer it." 

Her Grace, replying again, said, " You charge me very 
often with your Commission ! I pray GOD you may justly 
answer the cruel dealing ye deal with me ! " 

Then he kneeling down, desired Her Grace to think and 
consider how he was a ser\'ant, and put in trust there by the 
Queen to serve Her Majesty: protesting that if the case were 
hers, he would as willingly serve Her Grace, as now he did 
the Queen's Highness. 

For the which answer. Her Grace thanked him, desiring 
GOD that she might never have need of such servants as he 
was : declaring further to him that his doings towards her 
were not good or answerable, but more than all the friends 
he had, would stand by ; for in the end, she plainly told him, 
they would forsake him. 

I 36 T II 1: 1' RING !■: S S IS A r 1< I s o n k r a t [■'•f.'et 

To whom, Sir Henry replied, and said that " There was 
no remedy but his doing;s must be answered ; and so they 
should, trusting,' to make a fjood account thereof." 

The cause which moved Her Grace so to say, was for that 
he would not permit her letters to be carried, four or five days 
after the writing thereof. But, in fine, he was content to send 
for her Gentleman from the town of Woodstock, demanding 
of him, " Whether he durst enterprise the carriage of Her 
Grace's letters to the Queen or not ? " 

And he answered, " Yea, sir ! That I dare, and will, with all 
my heart." 

Whereupon, Sir Henry, half against his stomach, took 
them to him, to the effect aforesaid. 

Then, about the 8th of June [1555] came down Doctor 
Owen and Doctor Wendif, sent by the Queen to Her Grace, 
for that she was sickly ; who ministering to her, and letting 
her blood, tarried there, and attended on Her Grace five or six 
days : who being well amended, they returned again to tiie 
Court, making their good report to the Queen and Council, 
of HerGrace's behaviour and humbleness towards the Queen's 
Highness; which Her Majesty hearing, took very thankfully. 
But the Bishops thereat repined, looked black in the mouth, 
and told the Queen, they " marvelled she submitted not her- 
self to Her Majesty's mercy, considering that she had offended 
Her Highness." 

Wily champions, ye may be sure ! and friends at a need ! 
GOD amend them ! 

About this time. Her Grace was requested by a secret friend, 
" to submit herself to the Queen's Majesty ; which would be 
very well taken, and to her great quiet and commodity." 

Unto whom, she answered that " She would never submit 
herself to them whom she had never offended ! For," quoth 
she, "if I have offended, and am guilty; I then crave no mercy, 
but the law ! which I am certain I should have had, ere this, 
if it could be proved by me. For I know myself, I thank 
GOD ! to be out of the danger thereof, wishing that I were 
as clear out of the peril of my enemy ; and then I am sure I 
should not be so locked and bolted up within walls anddooisas 
I am. GOD give them a better mind ! when it pleaseth Him." 

■','3^3;] Woodstock for more than a year. 137 

About tliis time [i.e., after the Queen's niarria^^c on yd July 
1555! ^^■'is there a great consulting among the Bishops and 
gentlemen, touching a marriage for Her Grace : which some 
of the Spaniards wished to be with some stranger, that she 
might go out of the realm with her portion. Some saying 
one thing, and some another. 

A Lord [Lord Paget] being tliere, at last said that " the 
King should never have any quiet common wealth in Eng- 
land; unless her head were stricken from the shoulders. ' 

Whereunto the Spaniards answered, saying, " GOD forbid 
that their King and Master should have that mind to consent 
to such a mi' chief ! " This was the courteous answer of the 
Spaniards to the Englishmen speaking, after sort, against 
their own country. 

From that day, the Spaniards never left off their good per- 
suasions to the King, that the like honour he should never 
obtain as he should in delivering the Lady Elizabeth's; 
Grace out of prison : whereby, at length, she was happily 
released from the same. 

Here is a plain and evident example of the good nature and 
clemency of the King and his Councillors towards Her Grace. 
Praised be GOD therefore ! who moved their hearts therein. 

Then hereupon, she was sent for, shortly after, to come to 
Hampton Court. 

In her imprisonment at Woodstock, these verses she wrote 
with her diamond, in a glass window. 
Much suspected by me, 
Nothing proved can be, 
Quoth Elizabeth the prisoner. 

[In the Second Edition of his Ac/es, &c., published in 1 570 under the fresh 
title of Ecclesiastical History, p. 2,294; JOHN Fox gi\es the following 
additional information of the Woodstock imprisonment. 

And thus much touching the troubles of Lady Elizabeth 
at Woodstock. 

Whereunto this is more to be added, that during the same 
time the Lord [Williams] of Thame had laboured for the 
Queen, and became surety for her, to have her from Wood- 
stock to his house, and had obtained grant thereof. But 
(through the procurement either of Master Bedingfield, or 
by the doing of [the Bishop of J Winchester, her mortal 

i3cS Ai'TKR Mary's makriagi;, is L)ELivi;ui;n [-'•,'j'J';; 

enemy), letters came over night, to the contrary : wlierehy 
her journey was stopped. 

Thus, this worthy Lady, oppressed with continual sorrow, 
could not be permitted to have recourse to any friends she 
had; but still in the hands of her enemies, was left desolate, 
and utterly destitute of all that might refresh a doleful heart, 
fraught full of terror and thraldom. Whereupon no marvel, 
if she hearing, upon a time, out of her garden at Woodstock, 
a certain milkmaid singing pleasantly, wished herself to be a 
milkmaid, as she was : saying that " Her case was better, and 
life more merry than hers, in that state she was.] 

Sir Henky Bedingfield and his soldiers, with the Lord 
[Williams] of Thame, and Sir Ralph Chamijeklain guard- 
ing and waiting upon her, the first night [July 1555] from 
Woodstock, she came to Rycot. 

The next night to Master Dormer's; and so to Cole- 
brook, where she lay all that night at the Geoy^e. By the 
way, coming to the said Colebrook, certain of her gentle- 
men and yeomen, to the number of three score met Her 
(iiace, much to all their comforts : which had not seen Her 
(irace of long season before, neither could : but were com- 
manded, in the Queen's name, immediately to depart the 
town," to Her Grace's no little heaviness and theirs, who 
could not be suffered once to speak with from them. So 
that night all her men were taken her, saving her Gentleman 
Usher, three gentlewomen, two Grooms, and one of her 
Wardrobe ; the Soldiers watching and warding round-about 
the house, and she shut up close within her prison. 

The ne.xt day Her Grace entered Hampton Court on the 
backside, unto the Prince's Lodgings. The doors being shut 
to her; and she, guarded with soldiers as before, lay there a 
fortnight at the least, ere ever any had recourse unto her. 

At length, came the Lord William Howard, who mar- 
vellously honourably used Her Grace: whereat she took 
much comfort, and requested him to be a means that she 
might speak with some of the Council. 

To whom, not long after came the Bishop of Winchester, 
the Lord of Arundel, the Lord of Shrewsbury, and Secre- 
tary Petre ; who, with great humility, humbled themselves 
to Her Grace. 

-'■.■l'^^.] I" '^ <^ ^' r R I s o X AT Woods t o c k . 1 39 

She again likewise saluting them, said, " My Lords! I am 
glad to see you ! For, methinks, I have been kept a great 
while from you, desolately alone. Wherefore I would desire 
you to be a means to the King's and Queen's Majesties, that 
I may be delivered from prison, wherein I have been kept a 
long space, as to you, my Lords, is not unknown ! " 

When she had spoken, Sthphun (iakdiner, the Bishop of 
Winchester kneeled down, and requested that " She would 
submit herself to the Queen's Grace ; and in so doing he had 
no doubt but that Her Majesty would be good unto her." 

She made answer that " rather than she would do so, she 
would lie in prison all the days of her life : " adding that 
"she craved no mercy at Her Majesty's hand, but rather 
desired the law, if ever she did offend her Majesty in thought, 
word, or deed. And besides this, in yielding," quoth she, 
" I should speak against myself, and confess myself to be an 
offender, which I never was towards Her Majesty; by occasion 
whereof, the King and Queen, might ever hereafter conceive 
an ill opinion of me : and, therefore, I say, my Lords ! it 
were better for me to lie in prison for the truth, than to be 
abroad and suspected of my Prince." 

And so they departed, promising to declare her message to 
the Queen. 

On the next day [July 1555] the Bishop of Winchester 
came again unto Her Grace, and kneeling down, declared that 
'• The Queen marvelled that she should so stoutly use herself, 
not confessing to have offended ; so that it should seem the 
Queen's Majesty wrongfully to have imprisoned Her Grace." 

" Nay," quoth my Lady Elizabeth, " it may please her 
to punish me, as she thinketh good." 

" Well," quoth GaRdiner, " Her Majesty willeth me to 
tell you, that you must tell another tale ere that you be set 
at liberty." 

Her Grace answered that " She had as lief be in prison 
with honesty and truth, as to be abroad suspected of Her 
Majesty. And this that I have said, I will stand to. For I 
will never belie myself! " 

The Lord of Winchester again kneeled down, and said, 
" Then your Grace hath the vantage of me and the other 
Lords, for your long and wrong imprisonment." 

" \\'hat vantage I have," quoth she, " you know ; taking 

140 The Ouf.en sees iiek, at night. [■'■.'jo" 

CiOD to record, I seek no vantage at your hands, for your so 
dealing with me. But GOD forgive j'ou, and me also ! " 

With that, the rest kneeled, desiring Her Grace that "all 
might be forgotten," and so departed, she being fast locke.l 
up again. 

A sevennight after {July 1555 i, the Queen's Majesty sent 
for Her Grace, at ten of the clock in the night, to speak with 
her. For she had not seen her in two jears before. Yet for 
all that, she was amazed at the so sudden sending for, 
thinking it had been worse for her, than afterwards proved ; 
and desired her gentlemen and gentlewomen to " pray for her ! 
tor that she could not tell whether ever she should see them 
again or not." 

At which time, coming in with Sir Henry Bedingiheld and 
Mistress Clarencius \p. 2161, Her Grace was brought into 
the garden, unto a stairs' foot, that went into the Queen's 
Lodging ; Her Grace's gentlewomen waiting upon her, her 
Gentleman Usher and his grooms going before with torches. 
Where her gentlemen and gentlewomen being all commanded 
to stay, saving one woman; Mistress Clarencius conducted 
her to the Queen's bedchamber, where Her Majesty was. 

At the sight of whom, Her Grace kneeled down, and 
desired GOD to "preserve Her Majesty ! not mistrusting, but 
that she should try herself as true a subject towards Her 
Majesty as ever any did," and desired Her Majesty even so 
to judge of her; and said " she should not find her to the 
contrary; whatsoever false report otherwise had gone of her." 

To whom, the Queen answered, " You will not ccmfess 
your offence ; but stand stoutly in your truth ! 1 pray GOD 1 
it may so fall out." 

" If it do not," quoth she, " I request neither favour nor 
pardon at \ our Majesty's hands." 

" Well," said the Queen, " you stiffly still persevere in 
your truth ! Belike, you will not confess but that you have 
wrongly punished ! " 

" I must not say so, if it please your Majesty ! to you ! " 

" Why, then," said the Queen, " belike you \\''\\\ to others." 

"No, if it please your Majesty!" quoth she, "I have 
borne the burden, and must bear it. I humbly beseech your 
Majesty to have a good opinion of me, and to think me to be 
}our true subject ; not only from the beginning, hitherto; but 
for ever, as long as life lasteth." 


And so they departed [separated], with very few comfortable 
words of the Queen in English. But what she said in 
Spanish, GOD knovveth ! It is thought that King Philip 
was there, behind a cloth [tapestry], and not shewn; and that 
he shewed himself a very friend in that matter, &c. 

Thus Her Grace departing, went to her lodging again ; and 
the sevennight after, was released of Sir Henry Beding- 
FiELD, " her gaoler," as she termed him, and his soldiers. 

So Her Grace, set at liberty from imprisonment, went into 
the country, and had appointed to go with her. Sir Thomas 
Pope, one of Queen Mary's Councillors ; and one of her 
Gentleman Ushers, Master Gage; and thus straitly was she 
looked to, all Queen Mary's time. 

And this is the discourse of Her Highness's imprisonment. 

Then there came to Lamheyre, Master Jerningham, and 
NoRRis, Gentleman Usher, Queen Mary's men ; who took 
away from Her Grace, Mistress Asheley to the Fleet, and 
three others of her gentlemen to the Tower; which thing was 
no little trouble to Her Grace, saying, that " she thought 
they would fetch all away at the end." But God be praised ! 
shortly after was fetched away Gardiner, through the merci- 
ful providence of the LORD's goodness, by occasion of whose 
opportune decease [i^th November, 1555], the life of this so ex- 
cellent Prince that is the wealth of England, was preserved. 

After the death of this Gardiner ; followed the death also, 
and dropping away of others, her enemies ; whereby, by little 
and little, her jeopardy decreased, fear diminished, hope of 
more comfort began to appear, as out of a dark cloud ; and 
though as yet Her Grace had no full assurance of perfect 
safety, yet more gentle entertainment daily did grow unto 
her, till the same day, which took away the said Queen Mary, 
brought in the same her foresaid sister, Lady Elizabeth in 
to the right of the Crown of England. Who, after so long 
restrainment, so great dangers escaped, such blusterous 
storms overblown, so many injuries digested and wrongs 
sustained : the mighty protection of our merciful GOD, to 
our no little safeguard, hath e.xalted and erected, out of thrall, 
to liiierty ; out of danger, to peace and rule; from dread, to 
dignity ; from misery, to majesty ; from mourning, to ruling; 
briefly, of a prisoner, hath made her a Prince ; and hath 

142 Ei.i/..\iii;tii'.s gi:.\i:rositv to Sir Hi;.\rv. [•'.'j'-'!: 

placed lier in her rojal throne, being placed and proclaimed 
Queen with as many glad hearts of her subjects, as ever was 
an\- King or Queen in this realm before, or ever shall be : I 
think) hereafter. 

In whose advancement, and this her princely governance, 
it cannot sufficiently be expressed what felicity and blessed 
happiness this realm hatli received, in receiving her at the 
LORU's almighty and gracious hand. For as there have 
been divers Kings and Rulers over this realm, and I have 
read of some ; yet could I never find in English Chronicles, 
the like that may be written of this our noble and worthy 
Queen, whose coming in was not only so calm, so josful, so 
peaceable, without shedding of any blood ; but also her 
reigning hitherto (reign now four years and more) hath been 
so quiet, that yet (the LORD have all the glory !j to this 
present day, her Sword is a virgin, spotted and polluted with 
no drop of blood. 

In speaking whereof, I take not upon me the part of the 
Moral, or of the Divine Philosopher, to Judge of things done ; 
but only keep me within the compass of an Historiographer, 
declaring what hath been before; and comparing things done, 
with things now present, the like whereof, as I said, is not to 
be found lightly in Chronicles before. And this, as I speak 
truly, so would I to be taken without flattery; to be left to our 
posterity, ad sciiipitcrnain dementia: illitis meitioriam. 

In commendation of which her clemency, I might also here 
add, how mildly Her Grace, after she was advanced to her 
Kingdom, did forgive the said Sir Henrv Bedingfield ; 
suffering him, without molestation, to enjoy goods, life, lands, 
and liberty. But I let this pass. 

Thus hast thou, gentle Reader! simply but truly described 
unto thee, the time, first, of the sorrowful adversity of this 
our most Sovereign Queen that now is; also, the miraculous 
preserving her in so many straights and distresses: which I 
thought here briefly to notify, the rather for that the won- 
drous works of the LORD ought not to be suppressed ; and 
that also Her Majesty, and we her poor subjects likewise, 
having thereby a present matter always before our eyes, be 
admonished how much we are bound to His Divine majesty, 
and also to render thanks to Him condignly for the same. 

C :^ compentjiou0 iRegigter tn 

metre, containing tl)e nanm and patient 

sufferings of tbe members of Jesus Cbrist, anD tbe 

tormenteO, anD cruellp burnco toitbin €nglanOj 

since tbe Deatb of our famous Eing, of immortal 

memorp, e d w a r d tfje %irtf), to tfje entrance 

ant) beginning of tbe reign of our ^obereign 

anb Dearest LaDj? Elizabeth, of 

CnglanD, jFrance, anD 3lrelanD, Ciucen; 

2:)efenDer of tbe JTaitb ; to tobose It)igbncss 

trulp anD properig appertainetb, nert 

anD immeDiatelp unDer ®2DD, tbe 

supreme potoer anD autboritp 

of tbe Cburcbes 


(JBnglanD anD 


So be it. 
yinno. 1559. 

Apocalypse 7. 

^^lyVz) one of the angels (saith Saint 

John) spake^ saying unto nie, " If hat 

are they, ".nhich are arrayed in long irhite 

garments: and whence come they f " (before 

the people, before sealed by the angel). And 

I said unto him, " Lord, thou wottest I " 

And he said unto me, " These are they 

which came out of great tribulation ; and 

washed their garments, and made 

them white in the blood of the 

Lamb. Therefore are they in 

the presence of the Throne of 

GOD, and serve Him, day and 

night, in His Temple : 

and He that sitteth 

in the Throne 


dwell among 


Co tl)e asig^t ^^onourable 
lorD l^arr, iSIparqui^ of ii5ortl)anipton ; 

Cbomas IBrice, pout LorDsbip's Dailp Orator, 

toisfjetb continual increase of grace, 

concorD, anD consolation in !,t)im 

tbat is, toas, anD is to come, 

eoen tbe jFirst anD 

tbe Last. 


|T MAY please your goodness, Honourable Lord ! to 
receive in good part, the little labour of my pen : 
which, albeit the rudeness and quantity thereof 
procureth not to be dedicate[dl to so honourable a 
Personage ; yet the matter itself is of such worthiness, as 
duly deserveth to be graven in gold. But who goeth about so 
finely to depict with Apelles's instrument, this said i?f^jx<e>', 
thinking to exceed the rest ? Not I ! poor wretch ! because 
I am assured that such a worthy work as thereof may be 
written, cannot, neither shall pass untouched among so 
many godly learned. But were it, that no man hereafter 
should, in more ample and learned manner, set forth the 
same ; yet should my presumption (if I so meant) be turned 
to reproach : for this I believe, that they be in such sort 
registered in the Book of the Living, as passeth either pen, 
ink, or memory to declare. 

EKG. Gar. IV. ID 

1 46 Dedicatory E p i s t l !■ to [.?p^';„7of';1n: 

This my simplicity and too bold attempt might move your 
Honour to conjecture in me much rudeness, or, at the least, 
might persuade me so to think : but that experience hath 
showed me the humility and gentleness of your long tried 
patience ; the certain knowledge whereof hath pricked me for- 
ward in this my pretence. And being thereunto requested of 
a faithful brother and friend ; I have, with more industry than 
learning, GOD knoweth ! finished the same. 

Which being, as I thought, brought to good end ; I 
desired, according to the accustomed manner, to dedicate 
the same unto such [an] one, as would not contemn so 
simple a gift. And calling you to mind, Right Honourable 
Lord ! I knew none more meet. First, because your know- 
ledge in Christ teacheth you the same godly and virtuous 
life ; which not only your Lordship, but all other Honourable, 
&c., ought to ensue. Secondly, because these late years, you 
have had good experience of the troubles and miseries of the 
faithful, which have patiently embraced in their arms, the 
comfortable, although painful, cross of Christ ; which, in so 
great a number, is commonly not so plenteous as commendr 
able. But what stand I praising this patience in them 
(which yet deserveth the same) ? seeing the mighty GOD 
and His Christ hath prepared, from everlasting, for such, 
a glorious, rich and incomprehensible Crown of Felicity and 
continual comforts. 

This my short and simple work, I commend and dedicate 
unto your Lordship ! craving pardon at your hands, for this 
my too homely and rude enterprise : considering that albeit 
golden fruit were offered in pewter and by the hands of a 
simple man ; yet is the fruit notwithstanding still precious, 
.nd neither abased by the pewter, nor the giver. Even so, 
[honourable Lord ! though the verses be simple, and the 
,iver unworthy : yet the fruit or matter is precious, com- 
fortable and good. 

The order to attain to the perfect understanding of my 
mind, in setting forth the same with figures and letters. 

shall largely appear in this book : which I have not only done 
to make plain unto your Honour, the year, month, and day ; 
but also, to all others that hereafter shall read it. For that 
I do pretend [design], if GOD and favour will permit it, to 
use the same as common to the profit of all : for which cause, 
I have also placed a Preface to the Reader. 

But that it may please your Honour, in respect of the pre- 
mises, to extend your favourable assistance to the manifest 
setting forth of this short and simple work, to the glory of the 
great and mighty GOD, and to the comfort of Christians : I, 
as unworthy and too bold a suitor, most humbly craveth your 
Lordship's aid and supportation in the same ; especially to 
bear [with] the rudeness of my unlearned style, which, alas, I 

But now ceasing to trouble your Lordship any longer, this 
shall be my continual prayer for you. 

The wisdom of GOD direct your Honour I 

The mercy of GOD give you spiritual power I 

The HOLY GHOST guide and comfort 

you, with all fulness cf 

consolation in 

Christ Jesus! 


Your Lordship's daily orator, 

Thomas Bkice. 


Co t\)t dEicntle IRcaucr, 
mcrc^ anD peace? 

|Ay it please thee, f;entle Reader, to take in fjood 
worth this short and simple Rcf^istcr, containing 
the names of divers, although not all, both men, 
women, and virgins, &c., who, for the pro- 
fession of Christ their Captain, have been most 
miserably afflicted, tormented, and iimjprisoned ; and, in fine, 
either died by some occasion in prison, or else erected [gone 
to heaven] in the charret [fiery chariot] of Elias, since the 4th 
day of February, 1555, to the 17th day of November, 1558, 
wherein (according to the determination of our most merciful 
Fatlier) our longwished forand most noble Queen, Elizabeth, 
was placed Governess and Queen, by general Proclamation ; 
to the great comfort of all true English hearts. 

This I commit to thy friendly acceptation and favourable 
scanning, gentle Reader, and albeit, I doubt not but some, 
of godly zeal, both wise and learned, will not negleet, here- 
after, to set forth so worthy a work, namely, of the martyrdom 
and patient sufferings of Christ's elect Members ; and also of 
the tyrannical tragedies of the unmerciful Ministers of Satan: 
yet, at the request of a dear friend, to whom love and Nature 
hath linked me, I could not, without ingratitude, deny his 
lawful desire, attempting the same ; also, rather because it 
might be manifest to the eyes of the world, and also put the 
learned, of godly zeal, in memory more amply to enlarge ; 
and, at their good discretion, to set forth the same. Pardon 
my rudeness, therefore, I beseech thee ! considering that 
will in the unable is to be esteemed. Look not upon the 
baseness of the metre ! the true number whereof cannot 
easily be observed in such a gathering of names: but, with 
lifted eyes of the mind, meditate upon the omnipotent power of 
GOD ! which hath given and wrought such constancy in His 
children, in these our days, that even in fiery fiambes \ flames] 
and terrible torments, they have not ceased to invocate and 

sp^taeVxt,:] To THE Reader. 149 

extol the name of their Creator, Redeemer, and Comforter, 
according to the saying of the cxlviii. Psalm, " Young men 
and maidens, old men and children " have set forth His 
worthy and excellent praise. So that the same just and 
righteous GOD, who, for our sins, corrected us, and gave us 
over into the hands of the most bloody and viperous genera- 
tion, to be eaten like bread : hath now, of His mercy alone, 
" exalted the horn of His people." Therefore all His saints 
shall praise Him. 

Farewell I 

T. B. 

€})t manner ^otu to unrjerjstann tl^e 
letters anU figurejs. 

[A specimen of a Stanza of the Register as originally given by Brice, 
will help the reader to understand the unnecessarily complicated form in 
which he put it ; and also the following Instructions, which were omitted in 
subsequent impressions. 

Three stanzas occupy each page of the original edition. They are 
printed like this. 







When that John Dewneshe and Hugh Foxe, 
In Smithfield, cruel death sustained, 
As fixed foes to Romish rocks ; 
And CuTHBERT Symson also slain. 
When these did worthily receive their death, 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 


A comparison of this Stanza, with its fellow at page 167, will show our 
method of reproducing this text.] 

!•; 1) E C L A R A T I (J N OF THE [!?,;';„Jof'\t59. 

|.V PRIMUS, the figures, which are always four in 
number, are placed in the middle of the two 
strykes [strokes, or rules], which go between the 
verses, within two short strikes ; signify the year 
wherein those persons were slain under them 

And where you see a little cross, »J<, on the outside of the 
outmost line, it signifieth the changing of the year [i.e., on 
tlie ze^th March], as from 1554 to 1555 ; and in such manner. 

The letters which stand in the little square place, on the 
right side of the book, signified the month wherein they died ; 
and for the plainer understanding thereof I have used twelve 
letters, for the twelve months : that is, A, for January ; B, for 
February ; C, for March ; D, for April ; E, for May; F, for 
June; G, for July; H, for August; I, for September; K, for 
October; L, for November ; M, for December. 

But where one letter standeth in the little square place ; 
and another is placed under it between the two lines before 
the verse be ended ; it signified the changing of the month : 
so that the person or persons, where against the letter so 
changed doth stand, was put to death in that month which 
that letter doth signify. 

And whereas, in the third Verse [or Stanza, p. 154I, and no- 
where else, there standeth figures on the right side, between 
the two lines; that giveth to understand that Huntek, 
HiGBYE, Picket, and Knight, which are placed in one line, 
were burnt at three sundry days. 

The figures which standeth in the little square place, on 
the left side of the book, is but the sum of the Verses. But 
those which stand between the two lines on the left side of 
the book, signified the day of the month, wherein that 
person or persons died, where against those figures stand. 

The figures, which stand without both the lines, on the top 
of the right side, signifieth the folio or number of the sides ; 
but the figures which stand underneath the nether strike, 
between the two lines, is the number of persons murdered on 
that side [i.e., of the page]. 

This is done, gentle Reader ! that thou shouldest under- 
stand the }'ear, month, and day wherein every person died ; 
according to the knowledge that I have learned. 

Also, in some places, where you shall sec a name or names 

f,"ng if'llsg] LETTERS AND FIGURES. I51 

stand without figures ; that signifieth the certain day to be 
unknown. Some, therefore, perchance, will judge much 
rashness in me to write with ignorance; to whom, with 
reverence, I answer, that as I received the names registered 
and gathered by a good gentleman : even so, at a friend's 
desire, I have put them in metre, in this little book, thinking 
that, by pleasantness of reading, and easiness [cheapness] of 
price, they might be the more largely blown and known. 

For my desire is that all men should participate [in] this 
my travail : and were the author and inditing half so 
worthy as the matter ; then would I most earnestly wish and 
desire that it might be conveyed and delivered to the Queen's 
Majesty's own hands. Wherein Her Grace might see, what 
unmerciful Ministers had charge over the poor sheep ; who, 
wolfishly, at their wills, devoured the same : and, a'lso, what 
ruin and decay of Her Grace's subjects (that might have 
been), they have brought to pass. Therein might Her Grace 
see, as in a glass, how that bloodthirsty generation, neither 
spared hore [hoary] headed and ancient age, which all men 
ought to honour; neither youth, nor middle age; neither 
wife, nor widow ; young man, nor tender virgin. But like 
the unnatural eggs of Astyages that tyrant, destroy, and 
spill the blood of all : besides stocking [putting in the stocks], 
racking [putting on the rack], and whipping of the younger 
sort ; whom shame would not suffer to kill, as some are well 
enough known, and I am not altogether ignorant [of]. 

Should such tyrannical tragedies be kept one hour, from 
the hands of so noble and virtuous a Governess ? whose 
princely and natural heart, I doubt not, should have occasion 
thereby to be, in both kinds, both heavy and joyful : heavy, 
for the innocent blood spilt ; but joyful for the praises of her 
GOD, and that our GOD shall be honoured thereb}-, while 
the world doth endure. I doubt whether [doubt not but] Her 
Grace, inwardly wrapt up with Paul and John in divine science, 
will brast [burst] out and say, " O happy Latimer ! Cran- 
mer! Hooper! Rogers! Farrer! Taylor! Saunders! 
Philpot ! Cardmaker i Bradford ! &c. ; you members of 
Christ ! you faithful Fathers and preaching Pastors ! you, 
that have not defiled yourselves with abomination, but have 
washed your garments white in the blood of the Lamb ! you, 
that in fiery torments, with Stephen, have called upon the 

152 The DiiCLAUAXioN, &c. [s;i;,J;f'';t.> 

name of your Redeemer, and so finished you lives ! you that 
are now clothed in white garments of innocency, with crowns 
of consolation, and palms of victory in your hands, follow- 
ing the Lamb withersoever He goeth ! " Or else, in anguish 
of soul, sighingly to say, " O thou tyrannous and unmer- 
ciful world ! thou monstrous and unnatural generation ! what 
devil inflamed thy mind such malicious mischief? to tor- 
ment and shed the blood of such innocent livers, perfect 
preachers and worthy counsellors, learned ministers, diligent 
divines, perfect personages, and faithful shepherds. They 
were constant Confessors before, but thou (with the Roman 
Emperor) thoughtest to prevent the determination of GOD, 
in making them Martyrs, to be the sooner with their Christ, 
whom they so much talked of. O cruel Neros! that could 
kill, through malice, such worthy men, as have often preached 
to our dear father [Henry VIII.] and brother [Edward VI.] 
the everlasting gospel of GOD. Could neither honourable 
age, innocent single life, chaste matrimony, inviolatevirginity, 
nor yet pity move you to cease shedding of blood I Alas, too 
much unnaturalness ! " 

Whether the sight of this simple book, I say, should bring 
to her Grace's natural heart, the passions of heaviness or joy, 
I doubt : but I think rather both. 

Therefore, would to God ! it were worthy to enter into the 
hands of so noble and natural a Princess and Queen ; whom 
the LORD, of His eternal and foreseeing determination, hath 
now placed in this royal dignity : to the redress of such un- 
natural and bloody facts, as in this book are contained. 

But forasmuch as some imperfection is, and may easily be 
in this Gathering ; I commend it to thy goodness, gentle 
Reader! beseeching thee, not to be precise in perusing the 
day ; for it may, that, either through my negligence, or [that 
ofj some other writing [viatmscytpt] before me, we may miss 
so narrow a mark. 

Such as it is, I commend 

unto thee ! only, judge 



The Book to the Reader. 

Eruse with patience, I thee pray ! 
My simple style, and metre base. 
The works of GOD, with wisdom weigh / 
The force of Love, the strength of Grace. 

Love caused GOD, His grace to give, 
To such as should fur Him be slain. 
Grace wrought in them, while they did live, 
For love, to love their Christ again. 

Now Grace is of such strength and might. 
That nothing may the same withstand. 
Grace puttcth death and hell to flight. 
And guides us to the Living Land. 

The force of Love also is such. 
That fear and pain it doth expel; 
Love thinketh nothing over much ; 
Love doth all earthly things excel. 

This Love atid Grace of GOD began 
To work in them, to do His will : 
These virtues' force ivrought Love in man, 
That fear was past, their blood to spill. 



^\)t Hcgistcr of tbc ^artprs. 

[Never Ijcfoie did such dojjgerel verse carry so fearful a story as this. 
It is thou^jht to have been useful to JOHN Fox, when at work on his 
Acles ami Moiutiitnttis fir'f., 1 563. 

The followinj,' entries in the Stathncn^ Re;^istcrs show that there were 
two simultaneous editions of this work, both surreptitiously produced in 

Rychard Adams {sec p. 172] for pryntingc The Ret^cstfr of all t/niii 

that ware butiuii without lycense was fined at vs. [=^£2 \os. iioiij]. 

OWYN Rogers forprintinge without lycense The Kegester 0/ all them 

that were burned was fyned at xxd.] 

[Transcri/,1 b'c, I. p. loi, E,l. 1S75.) 

FhdruaRy |gTB»g'SM ^ y» w iyy^| Hi-n raging reign of tyrants 
Causeless, did cruelly conspire 
To rend and root the Simple 

With furious force of sword and 
fire ; 

When man and wife were put to death : 
We wished for our Queen Elizabeth. 

February 4 When Rogers ruefully was brent ; 

8 When Saunders did the like sustain; 

When faithful Farrar forth was sent 

His life to lose, with grievous pain ; 

22 When constant Hooper died the death : 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

February 9 When Rowland Taylor, that Divine, 
At Hadley, left this loathsome light ; 
24 When simple Lawrence, they did pine, 

22 With Hunter, Higby, Figot, and Knight 

23 When Causun, constantly, died the death: 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

fp";,g'Qf''.t9:] The Rkgister [ok the Martvks]. 155 


March 5 When Tomkins, tyranny did abide, 

Having his hand, with torchlight brent ; 
7 When Lawrence, White, and DioGELLdied, 
With earnest zeal and good intent ; 
14 When William Flower was put to death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

April 2 When Awcocke, in Newgate prisoner. 

His latter end, with joy, did make; 
II When John Warren and Cardmaker, 

Kissed each other at the stake; 
24 When March, the Minister, was put to death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

June When William Cowley, for offence, 

4 Was forthwith hanged at Charing Cross ; 
Buried; then burned, of fond pretence; 
Thus carion carcass they did toss : 
When such insipients put men to death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

June 10 When worthy Wattes, with constant cry, 

Continued in the flaming fire; 
II When Simson, Hawkes, and John Ardlie 

Did taste the tyrant's raging ire ; 
II When Chamberlains was put to death: 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

June 12 When blessed Butter and Osmande, 

With force of fire, to death were brent ; 
12 When SHiTTERDUN,sir Franke, and Blande, 
12 And Humfrey Middleton of Kent; 
I When Minge, in Maidstone, took his death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

156 Tut Registkk [ok 


July When Bradi-okd, beautified with bliss, 

I With young John Least, in Smithfield, died; 
When they, hke brethren, both did kiss. 
And in the fire were truly tried ; 
WTien tears were shed for Bradford's death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

July 12 When DirickHarman lost his life ; 

12 When Launder, in their fume, they fried; 
12 When they sent Everson from strife, 
With moody minds, and puffed pride ; 
12 When Wade, at Dartford, died the death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

July 21 When Richard Hooke, limbless and lame, 

At Chichester, did bear the cross ; 

22 When humble Hall, for Christcs name. 
Ensued the same, with worldly loss ; 

23 When Joan Polley was burnt to death : 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

July 23 When William Ailewarde, at Reading, 

In prison died of sickness sore ; 
23 When Abbes, which feigned a recanting 

Did wofully weep, and deplore ; 
23 When he, at Bury, was done to death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

August 23 When Denly died, at Uxbridge town, 
With constant care to Christcs cause; 
23 When Warren's widow yielded down 
Her flesh and blood, for holy laws; 
When she, at Stratford, died the death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

sprlnjifll^:] The Register [of the Martyrs]. 157 


August 23 When Laurence, Collier, Coker, and 
At Canterbury, were causeless slain, [fire, 

23 With Hopper and Wrighte ; Six in one 
Converted flesh to earth again ; 

24 When Roger Corriar was done to death : 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

August 26 When Tankerfielde, at St. Albans, 
26 And William Bamford, spent his blood ; 
When harmful hearts, as hard as stones, 
30 Burnt Robert Smith and Stephen Har- 
wo|;o]d ; 

29 When Patrick Pattingham died the death : 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

August 31 When John Newman, and Thomas Fusse, 
At Ware, and Walden, made their end; 

30 When William Hailes, for Christ Jesus, 
With breath and blood did still contend ; 

31 When he, at Barnet, was put to death : 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

August 31 When Samuell did firmly fight, 
Till flesh and blood, to ashes went ; 
3 When constant Cob, with faith upright, 
At Thetford, cruelly was brent : 
When these with joy did take their death ; 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

September 2 When William Allen, at Walsingham, 
For truth was tried in fiery flame ; 
3 When Roger Cooe, that good old man ! 
Did lose his life, for Christcs name ; 
When these, with others, were put to death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

158 Till; Rkgistek [of tiik Martyrs]. Lspnng of .559. 


September 6 When Bradbkidge, Streter, and I>ur- 


6 Tuttie, and George Painter of Hyde, 
Unto their duty, had good regard ; 
Wherefore in one lire, they were fried : 
When these, at Canterbury, tootc their death; 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

September When John Lesse, prisoner in Newgate, 

10 By sickness turned to earth and clay ; 
When wicked men, with ire and hate, 
13 Burnt Thomas Heywarde, and Goreway; 
t3 When Tingle, in Newgate, took his death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

September 14 When Richard Smith in Lollards' 
Tower ; 

15 Androwes and Kyng, by sickness, died; 
In fair fields they had their bower, 
Where earth and clay doth still abide : 
When they, in this wise, did die the death ; 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

September ig When Glover, and Cornelius 
Were fiercely brent at Coventry ; 
4 When Wolsey and Pigot, for Christ Jesus 

At Ely, felt like cruelty. 
19 When the poor bewept Master Glover's 
We wished for our Elizabeth. [death, 

October When learned Ridley, and Latimer, 

16 Without regard, were swiftly slain ; 
When furious foes could not confer 
But with revenge and mortal pain. 

When these two Fathers were put to death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

fprinj'onij^:] The Register [of the Martyrs]. 159 


OcTouER 13 When worthy Web, and George Roper, 
In Elias' car to heaven were sent ; 
13 Also when Gregory Painter, 

The same straight path and voyage went ; 
When they, at Canterbury, took their death ; 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

December 7 When godly Gore in prison died, 

14 And Wiseman in the Lollards' Tower : 
18 When Master Philpot, truly tried. 
Ended his life with peace and power ; 
When he kissed the chain, at his death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 


January 27 When Thomas Whitwell, arid Bartlet 
27 Annis Foster, Joan LA^HEFdRDEj arid 

27 TutsuN, and Winter; these Seven were 
tn Smithfield, beat their enemies ddwn ; 
Even Flesh and Devil, World and Death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

January 31 When John Lowmas and Ann Albright, 
31 Joan Soale, Joan Painter, and Annis 
In fire, with flesh and blood did fight ; 
When tongues of tyrants laid on lode ; 
When these, at once, were put to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

i6o The 


Fi'BRUARY When two women in Ipswich town, 

19 Joyfully did the fire embrace ; 

When they sang out with cheerful sound, 
Their fixed foes for to deface ; 
When Norwich no-body put them to death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

March 12 When constant Cranmer lost his life 

And held his hand into the fire ; 
When streams of tears for him were rife, 
And yet did miss their just desire : 
When Popish power put him to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

March 24 When Spencer and two brethren more, 

Were put to death at Salisbury ; 
Ashes to earth did right restore. 
They being then joyful and merry : 
When these, with violence, were burnt to 
We wished for our Elizabeth. [death. 

April 2 When Hulliarde, a Pastor pure. 

At Cambridge, did this life despise ; 
2 When Hartpooles death, they did procure 
To make his flesh a sacrifice ; 
When Joan Beche, widow, was done to 
We wished for our Elizabeth. [death : 

April 10 When William Timmes, Ambrose, and 

10 Spurge, Spurge, and Cavell duly died. 
Confessing that, for CHRiSTes sake. 
They were content thus to be tried : 
iM!oNNBR.i 10 When * London little-grace put them to 
We wished for our Elizabeth. [death, 


sprinJof'lsMJ The Register [of the Martyrs]. i6i 


April 28 When lowly Lister, Nicoll, and Masil, 

28 John Hammon, Spencer, and Yren also, 
At Colchester, in the Postern Place, 
Joyfully to their death did go ; 

5 When two, at Gloucester, were put to death : 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

May When Margaret Eliot, being a maid, 

13 After condemning, in prison died ; 
15 When lame Lavarocke, the fire assayed, 

15 And blind apRice with him was tried': 
When these two impotents were put to 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

May 16 When Katherine Hut did spend her 


16 With two maids, Elizabeth and Joan ; 
When they embraced both reed and wood. 
Trusting in Christ His death alone : 
When men unnatural drew these to death. 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

May 21 When two men and a sister dear, 

At Beccles were consumed to dust ; 
31 When William Sleche, constant and clear. 
In prison died, with hope and trust ; 
When these, our brethren, were put to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

June 6 When John Oswold, and Thomas Reede, 

6 Harland, Milwright, and Evington ; 
With blazing brands their blood did bleed 
As their brethren before had done. 
When tyranny drave these to death, 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

i62 The Rkgister [of the Martyrs]. [Ifp^HnJ/.lf,: 


June 20 When Wiiod the Pastor, witli Thomas 

At Lewes, lost this mortal gain ; ^Milles 
Compassed with spears, and bloody bills. 
Unto the stake for to be slain : 
23 When William Adhekal did die the death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

June 27 When Ja[c]kson, Holywel, and Wye, 

27 Bowier, Lawrence, and Addlington ; 
27 When RoTii, Searles, Lion, and Hurst 

did die ; 
27 With whom, two women to death were done : 
When DoRiFALL,with them, was put to death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

June 27 When Thomas Parret, prisoner, 

30 And Martin Hunte died in the King's 
Bench ; 
When the young man at Leicester, 
And Clement died, with filthy stench; 
25 When Careless, so took his death : 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

July 16 When Askue, Palmer, and John Gwin 

Were brent with force, at Newbury ; 
Lamenting only for their sins. 
And in the LORD were full merry : 
When tyrants merciless, put these to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

July 18 When John Forman, and mother Tree, 

At * Grenstede, cruelly were slain ; 
18 When Thomas Dungate, to make up three, 
With them did pass from woe and pain : 
When these, with others, were put to death; 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

sprinjof^ilsg-] The Register [of the Martyrs]. 163 


August 20 When the weaver at Bristow died, 
And, at Derby, a wedded wife ; 
When these with fiery flames were fried, 
For CHRisTes cause, losing their life ; 
When many others were put to death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

September 24 When Ravensdale and two brethren more, 
To earthly ashes were consumed ; 
25 A godly glover would not adore 

Their filthy idol ; whereat they fumed ; 
When he, at Bristol, was put to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

September 26 When John Horne, with a woman wise, 
At Newton, under hedge were killed, 
Stretching their hands with lifted eyes. 
And so their years, in earth fulfilled ; 
When these, with violence, were put to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

September When Dunston, Clarke, and Potkin's 

William Foster, and Archer also. 
In Canterbury, did lose their life 
By famishment ; as the talk do go. 
When these, alas, thus took their death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

When three, within one castle died, 
And in the fields were layed to rest. 
When at Northampton, a man was tried 
Whether GOD or Mammon he loved best. 
When these, by tyranny, were put to death. 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

1 64 Ti 



January 2 When Thomas Finall and his man, 
2 Foster and three good members more, 
Were purged witli their fiery fan 
At Canterbury, with torments sore. 
When they with cheerfulnesstook theirdeath, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

January When two at Ashford, with cruelty, 

For Christcs cause, to death were brent ; 
2 When, not long after, two, at Wye, 
Suffered for Christ His Testament: 
When wily wolves put these to death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

April 2 When Stanly's wife, and Annis Hyde, 

Sturtle, Ramsey, and John Lothesby 
Were content, torments to abide, 
And took the same right patiently ; 
When these, in Smithfield, were done to 
We wished for our Elizabeth. [death. 


When William Morant and Steven 
Refused, with falsehood to be beguiled, 
And for the same, were burned quick. 
With fury, in Saint George's Field ; 
When these, with others were put to death. 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

June 16 WhenJoAN BRADBRiDGE,and a blind maid, 

16 Appelby, Allen, and both their wives ; 
16 When Manning's wife was not afraid. 
But all these Seven did lose their lives. 
When these, at Maidstone, were put to death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 


June 19 When John Fiscoke, Perdue, and 

19 Barbara, widow ; and Benden's wife ; 
19 With these, Wilson's wife did firmly fight, 
And for their faith, all lost their life ; 
When these, at Canterbury, died the death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

June 22 When William Mainarde, his maid and 

22 Margery Mories, and her son ; [man ; 

22 Denis, BuRGES, Stevens, and Wo[o]dman; 

22 Glove's wife, and Ashdon's, to death were 

done ; [death, 

When one fire, at Lewes, brought to them 

We wished for our Elizabeth. 

July When Ambrose died in Maidstone Gaol, 

And so set free from tyrant's hands ; 
2 When Simon Milner .they did assail, 
2 Having him, and a woman in bands ; 

When these, at Norwich, were done to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

July 2 When ten, at Colchester, in one day. 

Were fried with fire, of tyrants s'tout ; 
Not once permitted truth to say, 
But were compassed with bills about : 
When these, with others, were put to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

July s When George Egles, at Chelmsford 

Was hanged, drawn, and quartered ; [town, 
His quarters carried up and down. 
Anion a pole they set his head. 
When wrested law put him to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

1 66 The RiioisTiiR [of tiik MapxTyus]. [s;;;„gof",55^;: 


July 5 When Thurston's wife, at Chichester, 

5 And Bourner's wife, with her also; 
20 When two women at Rochester, 
20 With father Frier were sent from woe : 
23 When one, at Norwich, did die the death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

August 10 When Joyce Bowes, at Lichfield died, 
Continuing constant in the fire ; 
When fixed faith was truly tried. 
Having her just and long desire. 
When she, with others were put to death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

August 17 When Richard Rooth and Ralph 
17 With James Auscoo and his wife 
Were brent with force at Islington, 
Ending this short and sinful life ; 
When they with cheerfulness, did take their 
We wished for our Elizabeth. [death : 

October i8 When Sparrow, Gibson, and Holling- 
In Smithfield, did the stake embrace ; 
When lire converted flesh to clay, 
They being joyful of such grace : 
When lawless liberty put them to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

December 22 When John Roughe, a Minister meek, 

22 And Margaret Mering, with courage died: 
Because Christ only they did seek. 
With fire of force, they must be fried ; 
When these, in Smithfield, were put to death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

sprtag^of'^.IsS T^iE Register [of the Martyrs J. 167 




When that John Dewneshe and Hugh 


In Smithfield, cruel death sustained, 
As fixed foes to Romish rocks ; 
28 And CuTHBERT Symson also slain. 

When these did worthily receive their death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 




When Dale deceased in Bury gaol, 
According to GOD's ordinance ; 
When widow Thurston they did assail; 
And brought Ann Bongek to Death's Dance ; 
When these, at Colchester, were done to 

We wished for our Elizabeth. [death, 

9 When William Nicoll, in Ha[ve]rfor[d]- 
Was tried with their fiery fire : [west, 

20 When Symon fought against the best, 
20 With Glover, and Thomas Carman ; 

When these, at Norwich, did die the death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

26 When William Harris, and Richard 
Day ; [brent : 

26 And Christian George with them was 
Holding their enemies at a bay 

Till life was lost, and breath all spent ; 
When these, at Colchester, were put to 
We wished for our Elizabeth. [death, 

27 When Southan, Launder, and Ricarbie; 
27 Hollyday, Hollande, Ponde, and Flood, 

With cheerful look and constant cry, 
27 For Christcs cause, did spend their blood : 
When these in Smithfield were put to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

1 68 TuK Ri£Gi 


,R [( 

IK Martyrs]. [!?;^„ 


When Thomas Tyler passed this place ; 
And Matthew Withers also died. 
Though suit were much, yet little grace 
Among the Rulers could be spied : 
In prison, patiently, they took their death, 

We wishing for Elizabeth. 

July io When Richard Yeman, Minister, 

At Norwich, did his life forsake ; 
19 When Master Benbrike, at Winchester, 
A lively sacrifice did make. 
When these, with others, were put to death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

July 14 When William Peckes, Cotton, and 

The Popish power did sore invade ; 
To Burning School, they were sent straight, 
14 And with them went, constant John Sladh : 
When these, at Brainford, were put to death. 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

November 4 When Alexander Geche was brent, 
4 And with him Elizabeth Launson ; 
When they with joy, did both consent 
To do as their brethren had done ; 
When these, at Ipswich, were put to death, 
We wished for Elizabeth. 

November 5 When John Davy, and eke his brother, 
5 With Philip Humfrey kissed the cross; 
When they did comfort one another 
Against all fear, and worldy loss ; 
When these, at Bury, were put to death, 
We wished for our Elizabeth. 

spr"ng^:,r''i'5w'-] The Register [of the Martyrs]. 169 

November. When, last of all (to take their leave !), 

[11] At Canterbury, they did some consume, 
Who constantly to Christ did cleave ; 
Therefore were fried with fiery fume : 
But, six days after these were put to death, 

GOD sent us our Elizabeth ! 

Our wished wealth hath brought us peace. 
Our joy is full ; our hope obtained ; 
The blazing brands of fire do cease. 
The slaying sword also restrained. 
The simple sheep, preserved from death 

By our good Queen, Elizabeth. 

As Hope hath here obtained her prey, 
By GOD'S good will and Providence; 
So Trust doth truly look for stay, 
Through His heavenly influence, 
That great Goliath shall be put to death 

By our good Queen, Elizabeth. 

That GOD'S true Word shall placed be. 
The hungry souls, for to sustain ; 
That Perfect Love and Unity 
Shall be set in their seat again : 
That no more good men shall be put to death ; 

Seeing GOD hath sent Elizabeth. 

Pray we, therefore, both night and day, 
For Her Highness, as we be bound. 
O LORD, preserve this Branch of Bay ! 
(And all her foes, with force confound) 
Here, long to live ! and, after death, 

Receive our Queen, Elizabeth ! 
A men. 

Apoc. 6. How long tarriest thou, LORD, holy and true ! 
to judge, and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth. 


The wishes of the Wise, 
Which lon<^ to be at rest ; 
Jo GOD, with lifted eyes, 
They call to be redressed. 

Hen shall this time of travail cease 
Which we, with woe sustain ? 
When shall the days of rest and peace. 
Return to us again ? 

When shall the mind be moved right 
To leave this lusting life? 
When shall our motions and delight 
Be free from wrath and strife ? 

When shall the time of woful tears 

Be moved unto mirth ? 
When shall the aged, with grey hairs, 

Rejoice at children's birth ? 

When shall Jerusalem rejoice 

In Him, that is their King? 
And Sion's hill, with cheerful voice, 

Sing psalms with triumphing ? 

When shall the walls erected be, 

That foes, with fury, 'fray ? 
When shall that perfect Olive Tree, 

Give odour like the Bay ? 

When shall the Vineyard be restored, 

That beastly boars devour ? 
When shall the people, late abhorred, 

Receive a quiet hour ? 

I] T II E w I s n E s o F T 11 E W I s li. 171 

When shall the SPIRIT more fervent be, 

In us that want good will ? 
When shall Thy mercies set us free 

From wickedness and ill ? 

When shall the serpents, that surmise 

To poison Thine Elect, 
Be bound to better exercise, - 

Or utterly reject ? 

When shall the blood revenged be, 

Which on the earth is shed ? 
When shall sin and iniquity 

Be cast into the bed ? 

When shall that Man of Sin appear 

To be, even as he is ? 
When shall thy babes and children dear 

Receive eternal bliss ? 

When shall that painted Whore of Rome 

Be cast unto the ground ? 
When shall her children have their doom, 

Which virtue would confound ? 

When shall Thy Spouse, and Turtle Dove 

Be free from bitter blast ? 
When shall Thy grace, our sins remove, 

With pardon at the last ? 

When shall this life translated be, 

From fortune's fickle fall ? 
When shall True Faith and Equity 

Remain in general ? 

When shall Contention and Debate, 

For ever slack and cease ? 
When shall the days of evil date, 

Be turned unto peace ? 

72 T II K WISHES OF THE W I S K. [sprlugVlsw: 

When shall True Dealing rule the rost 

With those that buy and sell; 
And Single Mind, in every coast, 

Among us bide and dwell ? 

When shall our minds wholly convert 
From wealth, and worldly gain ? 

When shall the movings of our heart 
From wickedness refrain ? 

When shall this flesh return to dust. 
From whence the same did spring? 

When shall the trial of our trust 
Appearing with triumphing? 

When shall the Trump blow out his blast, 

And thy dear babes revive ? 
When shall the Whore be headlong cast, 

That sought us to deprive ? 

When shall Thy Christ, our King, appear 

With power and renown ? 
When shall Thy saints, that suffer here, 

Receive their promised crown ? 

When shall the faithful, firmly stand ? 

Before Thy face to dwell ; 
When shall Thy foes, at Thy left hand, 

Be cast into the hell? 

Apuca. 22. 
Come, LORD J E S U I 

T. B. 

C 3lmprintcD at lonDon, ftp 3lobn l^ingston for 
EicbarD aDam0. 


The winning of Calais by the French, 
January 1558 a.d. 

There is but little doubt that the gross negligence whereby Calais was 
lost to us, was but the natural outcome of the national demoralization 
occasioned by the public administration of Queen Mary ; which placed 
all Laymen at the mercy of the Spiritualty, and all Englishmen at the 
command of the Spaniard. Looking back, all now acknowledge 
that the loss of Calais was a gain to England, as well as to France : 
but for a time, it did sting Englishmen to the quick ; and that, all 
the more, seeing it was lost in a war in which we were only fight- 
ing Philip's battles, and had no real concern ourselves. 

We here group the following Eye Witness reports, accounts, &c., of the 
loss of the English Pale in France. 

Calais. G. Ferrers, General Narrative of the Recapture... 173 
Lord Wentworth and the Council at Calais. 

Letter to Queen Marv, 23 May 1557 186 

Lords Wentworth and Grey and the Council at 

Calais. Report to Queen Mary; 27 Dec. 1557 187 
Lord Wentworth. Letter to Queen Mary, 

1 January \'il?,; <) >.. 190 

Lord Wentworth. Letter to Queen Mary, 

2 January i^$S ; \o p.m 192 

J. HlGHFlELD. Narrative of the Capture of Calais. 

[March 1558] 196 

J. Fox. Mistress Thorpes escape at Calais ... 202 
G u I s N E s. Lord Grey, Governor at Guisnes. Letter to Queen 

Mary, /^January i^'i'i; 1 a.m 203 

T. Churchyard. Share i?:, ami Account of, the 

sien-e of Guisnes, 11-22 January I is8 ... ;.. 205 

George Ferrers, the Poet. 
General Narrative of the Recapture. 

[Grafton's Chronicle. 1569.] 
John Stow, in his Annals, p. 1070, Ed. 1600, referring to this recapture, 

says, " Whereof Master GEORGE Ferrers hath written at large : 

for he collected the whole history of Queen Mary, as the same is set 

down, under the name of Richard G'rafton." 
It is clear from Underhill's narrative at /. 90, that his friend Ferrers, 

who had been Lord of Misrule under Edward VI., was a Protestant- 

74 The Battle o i' St. O u f n t i n. [^■,^'T/x 

^Or if ought were won by the having of St. Quentin, 
England got nothing at all ; for the gain thereof 
came only to King Philip: but the loss of Calais, 
Hammes, and Guisnes, with all the country on 
that side of the sea, which followed soon after, 
was such a buffet to England as [had] not happened in more 
than an hundred years before; and a dishonour wherewith 
this realm shall be blotted until GOD shall give power to 
redubbe it with some like requital to the French. 

At this time, although open hostility and war were between 
England and France, yet, contrary to the ancient custom 
afore used, the town of Calais and the forts thereabouts were 
not supplied with any new accrues [reinforcements] of soldiers; 
which negligence was not unknown to the enemy, who, long 
before, had practised [plotted] the winning of the said town and 
country. The French King therefore (being sharply nettled 
with the late loss of St. Quentin and a great piece of his 
country adjoining, and desirous of revenge) thought it not 
meet to let slip this occasion ; and having presently a full 
army in a readiness to employ where most advantage should 
appear, determined to put in proof, with all speed, the enter- 
prise of Calais ; which long, and many times before, was 
purposed upon. 

This practice [design] was not so secret but that the 
Deputies of Calais and Guisnes had some intelligence 
thereof; and informed the Queen [Mary] and her Council 
accordingly : nevertheless, either by wilful negligence there, 
or lack of credit by the Queen's Council here, this great case 
was so slenderly regarded as no provision of defence was 
made until it was somewhat too late. 

The Duke of Guise [known as, Lc Balafrc], being General 
of the French army, proceeded in this enterprise with mar- 
vellous policy. For approaching the English frontier [known 
in our history as the English Pale^, under colour to victual 
Boulogne and Ardes ; he entered upon the same, on a sudden 
[on 1st January, 1558]; and took a little bulwark [fortification] 
called Sandgate, by assault. He then divided his army into 
two parts, sending one part with certain great pieces of 
artillery along the downs [sandhills] by the sea-side towards 
Ribbank [or Ruisbank, a detached fort in Calais harbour. See 
Vol. II. p. 39]; and the other part, furnished also with battery 

•^/"[j^sj Capture OF Newnham Bridge & Ruisbank. 175 

pieces, marched straight forth to Newnham [or Newhaven] 
Bridge : meaning to batter the two forts, both at one time. 
Which thing he did with such celerity, that coming thither very 
late in the evening, he was master of both by the next morning. 

At the first shot discharged at Newnham Bridge, the head 
of the Master Gunner of that piece [foyt], whose name was 
HoRSELEY, was clean stricken off. The Captain [Nicholas 
Alexander] considering the great power of the French 
army ; and having his fort but slenderly manned to make 
sufficient resistance, fled to Calais. And by the time he was 
come thither, the other part of the French army that went 
by the seaside, with their battery, had won Risbank ; being 
abandoned [by Captain John Harlestone] to their hands. 

The next day [2nd 0/ January], the Frenchmen, with five 
double-cannons and three culverins, began a battery from 
the sandhills next Risbank, against the town of Calais ; and 
continued the same, by the space of two or three days, until 
they made a little breach m the wall next unto the Water 
Gate, which, nevertheless, was not yet assaultable : for that 
which was broken in the day, was by them within the town 
made up again in the night, stronger than afore. But the 
battery was not begun there by the French because they in- 
tended to.enterin that place ; but rather to abuse [deceive] the 
English, to have the less regard to the defence of the Castle: 
which was the weakest part of the town, and the place where 
they were we ascertained, by their espials, to win an easy entry. 

So that while our people travailed fondly to defend that 
counterfeit breach of the town wall, the Duke had in the 
mean season, planted fifteen double-cannons against the 
Castle. Which Castle being considered by the Rulers of 
the town to be of no such force as might resist the battery of 
cannon, by reason that it was old, and without any rampires 
[ramparts] ; it was devised to make a train with certain 
barrels of powder to this purpose, that when the Frenchmen 
should enter, as they well knew, that there they would, to 
have fired the said train, and blown up the Keep : and for 
that purpose left never a man within to defend it. But the 
Frenchmen, at their entry, espied the train, and so avoided 
the same. So that the device came to no purpose ; and, 
without any resistance, they entered the Castle; and thought 
to have entered the town by that way. 

1 76 Surrender of Calais in three days. P/Tsm'. 

But [on the 6th of January] by the prowess and hardy 
courage of Sir Anthony Ager \Auciier , Knight [see Vol. I., 
pp. 33, 36], and Marshal of the Town, with his soldiers, they 
were repulsed and driven back again into the Castle: and 
followed so hard after, that our men forced them to close 
and shut the Castle gate for their surety, lest it should have 
been recovered against them. As it was once attempted 
[/).ig9lby Sir Anthony Ager: whothere, with his son andheir, 
and a Pursuivant at Arms called Calais, and divers others, to 
the number of fifteen or sixteen Englishmen, lost their lives. 
The same night, after the recule [retreat] of the French- 
men, whose number so increased in the Castle, that the town 
was not able to resist their force ; the Lord Wentworth, 
Deputy of Calais, sent a Pursuivant called Guisnes, unto 
the Duke of Guise, requiring composition; which, after long 
debate, was agreed to, upon this sort. 

First. That the town, with all the great artillery, 

victuals and munition, should be freely yielded to the 

French King. 

The lives of the inhabitants only saved; to whom safe 

conduct should be granted, to pass where they listed. 
Saving the Lord Deputy, with fifty others, such as the 

Duke should appoint, to remain prisoners ; and be put 

to their ransom. 
The next morning [yth of January], the Frenchmen entered 
and possessed the Town : and forthwith all the men, women, 
and children, were commanded to leave their houses, and to 
go into the two churches, of Our Lady, and Saint Nicholas; 
upon pain of death. Where they remained a great part of 
that day, and one whole night, and until three o'clock at 
afternoon the next day [Sih] : without either meat or drink. 

And while they were thus in the churches, the Duke of 
Guise, in the name of the French King, in their hearing, 
made a Proclamation straitly charging and commanding all 
and every person that were inhabitants of the Town of 
Calais, having about them any money, plate, or jewels to the 
value of [but] one groat [4(/.] to bring the same forthwith, 
and lay it down on the high altars of the said churches, 
upon pain of death : bearing them in hand [inducing them 
to think] also that they should be searched. 

By reason of which Proclamation, there was made a great 

*^"?''"7os:] The English Exodus out of Calais. 177 

and sorrowful Offertory. And wliile they were at this offering 
within the churches, the Frenchmen entered into their 
houses, and rifled the same ; where was found inestimable 
riches and treasure, but specially of ordnance, armour, and 
other munition. 

About two o'clock, the next day at afternoon, being the 
7th of January; all the Englishmen, except the Lord Deputy 
and the others reserved for prisoners, were suffered to pass 
out of the town in safety ; being guarded through the army 
by a number of Scottish Light Horsemen. 

There were in this town of Calais, 500 English soldiers 
ordinarily, and no more: and of the townsmen, not fully 
200 fighting men : a small garrison for the defence of such 
a town ! And there were in the whole number of men, 
women, and children, as they were counted when they went 
out of the gate, 4,200 persons. 

But the Lord Wentworth, Deputy of Calais ; Sir Ralph 
Chamberlain, Captain of the Castle; [John] Harlestone, 
Captain of Risbank ; Nicholas Alexander, Captain of 
Newn[hjambridge ; Edward Grimstone, Controller; with 
others of the chief of the town, to the number of fifty, as 
aforesaid, such as it pleased the Duke of Guise to appoint, 
were sent prisoners into France. 

Thus have ye heard the discourse of the Overthrow and 
Loss of the Town of Calais; the which enterprise was begun 
and ended in less than eight days, to the great marvel of 
the world, that a town of such strength, and so well 
furnished of all things as that was, should so suddenly be 
taken and conquered : but most specially, in the winter 
season ; what time all the country about, being marsh 
ground, is commonly overflown with water. 

The said town was won from the French by King Edward 
in. in the time of Philip de Valois, then French King: and, 
being in the possession of the Kings of England, 211 years; 
was, in the time of Philip and Mary, King and Queen of 
England, lost within less than eight days being the most 
notable fort that England had. 

For the winning whereof. King Edward aforesaid, in the 
2ist year of his reign [1346], was fain to continue a siege one 
whole year or more : wherefore it was judged of all men, 

eag.g^k.iw. 12 

178 Ni;(;i.IGENCE OF OUEKN M. 

that it could not have so come to pass, without some secret 

Here is also to be noted, that when Queen Mary and 
her Council heard, credibl}', of the Frenchmen's sudden 
approach to that town ; she, with all possible speed, but 
somewhat too late, raised a great power for the rescue 
thereof : which, if wind and weather had served, might, 
haply, have brought succour thither in time. But such 
terrible tempests then arose, and continued the space of four 
or five days together, that the like had not been seen before 
in the remembrance of man ; wherefore some said " That 
the same was done by necromancy, and that the Devil 
was raised up, and become French : " the truth whereof is 
known to GOD. But very true it is that no ship could 
brook the seas, by reason of those extreme storms and 
tempests. And such of the Queen's ships as did adventure 
the passage, were so shaken and torn, with the violence of 
the weather ; as they were forced to return with great danger, 
and the loss of all their tackle and furniture. 

Thus by the negligence of the Council at home, conspiracy 
of traitors elsewhere, force and false practice of enemies, 
helped by the rage of most terrible tempests of contraiy 
winds and weather; this famous Fort of Calais was brought 
again to the hands and possession of the French. 

So soon as this Duke of Guise, contrary to all expectation, 
had, in a few days, gained this strong town of Calais, afore 
thought impregnable, and had put the same in such order as 
best seemed for his advantage : proud of the spoil, and press- 
ing forward upon his sudden fortune, without giving longtime 
to the residue of the Captains of the forts there to breathe 
on their business; the 13th of the same month, with all 
provision requisite for a siege, he marched with his army 
from Calais into the town and fort of Guisnes, five miles 
distant from thence. 

Of which town and castle, at the same time, there was as 
Captain, a valiant Baron of England, called William, Lord 
Grey of Wilton [See Vol. III. p. 76] : who, not without 
cause suspecting a siege at hand ; and knowing the town of 
Guisnes to be of small force (as being without walls or 
bulwarks, and only compassed with a trench), before the 
Frenchmen's arrival, caused all the inhabitants of the town 

^■/""m] The Duke of Guist. attacks Guisnes. 179 

to advoid [depart] ; and so many of them as were apt to 
bear arms, he caused to retire into the Castls. Which was 
a place well fortified, with strong and massy Bulwarks 
[redoubts or batteries i of brick: having also a high and mighty 
tower, of great force and strength, called the Keep. 

The town being thus abandoned, the Frenchman had the 
more easy approach to the Castle ; who, thmking to find 
quiet lodging in those vacant houses, entered the same with- 
out any fear: and being tiiat night, at their rest as they 
thought, a chosen band of soldiers, appointed by Lord Grey, 
issued out by a postern of the said Castle, and slew no small 
number of their sleepy guests. The rest, they put out of 
their new lodgings ; and (maugre the Duke and all the French 
power) consumed all the houses of the town with fire. That 
notwithstanding, the said Duke, with all diligence, began his 
trenches : and albeit the shot of the great artilleiy from the 
Castle was terrible, and gave him great impeachment ; yet 
did he continue his work without intermission, and, for 
example's sake, wrought in his own person as a common 
pioneer or labourer. So that, within less than three days, 
he brought, to the number of thirty-five battery pieces, hard 
to the brim [edge] of the Castle ditch, to batter the same on 
all sides, as well right forth as across. But his principal 
battery, he planted against the strongest bulwark of all, 
called Mary Bulwark [a detached fort]; thinking by gaining of 
the stronger, to come more easily by the weaker. 

His battery being thus begun, he continued the same by 
the space of two days, with such terrible thundering of great 
artillery, that, by the report of [F. dEj Rabutin a French 
writer, there were, in those few days, discharged well near 
to the number of or 9,000 cannon shot. 

Through the violence whereof, by the 20th of the said 
month, the said great Bulwark was laid wide open, and the 
breach made reasonable and easy enough for the assault ; 
nevertheless, the said Duke (being a man of war, and nothing 
ignorant of what devices be commonly used in forts and be- 
sieged towns to entrap and damage the assailants) afore he 
would put the persons of his good soldiers to the hazard of 
the assault, caused the breach to be viewed once or twice by 
certain forward and skilful soldiers ; who, mounting the top 
of the breach, brought report that the place was saultablt 

I So Fra-NCH assaults on tiif. Makv Ri:uoii!T, [^■/"/j",; 

^asiaiiltable]. Nevertheless, to make the climb more easy ; he 
caused certain harquebussiers to pass over the ditch, and to 
keep the defendants occupied with shot, while certain pioneers 
with mattocks and shovels, made the breach more plain and 
easy. [Sec Chukchyard's acouni of litis assault at p. 209. He 
was one of the defenders.] 

Which thing done accordingly, he gave order to Monsieur 
D'Andelot, Colonel of the French Footmen, that he, with 
his Bands, should be in readiness to give the assault, when 
sign should be given. 

In which meantime, the Duke withdrew himself to an 
higher ground ; from whence he might plainly discover the 
behaviour as well of his soldiers in giving the assault, as also 
of the defendants in answering the same. And not perceiving 
so many of the English part appearing for the defence, as 
he looked for ; he gave order forthwith, that a regiment of 
his most forward Lance Knights [tlie Reitcrs] should mount 
the breach to open the first passage, and that Monsieur 
D'Andelot with his Bands of the French, should back them. 

Which order was followed with such hot haste and des- 
perate hardiness, that, entering a deep ditch full of water, 
from the bottom whereof to the top of the breach was well 
forty feet, without fear either of the water beneath or the fire 
above, they mounted the breach : and whereas the Duke had 
prepared divers bridges made of plank-boards, borne up with 
caske and empty pipes [i.e., barrels of the she of a Pipe] tied 
one to another, for his men to pass the said ditch ; many of 
the said assailants, without care of those bridges, plunged 
into the water, and took the next way to come to the assault. 

Which hot haste notwithstanding, the said assailants were, 
in this first assault, so stoutly repulsed and put back by the 
defendants, being furnished with great store of wild fire and 
fricasies for the purpose, that they were turned down headlong, 
one upon another, much faster than they came up : not with- 
out great waste and slaughter of their best and most brave 
soldiers; to the small comfort of the stout Duke, who, as is 
said before, stood, all this while, upon a little hill to behold 
this business. Wherefore, not enduring this sight any longer, 
as a man arraged [enraged], he ran among his men ; so reproving 
some and encouraging others, that the assault was foot hot 
renewed with much more vehemence and fury than before : 

'^■j'^^'sTs.] OUTSIDE THE CasTLE OF GuiSNES. l8l 

and with no less obstinacy and desperation received by tlie 
defendants ; whereby all the breach underneath was filled 
with French carcases. 

This notwithstanding;, the Duke still redoubled his forces 
with fresh companies ; and continued so many assaults, one 
upon another, that at the last charge, being most vehement 
of all others, our men being tired, and greatly minished in the 
number by slaughter and bloody wounds, were, of fine [sheer] 
force, driven to avoid, and give place of entry to the enemy. 

Which was not done without a marvellous expense of blood, 
on both sides. For, of the French part, there were slain and 
perished in these assaults, above the number of Soo or 900 
[Churchyard says, at p. 214, 4,oooj : and of the English, but 
little fewer [800, p. 214]; amongst whom the greatest loss 
lighted on the Spaniards, who took upon them the defence 
of the said Mary Bulwark : insomuch, as the report went, 
that of the 500 [or rather 450 ; whereof but 50 were Spaniards, 
the rest Eiigiish and Burgundians, sec />. 209J brave soldiers which 
King Philip sent thither for succour, under the conduct of a 
valiant Spanish Captain, called Mount Dragon, there were 
not known to have come awa}- any number worth the reckon- 
ing, but all were either slain, maimed or taken. 

These outrageous assaults were gi\'en to the Castle of 
Guisnes, on St. Sebastian's day, the 20th of January aforesaid. 

At the end of which day, there were also gained from the 
English, two other principal Bulwarks of the said Castle ; 
which, being likewise made assaultable by battery, were 
taken by the Almains [ISiuiss], who entered in by the breaches. 

The Lord Grev, with his eldest son, and the chief Captains 
and soldiers of the said garrison, who kept the Inner Ward of 
the Castle, where the most high and principal Tower, called 
the Keep, stood ; thinking themselves in small surety there 
(being a place of the old sort of fortification) after they saw 
the Utter Ward possessed by the enemy, and such a number 
of the most forward soldiers consumed and spent ; and no 
likelihood of any more aid to come in time: by the advice of 
the most expert soldiers there, concluded for the best, to treat 
with the Duke for composition: according to the which advice, 
he sent forth two gentlemen, with this message in effect. That 
the Duke (being a man of war, and serving under a 
King) should not think it strange if the Lord Grpi^' 

1 8.2 Lord Grky suu renders Guisnes; ['^/"'"j; 

likewise (hcinj:^ a man of war, and serving his Prince, in 
manner) did his Hke deavour [endeavour] in well defending 
the place committed to his charge, so far forth, as to 
answer and bide the assault; considering that otherwise, 
he could never save his own honour, neither his truth 
and loyalty to his Prince. In respect whereof, according 
to the law of arms, he required honourable composition. 
Which message, though it was well accepted of the Duke; 
yet he deferred his answer until the morrow. What 'At 
which time, the messengers repairing to him again, composi- 
tion was granted in this sort. 

First. That the Castle with all the furniture thereof, 
as well victuals as great artillery, powder, and other 
munitions of war, should be wholly rendered ; without 
wasting, hiding, or minishment thereof. 

Secondarily. That the Lord Grey, with all the 
Captains, Officers, and others having charge there, 
should remain prisoners, at the Duke's pleasure; to be 
ransomed after the manner of war. 

Thirdly. That all the rest, as well soldiers as others, 

should safely depart, with their armour and baggage to 

what parts, it seemed them best : nevertheless, to pass, 

without sound of drum or trumpet, or displaying of an 

ensigns IJhif^s] ; but to leave them behind. 

These conditions being received and approved on either 

party, the day following, that is to wit, the 22nd day of the 

said month of January, all the soldiers of the said fortress, as 

well English as strangers, with all the rest of the inhabitants 

and others (except the Lord Gkev, Sir Arthur his son. Sir 

Henry Palmer Knight, Mount Dragon the above named 

Captain of the Spaniards, and other men of charge reserved by 

the Composition) departed, with their bag and baggages, from 

thence, towards Flanders. At whose issuing forth, there was 

esteemed [cstitnnfcd] to the number of 800 or goo able men for 

the w-ar : part English, part Burgundians, with a small 

remnant of Spaniards. 

After the winning of this town and Castle, the Duke, advis- 
ing well upon the place, and considering that if it should 
happen to be regained by Englishmen, what a noisome 
neighbour the same might be to Calais, now being French ; 
a;id specially what impeachment should come thereby for the 


passage thither from France ; considering also the near 
standing thereof to the French King's fortress of Ardes, so 
that to keep two garrisons so nigh together should be but a 
double charge, and not only needless, iDut also dangerous, for 
the cause afore rehearsed : upon these considerations, as the 
Frenchmen write, he took order for all the great artillery, 
victuals, and other munition to be taken forth ; and the 
Castle, with all the Bulwarks and other fortifications there, 
to be razed and thrown down, with all speed, and the stuff to 
be carried away, and employed in other more necessary places. 

Then there rested nothing, within all the English Pale on 
that side, uhconquered, but the little Castle or Pile called 
Hammes : which, though it were but of small force, made by 
art and industr}' of man's hand, and altogether of old work- 
manship, without rampiers \rainparls] or Bulwarks [redoubts'; 
yet, nevertheless, by the natural situation thereof, being en- 
vironed on all sides, with fens and marsh grounds, it could not 
easily be approached unto: either with great ordnance for the 
battery, or else with an army to encamp there, for a siege ; 
having but one straight passage thereto by a narrow causey 
[causeway], traversed and cut through, in divers places, with 
deep ditches always full of water. Which thing, being well 
foreseen by Edward Lord Dudley, then Captain there, hav- 
ing as good cause to suspect a siege there as his neighbours, 
had, afore the Frenchmen's coming to Guisnes, caused all the 
bridges of the said causey, which were of wood, to be broken ; 
to give thereby the more impeachment [obstacles] to the French, 
if they should attempt to approach the same ; as, shortly 
after, they did, and kept divers of the passages. 

But to deliver the I3uke and his soldiers from that care, 
there came to him glad news from those that had charge to 
watch the same causey ; how the Captain, having intelligence 
of the rendering of Guisnes, had conveyed himself with his 
small garrison, secretly, the same night [of the 22iid oj January] 
by a secret passage over the marshes into Flanders. Where- 
by, the Duke, being now past care of any further siege to be 
laid in all that frontier, took order forthwith to seize the said 
little fort into his hands ; as it was easy to do, when there 
was no resistance. 

When this place was once seized by the French, then 
remained there none other place or strength of the English on 

j84 The French King visits Calais. ['^•/",74\- 

all that side the sea, for the safeguard of the rest of the 
country : whereby the French King became wholly and 
thoroughly Lord and Master of all the English Pale : for now, 
as ye have heard, there was neither town, castle, or fortress, 
more or less, on that side (saving Bootes Bulwark, near to 
Gravelines; which now, [in 1568] King Philip keepetii as 
his) ; but it was either taken away by force, or else abandoned 
and left open to the enemy. And, as the Frenchmen write, 
besides the great riches of gold and silver coin, jewels, plate, 
wool, and other merchandise (which was inestimable i.e., 
beyond i-cckoning'>) there were found 300 pieces of brass, 
mounted on wheels, and as many pieces of iron : with such 
furniture of powder, pellets [bullels], armour, victuals, and 
other munitions of war, scarcely credible .see p. 250J. 

Thus have heard the whole discourse of the Conquest of 
the noble town of Calais with all the English fortresses and 
country adjoining, made by the Duke of Guise. The news 
whereof, when it came to the French King: [there is] no need 
to ask how joyfully it was received ! not only by him and all 
his Court, but also universally through the whole realm of 
France. For the which victory, there was, as the manner is, 
Te DEUM sung, and bonfires made everywhere, as it is 
wont to be in cases of common joy and gladness for some 
rare benefit of GOD, Shortly, upon this conquest, there was 
a public Assembly at Paris of all the Estates of France : who 
frankly (in recompense of the King's charges in winning 
Calais and the places aforesaid, and for maintenance of his 
wars to be continued afterwards) granted unto him 3,000,000 
of French Crowns [ = about £"900,000 then = about £9,000,000 
now] ; whereof the clergy of France contributed 1,000,000 
Ccrownsj besides their dimes. 

And no marvel though the French did highly rejoice at the 
recovery of Calais out of the Englishmen's hands ! For it is 
constantly affirmed by many that be acquainted with the affairs 
of France, that ever since the town was first won by the 
F.nglishmen, in all solemn Councils appointed to treat upon 
tiie state of France, there was a special person appointed to 
put them in remembrance, from time to time, of Calais : as it 
were to be wished that the like were used in England until it 
were regained from the French. 

Now seemed every day a year, to the French King, until he 

*^?''"768:]'1""E Marriage of IMarv, Queen of Scots. 185 

personally had visited Calais and his new conquered countr}'. 
Wherefore, about the end of January, aforesaid, he took his 
voyage thither, accompanied with no small number of his 
nobility. And immediately upon his arrival there, lie perused 
the whole town and every part thereof, from place to place : 
and devising with the Duke of Guise for the better fortifica- 
tion thereof; what should be added to the old, what should 
be made new, and what should be taken away. And after 
order taken for that business; he placed there a noble and 
no less valiant Knight, called Monsieur de Thermes, to be 
Captain of the town : and so departed again to France. 

After the French King's departure from Calais, he made 
great haste for the accomplishment of the marriage moved 
between Francis, his eldest son, called the Dauphin, and 
Mary Stuart, daughter and sole heir of James V., late 
King of Scotland : which Princess (if the Scots had been 
faithful of promise, as they seldom be) should have married 
with King Edward VI. For the breach of which promise, 
began all the war between England and Scotland, in the latter 
end of King Henry VIII. and in the beginning of Edward 
VI. [See Patten's account of the ]Vooing, Vol. III. p. 51.; 

This marriage (though it be not my matter) I thought not 
to omit ; for many things were meant thereby, which, thanks 
be to GOD ! never came to pass. But one special point was 
not hidden to the world, that, by the means of the same, the 
Realm of Scotland should, for evermore, have remained as 
united and incorporated to the Crown of France ; that as 
the Son and Heir of every French King doth succeed to the 
inheritance and possession of a country, called the Doulphyn 
[DaupJiinc], and is therefore called Doulphyn [Dauphin] ; and 
as the Principality of Wales appertaineth to the Eldest Son of 
England, who is therefore called the Prince of Wales: even so, 
that the Dauphin and Heir of France should thereby have been 
King of Scotland, for evermore. Which name and title, upon 
this marriage, was accordingly given to Francis the Dauphin 
and heir apparent of France, to be called " King Dauphin " : 
the meaning wherenf was, utterly to exclude for evermore any 
to be King of Scotland, but only the Eldest Son of France. 

This memorable marriage was solemnized in the city of 
Paris, the 24th day of Apnl, 1558, with most magnitice«U. 
pomp and triumph. 


Lord Wentworth, the Lord Deputy 
of Calais, and the Council there. 

Letter to ^{6671 Mary ^ 2^rd May^ i5 57- 

\State ra/,e,!. Foras>i, .h-.IKV, IW -V. jW. 615. In Public Record Office.) 

T may please your Highness to understand that, 
where upon circumspect consideration and view 
of your Majesty's store here of munition and 
other habiliments of war, there is presently [al 
this moment] found not only a great want of many 
kinds thereof, but also such a decay in divers other things 
as the same are not serviceable, and will be utterly lost 
if they be not with speed repaired and put in better estate ; 
as this bearer, Master Highfield, Master of your Ordnance 
here [p. 196', can declare more amply the particularities 
thereof, either unto j-our Majesty, or unto such of your 
Council as shall please your Highness to direct him : we 
have thought it our bounden duties to be most humble 
suitors to your Majesty, that it would please the same to 
give immediate order, as well for the supplement of the said 
lacks, as also for your warrant to be addressed hither, for the 
repairing of all other things requisite to be done within his 

And thus we continually pray Almighty GOD for the long 
preservation of your Highness in most prosperous estate. 
From your town of Calais, the 23rd of May, 1557. 

Your Majesty's 
Most humble bounden and obedient subjects and servants, 

Wentworth, William Grey, 

Ralph Chamberlain, A. Cornwallis, 
Edward Grvmstone, Ri'stace Hop.ynton. 


Lords Wentworth and Grey, and die 
Council at Calais. 

Report to ^ueen Ma r k, 
2 7 th December^ 1557- 

Ur bounden duties most humbly remembeied unto 
30ur Highness. Upon the receipt of the intelli- 
gences sent unto your Majesty this other day, 
)m me your Grace's Deputy ; I forthwith dis- 
patched to my Lord Grey yat Gnisncs], requiring 
; Lordship to repair to this town, that we might consult 
(if the state of your Highness's places and country on this side. 
So his Lordship coming hither, we have conferred together 
our several intelligences : and finding the same in effect to 
agree, it hath very much augmented our suspicion that this 
train [design] now meant by the enemy, should be made 
towards your Highness's country or pieces. Whereupon we, 
all together, have considered the state of the same ; and 
said our opinions tlierein, as it may appear unto your High- 
ness by these articles which we send herewith to your 
Majesty, which we have thought our duties to signify unto 
you. Most humbly beseeching your Highness to return 
unto us your pleasure therein. 

So, we pray Jesu, grant your Majesty long and prosperous 

At your town of Calais, 27th December, 1557, 
Your Highness's, &c. 

Our Consultation, made the 2-jth December, 1557. 

G u I s N E s , 

Piyst. I k ju^ J lAviNG no supplement of men other than is 
presently there, we think it meetest, if the 
enemy should give the attempt, to abandon 
the Town (which cf>uld nut be, without \e\y 
er of the Castle) ; and dclend the Turnpike, 

i88 Rkpor 

OuEKN Mary. [ 

which is of the more importance, because that way onlj-, 
in necessity, the relief to the Castle is to be looked for. 

Itctn. There is great want of wheat, butter, cheese, and 
other victuals. 

Item. It is requisite to have some men of estimation and 
service to be there [i.e., at Guis>tes\ that might be able 
to take the charge in hand ; if either sickness or other 
accident should fortune to me the Lord Grey: which 
I, the said Lord Grky the rather require, by reason of 
Sir Henry Palmer's hurt ; being of any other person 
at this present utterly unfurnished. 

H A M p N E s Castle. 
Item. Ik h Okifi I^ THINK the same sufficiently furnished of men 
fur the sudden; albeit this hard and frosty 
weather, if it continue, will give the enemy 
great advantage : yet we put in as much 
water as is possible. 

Of victuals, that place is utterly unprovided ; except 
the Captain's store. 

That we also thought meet to have there some man of 
estimation and service, for the respects contained in the 
article of Guisnes : which also the Lord Dldley 

N E w N A M Bridge. 
"I'^ THINK it meet, upon the occasion, to with- 
draw the bands [companies of soldiers] from the 
Causeway thither; and then are of opinion, 
the same to be sufficient to defend that piece 
for a season ; unless the enemy shall get between this 
town and the bridge. 

It is clean without victuals, other than the Captain's 
own provision. 

R Y s B A N K . 

EcAUSE that place standeth upon the sea, and by 

the shore side, may the enemy come in a night to 

it : we think it meet to appoint hither a band 

company' of the low country [the open district round 

('d!ii:^, within the English pak] under the leading of 

Captain Douu. 

"1 Kli'i'^TDS"T57'.] R E •' O R T TO OUKKN MaRY. I 89 

It is altogether unfurnished of victuals, other than for 
the Captain's own store. 


H UREAS all your Majesty's pieces on this side, make 

account to be furnished of victuals and other 

necessaries from hence ; it is so, that of victuals 

your Highness hath presently none here : and also 

this town hath none, by reason that the restraint in the 

realm hath been so strait as the victuallers (as were 

wont to bring daily hither good quantities of butter, 

cheese, bacon, wheat, and other things) might not, of 

late, be suffered to have any recourse hither ; whereby 

is grown a very great scarcity of all such things here. 

Finally. Ik MknlORASMUCH as all the wealth and substance 
of your Majesty's whole dominion on this 
side, is now in your low country (a thing 
not unknown to the enemy) : and if with 
this his great power, coming down (as the bruit goeth) 
for the victualling of Ardes, he will give attempt on your 
Highness's country; we do not see that the small 
number here, in respect of their force, can, by any 
means, defend it. 

And \i we should stand to resist their entry into the 
country [the open district], and there receive any loss or 
overthrow ; the country should nevertheless be overrun 
and spoiled : and besides it would set the enemy in a 
glory, and also be the more peril to your Highness's 
pieces [towns]. We therefore, upon the necessity, think 
it meet to gather all our men into strengths [fortresses] ; 
and with the same to defend your pieces to the utter- 

Notwithstanding, all the power on this side is insuffi- 
cient to defend the pieces, in case the enemy shall tarry 
any space in the field. 

Wentworth, William Grey, 

Anthony Auchar, John Harleston, 

Edwarde Grimestone, N. Alexander, 
Eustace Hobyngton. 


Lord W E N T \v o R T H , at Calais. 

Letter to ^iee?i Ma r r, i 'Januiwy^ 155^3 
9 p.m. 

[One cannot help seeing that in this and the next letter, Lord Wl'AT- 
\V(jkiH, quite hopeless of any successful attempt, was trying to ni;ike 
things look as pleasant as he could to the Oueen.J 


having retired the Bands from the Causeway the 
last night [31 December 1557], and placed them at 
the Bridge fat Ncivliavcn or Ncicnham] and within 
the Brayes [i.e., Calais walls] : this morning early, 
I returned them to the said Causeway, to defend that passage 
in case the enemy would attempt to enter there ; and also to 
offer skirmish to take some of them, and to learn somewhat 
of their power. 

Between nine and ten, the eneiny showed in a very great 
bravery about six ensigns [regiments] of footmen, and certain 
horsemen ; and came from the Chalk Pits down the hill 
towards the Causeway. Whereupon some of ours issued 
and offered the skirmish ; but the enemy would in no wise 
seem to meddle. 

During this their stillness, they caused about 200 harque- 
bussiers to cut over the marsh from Sandgate and get between 
ours and the Bridge, and then to have hotly set on them on 
both sides. In this time also, at a venture, I had caused 
your Majesty's Marshal, with the horsemen, to go abroad, 
and maintain the skirmish with the footmen : and by that 
[time] the Marshal came there, the enemy's harquebussiers 
that passed the marshes were discovered ; and ours took a 
very honest retire. Which the enemies on the land side per- 
ceiving, came on, both horsemen and footmen, marvellously 
hotly ; to whom ours gave divers onsets, continually skii- 
mishing till they came to the Bridge, and there reposed 
themselves. The bridge bestowed divers shot upon the 
enemy, and huit some. Of ours, thanked be GOD ! none slain 
nor hurt, save a man-at-arms stricken in the leg with a currion. 


The alarm continued till one o'clock in the afternoon ; 
before the end whereof our enemy's number increased : for 
eleven ensigns more of footmen came in sight, and three 
troops of horsemen. 

Besides, the alarm went round about our countrj' at that 
instant, even from Sandgate to Guisnes; and bands of the 
enemy at every passage. 

They have gotten Froyton Church, and plant themselves 
at all the streights [passages] into this country. The bulwarks 
[ ? earth icvrks] of Froyton and Nesle have this day done their 
duty very well ; to whom I have this afternoon sent aid of 
men, and some shot and powder. Howbeit I am in some 
doubt of Nesle this night. 

I am perfectly advertised, their number of horsemen and 
footmen already arrived is abo\e 12,000 ; whereof little less 
have come in sight here. The Duke of Guise is not yet 
arrived, but lisj hourly looked for with a more [greater] 

This evening, I have discovered 500 waggons ladened with 
victuals and munition; and have further perfect intelligence, 
that thirty cannons be departed from Boulogne hitherwards. 

They [i.e., the French army] are settled at Sandgate, Gallej- 
Moat, Causeway, Froyton, Calkewell, Nesle, and Syntrecase. 
At one o'clock after midnight, I look for them ; being low 
water at the passage over the haven. 

Thus having set all things in the best order I can, I make 
an end of three days' work; and leave your Majesty to con- 
sider for our speedy succour. Beseeching GOD to grant 
your Highness victory, with long and prosperous reign. 

At your town of Calais, this New Year's Day, at nine of 
the night, 1557. 

I have received your Majesty's letter [of ^ist December] by 
iJoHN HighfieldJ Master of the Ordnance [at Calais], who 
came in this morning. The contents whereof I follow an 
near as I can. 

Your Highness's 
Most humble and obedient servant and subject, 

W E N T W O R T H . 


Lord Went WORTH at Calais. 

Letter to ^/een Man ), 2 January^ 1 55^, 
I o p.m. 

ISlnl, Pap,,!, c-V.l 

JFtkr my humble duty remembered, it may please 
yuur Hi^'hness. This last night our enemies lay 
still, without anything attempting in the places 
mentioned in my last letters ; as we did well 
perceive, during the whole night, by great fires 
made in the same places. 

Tiiis morning early, I put out fresh footmen to the Bridge, 
to relieve the watched men. 

About nine a clock, the enemies in very great number 
approached the Bridge, and offered the skirmish : whereupon 
issued out some of our harquebussiers and bowmen, and kept 
them in play, witli the help of the shot from the Bridge, more 
than an hour; and in the end, being overmatched with 
multitude, made their retire with the Turnpike, without any 
loss or hurt. The enemies shadowing [sheltering] themselves 
under the turnpike wall, with their curriers (which assuredly 
shot very great bullets, and carry far) kept themselves in 
such surety, as our pieces of the Bridge could not annoy 
them, till at eleven o'clock, certain of ours, bored holes with 
augers through the turnpike, and with harquebusses beat 
them out into the shot of ordnance, and so made them retire 
to the Causeway. 

This forenoon, certain Swiss and Frenchmen, to the 
number of 500, got within the marslies between Froyton and 
Nesle bulwarks : and the men of the Bulwarks seeing them- 
selves to be compassed on all sides, and seeing also that time 
yet served them well to depart ; and (fearing they should not 
so do, if they tarried till they were assailed on both sides, as 
they could not indeed), forsook their Bulwarks, and right 
manfully, notwithstanding their enemies between them and 
home, saved themselves through the marshes. In the retire 
of the enemies, one Cookson, a man-at-arms, and few other 
soldiers, with the countrymen, rescued most part of the 

LordWen.wonh-] 35^000 FuENCH AND SwiSS SOLDIERS. 1 93 

booty (which was certain kine) ; and tooii three prisoners of 
the Captain of Abbeville's Band. 

The report of this enterprise of the enemy being brought 
to me, fearing Colham Hill, I forthwith appointed your 
Majesty's Marshal with the Horsemen, and 200 footmen to 
repair thither; and as they should see their match, so to 
demean themselves. Ere these men had marched a quarter 
of a mile, the enemies were retired out of the country, upon 
occasion that wading, as they entered in, up to the girdle 
stead ; and perceiving the water to increase, [they] thought 
good to make a speedy return : and nevertheless, for all their 
haste, went up to the breast. And if they had tarried a little 
longer, I had put in so much water, as I think would have 
put them over head and ears : and, GOD willing, at the next 
tide, I will take in more. 

This afternoon, they have been quiet, and we, in the 
meantime, be occupied in cutting up of passages to let in 
more water about the Bridge and that part of the marshes ; 
whereby the enemies shall have very ill watering. 

I would also take in the salt water about the town {of 
Calais], but I cannot do it, by reason I should infect our 
own water wherewith we brew : and, notwithstanding all I 
can do, our brewers be so behindhand in grinding and other- 
wise, as we shall find that one of our greatest lacks. I 
therefore make all the haste and provision I can there, and 
howsoever the matter go, must shortly be forced to let in 
the salt water. 

The three men taken to-day be very ragged, and ill-ap- 
pointed. In examining, they confess that "there is great 
misery in their camp, and great want of money and victuals." 
They say (and I partly believe it, because it almost appeareth 
to me), "their number to be 25,000 footmen, whereof 10,000 
[are] Swiss ; and 10,000 horsemen. The Duke of Guise 
is already among them, and the only deviser and leader of 
this enterprise." They say also, " a shot from the Bridge- 
way to the Causeway yesterday, struck off the Master of the 
Camp's leg, called Captain Gourdault." 

I am also perfectly advertised, both by these men and 
otherwise, that they have no great ordnance yet come, but 
look for it daily by sea. It is eighty pieces, whereof thirty be 
cannons: and are laden, with munition and victuals, in 14(1 

£.vi; . c.f A. IV. 13 

vessels which shall land at Sandgate ; or rather I think at 
Boulogne, it to be taken out of great ships [there], and so 
again embarked at Sandgate in lesser vessels, as they have 
done most part of their victuals and carriage that they have 
hitherto occupied [used]. And, sure!}-, if jour Majesty's ships 
had been on this shore, they might either have letted 
hindered] their voyage ; or, at the least, very much hindered 
it : and not unlike: lyj to have distressed them, being only 
small boats. Their ordnance that comes, shall be conveyed 
in the same sort : it may therefore please your Majesty to 
consider it. 

I have also now fully discovered their enterprise ; and am 
(as a man may be) most sure they will first attempt upon 
Rysbanke ; and that way chiefly assail the town. Marry ! I 
think they lie hovering in the country, for the coming of 
their great artillery, and also to be masters of the sea. 
And therefore I trust your Highness will haste over all things 
necessary for us with expedition. 

Under your Majesty's reformation [correction], I think, if 
you please to set the passage at liberty for all men to come 
that would, bringing sufficient victuals for themselves for a 
season ; I am of opinion there would be enow, and with more 
speed than can be made by order. Marry! then must 
it well be foreseen to transport with expedition, victuals 

I have written to the King's Majesty [Philip II.] of the 
enemies being here : and was bold humbly to beseech his 
Majesty to give commission to the governors of his frontiers 
[that] I might, in necessity, upon my letter, have 300 or 
400 harquebussiers, Spaniards, that now be placed about St. 
Omer ; whereof I thought it my duty to advertise your 
Majesty, for your pleasure, whether I may write to the 
Governors to that effect, upon his Majesty's answer, and 
take them or not ? 

I, with the rest of the Council here, are forced to put your 
Majesty to some charges : for having taken in a confused 
number of countrymen [i.e., peasantry within the English Pale], 
we must needs reduce them to order, and the commoners 
also ; and have therefore called them into wages, and 
appointed Captains of the fittest men that presently [at this 
moment] be here. 

'-°"''' fj\",',"'°558;] Wentwortii's last letter to Mary. 195 

I have placed Dodd with his Band in Rysbank, and the 
rest of the extraordinary [i.e., volunteer] Bands be at the 
Bridge, and in the Brayes of this town. 

As I was making this discourse, six Ensigns [regiments] of 
footmen, and certain Bands [troops] of horsemen, came from 
Sandgate by the downs, within the sight of Rysbank : on 
whom, that piece, and this town also, bestowed clivers shots. 

This evenmg, they have made their approach to Rysbank, 
without any artillery : and, as far as I can perceive, do mind 
to make the assault with ladders, hurdles, &c., and other 
things, and that way get it. 

At Calais, the 2nd of January, at ten in the night, 1557. 

As I was in communication with your Mayor and Alder- 
men, touching the state of this town (whom I find of marvel- 
lous good courage, and ready to live and die in this town), I 
received letters from my Lords of the Council, of your 
Majesty's aid provided for us. 

I fear this shall be my last letter, for that the enemy will 
stop my passage ; but I will do what I can tidily [duly from 
time to time] to signify unto your Majesty, our state. 
Your Majesty's most humble and obedient 
servant and subject, 



John Highfield, Master of the 
Ordnance at Calais. 

To the ^hieen^ our sovereig?i Lady. 

[Lord Hardwick's Mhctllaiieous Stale Pafers. i. 114. Ed. 1788.] 

|Leaseth it your Highness to understand the 
Declaration of your humblest and faithful servant 
John Highfield, concerning the besieging and 
loss of 3'our Grace's town of Calais. 

First, being appointed by your most honourable 
Council [i.e., the Privy Council in London] to repair into 
^^ngland [on the previous 2yd May, see p. 186] ; I came. And 
after some intelligence that the French Armj' drew towards 
the English Pale, I was commanded to return with diligence 
to my charge at Calais; and I arrived there on New Year's 
Day in the morning, the enemy being encamped about 

The said morning, after I had delivered letters to my 
Lord Deputy, from your Grace's said Council, the said Lord 
Deputy told me how the alarm was made the night before, 
and also what he thought meet for me to be done for the 
better furniture of those fortresses which were in most 
danger, as the Bulwarks of the High Country [Froyton and 
Ncsic], Guisn'es, Newhaven Bridge, and Rysbank : and also 
for the defence of the Low Country, because his Lordship 
thought their enterprise had tended only to the spoil thereof. 
Then I showed that there was a sufficient store of all muni- 
tions, and that I would send to all places as need required ; 
which was done. 

Item. On Sunday following [2nd January, 1558], we per- 
ceived the French ordnance was brought to their camp ; 
whereby appeared that the enemy meant to batter some 
place : and thereupon were two mounts repaired for the 
better defence. At the same time, I desired to have some 
pioneers appointed to help the cannoneers, who were not 
forty in number, for the placing and entrenching of our great 
ordnance ; which pioneers I could never get. 

TMarSl'S-] ^^ Artillerist's view of the Siege. 197 

The same day, the enemy forced our men to forsake the 
Bulwarks of the High Country. And then it was moved to 
my Lord Deputy that the sea might be let in, as well to 
drown the Causeway beyond Newhaven Bridge, as also 
other places about the town : wherein was answered, " Not 
to be necessary without more appearance of besieging," and 
because that " the sea being entered in, should hinder the 
pastures of the cattle, and also the brewing of the beer." 

The same day, my Lord took order that victuals and other 
necessaries should be sent to Newhaven Bridge for six days; 
which was done. 

Item. On Monday [^rd January] in the morning, my Lord 
Deputy, with the rest of the Council there, perceiving that 
the enemy intended to approach nearer, were in doubt 
whether they might abandon the Low Country : and by 
advice, my Lord gave order that the Bailiff ol Marke should 
appoint the servants and women of the Low Country, with 
their superfluous cattle, to draw (if need happened) into the 
Flemish Pale ; and the said Bailiff with his best men, to 
repair to Marke Church, and there to abide further orders. 

The same morning before day, the enemy had made their 
approaches, and did batter both Newhaven Bridge and the 
Rysbank ; which were given up before nine o'clock. 

The Captain of Newhaven Bridge had word sent him that 
if he saw no remedy to avoid the danger, that then he should 
retire with his company into the Town. 

The Captain of Rysbank did, about the same time, 
surrender ; because, as he told me since, his pieces were all 
dismounted, and the soldiers very loth to tarry at the breach : 
wherein I know no more. 

But after the enemy was entered, I cause the said 
Rysbank to be battered ; and when my Lord saw how little 
it profited, he commanded to cease. 

The same day, the passages being both lost, the enemy 
planted their ordnance on the Sand Hill, to batter the north 
side of the town ; and then I moved my Lord to call in as 
many countrymen [English peasantry] as he could, and to 
appoint them Captains and their several quarters, for the 
relief of those which did most commonly watch and attend 
on the walls. Who answered, " He had determined already 
so to do." Howbeit the women did more labour [watch] 

198 The French Attack on the Town. [.'jS^s; 

about the ramparts than the said countrymen ; which, for 
lack of order in time, did absent themselves in houses and 
other secret places. 

The same evening. Captain Saligues [or Sellyn] came 
into Calais ; whereupon the people rejoiced, hopinj; some suc- 
cour: but after that time, it was too late to receive help by land, 
because the French horsemen were entered the Low Country. 

Item. On Tuesday I4/A Jajiiia}'y] in the morning, the 
enemy began their battery to the Town ; on which side I had 
placed fourteen brass pieces. Howbeit, within short time, 
the enemy having so commodious a place, did dismount 
certain of our best pieces, and consumed some of the 
gunners, which stood very open for lack of mounds and 
good fortification. For if the rampart had been finished, 
then might divers pieces have been brought from other 
places ; which were above sixty in number, ready mounted : 
but lacking convenient place, and chiefly cannoneers and 
pioneers, it was hard to displace the French battery. Which 
counter battery could not have been maintained for lack of 
powder. For, at the beginning, having in store, 400 barrels ; 
I found there was spent within five days, 100. 

Item. On Wednesday [5^/* January], the enemy continued 
their battery on the town, without great hurt done, because 
they could not beat the foot of the wall, for that the contremurc 
was of a good height, and we reinforced the breach, in the 
night, with timber, wool, and other matter sufficiently ; and 
we looked that the enemy would have attempted the assault 
the same evening; whereupon I caused two flankers to be 
made ready, and also placed two bombards, by the help of 
the soldiers, appointing weapons and fireworks to be in readi- 
ness at the said breach. At which time, my Lord commanded 
the soldiers of the garrison to keep their ordinary wards, and 
Master Grimston to the breach with the residue of the best 
soldiers. And then my Lord exhorted all men to fight, with 
other good words as in such cases appertaineth. And my 
Lord told me, divers times, that " although there came no 
succour ; yet he would never yield, nor stand to answer the 
loss of such a town." 

Item. On Thursday [()th January], began one other battery 
to the Castle ; which being a high and weak wall without 
ramparts, was made [as]saultable the same day. Whereupon, 

? mSisss] Their Attack on the C a s t l e . 1 99 

the Captain of the Castle desired some more help to defend 
this breach, or else to know what my Lord thought best in 
that behalf. Then, after long debating, my Lord determined 
to have the towers overthrown, which one Saulle took upon 
him to do ; notwithstanding, I said openly that " if the Castle 
were abandoned, it should be the loss of the Town." 

The same night, my Lord appointed me to be at the breach 
of the town with him : and, about eight of the clock, the 
enemy waded over the haven, at the low water, with certain 
harquebussiers, to view the breaches ; and, coming to the 
Castle, found no resistance, and so entered. Tlien the said 
Saulle failed to give fire unto the train of powder [sec p. 204]. 

Then my Lord, understanding that the enemy were en- 
tered into the Castle, commanded me to give order foi battering 
of the Castle ; whereupon incontinent there were bent three 
cannons and one saker [p. 251] before the gate, to beat the 
bridge; which, being in the night, did not greatly annoy. 

The same time, Master Marshall [Sir Anthony Aucher, 
see p. 176] with divers soldiers, came towards the Castle, 
lest the enemy should enter the town also. And after we had 
skirmished upon the bridge, seeing no remedy to recover 
the Castle, we did burn and break the said bridge : and there 
was a trench immediately cast before the Castle, which was 
[thei only help at that time. 

Within one hour after, upon necessity of things, [my Lord] 
determined to send a trumpet with a herald, declaring that 
" If the Frenchmen would send one gentleman, then he would 
send one other in gage." Whereupon my Lord sent for me, 
and commanded that I should go forth of the town for the 
same purpose ; wherein I desired his Lordship that he would 
send some other, and rather throw me over the walls. Then 
he spake likewise to one Windebanke, and to Massingberd, 
as I remember, which were both to go unto such service. 

Then my Lord sent for me again, in Peyton's house ; and 
being eftsoons commanded by the Council there, I went forth 
with a trumpet [trumpeter], and received in a French gentle- 
man : who, as I heard, was brought to my Lord Deputy's 
house, and treated upon some Articles; which were brought, 
within one hour, by one Hall, merchant of the staple. 

Then Monsieur D'Andelot entered the town with certain 
French gentlemen ; and the said Hall and I were brought to 

200 Is AN English gage in the French Cami'. [/mS?!!,! 

Monsieur de Guise, who lay in the sand hills by Rysbank, 
and there the said Hall delivered a bill : and we were sent 
to Monsieur D'Estrees' tent. 

The Friday after [jth January], Monsieur D'Estrees told 
me that my Lord Deputy had agreed to render the town with 
loss of all the goods, and fifty prisoners to remain. 

On Saturday [8//z January], he brought me into the town, 
willing me to tell him what ordnance, powder, and other 
houses did belong unto my office ; because he would reserve 
the same from spoiling by the Erench soldiers. And after he 
had knowledge that all my living was on that side [i.e., he had 
only his Mastership of the Ordnance at Calais], he was content 
that I should depart into Elanders. 

Notwithstanding, I was driven off till Wednesday, [12th 
January], Then he said, " He would send me away, if I 
would promise him to make suit that his son might be re- 
turned in exchange for the Captain of the Castle," who, being 
prisoner, desired me also to travail in it, for he would rather 
give 3,000 crowns [=£900 then=zaboid now], than re- 
main a prisoner. Whereupon I promised to inquire and 
labour in the same matter to the best of my power. 

On my said return into the town, I found my wife, which 
showed me that, in my absence, she had bestowed my money 
and plate to the value of ;f6oo [=aboHt ^6,000 now] ; which 
was found before my coming, saving one bag with 350 crowns 
[=£io5=aboHt £1,000 now], which I offered to give unto 
Monsieur D'Estrees if he would promise me, on his honour, 
to despatch me on horseback to Gravelines [then held by the 
Spaniards]. Which he did. 

And there I met with Monsieur de Vandeville, to whom 
I told, that " I thought the enemy would visit him shortly"; 
and, among other things, I inquire where Monsieur D' 
Estrees* son did lay; who told me, " He was at Bruges." 

Then, at my coming to Dunkirk, there were divers English- 
men willing to serve [i.e., in PHILIP II.'s army] : whereupon I 
spake to the Captain of the town ; who advised me to move 
it to the Duke of Savoy. 

Then I rode to Bruges, beseeching him to consider the 
poor men, and how willing they were to serve the King's 
Majesty, if they might be employed. Then he answered, that 


he ''thought my Lord of Pembroke would shortly arrive at 
Dunkirk and then he would take order." 

Further, the said Duke asked me, " After what sort the 
town was lost ? " 

I answered that " The cause was not only by the weakness 
of the Castle, and the lack of men ; but also I thought there 
was some treason, for, as I heard, there were some escaped 
out of the town : and the Frenchmen told me, that they had 
intelligence of all our estate within the town." 

Then I put the Duke in remembrance of Guisnes ; who 
told me, tliat " he would succour the Castle, if it were kept 
four or five days." 

Then I took leave to depart from him, and when I was 
going out of the house, he sent his Captain of his Guard to 
commit me to prison, where I have remained nine weeks, 
[January — March, 1558], without any matter laid to my charge ; 
saving he sent to me, within fourteen days after, to declare 
in writing, after what sort the town was lost, which I did as 
nigh as I could remember. 

And at the Duke's next return to Bruges, I sent him a 
supplication, desiring that, if any information were made 
against me, I might answer it in England, or otherwise at 
his pleasure. 

[In the Public Record Office, Stale Papers, Foreign, AIarv, is the 
following letter in French. 

1558 Emanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy to Queen Mary. 
March 14. She will have been advertised that, soon after the French had 
entered Calais, John Highfield, late Master of the Artillery 
St Omer. there, came to Bruges. From strong suspicion that there had 
been an understanding between him and the French, had 
caused him to be arrested and detained at Bruges, where he 
has been until now. 

Lately, while repassing through that town, was importuned 
by the prisoner's wife to set him free. Sends her under the 
charge of a French gentleman, Francis du Bourch, the 
Whereupon he took order to send me hither {i.e., to England] 
without paying any part of my charges, which I have pro- 
mised to answer. 

Most humbly praying your Highness to consider my poor 
estate, and willing heart, which I bear, and am most bounden 
to your Grace's service : beseeching God to conserve your 
Majesty in all felicity. 

John Fox, the Martyrologist. 
Mistress Thorpe's Escape at Calais. 

\Actes and Maniittieities, p. 1702, Eti. 1563.] 

[He worthy works of the LORD's mercy toward His 
people be manifold, and cannot be comprehended: 
so that who is he living in the earth almost, who 
hath not experienced the helping hand of the 
LORD, at some time or other upon him ? 

Amongst many other, what a piece of GOD's tender provi- 
dence was shewed, of late, upon our English brethren and 
countrymen, what time Calais was taken by the tyrant 
Guise (a cruel enemy to GOD's truth, and to our English 
nation) ; and yet by the gracious provision of the LORD, 
few, or none at all, of so many that favoured CnKlsT and His 
Gospel, miscarried in that terrible Spoil. 

In the number of whom, I know a godly couple, one John 
Thorpe and his wife, which fear the LORD and loveth His 
truth ; who being sick the same time, were cast out into the 
wild fields, harbourless, desolate, and despairing of all hope 
of life ; having their young infant moreover taken from them 
in the said fields, and carried away by the soldiers. Yet the 
LORD so wrought, that the poor woman, being almost past 
recovery of life, was fetched and carried, the space of well 
nigh a mile, by aliens whom they never knew, into a village, 
where she was recovered for that night. 

Also the next day, coming towards England, she chanced 
into the same inn at the next town, where she found her 
young child sitting by the fii^eside. 

Lord Grey of Wilton, Governor of 

Letter to ^leen Mary^ ^th 

y actuary ^ i^S^' 7 ^'^'^' 

|Y MOST bounden duty humbly premised to your 
Majesty. Whereas I have heretofore always in 
effect written nothing to your Highness but good, 
touching the service and state of your places 
here ; I am now constrained, with woful heart, 
to signify unto your Majesty these ensuing. 

The French have won Newhaven Bridge, and thereby 
entered into all the Low Country and the marshes between 
this [Guisnes] and Calais. They have also won Rysbanke, 
whereby they be now master of that haven. 

And this last night past, they have placed their ordnance 
of battery against Calais, and are encamped at St. Peter's 
Heath before it : so that I now am clean cut off from all 
relief and aid which I looked to have (both out of England, 
and from Calais) and know not how to have help by any 
means, either of men or victuals. 

There resteth now none other way for the succour of 
Calais and the rest of your Highness's pieces on this side, 
but a power of men out of England, or from the King's 
Majesty [Philip II.] ; or from both, without delay, able to 
distress and keep them from victuals coming to them, as well 
by sea as land ; which shall force them to leave their siege 
to the battle, or else drive them to a greater danger. 

For lack of men out of England, I shall be forced to 
abandon the Town [of Guisnes], and take in the soldiers 
thereof for the Castle. I have made as good provision of 
victuals as I could, by any means, out of the country; with 
which, GOD willing ! I doubt not to defend and keep this 
piece as long as any man, whosoever he be, having no bettei 
piovision, and furniture of men and victuals than I have- 


wherein your Grace shall well perceive that I will not fail 
to do the duty of a faithful subject and Captain, although 
the enemy attempt never so stoutly ; according to the trust 
reposed in me. 

I addressed letters presently to the King's Majesty by this 
bearer, most humbly desiring aid from him; according to the 
effect aforesaid. 

I might now very evil[l)'] have spared this bringer, my 
servant and trusty Officer here, in this time of service. 
Howbeit considering the great importance of his message, I 
thought him a meet man for the purpose ; desiring your 
Majesty to credit him fully, and to hear him at large, even as 
directly as your Grace would hear me to open my mind in 
this complaint of imminent danger. 

Thus trusting for relief and comfort forthwith from your 
Majesty for the safeguard of Calais, and other your pieces 
here ; I take my leave most humbly of your Grace. 

At your Highness's Castle of Guisnes, most assured Eng- 
lish even to the death, the 4th January, 1557, at seven of the 
clock in the morning. 

Your Majesty's most humble servant, 

And obedient servant, 

William Grey. 


Thomas Churchyard, the Poet. 

Share in^ and Eye Wit?iess account of the 

Siege of Guisnes. i \th-22nd fanuary^ 

1558, A.D. 

[Besides living to an extreme age, all through Elizabeth's reign, and 
writing very many poems and books : it is clear, from this account, 
that Churchyard was one of the heroes of the Mary Bulwark at 

f^ General Rehearsal of Wars, {s'c. 1 579. The lltle in the headline is CHURCHYyIRD's Choice.\ 

|Ir William Drury, now {in 1579] Lord Justice 
of Ireland, was so inclined to martial affairs, that, 
when foreign wars were ended, he sought enter- 
tainment at Guisnes, and those parts; which had 
war with the French, for King Phillip's Quarrel. 
And he, having charge, and a lusty Band of Horsemen, did 
many things that merit good liking. 

For at that time, [there^ was much ado: a Band [regiment] 
of horsemen, very well appointed and full of gentlemen, was 
sent from [Sir Thomas Chenky, K.G.] the Lord Warden [of 
the Cinque Ports', an honourable and a worthy gentleman, 
most full of nobleness; the Lord Cheney's father, now living. 
In this band, and belonging to that charge, were sundry of the 
Keyes, gentlemen of good service: Master Crippes having 
the leading of all that company. There were sent, in like 
sort, from the Prince [Sovereign, i.e., Queen Mary]: Master 
William Herbert's (of St. Gillian) brother, called Master 
George Herbert, with a Band of footmen ; and one Captain 
Borne, whose Lieutenant I was, at the siege of Guisnes. 

These bands, a good season before Calais and Guisnes 
were taken, joining with other bands of Calais, did make 
divers journeys into Bollinnoyes [the Boullognois, or district 
round Boulogne] ; and sped very well : Sir William Drury, 
at every service, deserved no little praise ; and one Captain 
WiNNiBANK, an ancient soldier, was oftentimes so forward, 
that he was once run through with a lance. Many Gentle- 
men in those services did well and worthily : and sundry 
times the Lord Warden's Band was to be praised. 

2o6 Cavalry raids beyond tiik Pai.e, [^' "^''.''"''''y^; 

And, at length, a voyage was made, by the consent and 
whole power of Calais and Guisnes, to fetch a prey from 
Boulogne gates; Monsieur Snarpoule [? Sexarpont] then 
being Governor of Boulogne : but we could not handle the 
matter so privily, but the French, by espial, had gotten 
word thereof. Notwithstanding, as soldiers commonly 
go forward with their device, so we marched secretly all 
tiie whole night to come to our proposed enterprise : with 
our footmen, whereof Sir Harry Pai,mi;r. a man of great 
experience, had the leading. He remained, with the whole 
power of [the] footmen, near the Black Neasts, as a stale 
[decoy] to annoy the enemy, and succour for such as 
were driven in, if any such occasion came. So the Horse 
Bands [troops] brake into the country, and pressed near 
Boulogne ; where there was a great number of gallant 
soldiers to receive them : but our horsemen, making small 
account of the matter, began to prey [upon] the country, and 
drive a booty from the face of the enemy. The French 
horsemen, taking their advantage, offered a skirmish, to 
detract time, till better opportunity served to give a charge. 
This courageous bickering grew so hot, that the French 
bands began to show; and our men must abide a shock, or 
retire hardily with some foil : whereupon the chiefest of our 
horsemen charged those of the French that were nearest 
danger ; by which attempt, the French stayed a while. But, 
upon small pause, they charged our men again, and over- 
threw of the " Black Lances" a thirty: carrying away with 
them into Boulogne, eighteen gentlemen, prisoners. This 
skirmish began at seven o'clock in the morning; and lasted, 
in very great service, till a leven [eleven]. From this over- 
throw, came divers soldiers, sore wounded, to our Foot bands 
[companies] ; whose heaviness made the valiant sort pluck up 
their hearts, and seek a revenge. 

Then, albeit, that Foot Captains and gentlemen seldom 
leave their Bands, and venture beyond their charge (a rule to 
be much regarded!), yet the stoutest Captains and gentlemen 
found means to horse themselves on cart horses and victual- 
lers' nags : and put certain scarfs, in manner of guidons 
[standards] on staves' [spears'] ends ; showing those guidons 
under a hill in several sorts, sometimes appearing with 
twenty men, sometimes with fifty. And, last of all, mads 

T.Chur.hynrd.J ^g j-^j^ ^^^ ^,j,j, (; j^-j-,,^ Qp BOUI.OGNE. 20/ 

show of all our number, which was not fifty ; and so, with a 
courageous cry, set upon the enemy (leaving some of these 
devised guidons behind on the hill top), and charged them 
with such a fury that they left their booty, and stood to their 
defence : but, in fine, were forced to retire, for by the little 
stay we held the enemy in, our footmen had leisure to march ; 
the sound of whose drums gave no great courage to the 
I'rench. For they thereon, gave back, and left some of their 
best soldiers behind them ; whom we brought to Guisnes : 
driving the prey before us, that was gotten in the morning, 
lost in a skirmish, and recovered again at noon. At this 
service, were Sir William Dkurv, Captain Alexander of 
Newnham Bridge, Captain Crippes, Captain Keyes, and 
three of his brethren, Captain George Herbert, and 
sundry others, in like manner, that merit good respect. 

Our power met many times together ; and did much hurt 
in the Boullognois. We besieged Fines Castle, and wan it : 
and Blossling Church, and overthrew it ; and killed all the 
men that we found therein, because Sir Harry Palmer was 
there hurt through the arm, with a shot. [A very sorry reason 1] 

A long season, our fortune was good ; till, at length, by 
some oversight or mishap (Let the blame fall where it ought !) 
we lost Calais and Guisnes. 

But a little, I pray you ! give me leave to touch truly the 
Siege of Guisnes : not because I had some charge there ; but 
because sundry reports hath been raised thereof, by those 
that never thoroughly knew or understood the matter. 

The very truth is, after Calais was won, and that all hope 
was taken from us of any succour out of England, our 
General, the honourable Lord Grey [of Wilton], that is dead 
[he died in 1562I, and Master Lewis Dive [p. 211], his Lieu- 
tenant, Sir Harry Palmer, and all the Captains of Guisnes, 
detei mined to abide the worst that Fortune or the French 
could do. 

And the day [i^ih of January, 1558] of the first approach 
the enemy made, we offered a hot and stout skirmish ; but 
being driven in by an over great power, though our whole 
people were 1,300 men, and kept the Town awhile. But 
considering the Castle to be strongest, and doubting [fearing] 
that by a Cambozade or sudden assault, the town might be 
won, for it was but weak ; we retired our whole power into 

208 GUISXES IS GARRISONED BY I,300 MEN. [ '^' '^l""'''*'"'^: 

tlie Castle : and so manned the base Court, the Braies, and 
Bulwarks, the Keep, the Catte, the Heart of the Castle, and 
all that was necessary, with double men. 

At the present sies^e, there came out of Flanders, fifty 
valiant Spaniards; and a band of Burgundians, Monsieur 
DiEFFKiE, being their Captain. Monsieur Mount Dragon 
was leader of the Spaniards : who were placed in the Braies ; 
where Captain Lambert had some shot [harquebussiers] to 
succour them. 

The Burgundians were placed in Mary Bulwark; with 
Captain Borne's Band, whose Lieutenant I was. Against 
this Bulwark, which was thought impregnable, the [French- 
men's, great battery was planted : albeit, three or four days 
[i^th-iSth January, see pp. 180-81] were spent (we held the 
enemy such play), before the battery was planted. 

One day, we issued [forth], and set upon Monsieur [i.e., the 
Duke] De Guise, as he was in a place called Mill Field, 
viewing the ground ; and had taken him, had he not left his 
cloak behind him : of the which white cloak, one of our 
Gentlemen had hold of. And though he was succoured, we 
brought away some of his company: and retired with little 
loss or none at all. [Sir Arthur], the Lord Grey that now 
is [1579], was at the hard escape of Monsieur De Guise. 

We set upon a great troop of horsemen, not long before 
this, that came from the spoil of Calais ; and took numbers 
of them. I had, for my part, a couple of fair horses and a 
prisoner. At both these services, were old Captain Andrea, 
Captain John Savage, and a sufficient numberof lusty soldiers. 

We made divers sallies, but that prevailed not. For the 
battery went off, and many other great cannons did beat at 
the high towers ; the stones whereof did marvellously annoy 
us : and the shot was so great ; and the enemy had gotten 
such great advantage of ground, that we could not walk, nor 
go safely any way within the Castle. For our General and 
Sir Harry Palmer sitting on a form, devising for our com- 
modity, were in such danger, that a cannon shot took 
away the form, and brake Sir Harry Palmer's leg ; of which 
hurt, he died in Paris after. And a great shot took off 
Master Wake's head, as he was sleeping under a great tree. 
So sundry, that thought themselves safe, were so dribbed at 
with cannon shot, that they never knew who did hurt them. 

T. Churchyard.-j ]\I_.^f,Y BuLWARK DEFENDED BY 45O MEN. 2C9 

Well, the time drew on, after the breach was made, we 
must defend the assault that was given to Mary Bulwark ; 
which stood outside] of the Castle, and far from succour of 
any : because the gate was rammed up ; and we could not 
pass into the Casiie but by the way, first, along the Braies, 
and then, between two gates. Which way, the enemy had 
espied : and placed many great shot, full upon that passage. 

Now [i.e., i8tli January, 1558] Monsieur Diffkie, Captain 
Borne, Captain Oswold Lambert [with their companies], and 
the fifty Spaniards, [to the number in all of about i\^o men] were 
forced to abide the assault; which began at eleven o'clock, 
and lasted till night. Mount Dragon came into Mary Bul- 
wark, and tluee gentlemen more ; and stood stoutly to our 
defence : two of whom were slain. My Captain's head was 
smitten off with a cannon's shot : and unto our Band were left 
no more but one Master Holford and I, to guide the whole 
company. And Captain Diffkie was wounded to the death, 
whose Band fought manfully in the revenge of their Captain. 
The old Captain Andrea, covetous of fame, was desirous 
to have our fellowship : but he had no Band [company] nor 
people to do us pleasure. Captain Lambert was crossed 
[struck] with a great shot ; and mine armour, with the break- 
ing of a great piece, was stricken flat upon my body ; but [it] 
being unbraced, I might continue the service. Which 
service, in mine opinion, was so terribly handled by the 
French (Monsieur D'Andelot being the leader of the 
assault), that both Englishman, Burgundian, and Spaniard, 
at that Bulwark, had enough to do to keep the enemy out ; 
and, as I believe, at this assault, we lost 150 good soldiers. 

But the night coming on, the French surceased their fury, 
and yet kept themselves closely, under the top of the breach, 
where our shot nor ilankers could do them no harm : lor all 
our great ordnance was dismounted, long before the enemy 
made any approach for the giving of an assault. 

The next day [the igih of January], within three half hours, 
the battery had beaten the breach so bare (it moulded away, 
like a hillock of sand) that we [reduced now to about 300 men] 
were forced to fight on our knees. Having been kept waking 
all the night before, with false allarummes [alarms] ; our men 
began to faint, and wax weary of working at the breach : but 
we defended Mary Bulwark so well all that dangerous day, 

E.XiJ. Gak. IV. 14 

2IO Fighting on our knees! ['^•'-'''7''*;s'4: 

that the French lost i,ooo soldiers, by their own confession, at 
the same service ; and yet the assault endured to the very 
dark night, with as much cruelty as could be devised. And 
always when the enemy's first men did wax feeble with 
labour ; there was a second and new relief of fresh bands to 
continue the assault : so that, as long as the daylight served, 
it seemed by the fight, a bloody broil hath no end, nor season 
to take breath in; which certainly would have daunted any 
heart living. 

The next night, was so plied with politic practices, that we 
had scarcely leisure to take any rest or sustentation. And, 
indeed, with overwatching, some of our men fell asleep "in the 
middle of the tale " and time of greatest necessity to debate 
and argue of those things that pertained to life and liberty, 
and to avoid utter servitude and shame [i.e., they slept in the 
course of the fight]. 

And now we, that were without the Castle, might hear 
great business and stir throughout the whole body and heart 
of the piece [fortycss]. 

For, the next morning [20th of January, 1558], which was 
the third day we were assaulted, our General looked for a 
general assault, and to be roundly assailed : as, of troth, he 
was. In the meanwhile, we might speak one to another afar 
off, and our friends answered us over the wall ; for nearer 
together, we might not come : and for succour or aid to our 
soldiers in Mary Bulwark, we hoped not after. Every man 
was occupied with his own business and charge ; that no one 
person might be spared from his place. 

Well, as GOD would permit, the poor Spaniards [in the 
Braie] and such Burgundians as were left alive in Mary 
Bulwark, fell to make a counterscarf, to beat out the enemy 
from the Braie, when the Bulwark should be won : as it was 
likely to be lost, the breach was so bare, and the entry for 
the enemy was so large; for, in a manner, they might assault 
our Bulwark round about, on all sides. And they did lodge 
at the very edge of the breach, to the number of 2,000, of their 
bravest Bands : minding to assail us, as soon as the day 
began to peep out of the skies. 

Which they performed, when the third da}' approached. 
For a general assault was given to every place of the Castle: 
which assault endured till the \'ery night came on. The 

T.churchya,-d.-| Qnly 1 5 ESCAPE FROM Mary Bulwark. 211 

French, in this assault, wan the Base Court : and were 
ready to set fire under thej^ate, and blow it up with powder. 

Monsieur D'Andelot, in his own person, with 2,000 
soldiers, entered the Mary Bulwark; who slew the Spaniards 
in the Braie : and forced, as many Burgundians and English 
as were left alive, which were but 15 (Captain Andrea, 
Captain Lambert, and myself; with twelve common soldiers) 
out of 400, to leap down into the dykes, and so to scramble 
for their lives ; and creep into a hole of a brick wall that my 
Lord Grey had broken out to receive such as escaped from 
the assault. But when we had entered the hole in the wall, 
the French followed at our heels; and we, to save our lives, 
turned again, bending pikes against the passage, and so shot 
off one hargaboze Jiarqiiibus] : by which means, the enemy 
followed no further. 

And yet we were in as great distress as before. For we 
were between two gates : and at tlie gate we should have 
entered, were two great cannon, ready charged to be shot 
off, to drive them back that would have set fire on the gate. 
And the cry and noise was so great and terrible, on all sides, 
that we could not be heard to speak. But, as GOD would. 
Master Lewis Dive [p. 207] (now, a man of worship in Bed- 
fordshire) heard my voice. Then I plied the matter so sore, 
for life : so that, with much ado. Master Dive received us 
into the heart of the Castle. And yet, in the opening of the 
gate, the French were like to enter pelley melley [pell mell] 
with us, if a cannon shot had not made place, whiles the gate 
was a shutting. 

But now, we were no sooner come before my Lord Grey : 
but all the soldiers cried, "Yield up the Castle, upon some 
reasonable composition ! " And when the soldiers saw they 
could not have the Castle yielded ; they threatened " to fling 
my Lord Grey over the walls " : and that was determined ; 
if my Lord had not prevented [forestalled] them with a policy. 
Whereupon the Captains were called together ; and there, 
they agreed to send me to Monsieur De Guise, with an 
offer, that " If we might all march, with bag and baggage, 
ensign displayed, and six pieces of ordnance : we would yield 
the Castle into the hands of the French." 

Now it was night, and I must be let out at Master Harris 
NoRwiTCH his Bulwark; but neither Drum nor Trumpet 

212 ClIURCHVARD SENT TO DuKK OI' GuiSE, ["^^ '"'T''''"?!: 

went with me : because a Trumpeter was slain as he sounded 
to have a parley; and, as I heard say, a Drum[mer] that 
would have followed me, was shot in the leg. But there was 
no remedy. I must wade over the water, in which there lay 
certain galthroppes, as they term them, which were great 
boards, full of long spikes of iron ; on the which, having good 
boots and a stay in my hand, I was taught daintily to tread : 
and the night was so dark, that the enemy might not take any 
good mark of me, albeit they shot divers times. 

So, with some hazard, and no great hope to attain that I was 
sent for, I was taken by the watch ; and brought to Monsieur 
De Guise's tent, where the Uuke D'AuMALE and many great 
Estates were in presence. 

My message being said, with due reverence made: the 
Duke told me, that "all our ordnance was dismounted, and 
that thereby our malice was cut off; and we could not do 
his camp any annoyance. Wherefore," said he, " this was a 
stout brag, to seek a capitulation with such advantage upon." 

I replied to his Excellency, and told, " We had flankers 
[guns with a cross fire] and other great pieces, which would 
not be discovered till the next assault : " declaring likewise, 
" Our soldiers had sworn rather to die in their [own] defence, 
than not to march away, like men of war." 

The noblemen, on this mine answer, bade me " Return ! 
and with the rest of the Castle, to do the worst they could!" 

So I departed, and the Uuke of Guise beholding, as he 
thought, we were resolved to see the uttermost of fortune ; 
called me back again : and fell to questions and arguments 
with me, such as I liked not [i.e., he tried to bribe CHURCH- 
YARD in some way] ; but other answer did I not make, than 
you have heard before. Wherewith, he called for some meat ; 
and made me to sit down. 

After I had a little refreshed myself, I demanded to know 
his pleasure. 

Who straightways told me, " There was no help to be had ; 
but to become all captives and prisoners to the French King." 

"Not so, Sir," I answered; "and that should the ne.xt 
assault make trial of." 

Then, he went to talk with the Noblemen ; and there, they 
concluded, " That the soldiers should march away with bag 
and baggage: and the Captains and Officers should remain 

T. Ch.,rcl,yn,d.J jQ TREAT FOR SURRENDER OF GuiSNES. 213 

prisoners:" which I knew would not be liked: and so 
desired to be sent to my Lord Grey. 

But when I came into the Castle, and the soldiers had 
gotten word that they might march away at their will : they 
came to me, and threatened me with great words, command- 
ing me, " To make despatch, and yield up the fort !" For 
they said, "Since the matter is in talk, and likely to be 
brought to a good purpose ; they would cut my throat, if I 
made not, hastily, an end of the case." And thereupon had 
they made a great hole in a wall ; and so they thrust me out 
among the Almains, who rudely handled me. 

But my Lord Grey, at my departure, bade me tell the 
Duke, that the Almains were about to break into the Castle, 
and to set the gate afire : and my Lord said, " He would 
shoot off his great ordnance among them ; if the Law of 
Arms were not better observed ! " 

But, in the meantime, at another place was entered Mon- 
sieur DeTre [D'ESTREES] Master of the [French] Ordnance; 
and [Sir Arthur] the Lord Grey that now is, was sent to 
the Camp, for the pawn [security] of Monsieur D'Estrees. 

But I was come to Monsieur De Guise before those 
things were finished : and had told him my message. And 
he, like a noble Prince and faithful Captain, rode to the gate 
(causing me to mount behind Master Harry Dudley) ; 
where the Almains were busily occupied about some naughty 
practice : and, with a great truncheon, he stroke divers of 
the Almains and others, to make them retire ; and laying [a] 
load [i.e., of blows] about him, he made such way, that the 
gate was free, and the capitulation was, at leisure, talked of. 

But I was not suffered to enter any more into the Castle ; 
and so stayed as a prisoner. 

Notwithstanding, look what promise Monsieur De Guise 
made, it was so well kept and observed that our soldiers 
marched away, with all their wealth, money, and weapons. 
And great wealth was borne by them from Guisnes : inso- 
much that divers poor soldiers were made thereby, for all 
[the] days of their life after. And this is to be noted. There 
was great honour in the Duke of Guise. For the Bands 
[originally 1,2,00 p. 207 ; but now about 500, having lost 800, see 
below] that parted [departed] (either sick or sound, hurt or 
whole) were honestly convejed, and truly dealt withal ; ever 

2 14 Soo English, and 4,000 Fkkncii lost. [ '"'■ '•''"T''*579: 

as long as tliey were in any danger, albeit they had great 
Bums of money and treasure with them : and the General 
with his Captains and Officers were courteously used, so long 
as they were in the Duke of Guise his camp. 

And, to say the truth, I think our peace was not so 
dishonourable, as some report. T'or 
Succour, had we no hope of. 
The next assault had overthrown us. 
The whole members ^i.c, the external fortifications . of the 

Castle were cut off from us. 
There remained but the bare body of the Castle in our 

The enemy's cannons did beat us from the breach on 

the inside. 
The Castle was subject to every shot ; both from the 

Keep, the Catte, and the Mary Bulwark. 
The French possessed all the special places of our 

strength and comfort. 
The best and chiefest of our soldiers were slain, or lay 

maimed in most miserable state. 
And we had lost 800 men in these assaults and services ; 
which did their duty so well, that the enemy con- 
fessed that they had lost 4,000, before we could be 
brought to any parley or composition. 
But some of our Officers [? Is our Author here alludin<^ to 
Captain Lord DVDLEY at Hanunes,p. i83',bycraft and cunning, 
escaped homewards out of the Frenchmen's hands; came to 
Court, and made up their Bands \couipanics] again ; to the 
great reproach of those that meant no such matters. So, by 
that subtilty and shift, they that escaped got a pay or some 
reward of the Prince : and those that abode out the brunt 
and hazard of the bloody broil, were left in prison.- 

And the world thought, by seeing so many come home, we 
had lost but a few at the siege of Guisnes; which is other- 
wise to be proved and affirmed for a truth ; when true trial 
[inquiry] shall be made. 

Calais was lost before, I cannot declare how. But well 
I wot. Sir Anthony Ager, a stout gentleman, and a valiant 
Knight, there lost his life : and one Captain Saule was terribly 
burnt with powder, in making a train to destroy the enemy 
[p. 199I. 


John Fox, the Martyrologist. 
The death of ^ueen Ma r v. 

|0w then after these so great afflictions falling upon 
this realm from the first beginning of Queen Mary's 
reign, wherein so many men, women, and children 
were burned ; many imprisoned, and in prisons 
starved, divers exiled, some spoiled of goods and 
possessions, a great number driven from house and home, so 
many weeping eyes, so many sobbing hearts, so many children 
made fatherless, so many fathers bereft of their wives and 
children, so many vexed in conscience, and divers against 
conscience constrained to recant, and, in conclusion, never a 
good man in all the realm but suffered something during all 
the time of this bloody persecution. After all this, I say, 
now we are come at length, the LORD be praised ! to the 
i/th day of November, which day, as it brought to the perse- 
cuted members of CiiRiST rest from their careful mourning, 
so it easeth me somewhat likewise of my laborious writing ; 
by the death, I mean, of Queen Mary. Who, being long 
sick before, upon the said 17th day of November, 1558, about 
three or four a clock in the morning, yielded her life to nature, 
and her kingdom to Queen Elizabeth, her sister. 

As touching the manner of whose death, some say that she 
died of a tympany [dropsy] ; some, by her much sighing 
before her death, supposed she died of thought and sorrow. 
Whereupon her Council seeing her sighing, and desirous to 
know the cause, to the end they might minister the more 
ready consolation unto her, feared, as they said, that "She 
took that thought for the King's Majesty her husband, which 
was gone from her." 

To whom she answering again, " Indeed," said she, " that 

2i6 "You siiALi. i-iNu Calais in mv heart!" [^-f^ll 

may be one cause ; but that is not the greatest wound that 
pierceth my oppressed mind ! " but what that was, she would 
not express to them. 

Albeit, afterwards, she opened the matter more plainly to 
Master Ryse and Mistress Clarkntius \p. 140J (if it be true 
that they told me, which heard it of Master Ryse himself) ; 
who (then being most familiar with her, and most bold about 
her) told her that " They feared she took thought for King 
Philip's departing from her." 

" Not that only," said she, " but when I am dead and 
opened ; you shall find Calais lying in my heart," &c. 

And here an end of Queen Mary and her persecution. Of 

which Queen, this truly, may be affirmed, and left in story 

for a perpetual Memorial or Epitaph, for all Kings and Queens 

that shall succeed her, to be noted, that before her, never was 

read in story of any King or Queen in England, since 

the time of King Lucius, under whom, in time of peace, 

by hanging, heading, burning, and prisoning, so much 

Christian blood, so many Englishmen's lives were spilled 

within this realm, as under the said Queen Mary, for 

the space of four years, was to be seen ; and I beseech 

the LORD may never be seen hereafter. 

of our tnost dread Sovereiv7i 

\\ Lady, ^iee7i Elizabeth, 


'g through the City of L,on- 

'\ do7i to Westfftinster, 


the day before her 

'\ Coronation. 

Anno. 1558. 

Cum privilegio. 









TAe Receiving of the ^ieens Majesty. 

[Compare this with the similar Procession of her Mother in Volume II. 
p. 46; and of her sister Mary at p. 84 of this Volume. 

Here we see the Londoners in a kind of delirium of joy. The horrid 
nightmare of the burnings, of national loss and dishonour at Calais, &c., 
had passed away. Men could now breathe freely, and look forward to 
better times.] 

PoN Saturday, which was the 14th day of 
January, in the year of our Lord God, 
1558 [i.e., I559j, about two of the cloci<, at 
after noon, the most noble and Christian 
Princess, our most dread Sovereign Lady, 
IvLiZABETH, by the grace of GOD, Queen 
of England, France, and h-eland. Defender 
of the Faith, &c., marched from the Tower, 
to pass through the City of London, towards Westminster: 
richly furnished, and most honourably accompanied, as well 
with Gentlemen, Barons, and other the Nobility of this realm, 
as also with a noble train of goodly and beautiful Ladies, 
richly appointed. 

And entering the City, was of the people received marvel- 
lous entirely, as appeared by the assembly's prayers, wishes, 
welcomings, cries, tender words, and all other signs : which 
argue a wonderful earnest love of most obedient subjects 
towards their Sovereign. And, on the other side. Her Grace, 
by holding up her hands, and merry countenance to such as 
stood afar off, and most tender and gentle language to those 
that stood nigh to Her Grace, did declare herself no less 
thankfully to receive her people's good will, than they lov- 
ingly offered it unto her. 

To all that " wished Her Grace well 1 " she gave " Hearty 
thanks ! " and to such as bade " GOD save Her Grace ! " she 

220 The Queen's Loving behaviour, [jan/.s;,. 

said again, "GOD save them all!" and thanked with all 
her heart. So that, on either side, there was nothing but 
gladness ! nothing but prayer ! nothing but comfort ! 

The Queen's Majesty rejoiced marvellously to see that so 
exceedingly shewed towards HerGrace, which all good Princes 
have ever desired ; I mean, so earnest Love of Subjects, so 
evidently declared even to Her Grace's own person, being 
carried in the midst of them. The people, again, were won- 
derfully ravished with the loving answers and gestures of 
their Princess ; like to the which, they had before tried, at her 
first coming to the town, from Hatfield. This Her Grace's 
loving behaviour preconceived in the people's heads, upon 
these considerations, was then thoroughly confirmed; and 
indeed implanted a wonderful hope in them touching her 
worthy government in the rest of her reign. 

For in all her Passage, she did not only shew her most 
gracious love towards the people ir general ; but also 
privately, if the baser personages had either offered Her 
Grace any flowers or such like, as a signification of their 
good will ; or moved to her any suit, she most gently (to the 
common rejoicings of all lookers on, and private comfort of 
the party) stayed her chariot, and heard their requests. So 
that, if a man should say well, he could not better term the 
City of London that time, than a Stage wherein was shewed 
the wonderful Spectacle of a noble hearted Princess towards 
her most loving people ; and the people's exceeding comfort 
in beholding so worthy a Sovereign, and hearing so prince-like 
a voice ; which could not but have set the enemy on fire, 
(since the virtue is in the enemy always commended) much 
more could not but inflame her natural, obedient, and most 
loving people ; whose weal leaneth only upon her Grace, and 
her government. 

Thus, therefore, the Queen's Majesty passed from the 
Tower [sec as to hcrfonncr dismal irisil in March, 1554, at p. 123], 
till she came to Fanchurch [Fcnchnixh^ : the people on each 
side, joyously beholding the view of so gracious a Lady, their 
Queen ; and Her Grace no less gladly noting, and observing 
the same. 

Near unto Fanchurch, was erected a scaffold richly fur- 
nished ; whereon stood a noise of instruments; and a child, 

j.-,n.'.559] The First of the Five Pageants. 221 

in costly apparel, which was appointed to welcome the Queen's 
Majesty, in the whole City's behalf. 

Against which place, when Her Grace came, of her own 
will she commanded the chariot to be stayed ; and that the 
noise might be appeased, till the child had uttered his wel- 
coming Oration, which he spake in English metre, as here 

O peerless Sovereign Queen ! Behold, what this thy town 
Hath thee presented with, at thy First Entrance here ! 
Behold, with how rich hope, she leadeth thee to thy Crown ! 
Behold, with what two gifts, she comforteth thy cheer ! 

The First is Blessing Tongues ! which many a " Welcome ! " 
say. [sky I 

Which pray, thou may'st do well ! which praise thee to the 

Which wish to thee long life! which bless this happy day! 

Which to thy Kingdom " Heapes ! " [Hips!], all that in 
tongues can lie. 

The Second is True Hearts ! which love thee from their root! 
Whose Suit is Triumph now, and ruleth all the game, 
Which Faithfulness has won, and all untruth driven out ; 
Which skip for joy, when as they hear thy happy name ! 

Welcome, therefore, Queen ! as much as heart can think. 
Welcome again, Queen ! as much as tongue can tell. 
Welcome to joyous Tongues, and Hearts that will not shrink ! 
" GOD, thee preserve ! " we pray; and wish thee ever well ! 

At which words of the last line, the people gave a great 
shout ; wishing, with one assent, as the child had said. 

And the Queen's Majesty thanked most heartily, both the 
City for this her gentle receiving at the first, and also the 
people for confirming the same. 

Here was noted in the Queen's Majesty's countenance, 
during the time that the child spake, besides a perpetual at- 
tentiveness in her face, a marvellous change in look, as the 
child's words touched either her person, or the people's 

222 SuiiJICCT OF THE FiRST PaCF.ANT IS [j..,,.',;;,. 

Tongues and Hearts: so that she, with rejoicing visage, did 
evidently declare that the words took no less place in her 
mind, than they were most heartily pronounced by the child, 
as from all the hearts of her most hearty citizens. 

The same Verses were fastened up in a table painted hoard. 
Tabic is the Elizabethan word for picture] upon the scaffold ; 
and the Latin thereof likewise, in Latin verses, in another 
table, as hereafter ensueth. 

Urbs tna qua ingrcssu dederit tihi niuncra prima, 

O Retina ! parcm non habitura, vide ! 
Ad diadcma tutim, te spe quam divite niittat, 

Quce duo letitice det tibi dona, vide ! 
Munus habcs Priniuin, Linguas bona iiiulta Prccantcs, 

Quce tc quum laudant, turn pia vota sonant, 
Fcelicemquc dicni hunc diciint, tibi sccula longa 

Optant, et quicquid denique lingua potest. 
Altera dona feres, vera, et tut Ainantia Corda, 

Quorum gens ludum jam regit una : 
In quibus est infracta fides, falsuiuque perosa, 

Quaquc tuo audita nomine Iceta salit. 
Grata vcnis igitur, quantum Cor concipit ulluut ! 

Quantum Lingua potest dicerc, grata venis ! 
Cordibus infractis, Linguisque per omnia la:tis 

Grata vcnis! salvam tc vclit esse DEUS I 

Now when the child had pronounced his oration, and the 
Queen's Highness so thankfully received it ; she marched 
forward towards Gracious [Graccchurch] Street, where, at the 
upper end, before the sign of the Eagle, the city had erected 
a gorgeous and sumptuous Ark, as here followeth. 

A Stage was made which extended from one side of the 
street to the other, richly vawted [vaulted] with battlements, 
containing three ports [gates] ; and over the middlemost was 
advanced three several stages, in degrees [tiers]. Upon the 
lowest stage, was made one seat royal ; wherein were placed 
two personages representing King Henry VIL, and Eliza- 
beth his wife, daughter of King Edward IV. Both of these 
two Princes sittinsr under one Cloth of Estate, in their seats;',539-] '^^^^ Uxio.v OF York' axd Laxcaster. 223 

no otherwise divided, but that th[e] one of them, which was 
King Henry VII., proceeding out of the House of Lancaster, 
was enclosed in a red rose ; and the other, which was Queen 
Elizabeth, being heir to the House of York, enclosed wiih 
a white rose : each of them royally crowned and decently ap- 
parelled, as pertaineth to Princes, with sceptres in their hands, 
and onevawt \vault\ surmounting their heads, wherein aptly 
were placed two tables, each containing the title, of those two 
Princes. And these personages were so set, that the one of 
them joined hands with the other, with the ring of matrimony 
perceived on the finger. 

Out of the which two roses sprang two branches gathered 
into one : which were directed upward to the second stage or 
degree; wherein was placed one representing the valiant and 
noble Prince, Henry VIII., who sprang out of the former 
stock, crowned with a crown imperial. And by him sate 
one representing the right worthy Lady, Queen Anne ; wife 
to the said Henry VIII., and mother to our most sovereign 
Lady, Queen Elizabeth that now is. Both apparelled with 
sceptres and diadems, and other furniture due to the estate of 
a King and Queen : and two tables surmounting their heads, 
wherein were written their names and titles. 

From their seat also, proceeded upwardsone branch directed 
to the third and uppermost stage or degree, wherein likewise 
was planted a seat royal ; in the which was set one repre- 
senting the Queen's most excellent Majesty, Elizabeth, now 
our most dread Sovereign Lady, crowned and apparelled as 
the other Princes were. 

Out of the forepart of this pageant was made a standing 
for a child, which, at the Queen's Majesty's coming, declared 
unto her the whole meaning of the said pageant. 

The two sides of the same were filled with loud noises of music. 

And all empty places thereof, were furnished with sentences 
concerning Unity. And the whole pageant was garnished 
with red and white roses ; and in the forefront of the same 
pageant, in a fair wreath, was written the name and title of 
the same, which was 


Thispageantwasgrounded upon the Queen Majesty's name. 

224 The Queen wiel preserve concord ! [j.,,,;,^.,. 

For like as the long war between the two Houses of York 
and Lancaster then ended, when Elizabeth, daughter of 
Edward IV., matehed in marriage with Henry VH., heir 
to the House of Lancaster ; so since that the Queen's 
Majesty's name was Elizabeth, and forasmuch as she is the 
only heir of Henry VIIL, which came of both Houses as the 
knitting up of concord : it was devised that like as Eliza- 
beth was the first occasion of concord ; so She, another 
Elizabeth, might maintain the same among her subjects. 
So that Unity was the end, whereat the whole device shot ; as 
the Queen's Majesty's name moved the first ground. 

This pageant now against the Queen's Majesty's coming, 
was addressed [sd forth] with children representing the fore- 
named personages ; with all furniture due unto the setting 
forth of such a well-meant matter, as the argument declared, 
costly and sumptuously set forth, as the beholders can witness. 

Now, the Queen's Majesty drew near unto the said pageant, 
and forasmuch as the noise was great, by reason of the press 
of people, so that she could scarce hear the child which did 
interpret the said pageant ; and her chariot was passed so 
far forward that she could not well view the personages re- 
presenting the Kings and Queens above named ; she required 
to have the matter opened unto her, and what they signified, 
with the End of Unity, and Ground of her Name, according as 
is before expressed. 

For the sight whereof. Her Grace caused her chariot to 
be removed back; and yet hardly could she see, because the 
children were set somewhat with the farthest in. 

But after that Her Grace understood the meaning thereof, 
she thanked the City, praised the fairness of the work, and 
promised that " She would do her whole endeavour for the 
continual preservation of concord ! " as the pageant did import. 

The child appointed in the standing above named, to open 
the meaning of the said pageant, spake these words unto Her 

The two Princes that sit under one Cloth of State : 
The Man in the red rose ; the Woman in the white : 
Henry the Seventh, and Queen Elizabeth his mate. 
By ring of marriage, as man and wife unite. 

j^„;, 559.] Latin Sentences concerning Unity. 225 

Both heirs to both their bloods : to Lancaster, the King, 
The Queen, to York; in one the two Houses do knit. 
Of whom, as Heir to both, Henry the Eighth did spring. 
In whose seat, his true Heir, thou, Queen Elizabeth ! dost 

Therefore as civil war and shed of blood did cease ; 
When these two Houses were united into one : 
So now, that jar shall stint and quietness increase. 
We trust, O noble Queen ! thou wilt be cause alone 1 

The which also were written in Latin verses. And both 
drawn in two tables upon the forefront of the said pageant, 
as hereafter followeth. 

Hii quos jimgit idem solium, quos annulus idem : 

Hcec albente nitens, ille rubente rosa: 
Septimus Henricus rex, regina Elizabetha, 

Scilicet Hccrcdes gentis uierque sucb. 
Hcec Eboracensis, Lancastrws ille dcdcrunt 

Connubio e geminis quo forct una domus. 
Excipit hos hccres Henricus coptda regum 

OcTAVUS, magni regis imago potens. 
Regibus liinc succedis avis regique parenti 

Patris JHsta Hccres ELIZABETHA hd. 

C Sentences placed therein, concerning 

NullcB Concordes animos vires doinant. 
Qui juncti terrcnt, dejuncti timent. 
Discordes animi solvunt, Concordes ligant. 
Augentur parva pace, magna bello cadunt. 
ConjunctcE manus fortius tollunt onus. 
Regno pro mcvnibus ancis civium concordia. 
Qui diu ptignant, diutius lugcnl. 
Dissidcntes principes, subditorum lues. 
Enc. car. IV. 15 

226 SuiIJliCT OF THK SkCOND PaGEANT I.s|j^„.',55^ 

Princeps ad pacem natus, non ad anna daiur, 
Filia Concordia copia, ncptis qiiics. 
Dissenticns respubltca hostibiis patct. 
Qui idem tcncnt, diutius tcncnt. 
Rcgnum divisiim facile dissolvitur. 
Civitas concors armis frustra tentatur. 
Omnium gentium consensus firmat fidcm. 

These Verses and other pretty Sentences were drawn in 
void places of this pageant, all tending to one end, that quiet- 
ness might be maintained and all dissention displaced : and 
that by the Queen's Majesty, Heir to Agreement, and agree- 
ing in name with her which tofore had joined those Houses, 
which had been the occasion of much debate and Civil War 
with this realm (as may appear to such as well search 
Chronicles ; but be not to be touched in this Treatise, only 
declaring Her Grace's Passage through the City, and what 
provision the City made therefore). 

And ere the Queen's Majesty came within hearing of this 
pageant, as also at all the other pageants ; she sent certain to 
require the people to be silent, for Her Majesty was disposed 
to hear all that should be said unto her. 

When the Queen's Majesty had heard the child's oration 
and understood the meaning of the pageant at large ; she 
marched forward towards Cornhill, always received with like 
rejoicing of the people. 

And there, as Her Grace passed by the Conduit, which was 
curiously trimmed against that time, adorned with rich 
banners, and a noise of loud instruments upon the top thereof: 
she espied the second pageant. And because she feared, for 
the people's noise, that she should not hear the child which 
did expound the same, she inquired what that pageant was, 
ere that she came to it. And there understood, that theie 
was a child representing Her Majesty's person, placed in a 
Seat of Government, supported by certain Virtues which sup- 
pressed their contraiy Vices under their feet : and so forth, 
as, in the description of the said pageant, shall hereafter 

jm'.ssg] The Seat of Worthy Governance. 227 

This pageant, standing in the nether end of Cornhill, was 
extended from one side of the street to the other; and, in the 
same pageant was devised three gates, all open : and over the 
middle part thereof was erected one Chair or Seat royal, with 
Cloth of Estate to the same appertaining, wherein was placed 
a child representing the Queen's Highness, with considera- 
tion had for place convenient for a table, which contained her 
name and title. 

And in a comely wreath, artificially and well devised, with 
perfect sight and understanding to the people, in the front of 
the same pageant, was written the name and title thereof 
which is 


Which Seat was made in such artificial manner, as to the 
appearance of the lookers on, the forepart seemed to have no 
stay ; and therefore, of force, was stayed by lively [living] 
personages. Which personages were in number four, stand- 
ing and staying the forefront of the same Seat royal, each 
having his face to the Queen and the people ; whereof every 
one had a table to express their effects. Which are Virtues, 
namely, Pure Religion, Love of Subjects, Wisdom, and 
Justice ; which did tread their contrary Vices under their 
feet: that is to wit. Pure Religion did tread upon Igno- 
rance and Superstition, Love of Subjects did tread upon 
Rebellion and Insolency, Wisdom did tread upon Folly 
and Vainglory, Justice did tread upon Adulation and 
Bribery. Each of these personages, according to their 
proper names and properties, had not only their names in 
plain and perfect writing set upon their breasts, easily to be 
read of all : but also every of them was aptly and properly 
apparelled ; so that his apparel and name did agree to 
express the same person, that in title he represented. This 
part of the pageant was thus appointed and furnished. 

The two sides over the two side ports had in them placed 
a noise of instruments [i.e., a band of players] ; which, imme- 
diately after the child's speech, gave a heavenly melody. 

Upon the top or uppermost part of the said pageant stooi 
the Arms of England, royally portraitured ; with the proper 
beasts to uphold the same. One representing the Queen's 

228 The Virtues TRAMrLiNO on the Vices. [jan/,55q. 

Highness sat in this Seat, crowned with an imperial crown : 
and before her seat was a convenient place appointed for one 
child, which did interpret and apply the said pageant as 
hereafter shall be declared. 

Every void place was furnished with proper Sentences 
commending the Seat supported by the Virtues; and defacing 
the Vices, to the utter extirpation of rebellion, and to ever- 
lasting continuance of quietness and peace. 

The Queen's Majesty approaching nigh unto this pageant, 
thus beautified and furnished in all points, caused her 
chariot to be drawn nigh thereunto, that Her Grace might- 
hear the child's oration, which was this : 

While that Religion True shall Ignorance suppress, 
And with her weighty foot, break Superstition's head ; 
While Love of Subjects shall Rebellion distress, 
And with Zeal to the Prince, Insolency down tread ; 

While Justice can Flattering tongues and Bribery deface ; 
While Folly and Vainglory, to Wisdom yield their hands : 
So long, shall Government not swerve from her right race, 
But Wrong decayeth still, and Righteousness upstands. 

Now all thy subjects' hearts, O Prince of peerless fame ! 
Do trust these virtues shall maintain up thy throne ! 
And Vice be kept down still, the wicked put to shame ; 
That good with good may joy, and naught with naught may 

Which Verses were painted upon the right side of the 
same pageant ; and in Latin thereof, on the left side, in 
another table, which were these. 

Quce siihnixa alte solio regina superbo est, 
Effigiem sanctce Principis alma refert, 

Quant Civilis Amor fulcit, Sapicntia firinat, 
Jtisticia illustrat, Religioque beat 

Vana Sitpcrstitio et crassa; Ignoraittui fronii% 

W'i59-] Skat of Governance upheld by Virtues. 229 

Pressce sub Ptira Religione jacent. 
Regis Amor domat Effrcenos, animosque rebelles 

Justus Adulantes, Donivorosque terit. 
Cum regit Imperium sapiens, sine luce sedehunt 

Stidtiiia, atque hujus numcn inanis honor. 

Beside these Verses, there were placed in every void room 
of the pageant, both in English and Latin, such Sentences 
as advanced the Seat of Governance upholden by Virtue. 

The ground of this pageant was that, like as by Virtues 
(which do abundantly appear in Her Grace), the Queen's 
Majesty was established in the Seat of Government ; so she 
should sit fast in the same, so long as she embraced Virtue, 
and held Vice under foot. For if Vice once got up the head, 
it would put the Seat of Government in peril of falling. 

The Queen's Majesty, when she had heard the child, and 
understood the pageant at full, gave the City also thanks 
there ; and most graciously promised her good endeavour for 
the maintenance of the said virtues, and suppression of vices. 

And so marched on, till she came against the Great 
Conduit in Cheap ; which was beautified with pictures and 
sentences accordingly, against Her Grace's coming thither. 

Against Soper Lane's end was extended from the one side 
of the street to the other, a pageant which had three gates, 
all open. 

Over the middlemost whereof, were erected three several 
stages, whereon sat eight children, as hereafter followeth. 
On the uppermost, one child ; on the middle, three ; on the 
lowest, four; each having the proper name of the Blessing 
that he did represent, written in a table, and placed above 
his head. 

In the forefront of this pageant, before the children which 
did represent the Blessings, was a convenient standing cast 
out for a child to stand, which did expound the said pageant 
unto the Queen's Majesty ; as was done in the other before. 
Every of these children were appointed and apparelled 
according to the Blessing, which he did represent. 

And on the forepart of the said pageant was written, in fair 
letters, the name of the said pageant, in this manner following. 

230 SuiijiiCT oi'/niK Third Pageant is |jan.'.sj.^. 






Over the two side posts was placed a noise of instruments. 

And all void places in the pageant were furnished with 
pretty Sayings commending and touching the meaning of the 
said pageant ; which were the Promises and Blessings of 
Almighty GOD made to His people. 

Before the Queen's Highness came into this pageant, she 
required the matter somewhat to be opened unto her; that Her 
Grace might the better understand what should, afterward, 
by the child, be said unto her. Which was so, that the City 
had there erected the pageant with eight children, represent- 
ing the Eight Blessings touched in the Fifth Chapter of 
St. Matthew; whereof every one, upon just considerations, 
was applied unto Her Highness. And that the people 
thereby put Her Grace in mind, that as her good doings 
before, had given just occasion why that these Blessings 
might fall upon her; that so, if Her Grace did continue in 
her goodness, as she had entered, she should hope for the 
fruit of these Promises, due unto them that do exercise 
themselves in the Blessings. 

Which Her Grace heard marvellously graciously, and 
required that the chariot might be removed towards the 
pageant, that she might perceive the child's words : which 
were these, the Queen's Majesty giving most attentive ear, 
and requiring that the people's noise might be stayed. 

Thou hast been eight times blest! O Queen of worthy fame ! 
By Meekness in thy spirit, when care did thee beset 1 
By Mourning in thy grief! by Mildness in thy blame ! 
By Hunger and by Thirst, and justice couldst none get I 

By Mercy showed, not felt ! by Cleanness of thy heart! 
By seeking Peace always ! by Persecution wrong ! [smart ! 
Therefore, trust thou in GOD ! since He hath helped thy 
That, as His Promise is, so He will make thee strong! 

jan-'issg] ^■'^^ Beatitudes applied to the Queen. 231 

When these words were spoken, all the people wished that 
"As the child had spoken, so GOD would strengthen Her 
Grace against all her adversaries ! " whom the Queen's 
Majesty did most gently thank, for their so loving wish. 

These Verses were painted on the left side of the said 
pageant ; and other, in Latin, on the other side, which were 
these : 

Qui lugent hilar es fient, qui mitia gestant 

Pectora, multa soli jugera culta metent. 
jftistitiam esuriens siticnsve rcplcbitur, ipsum 

Fas homini puro cordc vidcre DE UM. 
Qucm altcrius miseret Dominus miscvcbituv hiijus, 

Pacificiis quisquis, filiiis illc DEI est. 
Propter justitiaiii quisquis patictur habctque 

Dcmissam mcntcm, calica regna capit. 
Hide hominiim generi terrain, mare, sidera vovit 

Oiiinipotens, horiiin quisque beatics erit. 

Besides these, every void place in the pageant was fur- 
nished with Sentences touching the matter and ground of the 
said pageant. 

When all that was to be said in this pageant was ended ; 
the Queen's Majesty passed on forward in Cheap .side. 

At the Standard in Cheap, which was dressed fair against 
the time, was placed a noise of trumpets, with banners and 
other furniture. 

The Cross, likewise, was also made fair and well trimmed. 
And near unto the same, upon the porch of Saint Peter's 
Church door, stood the Waits of the City ; which did give a 
pleasant noise with their instruments, as the Queen's Majesty 
did pass by. Who, on every side, cast her countenance, and 
wished well to all her most loving people. 

Soon after that Her Grace passed the Cross, she had espied 
the pageant erected at the Little Conduit in Cheap ; and 
incontinent required to know what it might signify. And it 
was told Her Grace, that there was placed Time. 

" Time ! " quoth she, " and Time hath brought me hither! " 

232 The City's nodle gift to the Queen. [j^^J.^^g. 

And so forth the whole matter was opened to Her Grace, as 
hereafter shall be declared in the description of the pageant. 
But when in the opening, Her Grace understood that the 
Ilible in English, should be delivered unto her by Truth 
(which was therein represented by a child), she thanked the 
City for that gift, and said that she would oftentimes read 
over that book ; commanding Sir John Parrat, one of the 
knights which held up her canopy, to go before, and to re- 
ceive it : but learning that it should be delivered unto Her 
Grace, down by a silken lace, she caused him to stay. 

And so passed fonvard till she came against the Aldermen, 
in the high end of Cheap, tofore the Little Conduit ; where 
the Companies of the City ended, which began at Fanchurch 
[Fenchurch Street] and stood along the streets, one by another, 
enclosed with rails hanged with cloths, and themselves well 
apparelled with many rich furs, and their Livery Hoods 
upon their shoulders, in comely and seemly manner ; having 
before them sundry persons well apparelled in silks and 
chains of gold, as Whifflers and Guarders of the said Com- 
panies : besides a number of rich hangings (as well of 
tapestry, arras, cloths of gold, silver, velvet, damask, satin, 
and other silks) plentifully hanged all the way, as the 
Queen's Highness passed from the Tower through the City. 
Out at the windows and penthouses of every house did hang 
a number of rich and costly banners and streamers, till Her 
Grace came to the upper end of Cheap. 

And there by appointment, the Right Worshipful Master 
Ranulph Cholmeley, Recorder of the City, presented to 
the Queen's Majesty, a purse of crimson satin, richly 
wrought with gold ; wherein the City gave unto the Queen's 
Majesty a thousand marks in gold [= £666 = about ;f 5,000 
now] ; as Master Recorder did declare briefly unto the Queen's 
Majesty. [Compare the similar usual gift to her Mother 
25 years before, at Vol. II. p. 48]. Whose words tended to 
this end, that "The Lord Mayor,his brethren and commonalty 
of the City, to declare their gladness and good will towards 
the Queen's Majesty, did present Her Grace with that gold ; 
desiring Her Grace to continue their good and gracious 
Queen, and not to esteem the value of the gift, but the mind 
of the givers." 

jan.'issg] TiiE Queen's noble Speech to the City. 233 

The Queen's Majesty, with both her hands took the 
purse, and answered to him again marvellously pithily; and 
so pithily that the standers by, as they embraced entirely her 
gracious answer, so they marvelled at the couching thereof: 
which was in words truly reported these. " I thank my 
Lord Mayor, his brethren, and you all ! And whereas your 
request is, that I should continue your good Lady and Queen : 
be ye ensured that I will be as good unto you, as ever Queen 
was to her people ! No will in me can lack ! neither, do I 
trust, shall there lack any power ! And persuade yourselves 
that, for the safety and quietness of you all, I will not spare, 
if need be, to shed my blood ! GOD thank you all ! " 

Which answer of so noble a hearted Princess, if it moved 
a marvellous shout and rejoicing, it is nothing to be mar- 
velled at ; since both the heartiness thereof was so wonder- 
ful, and the words so jointly knit. 

When Her Grace had thus answered the Recorder, she 
marched towards the Little Conduit ; where was erected a 
pageant, with square proportion, standing directly before the 
same Conduit, with battlements accordingly. And in the 
same pageant were advanced two hills or mountains of con- 
venient height. 

The one of them, being on the north side of the same 
pageant, was made cragged, barren, and stony ; in the which 
was erected one tree, artificially made, all withered and 
dead, with branches accordingly. And under the same 
tree, at the foot thereof, sat one, in homely and rude 
apparel, crookedly, and in mourning manner, having over 
his head in a table, written in Latin and English, his name, 
which was 



And upon the same withered tree, were fixed certain tables 
wherein were written proper Sentences, expressing the causes 
of the Decay of the Common weal. 

The other hill, on the south side, was made fair, fresh, 
green, and beautiful ; the ground thereof full of Howers and 
beauty. And on the same was erected also one tree, very 
fresh and fair ; under which, stood upright one fresh personage. 

234 SuiiJlXT OK THE FoURTII PaGHANT IS [j.,,,.',-;,. 

well apparelled and appointed ; whose name also was writ- 
ten, both in English and in Latin, which was 


And upon the same tree also, were fixed certain tables con- 
taining Sentences, which expressed the causes of a Flourishing 
Common weal. 

In the middle, between the said hills, was made arti- 
ficially, one hollow place or cave, with door and lock 
enclosed ; out of which, a little before the Queen's Highness's 
coming thither, issued one personage, whose name was 
Time (apparelled as an old man, with a sc}the in his hands, 
having wings artificially made), leading a personage, of less 
stature than himself, which was finely and well apparelled, 
all clad in white silk; and directly over her head was set 
her name and title, in Latin and English, Temporis Filia, 
The Daughter of Time. 

Which two, so appointed, went forward, towards the south 
side of the pageant. 

And on her breast was written her proper name, Veritas, 
Truth ; who held a book in her hand, upon the which was 
written, Vcrbum Veritaiis, The Word of Truth. 

And out of the south side of the pageant, was cast a 
standing for a child, which should interpret the same pageant. 

Against whom, when the Queen's Majesty came, he spake 
unto Her Grace these words : 

This old man with the scythe, old Father Time they call : 
And her, his daughter Truth, which holdeth yonder book; 
Whom he out of his rock hath brought forth to us all, 
From whence, these many years, she durst not once outlook. 

The ruthful wight that sitteth under the barren tree, 
Resembleth to us the form when Common weals decay ; 
But when they be in state triumphant, you may see 
I3y him in fresh attire, that sitteth under the bay. 

jan.'.5:9-]^ J^^'^'^'ous Commo.vWeal, & its 0/tosite. 235 

Now since that Time again, his daughter Truth hath 

brought ; 
We trust, O worthy Queen ! thou wilt this Truth embrace ! 
And since thou understandest the good estate and nought ; 
We trust Wealth thou wilt plant, and Barrenness displace ! 

But for to heal the sore, and cure that is not seen, 
Which thing the Book of Truth doth teach in writing plain ; 
She doth present to thee, the same, O worthy Queen ! 
For that, that words do fly, but writing doth remain. 

When the child had thus ended his speech, he reached 
his book towards the Queen's Majesty; which, a little before. 
Truth had let down unto him from the hill : which by Sir 
John Parrat was received, and delivered unto the Queen. 

But she, as soon as she had received the book, kissed it ; 
and with both her hands held up the same, and so laid 
it upon her breast ; with great thanks to the City therefore. 
And so went forward toward Paul's Churchyard. 

The former matter, which was rehearsed unto the Queen's 
Majesty, was written in two tables, on either side the 
pageant, eight verses : and in the midst, these in Latin. 

Ilk, vides, falcein Iceva qui sustinet uncam, 

Tempus is est, cui stat filia Vera comes ; 
Hanc pater exesa dcdudam rupe reponit 

In luccm, quam non viderat ante diu. 
Qui sedet a Iceva cidtn male tristis inepto, 

Quern duris crescens cautibus orbis obit 
Nos monet effigice, qua sit Respublica qmndo 

Corruit, at contra quando beata viget, 
Ille docet juvenis forma spectandus amictu 

Scittis, et ceterna laiirca fronde vircns. 

The Sentences, written in Latin and English upon both 
the trees, declaring the causes of both estates, were these : 

236 The coNNiXTioN of tiik Pageants, [jn,,;,;^,^ 
C Causes of a Ruinous Common 

Want of the Fear of GOD. Civil disagreement. 
Disobedience to rulers. Flattering of Princes. 

Ulindness of guides. Unmercifulness in rulers. 

Bribery in magistrates. Unthankfulness in subjects. 

Rebellion in subjects. 

C Causes of a Flourishing 
Common weal. 

Fear of GOD. Obedient subjects. 

A wise Prince. Lovers of the Common Weal. 

Learned rulers. Virtue rewarded. 

Obedience to officers. Vice chastened. 

The matter of this pageant dependeth of tliem [i.e., the 
pai^cants] that went before. For, as the first declared Her 
Grace to come out of the House of Unity ; the second, that 
she is placed in the Seat of Government, stayed with virtues 
to the suppression of vice ; and therefore in the third, the 
Eight Blessings of Almighty GOD might well be applied 
unto her : so this fourth now, is to put Her Grace in remem- 
brance of the state of the Common Weal, which Time, with 
Truth his daughter, doth reveal: which Truth also, Her 
Grace hath received ; and therefore cannot but be merciful 
and careful for the good government thereof. 

From thence, the Queen's Majesty passed towards Paul's 

And when she came over against Paul's School, a child 
appointed by the Schoolmaster thereof, pronounced a certain 
Oration in Latin, and certain Verses : which also were there 
written, as follows. 

Philosophus illc divinus Plato, inter muUa prccclare ac sa- 
pienter dicta, hoc postcris prodituiii rcliquit, Rcuipublicam illam 
fclicissimam fore, ctd Princeps sophia stndiosa, virtutihusque 
ornata contigerit. Quern si vere dixisse censeainus {ut quidem 
verissime) cur non terra Britannica plaudcret ? cur non populus 

jan/issJ ^iiE Latin Speech at St. Paul's School. 237 

gatidicim atque latitiam agitaret ? immo, cur non hunc diem alho 
{quod aiunt) lapillo notarct ? quo Princeps talis nobis adest, 
qualcm priores non viderunt, qualcmque posteritas hand facile 
ccrncre poterit, dotibus qiium aniini, turn corporis undique feli- 
cissima. Casti quidem corporis dotes ita apertcE stmt, ut oratione 
non egeant. Aniini vera tot tantcrqne, ut ne verbis qiiidem 
exprimi possint. Hcec neinpe Regibus suminis orta, morum atque 
aniini nobilitate genus exuperat. Hujiis pectus Christi religionis 
amore flagrat. Hcec gcntem Britannicuin virtutibus illustrabit, 
clipcoque justitia: teget. Ha:c Uteris Gracis et Latinis eximia, 
ingenioque pra:pollcns est. Hac imperante, pietas vigebit, Anglia 
florebit, Aurea Secula redibunt. Vos igitur Angli, tot commoda 
accepturi, ELIZABETH AM Reginain nostram celeberriinam ab ipso 
Christo huJHs regni imperio destinatam, honore dcbito prose- 
quimini. Hujus imperiis aninio libentissiino subdifi estote, vosque 
tali principe dignos prccbete. Et quoniain, pueri non viribus 
scd prccibus officium prestare possunt, nos Alumni hujus Scholce 
ab ipso CoLETO, dim Teinpli Paulini Decano, extrucice, teneras 
palmas ad ccelum tendentes Christum Opt. Maxi. precaturi 
suinns, ut tuum celsitudinem annos Nestoreos summo cum 
honore Anglis imperitare facial, matreiiique pignoribus charii 
beatam reddat. Amen. 

Anglia nunc tandem plaudas, la:tare, re sull.z, 

Presto jam vita est, prasidiuinqtte tibi. 
En tua spes vcnit tua gloria, lux, decus omne 

Venit jam solidam qua; tibi prcstat opem. 
Succurretque ttiis rebus quce pessum abiere. 

Perdiia quce fuerant hcec reparare volet 
Omnia florcbimt , redeunt nunc aurea secla. 

In melius surgent qua; cecidere bona. 
Debcs ergo tilt totam te reddere fidam, 

Cujus in accessu commoda tot capies. 
Salve igitur dicas, imo de pectore summo. 

Elizabeth Regni non dubitanda salus, 
Virgo venit, vcniatque optes comitata dcinccps. 

238 The Queen passes out at Ludgate. lj^„:,^,g, 

Pi,s;iioribus charts, lata parens vcniat. 
Hoc DE US mnnipotcns ex alto donct Olyinpo, 
Qui ccclum et terrain condidit atqiie regit. 

Which the Queen's Majesty most attentively hearkened 
unto. And when the child had pronounced, he did kiss the 
Oration, which he had there fair written in paper, and delivered 
it unto the Queen's Majesty, which most gently received the 

And when the Queen's Majesty had heard all that was 
there offered to be spoken ; then Her Grace marched toward 
Ludgate : where she was received with a noise of instru- 
ments ; the forefront of the Gate being finely trimmed against 
Her Majesty's coming. 

From thence, by the way, as she went down toward Fleet 
Bridge, one about Her Grace, noted the City's charge, that 
" there was no cost spared." 

Her Grace answered, that " She did well consider the same, 
and that it should be remembered ! " An honourable answer, 
worthy a noble Prince : which may comfort all her subjects, 
considering there can be no point of gentleness or obedient 
love shewed towards Her Grace ; which she doth not most 
tenderly accept, and graciously weigh. 

In this manner, the people on either side rejoicing, Her 
Grace went forward towards the Conduit in Fleet Street, 
where was the fifth and last pageant, erected in the form 

From the Conduit, which was beautified with painting, unto 
the north side of the street, was erected a Stage embattled 
with four towers, and in the same, a square plat rising with 

Upon the uppermost degree was placed a Chair or royal 
Seat; and behind the same Seat, in curious artificial manner, 
was erected a tree of reasonable height, and so far advanced 
above tiie seat as it did well and seemly shadow the same, 
without endamaging the sight of any part of the pageant. 
And the same tree was beautified with leaves as green as Art 
could devise, being of a convenient greatness and containing 
thereupon the fruit of the date tree ; and on the top of the 

jaiJ.ssg] ^ '^ ^ J ^ ^ "^ ^^ '^" '"^ Fifth Pageant. 239 

same tree, in a table was set the name thereof, which was, 
A Palm Tree. 

And in the aforesaid Seat or Chair was a seemly and meet 
personage, richly apparelled in Parliament robes, with a 
sceptre in her hand, as a Queen ; crowned with an open crown : 
whose name and title were in a table fixed over her head in 
this sort, Deborah, The Jitdgc and Restorer of Israel. Judic.4. 

And the other degrees, on either side, were furnished with 

six personages ; two representing the Nobility, two the Clergy, 

and two the Comminalty. And before these personages, was 

written in a table, 




At the feet of these, and the lowest part of the pageant, 
was ordained a convenient room for a child to open the 
meaning of the pageant. 

When the Queen's Majesty drew near unto this pageant ; 
and perceived, as in the others, the child ready to speak : 
Her Grace required silence, and commanded her chariot to be 
removed nigher that she might plainly hear the child speak ; 
which said, as hereafter followeth : 

Jabin, of Canaan King, had long, by force of arms, 
Oppressed the Israelites ; which for GOD's People went : 
But GOD minding, at last, for to redress their harms ; 
The worthy Deborah, as Judge among them sent. 

In war, She, through GOD's aid, did put her foes to flight. 
And with the dint of sword the band of bondage brast ; 
In peace. She, through GOD's aid, did always maintain right 
And judged Israel, till forty years were past. 

A worthy precedent, O worthy Queen! thou hast! 

A worthy woman, Judge! a woman sent for Stay ! 

And that the like to us, endure always thou may'st ; 

Thy loving subjects will, with true hearts and tongues, pray I 

240 Bi.ur. Coat Bnvs at St. D u n st a n's. [j,,,,/,;.,. 

Which verses were written upon the pageant: and the same 
in Latin also. 

Qiiando DEI popiilnm Canaan, rex press: t J A BIN, 

Mittitur a ma^no Debora magna DEO : 
Qua populum eriperet, sanctum scrvaret Jndan, 

Milite quce pairio /ran f^eret host! s opes. 
Hcec Domino mandantc DEO lectissima fecit 

Famina, ct advcrsos contudit cnse vivos. 
Hcec qtiater denes populum corrcxcrat annos 

Judicio, bcllo strcnua, pace gravis. 
Sic, O sic, populum, belloque et pace, guberna! 

Debora sis Anglis, Elizabetha tuis! 

The void places of the pageant were filled with pretty 
Sentences concerning the same matter. 

The ground of this last pageant was, that forasmuch as 
the next pageant before, had set before Her Grace's eyes the 
Flourishing and Desolate States of a Common Weal; she 
might by this, be put in remembrance to consult for the worthy 
Government of her people ; considering GOD, ofttimes, sent 
women nobly to rule among men, as Deborah which governed 
Israel in peace, the space of forty years ; and that it behoveth 
both men and women so ruling, to use advice of good counsel. 

When the Queen's Majesty had passed this pageant; she 
marched towards Temple Bar. 

But at St. Dunstan's, where the children of the Hospital 
[i.e., Christ's Hospital, now known as the Blue Coat School, see 
/>. 246], were appointed to stand with their Governors ; Her 
Grace perceiving a child offered to make an oration unto her, 
stayed her chariot ; and did cast up her eyes to heaven, as who 
should say, " I here see this merciful work towards the poor ; 
whom I must, in the midst of my royalty, needs remember." 
And so, turned her face towards the child, which, in Latin, 
pronounced an Oration to this effect. 

That after the Queen's Highness had passed through 
the City ; and had seen so sumptuous, rich, and noble 
spectacles of the citizens, which declared their most 


hearty receiving and most joyous welcoming of Her 
Grace into the same : this one Spectacle yet rested and 
remained ; which was the everlasting Spectacle of 
Mercy unto the poor members of Almighty GOD, fur- 
thered by that famous and most noble Prince, King 
Henry VHI., Her Grace's Father; erected by the City 
of London ; and advanced by the most godly, virtuous, 
and gracious Prince, King Edward VI., Her Grace's dear 
and loving brother. Doubting nothing of the mercy of 
the Queen's most gracious clemency : by the which they 
may not only be relieved and helped, but also stayed 
and defended ; and therefore incessantly, they would 
pray and cry unto Almighty GOD for the long life and 
reign of Her Highness, with most prosperous victory 
against her enemies. 
The child, after he had ended his Oration, kissed the paper 
wherein the same was written, and reached it to the Queen's 
Majesty ; who received it graciously both with words and 
countenance, declaring her gracious mind towards their relief. 

From thence, Her Grace came to Temple Bar, which was 
dressed finely, with the two images of Gotmagot the Albion, 
and CoRiNEUS the Briton ; two giants big in stature, furnished 
accordingly : which held in their hands, even above the gate, 
a table, wherein was written, in Latin verses, the effect of all 
the pageants which the City before had erected. Which 
Verses are these : 

Ecce sub aspcctu jam contcmplabcris uno 

O Princeps populi sola colunuia ttii I 
Quicquid in immensa passim pcrspcxcris nrbe 

Quce cepcre omnes nuns hie arctis habd. 
Primus, te solio regni donavit aviti, 

Hares qiiippc tui vera parentis eras. 
Suppressis vitiis, domina virtiite, Sccundus, 

Firmavit sedem regia virgo liiam. 
Tertius, ex omniposuit tepartc bcatam 

Si, qua ccepisti pergere velle, vclis. 
Quarto, quid verum, Respublica Lapsa quid esscl, 
Quce Florcns stavct tc docucrc tui. 

Bva. CAR. IV. 16 

242 Til 1- V r. R s E s A 1! (I V i: T i: m r 1. 1: 15 a r. [^.J,.^-^ 

Qiiinto, )uag>ia loco nionuit tc Debora, iiiissaiii 

Ccelittts in rcgni gaitdia Ivnga tui. 
Pcrge ergo Regina ! tucc spcs uitica gcntis I 

Hire Postrcma urbis suscipe Vota tiue. 
" Vive din ! regnaquc diu ! viriutibus orna 

Rem patriain, et popnli spent tueare tui ! 
Sic, sic petitur ccclnni ! Sic itur in astra ! 

Hoc viiiniis opus, ccetcra mortis eriint ! " 

Which Verses were also written in English metre, in a 
Iesse[r] table, as hereafter followeth. 

Behold here, in one view, thou mayst see all that plain ; 
O Princess, to this thy people, the only stay! 
What eachwhere thou hast seen in this wide town ; again, 
This one Arch, whatsoever the rest contained, doth say. 

The First Arch, as true Heir unto thy Father dear. 
Did set thee in thy Throne, where thy Grandfather sat 1 
The Second, did confirm thy Seat as Princess here ; 
Virtues now bearing sway, and Vices beat down flat ! 

The Third, if that thou wouldst go on as thou began, 
Declareth thee to be blessed on every side ! 
The Fourth did open Truth, and also taught thee when 
The Common Weal stood well, and when it did thence slide ! 

The Fifth, as Dhbokah, declared thee to be sent 
From heaven, a long comfort to us thy subjects all ! 
Therefore, go on, O Queen ! (on whom our hope is bent) 
And take with thee, this wish of thy Town as final! 

" Live long ! and as long, reign ! adorning thy country 
With virtues ; and maintain thy people's hope of thee! 
For thus, thus heaven is won ! thus, must thou pierce the sky ! 
This is by virtue wrought ! All other must needs die! " 

On the south side [i.e., of Fled Street, at Temple Bar] was 
appointed by the City, a noise of singingchildren ; and one child 
richly attired as a Poet, which gave the Queen's Majesty 
her Farewell, in the name of the whole City, by these words. 

As at thine Entrance first, Prince of high renown ! 
Thou wast presented with Tongues and Hearts for thy fair j 
So now, sith thou must needs depart out of this Town, 
This City sendeth thee firm Hope and earnest Prayer I 

For all men hope in thee, that all virtues shall reign ; 
For all men hope that thou, none error wilt support ; 
For all men hope that thou wilt Truth restore again, 
And mend that is amiss ; to all good men's comfort ! 

And for this Hope, they pray thou mayst continue long 
Our Queen amongst us here, all vice for to supplant ! 
And for this Hope, they pray that GOD may make thee strong, 
As by His grace puissant, so in His truth constant I 

Farewell ! O worthy Queen I and as our hope is sure, 
That into Error's place, thou wilt now Truth restore ! 
So trust we that thou wilt our sovereign Queen endure 
And loving Lady stand, from henceforth, evermore ! 

While these words were in saying, and certain wishes 
therein repeated for the maintenance of Truth, and rooting 
out of Error ; she, now and then, held up her hands to heaven- 
ward, and willed the people to say " Amen ! " 

When the child had ended, she said, " Be ye well assured, 
I will stand your good Queen ! " 

At which saying, Her Grace departed forth, through Temple 
Bar towards Westminster, with no less shooting [i.e., firing 
of guns] and crying of the people, than, when she entered the 
City, with a great noise of ordnance which the Tower shot off, 
at Her Grace's entrance first into Tower Street. 

The child's saying was also, in Latin verses, written in a 
table which was hanged up there. 

244 'i'"' City, of itself, ufautifiei) itself. [jan.'.55> 

Rcgina poiens ! qitum primam iirhcm iiif^rcdcrcris 

Dona tibi, Linguas fidaque Corda dedit. 
Discedenti ctiam tibi nunc duo munera mittit, 

Omina plena Spci, votaquc plena Precum. 
Quippc this Spes est, in te quod provida virtus 

Rexerit, crrori nee locus ullus erit. 
Quippe tuis Spes est, quod ut verum omnc reduces 

Solatura bonas, dum mala tollis, opes. 
Hac Spe frcti orant, longuni ut Regina gubernes, 

Et regni excindas criinina euncta tui, 
Hac Spe/reti orant, divina ut gratia fortem, 

Et verce fidei te velit esse basin. 
Jam, Regina, vale ! et sicut nos spes tend una, 

Quod vero indueto, pcrditus error erit. 
Sic quoque speramus quod eris Regina bcnigna 

Nobis per regni tempora longa tui ! 

Thus the Queen's Highness passed through the City * which, 
without any foreign person, of itself, beautitied itself; and re- 
ceived Her Grace at all places, as hath been before mentioned, 
with most tender obedience and love, due to so gracious a 
Queen, and sovereign Lady. 

And Her Grace likewise, of her side, in all Her Grace's 
Passage, shewed herself generally an Image of a worthy Lady 
and Governor ; but privately these especial points were noted 
in Her Grace, as signs of a most Prince-like courage, whereby 
her loving subjects may ground a sure hope for the rest of 
her gracious doings hereafter. 


Certain Notes of the ^ee7is Majesty's 

great jnercy^ clemency, and wisdom 

used in this Passage. 

iRouT the nether end of Cornhill, toward Cheap, 
one of the Knights about Her Grace, had espied 
an ancient Citizen which wept, and turned his 
head back. And therewith said this Gentleman, 
" Yonder is an Alderman, " for so he termed him, 
"which weepeth, and turneth his face backward ! How may it 
be interpreted that he doth so ? For sorrow ! or for gladness ? " 

The Queen's Majesty heard him ; and said, " I warrant 
you, it is for gladness ! " A gracious interpretation of a noble 
courage, which would turn the doubtful to the best. And 
yet it was well known, that (as Her Grace did confirm the 
same) the party's cheer was moved, for very pure gladness 
for the sight of Her Majesty's person ; at the beholding 
whereof, he took such comfort, that with tears he expressed 
the same. 

In Cheapside, Her Grace smiled ; and being thereof de- 
manded the cause, answered, " For that she had heard one 
say, Remember old Kin<^' Henry VIII ! " A natural child ! 
which at the very remembrance of her father's name took so 
great a joy ; that all men may well think that as she rejoiced 
at his name whom this Realm doth hold of so worthy memory, 
so, in her doings, she will resemble the same. 

When the City's charge without partiality, and only the 
City, was mentioned unto Her Grace ; she said, " It should 
not be forgotten ! " Which saying might move all natural 
Englishmen heartily to shew due obedience and entireness to 
their so good a Queen, which will, in no point, forget any 
parcel of duty lovingly shewed unto her. 

2.}6 Tin: ioor woman's israncii or rosemary. [ja„.',55,. 

The answer which Her Grace made unto Master Recorder 
of London, as the hearers know it to be true and with melting 
hearts heard the same, so may the reader thereof conceive 
what Isind of stomach and couraj^e pronounced the same. 

What more famous thing do we read in ancient histories 
of old time, than that mightj' Princes have gently received 
presents offered them by base and low personages. If that 
be to be wondered at, as it is passingly ! let me see any writer 
that in any one Prince's life is able to recount so many pre- 
cedents of this virtue, as Her Grace shewed in that one 
Passage through the City. How many nosegays did Her 
Grace receive at poor women's hands ? How ofttimes stayed 
she her chariot, when she saw any simple body offer to speak 
to Her Grace? A branch of rosemary given to Her Grace, 
with a supplication, by a poor woman, about Fleet Bridge, 
was seen in her chariot till Her Grace came to Westminster ; 
notwithstanding the marvellous wondering of such as knew 
the presenter, and noted the Queen's most gracious receiving 
and keeping the same. 

What hope the poor and needy may look for, at Her 
Grace's hand ; she, as in all her journey continually, so in her 
hearkening to the poor children of Christ's Hospital, with 
eyes cast up unto heaven, did fully declare ; as that neither 
the wealthier estate could stand without consideration had to 
the poverty, neither the poverty be duly considered unless 
they were remembered, as commanded to us by GOD's own 

As at her first Entrance, she, as it were, declared herself 
prepared to pass through a City that most entirely loved her; 
so she, at her last Departing, as it were, bound herself by 
promise to continue good Lady and Governor unto that City, 
which, by outward declaration, did open their love to their so 
loving and noble Prince, in such wise as she herself wondered 

But because Princes be set in their Seat by GOD's appoint- 
ment, and therefore they must first and chiefly render the 
glory of Him from whom their glory issueth ; it is to be 
noted in Her Grace, that, forasmuch as GOD hath so 
wonderfully placed her in the Seat of Government over this 
realm; she in all doings, doth shew herself most mindful of 

jaiJissg] Elizabeth renders thanks to GOD. 247 

His goodness and mercy shewed unto her. And amongst all 
other, two principal signs thereof were noted in this Passage. 
First, in the Tower : where Her Grace, before she entered 
her chariot, lifted up her eyes to heaven, and said : 

O LORD ! Almighty and everlasting GOD ! I give Thee 

most hearty thanks, that as Thou hast been so merciful 

unto me, as to spare me to behold this joyful day ! And I 

acknowledge that Thou hast dealt as wonderfully and 

mercifully with me, as Thou didst with thy true and 

faithful servant Daniel, the prophet ; whom thou de- 

liveredst out of the den, from the cruelty of the greedy 

and raging lions : even so, was I overwhelmed, and only 

by Thee! delivered. To Thee ! therefore, only, be thanks, 

honour, and praise for ever ! Amen. 

The second was, the receiving of the Bible, at the Little 

Conduit, in Cheap. For when Her Grace had learned that 

the Bible in English, should there be offered ; she thanked 

the City therefore, promised the readingthereof most diligently, 

and incontinent commanded that it should be brought. At 

the receipt whereof, how reverently, she did, with both her 

hands, take it ! kiss it ! and lay it on her breast 1 to the great 

comfort of the lookers on ! 

GOD will undoubtedly preserve so worthy a Prince; which, 
at His honour, so reverently taketh her beginning. For this 
saying is true, and written in the Book of Truth : " He that 
first seeketh the Kingdom of GOD, shall have all other things 
cast unto him." 

Now, therefore, all English hearts, and her natural people 
must needs praise GOD's mercy, which hath sent them so 
worthy a Prince ; and pray for Her Grace's long continuance 
amongst us. 

SlmprtntcD at HontioiT \\x fleet Street 

toitfjin Ccmple T5ar, at tbe sign of tf)e 

Jt)anrj ano ^tar, tip Eicbaro Cot= 

till, tbc .rriii. Dap of lanuarp. 



Rev. William Harrison, B.D. 

Canon of Windsor, and Rector of 

Rad winter. 

Elizabeth arms England^ which Mary 
had left defe?iceless. 

[Bool; II., Chap. 16 o! Descrifilwn 0/ England, in HoLlNSHEu's CA»-oM/Vfc. Ed. i587t-8]. 
Reprinted by F. J. Fiiknivall, M.A., for Xfiu Shakspere Society, />. 278, Ed. 1877.) 

|0w well, and how strongly our country hath been 
furnished, in times past, with armour and artil- 
lery, it lieth not in me, as of myself to make 
Yet that it lacked both, in the late time of 
Queen Mary ; not only the experience of mine elders, but 
also the talk of certain Spaniards, not yet forgotten, did 
leave some manifest notice. 

Upon the first, I need not stand : for few will deny it. 
For the second, I have heard that when one of the greatest 
Peers of Spain [evidently in Queen Mary's reign] espied our 
nakedness in this behalf, and did solemnly utter in no 
obscure place, that " It should be an easy matter, in short 
time, to conquer England ; because it wanted armour !" his 
words were then not so rashly uttered, as they were politicly 

For, albeit, that, for the present time, their efficacy was 
dissembled; and semblance made as though he spake but 
merrily: yet at the very Entrance of this our gracious Queen 
unto the possession of the Crown, they were so providently 
called to remembrance, and such speedy reformation sought, 
of all hands, for the redress of this inconveniency, tliat our 
country was sooner furnished with armour and munition 
from divers parts of the main 'Jlie Continent], besides great 

Rev. W. Harrison, RD.J £)ec_\^Y OF THE En'GLISH LONG BOW. 249 

plenty that was forged here at home, than our enemies could 
get understanding of any such provision to be made. 

By this policy also, was the no small hope conceived by 
Spaniards utterly cut off; who (of open friends, being now 
become our secret enemies ; and thereto watching a time 
wherein to achieve some heavy exploit against us and our 
country) did thereupon change their purposes : whereby 
England obtained rest ; that otherwise might have been 
sure of sharp and cruel wars. 

Thus a Spanish word uttered by one man at one time, 
overthrew, or, at the least, hindered sundry privy practices 
of many at another time. 

In times past, the chief force of England consisted in their 
long bows. But now we have in manner generally given over 
that kind of artillery, and for long bows indeed, do practice 
to shoot compass for our pastime ; which kind of shooting 
can never yield any smart stroke, nor beat down our enemies, 
as our countrymen were wont to do, at every time of need. 
Certes, the Frenchmen and Keitters [i.e., Reitcrs, the German 
or Swiss Lance-knights] deriding our new archery, in respect 
of their corslets, will not let, in open skirmish, if any leisure 
serve, to turn up their tails, and cry, " Shoot, English !" 
and all because our strong shooting is decayed, and laid in 

But if some of our Englishmen now lived, that served 
King Edward III. in his wars with France : the breech of 
such a varlet had been nailed to his back with one arrow; 
and another feathered in his bowels, before he should have 
turned about to see who shot the first. 

But as our shooting is thus, in manner, utterly decayed 
among us one way : so our countrymen wax skilful in sundry 
other points; as in shooting in small pieces, the caliver, 
and handling of the pike ; in the several uses whereof, they 
are become very expert. 

Our armour differeth not from that of other nations ; and 
therefore consisteth of corslets, almain rivets, shirts of 
mail, jacks quilted and covered with leather, fustian, or 
canvas over thick plates of iron that are sewed in the same. 
Of which, there is no town or village that hath not her 
convenient furniture. The said armour and munition like- 

250 1,172,674 FIGHTING Englishmen. [R"-w. Harmon, b.d. 

wise is kept in one several place of every town, appointed 
by the consent of the whole parish ; where it is always 
ready to be had and worn within an hour's warning. 

Sometimes also it is occupied Uiscd], when it pleaseth the 
magistrate, either to view the able men and take note of the 
well keeping of the same ; or finally to see those that are en- 
rolled, to exercise each one his several weapon : at the charge 
of the townsmen of each parish, according to his appoint- 
ment. Certes there is almost no village so poor in England, 
be it never so small, that hath not sufficient furniture in 
a readiness to set forth three or four soldiers (as, one archer, 
one gunner, one pike, and a bill-man), at the least. No, 
there is not so much wanting as their very liveries [uniforms] 
and caps ; which are least to be accounted of, if any haste 
required. So that if this good order continue, it shall be 
impossible for the sudden enemy to find us unprovided. 

As for able men for service, thanked be GOD ! we are 
not without good store. For by the Musters taken in 1574 
and 1575, our number amounted to 1,172,674; and yet they 
were not so narrowly taken, but that a third part of this 
like multitude was left unbilled and uncalled. 

What store of munition and armour, the Queen's Majesty 
hath in her storehouses, it lieth not in me to yield account ; 
sith I suppose the same to be infinite. And whereas it was 
commonly said, after the loss of Calais, that England would 
never recover the store of ordnance there left and lost ; the 
same is proved false : since some of the same persons do 
now confess that this land was never better furnished with 
these things in any King's days, since the Conquest. 

The names of our greatest ordnance are commonly 
these : 

Rohinet, v/hose weight is 200 lbs.; and it hath i\ inches 

within the mouth. 
Falconet, weighing 500 lbs., and his wideness is 2 inches 

within the mouth. 
Falcon hath 800 lbs., and zj inches within the mouth. 
Minion poiseth [iveighetli] 1,100 lbs., and hath 3:^ inches 

within the mouth.- 
Sacre hath 1,500 lbs., and is 3^ inches wide in the 


n=v.w.Ham.on,n.n.-j Sizes, &c., of Artillery. 251 

Dcmi-Cnlverin weigheth 3,000 lbs., and hath 45 inches 

within the mouth. 
Cnlvcrin hath 4,000 lbs., and 5^ inches within the 

Demi-Cannon, 6,000 lbs., and 6|- inches within the 

Cannon, 7,000 lbs., and 8 inches within the mouth. 
E. Cannon, 8,000 lbs., and 7 inches within the mouth. 
Basilisk, 9,000 lbs., and 8| inches within the mouth. 

By which proportions, also, it is easy to come by the 
weight of every shot, how many scores [i.e., 0/ yards] it doth 
fly at point blank, how much powder is to be had to the 
same, and finally how many inches in height, each bullet 
ought to carry. 

The namts of ihe . ,, Weight of Scores [of yards) Pounds of Height of 

Great Ordnance ''^'" the Shot. lbs. of carriage. Powder. Bullet. Inches. 

Robinet I o .• \ I 

Falconet 2 14 2 \\ 

Falcon l\ 16 2^ 2^ 

Minion \\ 17 4^ 3 

Sacre 5 18 5 3^ 

Demi-Culverin 9 20 9 4 

Ctdverin 18 25 iS 5t 

Demi-Cannon 30 38 28 6J 

Cannon 60 20 44 7J 

E. Cannon 42 20 20 6} 

Basilisk 60 21 60 Sj 

As for the Armouries of some of the Nobility (whereof I 
also have seen a part), they are so well furnished, that within 
some one Baron's custody, I have seen three score or a 
hundred corslets at once ; besides calivers, hand-guns, bows, 
sheafs of arrows, pikes, bills, pole-axes, flasks, touch-boxes, 
targets, &c. : the very sight whereof appalled my courage. 

Seldom shall you see any of my countrymen, above 
eighteen or twenty years old, to go without a dagger at tiie 
least, at his back or by his side; although they be aged 

252 EVEUV ONE USUALLY CARRIES ARMS. [^"- ^^'- ]^^"''''>"' J"-[>- 

burgesses or magistrates of any city who, in appearance, are 
most exempt from brabling and contention. 

Our Nobility commonly wear swords or rapiers, with their 
daggers ; as doth every common serving man also that fol- 
loweth his lord and master. 

Finally, no man travelleth by the way, without his sword 
or some such weapon, with us ; except the Minister, who 
commonly weareth none at all, unless it be a dagger or 
hanger at his side. 



Loving Folly. 

Non Deus (ut perhibent) amor est, sed 
amaror, el error. 


Printed by R. R. for William Mattes, 

dwelling in Fleet street, at the sign of the 

Hand and Plough. 


[The only copy of the tS95 edition, at present known, is in the City 
Library, at Hamburg. 

It was recovered, and reprinted in 1875 by Herr Wilhel.m Wagxer, 
Ph.D., in Vol. X. of the Deutscluii Shakespeare-CeseUschaft Jahrbmh ; 
copies of this particular text being also separately printed. 

A limited Subscription edition, of fifty-one copies, was printed by Rev. A. 
B. Grosart, LL.D., F.S.A., of Rlackburn, in 1879 : with a fresh collation 
of the text by B. S. Leeson, Esq., of Hamburg. 

The present modernized text is based on a comparison of the above 
two reprints of the 1595 edition with the text of the London edition of 
1613 in which some headings (herein inserted between [ ], on pp. 256, 
276, 27S) first occur.] 



A 'Letter written by a Gentleman to the 
Author^ his friend. 

Friend Philoparthen, 

]N perusing your Loving Folly, and your Declining 
from it; I do behold Reason conquering Passion. 
The infirmity of loving argueth you are a man ; 
the firmness thereof, discovereth a good wit and 
the best nature : and the falling from it, true virtue. Beauty 
was always of force to mislead the wisest ; and men of 
greatest perfection have had no power to resist Love. The 
best are accompanied with vices, to exercise their virtues; 
whose glory shineth brightest in resisting motives of pleasure, 
and in subduing affections. And though I cannot altogether 
excuse your Loving Folly ; yet I do the less blame you, in 
that you loved such a one as was more to be commended for 
her virtue, than beauty : albeit even for that too, she was so 
well accomplished with the gifts of Nature as in mine conceit 
(which, for good cause, I must submit as inferior to yours) 
there was nothing wanting, either in the one or the other, 
that might add more to her worth, except it were a more 
due and better regard of your love ; which she requited not 
according to your deserts, nor answerable to herself in her 
other parts of perfection. Yet herein it appeareth you have 
made good use of Reason ; that being heretofore lost in 
youthful vanity, have now, by timely discretion, found yourself! 

256 [A L !■; 1' T i: k i' k u m V 11 i l a r k t k s.] 

Let me entreat you to suffer these your Passionate Sonnets 
to be publislied ! which may, peradventure, make others, 
possessed with the hke Humour of Loving, to follow your 
example, in leaving; and move other Alcilias (if there be 
an}) to embrace deserving love, while they may ! 

Hereby, also, she shall know, and, it may be, inwardly 
repent the loss of your love, and see how much her per- 
fections are blemished by ingratitude ; which will make your 
happiness greater by adding to your reputation, than your 
contentment could have been in enjojing her love. At the 
least wise, the wiser sort, however in censuring them, the}- 
may dislike of your errors ; yet they cannot but commend 
and allow of your reformation : and all others that shall with 
indifferency read them, may reap thereby some benefit, or 

Thus much I have written as a testimony of the good will 
I bear you ! with whom I do suffer or rejoice according to 
the quality of your misfortune or good hap. And so I take 
my leave; resting, as always, 

Yours most assured, 


Author ipse (fnXoTrdpOeuog ad 
libellum suum. 

f.'lR^'fi liber Domini vanos didure labores, 

Insomnes nodes, sollicitosqiie dies, 
Err ores varios, langtientis tcedia vitm, 

Mccrores certos, gaudia certa minus, 
Peruigiles curas, suspiria, vota, querelas, 

Et quacunqiie pati dura coegit amor. 
I precor intrepidus, durani comiterque salutans 

HcEC me ejus causa sustimcisse refer. 
Te grato excipiet vultu rubicundula, nomen 

Cum titulo inscriptum viderit esse suum. 
Forsitan et nostri miserebitur ilia doloris, 

Dicet et, ah quantum deseruisse dolet : 
Seque nimis soevam, crudelemquc ipsa vocabit, 

Cuinon est fidei debita cura niea ; 
Qtiod siquidem eveniet, Domino solaminis illud, 

Et tibi supremi muneris instar erit. 
Si quis {ut est cequum) fatuos damnaverit ignes, 

Pigritice frudus ingeniique levis : 
Tu Dominum ccecis tenebris errasse, scd ipsimi 

Erroris tandem pmiituisse sui. 
Me qnoque re vera nee tot, nee tanta tulisse, 

Scd ficta ad placitum mtdta fuisse refer. 

ENG. GylR. IV. 17 

258 \^yl a r// o i< a d l ib ell u m s u u a/.'] 

Ab qitanto satins {nisi mens mild vana) fuisset 

Ista meo penitits dclititissc sinu : 
Quam levia in lucent prodire, aut luce carcntis 

Insanam Domini prodere stuUitiam. 
Nil amor est aliud, quam mentis morbus et error. 

Nil sapienter af;it, nil bene, quisquis amat. 
Sed nan cuique datur sapere, aut melioribus uli, 

Forte erit altcrins, qui mens error erat. 
Cautior inccdit, qui nunquam labitur, atqui 

Jam propria evadam cautior ipse mala. 
Si cui delicto gravior hiea poena vidctur ; 

Illius in laudcs officiosus eris. 
Te si quis siinili qui carpitur igne videbit, 

Ille suam sortem flebit, et ilk meam. 
Alcilim obscquium supplex prcestare memento, 

Non minima officii pars erit ilia tut. 
Tefortasse sua sccura recondet in area, 
Et Solis posthcec luminis orbus eris. 
Nil referet, fateor me non prudenter ainasse ; 

Ultima decepta: sors erit ilia spei. 
Bis propria Phcebus cursu lustraverat orbem, 

Conscius erroris, stnltiticeque mece, 
A quo primus amor ccepit pcnetrare medullas, 

Et falsa accensos nutriit arte/ocos. 

Desino jam nugas amplecti, seria posth(sc 

{Ut Ratio monet) ac utiliora sequor. 

Amoris Preeludium. 

[Fe/, Epistola ad Ai 


THEE, Alcilia ! solace of my youth ! 
These rude and scattered rhymes I have addressed! 
The certain Witness of my Love and Truth, 
That truly cannot be in words expressed : 
Which, if I shall perceive thou tak'st in gree, 
I will, from henceforth, write of none but thee ! 

Here may you find the wounds yourself have made ! 
The many sorrows, I have long sustained ! 
Here may you see that Love must be obeyed ! 
How much I hoped, how little I have gained I 
That as for you, the pains have been endured ; 
Even so by you, they may, at length, be cured ! 

I will not call for aid to any Muse 

(It is for learned Poets so to do) : 

Affection must, my want of Art excuse, 

My works must have their patronage from You ! 

Whose sweet assistance, if obtain I might ! 

I should be able both to speak and write. 

26o A MORIS P R /E L U n I U M . [ ■, \^ 

Meanwhile, vouchsafe to read this, as assigned 
To no man's censure ; but to yours alone ! 
Pardon the faults, that you therein shall find ; 
And think the writer's heart was not his own ! 
Experience of examples daily prove aZllfzfmL 

"That no man can be well advised, and love!" ""^"^'• 

And though the work itself deserve it not 

(Such is your Worth, with my great Wants compared !); 

Yet may my love unfeigned, without spot. 

Challenge so much (if more cannot be spared ! ). 

Then, lovely Virgin ! take this in good part ! 

The rest, unseen, is sealed up in the heart. 

Judge not by this, the depth of my affection ! 
Which far exceeds the measure of my skill ; 
But rather note herein your own perfection ! 
So shall appear my want of Art, not will : 
Wherefore, this now, as part in lieu of greater, 
I offer as an insufficient debtor ! 


26 1 

Sic incipit Stultorum Tragicomcdia. 

T WAS my chance, unhappy chance to me ! 
As, all alone, I wandered on my way ; 
Void of distrust, from doubt of dangers free. 
To pass a grove where Love in ambush lay ; 
Who aiming at me with his feathered dart, 
Conveyed it by mine eye unto my heart. 

Where, retchless boy ! he let the arrow stick, 
When I, as one amazed, senseless stood. 
The hurt was great, yet seemed but a prick ! 
The wound was deep, and yet appeared no blood 
But inwardly it bleeds. Proof teacheth this. 
When wounds do so, the danger greater is. 

Pausing a while, and grieved with my wound, 
I looked about, expecting some relief : 
Small hope of help, no ease of pain I found. 
Like, all at once, to perish in my grief: 
When hastily, I plucked forth the dart ; 
But left the head fast fixed in my heart. 


A M O R I S P K . /•; /. U D I U M . 

Fast fixed in my heart, I left the head, 

From whence I doubt it will not be removed. 

Ah, what unlucky chance that way me led ? 

OLove! thy force thou might 'st elsewhere have proved! 

And shewed thy power, where thou art not obeyed 1 

" The conquest's small, where no resist is made." 

But nought, alas, avails it to complain ; 

I rest resolved, with patience to endure. 

The fire being once dispersed through every vein. 

It is too late to hope for present cure. 

Now Philoparthen must new follies prove. 

And learn a little, what it is to love ! 


These Sonnets following were written by the Author 

(who giveth himself this feigned name of Puiloparthen 

as his accidental attribute), at divers times, and upon 

divers occasions ; and therefore in the form, and 

matter they differ, and sometimes are quite 

contrary one to another : which ought not to 

be misliked, considering the very nature 

and qtiality of Love ; which is 

a Passion fill of variety, 

and contrariety 

in itself. 


Nhappy Eyes! that first my heart betrayed, 
Had you not seen, my grief hadnot beensuch! 
And yet, how may I, justly, you upbraid ! 
Since what I saw delighted me so much ? 
But hence, alas, proceedeth all my smart : 
Unhappy Eyes ! that first betrayed my 
heart ! in vmi. «/ feru. 

I I. 

To seek adventures, as Fate hath assigned. 

My slender Bark now floats upon the main ; 

Each troubled thought, an Oar; each sigh, a Wind, 

Whose often puffs have rent my Sails in twain. 

Love steers the Boat, which (for that sight, he lacks) 

Is still in danger of ten thousand wracks. 

I I I. 

What sudden chance hath changed my wonted cheer. 
Which makes me other than I seem to be ? 
My days of joy, that once were bright and clear, 
Are turned to nights ! my mirth, to misery ! 
Ah, well I ween that somewhat is amiss ; 
But, sooth to say, I know not what it is ! 

264 A L CILIA. [f-Jj 

I V. 

What, am I dead ? Then could I feel no smart ! 
But still in me the sense of grief reviveth. 
Am I alive ? Ah, no ! I have no heart ; 
For she that hath it, me of life depriveth. 

that she would restore my heart again ; 
Or give me hers, to countervail my pain ! 


If it be Love, to waste long hours in grief; 

If it be Love, to wish, and not obtain ; 

If it be Love, to pine without relief; 

If it be Love, to hope and never gain ; 

Then may you think that he hath truly loved, 

Who, for your sake ! all this and more, hath proved ! 

V I. 
If that, in ought, mine eyes have done amiss ; 
Let them receive deserved punishment ! 
For so the perfect rule of Justice is. 
Each for his own deeds, should be praised, or shent. 
Then, doubtless, is it both 'gainst Law and Sense, 
My Heart should suffer for mine Eyes' offence. 

VI I. 

1 am not sick, and yet I am not sound ; 

I eat and sleep, and yet, methinks, I thrive not. 

I sport and laugh, and yet my griefs abound ; 

I am not dead, and yet, methinks, I live not. 

" What uncouth cause hath these strange passions bred. 

To make at once, sick, sound, alive, and dead ?" 

Something I want ; but what, I cannot say. 
O, now I know ! It is myself I want ! 
My Love, with her, hath ta'en my heart away ; 
Yea, heart and all, and left me very scant. 
" Such power hath Love, and nought but Love alone. 
To make divided creatures live in one." 

, I;,*;;] A L c ILIA. 265 

I X. 

Philopar- " Come, gentle Death ! and strike me with thy 
THEN. dart! 

Life is but loathsome to a man opprest." 
Death. " How can I kill thee! when thou hast no heart ? 
That which thou hadst, is in another's breast ! " 
Philopar- " Then, must I live, and languish still in 

THEN. pain ? " 

Death. " Yea, till thy Love restore thy heart again ! " 


Were Love a Fire, my tears might quench it lightly ; 
Or were it Water, my hot heart might dry it. 
If Air, then might it pass away more slightly ; 
Or were it Earth, the world might soon descry it. 
If Fire nor Water, Air nor Earth it be ; 
What then is it, that thus tormenteth me? 


To paint her outward shape and gifts of mind, 

It doth exceed my wit and cunning far. 

She hath no fault, but that she is unkind. 

All other parts in her so complete are. 

That who, to view them throughly would devise. 

Must have his body nothing else but eyes, 


Fair is my Love I whose parts are so well framed. 
By Nature's special order and direction; 
That She herself is more than half ashamed. 
In having made a work of such perfection. 
And well may Nature blush at such a feature ; 
Seeing herself excelled in her creature. 


Her body is straight, slender, and upright ; 
Her visage comely, and her looks demure 
Mixt with a cheerful grace that yields delight ; 
Her eyes, like stars, bright, shining, clear and pure : 
Which I describing, Love bids stay my pen. 
And says, " It's not a work for mortal men ! " 


4 L C I J. I 


The ancient poets write of Graces three, 
Which meeting all together in one creature, 
In all points, perfect make the Frame to be ; 
For inward virtues, and for outward feature 
But smile, Alcilia ! and the world shall see 
That in thine eyes, a hundred Graces be ! 


As Love had drawn his bow, ready to siioot, 

Aiming at me, with resolute intent ; 

Straight, bow and shaft he cast down at his foot. 

And said, " Why, needless, should one shaft be spent ? 

I'll spare it then, and now it shall suffice 

Instead of shafts, to use Alcilia's eyes." 

Blush not, my Love ! for fear lest Phcebus spy ! 
Which if he do, then, doubtless, he will say, 
" Thou seek'st to dim his clearness with thine eye ! " 
That clearness, which, from East, brings gladsome day : 
But most of all, lest Jove should see, I dread ; 
And take thee up to heaven like Ganymede. 


Philoparthen. " What is the cause Alcilia is displeased?" 
" Because she wants that which should 

most content her." [eased ! " 

" O did I know it, soon should she be 
" Perhaps, thou dost ! and that doth most 

torment her." 
" Yet, let her ask! what she desires to have." 
" Guess, by thyself ! For maidens must not 

crave ! " 


My Love, by chance, her tender finger pricked ; 

As, in the dark, I strived for a kiss: 

Whose blood, I seeing, offered to have licked, 

But half in anger, she refused this. 

O that she knew the difference of the smart 

'Twi.xt her pricked finger, and my pierced heart ! 




?^59^] A L C I L I A . 267 


Philopar- " I pray thee, tell ! What makes my heart to 
THEN. tremble. 

When, on a sudden, I, Alcilia spy ? " 
Love. " Because thy heart cannot thy joy dissemble ! 

Thy life and death are both lodged in her eye." 
Philopar- " Dost thou not her, with self-same passion 

THEN. Strike ? " 

Love. " O, no ! Her heart and thine are not alike." 

XX . 

Such are thy parts of body and of mind ; 

That if I should not love thee as I do, 

I should too much degenerate Irom Kind, 

And think the world would blame my weakness too. 

For he, whom such perfections cannot move, 

Is either senseless, or not born to love. 


Alcilia's eyes have set my heart on fire, 
The pleasing object that my pain doth feed : 
Yet still to see those eyes I do desire, 
As if my help should from my hurt proceed. 
Happy were I, might there in her be found 
A will to heal, as there was power to wound. 

Unwise was he, that painted Love a boy ; 
Who, for his strength, a giant should have been. 
It's strange a child should work so great annoy ; 
Yet howsoever strange, too truly seen. 
" But what is he ? that dares at Love repine ; 
Whose works are wonders, and himself divine ! " 


My fair Alcilia ! gladly would I know it. 

If ever Loving Passion pierced thy heart ? 

O, no! For, then, thy kindness soon would show it ! 

And of my pains, thyself wouldst bear some part. 

Full little knoweth he that hath not proved, 

What hell it is to love, and not be loved. 

268 A L C I L I A. [ , Jj^ 


Love ! Art thou blind ? Nay, thou canst see too well ! 
And they are blind that so report of thee ! 
That thou dost see, myself by proof can tell ; 
(A hapless proof thereof is made by me) ; 
For sure I am, hadst thou not had thy sight, 
Thou never couldst have hit my heart so right. 

XX V . 

Long have I languished, and endured much smart 
Since hapless I, the Cruel Fair did love ; 
And lodged her in the centre of my heart. 
Who, there abiding, Reason should her move. 
Though of my pains she no compassion take ; 
Yet to respect me, for her own sweet sake. 


In midst of winter season, as the snow. 

Whose milk white mantle overspreads the ground ; 

In part, the colour of my love is so. 

Yet their effects, I have contrary found : 

For when the sun appears, snow melts anon ; 

But I melt always when my sun is gone. 

The sweet content, at first, I seemed to prove 
(While yet Desire unfledged, could scarcely fly), 
Did make me think there was no life to Love ; 
Till all too late. Time taught the contrary. 
For, like a fly, I sported with the flame ; 
Till, like a fool, I perished in the same. 


After dark night, the cheerful day appeareth ; 
After an ebb, the river flows again ; 
After a storm, the cloudy heaven cleareth: 
All labours have their end, or ease of pain. 
Fyach creature hath relief and rest, save I, 
Who only dying, live ; and living, die ! 

JjC] A LC I L I A. 269 


Sometimes I seek for company to sport, 
Whereby I might my pensive thoughts beguile ; 
Sometimes, again, I hide me from resort, 
And muse alone : but yet, alas, the while 
In changing place, I cannot change my mind ; 
For wheresoe'er I fly, myself I find. 


Fain would I speak, but straight my heart doth tremble. 

And checks my tongue that should my griefs reveal : 

And so I strive my Passions to dissemble, 

Which all the art I have, cannot conceal. 

Thus standing mute, my heart with longing starveth ! 

" It grieves a man to ask, what he deserveth." Mcritum 

& petere grave. 


Since you desire of me the cause to know, 
For which these divers Passions I have proved ; 
Look m your glass ! which will not fail to show 
The shadowed portrait oi my best beloved. 
If that suffice not, look into my heart ! 
Where it's engraven by a new found art. 


The painful ploughman hath his heart's delight; 
Who, though his daily toil his body tireth, 
Yet merrily comes whistling home at night, 
And sweetly takes the ease his pain requireth : 
But neither days nor nights can yield me rest ; 
Born to be wretched, and to live opprest ! 


O well were it, if Nature would devise 

That men with men together might engender. 

As grafts of trees, one irom another rise ; 

Then nought, of due, to women should we render ! 

But, vain conceit ! that Nature should do this; 

Since, well we know, herself a woman is ! 

270 A L C I L 1 A. \^,\-^i. 


Upon the altar where Love's fires burned, 

My Sighs and Tears for sacrifice I offered ; 

When Love, in rage, from me his countenance turned, 

And did reject what I so humbly proffered. 

If he, my heart expect, alas, it's gone ! 

" How can a man give that, is not his own ? " 


Alcilia said, " She did not know my mind, 

Because my words did not declare my love ! " 

Thus, where I merit most, least help I find ; 

And her unkindness all too late I prove. 

Grant, Love ! that She, of whom thou art neglected, 

May one day love, and little be respected ! 


The Cynic * being asked, " When he should love ?" -diocene^ 

Made answer, " When he nothing had to do ; 

For Love was Sloth ! " But he did never prove 

By his experience, what belonged thereto. "^"'oZrum 

For had he tasted but so much as I, "nf^otium. 

He would have soon reformed his heresy. 


judge me not, sweet Love, by outward show ! 
Though sometimes strange I seem, and to neglect thee ! 
Yet didst thou, but my inward Passions know. 

Thou shouldst perceive how highly I respect thee ! 

" When looks are fixed, the heart ofttimes doth tremble ! 

" Little loves he, that cannot much dissemble I " 


Parting from thee ! even from myself I part. 
Thou art the star, by which my life is guided ! 

1 have the body, but thou hast the heart ! 
The better part is from itself divided. 
Thus do I live, and this I do sustain, 

Till gracious Fortune make us meet again ! 

I'sgs^ A L C / L / A . 271 


Open the sluices of my feeble eyes, 
And let my tears have passage from their fountain ! 
Fill all the earth, with plaints! the air, with cries ! 
Which may pierce rocks, and reach the highest mountain 
That so, Love's wrath, by these extremes appeased ; 
My griefs may cease, and my poor heart be eased. 


" After long sickness, health brings more delight." 

" Seas seem more calm, by storms once overblown." 

"The day more cheerful, by the passed night." 

" Each thing is, by his contrary best known." 

" Continual ease is pain : Change sometimes meeter." 

*' Discords in music make music sweeter." 

Fear to offend forbids my tongue to speak, 
And signs and sighs must tell my inward woe : 
But (ay the while) my heart with grief doth break. 
And she, by signs, my sorrow will not know. 
" The stillest streams we see in deepest fords ; 
And Love is greatest, when it wanteth words." 

X L I I . 

" No pain so great but may be eased by Art." 

" Though much we suffer, yet despair we should not." 

" In midst of griefs, Hope always hath some part ; 

And Time may heal, what Art and Reason could not.'' 

O what is then this Passion I endure. 

Which neither Reason, Art, nor Time can cure ? 

Pale Jealousy ! Fiend of the eternal Night ! 
Misshapen creature, born before thy time ! 
The Imp of Horror ! Foe to sweet Delight ! 
Making each error seem an heinous crime. 
Ah, too great pity ! (were there remedy), 
That ever Love should keep Thee company ! 

2 72 A L c I L r A . [,^;,^: 


The days are now come to their shortest date ; sohtit-.h-umai. 
And must, in time, by course, increase again. Vc"h)T"p'n7hc 
But only I continue at one state, 'th^ytL''"' "^ 

Void of all hope of help, or ease of pain ; 
For days of joy must still be short with me, 
And nights of sorrow must prolonged be. 

XL V . 

Sleep now, my Muse ! and henceforth take thy rest ! 
Which all too long thyself in vain hath wasted. 
Let it suffice I still must live opprest ; 
And of my pains, the fruit must ne'er be tasted. 
Then sleep, my Muse ! " Fate cannot be withstood." 
" It's better sleep ; than wake, and do no good." 


Why should I love, since She doth prove ungrateful : 

Since, for reward, I reap nought but disdain. 

Love thus to be requited, it is hateful ! 

And Reason would, I should not love in vain. 

Yet all in vain, when all is out of season. 

For " Love hath no society with Reason." 

Heart's Ease and I have been at odds, too long ! 
I follow fast, but still he flies from me ! 
I sue for grace, and yet sustain the wrong ; 
So gladly would I reconciled be. 
Love ! make us one ! So shalt thou work a wonder ; 
Uniting them, that were so far asunder. 


" Uncouth, unkist," our ancient Poet * said. • chaucer. 

And he that hides his wants, when he hath need, 

May, after, have his want of wit bewrayed ; 

And fail of his desire, when others speed. 

Then boldly speak ! " The worst is at first entering ! " 

" Much good success men miss, for lack of venturing ! " 

l-^ Alcilia. 273 

XL I X. 

Declare the griefs wherewith thou art opprest, 
And let the world be witness of thy woes ! 
Let not thy thoughts lie buried in thy breast; 
But let thy tongue, thy discontents disclose ! 
For " who conceals his pain when he is grieved, 
May well be pitied, but no way relieved." 


Wretched is he that loving, sets his heart 

On her, whose love, from pure affection swerveth ; 

Who doth permit each one to have a part 

Of that, which none but he alone deserveth. 

Give all, or none ! For once, of this be sure ! Neamsme 

" Lordship and Love no partners may endure." "omYagnu.'' 


Who spends the weary day in pensive thought, 

And night in dreams of horror and affright ; 

Whose wealth is want ; whose hope is come to nought ; 

Himself, the mark for Love's and Fortune's spite : 

Let him appear, if any such there be 1 

His case and mine more fitly will agree. 

LI I . 

Fair tree, but fruitless! sometimes full of sap ! 

Which now yields nought at all, that may delight me f 

Some cruel frost, or some untimely hap 

Hath made thee barren, only to despite me ! 

Such trees, in vain, with hope do feed Desire; , 

And serve for fuel to increase Love's fire. 

LI I I . 

In company (whiles sad and mute I sit. 

My thoughts elsewhere, than there I seem to be) 

Possessed with some deep melancholy fit ; 

One of my friends observes the same in me, 

And says in jest, which I in earnest prove, 

" He looks like one, that had lost his First Love! " 

Eng. IV. 18 


A L C I L I A . 

L I V 

'Twixt Hope and Fear, in doubtful balance peazed, 
My fate, my fortune, and my love depends. 
Sometimes my Hope is raised, when Love is pleased ; 
Which Fear weighs down, when ought his will offends. 
The heavens are sometimes clear, and sometimes lower ; 
And " he that loves, must taste both sweet and sour! " 

L V . 
Retire, my wandering Thoughts ! unto your rest 1 
Do not, henceforth, consume yourselves in vain ! 
No mortal man, in all points, can be blest ; 
What now is mine, may be another's pain. 
The watery clouds are clear, when storms are past ; 
And " things, in their extremes, long cannot last." 

L VI . 

The fire of Love is first bred in the Eye, 
And thence conveys his heat unto the Heart, 
Where it lies hid, till time his force descry. Ve">M. 

The Tongue thereto adds fuel for his part ; ractus. 

The touch of Lips, which doth succeed the same. 
Kindles the rest, and so it proves a flame. 

L V I I . 

The tender Sprigs that sprouted in the field, 
And promised hope of fruit to him that planted ; 
Instead of fruit, doth nought but blossoms yield, 
Though care, and pain to prune them never wanted : 
Even so, my hopes do nought but blossoms prove. 
And yield no fruits to recompense my love. 

L V I I I . 
Though little sign of love in show appear ; 
Yet think, True Love, of colours hath no need ! 
It's not the glorious garments, which men wear. 
That makes them other than they are indeed : 
" In meanest show, the most affection dwells; 
And lichest pearls are found in simplest shells." 

^59^] A L C I L I A . 275 

LI X. 

Let not thy tongue, thy inward thoughts disclose ! 

Or tell the sorrows that thy heart endures ! 

Let no man's ears be witness of thy woes ! 

Since pity, neither help nor ease procures : martial. 

And "only he is, truly, said to moan, {"reX',' si«t 

Whose griefs none knoweth but himself alone." taudout. 


A thousand times ; I curse these idle rhymes, 

Which do their Maker's follies vain set forth ; 

Yet bless I them again, as many times. 

For that in them, I blaze Alcilia's worth. Aitm 

Meanwhile, I fare, as doth the torch by night, iZ'ip'Jmf 

Which wastes itself in giving others light. coijido. 

LX I. 

Enough of this ! For all is nought regarded ! 

And She, not once, with my complaints is moved. 

Die, hapless love ! since thou art not rewarded ; 

Yet ere thou die, to witness that I loved ! 

Report my truth ! and tell the Fair unkind. 

That " She hath lost, what none but She shall find ! " 

LX I I . 

Lovers, lament ! You that have truly loved ! 
For Philoparthen, now, hath lost his love: 
The greatest loss that ever lover proved. 
O let his hard hap some compassion move ! 
Who had not rued the loss of her so much ; 
But that he knows the world yields no more such. 

LX I I I . 

Upon the ocean of conceited error. 

My weary spirits, many storms have past ; 

Which now in harbour, free from wonted terror, 

Joy the possession of their rest at last. 

And, henceforth, safely may they lie at road ! 

And never rove for " Had I wist ! " abroad ! 

L ovE's Accusation at the "J udge^nent Seat 

of Reason; wherein the Author s whole 

success in his love is covertly 


[Compare this, with Gascoigne's poem, Vol. I. p. 63.] 

N Reason's Court, myself being Plaintiff 
Love was, by process, summoned to appear. 
That so the wrongs, which he had done to me, 
Might be made known; and all the world 
might see : 
And seeing, rue what to my cost I proved ; 
While faithful, but unfortunate I IdVed. 

After I had obtained audience ; 
I thus began to give in evidence. 

\The Authors Evidence against Love7\ 

" Most sacred Queen ! and Sovereign of man's heart ! 
Which of the mind dost rule the better part ! 
First bred in heaven, and from thence, hither sent 
To guide men's actions by thy regiment ! 
Vouchsafe a while to hear the sad complaint 
Of him that Love hath long kept in restraint ; 

-j;] A L c I L I A . 277 

And, as to you it properly belongs, 
Grant justice of my undeserved wrongs! 

It's now two years, as I remember well, 
Since first this wretch, (sent from the nether hell, 
To plague the world with new-found cruelties), 
Under the shadow of two crystal Eyes, 
Betrayed my Sense ; and, as I slumbering lay, 
Feloniously conveyed my heart away ; 
Which most unjustly he detained from me, 
And exercised thereon strange tyranny. 

Sometime his manner was, in sport and game, 
With briars and thorns, to raze and prick the same ; 
Sometime with nettles of Desire to sting it ; 
Sometime with pincons* of Despair to wring it ; \.* tubers.} 
Sometime again, he would anoint the sore. 
And heal the place that he had hurt before : 
But hurtful helps ! and ministered in vain ! 
Which served only to renew my pain. 
For, after that, more wounds he added still ; 
Which pierced deep, but had no power to kill. 
Unhappy medicine ! which, instead of cure, 
Gives strength to make the patient more endure ! 

But that which was most strange of all the rest 
(Myself being thus 'twixt life and death distrest), 
Ofttimes, when as my pain exceeded measure. 
He would persuade me that the same was pleasure ; 
My solemn sadness, but contentment meet ; 
My travail, rest ; and all my sour, sweet ; 
My wounds, but gentle strokes : whereat he smiled, 
And by these slights, my careless youth beguiled. 

Thus did I fare, as one that living died, 
(For greater pains, I think, hath no man tried) 

278 A r. CILIA. [,J^^ 

Disquiet thoughts, like furies in my breast 
Nourished the poison that my spirits possesst. 
Now Grief, then Joy ; now War, then Peace unstable. 
Nought sure I had, but to be miserable. 

I cannot utter all, I must confess. 
Men may conceive more than they can express ! 
But (to be short), which cannot be excused, 
With vain illusions. Love, my hope abused ; 
Persuading me I stood upon firm ground 
When, unawares, myself on sands I found. 
This is the point which most I do enforce ! 
That Love, without all pity or remorse, 
Did suffer me to languish still in grief 
Void of contentment, succour, or relief: 
And when I looked my pains should be rewarded, 
I did perceive, that they were nought regarded. 

For why ? Alas, these hapless eyes did see 
Alcilia loved another more than me ! 
So in the end, when I expected most ; 
My hope, my love, and fortune thus were crost." 

Proceeding further, Reason bad me stay 
For the Defendant had some thing to say. 
Then to the Judge, for justice, loud I cried! 
And so I paused : and Love thus replied. 

\Lov^s Reply to the Author.'] 

" Since Reason ought to lend indifferent ears 
Unto both parties, and judge as truth appears ; 
Most gracious Lady ! give me leave to speak. 
And answer his Complaint, that seeks to wreak 
His spite and malice on me, without cause ; 

5^:] A L C I L I A. 279 

In charging me to have transgressed thy laws ! 

Of all his follies, he imputes the blame 

To me, poor Love ! that nought deserves the same. 

Himself it is, that hath abused me! 

As by mine answer, shall well proved be. 

Fond youth ! thou knowest what I for thee effected 1 
Though, now, I find it little be respected. 
I purged thy wit, which was before but gross. 
The metal pure, I severed from the dross, 
And did inspire thee with my sweetest fire 
That kindled in thee Courage and Desire: 
Not like unto those servile Passions 
Which cumber men's imaginations 
With Avarice. Ambition, and Vainglory ; 
Desire of things fleeting and transitory. 
No base conceit, but such as Powers above 
Have known and felt, I mean, th' Instinct of Love; 
Which making men, all earthly things despise, 
Transports them to a heavenly paradise. 

Where thou complain'st of sorrows in thy heart, 
Who lives on earth but therein hath his part ? 
Are these thy fruits ? Are these thy best rewards 
For all the pleasing glances, sly regards, 
The sweet stol'n kisses, amorous conceits. 
So many smiles, so many fair intreats, 
Such kindness as Alcilia did bestow 
All for my sake ! as well thyself dost know ? 
That Love should thus be used, it is hateful ! 
But ' all is lost, that's done for one ungrateful.' 

Where he allegeth that he was abused 
In that he truly loving, was refused : 
That's most untrue! and plainly may be triid. 

28o A L c r L I A . [ , \^^, 

Who never asked, could never be denied ! 

But he affected rather single life, 

Than yoke of marriage, matching with a vk^ife. 

And most men, now, make love to none but heires[ses] 

Poor love ! GOD wot ! that poverty empairs. 

Worldly respects. Love little doth regard. 

' Who loves, hath only love for his reward ! ' 

He merits a lover's name, indeed ! 7v„- ,/«<,//> 

That casts no doubts, which vain suspicion jZ'iL.^iy 

breed : 
But desperately at hazard, throws the dice. 
Neglecting due regard of friends' advice ; 
That wrestles with his fortune and his fate, 
Which had ordained to better his estate ; 
That hath no care of wealth, no fear of lack, 
But ventures forward, though he see his wrack ; 
That with Hope's wings, like Icarus doth fly, 
Though for his rashness, he like fortune try ; 
That, to his fame, the world of him may tell 
How, while he soared aloft, adown he fell. 
And so True Love awarded him his doom 
In scaling heaven, to have made the sea his tomb ; 
That making shipwreck of his dearest fame. 
Betrays himself to poverty and shame ; 
That hath no sense of sorrow, or repent, 
No dread of perils far or imminent ; 
But doth prefer before all pomp or pelf, 
The sweet of love as dearer than himself. 
Who, were his passage stopped by sword and fire. 
Would make way through, to compass his Desire. 
For which he would (though heaven and earth forbad it) 
Hazard to lose a kingdom, if he had it. 

f^] A L C I L I A. 281 

These be the things wherein I glory most, 
Whereof, this my Accuser cannot boast : 
Who was indifferent to his loss or gain ; 
And better pleased to fail, than to obtain. 
All qualified affections, Love doth hate ! 
And likes him best that's most intemperate. 
But hence, proceeds his malice and despite ; 
While he himself bars of his own delight. 
For when as he, Alcilia first affected, 
(Like one in show, that love little respected) 
He masqued, disguised, and entertained his thought 
With hope of that, which he in secret sought ; 
And still forbare to utter his desire, 
Till his delay receive her worthy hire. 
And well we know, what maids themselves would have, 
Men must sue for, and by petition crave. 
But he regarding more his Wealth, than Will ; 
Hath little care his Fancy to fulfil. 
Yet when he saw Alcilia loved another ; 
The secret fire, which in his breast did smother, 
Began to smoke, and soon had proved a flame: 
If Temperance had not allayed the same. 
Which, afterward, so quenched he did not find 
But that some sparks remained still behind. 
Thus, when time served, he did refuse to crave it ; 
And yet envied another man should have it ! 

As though, fair maids should wait, at young men's 
Whilst they, 'twixt sport and earnest, love at leisure. 
Nay, at the first ! when it is kindly proffered 1 
Maids must accept ; least twice, it be not offered ! 
Else though their beauty seem their good t'importune. 

282 A L C I L I A . \_,\ 

Yet may they lose the better of their fortune. 

Thus, as this Fondling coldly went about it ; 
So in the end, he clearly went without it. 
For while he, doubtful, seemed to make a stay, 
A Mongrel stole the maiden's heart away ; 
For which, though he lamented much in shew, 
Yet was he, inward, glad it fell out so. 

Now, Reason ! you may plainly judge by this. 
Not I, but he, the false dissembler is : 
Who, while fond hope his lukewarm love did feed, 
Made sign of more than he sustained indeed : 
And filled his rhymes with fables and with lies. 
Which, without Passion, he did oft devise ; 
So to delude the ignorance of such 
That pitied him, thinking he loved too much. 
And with conceit, rather to shew his Wit, 
Than manifest his faithful Love by it. 

Much more than this, could I lay to his charge; 
But time would fail to open all at large. 
Let this suffice to prove his bad intent. 
And prove that Love is clear and innocent." 

Thus, at the length, though late, he made an end. 
And both of us did earnestly, attend 
The final judgement. Reason should award : 
When thus she 'gan to speak. " With due regard, 
The matter hath been heard, on either side. 
For judgement, you must longer time abide ! 
The cause is weighty, and of great import." 
And so she, smiling, did adjourn the Court. 

Little availed it, then, to argue more ; 
So I returned in worse case than before. 

A L C I L I A . 283 

Love Deciphered. 

OvE and I are now divided, 
Conceit, by Error, was misguided. 
Alcilia hath my love despised ! 
" No man loves, that is advised." 
" Time at length, hath Truth detected." 
Love hath missed what he expected. 
Yet missing that, which long he sought 
I have found that, I little thought. 
" Errors, in time, may be redrest," 
" The shortest follies are the best." 

Love and Youth are now asunder r 

Reason's glory, Nature's wonder. 

My thoughts, long bound, are now enlarged ; 

My Folly's penance is discharged : 

Thus Time hath altered my estate. 

" Repentance never comes too late." 

Ah, well I find that Love is nought 

But folly, and an idle thought. 

The difference is 'twixt Love and me, 

That he is blind, and I can see. 

Love is honey mixed with gall ! 

A thraldom free, a freedom thrall 1 

A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour ! 

Got in a year, lost in an hour ! 

A peaceful war, a warlike peace ! 

Whose wealth brings want ; whose want, increase ! 

Full long pursuit, and little gain ! 

Uncertain pleasure, certain pain ! 

Regard of neither right nor wrong ! 

For short delights, repentance long ! 

284 A L C I L I A . 

Love is the sickness of the thought ! 

Conceit of pleasure, dearly bought ! 

A restless Passion of the mind ! 

A labyrinth of errors blind ! 

A sugared poison ! fair deceit ! 

A bait for fools ! a furious heat ! 

A chilling cold ! a wondrous passion 

Exceeding man's imagination ! 

Which none can tell in whole, or part, 

But only he that feels the smart. 

Love is sorrow mixt with gladness ! 

Fear, with hope ! and hope, with madness ! 

Long did I love, but all in vain ; 

I loving, was not loved again : 

For which my heart sustained much woe. 

It fits not maids to use men so ! 

Just deserts are not regarded, 

Never love so ill rewarded ! 

But " all is lost that is not sought ! " 

" Oft wit proves best, that's dearest bought ! 

Women were made for men's relief; 
To comfort, not to cause their grief. 
Where most I merit, least I find : 
No marvel ! since that love is blind. 
Had She been kind, as She was fair. 
My case had been more strange and rare. 
But women love not by desert ! 
Reason in them hath weakest part ! 
Then, henceforth, let them love that list, 
I will beware of " Had I wist ! " 

A L C I L I A . 285 

These faults had better been concealed, 
Than to my shame abroad revealed. 
Yet though my youth did thus miscarry, 
My harms may make others more wary. 
Love is but a youthful fit, 
And some men say " It's sign of wit ! " 
But he that loves as I have done ; 
To pass the day, and see no sun : 
Must change his note, and sing Erravi ! 
Or else may chance to cry Peccavi ! 

The longest day must have his night, 
Reason triumphs in Love's despite. 
I follow now Discretion's lore ; 
" Henceforth to like ; but love no more ! ' 
Then gently pardon what is past ! 
For Love draws onwards to his last. 
" He walks," they say, " with wary eye ; 
Whose footsteps never tread awry ! " 
My Muse a better work intends : 
And here my Loving Folly ends. 

After long storms and tempests past, 
I see the haven at the last ; 
Where I must rest my weary bark, 
And there unlade my care and cark. 
My pains and travails long endured. 
And all my wounds must there be cured. 
Joys, out of date, shall be renewed ; 
To think of perils past eschewed. 
When I shall sit full blithe and jolly. 
And talk of lovers and their folly. 

286 A L C I L I A . [ , ; 

Then Love and Folly, both adieu I 
Long have I been misled by you. 
Folly may new adventures try ! 
But Reason says that " Love must die ! " 
Yea, die indeed, although grieve him ; 
For my cold heart cannot relieve him 1 
Yet for her sake, whom once I loved, 
(Though all in vain, as time hath proved) 
I'll take the pain, if She consent ! 
To write his Will and Testament. 

Love's last JVill and Testament. 

Y Spirit, I bequeath unto the air! 

My Body shall unto the earth repair ! 
My Burning Brand, unto the Prince of Hell ; 
T'increase men's pains that there in darkness 
dwell ! 
For well I ween, above nor under ground, 
A greater pain than that, may not be found. 

My sweet Conceits of Pleasure and Delight, 
To Erebus ! and to Eternal Night ! 

My Sighs, my Tears, my Passions, and Laments, 
Distrust, Despair ; all these my hourly rents, 
With other plagues that lovers' minds enthral : 
Unto Oblivion, I bequeath them all ! 

My broken Bow, and Shafts, I give to Reason ! 
My Cruelties, my Slights, and forged Treason, 
To Womankind ! and to their seed, for aye ! 
To wreak their spite, and work poor men's decay. 
Reser\'ing only for Alcilia's part, 
Small kindness, and less care of lovers' smart. 

A 1. c 1 1. I A . 287 

For She is from the vulgar sort excepted ; 
And had She, Philoparthen's love respected, 
Requiting it with Hke affection, 
She might have had the praise of all perfection. 

This done ; if I have any Faith and Troth ; 
To Philoparthen, I assign them both ! 
For unto him, of right, they do belong 
Who loving truly, suffered too much wrong. 

Time shall be sole Executor of my will ; 
Who may these things, in order due fulfil, 

To warrant this my Testament for good ; 
I have subscribed it, with my dying blood." 

And so he died, that all this bale had bred. 
And yet my heart misdoubts he is not dead: 
For, sure, I fear, should I Alcilia spy ; 
She might, eftsoons, revive him with her eye ! 
Such power divine remiaineth in her sight ; 
To make him live again, in Death's despite. 


The Sounds follozvhtg were written by the Author, 

after he began to decline from his Passionate 

Affection; and in them, he seemcth to 

please himself with describing the 

Vanity of Love, the Frailty 

of Beatity, and the 

sour fruits of 


Ow have I spun the web of my own woes, 
And laboured long to purchase my own loss. 
Too late I see, I was beguiled with shows. 
And that which once seemed gold, now 

proves but dross. 
Thus am I, both of help and hope bereaved. 
" He never tried that never was deceived. 

I I i«» 

Once did I love, but more than once repent ; 
When vintage came, my grapes were sour, or rotten. 
Long time in grief and pensive thoughts I spent ; 
And all for that, which Time hath made forgotten. 
O strange effects of time ! which, once being lost, 
Make men secure of that they loved most. 


Thus have I long in th'air of Error hovered, 
And run my ship upon Repentance's shelf. 
Truth hath the veil of Ignorance uncovered, 
And made me see ; and seeing, know myself. 
Of former follies, now, I must repent. 
And count this work, part of my time ill spent. 

,]-^]- Alcilia. 2 

I V. 

What thing is Love ? "A tyrant of the Mind ! " 
" Begot by heat of Youth ; brought forth by Sloth ; 

Nursed with vain Thoughts, and changing as the wind ! 
" A deep Dissembler, void of faith and troth ! " 
" Fraught with fond errors, doubts, despite, disdain, 

And all the plagues that earth and hell contain ! " 

Like to a man that wanders all the day 
Through ways unknown, to seek a thing of worth, 
And, at the night, sees he hath gone astray; 
As near his end, as when he first set forth : 
Such is my case, whose hope untimely crost, 
After long errors, proves my labour lost. 

V I . 

Failed of that hap, whereto my hope aspired, 

Deprived of that which might have been mine own : 

Another, now, must have wliat I desired; 

And things too late, by their events are known. 

Thus do we wish for that cannot be got ; 

And when it may, then we regard it not. 

Ingrateful Love ! since thou hast played thy part ! 
(Enthralling him, whom Time hath since made free) 
It rests with me, to use both Wit and Art, 
That of my wrongs I may revenged be : 
And in those eyes, where first thou took'st thy fire ! 
Thyself shalt perish, through my cold desire. 

" Grieve not thyself, for that cannot be had ! 
And things, once cureless, let them cureless rest ! " 
" Blame not thy fortune, though thou deem it bad ! 
What's past and gone will never be redrest." 
" The only help, for that cannot be gained. 
Is to forget it might have been obtained." 
ENG. GAR. IV. 19 

290 A L C I I. I A . [ , ^5^ 

I X . 

How happy, once, did I myself esteem ! 

While Love with Hope, my fond Desire did cherish ; 

My state as blissful as a King's did seem, 

Had I been sure my joys should never perish. 

" The thoughts of men are fed with expectation." 

" Pleasures themselves are but imagination." 


Why should we hope for that which is to come, 
Where the event is doubtful, and unknown? 
Such fond presumptions soon receive their doom, 
When things expected we count as our own ; 
Whose issue, oittimes, in the end proves nought 
But hope ! a shadow, and an idle thought. 

XI . 

In vain do we complain our life is short, 
(Which well disposed, great matters might effect) 
While we ourselves, in toys and idle sport. 
Consume the better part without respect. 
And careless (as though time should never end it) 
'Twixt sleep, and waking, prodigally spend it. 

Youthful Desire is like the summer season 
That lasts not long ; for winter must succeed : 
And so our Passions must give place to Reason ; 
And riper years, more ripe effects must breed. 
Of all the seed, Youth sowed in vain desires, 
\ reaped nought, but thistles, thorns, and briars. 


"To err and do amiss, is given to men by Kind." 
" Who walks so sure, but sometimes treads awry ? " 
But to continue still in errors blind, 
A bad and bestial nature doth descry. chimn/a, 

" Who proves not ; fails not ; and brings nought "^fy"jl"/ 
to end : ramciida. 

Who proves and fails, may, afterward, amend." 

^sw] Alcilia. 291 

X I V. 

There was but One, and doubtless She the best ! 
Whom I did more than all the world esteem : 
She having failed, I disavow the rest ; 
For, now, I find " things are not as they seem." 
" Default of that, wherein our will is crost, 
Ofttimes, unto our good availeth most." 

I fare like him who, now his land-hope spent, 
By unknown seas, sails to the Indian shore ; 
Returning thence no richer than he went, 
Yet cannot much his fortune blame therefore.' ciuva.t 
Since " Whoso ventures forth upon the Main, yJZ!!Z' 
Makes a good mart, if he return again." '""£''" 


Lovers' Conceits are like a flatt'ring Glass, 

That makes the lookers fairer than they are ; 

Who, pleased in their deceit, contented pass. 

Such once was mine, who thought there was none fair, 

None witty, modest, virtuous but She ; 

Yet now I find the Glass abused me. 


Adieu, fond Love ! the Mother of all Error ! 
Replete with hope and fear, with joy and pain. 
False fire of Fancy ! full of care and terror. 
Shadow of pleasures fleeting, short, and vain I 
Die, loathed Love ! Receive thy latest doom I 
" Night be thy grave ! and Oblivion be thy tomb !" 


Who would be rapt up into the third heaven 
To see a world of strange imaginations ? 
Who, careless, would leave all at six and seven, 
To wander in a labyrinth of Passions ? 

I agendo 

Who would, at once, all kinds of folly prove ; 

When he hath nought to do, then let him love ! di^>^i^. 

292 A I. c 1 1. I A . [ , 

X I X. 

What thing is Beauty ? " Nature's dearest Minion ! " 
" The Snare of Youth ! lii<e the inconstant moon 
Waxing and waning ! " " Error of Opinion ! " 
" A Morning's Flower, that withereth ere noon !" 
" A swelling Fruit ! no sooner ripe, than rotten ! " 
" Which sickness makes forlorn, and time forgotten ! " 


The Spring of Youth, which now is in his prime ; 
Winter of Age, with hoary frosts shall nip ! 
Beauty shall then be made the prey of Time ! 
And sour Remorse, deceitful Pleasures whip ! 
Then, henceforth, let Discretion rule Desire ! 
And Reason quench the flame of Cupid's fire! 


what a life was that sometime 1 led ! 

When Love with Passions did my peace encumber ; 
While, like a man neither alive nor dead, 

1 was rapt from myself, as one in slumber: 
Whose idle senses, charmed with fond illusion. 
Did nourish that which bred their own confusion. 


The child, for ever after, dreads the fire ; 

That once therewith by chance his finger burned. 

Water of Time distilled doth cool Desire. 

" And far he ran," they say, " that never turned." 

After long storms, I see the port at last. 

Farewell, Folly ! For now my love is past ! 

Base sei-vile thoughts of men, too much dejected. 
That seek, and crouch, and kneel for women's grace ! 
Of whom, your pain and service is neglected ; 
Yourselves, despised ; rivals, before your face 1 
The more you sue, the less you shall obtain ! 
The less you win, the more shall be your gain ! 


lyfs] A LCILIA. 293 


In looking back unto my follies past ; 

While I the present, with times past compare, 

And think how many hours I then did waste 

Painting on clouds, and building in the air : 

I sigh within myself, and say in sadness, 

"This thing which fools call Love, is nought but Madness!" 

" The things we have, we most of all neglect ; 
And that we have not, greedily we crave. 
The things we may have, little we respect ; 
And still we covet, that we cannot have. 
Yet, howsoe'er, in our conceit, we prize them ; 
No sooner gotten, but we straight despise them." 


Who seats his love upon a woman's will, 
And thinks thereon to build a happy state ; 
Shall be deceived, when least he thinks of ill, 
And rue his folly when it is too late. 
He ploughs on sand, and sows upon the wind, 
That hopes for constant love in Womankind. 


I will no longer spend my time in toys ! 

Seeing Love is Error, Folly, and Offence; 

An idle fit for fond and reckless boys, 

Or else for men deprived of common sense. 

'Twi.xt Lunacy and Love, these odds appear ; 

Th' one makes fools, monthly ; th' other, all the year. 

While season served to sow, my plough stood still ; 
My grafts unset, when other's trees did bloom. 
I spent the Spring in sloth, and slept my fill ; 
But never thought of Winter's cold to come ; 
Till Spring was past, the Summer well nigh gone ; 
When I awaked, and saw my harvest none. 

294 ^1 i' ^^ ' '■ /■'• Li 


Now Love sits all alone, in black attire ; 
His broken bow, and arrows lying by him ; 
His fire extinct, that whilom fed Desire ; 
Himself the scorn of lovers that pass by him : 
Who, this day, freely may disport and play; 
For it is Philoparthen's Holiday. 

XXX . 

Nay, think not Love ! with all thy cunning slight, 
To catch me once again ! Thou com'st too late ! 
Stern Industry puts Idleness to flight : 
And Time hath changed both my name and state. 
Then seek elsewhere for mates, that may befriend onasitou 
thee ! c«/X» 

For I am busy, and cannot attend thee ! '"^'"• 


Loose Idleness ! the Nurse of fond Desire ! 

Root of all ills that do our youth betide ; 

That, whilom, didst, through love, my wrack conspire : 

I banish thee ! and rather wish t'abide 

All austere hardness, and continual pain ; 

Than to revoke thee ! or to love again ! 


The time will come when, looking in a glass, 
Thy rivelled face, with sorrow thou shalt see ! 
And sighing, say, " It is not as it was 1 
These cheeks were wont more fresh and fair to be ! 
But now, what once made me so much admired 
Is least regarded, and of none desired ! " 


Though thou be fair, think Beauty but a blast ! 

A morning's dew ! a shadow quickly gone ! 

A painted flower, whose colour will not last ! 

Time steals away, when least we think thereon. 

Most precious time ! too wastefully expended ; rcmf„ris. 

Of which alone, the sparing is commended. '""arui"' 


, - -:j ^ L C I L 1 A. 


How vain is Youth that, crossed in his Desire, 

Doth fret and fume, and inwardly repine ; 

As though 'gainst heaven itseh, he would conspire ; 

And with his fraility, 'gainst his fate combine, 

Who of itself continues constant still ; 

And doth us good, ofttimes against our will. 

In prime of Youth, when years and Wit were ripe, 
Unhappy Will, to ruin led the way. 
Wit danced about, when Folly 'gan to pipe ; 
And Will and he together went astray. 
Nought then but Pleasure, was the good they sought ! 
Which now Repentance proves too dearly bought. 


He that in matters of delight and pleasure, 

Can bridle his outrageous affection; 

And temper it in some indifferent measure, 

Doth prove himself a man of good direction. „ , . 

In conquenng Will, true courage most is shown; fiaciih 

And sweet temptations makes men's virtues known, fonh""" 


Each natural thing, by course of Kind, we see, 

In his perfection long continueth not. 

Fruits once full ripe, will then fall from the tree ; 

Or in due time not gathered, soon will rot. 'iafofu,,, leru 

It is decreed, by doom of Powers Divine, snmmhque 

Things at their height, must thence again decline. 'iT'"""''"^ 


Thy large smooth forehead, wrinkled shall appear ! , 

Vermillion hue, to pale and wan shall turn ! 
Time shall deface what Youth has held most dear ! 
Yea, these clear Eyes (which once my heart did burn) 
Shall, in their hollow circles, lodge the night ; 
And yield more cause of terror, than delight ! 

296 A I. c r L I A . [ ,{5,'s. 


Lo here, the Record of my follies past, 

The fruits of Wit unstaid, and hours misspent 1 

Full wise is he that perils can forecast. 

And so, by others' harms, his own prevent. 

All Worldly Pleasure that delights the Sense, ^^'I'l^j'^"/ 

Is but a short Sleep, and Time's vain expense 1 IrcZVs^. 


The sun hath twice his annual course performed, 
Since first unhappy I, began to love; 
Whose errors now, by Reason's rule reformed, 
Conceits of Love but smoke and shadows prove. 
Who, of his folly, seeks more praise to win ; 
Where I have made an end, let him begin ! 


Sir Thomas Overbury 






Printed. M. DC. XXVI. 

[In approximately estimating the present value of the money of i6og ; 
we have multiplied by 4^.] 


S i r 




upon the state o f t h e 
Seventeen Provinces, 


And first., Of the P? 


Ll things concurred for the rising and 
maintenance of this State: the disposition 
of the people, being as mutinous as 
industrious and frugal ; the nature of the 
country, everywhere fortifiable with water; 
the situation of it, having behind them the 
Baltic sea, which yields them all materials 
for ships, and many other commodities ; 
and for men, hard before them France and England, both 
fearing the Spanish greatness, and therefore both concurring 
for their aid; the remoteness of their Master from them; the 
change of religion, falling out about the time of their Revolt ; 
and now the Marquis of Bran denburgh, a Protestant, like[ly] 
to become [the] Duke of Cleve. 

The discontentments of the Low Countries did first appear 
soon after the going away of the Kings of Spain, while the 
Duchess of Parma governed. To suppress which beginnings, 
the Duke of Alva being sent, inflamed them more upon 

300 Constitution of Uniticu Puovixciis. [■'^'' '■ "'"VgL;: 

attempting to bring in the Inquisition, and Spanish decima- 
tion ; upon the beheading [of I Count Horn and Count 
Egmont, persecuting those of the Religion : and undertaking 
to build citadels upon all their towns ; which he effected at 
Antwerp, but enterprising the like at P^lushing, that town 
revolted first, and under it began the war. 

But the more general Revolt of the Provinces happened 
after the death of Don Louis de Requiescens, and upon 
the coming down of Don John of Austria : when all the 
Provinces, excepting Luxemburg (upon the sack of Antwerp 
and other insolences), proclaimed the Spaniards " rebels, and 
enemies to the ICing." Yet the abjuring of their obedience 
from the Crown of Spain, was not in a year or two after. 

Holland and Zealand (upon their first standing out) offered 
the Sovereignty of themselves to the Queen, then the Pro- 
tection, both which she neglected ; and that, while the French 
sent greater aid, and more men of quality than we : but after 
the Civil War began in France, that kept them busy at home ; 
and then the Queen, seeing the necessity of their being 
supported, upon the pawning of Brill and Flushing, sent 
money and men. And since that, most part of the great 
exploits there, have been done by the English, who were 
commonly the third part of their army ; being four regiments, 
besides i,ioo in Flushing and the Ramekins, and 500 in the 
Brill. But, of late, the King of France appearing more for 
them than ours, and paying himself the French 'soldiers] 
that are there; they give equal, if not more countenance to 
that nation. But upon these two Kings, they make their 
whole dependency : and though with more respect to him that 
is stronger for the time ; yet so, as it may give no distaste 
unto the other. 

For the manner of their Government. They have, upon 
occasion, an Assembly of the General States, like our 
Parliament ; being composed of those which are sent from 
every Province upon summons; and what these Enact, stands 
for Law. Then is there besides, a Council of State, residing, 
for the most part, at the Hague: which attends [to] daily 
occasions ; being rather employed upon Affairs of State than 
particular [individual] justice. The most potent in this 
Council was Bakneveld, by reason of his Advocates of 
Holland. And besides both these, every Province and great 

Sir T. o™';'^-] TiiK Dutch Administration. 30 i 

Town have particular Councils of their own. To all which 
Assemblies, as well of the General States as the rest, the 
gentry is called for order sake, but the State indeed is 
democratical : the merchant and the tradesman being pre- 
dominant, the gentry, now, but few and poor; and, even at 
the beginning, the Prince of Orange saw it safer to rely 
upon the towns than [upon] them. Neither are the gentry 
so much engaged in the Cause: the people having more 
advantages in a Free State ; they, in a Monarchy. 

Their care in Government is very exact and particular, by 
reason that every one hath an immediate interest in the State. 
Such is the equality of justice, that it renders every man satis- 
fied ; such is the public regularity, as a man may see [that] 
their laws were made to guide, and not to entrap ; such their 
exactness in casting the expense of an army, as that it shall 
be equally far from superfluity and want ; and as much order 
and certainty in their acts of war, as in ours of peace ; 
teaching it to be both civil and rich. And they still retain 
that sign of a Commonwealth yet uncorrupted, " Private 
poverty, and public weal I " for no one private man there is 
exceeding rich, and few very poor ; and no State more 
sumptuous in all public things. But the question is, whether 
this, being a free State, will, as well subsist in peace, as it hath 
hitherto done in war. Peace leaving everyone to attend [to" 
his particular wealth : when fear, while the war lasts, makes 
them concur for their common safety. And Zealand, upon 
the least security, hath ever been envious at the predominancy 
of Holland and Utrecht ; ready to mutiny for religion : and 
besides, it is a doubt, whether the same care and sincerity 
would continue if they were at their Consistence, as appears 
yet, while they are but in Rising. 

The Revenue of this State ^riseth chiefly from the Earl of 
Holland's domains ; and confiscated church livings ; the 
rising and falling of money, which they use with much 
advantage ; their fishing upon our coasts, and those of 
Norway ; contributions out of the enemy's country, taxes 
upon all things at home, and impositions [import duties] upon 
all merchandise from abroad. 

Their Expenses upon their Ambassadors, their shipping, 
their ditches, their rampiers [dykes] and munition; and 
commonly they have in pay, by sea and land, 60,000 men. 

302 Three Dutch ships to one English ! [^'^ '''• """'X'X 

For the strength. The nature of the country makes them 
able to defend themselves long by land. Neither could 
anything have endangered them so much as the last great 
frost [of 1608, sec Vol. I. p. 77I, had not the Treaty been then 
on foot : because the enemy, being then master of the field ; 
that rendered their ditches, marshes, and rivers as firm ground. 

There belongs to that State, 20,000 vessels of all sorts. So 
that if the Spaniard were entirely beaten out of those parts ; 
the Kings of France and England would take as much pains 
to suppress, as ever they did to raise them. For being our 
enemies, they are [would be] able to give us the law at sea ; 
and eat us out of all trade, much more the French : having 
at this time three ships for gur one, though none so good as 
our best. 

Now that whereupon the most part of their Revenue 
depends is their traffic, in which mystery of State they are, at 
this day, the wisest. For all the commodities that this part 
of the world wants, and the Indies have (as spice, silk, jewels, 
gold), they are become the conveyers of them for the rest of 
Christendom, except ing; us: as the Venetians were of old. 
And all those commodities that those Northern countries 
abound with, and these Southern countries stand in need of: 
they likewise convey thither ; which was the ancient trade of 
the Easterlings [Baltic cities]. And this they do, having little 
to export of their own, by buying of their neighbour-countries 
the former; and selling them again what they bring back, at 
their own prices : and so consequently, live upon the idleness 
of others. And to this purpose, their situation serves fitly. 
For the rivers of the Rhine, the Maas, and [the] Scheldt 
all end in their dominions ; and the Baltic sea lies not far 
from them : all which afford them whatever the great con- 
tinent of Germany, Russia, and Poland yields. 

Then they, again, lying between Germany and the sea, do 
furnish it back, with all commodities foreign. 

To remember some pieces of their discipline, as patterns 
of the rest. The Watches at night are never all of one 
nation [race] , so that they can hardly concur to give up any 
one tov,'n. The Commissaries are nowhere so strict upon 
Musters, and where he finds a company thither, he reduceth 
them : so that, when an army marcheth, the List and the Poll 
are never far disagreeing. The army is ever well clothed, 

SirT.Overbury.-j Jjjg M A R T CiTIKS OF HOLLAND. 3O3 

well armed ; and had never yet occasion to mutiny for 
pay or victuals. The soldiers commit nowhere fewer in- 
solences upon the burghers, few robberies upon the country ; 
nor the Officers fewer deceits upon the soldiers. And lastly, 
they provide well that their General shall have small means 
to invade their liberties. For first, their Army is composed of 
many nations, which have their several Commanders; and the 
commands are disposed by the States themselves, not by the 
General. And secondly, he hath never an implicit commission 
left to discretion: but, by reason their country hath no great 
bounds, receives daily commands what to do. 

Their territory contains six entire Provinces; Holland, 
Zealand, Utrecht, Groningen, Overyssel, and Friesland, 
besides three parts of Guelderland, and certain towns in 
Brabant and Flanders : the ground of which is, for the most 
part, fruitful ; the towns nowhere are so equally beautiful, 
strong, and rich : which equality grows by reason that they 
appropriate some one staple commodity to every town of 
note ; only Amsterdam not only passeth them all, but even 
Seville, Lisbon, or any other Mart Town in Christendom. And 
to it, is appropriated the trade of the East Indies, where they 
maintain commonly forty ships ; besides which, there go, twice 
a year, from it and the adjoining towns, a great fleet to the 
Baltic sea. Upon the fall of Antwerp, that [town of Amsterdam, 
rose, rather than Middleburgh ; though it [thai] stands at the 
same river's mouth, and is the second Mart Town j to which 
is appropriated our English cloth. 

Concerning the people. They are neither much devout, nor 
much wicked ; given all to drink, and, eminently, to no other 
vice; hard in bargaining, but just; surly, and respectless, asin 
all democracies ; thirsty [? ;f/in/(yj, industrious, and cleanly ; dis- 
heartened upon the least ill-success, and insolent upon good ; 
inventive in manufactures ; cunning in traffic. And generally, 
for matter of action, that natural slowness of theirs suits 
better (by reason of the advisedness and perseverance it 
brings with it) than the rashness and changeableness of the 
French and Florentine wits. And the equality of spirits 
which is among them and the Swiss, renders them so fit for a 
Democracy ; which kind of Government, nations, of more un- 
stable wits, being once come to a Consistent Greatness, have 
seldom long endured. 


Observati07is tifoji the State of the 
Archdukes Country^ 1 609. 

By Sir Thomas Overbury. 

S SOON as I entered into the Archduke's 
country, which begins after Lillow ; 
presently, I beheld [the] works of a Pro- 
vince, and those of a Province distressed 
with war. The people heartless ; and 
rather repining against their Governors 
than revengeful against their enemies. 
The bravery of that gentry which was 
left, and the industry of the merchant, quite decayed. The 
husbandman labouring only to live, without desire to be 
rich to another's use. The towns (whatsoever concerned 
not the strength of them) ruinous. And, to conclude, the 
people here growing poor with less taxes, than they flourish 
with on the States' side. 

This war hath kept the King of Spain busy ever since it 
began, which [is] some thirty-eight years ago: and, spending 
all the money that the Indies, and all the men that Spain and 
Italy could afford, hath withdrawn him from persevering in 
any other enterprise. Neither could he give over this, 
without foregoing the means to undertake anything hereafter 
upon France or England ; and, consequently, the Hope of the 
Western Monarchy. For without that handle [i.e., that hope] 

SirT.Overbury.J J,j£ HoPE OF THE WeSTERN MoNARCIlV. 305 

the mines of Peru had done Httle hurt in these parts, in com- 
parison of what they have. The cause of the expensefulness 
of it, is the remoteness of those Provinces from Spain ; by 
reason of which every soldier of Spain or Italy, before he can 
arrive there, costs the King a 100 crowns [ = £^0 then = 
£135 now], and not above one in ten that arrive, proves good. 
Besides, by reason of the distance, a great part of the money 
is drunk up betwixt the Officers that convey it, and pay it. 

The cause of the continuance of it, is not only the strength 
of the enemy ; but partly, by reason that the Commanders 
themselves are content [that; the war should last, so to main- 
tain and render themselves necessary; and partly, because 
the people of those Countries are not so eager to have the other 
reduced, as willing to be in the like state themselves. 

The usual revenue of those Provinces which the Archduke 
hath, amounts to 1,200,000 crowns [ = , at 6s. the Crown, 
£360,000 thcn=about £1,600,000 now] a year. Besides which, 
there come from Spain every month, to maintain the war, 
150,000 crowns [ = £45,000 a month, or £540,000 a year, then ; 
= £2,430,000 annually now]. It was, at the first, 300,000 
crowns a month [or, in present annual value, about £5,000,000] ; 
but it fell by fifties [i.e., 50,000] to this, at the time when the 
Treaty began. Flanders pays more towards the war, than 
all the rest; as Holland doth, with the States. There is no 
Spaniard of [belonging to] the Council of State, nor Governor 
of any Province : but of the Council of War, which is only 
active ; there [in which] they only are, and have in their hands 
all the strong towns and castles of those Provinces, of which 
the Governors have but only the title. 

The nations of which their army consists are chiefly 
Spaniards and Italians, emulous one of another there ; as on 
the other side, [are] the French and English : and of the 
country, chiefly Burgundians and Walloons. The Pope's 
Letters, and Spinola's inclination keep the Italians there; 
almost in equality of command with the Spaniard himself. 

The Governors for the King of Spain there, successively, 
have been the Duke of Alva, Don Louis de Requiescens, 
Don John of Austria, the Prince of Parma, the Archduke 
Earnest, the Cardinal Andrew of Austria, and the Cardinal 
Albert till he married the Infanta. 

Where the dominion of the Archduke and the States 

3o6 Strength and keauty of Antwerp. [^'' '^- °''"';';^; 

part, there also changeth the nature of the country ; that is, 
about Antwerp. For all below, being flat, and betwixt meadow 
and marsh ; thence, it begins to rise and become champion 
[open country] : and consequently, the people are more quick 
and spiritful, as the Brabanter, Fleming, and Walloon. 

The most remarkable place on that side is Antwerp, which 
rose upon the fall of Bruges ; equally strong and beautiful ; 
remaining yet so upon the strength of its former greatness : 
twice spoiled by the Spaniards, and the like attempted by the 
French. The Citadel was built there by the Duke of Alva, 
but renewed by the Prince of Parma, after his eighteen 
months' besieging it; the town accepting a castle, rather than 
a garrison to mingle among them. There are yet in the 
town, of citizens 30,000 fighting men, 600 of which keep 
watch nightly ; but they [are] allowed neither cannon upon 
the rampier [ramparts], nor magazines of powder. In the 
Castle are 200 pieces of ordnance, and commonly 700 or 800 

Flanders is the best of the Seventeen Provinces, but the 
havens thereof are naught [worthless]. 


Ohservatiojis on the State of France^ 1609, 
under He n ry IF. 

By Sir Thomas Overbury. 

AviNG seen the form of a Commonwealth; 
and a Province, with the different effects 
of wars in them ; I entered France, 
flourishing with peace ; and of Monarchies, 
the most absolute. Because the King there, 
not only makes peace and war, calls 
and dissolves Parliaments, pardoneth, 
naturaliseth, ennobleth, names the value 
of money, [imjpresseth to the war; but even makes laws, and 
imposes taxes at his pleasure. And all this he doth alone. 
For, as for that form that his Edicts must be authorised by 
the next Court of Parliament, that is, the next Court of 
Sovereign Justice : first, the Presidents thereof are to be 
chosen by him, and to he put out by him; and secondly, 
when they concur not with the King, he passeth anything 
without them, as he did the last Edict [1 of Nantes] for the 
Protestants. And for the Assembly of the Three Estates, it 
is grown now almost as extraordinary as a General Council 
[of the Church] ; with the loss of which, their liberty fell : and 
when occasion urgeth, it is possible for the King to procure 
that all those that shall be sent thither, shall be his instru- 

3oS Tin-: I-ri-'ncii Kin(;'.s Edicts are Laws. [^'' ''■• ""'1;^: 

merits. For the Duke of Guise effected as much, at the 
Assembly of Blois. 

The occasion that first procured the King that supremacy, 
that his Edicts should be Laws, was the last invasion of the 
I'^nglish. For, at that time, they possessing two parts of 
F'rance, the Three Estates could not assemble : whereupon 
they did then grant that power unto Charles VIL during 
tiie war. And that which made it easy, for Louis XL and 
his successors to continue the same, tiie occasion ceasing; 
was that the Clergy and the Gentry did not run the same 
fortune with the People there, as in England. For most of 
tiie taxes falling only upon the people ; the Clergy and Gentry, 
being foreborne [exempt], were easily induced to leave them 
to the King's mercy. But the King having got strength upon 
{subverted] the peasants, hath been since the bolder to invade 
part of both their [the Clergy's and Gentry's] liberties. 

For the succession of this monarchy. It hath subsisted, 
without intermission, these 1,200 years, under three Races of 
Kings. No nation hath, heretofore, done greater things 
abroad, in Palestine and Egypt, besides all parts of Europe; 
but, for these last four hundred years, they have only made 
sallies into Italy, and [have] often suffered at home. Three 
hundred years the English afflicted them, making two firm 
invasions upon them, and taking their King prisoner: the 
second greatness of Christendom (next [to: the Emperor) 
being then in competition betwixt us and them. And to 
secure themselves against us, rather than the House of Austria, 
as it then stood ; they chose to marry the heir of Brittany 
before that of Burgundy. And for this last hundred years, the 
Spaniard undertaking [attacking] them, hath eaten them out 
of all but France, and endangered that too 1 

But for this present, France had never, as France, a more 
entire greatness; though it hath often been richer. For since 
the war ; the King has only [simply] got aforehand, the country 
is but yet in recovering; the war having lasted, by spaces, 
thirty two years ; and so generally, that [as there was] no man 
but had an enemy within three miles, so the country became 
frontier all over. Now that which hath made them, at this 
time, so largely great at home, is their adopting into them- 
selves the lesser adjoining nations, without destruction or 
leaving any mark of strangeness upon them : as the Bretons, 

sirT.ovcibuo-.-j-pj^j, Clergy hold ^rd of all France. 309 

Gascons, Provencals, and others which are not French. 
Towards which unions, their nature, which is easy and 
harborous [receptive] to strangers; hath done more than any 
laws could have effected but with long time. 

The King, as I said, enjoying what Louis XI. did gain, hath 
the entire Sovereignty in himself ; because he can make the 
Parliament do what he pleases, or else do what he pleases 
without them. 

For the other Three Estates. The Church is there very 
rich, being estimated to enjoy the third part of the revenue 
of France, but otherwise is nothing so potent as elsewhere ; 
partly because the Inquisition is not admitted in France: but 
principally because the Pope's ordinary power is much 
restrained there, by the liberties which the French Church 
claimeth; which liberties do not so much enfranchise the 
Church itself, as confer the authority the Pope loseth upon the 
King, as Firstfruits and the Disposing of all spiritual prefer- 
ments. And by reason of this neutrality of authority, the 
church men [cletxy] suffer more there, than either in England, 
where they wholly depend upon the King ; or in Spain 
and Italy, where they wholly subsist by the Pope: because 
the Pope is not able totally to support them, and the King 
takes occasion ever to suppress them, as being not entirely his 
subjects ; and to him, they pay, yearly, both the tenth of all 
their tithe, and of all their temporal land. 

The Gentry are the only entire Body, there, which partici- 
pate with the prerogatives of the Crown. For from it, they 
receive privileges above all other men and a kind of limited 
regality upon their tenants; besides [a] real supply to their 
estates by governments and pensions, and freedom from tallies 
[taxations] upon their own lands, that is, upon their domains 
and whatsoever they manure by their servants : but so 
much as they let to tenants is, presently, tallieable [taxable] 
which causeth [a] proportionate abatement in the rent. 
And in recompense of this, they owe to the King the 
Ban and the Arriere Ban ; that is, to serve him and his 
Lieutenant, three months within the land, at their own 
charges. And as in war, they undergo the greatest part oi 
the danger, so then is their power most peremptory above the 
rest : whereas in the time of peace, the King is ready to 

3 I O T H li G U V E K N M E N T O !•• F K A N C E. [*' '' *'''"\'^: 

support inferior persons against them, and is glad to see 
them to waste one another by contention at law for fear they 
grow rich ; because he forsees that, as the Nobility, only, can 
do him service, so they only, misapplied, can do him harm. 

The ancient Gentry of France was most of it consumed in 
the wars of Godfrey de Boulogne, and some in those of 
St. Louis; because on their setting out they pawned all 
their fiefs to the Church, and few of them were after[wards] 
redeemed : by reason, whereof the Church possesseth at 
this day the third part of the best fiefs in France. And that 
Gentry was afterwards made up by advocates, financiers, 
and merchants ennobled, which are now reputed ancient ; and 
are daily eaten out again, and repaired by the same kind of men. 

For the people. All those that have any kind of profession 
or trade, live well ; but for the mere peasants that labour the 
ground, they are only sponges to the King, to the Church, and 
to the Nobility ! having nothing to their own, but to the use of 
them : and are scarce allowed, as beasts, enough to keep 
them able to do service ; for besides their rent, they pay 
usually two-thirds to the King. 

The manner of Government in France is mixt between 
Peace and War; being composed as well of military discipline 
as [of] civil justice : because having open frontiers and 
strong neighbours, and therefore obnoxious [liable] to sudden 
invasions ; they cannot, as in England, join ever peace and 
security together. 

For the Military Part, there is ever a Constable and a 
Marshal in being, troops of horse and regiments of foot in 
pay, and in all Provinces and places of strength, Governors 
and garrisons distributed : all which are means for the 
preferment of the Gentry. But those, as they give security 
against the enemy, so when there is none, they disturb the 
enjoying of peace, by making the countries taste somewhat 
of a Province. For the Gentry find a difference betwixt the 
Governor's favour and disfavour; and the soldiers often 
commit insolences upon the people. 

The Governments there, are so well disposed by the King, 
as no Governor hath means to give over a Province into the 
enemy's hands ; the commands thereof are so scattered. For 

the Governor commands the country, and, for the most part, 
the chief town : then there is a Lieutenant to the King, not 
to him ! of the same ; and betwixt these two there is ever 
jealousy nourished. Then hath every town and fortress 
particular Governors, which are not subaltern [subordinate] 
to that of the Province ; but hold immediately from the 
Prince : and many times the Town hath one Governor, and 
the Castle another. 

The advantages of the Governors, besides their pay from the 
King, are presents from the country, dead payes [ "f pay drawn 
for dead men], making their magazines of corn and powder 
more than they need, at the King's price ; and, where they 
stand upon the sea, overseeing of unlawful goods : thus much 
in peace. In war, they are worth as much as they will exact. 
Languedoc is the best, then Brittany: Provence is worth, by 
all these means, to the Duke of Guise, 20,000 crowns 
[=£6,000 or about ^f 25, 000 in present value] a year; but 
Provence only, he holds without a Lieutenant. 

Concerning the Civil Justice there : it is nowhere more 
corrupt or expenseful. The corruptness of it proceeds, First, 
by reason that the King sells the places of justice at as high 
a rate as can honestly be made of them: so that all thriving 
is left to corruption; and the gain the King hath that way, 
tempts him to make a multitude of officers, which are 
another burden to the subject. Secondly, the Presidents 
are not bound to judge according to the written Law, but 
according to the equity drawn out of it ; which liberty doth 
not so much admit Conscience, as leave Wit without limits. 
The expensefulness of it ariseth from the multitude of laws, 
and multiplicity of forms of processes ; the which too doth 
beget doubt, and make them long in resolving. And all this 
chieancry, as they call it, was brought into France from 
Rome, upon the Popes coming to reside at Avignon. 

For the strength of France. It is at this day, the greatest 
united force of Christendom. The particulars in which it 
consists, are these. The shape of the country; which being 
round, no one part is far from succouring another. The 
multitude of good towns and places of strength therein are 
able to stay an army, if not to waste it ; as Metz did the 

312 Stklnu-i 

Emperor's. The mass of treasure which the King hath in 
the Bastille. The number of arsenals distributed upon the 
frontiers, besides that of Paris : all which are full of good 
arms and artillery. And for ready men, the five Regiments 
bestowed up and down in garrisons, together with the 2,000 
of the Guard [and] the troops of Ordinary and Light Horse: 
all ever in pay. Besides their Gentry, all bred soldiers; of 
which they think there are, at this present, 50,000 fit to bear 
arms. And to command all these, they have, at this day, 
the best Generals of Christendom ; which were the only 
commodity the Civil Wars did leave them. 

The weaknesses of it are. First, the want of a sufficient 
Infantry, which proceeds from the ill distribution of their 
wealth : for the peasant having no share allowed him, is 
heartless and feeble; and consequently unserviceable for all 
military uses. By reason of which, they are, first, forced to 
borrow aid of the Switzers at a great charge ; and secondly, 
to compose their armies, for the most part, of Gentlemen : 
which makes the loss of a battle there almost irrecoverable. 
The Second, is the unproportionable part of the land 
which the Church holds, all which is likewise dead to 
military uses : for as they say there, " The Church will 
lose nothing, nor defend nothing." The Third, is the want 
of a competent number of ships and galleys: by reason of 
which defect, first, the Spaniard overmasters them upon 
the Mediterranean, and the English and Hollander upon the 
Ocean ; and secondly, it renders them poor in foreign trade ; 
so that, all the great actions of Christendom for these fifty 
years having been bent upon the | West] Indies, they, only, have 
sat idle. The Fourth, is the weakness of their frontiers : which 
is so much the more dangerous because they are possessed, 
all but the Ocean, by the Spaniard ; for Savoy hath been 
always as his own, for all uses against France. The Last, is 
the difference of religion among themselves ; which will ever 
yield matter of civil dissension, and consequently cause the 
weaker to stand in need of foreign succours. 

The ordinary revenue of the King is, as they say now, 
some 1^,000,000 of crowns [= £4,200,000 stcyliiig, or in 
present value, about £18,000,000] ; which arise principally from 
the domains of tiie Crown, the f,'abcl of salt, tallies ,taxes] 
upon the country, customs upon the merchandise, sale of 


offices, the yearly tithe of all that belongs to the Church, the 
rising and falling of money, fines and confiscations cast upon 
him by the law : but as for Wardships, they are only known 
in Normandy. 

His expense is, chiefly, Ambassadors, munition, building, 
fortifying, and maintaining of galleys, (as for ships when he 
needs them, he makes an embarque [ejnbai'o;o]) ; in pay for 
soldiers, wages for officers, pensions at home and abroad ; 
upon the entertaining his House, his State, and his private 
pleasures. And all the first, but the domains, were granted 
in the beginning upon some urgent occasion; and afterwards 
by Kings made perpetual, the occasion ceasing : and the 
domains themselves granted because the King should live 
upon his own without oppressing his subjects. But at 
this day, though the revenue be thus great, and the taxes 
unsupportable ; yet do they little more than serve for 
necessary public uses. For the King of Spain's greatness 
and neighbourhood forceth the King there to live con- 
tinually upon his guard : and the treasure which the 
Spaniard receives from his Indies, constrains him to raise 
his revenue thus by taxes, so to be able, in some proportion, 
to bear up against him ; for fear, else, he should be bought 
out of all his confederates and servants. 

For the relation of this State to others. It is first to be 
considered that this part of Christendom is balanced betwixt 
the three Kings of Spain, France, and England ; as the other 
part fis] betwixt the Russian, the Kings of Poland, Sweden, 
and Denmark. For as for Germany, which if it were entirely 
subject to one Monarchy, would be terrible to all the rest : so 
being divided betwixt so many Princes and those of so equal 
power, it serves only to balance itself, and entertain easy 
war with the Turk ; while the Persian withholds him in a 
greater. And everyone of those first three hath his particular 
strength, and his particular weakness. Spain hath the 
advantage of both the rest in treasure, but is defective in 
men : his dominions are scattered and the conveyance of his 
treasure from the Indies lies obnoxious to [at the mercy of] 
the power of any nation that is stronger by sea. France 
abounds with men, lies close together, and hath money 

sufficiently. England, being an island, is hard to be invaded, 
abounds with men, but wants money to employ them. For 
their particular [several] weakness, Spain is to be kept busy in 
the Low Countries, France to be afflicted with the Protestants, 
and England, in Ireland. England is not able to subsist against 
any [cither] of the other [two] hand in hand ; but joined with 
the Low Countries it can give law to both by sea : joined 
with either of them two, it is able to oppress the third, as 
Henry VIIL did. 

Now the only entire body in Christendom that makes head 
against the Spanish Monarchy is France: and therefore they 
say in France, that, "The day of the ruin of France is the eve 
of the ruin of England." And thereupon England hath ever, 
since the Spanish greatness, inclined rather to maintain 
France, rather than to ruin it: as when King Francis [LJ 
was taken prisoner, the King of England lent money towards 
the payment of his ransom ; and the late Queen [ELIZABETH], 
when the Leaguers, after the Duke of Guise's death, had a 
design to Cantonize France, though offered a part of that country, 
would not consent. So then, this reason of State, of mutual 
preservation, conjoining them ; England may be accounted a 
sure confederate of France ; and Holland, by reason it partly 
subsists by it ; the Protestant Princes of Germany, because 
they have countenance from it, against the house of Austria ; 
the Protestant Switzers, for religion and money ; and the 
Venetians, for protection against the Spaniard in Italy. So 
that all their [the French's] friends are either Protestants or 
inclining thereto ; and whosoever is extremely Catholic is 
their enemy, and factor for the Spanish Monarchy : as the 
Pope and Cardinals, for the most part ; and totally, the 
Jesuits, the Catholic Princes of Germany, and the Catholics 
of England and Ireland. For the Jesuits, which are the 
Ecclesiastical Strength of Christendom, France — notwith- 
standing the many late obligations — hath cause to despair of 
them. For they intending as "one Pope, so one King" to 
suppress the Protestants ; and for the better support of 
Christendom against the Turks : and seeing Spain the likelier 
to bring this to pass, they follow the nearer probability of 
effecting their end. 

No addition could make France so dangerous to us, as that 
of our Low Countries; for so it were worse, than if the 

^""^■"'"'.'^-.JStkengthoftiie French Protestants. 315 

Spaniard himself had them entirely. As for their hopes of 
regaining Italy ; it concerns the Spaniard immediately, rather 
than us. 

Concerning the state of the Protestants in France. During 
peace, they are protected by their Edict [0/ Nanics]. For 
their two Agents at Court defend the general from wrong ; 
and their chainbres impartis every particular person. And if 
troubles should arise, some scattered particulars might be in 
danger; but the main body is safe. Safe to defend themselves, 
though all France join against them ! and if it break out into 
factions, the safest; because they are both ready and united. 

The particulars of their strength are, First, their Towns 
of Surety, two of which command the river of the Loire. 
Secondly, their situation. The greatest part of them lying 
near together, as Poitou, Saintonge, High [Upper] Gascony, 
Languedoc, and Dauphiny : near the sea, so consequently fit 
to receive succours from abroad ; and remote from Paris, so 
that the quality of an army is much wasted, before it can 
approach them. The Third, is the sufficiency of their present 
Governors, Boulogne and Desdeguiers, and other second 
Commanders. And for the Princes of the Blood, whom the 
rest may, in shew, without emulation, obey; when they come 
once to open action, those which want a party, will quickly 
seek them. The Last, is the aid they are sure of from 
foreign Princes; for whosoever are friends to France in 
general, are more particularly their frends : and besides, the 
Protestant party being grown stronger of late, as the Low 
Countries; and more united, as England and Scotland, part 
of that strength reflects upon them. And even the King of 
Spain himself, who is [the] enemy of France in general, would 
rather give them succour than see them utterly extirpated. 
For as soon as they get an Edict with better conditions, they 
turn head against him that now succoured them ; as they did 
against us, at Newhaven [Havre in 1562]. 

Concerning the porportion of their number, they are not 
above the Seventeenth or Eighteenth part of the People: but 
of the Gentlemen, there are 6,000 of the [Protestant] Religion. 
But since the peace [ ? in 1602] they have increased in 
People, as principally in Paris, Normandy, and Dauphiny, 
but lost in the Gentry: which loss cometh to pass by reason 
that the King when he finds any Gentleman that will but 

3i6 Hkxrv IV. woMJKRi'UL IN War & Peace. [^'""'Zl 

hearken, he tempts him with preferment; and tliose that 
he finds utterly obstinate, he suppresseth. And by such 
means, he hath done them more harm in peace ; than both 
his predecessors in war. For in all their Assemblies, he 
corrupts some of their Ministers to betray the counsel in 
hand. Of the 106,000 crowns [ = ;f3i,8oo, or in present value 
3^140,000] a year which he pays the Protestants to entertain 
their Ministers and pay their garrisons, he hath gotten the 
bestowing of 16,000 of them, upon what gentleman of the 
iProtestantJ Religion he pleaseth ; whom by that means he 
moderates, if not gains. And besides, they were wont to 
impose upon him their two Deputies, which are to stay at 
Court: but now he makes them propose six, out of which he 
chooseth the two, and by that, obligeth those ; and yet not- 
withstanding all this, in some occasions he makes good use 
of them too. For as towards England, he placeth none in 
any place of strength but firm Catholics ; so towards Spain 
and Savoy, he often gives charge to Protestants, as to La 
Force in Beam, Desdeguiers and Boisse in Bresse. 

Concerning the King himself. He is a person wonderful, 
both in war and peace. For his acts in War, he hath 
manumized [manumitted] France from the Spaniard: and sub- 
dued the League, being the most dangerous plot that hath 
been laid ; weakening it by Arms, but utterly dissolving it by 
Wit. That is, by letting the Duke of Guise out of prison, and 
capitulating with the heads of it, every one apart ; by which 
means, he hath yet left a continual hatred among them. 
Because everj- one sought by preventing [anticipating] other, 
to make his conditions the better. So that now there remains 
little connection of it, amongst the Gentry : only there con- 
tinue some dregs still among the Priests, and consequently 
the People; especially when they are angered with the in- 
crease and prosperity of the Protestants. 

For his acts of Peace. He hath enriched France with a 
greater proportion of wool and silk, erected goodly buildings, 
cut passages [canals] betwixt river and river, and is about to 
do the same betwixt sea and sea, redeemed much of the 
mortgaged domains of the Crown, better husbanded the 
money (which was wont to be drunk up, two parts of it, in the 

°''"'',«^'.] France, thf. fairest country in Europe! 317 

officers' hands), f;ot aforehand in treasure, arms, and munition, 
increased the infantry and suppressed the unproportionable 
cavahy, and left nothing undone but the building of a navy. 

And all this maybe attributed to himself, only : because in 
a Monarchy, officers are active or careless, as the Prince is 
able to judge and distinguish of their labours ; and withal to 
participate of them somewhat, himself. 

Sure it is, that the peace of France, and somewhat that of 
Christendom itself, is secured by this Prince's life. For all 
titles and discontents, all factions of religion there suppress 
themselves till his death : but what will ensue afterwards ? 
What the rest of the House of Bourbon will enterprise upon 
the King's children ? What the House of Guise, upon that 
of Bourbon ? What the League ? What the Protestants ? 
What the Kings of Spain and England, if they see a breach 
made by civil dissension ? I choose rather to expect, than 
conjecture ! Because GOD hath so many ways to turn aside 
from human foresight ; as He gave us a testimony upon the 
death of our late Queen [Elizabeth]. 

This country of France, considering the quantity, is the 
fairest and richest of all Christendom ; and contains in it, 
most of the countries adjoining. For Picardy, Normandy, 
and Brittany resemble England ; Languedoc, Spain ; 
Provence, Italy; and the rest is France. 

Besides, all the rivers that pass through it, end in it. It 
abounds with corn, wine, and salt, and hath a competency of 
silk; but is defective in wool, leather, metals, and horses : 
and hath but few very good havens, especially on the north 

Concerning the people. Their children, at first sight, 
seem men, and their men, children ; but whoso, in negotia- 
ting, presumes upon appearances shall be deceived ! com- 
passionate towards their own nation and country ; loving to 
the Prince, and so they may have liberty in ceremony and 
free access to him, they will be better content that he shall 
be absolute in matter of substance : impatient of peace any 
longer than while they are in recovering the ruins of war : 
the presentness [presence] of danger inflames their courage. 

3iS A Character of tiii. Fkkncii PEorLK. p^ "^^ """'i^: 

bi:t any expectation makes it lanj^uish. For the most part, 
they are all Imafjination and no Judgement; but those that 
prove solid, excel ! 

Their Gentlemen are all good outward men, good 
Courtiers, good soldiers, and knowing enough in men and 
business ; but merely [simply] ignorant in matters of Letters, 
because at fifteen they quit books and begin to live in the 
world : when indeed a mediocrity [iitcdiu»i] betwixt their 
form of education and ours, would do better than either. No 
men stand more punctually [punctiliously] upon their honour 
in matter of valour; and, which is strange, in nothing 
else : for otherwise, in their conversation, the custom, and 
shifting, and overspeaking, hath quite overcome the shame 
of it. 



Abraham Cowley 
'The Chronicle. 

A Ballad. 

Argarita first possest, 

If I remember well, my breast ; 
Margarita, first of all ! 
But when a while the wanton maid, 
With my restless heart had played, 
Martha took the flying ball. 


Martha soon did it resign 
To the beauteous Catharine : 
Beauteous Catharine gave place 
(Though loath and angry she, to part 
With the possession of my heart) 
To Eliza's conquering face. 


Eliza, till this hour might reign. 
Had she not evil counsels ta'en. 
Fundamental laws she broke, 

And still new favourites she chose ! 

Till up in arms my Passions rose, 
And cast away her yoke. 

T U i; C II K<) N I C L E . [* 

Mary then, and gentle Anne 

ISoth to reign at once began : 
Alternately they swayed, 
And sometimes Mary was the Fair, 
And sometimes Anne the Crown did wear, 

And sometimes both I obeyed. 


Another Mary then arose. 

And did rigorous laws impose. 
A mighty tyrant she ! 
Long, alas, should I have been 
Under that iron sceptred Queen ; 
Had not Rebecca set me free I 


When fair Rebecca set me free, 
'Twas then a golden time with nu 
But soon those pleasures lied ; 
For the gracious Princess died, 
In her youth and beauty's pride : 
And Judith reigned in her stead 


One month, three days, and half an hour, 
Judith held the sovereign power. 
Wondrous beautiful her face ; 

But so weak and small her wit, 

That she to govern was unfit : 
And so Susanna took her place ! 

The C 

R O N I C L E . 



But when Isabella came, 
Armed with a resistless flame 
And th' artillery of her eye ; 
Whilst she proudly march'd about, 
Greater conquests to find out, 
She beat out Susan by the bye. 


But in her place, I then obeyed 
Black-eyed Bess, her Viceroy-maid : 
To whom ensued a Vacancy. 
Thousand worst passions then possess'd 
The interregnum of my breast. 
Bless me, from such an anarchy! 


Gentle Henriette then, 

And a third Maky next began ; 
Then Joan, and Jane, and Andria ; 
And then a pretty Thomasine, 
And then another Katherine, 
And then a long Et cetera ! 


But should I now to you relate 

The strength and riches of their State I 
The powder, patches, and the pins! 

The ribbons, jewels, and the rings ! 

The lace, the paint, and warlike things, 

That make up all their magazines ! 
Eng. Gar. IV. ,T 

T II F, C H R O N I C 1. !•; . [ 

If I should tell their politic arts 

To take, and keep men's hearts ! 

The letters! embassies ! and spies ! 
The frowns ! and smiles ! and flatteries I 
The quarrels I tears ! and perjuries ! 

Numberless, nameless mysteries ! 


And all the little lime twigs laid 
By Machiavel, the waiting maid ! 
I, more voluminous should grow, 
(Chiefly if I, like them, should tell, 
All change of weathers that befell,) 
Than Holingshed, or Stow! 

But I will briefer with them be ; 

Since few of them were long with me ! 

A higher and a nobler strain, 
My present Empress does claim ; 
Heleonoka, First o' the name. 

Whom, GOD grant long to reign ! 



Wealth, and to employ Ships 
and Mariners 5 


A plain description what great profit it will bring 

into the Common Wealth of England, by the erecting, 

building, and adventuring of Busses 

to sea, a fishing. 

With a true Relation of the inestimable wealth, that is yearly 

taken out of His Majesty's seas by the Hollanders, 

by their great number of Busses, Pinks, 

and Line-boats. 

And Also, 

A Discourse of the sea coast towns of England, and the most fit 

and commodious places and harbours that we have for 

Busses ; and of the Small number of our fishermen ; 

and also of the true valuation and whole charge 

of building and furnishing to sea, Busses 

and Pinks, after the Holland manner. 

By Tobias Gentleman, Fisherman and Mariner. 

Printed by Na th aniel Butter. 1614. 

[This is the tract referred to at Vol. III. p. 623. It appears from p. 623 
of that Volume, that T. Gentleman was a Yarmouth man.] 





HILL, Constable of the Castle of Dover, 

Lord Warden, Chancellor and Admiral 

of the Cinque Ports, Lord Privy Seal, 

Knight of the most noble Order 

of the Garter, and one of His 

Majesty's most honourable 

Privy Council. 

Right Honourable, 

Being that, by Nature, our country challengeth a greater 
interest in us, than our parents, friends, or children 
can ; and that we ought for preservation thereof, oppose 
[expose] our lives unto the greatest dangers •' it is the 
part of every native to endeavour something to the advancement 
and profit thereof : and not to affect it, for that we possess in it ; 
but to love it for itself, as being the common Mother and Nourisher 

326 T u !•: E r I s r i. !■: D t: u i c a t o k y . [j'ia'I-el,'",'".,: 

of us all. For mine own part, albeit my short fathom can 
compass no such great design as I desire : yet from a willing 
mind (as he that offered his hands full of water to great 
Artaxerxes), I am bold to present this Project of my honest and 
homely labours; beseeching your Lordship, whose virtues have 
truly ennobled you, to take the same into your protection ! and 
prefer it to the view of our most royal Sovereign, recommending 
the good effecting thereof to his gracious favour and jurtherance ' 
Doubtless your actions and endeavours, having all been full of 
virtue and goodness, are not the least prevailing motives whereby 
His Majesty hath so endeared you unto him. In this, then, you 
shall not think yourself disparaged ! the matter being both honest 
and commendable ; and in true value, of as great substance, as the 
offer of Sebastian Cabota to King Henry the Seventh for 
the discovery of the West Indies. 

Humbly at your Lordship's commandment, 

Tobias Gentleman. 


England's Way to win Wealthy and 
to e?nploy Ships and Mariners, 

JJOble Britons! Forasmuch as it hath 
pleased the Almighty GOD to make us a 
happy Nation, by blessing and eniichingthis 
noble Kinj^dom with the sweet dew of His 
heavenly Word truly and plentifully preached 
amongst us ; and also in situating our 
country in a most wholesome climate, and 
stored with many rich and pleasant trea- 
sures for our benefit, which also yieldeth in abundance all 
things necessary, so that we do not only excel other nations 
in strength and courage, but also all other kingdoms far 
remote are by our English Commodities relieved and cherished : 
it seemeth also that the wisdom of our gracious GOD hath 
reserved us, as some precious gem, unto Himself; in environ- 
ing our country with the plenteous ocean sea, and dividing 
of us from the whole Continent of the rest of the inferior 
world by our rich and commodious element of water, which 
in due seasons, yieldeth to us in abundance. For although 
our champion [champagne] soil, by the diligence of the 
husbandman, be plentiful unto us; yet doth these watery 
regions and dominions yield yearly great variety of all kind 
of most wholesome and dainty fishes : so that it may seem 
strange and disputable, and hard to determine, which of His 
Majesty's Dominions, of the Land or Seas, be richer ? Myself 
being the most unworthiest of all, in that I am no scholar, 
but born a fisherman's son by the seaside, and spending my 
youthful time at sea about fisher [fishing] affairs, whereby 
now I am more skilful in nets, lines, and hooks, than in 

328 John Kkymak's inc^uikiks in 161 i. ['^^ji^'.^f""; 

rhetoric, logic, or learned books : yet in those few which I 
have read, besides the instinct of Nature, which maketh me 
to know that every one should endeavour himself (the best he 
is able) to be beneficial and profitable to the kingdom and 
common wealth wherein he is born ; which was a forcible 
motive to incite me to think of this present Discourse, the 
penning whereof was thus occasioned. 

It was my fortune, some two years past [i.e., in t6n], to be 
sent for into the company of one Master John Keymar, who 
is a man very well deserving of his country ; and he, knowing 
me to have experience in fisher [fishinf;] affairs, demanded of 
me the Charge both of Busses and Line -boats, after the 
Hollanders' fashion : and showed unto me some few notes 
that he had gathered and gotten from other men of my trade, 
which he seemed greatly to esteem of, for that himself was 
altogether unexperimented in such business. And further I 
delivered to him certain principal notes which he seemed 
greatly to esteem ; for that, he said, that "He did mind to 
show them unto the right honourable Council." 

Whereupon I entered into the cogitation of writing thisTrue 
Relation out of my own experience and knowledge, touchingthe 
inestimable sums of money taken yearly for fish and herrings 
out of His Majesty's seas by strangers. Whereby they have not 
only maintained their wars against the Spaniard, both by land 
and sea, he being one of the great Monarchs of the world ; 
and at length they have not only wearied him in the wars 
and brought him to good terms and reasonable Composition : 
but also, it is most apparent, notwithstanding the huge charge 
of their wars, so long continued, which would have made 
any other nation poor and beggarly; they, to the contrary, 
are grown exceeding rich and strong in fortified towns and 
beautiful buildings, in plenty of money and gold, in trade 
and traffic with all other nations, and have so increased and 
multiplied their shipping and mariners, that all other nations 
and countries in the world do admire [iconder at] them. 

Moreover, whereas one haven in one of their towns did, in 
former times, contain their ships and shipping ; with infinite 
cost, now they have cut out two havens more to a town : 
and at this present, are all three havens scarce sufficient with 
room enough to contain their ships and shipping. And by 
reason of their industrious fisher-trade, not one of their 

^■'jTn.^eM.] The Dutch must buy everything. 329 

people is idle, nor none seen to beg amongst them, except 
they be some of our own English nation. 

And what their chiefest trade is, or the principal Gold 
Mine, is well known to all merchants that have used those 
parts, and to myself and all fishermen : namely, that His 
Majesty's Seas are their chiefest, principal, and only rich 
Treasury ; whereby they have so long time maintained their 
wars, and have so greatly prospered and enriched themselves. 

If that their little country of the United Provinces can do 
this (as is most manifest before our eyes they do), then what 
may we His Majesty's subjects do, if this trade of fishing 
were once erected among us ? We having in our own 
countries [coiinties\, sufficient store of all necessaries to accom- 
plish the like business. 

For the Hollanders have nothing growing in their own 
land for that business ; but they are compelled to fetch 
all their wood, timber, and plank, wherewith they build 
and make all their ships of, out of divers countries : their 
iron out of other places ; their hemp and cordage out of 
the Eastern [Baltic] Countries; the hoops and barrel-boards 
out of Norway and Sprucia [Prussia]; their bread-corn out of 
Poland and the East Parts; their malt, barley, and best 
Double Drink from England ; and also all their fish and 
chiefest wealth out of His Majesty's seas. 

The which they do transport unto the foresaid countries ; 
and return for the procedue [proceeds] of fish and herrings, the 
forenamed commodities : whereby their ships and mariners 
are set on work, and continually multiplied ; and into their 
countries is plentiful store of money and gold daily brought, 
only [solely] for the sales of fish and herrings. 

And their country being, as it were, a small plot of ground 
in comparison of Great Britain ; for two of His Majesty's 
counties, Suffolk and Norfolk, do equal, if not exceed, in 
spaciousness, all their Provinces : and yet it is manifest, that 
for shipping and seafaring men, all England, Scotland, 
France, and Spain, for quantity of shipping and fishermen, 
cannot make so great a number. 

Howsoever this may seem strange unto many that do not 
know it ; yet do I assure myself, that a great number besides 
myself, know I affirm nothing herein but the truth. Where- 
fore seeing the great benefit that this business by the Busses, 

;,30 England needs only Pitch and Tak. [''■*^j;,''.™']J: 

bonadventures, or fisherships ; by erecting of this profitable 
and new trade, whicii will bring plenty unto His Majesty's 
Kingdoms and be for the general good of the Common wealth ; 
in setting of many thousands of poor people on work, which now 
know not how to live; and also for the increasing of ships and 
fishermen, which shall be employed about the taking of fish 
and herrings out of His Majesty's own streams; and also for 
ihe employing of ships, and increasing of mariners for the 
strengthening of the Kingdom against all foreign invasions ; 
and for the enriching of Merchants with transportation of 
fish and herrings into other countries ; and also for the 
bringing in of gold and money : which now is grown but 
scarce, by reason that the Dutch and Hollanders have so long 
time been suffered to carry away our money and best gold for 
fish and herrings taken out of His Majesty's own streams ; 
wtich His Majesty's own subjects do want and still are likei^ly] 
to do, if that they be not forbidden for bringing us fish and 
herrings ; and this worthy common wealth's business of 
Busses fostered and furthered by His Majesty's honourable 
Council, and the worshipful and wealthy subjects ; by putting 
to their helping Adventures now at the first, for that those 
that be now the fishermen, of themselves be not able to begin. 

Those poor boats and sorry nets that our fishermen of 
England now have, are all their chiefest wealth ; but were 
their ability better, they would soon be employing themselves : 
for that it is certain that all the fishermen of England do 
rejoice now at the very name and news of building of Busses, 
with a most joyful applaud, praying to GOD to further it ! 
for what great profit and pleasure it will bring they do well 
understand, and I will hereafter declare. 

First, I shall not need to prove that it is lawful for us that 
be His Majesty's own subjects, to take with all diligence 
the blessings that Almighty GOD doth yearly send unto us, 
at their due times and seasons ; and which do offer them- 
selves freely and abundantly to us, in our own seas and 
nigh our own shores. 

Secondly, to prove that it is feasible for us ; for what can be 
more plain than that we see daily done before our ej-es by 
the Hollanders ! that have nothing that they use, growing in 
their own land, but are constrained to fetch all out of other 
countries : whereas we have all things that shall be used 

''' '^l^nTeM:] Fisheries, the Dutch Gold Mine. 331 

about that business growing at home in our own land ; pitch 
and tar only excepted. 

Thirdly, to prove it will be profitable, no man need to 
doubt; for that we see the Hollanders have long maintained 
their wars: and are nevertheless grown exceeding rich: which 
are things to be admired, insomuch that themselves do call it 
their chiejcst trade, and principal Gold Mine; whereby many 
thousands of their people oj trades and occupations be set on ivork, 
well maintained, and do prosper. These be the Hollanders' own 
words in a Dutch Proclamation, and translated into English; 
and the copy of that Proclamation is here annexed unto the 
end of my book [see p. 350]. 

And shall we neglect so great blessings ! O slothful 
England, and careless countrymen ! look but on these fellows, 
that we call the plump Hollanders! Behold their diligence 
in fishing ! and our own careless negligence ! 

In the midst of the month of May, do the industrious 
Hollanders begin to make ready their Busses and fisher- 
fleets ; and by the first of their June [i.e., N.S.] are they yearly 
ready, and seen to sail out of the Maas, the Texel, and the 
Vlie, a thousand Sail together ; for to catch herrings in the 
North seas. 

Six hundred of these fisherships and more, be great Busses 
some six score tons, most of them be a hundred tons, and the 
rest three score tons, and fifty tons: the biggest of them 
having four and twenty men ; some twenty men, and some 
eighteen, and sixteen men a piece. So that there cannot be 
in this Fleet of People, no less than twenty thousand sailors. 

These having with them bread, butter, and Holland cheese 
for their provision, do daily get their other diet out of His 
Majesty's seas ; besides the lading of this Fleet three times a 
piece commonly before Saint Andrew['s day, October 24] with 
herrings, which being sold by them but at the rate of Ten 
Pounds the Last, amounteth unto much more than the sum 
of one million of pounds [ = ^4,500,000 in present value] 
sterling ; only [solely] by this fleet of Busses yearly. No King 
upon the earth did ever see such a fleet of his own subjects 
at any time; and yet this Fleet is, there and then, yearly to 
be seen. A most worthy sight it were, if they were my own 
countrymen ; yet have I taken pleasure in being amongst them, 
to behold the neatness of their ships and fishermen, how 

332 The great Fleet of B u s .s e s . ['"• ^y,!!"^,: 

every man knoweth his own place, and all labouring merrily 
together : whereby the poorest sort of themselves, their wives 
and children, be well maintained; and no want seen amongst 

And thus North-West-and-by-North hence along they steer, 
then being the very heart of summer and the very yolk of all 
the year, sailing until they do come unto the Isle of Shet- 
shetiand is the land, which is His Majesty's dominions. And 
aihheOrcade°s! with this gallant fleet of Busses, there have been 
and lieth in the gecn twcntv, thirty, and forty ships of war to waft 

height of 60° _ ^ •' ' ■; ' , . •' , r ... , , 

N. Lat. [convoy] and guard them from bemg pillaged and 

taken by their enemies and Dunkirkers : but now the wars 
be ended, they do save that great charge, for they have not 
now about four or six to look unto them, for [from] being 
spoiled by rovers and pirates. 

Now if that it happen that they have so good a wind as to be 
at Shetland before the 14th day of their June [i.c.,N.S.] as most 
commonly they have, then do they all put into Shetland, nigh 
Swinborough [Suinbiwgh] Head ; into a sound called Bracies 
[Bressa] Sound, and there they frolic it on land, until that 
they have sucked out all the marrow of the malt and good 
Scotch ale, which is the best liquor that the island doth 
afford: but the 14th day of June being once come, then away- 
all of them go, for that is the first day, by their own law, 
before which time they must not lay a net; for until then the 
herrings be not in season, nor fit to be taken to be salted. 

From this place, being nigh two hundred leagues from 
Yarmouth, do they now first begin to fish, and they do never 
leave the shoals of herrings, but come along amongst them, 
following the herrings as they do come, five hundred miles in 
length [along], and lading their ships twice or thrice before 
they come to Yarmouth, with the principal and best herrings, 
and sending them away by the merchant ships that cometh 
unto them, that bringeth them victuals, barrels, and more salt, 
and nets if that they do need any, the which ships that buyeth 
their herrings they do call Herring Yagers [now spelt Jagers] : 
and these Yagers carry them, and sell them in the East 
[Baltic] Countries, some to Revel and to Riga, and some so far 
as Narva and Russia, Stockholm in Sweden, Quinsbordugh 
[? Konigsberg], Dantsic, and Elving [Elbi)!g], and all Poland, 
Sprucia, and Pomerland, Letto [Lithuania], Burnt-Hollume, 

^' "^"rnlTeM:] The work of the Herring Jagers. 333 

Ftettin, Lubeck, and Jutland and Denmark. Returning hemp, 
flax, cordage, cables, and iron ; corn, soap ashes, wax, wains- 
cot, clapholt [? clap-boards], pitch, tar, masts, and spruce 
deals, hoops and barrel-boards [staves] ; and plenty of silver 
and gold : only [solely] for their procedue [proceeds] of herrings. 

Now besides this great Fleet of the Busses, the Hollanders 
have a huge number more of smaller burden, only for to take 
herrings also; and these be of the burden from fifty tons unto 
thirty tons, and twenty tons. The greatest of them have 
twelve men a piece, and the smallest eight and nine men a 
piece ; and these are vessels of divers fashions and not like 
unto the Busses, yet go they only for herrings in the season, 
and they be called, some of them, Sword-Pinks, Flat-Bottoms, 
Holland-Toads, Crab-Skuits, and Yevers : and all these, or the 
most part do go to Shetland ; but these have no Yagers to 
come unto them ; but they go themselves home when they be 
laden, or else unto the best market. There have been seen 
and numbered of Busses and these, in braces [rigged], sound, 
and going out to sea ; and at sea in sight at one time, two 
thousand Sail, besides them that were at sea without [out of] 
sight, which could not be numbered. 

It is Bartholomewtide [August 24] yearly, before that they 
be come from Shetland with the herrings so high as [down to] 
Yarmouth: and all those herrings that they do catch in the 
Yarmouth seas from Bartholomewtide until Saint Andrew['s 
day, October 24], the worst that be, the roope-sick herrings that 
will not serve to make barrelled herrings by their own law, 
they must not bring home into Holland ; wherefore they do 
sell them for ready money or gold unto the Yarmouth men, 
that be no fishermen, but merchants and ingrossers of great 
quantitiesof herrings, if that, by any means, they can get them. 
So that the Hollanders be very welcome guests unto the 
Yarmouthian [!] herring-buyers, and the Hollanders do call 
them their " hosts," and they do yearly carry away from 
Yarmouth many a thousand pounds, as it is well known. 

But these Hollanders, with the ladings of the best, which 
they make their best brand herrings to serve for Lenten store, 
they send some for Bordeaux, some for Rochelle, Nantes, 
Morlaix ; and Saint Malo and Caen in Normandy ; Rouen, 
Paris, Amiens, and all Picardy and Calais : and they do 
return from these places wines, salt, feathers, rosin, woad, 

Normandy canvas, and Dowlais cloth, and money and French 
crowns. But out of all the Archduke's countries they return 
nothinp; from thence but ready money, in my own knowledge; 
and their ready payment was all double Jacobuses, English 
twenty-[fivej shilling pieces. I have seen more there, in one 
day, than ever I did in London at any time. 

For at Ostend, Newport, and Dunkirk, where and when 
the Holland Pinks cometh in, there daily the Merchants, 
that be but women (but not such women as the fishwives of 
Billingsgate ; for these Netherland women do lade away 
many waggons with fresh fish daily, some for Bruges, and 
some for Brussels, Yperen, Dixmuiden, and Rissels [Lillet, 
and at Sas by Ghent), I have seen these Women-Merchants 
have their aprons full of nothing but English Jacobuses, to 
make all their payment of; and such heaps and budgetfuls 
in the counting-houses of the Fish Brokers, which made me 
much to wonder how they should come by them. And 
I have seen a slso I know that capons are not so dearly sold 
ISd'Jh'ere'for'' ^y ^'""^ poultercrs in Gratious [Gracechurch] Street 
twoshiiiings in London, as fresh fish is sold by the Hol- 
Lndl turbo""' landers in all those Roman Catholic and Papistical 

for a Jacobus. countries. 

And whereas I have made but a true relation of their Fleets 
of Busses, and only the herring fishermen that be on His 
Majesty's seas from June until November : I will here set 
down the fishermen that, all the year long, in the seasons, do 
fish for Cod and Ling continually, going and returning laden 
•with barrelled fish. 

And these be Pinks and Well-boats of the burden of forty 
tons, and the smallest thirty tons. These have some twelve 
men a piece, one with another. There is of this sort of fisher- 
boats, beginning at Flushing, Camefere, Surwick Sea, the 
Maas, the Texel, and the Vlie, and the other sandy islands, 
about five hundred or six hundred Sail which, all the year 
long, are fishing for Cod ; whereof they do make their barrelled 
fish, which they do transport in the summer into the East 
parts, but in winter all France is served by them and all the 
Archduke's countries before spoken of: both of barrelled fish 
and fresh fish, which they of purpose do keep alive in their 

^■"^jan.Ti":] Description of the English fishermen. 335 

boats in wells. And to us here in England, for love of our 
strong beer, they bring us barrelled fish in winter ; and carry 
away our money and gold every day in great quantities. 

Besides all these Pinks and Well-boats, the Hollanders 
have continually, in the season, another fleet of fishermen, 
at the north-east head of Shetland, which be of another 
quality: and there are more than two hundred of these, and 
these be called Fly-boats. These do ride at anchor all the 
season at Shetland, in the fishing grounds, and they have 
small boats within them, which be like unto Cobles, the 
which they do put out to lay and haul their lines, whereby 
they do take great store of Ling : the which they do not 
barrel, but split them and salt them in the ship's hulk [hold] ; 
and these they sell commonly for four and five pounds the 
hundred. These go by the name of Holland Lings : but 
they are taken out of His Majesty's seas, and were Shetland 
Lings before they took them there ; and for these Lings they 
do carry away abundance of England's best money daily. 

Ow HAVING declared according unto truth, the 
numbersof their fishermen in Holland for herrings 
upon His Majesty's seas ; and also of their Pinks 
and Well-boats ; and their courses for taking, 
venting, and selling of their barrelled fish and 
fresh fish ; and also of their Fly-boats at the north-east 
head of Shetland, for Shetland Lings : I think it now best, 
truly to show the true number of our English fishermen, and 
how they do employ themselves all the year long; first 
beginning at Colchester, nigh the mouth of the Thames, and 
so proceeding northward. 

I can scarce afford these men of that Water the name of 
fishermen ; for that their chiefest trade is dredging for oysters : 
yet have they, in the summer, some eight or ten boats in the 
North seas for Cod ; which if that they happen to spend all 
their salt, and to speed well, they may get some twenty pounds 
in a summer clear. 

But here, by the way, I will make known a great abuse 
that is offered to the common wealth, and especially to all 
the herring fishermen of England, only by those men of 
Colchester Water. For these men, from Saint Andrew 

^^^6 Colchester fishers of Bleaks. [^•*^j"i'.';^1": 

{October 24I until Candlemas [Fcbmary 2], and sometimes 
longer, do set forth Stale-boats, amonj^'st the sands in the 
Thames' mouth, for to take sprats, with great stale-nets, 
with a great poke [baf^]; and they standing in the Swinnc 
or the King's Channel on the back of the Gunfleet, they do 
there take instead of sprats, infinite thousands of young 
herrings, smaller than sprats and not good to be eaten, for 
one sprat is better worth than twenty of those Bleakes or 
young herrings. But because they do fill the bushel at 
Billingsgate, where they do sell them for sprats ; the which, 
if that they were let [ajlive, would all be, at Midsummer, a 
fat Summer full Herring. And a peck is sometimes there 
sold for twopence ; which number of herrings at Midsummer 
would make a barrel of summer herrings, worth twenty or 
thirty shillings. 

If that they could take sprats it were good, for they be 
good victuals for the City ; but for every cartload or bushel 
of sprats, they take a hundred cartloads or bushels of these 
young herrings ; which be the very spawn of the shoals of the 
herrings that cometh from Shetland every summer : and 
whereas they come into Yarmouth seas yearly about Saint 
Luke's [day, September 21] and (sometimes before, if that it 
do blow a hard easterly wind) do always at that season 
become roope-sick and do spawn and become shotten [empty] 
betwixt Wintertonness and Orfordness. And those fry of that 
spawn, those young little creatures, by the wisdom of the 
great Creator, seeketh into the shore and shallow places, 
there to be nourished, and also into the Thames' mouth into 
the sweetest waters ; for that the water nigh the shore and 
in the Thames' mouth is not so briny salt as it is farther off 
in the deep water. Where these Bleaks yearly seeking to be 
nourished, they be always at that season taken and destroyed. 
But if that these men will needs use their Stale-boats and 
nets, let them go where the good sprats be. They must then 
stand at Orfordness and in Dunwich bay, where there be 
excellent sprats : and for the good of all the herring fishermen 
of England, I wish that they might be prohibited to sell that 
which is not wholesome to be eaten ; which is as much as to 
sell hemlock for parsnips. 

The next to Colchester, is Harwich Water. A royal harbour 
and a proper town, lit for the use of Busses (no place in all 

'^•^jL'nl'iaM:] Fishermen ov Harwich a\d Ii'swich. t,:},7 

Holland comparable to it, for there is both land and strand 
and dry beach enough for four hundred Sail); but the chiefest 
trade of the inhabitants of this place is with Caravels for 
Newcastle coals : but they have three or four ships yearly 
that they do send to Iceland for Cod and Ling from March 
until September ; and some years they get, and some years 
they lose. But if that they had but once the trade of Busses, 
this would soon be a tine place : but those Caravels and Ships 
which they now have, be all their chiefest wealth. 

Si.K miles up Harwich water stands Ipswich ; which is a gal- 
lant town and rich. This Town is such a place for the Busses, 
as in all England and Holland I know no place so convenient. 
First, it is the best place in all England for the building of 
Busses ; both for the plenty of timber and plank, and 
excellent workmen for making of ships. There are more 
there, than there are in si.x of the best towns in all England. 
Secondly, it is a principal place for good housewives for 
spinning of yarn, for the making of pouldavice [canvas] ; for 
there is the best that is made. Which town with the use 
of the making of twine, will soon be the best place of all 
England for to provide nets for the Busses. It is also a most 
convenient place for the wintering of the Busses, for that all 
the shores of that river are altogether ooze and soft ground, 
fit for them to lie on in winter. 

Also the Ipswich men be the chiefest Merchant Adventurers 
of all England, for all the East Lands [Baltic Th„ io«n is 
Countries], for the Suffolk cloths : and they have o:.m'cmJlu'* 
their factors lying, all the year long, in all those |;''i7, 'IV'iw,, 
places where the Hollanders do vent their herrings, for wmV.r aii 
and where the best price and sale is continually, thp^retlir'n ?nd 
And although that yet there be no hshermen, yet huLI-'*"' 
have they store of seafaring men, and for Masters hemngs from 

r 1 T*i 1 1 1 r X r Dantsic and 

tor the Busses, they may have enough from Yar- Poland, 
mouth and So[uthjWLo]ld and the sea-coast towns [villages] 
down their river. From Nacton and Chimton, Holbroke, 
Shotley, and Cowlness they may get men that will soon be 
good fishermen with but little use. For understand thus 
much ! that there is a kind of emulation in Holland between 
the fishermen that go to sea in Pinks and Line-boats, winter 
and summer ; and those fishermen that go in the Busses. 
For they in the Pinks make a scorn of them in the Busses,;. C.1R. IV. 23 

33<^ Imsiikkmkx oi'- OrI'-orp, Ai.diiorougii, [^- "^^^r.T,": 

and do call them /•f)f-)»///iv;/i or "cow-milkers" : for indeed tlie 
most part of them be men of occupations [handicrcijhmcn in 
winter, or else countrymen ; and do milk the cows themselves 
and make all the Holland cheese, when they be at home. 

This place is also most convenient for the erecting; of salt- 
pans, for the making of " Salt upon Salt." For that the 
harbour is so good that, at all times, ships may come unto 
them with salt from Mayo, or Spanish salt, to make brine or 
pickle ; and also the Caravels from Newcastle with coals for 
the boiling of it at the cheapest rates, at any time may come 

To the north-east of this place, three or four leagues, is 
Orford Haven ; and in the towns of Orford and Aldborough 
especially be many good fishermen. And there are belonging 
to those towns some forty or fifty North Sea boats, that 
yearly go to sea, having seven men apiece ; and ten or twelve 
Iceland barks, which sometimes get something, and some- 
times little or nothing. If that these men's wealth were in 
Busses and nets, and had but once the trade, they would put 
down the Hollander I for they be great plyers of any voyage 
that they do undertake. 

About three leagues to the northward is So[uth]w[o]ld Haven, 
Dunwichin and in the towns of So[uth]w[o]ld, Dunwich, and 
S'bU'nTe Walderswick be a very good breed of fishermen ; and 
Kfnjfoflhe there are belongingunto those three towns, of North 
East Angles. Sga boats some twenty sail ; and of Iceland barks 
au'ruTned!"' some fifty Sail, which yearly they send for Cod and 
Ling to Iceland. 

Myfatheriived This towD of So[uth]w[o]ld, of a sea town, is the 
in this town most beneficial unto His Majesty, of all the towns 

until he was 98 . „ , , , 1 1 , 1 ' • , j • 

years of age, m I'^ngland ; by reason all their trade is unto 
coi^^lftion"' Iceland for Ling, and His Majesty's Serjeant 
yi"« ulTtTfour Caterer hath yearly gratis out of every ship and 
{"■:i»c|s viz., bark, one hundred of the choicest and fairest Lings, 
gieenMAKv," which bc worth more than ten pound the hundred ; 
iuzAi.ETH, and the\- call them "Composition Fish." But these 

and until the 
►ixth y 
1.6oq) c 

: gracious 

men of this place are greatly hindered, and in a 

■&^)'Jf"the manner undone, by reason their haven is so bad, 

""""'"'" and in a manner often stopped up with beach and 

wh"''?";,,,!, shingle stone that the wind and tide and the sea do 

beat thither, so that many time, in the season. 

when they be read}- to go to sea ; they cannot get [Ijo",""' 
out when time is to go to sea; neither can tiiey pounds, fur one 
get in when they return from sea, but oftentimes wl"," 
do cast away their goods and tliemselves. This liaven if that 
it had but a south pier built of timber, would be a far better 
haven than Yarmouth haven, with one quarter of the cost 
that hath been bestowed on Yarmouth haven. They be now 
suitors unto His Majesty : GOD grant that they may speed ! 
For it is pitiful, the trouble and damage that all the men of 
these three towns do daily sustain by their naughty [inade- 
quate] harbour. 

To the northward of So:uth]w[o]ld Haven three leagues, are 
Kirkle_\- and hayestof [Loiccstoft], decajed towns. They have 
six or seven North Sea boats : but they of Lowestoft make 
benefit yearly of buying of herrings of the Hollanders; for 
likewise these Hollanders be "hosted" with the Lowestoft 
men, as they be with the Yarmouthians. 

To the northward, two leagues, is the town of Great 
Yarmouth, very beautifully built upon a ver}- inaiiuis 
pleasant and sandy plain of three miles in length. J[;'|j'^>2 nut 
This town is a place of great resort of all the nny,u>vn''com- 
herring fisliermen of England. For thither do ^.Thrl^yT^" " 
resort all the fishermen of the Cinque Ports and ''"''''"'=•>■ 
all the rest of the West Country men of England, as far 
as Burport [Bridport], and Lyme [Regis] in Dorsetshire: 
and those herrings that they do take they do not barrel, 
because their boats be but small things, but they sell all 
unto the Yarmouth herring-buyers for ready money. And 
also the fishermen of the north countries, beyond Scarborough 
and Robin Hood's Bay, and some as far as the Bishopric of 
Durham do thither resort yearly, in poor little boats called 
" Five-Men Cobbles"; and all the herrings that they do take 
they do sell fresh unto the Yarmouth men, to make red 

Also to Yarmouth, do daily come into the haven up to the 
quay, all or the most part of the great Meet of Hollanders, 
which before I made relation of, that go in the Sword-Pinks, 
Holland-Toads, Crab-Skuits, Walnut-Shells, and great and 
small Yevers ; one hundred and two hundred sail at one time 
together, and all their herrings that they do bring in, they do 
sell them all, for ready money, to the Yarmouth inen. 

340 Advantageous situatioxV of Yarmouth. ['^' ^ja7,'76M. 

And also the Frenchmen of Picardy and Normandy, some 
hundred sail of them at a time, do come thither; and all the 
herrings they catch, they sell fresh unto these Herring-mongers 
of Yarmouth, for ready money. So that it amounteth unto a 
great sum of money, that the Hollanders and Frenchmen do 
carry away from Yarmouth jearly into Holland and France : 
which mone}' doth never come again into England. 

This town is very well governed by wise and civil [prudent] 
Magistrates, and good orders carefully observed for the 
maintenance of their Haven and Corporation. And this town, 
by reason of the situation, and the fresh rivers that belong 
to it, one [the Wensum] up to the city of Norwich ; and 
another [the Wavency] that runneth far up into Suffolk, a 
butter and cheese country, about Bunga [Buuf^ay] and 
Betkels [Bcccles] ; and a third [the Bare] that runneth far up 
into Flegg [by Aylcsham] a corn country; by reason whereof 
this town of Yarmouth is always well served with all kind 
of provision at good and cheap rates : whereby they of the 
town do relieve the strangers, and also do benefit themselves. 

To this town belongeth some twenty Iceland barks, which 
yearly they do send for Cod and Ling, and some hundred 
and fifty sail of North Sea boats. They make a shift to live ; 
but if that they had the use of Busses and also barrelled fish, 
they would excel all England and Holland. For they be 
the only fishermen for North seas, and also the best for the 
handling of their fish that be in all this land. 

The herring buyers of Yarmouth doth profit more than doth 
the fishermen of Yarmouth, by reason of the resort of the 
Hollanders ; for that they are suffered to sell all their roope- 
sick herrings at Yarmouth to the Merchants there. And 
also the barrelled fish that the Flemings do bring in winter 
to London, Ipswich, Lynn, and Hull do also gale [gciid] 
them : but for that [seeing that] our fishermen may, if they 
please, make barrelled fish themselves ; and therefore I will 
not moan [bemoan] them ! 

The merchant herring buyer of Yarmouth that hath a 
hrvrj°''-.''ihe stock of his own, so long as he can make his gains 
oniV'refuVJ; in SO Certain with buying of roope-sick herrings of 
wMlheVfor all the Hollanders, will never lay out his money to 
'\\\kLu""1 build or set forth Busses ; and the fishermen be 
P>.rt. ai.d :,ir now so poor, by reason that they only do bear the 

^' "jTifAi^M'] Blackney, Weu.r, Kint.'s Lynn, Boston. 341 

whole charge of that costly haven, the merchant fi'^^^fhosj"" 
herring bu3ers being not at any charge thereof: -ca^ ; and it is 
but all that great cost cometh out of the fisher- timber, against 
men's labours for the maintenance of that wooden ,'he main"sel°^ 
haven [pier], which amounteth to some five i'!^ now in 

hi , ^ 1 i great danger 

undred pounds a year, and some years more, to come to 

So that though they be willing, yet their ability ha've'.wt'herp 

will not suffer them to do it; neither can they ""'""=• 

forbear [invcst\ their money to adventure their herrings into 

the East [Baltic] Countries, where the best sales always be. 

To the northward of Yarmouth eight leagues, are the 

towns of Blackney and Wells, good harbours and fit for 

Busses : and they have good store of fishermen. And these 

towns have some twenty Sail of barks that they do yearly 

send unto Iceland. But these towns be greatly decayed, to 

that they have been in times past : the which places, if that 

they had but twenty Busses belonging to them, would soon 

grow rich towns in short time. 

Then is there [King's] Lynn, a proper gallant town for 

sea-faring men, and for men for Iceland. This is a rich 

town, and they have some twenty Sail of Iceland ships, that 

they yearly send for Cod and Ling : and I arn in hope to see 

them fall to the use of Busses as soon as any men. 

To the northward is Boston, a proper town ; and like unto 

Holland's soil, for low ground and sands coming in : but yet 

there are but few fishermen ; but it is a most fit place for 

Busses. If that they had but once the taste of them, they 

would soon find good liking. 

Ne.xt to Boston, some twenty leagues to the northward, is 

the great river of Humber, wherein there is Hull, a very 

proper town of sailors and shipping: but there be but few 

fishermen. But it is a most convenient place for to adventure 


There are also Grimsby, Paul, and Patrington. In all 

these places now there is great store of poor and idle people, 

that know not how to live ; and the most of all these places 

be deca3ed, and the best of them all grow worse and worse : 

which with the use of Busies would soon grow rich merchant 

towns, as is in Holland. For to these places would be 

transported of the East lands all manner of commodities for 

the use of Busses ; and houses and work-yards erected for 

3.p Gkimm'.v, Pali,, Patkincton, and Uli.l. ['• ^'p,'.';'6u: 

coopers, and ropemakeis, and f^reat numbers of net-makers. 
And with the recourse of tlie ships tliat sliall bring salt and 
other commodities, and ships that shall lade away their 
herrings and fish, these places shall soon become populous ; 
and money stirring plentifully in these places returned for the 
procedue [proceeds'] of fish and herrings: which places now 
be exceeding poor and beggarly. 

In all these fisher towns, that I have before named, 
as Colchester, Harwich, Orford, Aldborough, Dunwich, 
Walderswick, So;uth^w[o:ld, Yarmouth, Blackney, Wells, 
Lynn, Boston, and Hull — these be all the chiefest towns; and 
all thatuseth the North seas in summer: and all these towns, 
it is well known, be ruinated. 

In all these towns I know to be — Iceland barks, and — 
\"^hm for ^'orth Sea boats; and all these fishermen having — 
ti'.nt lomit men a piece amounteth to the sum of — . But admit 
nu^bcrnnd that there are in all the West Country of England 
whiihTouid of fisherboats, tag and rag, that bringeth home all 
IfTwere'lom" *^'^^'^ ^^'^' '^^'h''^''' seldom or never useth any salt ; 
riandid.*"'"" Say, that they have other — men a piece which makes 
the sum of — in all England. 

But in all these I have not reckoned the fishermen, mac- 
kerel-catchers, nor the Cobble-men of the north country, which 
having — men a piece, cometh to — men in all England. 

But so many in all England, and I have truly showed 
before, that the Hollander hath in one fleet of Busses, twenty 
thousand fishermen : besides all them that goeth in the 
Sword-Pinks, Flat-Bottoms, Crab- Skuits, Walnut-Shells, and 
Great Yevers, wherein there are not less than twelve thousand 
more: and all these are only for to catch herrings in the 
North seas. Besides all they that go in the Fly-boats for 
Shetland Ling, and the Pinks for barrelled fish, and Trammel- 
boats : which cometh unto five thousand more. 

So that It is most true, that as they have the sum of — 
fishermen more than there is in all this land : and by reason 
of their Busses and Pinks and fishermen that set theii 
Merchant-ships on work [a work] ; so have they — ships and 
— mariners more than we. 

* Our Author has however already specified tlic iiuniljcr to be, at least, 
Iceland barks 126, and North Sea boals 237. 

>'n.'"6T4:] O U R F I S II I X G S IJ R I N G I N N O C O I X. 343 

lOw IN our sum of — fishermen ; let us see what 
\'ent [sale] have we for our fish into other countries? 
and what commodities and coin is brought into 
this kingdom ? and what ships are set on work by 
them, whereby mariners are bred or employed ? 
Not one ! It is pitiful ! 

For when our fishermen cometh home the first voyage [i.e., 
ill the summer] from the North Seas, they go either to London, 
Ipswich, Yarmouth, Lynn, Hull, or Scarborough ; and there 
they do sell, at good rates, the first voyage. But the second 
voyage (because that they which be now the fishermen, have 
not yet the right use of making of barrelled fish, wherewith 
they might serve France, as do the Hollanders) they be 
now constrained to sell in England. For that it is staple 
:standai'd[ fish; and not being barrelled, the French will not 
buy it. 

But if that our fishermen had but once the use of Pinks 
and Line-boats and barrelled fish ; then they might serve 
F'rance as well as the Hollanders : which by this new trade 
of Busses being once erected, and Pinks, and Line-boats 
after the Holland manner; there will be fishermen enough 
to manage the Pinks for barrelled fish, from November unto 
the beginning of May, only the most part of those men that 
shall be maintained by the Busses. For that, when the Busses 
do leave work, in the winter, their men shall have employment 
by the Pinks for barrelled fish ; which men now do little or 
nothing. For this last winter at Yarmouth, there were three 
hundred idle men that could get nothing to do, living very 
poor for lack of employment ; which most gladly would have 
gone to sea in Pinks, if there had been any for them to go in. 
And whereas I said before, that there was not one ship set 
on work by our fishermen : there may be objected against 
me this. That there doth every year commonly lade at 
Yarmouth four or five London ships for the S'traits [0/ 
Gibraltar], which is sometimes true. And the Yarmouth 
men themselves do yearly send two or three ships to 
Bordeaux, and two or three boats laden with j);, 'i^^'j^"'^^,, 
herrings, to Rouen, or to Nantes, or Saint Malo : i>w''shipsthis 
whereby there are returned salt, wines, and Nor- ,'h"e!'"''"* 
mandy canvas; whereby the King hath some custom. But 
there is no money returned into England for these herrings, 

;,44 'I '"•- COST OF A Hi-RRiNG Bi'ss. [^- "i^'Ts^;!!: 

Note here how wliich cost tlic Yarmoutliians ready f^old, before 
em """jhem-' ^'''''^ ''^^J' ^^^ them of tlic Hollanders and French- 
selves and their men to lade these ships : and therefore I may boldh- 

Ships ! Kirsi, in XT .. I " " 

lakini; of the Say, N ot One I 

\"ih^r\l'^ni' And this last year now the Hollanders them- 
^ontcmVbut ss^^'^s have also gotten that trade, for there did lade 
catch them twclve Sail of Holland ships with red herrings at 
t'hey"be''dMd ! Yarmouth for Civita Vecchia, Leghorn, Genoa, and 
"hcir''°hf ' and Marseilles and Toulon. Most of them being ladened 
jjiariners on by the EngHsli merchants. So that if this be 
Kncii'sh^'ships suffered, the English owners of ships shall have 
licuparotting! ^^^ g^^j[ employment for theirs. 

Ow TO show truly, what the whole charge of a 
Buss will be, with all her furniture, as masts, 
sails, anchors, cables, and with all her fisher's 
implements and appurtenances, at the first pro- 
vided all new. It is a great charge, she being 
beuvc-en thirty and forty Last [ = 60 to 80 Tons] and will cost 
some five hundred pounds [= about £2,250 in present valuel. 
By the grace of GOD, the Ship or Buss will continue 
twenty years, with small cost and reparations: but the 3early 
slite [fraying] and wear of her tackle and war-ropes and 
nets will cost some eighty pounds. 

And the whole charge for the keeping of her at sea for the 
whole summer, or three voyages; for the fitting of a hundred 
Last of caske or barrels. 

If any will loo Last of Barrels 

pn;'tLlar'';r For Salt, four months 

Wevs of Salt, liecr, foiM" niontlis 

Be^r^or'Hun ^°'' ^^^'>-<^' f^"'' mOntllS .. 

dr«Uweigiit|"of Bacon and Butter 

biscuits, I will For Pease, four months 

r^ve1?;;;^,« F">- I>>llet, fo«r months 

/olhim; but For men's wagcs, four month: 
here is the 
whole charge, 
and with the 



One hundred Last of 
herring's, filled and 
sold at ;i(|io the Last, 
Cometh to one thou- 
sand pounds. 

Henincrs ... ,£1,000 
The whole charge 335 


; in Vol. III. 


Here plainly appeareth that there is gotten £66: 


summer, whereout if that you do deduct ;^ioo for the wear 
of the ship and the reparations of her nets against the next 
summer ; yet still there ^"565 remaining for clear And i have 
gains, by one Buss in one year. Herrings, but 

The Hollanders do make [consider] the profit of at /:io the Last; 
their Busses so certain, that they do lay out their !he"iea«. "B'or 
own children's money, given them by their deceased J^oniy soicTby 
friends, in adventuring in the Busses ; and also !,';', J^""^"''"' 
there is in Holland a Treasury for Orphans opened £15 an.i £-0 
and laid out in adventuring in the Busses. the inst. 

The Hollanders do make both a profitable and a pleasant 
trade of this summer fishing. For there was one of them 
that having a gallant great new Buss of his own, and he 
having a daughter married unto one that was his Mate in the 
Buss : the Owner that was Master of this Buss did take his 
wife with him aboard, and his Mate his wife ; and so they 
did set sail for the North seas, with the two women with 
them, the mother and the daughter. Where, having a 
fair wind, and being fishing in the North seas, they had soon 
filled their Buss with herrings; and a Herring-Yager cometh 
unto them, and brings them gold and fresh supplies, and 
copeth [bargaineth] with them, and taketh in their herrings 
for ready money, and delivereth them more barrels Ready money: 
and salt ; and away goeth the Yager for the first °''^!'''^''^^' 
market into Sprucia [Prussia]. And still is the Eiiisof"''" 
Buss fishing at sea, and soon after again was full be^paidlu " 
laden and boone [bound] home: but then another first sight. 
Yager cometh unto him as did the former, and delivering 
them more provision of barrels, salt, and ready money, and 
bids them farewell. And still the Buss lieth at sea, with 
the mother and daughter, so long, and not very long before 
they had again all their barrels full ; and then they sailed 
home into Holland, with the t\\o women, and the buss laden 
with herrings, and a thousand pounds of ready money. 

If that any man should make question of the truth of this, 
it will be very credibly approved by di\ers of good credit that 
be now in the city of London. 

Now to show the charge of a Pink of eighteen or twenty 
Last [ = 36/0 40 tons]. The Pink being built new, and all 
things new into her, will not cost £2bo, with all her lines, 
hooks, and all her fisher appurtenances. 

346 The cost of a Im s u i n c Pink. ['^- 'iit'.l.'Ti;!!.' 


15 Last of barrels will cost ^10 

5 Weys of "Salt upon Salt" 15 

For Beer and Cask 7 

For Bread 3 

For Butter i 

For the Petty Tally i 

For men's waj^es for two months, Master 

and all together 20 

Fifteen Last of barrelled fish at £14 8s. the Last, which 
is but twenty-four shillings the barrel, amounteth Xo£zib\ 
whereout if that you do deduct ^^57 for the charge of setting 
her to sea, there is still resting ;f 159 clear gain by one Pink, 
with fifteen Last of fish, for two months. 

Wherefore, seeing the profit so plain ; and, by the grace 
of GOD, so certain ; both by the Busses and Line-boats, 
whereby the Hollanders have so long gained by : let all 
noble, worshipful, and wealthy subjects put to their 
adventuring and helping hands, for the speedy launching 
and floating forward of this great good common wealth 
business, for the strengthening of His Majesty's dominions 
with two principal pillars, which are, with plenty of coin 
brought in for Fish and herrings from other nations, and also 
for the increasing of mariners against all common invasions. 
And also for the bettering of trades and occupations, and 
setting of thousands of poor and idle people on work, which 
now know not how to live ; which by this Trade of liusses 
shall be employed : as daily we see is done, before our eyes, by 
the Hollanders. And, as always it hath been seen, that 
those that be now the fishermen of England have been always 
found to be suflicient to serve His Majesty's ships in former 
time, when there has been employment: which fellows, by this 
new trade of building and setting forth of Busses will be 
greatly multiplied and increased in this land. Which fellows, 
as we see the Hollanders, being well fed in fishing affairs, 
and strong er and lustier than the sailors that use the long 
southern voyages that sometimes are greatly surfeited and 
hunger-pined: but these courageous, young, lusty, fed-strong 
jounkers, that shall be bred in the Busses, when His ^Lajesty 

^ ' ^J ".'.'.""eM ] FiSHER.MKN MAKli STRONG ACTIVE SaILORS. 347 

shall have occasion for their service in war against the 
enemy, will be fellows for the nonce! and will put more 
strength to an iron crow at a piece of great ordnance in 
traversing of a cannon or culvering, with the direction of 
the experimented [experienced] Master Gunner, than two or 
three of the forenamed surfeited sailors. And in distress of 
wind-grown sea, and foul winter's weather, for flying forward 
to their labour, for pulling in a topsail or a spritsail, or 
shaking off a bonnet in a dark night ! for wet and cold cannot 
make them shrink, nor stain that the North seas and the 
Busses and Pinks have dyed in the grain, for such purposes. 

And whosoever shall go to sea for Captain to command in 
martial affairs, or to take charge for Master in trade of 
merchandise (as in times past I have done both) will make 
choice of these fellows: for I have seen their resolution in 
tbe face of their enemy, when they have been Icgcmmcntu 
Italian for li^ht-hearted. and frolicsome, and as forward as 
about their ordinary labours or business. 

And when His Majesty shall have occasion and employ- 
ment for the furnishing of his Navy, there will be ,, ;, „„tuii- 
no want of Masters, Pilots, Commanders, and suf- k".»v„, that 
ficient directors of a course and keeping of com- tirJr' wL'a'^ 
putation ; but now there is a pitiful want of aTm;,M'iirOTast 
sufficient good men to do the offices and labours f,'^,';'Huin,', 
before spoken of. All which, these men of the Yorkshire unto 
Busses and Pinks will worthily supply. iMoi'inrin'corn. 

And to the art of sailing they may happily attain. ^^","v°"I,^fu°! 
For hitherto it hath been commonly seen, that "^f^'^f^'^j''" 
those men that have been brought up in their waftingover 
youth in fishery, have deser\ed as well as any in [he'Su'nf p°fi. 
the land for artificial [scientific] sailing: for at this aiineandhis 

, ,, , / . p . J noble Princess 

time IS practised all the projections ot circular and but twenty- 
mathematical scales and arithmetical sailing by "'^ ' ^-^s""- 
divers of tlie young men of the sea-coast towns, even as 
commonly amongst them, as amongst the Thamesers. 

Besides all the Hollanders before spoken of, the Frenchmen 
of Picardy have also a hundred sail of fishermen, Some of these 
only solely] for herrings on His Majesty's seas every l™,J|',he'^ ^" 
}ear in the summer season ; and thej- be almost like '^"''''•■"■ 
unto the Busses : but they have not any Yagers that cometh 
unto them, but they do lade themselves, and return home twice 

348 Encusii shall wear old Dutch .shoks! l"" '"j"n|""M: 

every year; and find great profit by their making but two 
voyages every summer season. 

And it is much to be lamented that we, having such a 
TheHoiianders plentiful country, and such store of able and idle 
somrny^Ms'" people, that not one of His Majesty's subjects is 
more^hall'two there to be seen all the whole summer to fish or 
miiiionscf to take one herring; but only tlie North Sea boats 
ling" "And'we, of the sca-coast towns that go to take Cod, they 
^bj^itdo' do take so many as they do need to bait thei'r 
thandoZu hooks and no more. 

our hooks! We are daily scorned by these Hollanders for 

being so negligent of our profit, and careless of our fishing ; 
and they do daily iiout us that be the poor fishermen of 
England, to our faces at sea, calling to us and saying, Ya 
English ! ya zall, or oud score dragien, which in English is 
this, " You English ! we will make you glad for to wear our 
old shoes." 

And likewise the Frenchmen, they say, "We are apish," for 
that we do still imitate them in all needless and fantastical 
jags [tatters] and fashions. As it is most true indeed. For 
that they have no fashion amongst them in apparel nor lace, 
points, gloves, hilts, nor garters ; even from the spangled 
shoe-latchet unto the spangled hat and hatband (be it never 
so idle and costly): but after that we do once get it, it is far 
bettered by our nation. 

Wherefore, seeing that we can excel all other nations, 
vvastefully to spend money ; let us in one thing learn of 
other nations! to get thousands out of His Majesty's sea ! 
and to make a general profit of the benefits that Almighty 
GOD doth yearly send unto us, in far more greater abundance 
than the fruit of our trees ! which although they [the fishes] 
be more changeable in the gathering together, yet is the 
profit far more greater unto this kingdom and common wealth 
of all His Majesty's subjects, increasing the wealth of the 
Adventurers ; as also for the enriching of Merchants, and 
maintaining of trades, occupations, and emploj-ing of ships, 
and increasing of mariners which now do but little or 
nothing; as also for the setting of poor and idle people on 
work, which now know not how to live. And to teach many 
a tall fellow to know the proper names of the ropes in a 
ship, and to haul the bowline ; that now for lack of em- 

"^ir'Feb.™ m] L 1 2,000 PAID TO Dutch, in 8 Weeks. 349 

ployment many such, by the inconvenience of idle living, 
are compelled to end their days with a rope by an p/'^t^b"/^ 
untimely death ; which by the employment of the "-^ 
Busses might be well avoided, and they in time m, 
become right honest, serviceable, and trusty subjects 

e s:;;;;/"'''^"' 

J]Ere since my book came to the press, I have been 
credibly certified by men"- of good worth 'Master wjl- 
(being Fishmongers) that since Christmas l'ng. Master 
last, unto this day ; there hath been paid ^vTX^&I°l'% 

thousand pounds [ = about £50,000 in the present day]. 

And last of all, if that there be any of worshipful Adven- 
turers that would have any directions for the building of 
these Busses or fisher-ships, because I knov*' that the ship 
carpenters of England be not yet skilful in this matter; 
wherefore if that any shall be pleased to repair to me, I will 
be willing to give them directions and plain projections and 
geometrical demonstrations for the right building of them, 
both for length, breadth, and depth, and also for .Andforpro- 
their mould under water, and also for the con- viding of their 
triving of their rooms and the laying of their Nets,''after"'!he 
gear,* according to the Hollanders' fashion. Any ^n^'^heap^t 
man shall hear of me at Master Nathaniel "'«• 
Butter's, a Stationer's shop at Saint Austen's Gate in 
Paul's Churchyard. Farewell this i8th of February [1614J. 




•an- a a a a a a a -xf a a a a 

a a a a a a a -a- a 

The States Proclamation. 
TraJislated out of Dutch. 

\He States General oj the United Provinees of the 
Low Countries, unto all those that shall see or hear 
these presents greeting. We let you to ic'it, that 
whereas it is well known, that the great fishing and 
catching of herrings is the chiefest trade and principal Gold Mine of 
these United Countries, whereby many thousands of households, 
families, handicrafts, trades, and occupations are set on icork, 
well maintained, and prosper ; especially the sailing and naviga- 
tion, as well within as iciihout these Countries, is kept in great 
estimation : moreover, many returns of money, with the increase 
of the means, convoys, customs, and revenues of these countries are 
augmented thereby and prosper. And forasmuch as there are made, 
from time to time, many good Orders concerning the catching, 
salting, and beneficial uttering [disposal] of the said herrings, to 
the end to preserve and maintain the said Chief Trade in the 
United Provinces ; ichich trade, by divers encounters of some that 
seek their own gain, is envied in respect of the great good it 
bringeth to the United Countries; and We are informed that a 
device is put in practice to the prejudice of the trade, to transport 
out of the 'United Countries into other countries staves for herring- 
barrels made here, and half herring-barrels put into other barrels, 
and nets ; to cross the good orders and policy here intended to 

Sui..:snriMl:,.ui.-j £xpQ[..i- OF BAIiRKL StAVES FOKUIDDKN. 351 

thcjii of these countries for the catching, salting, and selling the 
hcn-ings dressed in other countries after the order of these countries, 
ic'hcreby this chief trade should be decayed here, and the inhabitants 
of these countries damnified [damagedj if wc make not provi- 
sion in time against such practices. 

Therefore We, after mature judgement and deliberation, have 
forbidden and interdicted, and by these presents do forbid and 
interdict all and every one, as urll home-born inhabitants as 
strangers frequenting these parts, to take up any herring-barrels 
or half ones prepared, or any kind of nets, in any ship, tou'n, or 
liaven of the United Provinces, to be sent into other countries or 
places ; upon pain of confiscation of the same, and the ship also 
wherein they shall be found, besides a penalty of one hundred of 
Netherland Silver Royals, for the first time : and for the second 
time, above confiscation of ship and goods, and four hundred of the 
said Royals of Silver : and for the third time, above confiscation 
of ship and goods and six hundred of the said Royals of Silver, 
corporal punishment. 

All which confiscations and penalties shall be distributed one 
third part to the profit of the plaintiff ■informer — ? including 
the corporal punishment]; one third part to the poor ; and one 
third part to the Officers, where the said confiscation shall be 

And not only they shall incur this penalty, which after shall be 
taken with the deed, but they also that within one year after the 
deed shall be convicted ; and that none may pretend ignorance, and 
that this order may be in all places duly observed, and the offenders 
punished according to justice. We will and require, our dear and 
well beloved Estates, Governors, Deputies of the Council, and the 
Estates of the respective Provinces of Guelderland, and the county 
ofSatfill in Holland, West Fricsland, Zealand, Utrecht, Friesland, 
Mcrizel, the town of Groningen, and the circumjacent places : and 


Half Ukrrixg Barri 


to all Justices and Officers, that they cause to be published in all 
places and proclaimed tvhere the tistial proclamation and publica- 
tion is made : We do char<^e also the Chancellors and Provincial 
Council, and the Council of Admiralty, the Advocaiistical, and 
the Procurer General, and all other Officers, Judges, and Justices 
of these United Provinces, and to all general colonies, Admirals 
and Vice - Admirals, Captains, Officers, and Commanders, to 
perform and cause to be performed this order and commandment, 
and to proceed and cause to be proceeded against the offenders 
without grace, favour, dissimulation, or composition : because we 
have found it necessary for the good and benefit of the said United 

Dated in Hague, this icjth of July. 







Written by 

Geo: Wither. 

Catul. Carmen, xv. 

nihil veremur 
Istos, quid in platea, modo hue, modo illuc 
In re ■pretereunt sua occupati. 

Printed for John Grismand. 

M.D C.X X I I. 

EXG. Car. IV. 

[It is singular that this truly astonishing Poem, a poetical iour deforce 
as it is, should not hitherto have obtained a universal acceptance and 
recognition. In it we see Wither at his prime ; and cannot hut admire 
as much the sterling integrity of his Character, as the wonderful fertility 
of his poetical Invention. 

His mastery herein over rhythm and rhyme, also amply vindicates the 
opinion of Dryden : who, considering himself unmatched by any in facility 
of versification, openly excepted Wither, and F. Quarles. 
Well has our Poet said — 

When other noble Dames, 
By greater men attended, 
Shall, with their lives and names, 
Have all their glories ended: 
With fairest Queens, shall She 
Sit, sharing equal glory ; 
And Times to come shall be 
Delighted with our Story. 

First stanza on p. 3S6.] 



jHis being one of the Author's first poems, was 
composed many years agone ; and (unknown to 
him) gotten out of his custody by an acquaintance 
of his. And coming lately to my hands, without 
a name: it was thought to have so much resem- 
blance of the Maker, that many, upon the first sight, under- 
took to guess who was the author of it ; and [werej persuaded 
that it was likely also, to become profitable both to them 
and me. 

Whereupon, I got it authorised, according to Order [It 
was entered at Stationers' Hall, on T,ist January, 1622] ; intending 
to publish it without further inquiry. 

But attaining by chance, a more perfect knowledge, to 
whom it most properly belonged ; I thought it fitting to ac- 
quaint him therewithal. And did so, desiring also both his 
good will to publish the same, and leave to pass it under 
his name. Both !^of ] which, I found him very unwilling to 
permit ; least the seeming lightness of such a subject might 
somewhat disparage the more serious studies, which he hath 
since undertaken. 

Yet doubting (this being got out of his custody) some more 
imperfect copies might be scattered abroad, in writing; or be 
(unknown to him) imprinted : he was pleased, upon my im- 
portunities, to condescend [agree] that it might be published 
without his name. 

And his words were these : 

" When," said he, " I first composed it, I well liked there- 

356 To Til i: Rem. !•: K. P'SkwS: 

of; and it well enouf^h became my years ; but, now, I neither 
like nor dislike it. That, therefore, it should be divulged, I 
desire not ! and whether it be ; or whether, if it so happen, 
it be approved or not, I care not ! For this I am sure of, 
howsoever it is valued, it is worth as much as I prize it at. 
Likely it is also, to be as beneficial to the world, as the 
world hath been to me ; and will be more than those who like 
it not, ever deserved at my hands." 

These were his speeches. And if you looked for a Pro- 
logue, thus much he wished me to tell you, instead thereof, 
" because," as he said, " he himself had somewhat else to do." 

Yet, to acknowledge the truth, I was so earnest with him, 
that, busy as he would seem to be, I got him to write this 
Epistle for me. And have thereunto set uiy name : which he 
wished me to confess, partly, to avoid the occasion of belying 
my invention ; and partly, because he thought some of you 
would suppose so much. 

I entreated him to explain his meaning in certain obscure 
passages. But he told me how " that were to take away the 
employment of his interpreters [critics] : whereas he would, 
purposely, leave something remaining doubtful, to see what 
Sir Politic Would-be and his companions would pick out 
of it." 

I desired him also to set down, to what good purposes, this 
Poem would serve. But his reply was how "that would be 
well enough found out in the perusing, by all such as had 
honest understandings ; and they who are not so provided, he 
hopes will not read it." 

More, I could not get from him. 

Whether, therefore, the Mistress of Phil' arete be really a 
Woman, shadowed under the name of Virtue ; or Virtue only, 
whose loveliness is represented by the beauty of an excellent 
Woman : or whether it mean both together, I cannot tell 
you ! 

But thus much dare I promise for your money, that, here, 
you shall find, familiarly expressed, both such beauties as 
young men are most entangled withal ; and the excellency 
also of such as are most worthy their affection. That seeing 
both impartially set forth by him, that was capable of both ; 
they might the better settle their love on the best. 

«''Sk\Vir;l To THE Reader. 357 

1 Jan. i62a.J 

Hereby, also, those women, who desire to be truly beloved, 
may know what makes them so to be : and seek to acquire 
those accomplishments of the Mind which may endear them, 
when the sweetest features of a beautiful Face shall be con- 
verted into deformities. 

And here is described that Loveliness of theirs, which is the 
principal object of wanton affection, to no worse end, but that 
those (who would never have looked on this Poem, if Virtue and 
Goodness had been therein no otherwise represented, than as 
they are Objects of the Soul) might (where they expected the 
satisfaction of their sensuality only) meet with that also, 
which would insinuate into them an Apprehension of more 
reasonable, and most excellent perfections. Yea, whereas the 
common opinion of Youth hath been, that only old men, and 
such as are unable, or past delighting in a bodily loveliness, 
are those who are best capable of the Mind's perfections; and 
that they do, therefore, so much prefer them before the other, 
because their age or stupidity hath deprived them of being 
sensible what pleasures they yield : though this be the 
vulgar error; yet, here, it shall appear, that he who is able 
to conceive the most excellent Pleasingness which could be 
apprehended in a corporeal Beauty, found it (even when he 
was most enamoured with it) far short of that inexpressible 
Sweetness, which he discovered in a virtuous and well 
tempered Disposition. 

And if this be not worth your money ; keep it 1 

John Marriot. 

Phil' ARETE. 
To his Mistress. 

Ail ! thou Fairest of all Creatures, 
Upon whom the sun doth shine ! 
Model of all rarest features, 
And perfections most divine ! 

Thrice, All Hail! And blessed be, 
Those that love and honour thee ! 

Of thy worth, this rural Story, 
Thy unworthy Swain hath penned ; 
And to thy ne'er-ending glory, 
These plain Numbers doth commend : 
Which ensuing Times shall warble, 
When 'tis lost, that's writ in marble. 

Though thy praise, and high deservinj; 

Cannot all, be here expressed ; 

Yet my love and true observings 

Some way, ought to be professed ! 
And where greatest love we see, 
Highest things attempted be. 

;:] Phil'arete to his Mistress. 359 

By thy Beauty, I have gained 
To behold the best perfections ; 
By thy Love, I have obtained 
To enjoy the best affections. 

And my tongue to sing thy praise ! 

Love and Beauty thus doth raise. 

What ahhough in rustic shadows, 
I, a Shepherd's breeding had ! 
And confined to these meadows, 
So in home-spun russet clad ! 

Such as I, have, now and then, 
Dared as much as greater men. 

Though a stranger to the Muses, 

Young, obscured, and despised ; 

Yet such Art, thy love infuses ! 

That I, thus, have poetised. 

Read ! and be content to see 
Thy admired power in me ! 

And grant, thou Sweetest Beauty ! 
(Wherewith ever Earth was graced), 
That this Trophy of my duty 
May, with favour be embraced ! 

And disdain not, in these rhymes, 
To be sung to after Times ! 

360 Phi i/a r e t e to his Mistress. 

Let those doters on Apollo, 
That adore the Muses so, 
(And, Hke geese, each other follow) 
See what Love alone can do ! 

For in love lays, Grove and Field; 

Nor to Schools, nor Courts will yield ! 

On this Glass of thy Perfection, 
If that any women pry ; 
Let them, thereby, take direction 
To adorn themselves thereby ! 

And if aught amiss they view ; 

Let them dress themselves anew ! 

Young men shall, by this, acquainted 

With the truest Beauties, grow ; 

So the counterfeit, or painted. 

They may shun, when them they know. 

But the Way, all will not find ; 

For some eyes have, yet are blind. 

Thee! entirely! I have loved: 
So thy Sweetness on me wrought. 
Yet thy Beauty never moved 
111 temptations in my thought. 
But, still, did Beauty's ray 
Sun-like, drive those fogs away. 

;:] Phil'arete to his Mistress. 36 i 

Those, that Mistresses are named ; 
And for that, suspected be : 
Shall not need to be ashamed, 
If they pattern take, by Thee ! 

Neither shall their Servants fear, 

Favours, openly to wear. 

Thou, to no man favour deignest 1 

But what's fitting to bestow. 

Neither Servants entertainest ! 

That can ever wanton grow. 

For, the more they look on Thee, 
Their Desires still better be! 

This, thy Picture, therefore, show I 
Naked unto every eye : 
Yet no fear of rival know I, 
Neither touch of jealousy. 

For the more make love to Thee ! 

I, the more shall pleased be. 

I am no Italian lover 

That will mew thee in a gaol ; 

But thy Beauty I discover, 

English-like, without a veil. 

If thou mayest be won away : 
Win and wear thee, he that may ! 

362 P II I l'a R K T E TO Ills M I S T R K S S . [^''/^'le^ii: 

Yet in this, Thou may'st believe me ! 
(So indifferent, though I seem) : 
Death with tortures would not grieve me 
More, than loss of thy esteem ! 

For if Virtue me forsake ! 

All a scorn of me will make. 

Then, as I, on Thee relying, 

Do no changing fear in Thee ! 

So, by my defects supplying ; 

From all changing, keep thou me ! 
That unmatched we may prove : 
Thou, for Beauty ! I, for Love ! 

Then, while their loves are forgotten, 
Who to Pride and Lust were slaves ; 
And their Mistresses, quite rotten. 
Lie, unthought on, in their graves : 
King and Queens, in their despite, 
Shall, to mind us, take delight. 


O R 

The Mistress of Phil'arete, 

I'Alrcs/.nd PmL] 

Wo pretty rills do meet ; and meeting;, make 
Within one valley, a lar^c silver lake : 
About whose banks, the fertile mountains stood 
In ai^es passed, bravely crowned with wood ; 
Which lending cold-sweet shadows, gave it 

To be accounted Cynthia's bathing-place. 
And from her father Neptune's brackish 

Fair Thetis thither, often, woidd resort ; 
A ttended by the fishes of the sea. 
Which, in these sweeter waters came to play. 
There, would the Daughter of the Sea God dive : 
And thither came the Land Nymphs, every eve, 
To wait upon her ; bringing for her brows. 
Rich garlands of sweet floivers, and beechy boughs. 
For pleasant was that Pool; * and near it, then. 
Was neither rotten marsh, nor boggy fen. 
It was not overgrown with boisterous sedge. 
Nor grew there rudely, then, along the edge 
A bending willow, nor a prickly bush, 
Nor broad-leafed flag, nor reed, nor knotty rush : 
But here, well ordered, was a grove with bowers ; 
There, grassy plots set round about with flowers. 
Here, you might, through the water, see the land 

364 Fair Virtue, the ['^j^^'Jei.': 

Appear, strewed o'er with white or yellow sand. 
Yo>i, deeper was it; and the ivind, by whiffs, 
Wotdd make it rise, and wash the little cliffs ; 
On which, oft pluming, sate, iinfrighted then. 
The gagling wild goose, and the snow-white sican, 
With all those flocks of fowls, which, to this day, 
Upon those quiet waters breed and play. 

For, though those excellences wanting be 
Which once it had, it is the saute that ive. 
By transposition, name the Ford of Arle: * v Ahrs/ord, 
And out of which, along a chalky marl, mL'/usier.] 

That river trills, whose waters wash the fort 
Inwhich brave ARTHUR kept his royal CourtA (Hcwifj/^r.] 

North-east, not far from this great Pool, there lies 
A tract of becchy mountains, that arise. 
With leisurely ascending, to such height 
As from their tops, the warlike Isle of Wight 
You, in the Ocean's bosom, may espy : 
Though near two hundred furlongs thence it lie. 
The pleasant way, as up those hills you climb. 
Is strewed o'er with marjoram and thyme. 
Which grow unset. The hedgerows do not want 
The cowslip, violet, primrose ; nor a plant 
That freshly scents : as birch, both green and tall; 
Low sallows, on whose bloomings, bees do fall ; 
Fair woodbines which, about the hedges twine ; 
Smooth privet, and the sharp-sweet eglantine ; 
With many tnore, whose leaves and blossoms fair. 
The Earth adorn, and oft perfume the A ir, 

Wheti you, unto the highest do attain ; 
An intermixture both of wood and plain. 
You shall behold ! which, though aloft it lie, 
Hath downs for sheep, and fields for husbandry: 
So much, at least, as little, needeth more ; 
If not enough to merchandise their store. 

In every row, hath Nature planted there ; 
Some banquet for the hungry passenger. 
For here, the hasle-nut and filbird grows; 
There, bulloes ; and little further, sloes. 
On this hand, standcth a fair wielding-trce ; 

On that, large thickets of black cherries be. 
The shrubby fields are raspice orchards, there ; 
The new felled woods, like strawberry gardens are. 
A nd had the King of Rivers blest those hills, 
With some small number of such pretty rills 
As flow elsewhere, Arcadia had not seen 
A sweeter plot of earth than this had been. 

For what offence, this place was scanted so 
Of springing waters, no record doth show ; 
Nor have they old tradition left, that tells ; 
But till this day, at fifty -fathom wells, 
The Shepherds drink. And strange it was, to hear 
Of any Swain that ever lived there. 
Who, either in a Pastoral Ode had skill. 
Or knew to set his fingers to a quill : 
For rude they were, who there inhabited, 
And to a dull contentment being bred. 
They no such A rt esteemed ; nor took much heed 
Of anything the world without them, did. 

Ev'n there, and in the least frequented place 
Of all these mountains, is a little space 
Of pleasant ground hemmed in with dropping trees. 
And those so thick, that Phcebus scarcely sees 
The earth they grow on, once in all the year ; 
Nor what is done among the shadows there : 

Along those lovely paths, (where never came 
Report of Pan's, or of Apollo's name ; 
Nor rumour of the Muses, till of late) 
Some Nymphs were wandering, and, by chance or fate, 
Upon a laund* arrived, where they met \* >a«"i-i 

The little flock of Pastor PhiLaret. 

They were a troop of Beauties known well nigh 
Through all the plains of happy Brittany. 

A Shepherd's Lad was He, obscure and young, 
Who, being first that ever there had sung, 
In homely verse, expressed country loves. 
And only told them to the beechy groves ; 
As if to sound his name, he never meant, 
Beyond the compass that his sheepwalk went. 

They saw him not, nor them perceived he; 
For in the branches of a maple tree, 

366 Fair V i k r u i: , t ii e ^'7'% 

He shrouded sate: and taught the hollow hill 
To echo forth the music of his quill ; 
Whose tattling voice redoubled so the sound, 
That where he was concealed, they quickly found. 
And there, they heard him sing a Madrigal 
That soon betrayed his cunning to them all. 

Ftdl rude it was, no doubt, but such a Song, 
Those rustic and obscured shades among, 
Was never heard, they say, by any ear, 
Until his Muses had inspired him there. 
Though mean and plain, Iiis country habit seemed. 
Yet by his Song, the Ladies rightly deemed 
That either he had travelled abroad, 
Where Swains of better knoialcdge make abode ; 
Or else, that some brave Nymph who used that grove. 
Had deigned to enrich him with her love. 

Approaching nearer, therefore, to this Swain, 
Them, him saluted ; and he, them again. 
In such good fashion, as well seemed to be 
According to their state, and his degree. 
Which greetings being passed, and much chat 
Concerning him, the place, with this and that ; 
He, to an arbour doth those Beauties bring, 
Where he, them prays to sit ; they, him to sing. 
And to express that untaught Country Art, 
In setting forth the Mistress of his heart ; 
Which they o'crhcard him practice, when unseen, 
He thought no car had witness of it been. 

At first, as much unable, he refused. 
And seemed willing to have been excused 
From such a task, " For trust me, Nymphs ! " quoth he, 
" I would not purposely uncivil be. 
Nor churlish in denying what you crave ! 
But, as I hope great Pan my flock will save! 
I rather wish that I might, heard of none. 
Enjoy my music by myself alone ; 
Or that the murmurs of some little flood. 
Joined it'ith the friendly echoes of the wood, 
Might be the impartial umpires of my wit ; 
Than vent it where the world might hear of it. 
And doubtless, I had sung less loud ivhile-ere. 

'"ica2.] Mistress of P ii i l' a r e t r . 367 

Had I but thought of any such so near. 

Not that I either wish obscurified 

Her matchless Beauty, or desire to hide 

Her sweet Perfections. For, by Love I swear f 

The utmost happiness I aim at here 

Is but to compass Worth enough to raise 

A high built Trophy equal to her praise. 

Which, fairest Ladies ! I shall hope in vain, 
For I was meanly bred on yonder plain ! 
And though I can well prove my blood to be 
Derived from no ignoble Stems, to me : 
Yet Fate and Time them so obscured and crosst 
That with their fortunes, their esteem is lost ; 
And whatsoe'er repute I strive to win, 
Now from myself alone, it must begin. 
For I have no estate, nor friends, nor fame. 
To purchase either credit to my name, 
Or gain a good opinion ; though I do 
Ascend the height I shall aspire unto. 

If any of those virtues yet I have 
Which honour to my predecesssors gave ; 
There's all, that's left me I And though some contemn 
Such needy jewels : yet it was for them, 
My Fair One did my humble suit affect ; 
And deigned my adventurous love, respect: 
And by their help, I passage hope to maJic, 
Through such poor things as I dare undertake. 

But, you may say, ' What goodly thing, alas. 
Can my despised meanness bring to pass? 
Or what great Monument of Honour raise 
To Virtue, in these vice abounding days ? 
In which, a thousand times, more honour finds, 
Ignoble gotten Means, than noble Minds.' 
Indeed, the world affordeth small reward 
For honest minds, and therefore her regard 
I seek not after ; neither do I care. 
If I have bliss, how others think I fare I 
For, so my thoughts have rest ; it irlis not me. 
Though none, but I, do know how blest they be. 

Here, therefore, in these groves and hidden plains, 
I pleased, sit alone, and many strains 

368 Fair Virtue, the [V 

/ carol to myself, these hills among, 
Where no man comes to interrupt my song. 
Whereas, if my rude Lays, make known I should, 
Beyond their home ; perhaps, some carpers would 
{Because they have not heard from whence we be) 
Traduce, abuse, and scoff both them and me. 
For if our great and learned Shepherds (who 
Are graced with Wit, and Fame, and Favours too) 
With much ado, escape uncensured may ; 
What hopes have I to pass unscorched, I pray I 
Who yet unto the Muses am unknown. 
And live unhonoured, here, among tnine own r 

A gadding humour seldom taketh me. 
To range out further than yon mountains be; 
Nor hath applausive Rumour borne my name 
Upon the spreading wings of sounding Fame : 
Nor can I think, fair Nymphs ! that you resort 
For other purpose, than to make a sport 
At that simplicity, which shall appear 
A mong the rude untutored Shepherds here. 

I know, that you, my noble Mistress ween, 
At best, a homely milkmaid on the green, 
Or some such country lass as tasked stays 
A t servile labour until holidays. 
For poor men's virtues so neglected grow, 
A nd are now prized at a rate so low ; 
As, 'tis impossible, you should be brought 
To let it with belief possess your thought, 
That any Nymph, whose love might worthy be, 
Would deign to cast respective eyes on me. 

You see I live, possessing none of those 
Gay things, with which the world enamoured grows. 
To woo a Courtly Beauty, I have neither 
Rings, bracelets, jewels ; nor a scarf, nor feather. 
I use no double-dyed cloth to wear ; 
No scrip embroidered richly, do I bear : 
No silken belt, nor shccphook laid with pearls, 
To win me favour from the shepherds' girls. 
No Place of Office or Command I keep, 
But this my little flock of homely sheep. 
And, in a ivord ; the sum of all my pelf 

r^^'.fe:] Mistress of P h i l" a r e t e . 369 

Is this, I am the Master of myself! 

No doubt, in Courts of Princes you have been ! 
And all the pleasures of the Palace seen ! 
There, you beheld brave Courtly passages 
Betvaeen Heroes and their Mistresses. 
You, there, perhaps, in presence of the King, 
Have heard his learned Bards and Poets sine; ! 
And what contentment, then, can wood or field. 
To please your curious understandings yield ? 
I know you walked hither, but to prove 
What silly Shepherds do conceive of love ? 
Or to make trial how our simpleness. 
Can Passions' force, or Beauty's power express ? 
A nd when you are departed, you will joy 
To laugh, or descant on the Shepherd's Boy ! 

But yet, I vow I if all the Art I had 
Could any more esteem or glory add 
To her unmatched worth ; I would not weigh 
What you intended," " Prithee, Lad 1 " quoth they, 
" Distrustful of our courtesy do not seem ! 
Her nobleness can never want esteem. 
Nor thy concealed Measures be disgraced ; 
Though in a meaner person they were placed. 
If thy too modestly reserved quill 
But reach that height, which we suppose it will; 
Thy meanness or obscureness cannot wrong 
The Nymph thou shall eternize in thy Song. 
For, as it higher rears thy glory, that 
A noble Mistress thou hast aimed at ; 
So, more unto her honour it will prove 
That {whilst deceiving shadows others move) 
Her constant eyes coiddpass unmoved by 
The subtle Time's bewitching bravery ; 
And those obscured virtues love in thee. 
That with despised meanness clouded be. 

Now then, for Her sweet sake ! whose beauteous eye 
Hath filled thy Soul with heavenly Poesy ; 
Sing in her praise some new inspired Strain ! 
And if, within our power, there shall remain 
A favour to be done to pleasure thee ; 
Ask and ol)tain it, whatsoe'er it be I " 

EKG. GylS. IV. 24 


F A I R Virtue, 

I 0. Wi.'. 

"Fair Ladies !" quoth the Lad, "such words as those, 
Compel mc can" : and therewithal he rose. 
Returned them thanks, obeisance made ; and then 
Down sate again, and thus to sing began. 

[The Prologue.'] 

Ou that, at a blush, can tell 
Where the best perfections clwel! ! 
And the substance can conjecture, 
By a shadow or a picture ! 
Come and try, if you, by this, 
Know my Mistress, who she is? 
For, though I am far unable 
Here to match Apelles' table ; 
Or draw Zeuxes' cunning lines 
(Who so painted Bacchus' vines 
That the hungry birds did muster 
Round the counterfeited cluster); 
Though I vaunt not to inherit 
Petrarch's yet unequalled spirit ; 
Nor to quaff the sacred well 
Half so deep as Astrophel ; 
Though the much-commended Cr.LiA, 
Lovely Laura, Stella, Delia, 
(Who, in former times, excelled) 
Live in lines unparalleled, 
Making us believe, 'twere much 
Earth should yield another such : 

Yet, assisted but by Nature, 
I assay to paint a Creature, 
Whose rare worth, in future years, 
Shall be praised as much as theirs. 

Nor let any think amiss 
That I have presumed this ; 
For a gentle Nymph is She, 
And hath often honoured me. 
She's a noble spark of light 

;.] Mistress of P h / 1' a r e t e . 371 

In each part so exquisite ; 
Had she, in times passed been, 
They had made her. Beauty's Queen. 

Then, shall coward Despair 
Let the most unblemished Fair, 
(For default of some poor Art, 
Which her favour may impart) 
And the sweetest Beauty fade 
That was ever born or made ? 
Shall, of all the fair ones, She, 
Only so unhappy be. 
As to live in such a Time, 
In so rude, so dull a clime ; 
Where no spirit can ascend 
High enough, to apprehend 
Her unprized excellence. 
Which lies hid from common sense ? 

Never shall a stain so vile 
Blemish this, our Poets' Isle ! 
I myself will rather run 
And seek out for Helicon! 
I will wash, and make me cleaA 
In the waves of Hippocrene! 
And, in spite of Fortune's bars. 
Climb the Hill that braves the stars I 
Where, if I can get no Muse, 
That will any skill infuse, 
Or my just attempt prefer ; 
I will make a Muse of Her! 
Whose kind heat shall soon distil 
Art into my ruder quill. 
By her favour, I will gain 
Help to reach so rare a Strain ; 
That the Learned Hills shall wonder 
How the Untaught Valleys under, 
Met with raptures so divine ; 
Without the knowledge of the Nine. 

I, that am a Shepherd's Swain 
Piping on the lowly plain. 
And no other music can 
Than what learned I have of Pan ; 

372 Fair Virtce, the \^"%^\ 

I, who never sang the Lays, 
That deserve Apollo's bays ; 
Hope, not only here to frame 
Measures which shall keep Her name 
From the spite of wasting Times: 
But (enshrined in sacred rhymes; 
Place her, where her form divine 
Shall, to after ages, shine ; 
And, without respect of odds, 
Vie renown with Demi-Gods. 

Then, whilst of her praise I sing ; 
Harken Valley ! Grove! and Spring! 
Listen to me, sacred Fountains I 
Solitary Rocks ! and Mountains I 
Satyrs ! and you wanton Elves 
That do nightly sport yourselves! 
Shepherds ! you that, on the reed. 
Whistle, while your lambs do feed ! 
Aged Woods and Floods ! that know 
What hath been, long times, ago I 
Your more serious notes among, 
Hear, how I can, in my Song, 
Set a Nymph's perfection forth ! 
And, when you have heard her worth, 
Say, if such another Lass 
Ever known to mortal was ! 

Listen Lordlings ! you that most 
Of your outward honours boast ! 
And you Gallants ! (that think scorn. 
We, to lowly fortunes born, 
Should attain to any graces, 
Where you look for sweet embraces) 
See! if all those vanities 
Whereon your affection lies ; 
Or the titles, or the powers, 
(By your fathers' virtues, yours) 
Can your Mistresses enshrine 
In such State, as I will mine ! 
Who am forced to importune 
Favours, in despite of Fortune. 

;■;;] A/ / s r j^ £ s s of Philahei e. i-] 2, 

Beauties, listen ! chiefly you 
That yet know not Virtue's due ! 
You, that thinii there are no sports, 
Nor no honours, but in Courts ! 
(Though of thousands, there live not 
Two, but die and are forgot). 
See, if any Palace yields 
Ought more glorious than the Fields I 
And consider well, if we 
May not, as high-flying be 
In our thoughts, as you that sing 
In the chambers of a King ! 
See ! if our contented minds. 
Whom Ambition never blinds, 
(We, that, clad in homespun gray. 
On our own sweet meadows play) 
Cannot honour, if we please. 
Where we list, as well as these ! 
Or, as well, of worth approve ! 
Or, with equal Passions, love! 
See, if beauties may not touch 
Our soon-loving hearts as much 1 
Or our services effect 
Favours, with as true respect, 
In your good conceits to rise. 
As our painted butterflies! 

And you, Fairest ! give her room. 
When your Sex's Pride doth come ! 

For that subject of my Song, 
I invoke these groves among 
To be witness of the Lays 
Which I carol in her praise. 
And because she soon will see 
If my Measures faulty be, 
Whilst I chant them, let each rhyme 
Keep a well-proportioned time ; 
And with Strains, that are divine, 
Meet her thoughts in every line! 
Let each accent there, present 
To her soul, a new content ! 

374 F A 1 K Virtu/:, t ii k 

And, with ravisliings, so seize lier, 
She may feel the height of pleasure ! 

You enchanting Spells, that lie 
Lurking in sweet Poesy ! 
(And to none else will appear, 
But to those, that worthy are) 
Make Her know 1 there is a power 
Ruling in these charms of yours; 
That transcends, a thousand heights, 
Ordinary men's delights; 
And can leave within her breast 
Pleasures not to be exprest 1 
Let her linger on each Strain 
As if She would hear't again ! 
And were loath to part from thence 
Till She had the quintessence 
Out of each conceit, she meets ! 
And had stored her, with those sweets ! 

Make Her, by your Art to see ! 
L that am her Swain, was he 
Unto whom all beauties here, 
Were alike and equal dear : 
That I could of freedom boast. 
And of favours with the most ; 
Yet, now, nothing more affecting. 
Sing of Her ! the rest neglecting. 

Make her heart, with full compassion, 
Judge the merit of True Passion ! 
And, as much my love prefer, 
As I strive to honour Her! 

Lastly, you that will, I know, 
Hear me, whe'er you should or no ! 
You, that seek to turn all flowers. 
By your breath's infectious powers, 
Into such rank loathsome weeds, 
As your dunghill nature breeds ! 
Let your hearts be chaste ! or here 
Come not, till you purge them clear! 
Mark ! and mark then, what is worst ! 
For whate'cr it seem at first. 
If you bring a modest mind, 

'f'^'le^'L] Mrs T R E s s OF Phi l' a r e t e . 375 

You shall nought immodest find 1 

But if any, too severe, 
Hap to lend a partial ear, 
Or, out of his blindness, yawn 
Such a word as, profane ! 
Let him know thus much from me, 
If here's ought profane, 'tis he 
Who applies these excellences 
Only to the touch of Senses ; 
And, dim sighted, cannot see 
Where the Soul of this may be ! 

Yet, that no offence may grow ; 
'Tis their choice, to stay or go ! 

Or if any for despite 
Rather comes, than for delight ; 
For his presence, I'll not pray, 
Nor his absence. Come he may I 
Critics shall admitted be, 
Though I know they'll carp at me : 
For I neither fear nor care 
What in this, their censures are. 

If the Verse here used, be 
Their dislike. It liketh me I 
If my Method they deride, 
Let them know Love is not tied, 
In his free discourse, to choose 
Such strict Rules as Arts-men use. 
These may prate of Love, but they 
Know him not! For he will play 
From the matter, now and then ! 
Off and on ! and off again 1 

If this Prologue, tedious seem, 
Or the rest too long they deem ; 
Let them know my love they win. 
Though they go, ere they begin : 
Just as if they should attend me 
Till the last ; and, there, commend me. 
For I will, for no man's pleasure. 
Change a Syllable or Measure ; 
Neither for their praises add 
Ought to mend what they think bad. 

376 F A IK V ! R T U E , T II E [^/"'.t 

Since it never was my fasliion 
To make Work of Recreation. 

Pedants shall not tie my strains 
To our antique Poets* veins ; 
As if we, in latter days, 
Knew to love, but not to praise. 
Being born as free as these, 
I will Sing, as I shall please ! 
Who, as well new paths may run. 
As the best before have done. 
I disdain to make my Song, 
For their pleasures, short or long ; 
If I please, I'll end it here ! 
If I list, I'll sing this year ! 
And, though none regard of it. 
By myself, I pleased can sit ; 
And, with that contentment, cheer me, 
As if half the world did hear me. 

But because I am assured 
All are either so conjured. 
As they will my Song attend. 
With the patience of a friend ; 
Or, at least, take note that I 
Care not much. Now willingly, 
I, these goodly colours lay. 
Wind, nor rain shall wear away ; 
But retain their purest glass. 
When the statues made of brass, 
For some Prince's more renown. 
Shall be wholly overthrown ; 
Or consumed with cankered rust, 
Lie neglected in the dust. 

And my Reason gives direction 
When I sing of such Perfection, 
First, tho%e beauties to declare, 
Which (though hers) without her are. 

To advance her fame, I find, 
Those are of a triple kind. 
Privileges she hath store 
At her birth, since, and before. 

'■^^l\ M I s T K E s s OF Piiil'akete. ^yj 

From before her birth, the fame. 
She of high descents may claim, 
Whose well-gotten honours may 
Her deserving more display, 
For, from heavenly race she springs, 
And from high and mighty Kings. 

At her birth, She was, by Fate, 
In those Parents fortunate. 
Whose estate and virtues stood 
Answerable to their blood. 

Then the Nation, Time, and Place 
To the rest, may add some grace. 
For the People, with the Clime, 
And the fashions of the Time ; 
(In all which, she hath been blest, 
By enjoying them at best) 
Do not only mend the features. 
But, oft times, make better natures: 
Whereas, those who hap not so, 
Both deformed, and ruder grow. 

In these climes, and latter days, 
To desei-ve sweet Beauty's praise, 
(Where so many females dwell, 
That each seemeth to excel) 
In more glory twenty-fold 
Than it was in days of old : 
When our ordinary fair ones 
Might have been esteemed rare ones; 
And have made a subject fit. 
For their bravest Poet's wit. 
Little rushlights, or a spark 
Sheweth fairly in the dark; 
And to him occasion gives, 
That from sight of greater, lives. 
To adore it. Yet the ray 
Of one torch will take away 
All the light of twenty more 
That shined very well before. 
So, those petty 13eauties which 
Made the Times before us, rich ; 
Though but sparkles, seemed a flame 

378 F A I K V 1 1< r u E , the 

Which hath been increased by Fame, 
And their true affections, who, 
Better, never lived to know : 
Whereas, Her, if they had seen 
She had, sure, adored been ! 
And taught Ages past, to sing 
Sweeter in the Sonneting. 

Such a Ray, so clear! so bright ! 
Hath outshined all the light 
Of a thousand, such as theirs 
Who were then esteemed Stars ; 
And would have enlightened near 
Half the world's wide hemisphere. 

She is fairest, that may pass 
For a fair one, where the Lass 
Trips it on the country green ; 
That may equal Sparta's Queen. 
Where, in every street, you see 
Throngs of Nymphs and Ladies be, 
That are fair enough to move 
Angels, and enamour Jove. 
She must matchless features bring 
That now moves a Muse to sing : 
When as one small Province may 
Shew more beauties in one day. 
Than the half of Europe could 
Breed them, in an age of old. 
Such is She 1 and such a lot 
Hath her rare perfection got ! 

Since her birth (to make the colour 
Of so true a Beauty fuller; 
And to give a better grace 
To that sweetness in the face) 
She hath all the furtherance had. 
Noble educations add. 
And not only knoweth all. 
Which our Ladies, Courtship call ; 
With those knowledges that do 
Grace her sex, and suit thereto : 

i^'ltoO Mistress of P ii i l a r e r e . 379 

But She hath attained to find 
(What is rare with Womankind) 
Excellences, whereby She 
May in Soul delighted be ; 
And reap more contentment than 
One of twenty thousand can. 

By this means, hath bettered been 
All without her, and within ; 
For it hath, by adding Arts, 
To adorn her native parts, 
Raised to a noble flame, 
(Which shall lighten forth her fame) 
Those dear sparks of sacred fire, 
Which the Muses did inspire 
At her birth : that She, complete, 
Might, with them befit a seat. 

But, perhaps, I do amiss, 
To insist so long on this. 
These are superficial things ; 
And but slender shadowings 
To the work I have in hand. 
Neither can you understand 
What Her excellence may be. 
Till Herself described you see ! 

Nor can mine or any pen 
Paint her half so lovely, than 
As She is indeed. For, here. 
Might those deities appear, 
Which young Paris viewed at will. 
Naked, upon Ida hill ! 
That I, from those Three might take 
All their beauties. One to make ; 
(Those, no question ! well compact, 
Would have made up one exact) 
Something, yet, we miss, of might 
To express her Sweetness right. 
Juno's majesty would fit; 
Venus' beauty, Pallas' wit 
Might have brought to pattern hers 
In some shewed particulars ; 
But they never can express 

380 Fair Virtue, the [^f^^'lo; 

Her whole frame or worthiness 
With those excellences, which 
Make both Soul and Body rich. 

Pallas, sometimes, was untoward, 
Venus wanton, Juno fro ward : 
Yea all three, infected were 
With such faults as women are ; 
And, though falsely deified, 
Frailties had, which She'll deride. 

By Her Self, must therefore She ; 
Or by nothing patterned be ! 
And I hope to paint her so. 
By Her Self, that you shall know 
I have served no common Dame, 
Of mean worth, or vulgar fame ! 
But a Nymph, that's fairer than 
Pen or pencil, portrait can ! 

And to-morrow, if you stray 
Back again this uncouth way, 
I, my simple Art will show : 
But the time prevents me now. 
For, except at yonder glade, 
All the laund is under shade ; 
That, before these ewes be told ; 
Those my wethers, in the fold ; 
Ten young weanlings driven down 
To the well beneath the town ; 
And my lambkins changed from 
Brome leaze, to the mead at home; 
'Twill be far in night : and so, 
I shall make my father woe 
For my stay ; and be in fear 
Somewhat is mischanced here. 

On your way, I'll, therefore, bring you ! 
And a Song or two Pll sing you ! 
Such as I, half in despair. 
Made when first I wooed my Fair: 
Whereunto, my boy shall play ; 
That my voice assist, it may ! 

:;] MisTJiEss OF PiriL\iRETE. 381 


Ome, my Muse ! If thou disdain I 

A U my comforts arc bereft me ! 
No delight doth now remain ; 

/, jior friend, nor flock have left mc. 
They are scattered on the plain. 

Men, alas, arc too severe. 

And make scoffs at lovers' fortunes. 
Women, hearted like the bear ; 

That regards not who importunes, 
But doth all in pieces tear. 

If I should my sorrows shew 

Unto rivers, springs, or fountains ; 
They are senseless to my woe : 

So are groves, and rocks, and mountains. 
Then, O, whither shall I go ? 

Means of harbour, me to shield 

From despair ; ah, know you any ? 
For no city, grange, nor field. 

Though they lend content to many. 
Unto me, can comfort yield. 

I have wept, and sighed too. 

For Compassion to make trial; 
Yea, done all that words can do. 

Yet have nothing but denial. 
What way is there, then, to woo ? 

Shall I swear, protest, and vow ? 

So have I done, most extremely ! 
Should I die ? I know not how ! 

For from all attempts unseemly. 
Love and Virtue keep me now. 

Fair Virtue, t ii a [''/^'I 

/ have Jteard that Time prevails ; 

But I fear me, 'tis a fable. 
Time, and all Endeavour fails ! 

To bear more, my heart 's unable ; 
Yet none careth what it ails ! 

Lines to some, have op'ed the door 
And got entrance for Affection. 

Words well spoken, much implore, 
By the Gestures' good direction : 

But a Look doth ten times more ! 

'Tis the Eye that only reads 

To the heart, Love's deepest Lectures ! 
By a moving Look, it pleads 

More than common Sense conjectures. 
And a way to Pity leads. 

This I knowing, did observe; 

Both by Words and Looks complainini. 
Yet, for Pity, I may starve ! 

There's no hope of my obtaining, 
Till I better can deserve. 

Yea, and he that thinks to win 
By Desert, may be deceived ! 

For they who have worthiest bin. 
Of their right, have been bereaved ; 

And a groom admitted in. 

Wherefore, Muse ! to thee, I call! 

Thou, since nothing else avails me. 
Must redeem me from my thrall ! 

If thy sweet enchantment fails me ; 
Then, adieu Love, Life, and all ! 

;;] AT / s T R E s s Of Phi la r f. t e . 383 

II . 

\Ell me, my heart I What thoughts, these panimgs move ? 
My thoughts of Love ! 
'hat flames are these, that set thee so on fire ? 
Flames of Desire ! 
What means hast thou, contentment's flower to crop ? 
No means but Hope ! 
Yet let us feed on Hope, and hope the best ! 
For they, amid their griefs, are something blest, 
Whose thoughts, and flames, and means have such free scope. 
They may, at once, both Love, Desire, and Hope. 

But say ! What fruit will love at last obtain ? 

Fruitless Disdain ! 
What will those hopes prove, which yet seem so fair ? 

Hopeless Despair ! 
What end shall run those Passions, out of breath ? 

An endless Death ! 
O can there be such cruelty in love ? 
A nd doth my fortune so ungentle prove, 
She will no fruit, nor hope, nor end bequeath. 
But crudest Disdain, Despair, and Death ? 

Then what new study shall I now apply ? 

Study to Die ! 
How might I end my care, and die content ? 

Care to Repent ! 
And what good thoughts may make my end more holy : 

Think on thy Folly ! 
Yes, so I will ! and since my fate can give 
No hope, but ever without hope to live. 
My studies, cares, and thoughts, I'll all apply 
To weigh my Folly well ! Repent ! and Die ! 

384 Fair Virtue, the p/^';S 

Eyes ! What do you ail, 
To be thus ill disposed ? 
Why doth your sleeping fail. 
Now all men's else arc closed ? 

Was't I, that ne'er did bow 

In any servile duty ! 

And will you make me, noiv, 

A slave to Love and Beauty ? 

What though my Mistress smile, 

A nd in her love affects thee I 

Let not her eye beguile ; 

I fear she disrespects thee ! 
Do not, poor Heart ! depend 
On those vain thoughts that fill thee ! 
They'll fail tlue, in the end ! 
So must thy Passions kill thee ! 

What hopes have I, that She 
Will hold her favours ever ; 
When so few women be 
That constant can perscver ? 

Whate'er She do protest ! 

When fortunes do deceive me. 

Then She, with all the rest, 

I fear, alas, will leave me ! 

Whil'st Youth, and Strength remains. 
With A rt that may commend her ; 
Perhaps, She nought disdains 
Her Servant should attend her. 

But it is one to ten. 

If crosses overtake vie. 

She will not know me, then ; 

But scorn, and so forsake me ! 

^'le";] Mistress of P n i l' a r e t e , 385 

Shall then, in earnest truth, 

My careful eyes observe her ? 

Shall I consume my youth ; 

And short' my time to serve her ? 
Shall I, beyond my strength, 
Let Passions' torments prove me ? 
To hear her say, at length. 
Away ! I cannot love thee ! 

O, rather let me die 
Whil'st I, thus gentle find her I 
'Twere worse than death, if I 
Should find She proves unkinder I 

One frown, though but in jest, 

Or one unkindness feigned, 

Would rob me of more rest 

Than e'er could be regained. 

But in her eyes, I find 

Such signs of pity moving ; 

She cannot be unkind. 

Nor err, nor fail in loving : 
A nd on her forehead, this 
Seems written to relieve me, 
My heart, no joy shall miss 
That Love, or She can give me ! 

Which if I find, I vow 

My service shall persever I 

The same that I am now ; 

I will continue ever ! 
No others' high degree. 
No beauteous look shall change me I 
My love shall constant be, 
And no estate estrange me ! 

Ef/C- G/tR. IV. 25 

386 F A I li V 1 K T V E , THE ['V^'' 

When other noble Dames, 

By greater men attended, 

Shall, with their lives and names, 

Have all their glories ended : 
With fairest Queens, shall She 
Sit, sharing equal glory ; 
And Times tu come shall be 
Delighted with our Story. 

In spite of others' hates, 

More honour I will do her ! 

Than those that with estates 

A nd help of fortune woo her : 
Yea, that True Worth I spy ; 
Though monarchs strove to grace it, 
They should not reach more high 
Than I dare hope to place it ! 

A nd though I never vaunt 

What favours are possessed ; 

Much less content I want 

Than if they were expressed : 
Let others make their mirth, 
To blab each hiss or toying ! 
I know no bliss on earth 
Like secret love enjoying. 

And this shall be the worst 

Of all that can betide me. 

If I (like some accurst) 

Should find my hopes deride me ; 
My cares will not be long ; 
I know which way to mend them ! 
I'll think, " Who did the wrong ! " 
Sigh .' break my heart ! and end them ! 

wll]] M / S T Ji E S S OF P II I l'a a E T E . 387 

\The Picture of Fair Virtue^ 

Ail, fair Beauties ! and again, 
Hail to all your goodly train ! 

What I promised yesterday, 
If it please you, hear ye may ! 
For now, once begun have I, 
Sing I will, though none were by ; 

And though freely on I run 
Yet confused paths to shun. 
First, that part shall be disclosed, 
That's of Elements composed. 

There the two unequal pair, 
Water, Fire ; Earth and Air 
(Each one suiting a complexion) 
Have so cunning a commixtion, 
As they, in proportion sweet. 
With the rarest temper meet ! 
Either, in as much as needeth ; 
So as neither, ought exceedeth. 

This pure substance is the same 
Which the Body we do name. 
Were that of immortal stuff, 
'Tis refined and pure enough 
To be called a Soul ! for, sure. 
Many souls are not so pure. 

I, that with a serious look 
Note of this rare Model took, 
Find that Nature in their places 
So well couched all the Graces, 

388 F A J K V I R T r E , r n a 

As the curious'st eyes that be 
Cannot blot, nor blemish see. 

Like a pine it groweth straight, 
Reaching an approved height. 
And hath all the choice perfections 
That inflame her best affections. 
In the motions of each part, 
Nature seems to strive with Art ; 
Which her gestures most shall bless, 
With the gifts of Pleasingness. 

When She sits, methinks I see 
How all virtues fixed be 
In a frame, whose constant mould 
Will the same unchanged hold. 

If you note her, when She moves : 
Cytherea, drawn with doves. 
May come learn such winning notions 
As will gain to love's devotions. 
More than all her painted wiles ; 
Such as tears, or sighs, or smiles. 

Some, whose bodies want true graces, 
Have sweet features in their faces : 
Others (that do miss them there), 
Lovely are, some other where. 
And to our desires, do fit 
In behaviour, or in wit; 
Or some inward worth appearing 
To the soul, the soul endearing. 
But in Her, your eye may find 
All that's good in Womankind. 
What in others, we prefer. 
Are but sundry parts of Her; 
Who, most perfect, doth present 
What might One and All content. 
Yea, he that, in love still ranges, 
And, each day, or hourly changes ; 
(Had he judgement but to know 
What perfections in her grow) 
There, would find the spring of store. 
Swear a faith, and change no more. 

'SteG Mistress of P ii i l' a r e t e . 389 

Neither, in the total Frame, 

Is She only void of blame ; 

But each part, surveyed asunder 

Might beget both love and wonder. 

If you dare to look so high 

Or behold such majesty ; 

Lift your wondering eyes, and see 

Whether ought can bettered be ! 

There's her Hair, with which Love angles, 
And beholders' eyes entangles ! 
For in those fair curled snares, 
They are hampered unawares ; 
And compelled to swear a duty 
To her sweet enthralling beauty. 
In my mind, 'tis the most fair 
That was ever called hair : 
Somewhat brighter than a brown ; 
And her tresses waving down 
At full length, and, so dispread, 
Mantles her, from foot to head. 

If you saw her arched Brow ; 
Tell me, pray ! how Art knows how 
To have made it in a line 
More exact, or more divine ! 
Beauty, there, may be descried 
In the height of all her pride. 

'Tis a meanly rising plain. 
Whose pure white hath many a vein 
Interlacing, like the springs 
In the earth's enamellings. 
If the tale be not a toy, 
Of the little winged Boy : 
When he means to strike a heart. 
Thence ! he throws the fatal dart. 
Which, of woundo still makes a pair; 
One of Love, one of Despair. 

Round, her Visage ; or so near 
To a roundness, doth appear. 
That no more of length it takes. 
Than what best proportion makes. 

Short her Chin is; and yet so 

390 Fair V i k t u f. , the 

As it is just long enow. 
Loveliness doth seem to glory 
In that circling promontory, 
Pretty moving features skip 
'Tvvixt that hillock and the lip. 
If you note her, but the while 
She is pleased to speak, or smile. 

And her Lips, that shew no dulness, 
Full are, in the meanest fulness. 
Those, the leaves be, whose unfolding 
Brings sweet pleasures to beholding : 
For such pearls they do disclose ; 
Both the Indies match not those 1 
Yet are so in order placed, 
As their whiteness is more graced. 
Each part is so well disposed 
And her dainty mouth composed. 
So as, there, is no distortion 
Misbeseems that sweet proportion. 

When her ivory Teeth she buries 
'Twixt her two enticing cherries, 
There appears such pleasures hidden, 
As might tempt what were forbidden. 
If you look again the whiles, 
She doth part those lips in smiles; 
'Tis as when a flash of light 
Breaks from heaven to glad the night. 

Other parts, my pencil crave ; 
But those lips I cannot leave ! 
For, methinks, [if] I should go 
And forsake those cherries so ; 
There's a kind of excellence 
Holds me from departing hence. 
I would tell you, what it were ; 
But my cunning fails me there. 
They are like, in their discloses, 
To the morning's dewy roses ; 
That, besides the name of " fair," 
Cast perfumes that sweet the air. 
Melting soft her kisses be ! 
And had I, now, two or three, 

'1622:] Mistress of Phil arete. 391 

More inspired by their touch, 

I had praised them twice as much ! 

But, sweet Muses ! mark ye how 
Her fair Eyes do check me now ! 
That I seemed to pass them so, 
And their praises overgo : 
And yet, blame me not that I 
Would so fain have passed them by ! 
For I feared to have seen them. 
Least there were some danger in them ! 
Yet such gentle looks they lend, 
As might make her foe, a friend ; 
And by their allurings move 
All beholders unto love. 
Such a power is also there. 
As will keep those thoughts in fear ; 
And Command enough I saw. 
To hold impudence in awe. 
There, may he that knows to love. 
Read contents which are above 
Their ignoble aims, who know 
Nothing that so high doth grow. 
Whilst She, me beholding is, 
My heart dares not think amiss ! 
For her sight, most piercing clear. 
Seems to see what's written there. 

Those bright Eyes (that, with their light. 
Oftentimes have blest my sight ; 
And in turning thence their shining. 
Left me, in sad darkness, pining) 
Are the rarest, lovliest gray ; 
And do cast forth such a ray 
As the man that black prefers. 
More would like, this gray of hers. 

When their matchless beams she shrouds ; 
'Tis like Cynthia hid in clouds ! 
If again she shew them light, 
'Tis like morning after night ! 
And 'tis worthy well beholding 
With hovv many a pretty folding, 
Her sweet Eyelids grace that Fair, 

392 Fair Virtue, t ii e \^' 

Meanly fringed with beaming hair, 
Whereby, neatly overspread. 
Those brif^'ht lamps are shadowed. 

'Twixt the eyes, no hollow place. 
Wrinkle, nor undecent space 
Disproportions Her in ought; 
Though by Envy, faults were souglit ! 

On those Eyebrows never yet, 
Did disdainful scowling sit. 
Love and Goodness gotten thither, 
Sit, on equal thrones together; 
And do throw just scorn on them. 
That their Government contemn. 

Then, almost obscured, appears 
Those her jewel-gracing Ears ! 
Whose own beauties more adorn. 
Than the richest pearl that's worn 
By the proudest Persian dames. 
Or the best that Nature frames. 
There, the voice, in love's meanders, 
Through their pretty circlings, wanders ! 
Whose rare turnings will admit 
No rude speech to enter it. 

Stretching from Mount Forehead lies 
Beauty's Cape, betwixt her eyes : 
Which two crystal-passing lakes. 
Love's delightful Isthmus makes ! 
Neither more nor less extending 
Than most meriteth commending. 
Those in whom that part hath been 
Best deserving praises seen ; 
Or, surveyed without affection. 
Came the nearest to perfection ; 
Would scarce handsome ones appear 
If with Her, compared they were : 
For it is so much excelling. 
That it passeth means of telling ! 

On the either side of this. 
Love's most lovely Prospect is ! 
Those, her smiling Cheeks, whose colour 
Comprehends True Beauty fuller 

T\ M I S T K E S S OF P II I L A R E T E . 393 

Than the curious'st mixtures can, 
That are made by Art of man. 
It is Beauty's Garden-knot, 
Where, as in a true-love-knot, 
So, the snowy Lily grows. 
Mixed with the crimson Rose. 
That as friends they joined be. 
Yet they seem to disagree, 
Whether of the two shall reign? 
And the lilies oft obtain 
Greatest sway, unless a blush 
Help the roses at a push. 

Hollow fallings none there are ! 
There's no wrinkle ! there's no scar ! 
Only there's a little Mole, 
Which from Venus' cheek was stole. 

If it were a thing in Nature 
Possible, that any creature 
Might decaying life repair. 
Only by the help of air ; 
There were no such salve for death, 
As the balm of her sweet Breath ! 
Or, if any human power 
Might detain the soul an hour 
From the flesh, to dust bequeathing, 
It would linger on her breathing 1 
And be half in mind, that there 
More than mortal pleasures were. 
And whose fortune were so fair 
As to draw so sweet an air, 
Would, no doubt, let slighted be 
The perfumes of Araby. 
For the English Eglantine 
Doth, through envy of Her, pine. 
Violets and Roses too 
Fear that She will them undo : 
And it seems that in her Breast 
Is composed the Phoenix's nest. 

But, descend a while, mine eye ! 
See, if polished ivory, 
Or the finest fleeced flocks. 

394 Fair V i r r u e , r // e [''■/' 

Or the whitest Albion rocks, 
For comparisons may stand, 
To express that snowy Hand ! 
When She draws it from her j^iovc 
It hath virtue to remove, 
Or disperse, if there be ought 
Cloudeth the beholder's thouj^^ht. 
If that palm but toucheth yours, 
You shall feel a secret power 
Cheer your heart, and glad it more ! 
Though it drooped with grief before. 

Through the Veins disposed true 
Crimson, yields a sapphire hue. 
Which adds grace and more delight 
By embracing with the white. 
Smooth, and moist, and soft, and tender 
Are her Palms ! the Fingers, slender, 
Tipt with mollified pearl ! 
And if that transformed girl. 
Whose much cunning made her dare 
With Jove's daughter to compare. 
Had that hand worn, maugre spite. 
She had shamed the goddess quite ! 
For, there, is, in every part. 
Nature perfecter than Art. 

These were joined to those Arms, 
That were never made for harms 1 
But possess the sweetest graces 
That may apt them for embraces. 
Like the silver streams they be, 
Which, from some high hill, we see 
Clipping-in a goodly vale, 
That grows proud of such a thrall. 

Neither alabaster rocks. 
Pearl-strewed shores, nor Cotswold ilocks, 
Nor the mountains tipt with snow, 
Nor the milk-white swans of Po, 
Can appear so fair to me. 
As her spotless Shoulders be ! 
They are like some work of state, 
Covered with the richest plate. 

6^^;] M / S T K E S S OF P II I l' A K E T E . 395 

And a presence have that strike 
With devotions, goddess-hke. 

'Twixt those shoulders, meanly spread 
To support that globe-like head, 
Riseth up her Neck ! wherein 
Beauty seemeth to begin 
To disclose itself in more 
Tempting manner than before. 
How therein she doth excel, 
Though I would, I cannot tell! 
For I nought on earth espy 
That I may express it by. 

There, should lovers (as in duty) 
Hang rich Trophies up to Beauty ! 
'Tis proportioned to a height 
That is even with Delight. 
Yet is a great deal higher 
Than to answer base Desire. 

Where the neck hath end, begins 
That smooth path, where Love's close gins 
Are thick placed, to enthrall 
Such as, that way straggle shall. 
There, a pleasing passage lies 
Far beyond the sight of eyes ; 
And much more delight contains 
Than the old Elizian fields. 

Whatsoever others say 
There's alone the Milky Way ! 
That to Beauty's Walks doth go ; 
Which, if others came to know. 
In possessing their delight, 
They should never reach the height 
Of the pleasures, which I share : 
Whilst that those debarred are. 

Yet unspoken of, there rests 
Her two twin-like lovely Breasts ! 
Whose round-rising, pretty panting 
I would tell, but Art is wanting ! 
Words can never well declare 
Her fair sweet perfections there ; 
For, would Measures give mc leave 

396 F A I R V I R T U E , THE 

To express what I conceive, 

I do know I should go near 

Half to ravish all that hear. 

And hut that I learn to season 

What I apprehend with Reason, 

It had made my Passions' weight 

Sink me, through my own conceit. 

There, I find so large a measure 

Of an unexpressed pleasure. 

That my heart, through strong surmise, 

In a pleasing fainting lies. 

He that there may rest to prove 

Softer finds those beds of love, 

That the cotton ripest grown ; 

Or fine pillows of such down 

As, in time of moulting, fans 

From the breasts of silver swans. 

Those two sisters are a pair, 
Smooth alike, like soft, like fair, 
If together they be viewed : 
Yet if they apart be shewed ; 
That you touch or see, seems smoother, 
Softer, fairer than the other. 

That the colour may delight ; 
So much red as makes the white 
Purer seem, is shed among : 
And then, here and there, along 
Runs a sapphire-mine, whose blue 
Shadowed, makes so brave a show 
On those lily mounts, as though 
Beauty's simples there did grow. 

In the vale, 'twixt either hill, 
Lies Desire in ambush still. 
And surpriseth every eye 
Which doth that way dare to pry. 

There is, sure, the twi-top hill. 
Where the Poets learn their skill ! 
That's Parnassus, where the Muses 
Chaste, and wise Minekva uses ! 

Her two Cherrilets are those 
Whence the plcasant'st nectar Hows ; 

;■] Mistress of Phi la r e t e . 397 

And no fruits e'er equalled these, 
Fetched from the Hesperides. 

Once, as Cynthia's games she chased, 
And, for air, left half unlaced 
Her light summer robe of green 
(Beauty's safe, but slender screen !) 
Unawares, I partly spied, 
That fair lily-field unhid 
Which you may her Belly name ! 
Yet, nor She, nor I to blame. 
For it was, but what mine eye 
Might behold with modesty. 

'Tis a fair and matchless plain 
Where unknown delights remain ! 
'Tis the store-house wherein Pleasure 
Hides the richest of her treasure ! 
Which, True Modesty, in ward. 
Keeps, with a continual guard 
Of such Virtues, as she's sure, 
No corruption can allure. 

There, they say, (for, mind it well ! 
I do this, by hearsay tell) 
Grows her Navel, which doth seem 
Like some jewel of esteem : 
With so wondrous cunning wrought 
That an injury, 'tis thought. 
Such a beauty, with the rest. 
Should (unknown) be unexprest. 

Somewhat else there is, that's hidden 
Which to name I am forbidden ; 
Neither have I ever pried 
After that should be unspied. 
Never shall my maiden Muse 
So herself, and me abuse 
As to sing what I may fear 
Will offend the choicest ear ! 
Though I know, if none be by, 
But true friends to modesty; 
I might name each part at will. 
And yet no man's thought be ill. 

Yet, for fear loose hearers may 

398 Fair Virtue, the 

Judge amiss, if more I say; 

I descend, to shun all blame. 

To the Pillars of the Frame. 

Where though I ne'er aimed so high 

As her dainty youthful Thigh ; 

Whose rare softness, smoothness, fulness 

Being known, would teach my dulness 

Such a Strain as might befit 

Some brave Tuscan Poet's wit. 

Once a saucy bush, I spied 
Pluck her silken skirts aside. 
So discovered unto me 
All those beauties to the Knee : 
And before the thorns' entanglings 
Had let go the silver spanglings, 
I perceive the curious knitting 
Of those joints was well befiting 
Such a noble piece of work : 
'Mongst whose turnings seem to lurk 
Much to entertain the sight 
With new objects of delight. 

Then the Leg, for shape as rare, 
Will admit of no compare ! 
Straight it is ; the Ankle lean ! 
Full the Calf, but in the mean ! 
And the slender Foot doth fit 
So, each way, to suit with it ; 
As She nothing less excels 
Therein, than in all things else. 

Yea, from head to foot, her feature 
Shews her an Unblemished Creature, 
In whom, Love with Reason might 
Find so matchless a Delight, 
That more cannot be acquired; 
Nor a greater bliss desired. 

Yet, if you will rest an hour 
Under yonder shady bower ! 
I, anon, my Muse will raise 
To a higher pitch of praise ! 
But a while with raspice-berrics, 

'Jg^;:] M / s T R E s s OF Phil a k e r e . 399 

Strawberries, ripe pears, and cherries, 
(Such as these our groves do bear) 
We will cool our palates there. 
And, those homely catcs among 
Now and then, a Pastoral Song, 
Shall my lad, here, sing and play! 
Such as you had yesterday. 

Lad, whose faith will constant prove, 

And never know an end ; 
Late, by an oversight in love, 

Displeased his dearest Friend : 
For which incensed, she did retake 

The favours which he wore ; 
And said, "He never, for her sake, 

Should wear, or sec them more ! " 

The grief whereof, how near it went. 

And how unkindly took. 
Was figured by the discontent 

Appearing in his look. 
At first, he could not silence break. 

So heavy sorrow lay ; 
But when his sighs gave way to speak. 

Thus, sadly, did he say. 

" My only Dear ! " and with that speech, 

Not able to sustain 
The floods of grief at sorrow's breach. 

He paused awhile again. 
A t length, nigh fainting, did express 

These words, with much ado, 
" Dear I Let not my love's excess. 

Me, and my love undo ! " 

400 Fair Virtue, the [^ 

She, little moved with his pain. 

His much distraction eyed; 
And cha7iging love into disdain, 

Thus, still unkind, replied. 
" Forbear to urge one kindness more I 

Unless you long to see 
The good respect you had before, 

At once, all lost in me ! " 

With that dismayed, his suit he ceased, 

And down his head he hung ; 
A nd as his Reason's strength decreased. 

His Passion grew more strong. 
But seeing she did slight his moan ; 

With willow garlands wreathed, 
He sate him down, and all alone. 

This sad complaint he breathed. 

" Heavens ! " quoth he, " Why do we spend 

Endeavours thus in vain ? 
Since what the Fates do fore-intend 

They never change again. 
Nor Faith, nor Love, nor true Desert, 

Nor all that man can do. 
Can win him place within her heart, 

Thai is not born thereto ! " 

" Why do I fondly waste my youth 

In secret sighs and tears ? 
lyiiy to preserve a spotless truth. 

Taste I, so many cares ? 
For. women that no worth respect, 

Do so jmgentle prove ; 
That some shall win by their neglect. 

What others lose with love." 

;:] Mistress of Phil arete. 401 

" Those that have set the best at naught, 

And no man could enjoy ; 
A t last, by some base gull are caught. 

And gotten with a toy. 
Yea, they that spend an Age's light, 

Their favours to obtain ; 
For one unwilling oversight. 

May lose them all again ! " 

" How glad, and fain, alas, would I, 

For her, have underwent 
The greatest care, ere she should try 

The smallest discontent ? 
Yet She, that may my life command. 

And doth those Passions know! 
Denieth me a poor demand. 

In height of all my woe." 

" O, if the Noblest of her time, 

A nd best beloved of me ; 
Could for so poor, so slight a crime 

So void of pity be ! 
Sure, had it been some common one, 

Whose patience I had tried ; 
No wonder I had been undone. 

Or unforgivcn, died ! " 

" A thousand lives I wotdd have laid ! 

{So well I once believed) 
She would have deigned to lend me aid 

If she had seen me grieved. 
But now, I live to see the day, 

When I presumed so, 
I neither dare for pity pray. 

Nor tell her <f my woe ! " 
Eng. Gar. IV. 26 

402 F A 1 R V I R T U E , T II E S^'^^'fC:;. 

" Yet, let not, poor despised heart ! 

Her worth ought questioned be ! 
Hadst thou not failed in desert 

She had not failed thee ! 
But lest, perhaps, they flout thy moan. 

That shotdd esteem thee dear ; 
Go, make it by thyself alone. 

Where none may come to hear ! 

" Still keep thy forehead crowned with smiles ! 

What Passion e'er thou try ; 
That none may laugh at thee, the whiles 

Thou disco7itented lie ! 
A nd let no wrong, by change distain 

A love so truly fair ; 
But rather, never hope again ! 

And thou shalt ne'er despair ! " 



'Erttred by cruel Passions that oppress me. 
With heart nigh broken, Time, no hope would give me , 
Upon my bed: I laid me down to rest me: 
And gentle Sleep, I wooed to relieve me. 
But 0, alas! I found that, on the morrow. 
My sleeping Joys brought forth my waking Sorrow. 

For, lo, a dream I had, so full of pleasure, 
That to possess, what to embrace I seemed, 
Could not effect my joy in higher measure. 
Than now it grieves me, that I have but dreamed. 

let my dreams be Sighs and Tears hereafter ! 

So I {that sleeping, weep) may wake in laughter. 

•^'IS M/ST/iEss OF Phil ARETE. 40^ 

Fain would I tell how much that Shadow pleased me, 
But tongue and pen want words, and art in telling ; 
Yet this I'll say, to shew what horror seized me 
{When I was robbed of bliss, so much excelling). 
Might all my dreams be such ; O, let mc never 
Awake again ! but sleep, and dream for ever I 

For xvhen I waking, saw myself deceived, 
A nd what an inward hell it had procured : 
To find myself of all my hopes bereaved 
It brought on Passions not to be endured. 

And, knew I, next night had such dreams in keeping; 

I'd make my eyes foreswear, for ever, sleeping I 


\0u woody Hills I you Dales ! you Groves ! 
Von Floods ! and every Spring ! 
You creatures come, whom nothing moves, 

A nd hear a Shepherd sing ! 
For to Heroes, Nymphs, and Swains, 

I, long, have made my moan; 
Yet what my mournful Verse contains 
Is understood of none. 

In song, A pollo gave me skill ; 

Their love, his Sisters deign : 
With those that haunt Parnassus' hill, 

I friendship entertain. 
Yet this is all in vain to me, 

So haplessly I fare I 
As those things which my glory be. 

My cause of ruin are. 

404 Fair V i r t u e , the 

For Love hath kindled in wy breast, 

His never quenched fire : 
And I ! ivho often have cxprest 

What other men desire, 
(Became I could so dive into 

The depth of others' moan) ; 
Now, I, my own afflictions shew, 

I heeded am of none f 

Oft have the Nymphs of greatest worth, 

Made suit, my Songs to hear ; 
As oft (when I have sighed forth. 

Such notes as saddest were) : 
"Alas," said they, "poor gentle heart . 

Whoe'er that Shepherd be ! " 
But none of them suspects my smart. 

Nor thinks, it meaucth Mc ! 

When I have reached so high a Strain 

Of Passion in my Song, 
That they have seen the tears to rain 

And trill, my cheek along ; 
Instead of sigh, or weeping eye 

To sympathise with Me ! 
" O were he once in love ! " they cry, 

" How moving would he be ? " 

O pity me, you Powers above ! 

A nd take my skill away ! 
Or let my hearers think I love 

A nd feign not what I say ! 
For if I could disclose the snare 

Which I, unknown, do bear ; 
Each line would make them sighs impart, 

And every word, a tear. 

;.] Mistress of P ii i l a r e t e . 405 

Had I a Mistress, some do think 

She should revealed be ; 
And I would favours wear, or drink 

Her health, upon my knee. 
Alas, poor fools ! they aim awry ! 

Their fancy flaf^s too low ! 
Could they, my love's rare course espy, 

They would amazed grow. 

But let nor Nymph, nor Swain conceive 

My tongue shall ever tell 
Who, of this rest doth me bereave ; 

Or where I am not well. 
But if you, sighing me espy 

Where rarest features be ; 
Mark where I fix a weeping eye. 

And swear you ! " There is She ! " 

Yet, ere, my eyes betray me shall, 

I'll swell, and burst with pain ! 
A nd for each drop they would let fall, 

My heart shall bleed me twain ! 
For since my soid more sorrow bears 

Than common lovers know ; 
I scorn my Passions should, like theirs, 

A common humour shew. 

Ear never heard of, heretofore. 

Of any love like mine ; 
Nor shall there be, for evermore, 

Affection so divine ! 
And that to fain it, none may try, 

When I dissolved must be ; 
The first I am, it lived by ! 

And die it shall, with me ! 


/'" A IK V J K run, T Jl E 


\Fair V I RTUE' s sweet Graces^ 

Oy ! ha' done ! For now my brain 
Is inspired fresh again ; 
And new raptures pressing are, 
To be sung in praise of Her, 
Whose fair Picture lieth nigh, 
Quite unveiled to every eye. 

No small favour hath it been, 
That such Beauty might be seen ; 

Therefore, ever may they rue it, 

Who, with evil eyes shall view it ! 

Yea, what ancient stories tell 

Once to rude Acteon fell 

(When, with evil thoughts, he stood 

Eying Cynthia in the Hood) ; 

May that fatal horned curse 

Light upon them, or a worse ! 
But, whatever others be. 

Lest some fault be found in me, 

If imperfect this remain ; 

I will over-trim't again ! 

Therefore, turn where we begun ! 

And, now all is overrun. 
Mark, if everything exprest 
Suit not so unto the rest. 
As if Nature would prefer 
All perfections unto her ! 

Wherefore seems it strange to any 
That they daily see so many, 

'f^^'leaj'.] MlSTJ^ESS OF P II I l' A K E T E . 407 

Who were, else, most perfect creatures, 
In some one part, want true features ; 
Since from all the fair'st that live, 
Nature took the best, to give 
Her, perfection in each part ? 
I, alone except her heart ; 
For, among all Womankind, 
Such as hers is hard to find ! 

If you truly note her Face, 
You shall find it hath a grace. 
Neither wanton, nor o'er serious. 
Nor too yielding, nor imperious ; 
But, with such a feature blest, 
It is that which pleaseth best. 
And delights each several eye 
That affects with modesty. 
Lowliness hath, in her look, 
Equal place with Greatness took : 
And if Beauty, anywhere, 
Claims prerogatives, 'tis there ! 
For, at once, thus much 'twill do ; 
Threat ! command ! persuade ! and woo ! 

In her Speech, there is not found 
Any harsh, unpleasing sound; 
But a well beseeming power. 
Neither higher, neither lower. 
Than will suit with her perfection. 
'Tis the Loadstone of Affection ! 
And that man, whose judging eyes, 
Could well sound such mysteries, 
Would in love, make her his choice. 
Though he did but hear her voice ! 
For such accents breathe not, whence 
Beauty keeps non-residence. 
Never word of hers I hear. 
But 'tis music to mine ear. 
And much more contentment brings 
Than the sweetly-touched strings 
Of the pleasing Lute, whose strains 
Ravish hearers, when it 'plains. 

Raised by her Discourse, I fly 

4o8 Fair Virtue, the 

In contented thoughts so high 
That I pass the common measures 
Of the dulled senses' pleasures; 
And leave far below my sight 
Vulgar pitches of delight. 

If She smile, and merry be ; 
All about her are as She ! 
For each looker on fakes part 
Of the joy that's in her heart. 

If She grieve, or you but spy 
Sadness peeping through her eye ; 
Such a grace it seems to borrow 
That you'll fall in love with Sorrow ; 
And abhor the name of Mirth, 
As the hateful'st thing on earth. 

Should I see her shed a tear. 
My poor eyes would melt, I fear : 
For much more in Hers appears, 
Than in other women's tears ; 
And her look did never feign 
Sorrow, where there was no pain. 

Seldom hath She been espied, 
So impatient as to chide ! 
For if any see her so. 
They'll in love with Anger grow. 

Sigh, or speak, or smile, or talk, 
Sing, or weep, or sit, or walk ; 
Every thing that She doth do, 
Decent is, and lovely too. 
Each part that you shall behold 
Hath within itself enrolled 
What you could desire to see. 
Or your heart conceive to be : 
Yet, if from that part, your eye 
Moving, shall another spy, 
There, you see as much or more 
Than you thought to praise before. 

While the eye surveys it ! you 
Will imagine that her Brow 
Hath all beauty : when her Clicck 
You behold ! it is as like 

*^r^^'l62>:] Mistress of P h i l a r e t e . 409 

To be deemed fairest too ; 
So much there, can Beauty do. 
Look but thence, upon her Eye ! 
And you wonder, by-and-by, 
How there may be anywhere, 
So much worthy praise as there. 
Yet, if you survey her Breast, 
Then, as freely, you'll protest 
That in them, perfection is ! 
Though, I know, that one poor kiss 
From her tempting Lips, would then 
Make all that, foresworn again ! 
For the selfsame moving grace 
Is, at once, in every place. 

She, her beauty never foils 
With your ointments, waters, oils ! 
Nor no loathsome /i«n(s settles, 
Mixed with Jewish fasting spetles ! 
Fair by Nature being born, 
She doth, borrowed beauty scorn ! 
Whoso kisses her, needs fear 
No unwholesome varnish there. 
For from thence, he only sips 
The pure nectar of her lips, 
And, at once, with these he closes, 
Melting rubies, cherries, roses. 

Then, in her Behaviour, She 
Striveth but Herself to be : 
Keeping such a decent state, 
As, indeed, she seems to hate 
Precious leisure should be spent 
In abused compliment. 
Though she knows what others do, 
(And can all their Courtship too) 
She is not in so ill case, 
As to need their borrowed grace. 

Her Discourses sweetened are, 
With a kind of artless care 
That e.xpresseth greater Art, 
Than affected words impart. 
So, her Gestures (being none 

410 Fair Virtue, the \^ 

But that freeness, which alone 
Suits the braveness of her mind) 
Make her, of herself, to find 
Postures more becoming far 
Than the mere acquired are. 

If you mark, when, for her pleasure, 
She vouchsafes to foot a measure. 
Though, with others' skill. She pace ; 
There's a sweet delightful grace 
In herself, which doth prefer 
Art beyond that Art, in her. 

Neither needs She beat her wit 
To devise what dressings fit ! 
Her complexion, and her feature 
So beholding are to Nature, 
If She, in the fashions go, 
All the reason She doth so, 
Is, because She would not err 
In appearing singular ; 
Doubtless, not for any thought, 
That 'twill perfect her in ought. 

Many a dainty-seeming Dame 
Is, in native beauties lame. 
Some are graced by their tires. 
As their quoifs, their hats, their wires. 
One, a ruff doth best become ; 
Falling-bands much altereth some. 
And their favours, oft, we see 
Changed as their dressings be. 
Which her beauty never fears, 
For it graceth all She wears. 
If ye note her tire to-day ; 
" That doth suit her best ! " you'll say. 
Mark, what She, ne.xt morn, doth wear ! 
" That becomes her best ! " 3-ou'll swear. 
Yea, as oft as Her you see, 
Such new graces still there be. 
As She ever seemeth graced 
Most by that she weareth last ; 
Though it be the same She wore 
But the very day before. 

;;] Mistress of Phi l" a re t e . 

When she takes her tires about her, 
(Never half so rich without her !) 
At the putting on of them, 
You may Hken every gem 
To those lamps, which, at a Play, 
Are set up to light the day : 
For their lustre adds no more 
To what Titan gave before ; 
Neither doth their pretty ^learnings 
Hinder ought, his greater beamings. 
And yet (which is strange to me) 
When those costly deckings be 
Laid away ; there seems descried 
Beauties, which those veils did hide ; 
And She looks, as doth the Moon, 
Past some cloud, through which she shone : 
Or some jewel Watch, whose case. 
Set with diamonds, seems to grace 
What it doth contain within, 
Till the curious work be seen ; 
Then, 'tis found, that costly Shrining 
Did but hinder t'others' shining. 

If you chance to be in place 
Where her Mantle, She doth grace ; 
You would presently protest 
" Irish dressings were the best ! " 
If again, She lay it down, 
While you view her in a Gown, 
And how those her dainty limbs 
That close-bodied garment trims : 
You would swear, and swear again, 
" She appeared loveliest then 1 " 

But if She, so truly fair. 
Should untie her shining hair 
And, at length, that treasure shed; 
Jove's endured Ganymede, 
Neither Cytherea's joy. 
Nor the sweet self-loving Boy 
Who in beauty did surpass. 
Nor the fair'st that ever was. 
Could, to take your prisoner, bring 

412 Fair V i k t u e , r ii e 

Looks so sweetly conquering. 

She excels her, whom Apollo 
Once, with weeping eyes, did follow ; 
Or that Nymph, who, shut in towers, 
Was beguiled with golden showers ; 
Yea, and she, whose Love was wont 
To swim o'er the Hellespont 
For her sake (though in attire 
Fittest to enflame desire) 
Seemed not half so fair to be 
Nor so lovely as is She. 
For the man, whose happy eye 
Views her in full majesty. 
Knows She hath a power that moves 
More than doth the Queen of Loves, 
When she useth all her power 
To inflame her paramour. 

And, sometimes, I do admire 
All men burn not with Desire ! 
Nay, I muse her Servants are not 
Pleading love : but O, they dare not ! 
And L therefore, wonder why 
They do not grow sick, and die. 

Sure, they would do so, but that. 
By the Ordinance of Fate, 
There is some concealed thing 
So each gazer limiting. 
He can see no more of merit 
Than beseems his worth and spirit. 
For, in her, a Grace there shines 
That o'erdaring thoughts confines, 
Haking worthless men despair 
To be loved of one so fair. 

Yea, the Destinies agree 
Some good judgements blind should bt 
And not gain the power of knowing 
Those rare beauties, in her growing. 
Reason doth as much imply. 
For, if every judging eye 
Which beholdeth her, should there 

;] Mistress of P ii i l a r e t e . 413 

Find what excellences are ; 
All, o'ercome by those perfections, 
Would be captive to affections. 
So (in happiness, unblest) 
She, for lovers, should not rest. 

This, well heeding, think upon ! 
And, if there be any one 
Who alloweth not the worth 
Which my Muse hath painted forth ; 
Hold it no defect in Her ! 
But that he's ordained to err. 
Or if any female wight 
Should detract from this I write ; 
She, I yield, may shew her wit, 
But disparage Her no whit : 
For, on earth few women be. 
That from envy's touch are free ; 
And whoever, Envy, knew. 
Yield those honours that were due ? 

Though, sometimes, my Song I raise 
To unused heights of praise, 
And break forth, as I shall please. 
Into strange hyperboles, 
'Tis to shew. Conceit hath found 
Worth beyond Expression's bound. 
Though her Breath I do compare 
To the sweet'st perfumes that are ; 
Or her Eyes, that are so bright. 
To the morning's cheerful light : 
Yet I do it not so much 
To infer that she is such, 
As to shew that, being blest 
With what merits name of Best, 
She appears more fair to me, 
Than all creatures else that be. 

Her true beauty leaves behind 
Apprehensions in my mind, 
Of more sweetness than all Art 
Or Inventions can impart : 
Thoughts too deep to be expressed, 

Fair Virtue, the [^-^ 

And too strong to be suppressed. 

Which, oft, raiseth my conceits 

To so unbeHeved heifthts 

That, I fear, some shallow brain 

Thinks my Muses do but feign. 

Sure, he wrongs them, if he do ! 

For, could I have reached to 

So like Strains, as these you see ; 

Had there been no such as She ? 

Is it possible that I 

Who scarce heard of Poesy 

Should a mere Idea raise 

To as true a pitch of praise, 

As the learned Poets could, 

(Now, or in the times of old) 

All those real Beauties bring, 

Honoured by the Sonneting ? 

Having Arts, and favours too, 

More t' encourage what they do ? 

No ! If I had never seen 

Such a Beauty, I had been 

Piping in the country shades 

To the homely dairy maids, 

For a country fidler's fees, 

*' Clouted cream, and bread and cheese." 

I, no skill in Numbers had. 
More than every Shepherd's Lad, 
Till She taught me Strains that were 
Pleasing to her gentle ear. 
Her fair splendour and her worth ; 
From obscureness, drew me forth : 
And because I had no Muse, 
She herself deigned to infuse 
All the skill by which I climb 
To these praises in my rhyme. 

Which if she had pleased to add 
To that. Art, sweet Drayton had; 
Or that happy Swain, that shall 
Sing Britannia's Pastoral ; 
Or to theirs, whose verse set forth 
Rosalynd's and Stella's worth; 

''l^'\tl\] M I S T Ji E S S OF P II I l' A R E T E . 415 

They had doubled all their skill 
Gained on Apollo's hill : 
And as much more set Her forth, 
As I'm short of them in worth: 
They had, unto heights aspired. 
Might have justly been admired, 
And, in such brave Strains had moved, 
As, of all, had been approved. 

I must praise Her, as I may ! 
Which I do, mine own rude way. 
Sometimes setting forth her glories 
By unheard-of allegories. 

Think not, though, my Muse now sings 
Mere absurd or feigned things ! 
If to gold, I like her hair; 
Or to stars, her eyes so fair : 
Though I praise her skin by snow ; 
Or, by pearls, her double-row ; 
'Tis that you might gather thence 
Her unmatched excellence. 

Eyes as fair (for eyes) hath She 
As stars fair, for Stars may be. 
And each part as fair doth show 
In its kind, as white in Snow. 
'Tis no grace to her, at all ; 
If her hair, I, Sunbeams call. 
For, were there power in Art, 
So to portrait every part. 
All men might those beauties see 
As they do appear to me : 
I would scorn to make compare 
With the glorious'st things that are, 

Nought I e'er saw, fair enow 
But the Hair, the hair to show : 
Yet some think him over bold 
That compares it but to gold. 
He, from Reason seems to err, 
Who, commending of his Dear, 
Gives her lips, the rubies' hue ; 
Or by pearls, her teeth doth shew: 

4 1 6 F A I R V I R Ti/r., T // E l^^^t";. 

But what pearls, what rubies can 
Seem so lovely fair to man, 
As her lips, whom he doth love, 
When in sweet discourse they move ? 
Or her lovelier teeth, the while 
She doth bless him with a smile? 

Stars, indeed, fair creatures be ! 
Yet, amongst us, where is he 
Joys not more, the while he lies 
Sunning in his mistress' eyes, 
Than in all the glimmering light 
Of a starry winter's night ? 

Him, to flatter, most suppose. 
That prefers before the rose, 
Or the lilies while they grow, 
Or the flakes of new-fall'n snow. 
Her complexion, whom he loveth: 
And yet this, my Muse approveth. 
For in such a beauty, meets 
Unexpressed moving sweets. 
That, the like unto them, no man 
Ever saw but in a Woman. 

Look on moon ! on stars! or sun ! 
All GOD's creatures overrun ! 
See, if all of them presents 
To your mind, such sweet contents; 
Or if you, from them can take, 
Ought that may a beauty make, 
Shall, one half, so pleasing prove 
As is hers, whom you do love ! 

For, indeed, if there had been 
Other mortal beauties seen, 
Objects for the love of man ; 
Vain was their Creation then ! 
Yea, if this could well be granted, 
Adam might, his Eve have wanted ! 
But a Woman is the creature. 
Whose proportion with our nature 
Best agrees ; and whose perfections 
Sympathise with our affections : 
And, not only find our Senses 

j^^'.'fa":] Mistress of Phil arete. 417 

Pleasure in their excellences ; 
But our Reason also knows 
Sweetness in them, that outgoes 
Human wit to comprehend ! 
Much more, truly to commend! 

Note the beauty of any Eye ! 
And, if ought you praise it by. 
Leave such Passion in your mind : 
Let my Reason's Eye be blind ! 

Mark if ever red or white, 
Anywhere, gave such delight, 
As when they have taken place 
In a worthy woman's face ! 
He that so much hath not noted, 
Will not ! or is grown besotted. 

Such as lovers are, conceive 
What impressions beauty leaves ! 
And those hearts that fire have took 
By a love-inflaming look: 
Those believe, what here I say ! 
And suppose not that I stray 
In a word, by setting forth 
Any praise beyond true worth ! 

And yet, wherefore should I care 
What another's censures are ? 
Since I know Her to be such 
As no praise can be too much. 
All that see Her, will agree 
In the self-same mind with me; 
If their Wit be worth the having 
Or their Judgement merit craving. 
And the man that kens Her not. 
Speaks, at best, he knows not what ; 
So his envy, or goodwill. 
Neither doth her good, nor ill. 

Then, fools' cavils I disdain! 
And call back my Muse again, 
To decipher out the rest, 
For I have too long digressed. 

This is She, in whom there meets 

Eng. Car. IV. 27 

Fair Virtue, the 

All variety of sweets 1 

An Epitome of all 

That on earth, we, Fair may call. 

Nay, yet more, I dare aver. 

He that is possessed of Her, 

Shall, at once, all pleasure find, 

That is reaped from Womankind. 

O, what man would further range, 
That in one, might find such change ? 
What dull eye, such worth can see. 
And not sworn a lover be ? 
Or, from whence was he, could prove 
Such a monster in his love. 
As, in thought, to use amiss 
Such unequalled worth as this ? 

Pity 'twere, that such a creature 
Phoenix-like, for matchless feature. 
Should so suffer, or be blamed 
With what, now, the Times are shamed. 
Beauty (unto me. Divine !) 
Makes my honest thoughts incline 
Unto better things than that 
Which the vulgar aimeth at. 
And, I vow ! I grieve to see 
Any fair, and false to be ; 
Or when I, sweet pleasures find 
Matched with a defiled mind. 

But, above all others. Her 
So much doth my soul prefer, 
That to him, whose ill desire 
Should so nurse a lawless fire, 
As to 'tempt to that which might 
Dim her sacred virtue's light ; 
I could wish that he might die 
Ere he did it ! though 'twere I ! 

For, if She should hap to stray, 
All this beauty would away ! 
And not her alone undo. 
But kill him that praised her too 1 
But I know her Maker will 
Keep her undistained still ; 

;:] M J S r K E S S OF P II I l' A R E T E . 419 

That ensuing Ages may 

Pattern out, by Her, the way 

To all goodness. And if Fate, 

That appoints all things a date, 

Hear me would ; I'd wish that She 

Might, for aye, preserved be I 

And that neither wasting cares, 

Neither all-consuming years. 

Might, from what She is, estrange her! 

Or in mind or body change her ! 
For, 0, why should envious Time 

Perpetrate so vile a crime 

As to waste, or wrong, or staiii 

What shall ne'er be matched again ? 
Much I hope it shall not be 

For, if love deceive me not. 

To that height of Fair she grows. 

Age, or Sickness (Beauty's foes ! ) 

Cannot so much wrong it there, 

But enough there will appear 

Ever worthy to be loved : 

And that heart shall more be moved 

(Where there is a judging eye) 

With those prints it doth espy 

Of her Beauty wronged by Time» 

Than by others, in their prime. 

One advantage she hath more 
That adds grace to all before. 
It is this. Her Beauty's fame 
Hath not done her Honour shame, 
For where Beauty we do find, 
Envy still is so unkind. 
That although their virtues are 
Such as pass their beauties far. 
Yet, on Slander's rocks they be 
Shipwrecked, oftentimes, we see } 
And are subject to the wrongs 
Of a thousand spiteful tongues : 
When the greatest fault they had 
Was, that some would make them bad ! 
And not finding them for action, 

420 Fair Virtue, the ["j^' 

Sought for vengeance by detraction. 

But her Beauty, sure, no tongue 
Is so villainous to wrong! 
Never did the jealous'st ear 
Any muttering rumour hear 
That might cause the least suspects 
Of indifferent defects. 
And, which somewhat stranger is. 
They, whose slanders few can miss 
(Though set on by Evil Will 
And Habituated 111) 
Nothing can of Her invent 
Whence to frame disparagement. 

Which, if we respect the crimes 
Of these loose injurious Times, 
Doth not only truly prove 
Great discretion in her love ; 
And that she hath lived upright, 
In each jealous tongue's despite : 
But it must be understood 
That her private thoughts are good. 
Yea I 'tis an apparent sign 
That her Beauty is Divine ! 
And that angels have a care 
Men's polluting tongues should spare 
To defile, what GOD hath given 
To be dear to Earth and Heaven ! 

Tell me, you that hear me now ! 
Is there any one of you 
Wanteth feeling of affection ? 
Or that loves not such perfection ? 
.Can there be so dull an ear 
As of so much worth to hear, 
And not seriously incline 
To this saint-like friend of mine ? 
If there be, the fault doth lie 
In my artless Poesy. 
For if I could reach the Strain 
Which, methinks, I might obtain; 
Or but make my Measures ily 

'Jsj":] Mistress of Phil' arete. 4: 

Equal with my Fantasy : 

I would not permit an ear 

To attend unravished here ; 

If but so much sense it knew, 

As the blocks that Orpheus drew. 

Think on this description well 1 
And your noblest Ladies tell 
" Which of you (that worth can see), 
This my Mistress would not be? " 

You brave English ! who have run 
From the rising of the sun, 
Till, in travelling, you found 
Where he doth conclude his round! 
You ! that have the beauties seen 
Which, in farthest lands have been ; 
And surveyed the fair resorts 
Of the French and Spanish Courts, 
With the rest that Fame renowns 
In the rich Trans-Alpine towns ; 
Do not (with our brainless fry, 
That admire each novelty) 
Wrong your country's fame in ought ! 
But, here, freely speak your thought ! 
And I durst presume you'll swear 
She's not matched anywhere. 

Gallants ! you that would so fain 
Nymphs' and Ladies' loves obtain ! 
You that strive to serve and please 
Fairest Queens and Empresses ! 
Tell me this, and tell me right 1 
If you would not, so you might. 
Leave them all, despised, to prove 
What contents are in her love ? 

Could your fathers ever tell 
Of a Nymph, did more excel ? 
Or hath any Story told 
Of the like, in times of old ? 

Dido was not such a one ! 
Nor the Trojans' paragon ! 
Though they, so much favour found. 
As to have their honours crowned 

F A I K V 1 R T V E , T II E 

By the best of Poets' pens, 
Ever known before or since. 

For had Dido been so fair; 
Old Anchises's noble heir, 
Jove's command had disobeyed ! 
And with her, in Carthage stayed : 
Where he would have quite foreswoit 
Seeing the Lavinian shore. 
Or had Leda's daughter been. 
When she was the Spartan Queen, 
Equal with this Lovely One ! 
Menelaus had never gone 
From her sight so far away, 
As to leave her for a prey ; 
And his room to be possesst 
By her wanton Phrygian guest. 

But lest yet, among you some. 
Think She may behind these come; 
Stay a little more, and hear me ! 
In another Strain I'll rear me ! 
I'll unmask a Beauty, now. 
Which to kiss, the gods may bow ! 
And so feelingly will move, 
That your souls shall fall in love ! 

I have, yet, the best behind ; 
Her most fair, unequalled Mind ! 
This that I have, here, exprest 
Is but that which veils the rest ! 
An incomparable Shrine 
Of a Beauty more Divine ! 

Whereof, ere I farther speak ; 
Off again, my Song I'll break. 
And if you, among the roses, 
Which yon quickset hedge incloses, 
Will, with plucking flowers, beguile 
Tedious-seeming Time awhile ; 
Till I step to yonder green. 
Whence the sheep so plain ai'e seen, 
I will be returned ere 


You, an hour have stayed there ! 

And, excuse me now, I pray I 
Though I rudely go away ! 
For affairs I have to do, 
Which unless I look into; 
I may sing out Summer here ! 
Like the idle grasshopper: 
And at Winter, hide my head ! 
Or else fast, till I am dead ! 

Yet if rustic Pastoral Measures 
Can ought add unto your pleasures ; 
I will leave you some of those. 
Which it pleased me to compose 
When despairing fits were over, 
And I, made a happy lover. 
Exercised my Loving Passion 
In another kind of fashion ; 
Than to utter, I devised, 
When I feared to be despised. 

Those shall lie in gage for me, 
Till I back returned be. 
And in writing, here, you have them ! 
Either sing ! or read ! or leave them ! 


Dmire not. Shepherd's Boy ! 
Why I my pipe forbear ? 
My Sorrows and my Joy 
Beyond expression are ! 

Though others may 

In Songs display 
Their Passions, when they woi 

Yet, mine do fly 

A pitch too high 
For Words to reach unto. 

424 Fair Virtue, the \^-^''\ 

If such weak thoughts as those 
Which others' Fancies moves ; 
Or if my heart did 'close 
But common Strains of Love : 

Or Passions' store 

Learned me no more 
To feel, than others do : 

I'd paint my cares 

As black as theirs, 
And teach my lines to woo ! 

But, 0, thrice happy ! ye 
Whose mean conceit is dull ! 
You, from those thoughts are free ! 
That stuff my breast so full. 

My love's excess 

Lets to express 
What Songs are used to : 

And my delights 

Take such high flights, 
My joys will me undo. 

I have a Love that's fair, 
Rich, wise, and nobly born ; 
She's True Perfection's Heir, 
Holds nought but vice in scorn. 

A heart to find, 

More chaste, more kind. 
Our plains afford no mc. 

Of her degree. 

No blab I'll be ; 
For doubt some Prince shoidd woo. 

And yet, I do not fear, 
(Though She, my meanness knows) 
The willow branch to wear ; 
No, nor the yellow hose ! 

^i^^'l6»:] JlIlSTKESS OF P n I l'a R E T E. 425 

For if great JoVE 

Should sue for love, 
She would not me forego. 

Resort I may. 

By night or day, 
Which braver dare not do ! 

You Gallants, born to pelf ! 
To lands', to titles' store ! 
{I'm born but to Myself, 
Nor do I care for more) 

Add to your earth! 

Wealth! honours! birth! 
And all you can, thereto ! 

You cannot prove 

That height of love 
Which I, in meanness, do ! 

Great men have helps, to gain 
Those favours they implore: 
Which, though I win with pain, 
I find my joys the more. 
Each clown may rise 
And climb the skies 
When he hath found a stair ; 
But joy to him 
That dares to climb, 
And hath no help, but air ! 

Some say that "Love repents 
Where fortunes disagree." 
I know the high'st contents 
From low beginnings be. 
My love's unfeigned 
To Her that deigned 

426 Fair Virtue, t // , 

From greatness, stoop thereto. 
She loves, 'cause I 
So mean, dared try 

Her better worth to woo. 

And yet although much joy, 
My fortune seems to bless ; 
'Tis mixt with more annoy 
That I shall e'er express. 

For, with much pain 

Did I obtain 
The Gem I'll ne'er forego ! 

Which yet I dare 

Nor shew, nor wear I 
And that breeds all my woe. 

But fie ! my foolish tongue ! 
How losely now it goes ! 
First, let my knell be rung 
Ere I do more disclose ! 

Mount thoughts on high ! 

Cease words ! For why ? 
My meaning to divine ; 

To those I leave, 

TJmt can conceive 
So brave a Love as mine. 

And, now, no more I'll sing 
Among my fellow swains; 
Nor groves, nor hills shall ring 
With echoes of my plains. 
My Measures be 
Confused, you see ! 
A nd will not suit thereto : 
'Cause I have more 
Brave thoughts in store 
Than words can reach unto. 

;:J M 1 s 7 R li s s c A Phi la r e t e . 427 


\Ence, away ! you Syrens ! Leave me ! 
And unclasp your wanton arms ! 
Sugared words shall ne'er deceive me, 
Though thou prove a thousand charms. 

Fie ! fie ! f of bear ! 

No common snare 
Could ever my affection chain. 

Your painted baits 

And poor deceits 
Are all bestowed on me in vain ! 

Vm no slave to such as you be ! 
Neither shall a snowy breast, 
Wanton eye, or lip of ruby 
Ever rob me of my rest ! 

Go ! go ! Display 

Your beauty's ray 
To some o'ersoon enamoured Swain f 

Those common wiles 

Of sighs and smiles 
A re all bestowed on me in vain ! 

I have elsewhere, vowed a duty ; 
Turn away thy tempting eyes ! 
Show me not a naked beauty ! 
Those impostures I despise ! 

My spirit loaths 

Where gaudy clothes 
And feigned oaths may love obtain' 

I love Her so, 

Whose look swears " No !" 
That all your labours will be vain ! 

428 Fair Virtue, the [V^';| 

Can he prize the tainted posies 
Which on every breast are worn ; 
That may pluck the spotless roses 
From their never-touched thorn ? 

I can go rest 

On her sweet breast, 
That is the pride of Cynthia's train. 

Then hold your tongues ! 

Your Mermaid songs 
A re all bestowed on me in vain ! 

He's a fool, that basely dallies, 
Where each peasant mates with him .' 
Shall I haunt the thronged valleys, 
Whilst there's noble hills to climb ? 

No, no ! Though clowns 

Are scared with frowns ; 
I know the best can but disdain : 

A nd those I'll prove .' 

So shall your love 
Be all bestowed on me in vain ! 

Yet I wotdd not deign embraces 
With the greatest fairest She ; 
If another shared those graces 
Which had been bestowed on me ! 

I gave that One 

My love, where none 
Shall come to rob me of my gain. 

Your fickle hearts 

Make tears and A rts ! 
And all bestowed on me in vain. 

I do scorn, to vow a duty, 
Where each lustful lad may woo : 
Give me Her, whose sun-like beauty. 
Buzzards dare not soar unto .' 

'^'IL";] M I s T K E s s OF Phil" 



She I She it is 

Affords thai bliss ! 
For which, I would re/use no pain. 

But such as you ! 

Fond fools ! adieu ! 
You seek to capture me in vain ! 

Proud she seemed, in the beginning. 
And disdained my looking on; 
But that " Coy One in the winning. 
Proves a True One, being won ! " 

Whatever betide 

She'll ne'er divide 
The favour She to me shall deign ; 

But your fond love 

Will fickle prove ! 
And all that trust in you, arc vain ! 

Therefore know ! When I enjoy One, 
And for love employ my breath ; 
She I court, shall be a Coy One, 
Though I win her with my death ! 

A favour there, 

Few aim at, dare. 
And if, perhaps, some lover plain; 

She is not won 

Nor I undone 
By placing of my love in vain. 

Leave me ! then, you Syrens ! leave me . 
Seek no more to work my harms J 
Crafty wiles cannot deceive me; 
Who am proof against your charms ! 

You labour may 

To lead astray 

430 Fair Virtue, the [*^'i^^'l6j! 

The heart, that constant shall remain : 

And I, the while. 

Will sit and smile. 
To see you spend your time in vain. 


\Hen Philomela, with her strains. 

The Spring had welcomed in ; 

And Flora to bestrew the plains, 

With daisies did begin: 
My Love and I (on whom suspicious eyes 
Had set a thousand spies) 
To cozen Argos strove ; 
A nd seen of none, 
We got alone 
Into a shady grove. 

On every bush, the eglantine, 

With leaves perfumed hung : 
The primrose made the hedgerows fine ; 

The woods, of music rung : 

The earth, the air, and all things did conspire 

To raise contentment higher ; 

That, had I come to woo, 

Nor means of grace, 

Nor time, nor place 

Were wanting thereunto. 

With hand in hand, alone we walked, 

And oft each other eyed; 
Of Love and Passions past we talked, 

Which our poor hearts had tried : 
Our souls infused into each other were. 
And what may be her care 

'y^^'Ife";] Mistress of P ii i l a r f. t f. . 431 

Dii my more sorrow breed. 

One mind we bore, 

One faith we swore, 
And both in one agreed. 

Her dainty palm, I gently prcst. 

And with her lips I played ; 
My cheek, upon her panting breast. 

And on her neck, I laid ; 
And yet we had no sense of wanton lust; 
Nor did we then mistrust 
The Poison in the Sweet. 
Our bodies wrought 
So close, we thought, 
Because our souls should meet. 

With pleasant toil, we breathless grew, 

A nd kist in warmer blood : 
Upon her lips, the honey dew, 

Like drops on roses stood. 
A nd on those flowers, played I the busy bee, 
Whose sweets, were such to me. 
Them cotdd I not forego. 
No, not to feast 
On Venus' breast, 
Whence streams of sweetness flow. 

But kissing and embracing, we 

So long together lay ; 
Her touches all inflamed me, 

A nd I began to stray. 
My hands presumed so far, they were too bold I 
My tongue unwisely told 
How much my heart was changed. 
And Virtue quite 
Was put to flight; 
Or, for the time, estranged. 

Fair Virtue, the 

0, what are we, if in our strength 

IV e over boldly trust ? 
The strongest forts will yield at length, 

A nd so our virtues must. 
In Me, no force of Reason had prevailed. 
If She had also failed. 
But ere I further strayed. 
She, sighing, kist 
My naked wrist : 
A nd thus, in tears, she said. 

" Sweet Heart ! " quoth she, " if in thy breast 

Those virtues real be, 
Which, hitherto, thou hast profest, 

A nd I believed in thee ; 
Thyself and Me, seek not to abuse ! 
Whilst thee I thus refuse. 
In hotter flames I fry ! 
Yet let us not, 
Our true love, spot ! 
O, father, lei vie die ! " 

" For if thy heart should fall from good, 

What wotdd become of mine ? 
As strong a Passion stirs my blood. 

As can distemper thine ! 
Yet in my breast, this rage I smother would. 
Though it consume me, should ; 
And my desires contain. 
For where we see 
Such breaches be. 
They seldom stop again." 

■] A^ / s T /! E s s OF Phi l' a he t e . 433 

"Are we the two that have so long 

Each other's loves embraced ; 
A nd never did Affection wrong 

Nor think a thought unchaste ? 
And shall, O shall we, now, our matchless Joy 
For one poor touch destroy ? 
A nd all Content forego ? 
no, my Dear ! 
Sweet Heart, forbear ! 
I will not lose thee so/" 

" For should wc do a deed so base 

As it can never be, 
I could no more have seen thy face ! 

Nor wouldst thou look on vie ! 
I should, of all our Passions grow ashamed , 
A nd blush, when thou art named. 
Yea, though thou constant wert, 
I being nought, 
A jealous thought 
Would still torment my heart. 

" What goodly thing, do we obtain 

If I consent to thee ? 
Rare joys we lose, and what we gain 

But common pleasures be. 
Yea, ' those,' some say, ' who are to lust inclined. 
Drive Love out of the mind I 
And so much Reason miss 
That they admire 
What kind of fire 
A chaste affection is.' " 

ENG. GAR IV. 28 

434 Fair Virtue, the 

" No vulgar bliss I aiincd at, 

When first I heard thee woo ; 
ril never prize a Man for that 
Which every groom can do. 
If that be love, the basest men that be 
Do love as well as we ! 
Who, if we bear us well, 
Do pass them then, 
As Angels, men 
In glory do excel." 

Whilst this she spake, a cruel Band 

Of Passions seized my soul ; 
And what one seemed to command. 

Another did control. 
'Twixt Good and III, I did, divided lie. 
But as I raised mine eye. 
In her, methought, I saw 
Those Virtues shine, 
Whose rays divine 
First gave Desire, a Law. 

With that, I felt the blush of shame 

Into my cheek return. 
And Love did, with a chaster fiame. 

Within my bosom burn. 
My Soul, her light of Reason had renewed ; 
And by those beams, I viewed 
How silly Lust ensnares ! 
And all the fires 
Of ill Desires, 
J quenched with my tears. 

"?^^'l6°2.] Jll I s T R E s s OF Phil ARETE. 455 

Go, wantons, now, and flout at this! 
My coldness, if you list ! 
■ Vain fools ! You never knew the bliss 
That doth in Love consist '! 
You sigh, and weep, and labour to enjoy 
A Shade, a Dream, a Toy f 
Poor Folly, you pursue ! 
And are unblest; 
Since every beast, 
In pleasure, equals you I 

You never took so rich content 

In all your wanton play ; 
As this to me, hath pleasure lent. 

That chaste. She went away. 
For as some sins, which we committed have. 
Sharp stings behind them leave; 
Whereby we vexed arc : 
So, III supprest, 
Begeitcth rest, 
And peace without compare. 

But lest this conquest slight you make, 

Which on Myself I won ; 
Twelve labours I will undertake 
With Jove's victorious son. 
Ere I will such another brunt endure I 
For had Diana pure. 
Thus tempted been to sin ; 
That Queen of Night 
(With her chaste light) 
Had scarce a maiden been ! 


Fair V j r t u e 

'air Virtue's Mind.'] 

I How honoured are my Songs, 
Graced by your melodious tongues ! 
And how pleasing do they seem, 
Now your voices carol them ! 
Were not, yet, that task to do, 
Which my word enjoins me to ; 
I would beg of you, to hear 
What your own inventions are ? 
But, before I aught will crave. 
What I promised, you shall have ! 

And as I, on mortal creatures 
Called, to view her body's features ! 
Shewing how to make the Senses 
Apprehend her excellences : 
Now, I speak of no worse subject 
Than a Soul's, and Reason's object ; 
And relate a Beauty's glories 
Fitting heavenly auditories. 

Therefore, whilst I sit and sing, 
Hem me. Angels ! in a ring! 
Come, ye Spirits ! which have eyes 
That can gaze on Deity's ! 
And unclogged with brutish senses 
Comprehend such excellences ! 
Or if any mortal ear 
Would be granted leave to hear, 
And find profit with delight, 
In what now I shall indite ; 
Let him, first, be sure to season 
A prepared heart with Reason ! 


^/^'■'L":] M I S T R E S S !■ P n I L A R E T E . 437 

And, with judgement, drawing nigh, 
Lay all fond affections by ! 
So, through all her veilings, he 
Shall the Soul of Beauty see ! 

But, avoid ! you earth-bred wights 
Cloyed with sensual appetites ! 
On base objects, glut your eyes ! 
Till your starveling pleasure dies. 
Feed your ears with such delights 
As may match your gross conceits 
For, within your muddy brain. 
These, you never can contain ! 

Think not, you, who by the Sense, 
Only judge of excellence ! 
Or do all contentment place 
In the beauty of a face! 
That these higher thoughts of ours 
Soar so base a pitch as yours ! 
I can give, as well as you, 
Outward beauties all their due ! 
I can, most contentments see. 
That, in love, or women be ! 

Though I dote not on the features 
Of our dantiest female creatures, 
(Nor was e'er so void of shames. 
As to play their lawless games !) 
I more prize a snowy hand. 
Than the gold on Tagus strand ! 
And a dainty lip before 
All the greatest Monarch's store ! 
Yea, from these, I reap as true. 
And as large contents as you ! 

Yet, to them I am not tied! 
I have rarer sweets espied ; 
Wider prospects of true Pleasure, 
Than your curbed thoughts can measure ! 
In her Soul, my soul descries 
Objects that may feed her eyes ; 
And the beauty of her Mind 
Shews my Reason where to find 

438 Fair Virtue, the 

All my former pleasure doubled ; 
Neither with such Passion troubled 
As wherewith it oft was crost, 
Nor so easy to be lost. 

I that ravished lay, well nigh, 
By the lustre of her eye ; 
(And had almost sworn affection 
To the fore-expressed perfection ; 
As if nothing had been higher, 
Whereunto I might aspire) ; 
Now, have found, by seeking nearer, 
Inward Worth, that shining clearer, 
(By a sweet and secret moving) 
Draws me to a dearer loving. 
And whilst I, that love conceive ; 
Such impressions it doth leave 
In the intellective part, 
As defaceth from my heart 
Every thought of those delights 
Which allure base appetites : 
And my mind so much employs 
In contemplating those joys, 
Which a purer sight doth find 
In the beauty of her Mind ; 
That I, so thereon am set 
As, methinks, I could forget 
All her sweetest outward graces, 
Though I lay in her embraces. 

But some thinking, with a smile. 
What they would have done the while ; 
Now suppose my words are such 
As exceed my power too much. 
For all those — our wantons hold 
Void of vigour, dull and cold ; 
Or, at best, but fools — whose flame 
Makes not way unto their shame. 
Though, at length, with grief they see, 
They, the fools do prove to be ! 

These, the body so much minded, 
That their Reason, over blinded 
By the pleasures of the Sense, 

"i^'lto.J Mistress of Phil' arete. 439 

Hides from them, that Excellence, 
And that Sweetness, whose true worth 
I am here, to blazon forth ! 

'Tis not, 'tis not those rare graces 
That do lurk in women's faces ; 
'Tis not a displayed perfection, 
Youthful eyes, nor clear complexion ; 
Nor a skin, smooth, satin-like; 
Nor a dainty rosy cheek ; 
That to wantonness can move 
Such as virtuously do love. 
Beauty, rather, gently draws 
Wild Desires to Reason's Laws ! 
And oft frights men from that sin, 
They had else, transgressed in ; 
Through a sweet amazement, stroke 
From an overruling look. 
Beauty never tempteth men 
To lasciviousness ; but when 
Careless Idleness hath brought 
Wicked longings into thought. 
Nor doth Youth, or heat of blood 
Make men prove what is not good. 
Nor the strength, of which they vaunt, 
'Tis the strength and power they want ! 
And the baseness of the mind 
Makes their brute desires inclined 
To pursue those vain delights 
Which affect their appetites ; 
And so blinded ! do they grow, 
(Who are overtaken so) 
As their dulness cannot see, 
Nor believe that better be! 

Some have blood as hot as theirs 
Whose affections loosest are ; 
Bodies that require no Art 
To supply weak Nature's part ; 
Youth, they have ; and, sure, might, too, 
Boast of what some, shameless, do : 
Yet their minds, that aim more high 
Than those baser pleasures lie. 

440 Fair Virtue, the 

Taught by Virtue, can suppress 
All attempts of wantonness ; 
And such powerful motives frame 
To extinguish Passions' flame, 
That, by Reason's good direction, 
Qualifying loose affection 
They'll, in midst of beauty's fires, 
Walk unscorched with ill Desires. 
Yet no such, as stupid Shame 
Keeps from actions worthy blame. 
But, in all, so truly Man ! 
That their apprehensions can 
Prize the body's utmost worth ; 
And find many pleasures forth 
In those beauties, more than you, 
That abuse them, ever knew ! 

But, perhaps, her outward grace, 
Here described, hath ta'en such place 
In some o'er-enamoured breast ; 
And so much his heart possest. 
As he thinks, it passeth telling. 
How she may be more excelling ! 
Or what worth I can prefer 
To be more admired in her. 

Therefore, now, I will be brief 
To prevent that misbelief; 
And if there be present here. 
Any one whose nicer ear 
Tasks my Measures, as offending 
In too seriously commending 
What affects the Sense, or may 
Injure Virtue any way : 
Let them know, 'tis understood. 
That if they were truly good. 
It could never breed offence. 
That I shewed the excellence ; 
With the power of GOD and Nature, 
In the beauty of His creature. 
They, from thence, would rather raise 
Cause to meditate His praise : 

*^i^^'ife:] Mistress of Phil arete. 441 

And thus think, " How fair must He, 
That hath made this Fair One, be ! " 

That was my proposed end : 
And to make them more attend 
Unto this! so much excelling 
As it passeth means of telling. 

But, at worst, if any Strain 
Makes your memories retain 
Sparks of such a baneful fire 
As may kindle ill Desire: 
This, that follows after, shall. 
Not alone extinguish all ; 
But e'en make you blush with shame, 
That your thoughts were so to blame 

Yet I know, when I have done, 
In respect of that bright Sun, 
Whose inestimable light 
I would blazon to your sight ! 
These ensuing flashes are 
As to Cynthia's beams, a star; 
Or a petty comet's ray. 
To the glorious Eye of Day. 
For what power of Words, or Art, 
Can her Worth at full, impart ? 
Or what is there, may be found. 
Placed within the Sense's bound, 
That can paint those sweets to me, 
Which the Eyes of Love do see ? 
Or the beauties of her Mind 
Which her body hath enshrined? 

Can I think, the Guide of Heaven 
Hath so bountifully given 
Outward features, 'cause He meant 
To have made less excellent 
Her divine part ? or suppose 
Beauty, Goodness doth oppose I 
Like those fools who do despair 
To find any Good and Fair ? 
Rather, there, I seek a Mind 
Most excelling ; where I find 
GOD hath to the Body lent 

442 Fair Virtue, r ii k 

Most beseeming ornament. 

But though He that did inspire 

First, the true Promethean fire, 

In each several soul did place 

Equal excellence and grace; 

As some think: yet, have not they 

Equal beauties, every way ! 

For they, more or less appear 

As the outward organs are ; 

Following much the temp'rature 

Of the body, gross or pure. 

And I do believe it true 

That as we the Body view, 

Nearer to perfection grow : 

So the Soul herself doth shew 

Others, more and more excelling, 

In her Power, as in her Dwelling. 

For that pureness giveth way 

Better to disclose each ray 

To the dull conceit of man ; 

Than a grosser substance can. 

Thus, through spotless crystal, we 

May the day's full glory see, 

When, if clearest sunbeams pass 

Through a foul polluted glass ; 

So discoloured they'll appear. 

As those stains they shone through, were. 

Let no critics cavil then, 
If I dare affirm again, 
That her Mind's perfections are 
Fairer than her Body's, far ! 
And I need not prove it by 
Axioms of Philosophy ; 
Since no proof can better be 
Than their rare effect in me! 
For, while other men complaining, 
Tell their Mistress's disdaining: 
Free from care, I write a Story 
Only of her Worth, and Glory ! 

While most lovers pining, sit, 
Robbed of liberty and wit. 

■^Mistress of Phi l' a r e t e . 443 

Vassaling themselves with shame 
To some proud imperious Dame; 
Or, in Songs, their fate bewailing, 
Shew the world, their faithless failing ; 
I, enwreathed with boughs of myrtle, 
Fare like the beloved Turtle. 

Yea, while most are most untoward ! 
Peevish ! vain ! inconstant ! froward ! 
While their best contentments bring 
Nought but after sorrowing : 
She (those childish humours slighting) 
Hath conditions so delighting. 
And doth so my bliss endeavour, 
As my joy increaseth ever. 

By her actions, I can see 
That her Passions so agree 
Unto Reason, as they err. 
Seldom, to distemper her. 

Love She can, and doth ; but so 
As She will not overthrow 
Love's content, by any folly, 
Or by deeds that are unholy. 
Dotingly, She ne'er affects ; 
Neither willingly neglects 
Honest love : but means doth find. 
With discretion to be kind. 
'Tis not thundering phrase, nor oaths. 
Honours, wealth, nor painted clothes. 
That can her goodliking gain ; 
If no other Worth remain. 

Never took her heart delight 
In your Court Hermaphrodite, 
Or such frothy gallants as 
For the Times, heroes pass : 
Such who, still in love, do all, 
" Fair ! " and "Sweet ! " and " Lady ! " call ; 
And where'er they hap to stray. 
Either prate the rest away. 
Or, of all discourse to seek, 
Shuffle in at Cent or Gkek. 

444 Fair Virtue, the 

Goodness more delights her, than 
All their Mask of Folly can. 
Fond, She hateth to appear; 
Though She hold her Friend as dear 
As her part of life unspent, 
Or the best of her content. 

If the heat of youthful fires 
Warm her blood with those desires, 
"Which are, by the course of Nature, 
Stirred in every perfect creature ; 
As those Passions kindle, so 
Doth Heaven's grace, and Reason grow 
Abler to suppress in her 
Those rebellions ; and they stir 
Never more affection, than 
One good thought allays again. 

I could say, so chaste is She 
As the new blown roses be ; 
Or the drifts of snow that none 
Ever touched, or looked upon : 
But that were not worth a fly. 
Seeing so much chastity 
Old Pigmalion's picture had I 
Yea, those eunuchs born, or made 
Ne'er to know Desire, might say 
" She deserved no more than they 1 " 
"Whereas, while their worth proceeds 
From such wants, as they must needs 
Be unmoved ('cause Nature framed 
No affections to be tamed) 
Through her dainty limbs are spread 
"Vigour, heat ; and freely shed 
Life blood into every vein 
Till they fill, and swell again : 
And no doubt they strive to force 
"Way in some forbidden course ; 
"Which by Grace, She still resists, 
And so curbs within their lists 
Those Desires, that She is chaster 
Than if she had none to master. 

Malice, never lets She in ; 

;:] 31 J S T R E S S OF P II I l'a R E T E . 445 

Neither hates She ought, but sin 
Envy, if She could admit, 
There's no means to nourish it : 
For her gentle heart is pleased 
When She knows another's eased ; 
And there's none whoever got 
That perfection, she hath not. 
So that no cause is there, why 
She should any one envy. 

Mildly Angry She'll appear; 
That the baser rout may fear, 
Through presumption, to misdo. 
Yet, She often feigns that too : 
But let wrong be whatsoever, 
She gives way to Choler, never ! 

If She e'er, of Vengeance thought, 
'Twas nor life, nor blood was sought ; 
But, at most, some prayer to move 
Justice for abused love; 
Or that Fate would pay again 
Love's neglectors with disdain. 

If she ever craved of Fate 
To obtain a higher state ; 
Or, ambitiously were given : 
Sure, 'twas but to climb to heaven ! 
Pride is from her heart, as far 
As the poles in distance are. 
For her Worth, nor all this Praise 
Can her humble spirit raise ; 
Less to prize me than before, 
Or herself to value more. 

Were She Vain, She might allege 
'Twere her sex's privilege ; 
But She's such, as, doubtless, no man 
Knows less folly in a woman. 

To prevent a being Idle, 
Sometimes with her curious needle, 
Though it be her meanest glory, 
She so limns an antique Story, 
As Minerva (would she take it !) 
Might her richest Sample[r] make it. 

446 Fair Virtue, the 

Otherwhile, again, she rather 
Labours with delight, to gather 
Knowledge from such learned writs 
As are left by famous wits : 
Where, She chiefly seeks to know 
GOD 1 Herself ! and what we owe 
To our neighbour! since, with these, 
Come all needful knowledges. 

She, with Adam, never will 
Long to learn both Good and III; 
But her state well understood, 
Rests herself content with Good. 

Avarice, abhorreth She, 
As the loathsom'st things that be ; 
Since she knows it is an III 
That doth ripest virtue kill. 
And where'er it comes to rest, 
Though in some strict matron's breast ; 
But she ne'er so seeming just, 
I'll no shews of goodness trust ! 
For if you, but gold can bring ; 
Such are hired to anything ! 

If you think She Jealous be, 
You are wide ! For, credit me ! 
Her strong'st jealousies nought are 
Other than an honest care 
Of her friends. And most can tell, 
Whoso wants that, loves not well ! 

Though some little Fear she shows ; 
'Tis no more than Love allows. 
So the Passion do not move her 
Till she grieve or wrong her lover ! 
She may think he may do ill. 
Though She'll not believe he will ! 
Nor can such a harmless thought 
Blemish true affection ought ; 
Rather, when as else it would, 
Through security, grow cold ; 
This, her Passion, keeping measure. 
Strengthens Love, and sweetens Pleasure ! 

Cruelty, her soul detests ! 

;•] A^ J S T J? E S S OF P n 1 L A R E T E . 447 

For, within her bosom rests 

Noblest Pity ; ushered by 

An unequalled Courtesy : 

And is grieved at good men's moan, 

As the grief were all her own. 

Just, She is. So just, that I 
Know she would not wrong a fly ; 
Or oppress the meanest thing, 
To be Mistress to a King. 

If our painters would include 
Temperance and Fortitude 
In one picture ; She would fit, 
For the nonce, to pattern it ! 

Patient as the lamb is She ! 
Harmless, as the turtles be ! 
Yea, so largely stored with all 
Which we mortals. Goodness call ; 
That if ever Virtue were, 
Or may be incarnate here. 
This is She! whose praises I 
Offer to Eternity. 

She's no Image trimmed about, 
Fair within, and foul without ! 
But a Gem that doth appear. 
Like a diamond, everywhere 
Sparkling rays of beauty forth 1 
All of such unblemished worth, 
That wer 't possible, your eye 
Might her inmost thoughts espy, 
And behold the dimmest part 
Of the lustre in her heart : 
It would find that Centre 'pass 
What the Superficies was; 
And that every angle there, 
Like a diamond's inside were. 

For although that excellence 
Pass the piercing'st eye of Sense ; 
By their operations, we 
Guess at things, that hidden be. 
So, beyond our common reach. 

448 Fair Virtue, the 

Wise men can, by reason teach, 
What the influences been 
Of a Planet, when unseen ; 
Or the beauty of a star 
That doth shine above us far. 
So by that wide beaming light, 
Wherewith Titan courts our sight ; 
By his clothing of the earth ; 
By the wondrous, various birth 
Of new creatures, yearly bred 
Through his heat, and nourished : 
And by many virtues mo[r]e 
Which our Senses reach unto. 
We conclude, they are not all. 
Which make fair that goodly Ball. 

Though she prize her Honour more 
Than the far-fetched precious store 
Of the rich Moluccas, or 
All the wealth was trafficed for, 
Since our vessels passage knew 
Unto Mexico, Peru, 
Or those spacious kingdoms which 
Made the proud Iberians rich. 
'Tis not that uncertain blast 
Keeps my Mistress Good, or Chaste ! 

She, that but for Honour's sake, 
Doth of 111 a conscience make 
(More in fear what rumour says. 
Than in love to virtuous ways) ; 
Though she seemed more civil than 
You have seen a courtezan. 
For an honour ; and cries " 0, fie ! " 
At each shew of vanity ; 
Though she censure all that be 
Not so foolish coy as she ; 
Though she, with the Roman Dame 
Kill herself, to purchase fame : 
She would prostitute become. 
To the meanest, basest groom ; 
If so closely they may do it, 

;:] M IS TRESS OF PhIL'aRETE. 449 

As the world should never know it. 
So, at best, those women prove 
That for Honour, Virtue love. 

Give me her that goodness chooseth 
For its own sake ! and refuseth 
To have greatest honours gained 
With her secret conscience stained. 
Give me her ! that would be poor; 
Die disgraced ; nay, thought a whore ; 
And each Time's reproach become 
Till the general Day of Doom : 
Rather than consent to act 
Pleasing sin : though by the fact, 
With esteem of "virtuous," she 
Might the German Empress be ! 

Such my Mistress is! and nought 
Shall have power to change her thought. 
Pleasures cannot tempt her eye, 
On their baits to glance awry. 
For their good, she still esteems 
As it is ; not, as it seems : 
And she takes no comfort in 
Sweetest Pleasure soured with Sin. 

By herself, she hath such care 
That her actions decent are. 
For were she in secret hid. 
None might see what she did ; 
She would do as if for spies 
Every wall was stuck with eyes : 
And be chary of her honour 
'Cause the heavens do look upon her ! 
And O, what had power to move. 
Flames of lust or wanton love 
So far, to disparage us ; 
If we all, were minded thus ? 
These are beauties that shall last 
When the crimson blood shall waste I 
And the shining hair wax gray 
Or, with age, be worn away ! 
These yield pleasures such as might 

450 Fair Virtue, the 

Be remembered with delight, 
When we gasp our latest breath 
On the loathed bed of death. 
Though discreetly speak She can ; 
She'll be silent, rather than 
Talk while others may be heard : 
As if She did hate, or feared 
The condition, wlio will force 
All to wait on their discourse. 
Reason hath on her bestowed. 
More of knowledge, than she owed 
To that sex ; and Grace, with it, 
Doth aright, her practice fit. 
Yet hath Fate so framed her 
As She may, at some time, err; 
But if e'er her judgement stray, 
'Tis that other women may. 
Those much pleasing beauties see, 
Which in yielding natures be. 
For since no perfection can 
Here on earth be found in man ; 
There's more good in free submissions, 
Than there's ill in our transgressions. 
Should you hear her, once, contend 
In discoursing, to defend. 
As She can, a doubtful cause ; 
She, such strong positions draws 
From known truths, and doth apply 
Reasons with such majesty, 
As if She did undertake, 
From some Oracle to speak ; 
And you could not think what might 
Breed more love, or more delight. 

Yet, if you should mark again 
Her discreet behaviour, when 
She finds reason to repent 
Some wrong-pleaded argument ; 
She so temperately lets all 
Her mis-held opinions fall, 
And can, with such mildness bow. 
As 'twill more enamour you. 

'^^ M / s r j; £ s s of Phi l'a r e t e . 45 1 

Than her knowledge. For there are 
Pleasing sweets without compare 
In such yieldings ! which do prove 
Wit, Humilit}', and Love. 
Yea, by those mistakings, you 
Her condition so shall know, 
And the nature of her mind 
So undoubtedly shall find, 
As will make her more endeared 
Than if she had never erred. 

Farther (that she nought may miss 
Which worth praise in woman is), 
This, unto the rest I add. 
If I, wound or sickness had; 
None should for my curing run ! 
No, not to Apollo's son ! 
She, so well the virtue knows 
Of each needful herb that grows ; 
And so fitly, can apply 
Salves to every malady : 
That if She, no succour gave me, 
'Twere no means of Art could save me ! 

Should my Soul oppressed lie, 
Sunk with grief and sorrow nigh ; 
She hath balm for minds distressed, 
And could ease my pained breast. 
She, so well knows, how to season 
Passionate discourse with Reason ; 
And knows how to sweeten it, 
Both with so much Love and Wit, 
That it shall prepare the Sense 
To give way with less offence. 
For grieved minds can ill abide 
Counsel churlishly applied ; 
Which instead of comfortings. 
Desperation often brings. 

But, hark. Nymphs! Methinks, I hear 
Music sounding in mine ear! 
Tis a Lute ! and he's the best 
For a voice, in all the West, 

452 Fair V i r r r e , the 

That doth touch it ! And the Swain 
I would have you hear, so fain ; 
That to my Song, forbear will I, 
To attend his melody. 

Hither comes he, day by day, 
In these groves to sing and play : 
And in yon close arbour, he 
Sitteth now, expecting me. 
He so bashful is, that mute 
Will his tongue be, and his lute ; 
Should he happen to espy 
This unlooked for company. 
If you, therefore, list to hear him; 
Let's with silence walk more near him I 
'Twill be worth jour pains, believe me ! 
(If a voice, content may give ye !) 
And, await you shall not long ! 
For he now begins a Song. 


IHat is the cause, when elsewhere I resort, 
I have my gestures, and discourse more free : 
And if I please, can any Beauty court ! 
Yet stand so dull, and so demure by Thee ? 

Why are my speeches broken, whilst I talk ? 
Why do I fear almost thy hand to touch? 
Why dare I not embrace thee, as we walk ? 
Since, with the greatest Nymphs, Vve dared as much ! 

Ah, know that none of those I e'er affected ! 
And therefore used a careless courtship there ; 
Because I, neither their disdain respected ; 
Nor reckoned them nor their embraces dear ! 

But loving Thee I my love hath found content; 
And rich delights, in things indifferent. 

'i] M I S T K E S S OF P H I l' A R E T E . 453 

SON N ET 1 1. 

IHy covet I, thy blessed eyes to see ! 
WJtose sweet aspect may cheer the saddest mind ? 
Why, when our bodies must divided be, 
Can I no hour of rest or pleasure find ? 

Why do I sleeping, start ; and waking, moan. 
To find that of my dreamed hopes I miss ? 
Why do I often contemplate alone, 
Of such a thing as thy Perfection is ? 

And wherefore, when we meet, doth Passion stop 
My speechless tongue, and leave me in a panting ? 
Why doth my heart, overcharged with fear and hope, 
In spite of reason, almost droop to fainting ? 
Because, in me, thy excellences moving, 
Have drawn to me, an excellence in loving I 


A IR ! Since thy virtues, my affections move ; 
A nd I have vowed my purpose is to join 
In an eternal band of chastest love. 
Our Souls, to make a marriage most divine. 

" Why," thou may'st think, "then, seemeth he to prise 
A n outward beauty's fading hue so much ? 
Why doth he Read such Lectures in mine eyes ? 
And often strive my tender palm to touch ? " 
0, pardon my presuming ! For I swear 
My love is soiled laith no lustful spot ! 
Thy Soul's perfections, through those veils appear ! 
And I half flint, that I embrace them not ! 

No foul Desires doth make thy touches sweet ; 
By my Soul striveth, with thy Soul to meet ! 

454 Fair V i r t v /■: , r ii e [' 


Hall I, wastini^ in despair, 
Die, because a woman's Fair ? 
Or make pale my checks with care, 
'Cause another's rosy are ? 
Be She fairer than the Day, 
Or the flowery meads in May ! 
If She be not so to me, 
What care I, how Fair She be ? 

Should my heart be grieved or pined, 
'Cause I see a woman Kind ? 
Or a well disposed nature 
Joined with a lovely feature ? 
Be She meeker, kinder than 
Turtle dove, or pelican ! 
If She be not so to me. 
What care I, how Kind She be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 
Me to perish for her love ? 
Or her well deserving known, 
Make me quite forget mine own ? 
Be She with that Goodness blest 
Which may gain her, name of Best! 
If She be not such to me. 
What care I, how Good She be ? 

'Cause her fortune seems too high. 
Shall I play the fool, and die ? 
Those that bear a noble mind. 
Where they want of riches find, 
Think " What with them they would do ! 
That, without them, dare to woo ! 
And unless that mind I see. 
What care I, though Great She be ? 

;:J M I s T R E s s OF Phi l' a re t e . 455 

Great, or Good, or Kind, or Fair, 
I will ne'er the more despair ! 
If She love me {this believe /) 
I will die, ere She shall t^rieve ! 
If She slight me, when I woo; 
I can scorn, and let her go ! 

For if She be not for me ! 

What care I, for whom She be ? 


Wandered out, awhile agone, 

And went, I know not whither; 

But there, do Beauties, many a one, 

Resort, and meet together : 

And Cupid's power will there be shewn, 

If ever you come thither ! 

For like two suns, two Beauties bright, 

I, shining saw together : 

And, tempted by their double light, 

My eyes I fixt on Either ; 

Till Both, at once, so thralled my sight, 

I loved, and knew not, Whether ? 

Such equal sweet, VENUS gave, 

That I preferred not Either ; 

And when for love, I thought to crave, 

I knew not well of Whether ? 

For one while. This I wished to have ; 

And then, I, That had liefer! 

456 Fair Virtue, the ["/' 

A lover of the curious'st eye, 
Might have been pleased in Either ; 
A nd so, I must confess, might I, 
Had they not been together. 
Now Both must love, or Both deny : 
In one, enjoy I Neither. 

But yet, at last, I scaped the smart 
I feared, at coming hither. 
For seeing my divided heart, 
I, choosing, knew not Whether ; 
Love, angry grew, and did depart. 
And, now, I care for Neither ! 

"j^Te^:] Mistress of P h i l a k e t e 


\Fair Virtue's moral qualities^ 

Ee ! these trees so ill did hide us, 
That the Shepherd hath espied us ! 
And, as jealous of his cunning, 
All in haste, away is running ! 
To entreat him back again. 
Would be labour spent in vain : 
You may, therefore, now betake ye, 
To the Music, I can make thee 1 
Who do purpose my Invention 
Shall pursue my first Intention. 

For in Her, whose worth I tell, 
Many excellences dwell 
Yet unmentioned ; whose perfections 
Worthy are of best affections. 

That, which is so rare to find 
Both in Man, and Womankind ; 
That, whose absence, love defaceth, 
And both sexes more disgraceth, 
That the spite of furrowed Age, 
Sicknesses, or Sorrow's rage ; 
That's the jewel so divine 
Which doth on her forehead shine ; 
And therewith endowed is She 
In an excellent degree : 
Constancy, I mean ! the purest 
Of all beauties, and the surest. 
For whoe'er doth that possess, 
Hath an endless loveliness ! 

All afflictions, labours, crosses ; 

458 Fair V i r r u e , the 

All our dangers, wounds, and losses ; 
Games of Pleasure, we can make. 
For that matchless woman's sake ! 
In whose breast that virtue bideth : 
And we joy, whate'er betideth! 

Most dejected hearts it gladeth. 
Twenty thousand glories addeth 
Unto Beauty's brightest Ray, 
And preserves it from decay ! 
'Tis the salt, that's made to season 
Beauty, for the use of Reason ! 
'Tis the varnish, and the oiling. 
Keeps her colours fresh from spoiling ! 
'Tis an excellence, whereby 
Age, though joined with poverty, 
Hath more dear affection won. 
That fresh Youth and Wealth have done 
'Tis a loveliness endearing 
Beauties, scarce worth note appearing ! 
Whilst a fairer, fickle Dame 
Nothing gains, but scorn and shame. 

Further, 'tis a beauty such 
As I cannot praise too much. 
Nor frame Measures to express ! 
No, nor any man! unless 
He who (more than all men crost) 
Finds it, in that woman lost ; 
On whose faith, he would have pawned 
Life, and all he could command ! 
Such a man, may, by that miss, 
Make us know, how dear it is ! 
When, o'ercharged with grief, he shall 
Sigh, and break his heart withal. 

This is that Perfection which 
In her favour, makes me rich ! 
All whose beauties named before, 
Else, would but torment me more : 
And in having this, I find, 
Whate'er haps, a quiet mind ! 
Yea, 'tis that, which I do prize 

"t^^'.'S M I s t k e s s of P II I l' a r e t e . 459 

Far above her lips, her eyes ; 
Or that general beauty, whence 
Shines each several excellence. 

For, alas! what gained hath he, 
Who may clip the fairest She, 
That the name of Woman bears; 
If, unhappily, he fears 
Any other's worth may win 
What he thought his own had been ? 
Him, base minded deem I should, 
Who (although he were in hold. 
Wrapt in chains) would not disdain 
Love with her, to entertain! 
That, both daughter to a Peer, 
And most rich and lovely were ; 
When a brainless Gull should dare 
In her favours with him share ; 
Or the action of a Player 
Rob him of a hope so fair. 

This, I dread not ! For I know 
Strained gestures, painted show, 
Shameless boastings, borrowed jests, 
Female looks, gay-plumed crests. 
Vows, nor protestations vain 
(Wherewith fools are made so vain) 
Move Her can ! save to contemn. 
Or, perhaps, to laugh at them. 

Neither can I doubt or fear. 
Time shall either change or wear 
This her virtue, or impair 
That which makes her soul so fair ! 
In which trust great comforts are. 
Which the fear of loss would mar. 

Nor hath this my rare hope stood 
So much in her being good. 
With her love to Blessed Things; 
As in her acknowledgings 
From a Higher Power, to have them I 
And her love to Him that gave them ! 

46o F A I R V I R T U E, T 11 E [^j^^'j^.^^ 

For, although to have a mind 
Naturally to Good inclined, 
And to love it, would assure 
Reason that it might endure : 
Yet, since man was first unjust, 
There's no warrant for such trust 1 
Virtues that, most wonder win. 
Would converted be to Sin ; 
If their flourishings began 
From no better root than Man ! 
Our best virtues (when they are 
Of themselves) we may compare 
To the beauty of a Flower, 
That is blasted in an hour ; 
And which growing to be fuller, 
Turns into some loathed colour : 
But those (being freely given, 
And confirmed in us from Heaven) 
■ Have a promise on them past 
And for evermore shall last ! 
Diamond like, their lustre clearing. 
More and more, by use and wearing ! 

But if this rare Worth I praise. 
Should, by Fate's permission, raise 
Passions in some gentle breast 
That distemper may his rest : 
And be author of such treason 
As might nigh endanger Reason ; 
Or enforce his tongue to crave 
What another man must have. 
Mark, in such a strait as this, 
How discreet her dealing is ! 
She is nothing of their humours 
Who, their honour build on rumours ; 
And had rather private sporting, 
Than allow of open courting : 
Nor of theirs, that would seem holy 
By divulging other's folly. 
Farther is She from their guise 
That delight to tyrannise ; 


Or make boastings, in espying 
Others, for their favours dying. 

She, a spirit doth possess 
So replete with Nobleness, 
That if She be there beloved ; 
Where she ought not to be moved 
Equally to love again : 
She doth so well entertain 
That affection, as there's none 
Can suppose it ill bestown. 

From Deluding, She is free 1 
From Disdain, as far is She ! 
And so feelingly bears part 
Of what pains another's heart ; 
That no curse of scorned duty. 
Shall draw vengeance on her beauty : 
Rather, with so tender fear 
Of her honour, and their care. 
She is touched ; that neither shall 
Wrong unto herself befall 
By the favour She doth show ; 
Nor will She neglect them so 
As may just occasion give 
Any way to make them grieve. 

Hope, She will not let them see! 
Lest they should presuming be ; 
And aspire to that, which none 
Ever must enjoy but One. 
From Despair, She keeps them loo ! 
Fearing they might hap to do. 
Either through Love's indiscretions. 
Or much over stirred passions. 
What might, with their hurt and shame, 
Into question, call her name ; 
And a scandal on her bring 
Who is just in everything. 

She hath marked how others run. 
And by them hath learnt to shun 
Both their fault, who, over wise. 
Err b}- being too precise ; 
And their folly, that o'er kind. 

Fair V i r t u e , t ii k 

Are to all complaints inclined. 
For her Wit hath found the way 
How, a while, to hold them play; 
And that inconvenience shun 
Whereinto both seem to run, 
By allowing them a scope 
Just betwixt Despair and Hope : 
Where confined, and reaching neither, 
They do take a part in either ; 
Till, long living in suspense, 
Tired by her Indifference, 
Time, at last, their Passion wears. 
Passions wearing, Reason clears ! 
Reason gives their Judgement light ! 
Judgement bringeth all to right ! 
So, their Hope appearing vain; 
They become themselves again ! 
And with high applauses (fit 
For such Virtue with such Wit) 
They, that service only proffer, 
She may take, and they may offer ! 
Yet, this course she never proves 
Save with those, whose virtuous loves 
Use the noblest means of gaining 
Favours, worthy the obtaining. 
And if such should chance to err 
Either 'gainst themselves, or Her, 
In some oversights, when they 
Are, through Passion, led astray; 
She, so well man's frailty knows! 
With the darts, that Beauty throws ! 
As she will not, adding terror, 
Break the heart, for one poor error ! 
Rather, if still good they be, 
Twenty remedies hath She 
Gently to apply, where Sense 
Hath invaded Reason's fence: 
And, without or wound, or scar, 
Turns to peace, a lawless war. 

But to those, whose baser fires 
Breathe out smoke of such desires 

Zi] Jlf I S T K £ S S OF P II I l' A R E T E . 463 

As may dim, with impure steams, 
Any part of Beauty's beams : 
She will deign no milder way, 
Those foul burnings to allay ; 
Save with such extreme neglect 
As shall work her wished effect. 

And to use so sharp a cure, 
She's not oft constrained, sure, 
'Cause, on her forehead, still, 
Goodness sits ; so feared of III ! 
That the scorn and high disdains 
Wherewithal she entertains 
Those loathed glances, giveth ending 
To such flamings the tynding 
That their cooled hopes needs must 
Freeze Desires in heat of Lust. 

'Tis a power that never lies 
In the fair'st immodest eyes ! 
Wantons ! 'tis not your sweet eyings. 
Forced passions, feigned dyings. 
Gestures' temptings, tears' beguilings, 
Dancings, singings, kissings, smilings ! 
Nor those painted sweets, with which. 
You, unwary men bewitch ! 
All united, nor asunder 
That can compass such a Wonder ! 
Or, to win you love prevails. 
Where her moving virtues fails. 

Beauties ! 'tis not all those features, 
Placed in the fairest creatures ; 
Though their best they should discover. 
That can tempt from Her, a lover ! 
'Tis not those soft snowy breasts 
Where Love, rocked in Pleasure, rests ; 
And by their continual motions 
Draweth hearts to vain devotions ! 
Nor the nectar that we sip 
From the honey-dropping lip ! 
Nor those eyes, whence Beauty's lances 
Wound the heart with wanton glances! 

464 Fair Virtue, the 

Nor those sought delights that lie 
In Love's hidden treasury ! 
That can liking gain, where She 
Will the best beloved be ! 

For should those who think they may 
Draw my love from her away, 
Bring forth all their female graces ! 
Wrap me in their close embraces ! 
Practise all the Art they may 1 
Weep ! or sing ! or kiss ! or pray ! 
And, with sighs and looks, come woo me ! 
When they soonest may undo me, 
One poor thought of Her would arm me 
So, as Circe could not harm me I 
Since besides those excellences 
Wherewith others please the Senses, 
She, whom I have prized so, ' 
Yields delights for Reason too ! 

Who could dote on thing so common 
As mere outward-handsome woman ? 
Those Half-Beauties only win 
Fools, to let affection in I 
Vulgar wits, from Reason shaken, 
Are with such impostures taken 1 
And, with all their art in love, 
Wantons can but wantons move ! 
But when, unto those are joined, 
Those things which adorn the Mind ; 
None their excellences see, 
But they straight enthralled be 1 
Fools and wise men, worst and best, 
Subjects are to Love's Arrest ; 
For when Virtue wooes a lover 
She's an unresisted mover. 
That will have no kind of " Nay 1 " 
And in love, brooks no delay. 

She can make the sensual wights 
To restrain their appetites ; 
And her beauty, when they see, 
Spite of Vice, in love to be : 

1^.":] Mistress of Phil arete. 465 

Yea, (although themselves be bad) 
Praise the good they never had ! 
She hath to her service brought 
Those that Her have set at nought, 
And can fair enough appear 
To inflame the most severe. 

She hath, oft, allured out 
The religiously devout 
From their cloisters, and their vows, 
To embrace what She allows ! 
And to such contentments come 
As blind Zeal had barred them from ; 
While (her laws misunderstood) 
They did 111, for love of Good. 

"Where I find True Worth to be 
Sweetest are their lips to me ! 
And embraces tempt me so, 
More than outward beauties do. 
That my firm belief is this ; 
If I ever do amiss, 
Seeming-Good, the bait will lay, 
That to 111, shall me betray. 
Since where Shews of Goodness are, 
I am oft emboldened there, 
Freedoms so permit and use. 
Which I elsewhere do refuse ; 
For because I think they mean, 
To allow no deed unclean. 

Yet where two, love Virtue shall, 
Both, at once, they seldom fall ! 
For when one hath thoughts of 111, 
T'other helps e.xile them still. 

My Fair Virtue's power is this. 
And that power the beauty is 
Which doth make Her, here exprest, 
Equally both Fair and Blest : 

This ! was that contenting grace 
Which affection made me place 
With so dear respect, that never 
Can it fail, but last for ever. 

'.NG. G/IR. IV. jO 

466 Fair Virtue, t ii e 

This! a Servant made me swcnn, 
Who, before time, held in scorn 
To yield vassalage or duty ; 
Though unto the Queen of Beauty ! 
Yet that I, her Servant am, 
It shall more be to my fame, 
Than to own these woods and downs, 
Or be Lord of fifty towns : 
And, my Mistress, to be deemed, 
Should more honour be esteemed 
Than those titles to acquire 
Which most women most desire. 
Yea, when you a woman shall, 
Countess, or a Duchess call : 
That respect it shall not move, 
Neither gain her half such love 
As to say, " Lo ! this is She 
That supposed is to be 
Mistress to Phil'arete ! 
And that lovely Nymph, which he 
In a Pastoral Poem famed. 
And Fair Virtue, there hath named!" 

Yea, some ladies (ten to one !) 
If not many, now unknown, 
Will be very well apaid 
When, by chance, she hears it said 
She that " Fair One" is, whom I 
Have, here, praised concealedly. 

And though, now, this Age's Pride 
May so brave a Hope deride ; 
Yet, when all their glories pass, 
As the thing that never was, 
And on monuments appear 
That they e'er had breathing here. 
Who envy it ; She shall thrive 
In her fame, and honoured live ; 
While Great Britain's Shepherds sing 
English in their Sonneting ! 
And whoe'er, in future days. 
Shall bestow the utmost praise 
On his love, that any man 

;-.] Mistress of P ii i l' a r e t e . 467 

Attribute to creature can; 
'Twill be this ! that he hath dared, 
His and Mine to have compared. 
O, what stars did shine on me, 
When her eyes I first did see ! 
And how good was their aspect, 
When we first did both affect ! 
For I never since to changing 
Was inclined, or thought of ranging ! 

Me, so oft my Fancy drew 
Here and there, that I ne'er knew 
Where to place Desire, before, 
So that range it might no more. 

But as he that passeth by 
Where, in all her jollity, 
Flora's riches, in a row, 
Doth in seemly order grow ; 
And a thousand flowers stand, 
Bending as to kiss his hand : 
Out of which delightful store, 
One, he may take, and no more ! 
Long he pausing, doubteth whether 
Of those fair ones he should gather. 

First, the Primrose courts his eyes ! 
Then, the Cowslip he espies ! 
Next, the Pansy seems to woo him ! 
Then, Carnations bow unto him ! 
Which, whilst that enamoured Swain 
From the stalk, intends to strain ; 
(As half fearing to be seen) 
Prettily, her leaves between. 
Peeps the Violet ! pale to see 
That her virtues slighted be : 
Which so much his liking wins 
That, to seize her, he begins ; 
Yet before he stooped so low 
He, his wanton eye did throw 
On a stem that grew more high, 
And the Rose did there espy. 
Who, besides her precious scent. 

468 Fair Virtue, the \^-\' 

To procure his eyes' content, 
Did display her goodly breast ; 
Where he found, at full exprest, 
All the Good that Nature showers 
On a thousand other flowers. 
Wherewith he, affected, takes it 1 
His Beloved Flower, he makes it ! 
And, without desire of more, 
Walks through all he saw before. 

So I, wandering but erewhile. 
Through the Garden of this Isle, 
Saw rich Beauties, I confess, 
And in number, numberless ; 
And so differing lovely too, 
That I had a world to do, 
Ere I could set up my rest 
Where to choose, and choose the best. 

One I saw, whose Hair excelled ! 
On another's Brow there dwelled 
Such a Majesty, it seemed 
She was best to be esteemed ! 

This had, with her Speeches won me ! 
That, with Silence had undone me ! 
On her Lips, the Graces hung ! 
T'other charmed me with her tongue ! 
In her Eyes, a third did bear 
That which did anew ensnare ! 
Then a fourth did fairer show. 
Yet wherein I did not know ! 
Only this perceived I, 
Somewhat pleased my Fantasy. 

Now the Wealth, I most esteemed ! 
Honour then, I better deemed ! 
Next, the love of Beauty seized me ! 
And then Virtue better pleased me ! 

Juno's love I nought esteemed I 
Whilst a Venus fairer seemed ! . 

Nay, both could not me suffice, 
Whilst a Pallas was more wise ! 
Though I found enough in One 
To content, if still alone. 

;;] Mistress of Phi l\i a- e t e . 

Amarillis, I did woo ! 
And I courted Phillis too ! 
Daphne, for her love I chose ! 
Cloris, for that damask rose 
In her cheek, I held as dear ! 
Yea, a thousand liked, well nearl 
And in love with All together, 
Feared the enjoying Either ! 
'Cause to be, of one possest. 
Barred the hope of all the rest. 

Thus I fondly fared, till Fate, 
(Which I must confess, in that, 
Did a greater favour to me. 
Than the world can malice do me) 
Shewed to me that matchless flower 
Subject for this Song of our. 
Whose perfection having eyed 
Reason instantly espied, 
That Desire, which ranged abroad. 
There, would find a period. 
And, no marvel ! if it might : 
For it, there, hath all Delight ; 
And in Her, hath Nature placed 
What each several Fair once graced. 

Nor am I, alone delighted. 
With those graces, all united, 
Which the Sense's eye doth find 
Scattered throughout Womankind. 
But my Reason finds perfections 
To inflame my Soul's affections : 
Yea, such virtues She possesseth. 
As, with firmest pleasures blesseth ; 
And keeps sound that Beauty's state, 
Which would else grow ruinate. 

In this Flower are sweets, such store : 
I shall never wish for more ! 
Nor be tempted out to stray 
For the fairest buds in May ! 

Let, who list ! for me, advance 

470 Fair Virtue, the 

The admired flowers of France ! 
Let, who will ! praise and behold 
The reserved Marigold ! 
Let the sweet-breathed Violet, now, 
Unto whom she pleaseth, bow ! 
And the fairest Lily spread, 
Where she will, her golden head ! 
I have such a flower to wear ; 
That for those, I do not care ! 

Never shall my Fancy range ! 
Nor once think again of change ! 
Never will \, never more ! 
Grieve or sigh, as heretofore ! 
Nor within the lodgings lie 
Of Despair, or Jealousy 1 

Let the young and happy Swains, 
Playing on the Britain plains. 
Court, unblamed, their shepherdesses ! 
And with their gold-curled tresses 
Toy uncensured ! until I 
Grudge at their prosperity ! 

Let all Times, both Present, Past ; 
And the Age that shall be last ; 
Vaunt the beauties they bring forth ! 
I have found in One, such worth 1 
That, content, I neither care 
What the best before me were ; 
Nor desire to live and see 
Who shall fair hereafter be. 
For I know the hand of Nature 
Will not make a fairer creature ! 

Which, because succeeding days 
Shall confess, and add their praise 
In approving what my tongue 
(Ere they had their being) sung : 
Once again, come, lend an ear ! 
And a Rapture you shall hear 
(Though I taste no Thespian spring) 
Will amaze you ; whilst I sing ! 

I do feel new Strains inspiring. 
And to such brave heights aspiring ; 

^fa^G Mistress of P h i l' a r e t e . 4.71 

That my Muse will touch a key, 
Higher than you've heard to-day 1 

I have Beauties to unfold 
That deserve a Pen of Gold ! 
Sweets that never dreamed of were ! 
Things unknown ; and such as Ear 
Never heard a Measure sound 
Since the sun first ran his round 1 

When Apelles limbed to life. 
Loathed Vulcan's lovely wife ; 
With such beauties he did turn 
Each sweet feature, and each limb, 
And so curiously did place 
Every well becoming grace ; 
That 'twas said, ere he could draw 
Such a Piece, he naked saw 
Many women in their prime 
And the fairest of that Time ; 
From all which, he, parts did take, 
Which, aright disposed, make 
Perfect Beauty. So when you 
Know what I have yet to show, 
It will seem to pass so far 
Those things which expressed arc ; 
That you will suppose I've been 
Privileged, where I have seen 
All the Good that's spread in parts 
Through a thousand women's hearts ! 
With their fair'st conditions lie 
. Bare, without hypocrisy ! 

And that I have took from thence, 
Each dispersed excellence 
To express Her, who hath gained 
More than ever One obtained. 
And yet, soft ! I fear, in vain 
I have boasted such a Strain ! 
Apprehensions ever are 
Greater than Expression, far I 
And my striving to disclose 
What I know, hath made me lose 

472 Fair Virtue, the ["^/^'le^: 

My Invention's better part : 
And my Hopes exceed my Art! 

Speak, I can ; yet Think I more ! 
Words, compared with Thoughts, are poor ! 
And I find, had I begun 
Such a Strain, it would be done 
When we number all the sands 
Washed o'er perjured Godwin's lands. 
For of things I should indite, 
Which, I know are infinite. 

I do yield ! My Thoughts did climb 
Far above the power of Rhyme ! 
And no wonder it is so, 
Since there is no Art can show 
Red in roses, white in snow; 
Nor express how they do grow. 
Yea, since bird, beast, stone, and tree, 
That inferior creatures be. 
Beauties have, which we confess 
Lines unable to express ; 
They more hardly can enrol 
Those that do adorn a Soul. 

But suppose my Measures could 
Reach the height, I thought they would : 
Now, relate, I would not though. 
What did swell within me so. 
For if I should all descry, 
You would know as much as I ! 
And those clowns the Muses hate. 
Would of things above them, prate ! 
Or, with their profaning eyes, 
Come to view those mysteries 
Whereof, since they disesteemed them, 
Heaven hath unworthy deemed them ! 

And besides, it seems to me. 
That your ears nigh tired be ! 
I perceive the fire that charmeth 
And inspireth me, scarce warmeth 
Your chill hearts ! Nay, sure, were I 
Melted into Poesy, 


I should not a Measure hit, 
(Though Apollo prompted it) 
Which should able be to leave 
That in you, which I conceive ! 
You are cold ! and here I may 
Waste my vital heat away 
Ere you will be moved so much 
As to feel one perfect touch 
Of those Sweets ; which, yet concealed, 
Swell my breast, to be revealed. 

Now, my Words, I therefore cease ! 
That my mounting Thoughts, in peace, 
May, alone, those pleasures share, 
Whereof Lines unworthy are ! 
And so you, an end do see. 
Of my Song ; though long it be ! 

474 Fair V j k run, the ]^-^ 

|0 SOONER had the Shepherd Phil'aret, 
To this Description, his last period set; 
But instantlj', descending from a wood, 
Whicli on a rising ground, adjoining stood, 
A troop of Satjrs, to the view of all, 
Came dancing, of a new devised brail. 
The measures they did pace, by Him were taught them. 
Who, to so rare a gentleness had brought them, 
That he had learned their rudeness an observing 
Of such respect unto the well deserving ; 
As they became to no man else, a terror. 
But such as did persist in wilful error : 
And they, the Ladies, made no white affeared 
Though since that time, they some Great Men have scared 

Their dance, the Whipping of Abuse they named ; 
And though the Shepherd, since that, hath been blamed : 
Yet, now, 'tis daily seen in every town ! 
And there's no Country Dance that's better known ! 
Nor that hath gained a greater commendation 
'Mongst those that love an honest recreation ! 

This Scene presented ; from a grove was heard 
A Set of Viols ; and there, was prepared 
A Country Banquet, which this Shepherd made 
To entertain the Ladies, in the shade. 
And 'tis supposed, his Song prolonged was 
Of purpose, that it might be brought to pass. 
So well it was performed that each one deemed. 
The banquet might the City have beseemed ; 
Yet, better was their Welcome, than their Fare, 
Which they perceived, and the merrier were. 

One Beauty though, there sat among the rest. 
That looked as sad as if her heart oppressed 

','j;'":] Mistress of P ii j l' a r e t e . 475 

With love had been. Whom Phil'aret beholding 
Sit so demurely, and her arms enfolding : 

" Lady ! " quoth he, " am I, or this poor cheer, 
The cause that you so melancholy are ? 
For if the object of your thoughts be higher, 
It fits nor me to know them, nor inquire : 
But if from me it cometh, that offends ; 
I seek the cause, that I may make amends ! " 

" Kind Swain ! " said she, " it is nor so ! nor so ! 
No fault in you ! nor in your cheer I know ! 
Nor do I think there is a thought in me. 
That can too worthy of your knowledge be ! 
Nor have I, many a day, more pleasure had 
Than here I find, though I have seemed sad. 

My heart is sometimes heavy when I smile ; 
And when I grieve, I often sing the while. 
Nor is it sadness that doth me possess. 
But rather, musmg, with much seriousness, 
Upon that multitude of sighs and tears. 
With those innumerable doubts and fears 
Through which you passed, ere you could acquire 
A settled Hope of gaining your Desire. 
For you dared love a Nymph, so great and fair, 
As might have brought a Prince unto despair ; 
And, sure, the excellency of your Passions 
Did then produce as excellent impressions. 

If, therefore, me the suit may well become 1 
And if to you, it be not wearisome ! 
In name of all the Ladies, I entreat 
That one of those sad Strains you would repeat. 
Which you composed, when greatest Discontent 
Unsought-for help, to your Invention lent 1 " 

" Fair Nymphs ! " said Phil'aret, " I will so do ! 
For though your Shepherd doth no Courtship know, 
He hath Humanity ! and what's in me, 
To do you service, may commanded be ! " 

So, taking down a lute, that near him hung; 

He gave't his boy, who played : whilst this, he sung. 

476 Fair V i k t u h , r ii e [^j^' 

[SONNET /.] 

"Ah, vie!" 

Am I the Swain 

That late, from sorrow free, 

Did all the cares on earth disdain ? 

And still untouched, as at some safer games, 

Played with the burning coals of Love, and Beauty's flames ? 

WasH I, could dive, and sound each Passion's secret depth at will; 

And front those huge overwhelmings, rise, by help of Reason, still? 

And am I, now, heavens! {for trying this in vain) 

So sunk, that I shall never rise again? 

Then let Despair set Sorrow's string 

For Strains, that doleful' st be ! 

And I will sing 

"Ah, me.'" 

But why, 

O fatal Time! 

Dost Thou constrain, that I 

Should perish in my Youtli's sweet prime? 

I, but a while ago. You cruel Powers! 

In spite of Fortune, cropped Contentment's sweetest fioivers. 

And yet, unscorned, serve a gentle Nymph, the fairest She, 

That ever was beloved of Man, or eyes did ever see. 

Yea, one, whose tender heart would rue for my distress ; 

Yet I, poor I ! must perish nay - the - less : 

And, which much more augments my care, 

Unmoaned, I must die! 

And no man e'er 

Knoiv why ! 

;:J Mistress of P h i l' a r e t e . 


Thy leave, 

My dying Song ! 

Yet lake ! ere Grief bereave 

The breath which I enjoy too long. 

Tell thou that Fair One this! "My Soul prefers 

Her love above my life, and that I died heri ! 

And let Him be, for evermore, to her remembrance dear. 

Who loved the very thought of Her, whilst he remained here ! " 

A nd now, farewell, thou place of my unhappy birth ! 

Where once I breathed the sweetest air on earth : 

Since me, my wonted joys forsake, 

A nd all my trust deceive ; 

Of all, I take 

My leave ! 


Sweet Groves, to you.! 

You Hills, that highest dwell; 

And all you humble Vales, adieu! 

You wanton Brooks ! and solitary Rocks I 

My dear Companions all I and you, my tender Flocks ! 

Farewell, my Pipe ! and all those pleasing Songs, whose moi'ing Slrains 

Delighted once the fairest Nymphs that dance upon the plains ! 

You Discontentments {whose deep and over-deadly smart 

Have, without pity, broke the truest heart) ! 

Sighs ! Tears I and every sad Annoy 

That erst did with me dwell I 

And all others' Joy ! 

Farewell ! 

478 F A J R Virtue, t n e 

A dieu 

Fair Shepherdesses ! 

Let garlands of sad yew 

A dorn your dainty golden tresses ! 

I that loved you, and often, with my quill 

Made music that delighted jountain, grove, and hill! 

I, whom you loved so ; and with a sweet and chaste embrace ; 

Yea, with a thousand rarer favours, would vouchsafe to grace ! 

I, now, must leave you all alone ! of Love to 'plain, 

And never Pipe, nor never Sing again 

I must, for evermore, be gone ! 

And, therefore, bid I you, 

And every one, 

A dieu ! 

I die ! 

For 0, I feel 

Death's horrors drawing nigh ! 

And all this frame of Nature reels ! 

My hopeless heart, despairing of relief. 

Sinks underneath the heavy weight of saddest grief! 

Which hath so ruthless torn, so racked, so tortured every vein. 

All comfort comes too late, to have it ever cured again. 

My swimming head begins to dance Death's giddy round! 

A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound ! 

Benumbed is my cold-sweating brow ! 

A dimness shuts my eye ! 

And now, now, 

I die! 

'.'to:] J^I 1 S 7 A' li S S Of P 11 I LA K E T E . 479 

O MOVINGLY these lines he did express, 
And to a tune so full of heaviness ; 
As if, indeed, his purpose had been past 
To live no longer than the Song did last. 
Which in the Nymphs, such tender passion bred, 
That some of them, did tears of pity shed. 

This she perceiving, who first craved the Song, 
" Shepherd ! " she said, " although it be no wrong 
Nor grief to you, those Passions to recall 
Which, heretofore, you have been pained withal ! 
But comforts rather, since they, now, are over ; 
And you, it seemeth, an enjoying lover: 
Yet some Nymphs among us, I do see ; 
Who, so much moved with your Passions be. 
That, if my aim I have taken aright, 
Their thoughts will hardly let them sleep to-night. 
I dare not, therefore, beg of you again 
To sing another of the selfsame Strain ; 
For fear it breed within them, more unrest 
Than women's weaknesses can well digest. 

Yet, in your Measures, such content you have 1 
That one Song more, I will presume to crave. 
And if your memory preserves of those 
Which you, of your affections did compose 
Before you saw this Mistress ; let us hear 
What kind of Passions, then, within you were ! 

To which request, he instantly obeyed ; 
And this ensuing Song, both sung and played. 

4So Fair Virtue, THE [^"/'''i'S 


iOu f^enilc Nyvtphs.' that on these meadows play, 
A nd oft relate the loves of Shepherds yoimf; ; 
Come, sit you down ! For if you please to stay. 
Now may you hear an uncouth Passion sum:; ! 
A Lad there is, and I am that poor Groom ; 
That's fall'n in love, and cannot tell with whom ! 

do not smile at sorrow, as a jest ! 
With others' cares, good natures moved be ; 
And I should weep, if you had my unrest ! 
Then, at my grief, how can you merry be ? 

A h, where is tender pity now become ? 

I am in love, and cannot tell with whom ! 

/, that have oft, the rarest features viewed, 
A nd Beauty in her best perfection seen ; 
I, that have laughed at them that love pursued, 
And ever free from such affections been : 

Lo, now at last, so cruel is my doom ! 

I am in love, and cannot tell with whom ! 

My heart is full nigh bursting with Desire; 

Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow : 

My breast doth burn, but She that lights the fire, 

1 never saw, nor can I come to know. 
So great a bliss, my fortune keeps me from ; 
That though I dearly love, I know not whom ! 

Ere I had twice four Springs renewed seen, 

The force of Beauty I began to prove ; 

And ere I nine years old had fully been. 

It taught me how to frame a Song of Love, 

And little thought I, this day should have come, 
Before that I, to love had found out whom ! 

le":] Mistress of Phil' arete. 481 

For on my chin, the mossy down you see ! 

And in my veins, well heated blood doth glow ! 

Of Summers I have seen twice three times three; 

And fast, my youthful time away doth go ! 
That much I fear, I aged shall become, 
And still complain, I love, I know not whom! 

0, why had I a heart bestowed on me. 
To cherish dear affections, so inclined ? 
Sitice I am so unhappy born to be 

No Object, for so true a Love to find. 

When I am dead, it will be missed of some; 
Yet, now I live, I love, I know not whom ! 

I to a thousand beauteous Nymphs am known ! 
A hundred Ladies' favours do I wear ! 

1, with as many, half in love am grown ; 
Yet none of them, I find, can be my Dear ! 

Methinks, I have a Mistress yet to come ! 

Which makes me sing, I love, I know not whom ! 

There lives no Swain doth stronger Passion prove 
For her, whom most he covets to possess ; 
, Than doth my heart, that being full of love 
Knows not to whom it may the same profess ! 
For he that is despised, hath sorrow some ; 
But he hath more, that loves, and knows not whom! 

Knew I my Love, as many others do, 

To some one object might my thoughts be bent ! 

So they divided, should not wandering go 

Until the Sotd's united force be spent. 

As his, that seeks and never finds a home, 

Such is my rest, that love, and know not whom ! 

EUG. Gar. IV. 3I 

482 Fair Virtue, the \^\ 

Those, whom the frowns of jealous friends divide. 
May live to meet, and descant on their woe ; 
And he hath gained a Lady for his bride. 
That durst not woo her Maid, a while ago. 

But 0, what end unto my hopes can come ? 

That am in love, and cannot tell with whom ! 

Poor Collin grieves that he was late disdained ; 
And Cloris doth, for Willy's absence pine ; 
Sad Thirsis weeps, for his sick Phcebe pained : 
But all their sorrows cannot equal mine .' 

A greater care, alas, on me is come. 

I am in love, and cannot tell with whom 1 

Narcissus like, did I affect my shade; 
Some shadow yet I had to dote upon ! 
Or did I love some Image of the dead, 
Whose Substance had not breathed long agone ? 

I might despair ! and so an end would come ; 

But 0, 1 love ! and cannot tell you whom ! 

Once, in a dream, methought, my Love I viewed, 
But never, waking, could her face behold ; 
And, doubtless, that resemblance was but shewed 
That more my tired heart, torment it should. 

For, since that time, more grieved I am become , 
And more in love, I cannot tell with whom ! 

When on my bed, at night, to rest I lie. 
My watchful eyes, with tears bedew my cheek ; 
And then, " would it once were day! " / cry. 
Yet when it comes, I am as far to seek. 

For who can tell, though all the earth he roam ; 

Or when, or where to find, he knows not whom ' 

J:] Mistress of Phi l'a r e t e . 483 

0. if she may be among tlie beauteous trains 
Of all you Nymphs, that haunt the silver rills! 
Or if you know her, Ladies of the plains ! 
Or you, that have your bowers on the hills ! 

Tell, if you can, who will my Love become ? 

Or I shall die, and never know for whom 1 

He Ladies smiled oft, when this they heard, 
Because the Passion strange to them appeared, 
And stranger was it, since by his expression, 
As well as by his own unfeigned confession, 
It seemed true ! But having sung it out ; 
And seeing, scarcely manners, they it thought, 
To urge him further: thus to them, he spake. 
" Fair Ladies ! forasmuch as doubt you make 
To re-command me ; of mine own accord, 
Another Strain I freely will afford. 
It shall not be of Love, nor any Song 
Which to the praise of Beauty doth belong ; 
But that, hereafter, when you hence are gone. 
Your Shepherd may be sometime thought upon ! 
To shew you also, what Content the Field 
And lonely Grove to honest minds may yield ! 
That you, my humble fate may not despise. 
When you are returned unto your braveries ; 
And not suppose that, in these homely bowers, 
I hug my fortune, 'cause I know not yours. 
Such Lines I'll sing, as were composed by me, 
When some proud Courtiers, where I happed to be 
Did (like themselves) of their own glories prate. 
As in contempt of my more happy state. 
And these they be — " 

484 Fair Virtue, the [^ 


^Ordly Gallants ! tell me this ! 

(Thouf^h my safe Cmtent you wci^h not!) 
In your greatness, what one bliss 
Have you gained, that I enjoy not ? 

You have Honours, you have Wealth ! 

I have Peace, and I have Health ! 

A II the day I merry make ; 

A nd, at night, no care I take ! 

Bound to none, my fortunes be ; 
This, or that man's fall, I fear not I 
Him I love, that loveth me ; 
For the rest, a pin I care not ! 

Yon are sad, when others chafe ; 

A nd grow merry as they laugh ! 

I, that hate it, and am free. 

Laugh and weep, as pleaseth me ! 

You may boast of favours shown. 
Where your service is applied ! 
But my pleasures are mine own. 
And to no man's humours tied. 

You oft flatter, sooth, and feign! 

I, such baseness do disdain ! 

And to none, be slave I would, 

Though my fetters might be gold ! 

By greatest titles, some believe. 
Highest honours are attained ; 
A nd yet Kings have power to give 
To their Fools, what these have gained. 
Where they favour, there they may 
All their Names of Honour lay I 
But I look not, raised to be. 
Till mine own wing carry me ! 

;:] Mistress of P h i l' a r e t e . 485 

Seek to raise your titles higher ! 
They are toys not worth my sorrow. 
Those that we, to-day, admire. 
Prove the A ge's scorn to-morrow ! 

Take your Honours ! Let me find 

Virtue in a free born mind ! 

This, the greatest Kings that be, 

Cannot give, nor take from me I 

Though I vainly do not vaunt 
Large demesnes to feed my pleasure : 
I have favours, where you want, 
That would buy Respect with treasure I 

You have lands lie here, and there ; 

But my wealth is everywhere ! 

And this addeth to my store. 

Fortune cannot make me poor I 

Say, you purchase, with your pelf , 
Some respect, where you importune ! ■ 
Those may love me, for myself ; 
That regard you for your fortune ! 

Rich, or born of high degree. 

Fools, as well as you, may be ! 

But that Peace in which I live. 

No Descent, nor Wealth can give I 

If you boast that you may gain 
The respect of high-born Beauties ; 
Know I never wooed in vain, 
Nor preferred scorned duties ! 
She I love, hath all delight, 
Rosy red with lily white ; 
And, whoe'er your Mistress be. 
Flesh and blood as good as She ! 

4S6 Fair Virtue, the . l^t'^tZ 

Note of me, was never took 

For my womanlike perfections ; 

But so like a Man I look, 

It hath gained me best affections ! 
For my love, as many showers 
Have been wept, as have for yours ! 
A nd yet none doth me condemn 
For abuse, or scornin" them f 

Though of dainties, you have store 
To delight a choicer palate ! 
Yet your taste is pleased no more 
Than is mine, in one poor sallat ! 

You to please your senses feed ! 

But I cat, good blood to breed ! 

And am most delighted then 

When I spend it like a man ! 

Though you Lord it over me ; 
You, in vain, thereof have braved ! 
For those Lusts, my servants be ; 
Whercnnto your minds are slaved ! 

To yourselves you wise appear. 

But, alas, deceived you arc ! 

You do, foolish me esteem ; 

A nd are that, which I do seem ! 

When your faults I open lay ; 
You are moved, and mad with vexing I 
But you ne'er could do, or say 
Ought to drive me to perplexing ! 
Therefore, my despised power 
Greater is, by far, than your! 
And whate'er you think of me. 
In your minds, you poorer be ! 

''^'] M I S T Ji E S S OP P 1/ I l' A K E T E . 487 

You are pleased, more or less, 

As men, well or ill report you I 

A nd shew discontentedness 

When the Times forbear to court yon / 

That in which my pleasures be. 

No man can divide from me ! 

And my care it adds not to, 

Whatso others say or do. 

Be not proud, because you view 
You, by thousands are attended ! 
For, alas, it is not You, 
But Your Fortune ! that's befriended. 

Where I shew of love have got, 

Such a danger, fear I not ! 

Since they nought can seek of me ; 

But for love, beloved to be. 

When your hearts have everything ; 
You are pleasantly disposed ! 
But I can both laugh and sing. 
Though my foes have me enclosed. 

Yea, when dangers me do hem, 

I delight in scorning them ! 

More than you, in your renown ; 

Or a King can, in his crown. 

You do bravely domineer 
Whilst the sun upon you shineth I 
Yet if any storm appear. 
Basely, then, your mind declineth ! 

But, or shine, or rain, or blow, 

I, my resolutions know ! 

Living, dying, thrall, or free ; 

A t one height, my Mind shall be ! 

488 Fair Virtue, the 

When in thraldom, I have lain ; 

Me, not worth your thoui^ht ynn prized ! 

But your malice was in vain. 

For your favours I despised. 
And hoivc'cryou value me, 
I, with praise, shall thouf^ht on be I 
When the world esteems you not. 
And your Names shall be forgot. 

In these thoughts my riches are, 
Now, though poor and mean you deem me ! 
I am pleased, and do not care 
How the Times, or you esteem me I 
For those toys that make you gay. 
Are but Play Games for a Day ! 
And when Nature craves her due, 
I, as brave shall be, as you ! 

Ere Phil'aret did give his Song an ending. 
To which the Nymphs so seriously attending 
About him sate, as if they had supposed 
He still had somewhat more to be disclosed. 
And, well they know not, whether did belong 
Most praise unto the Shepherd, or his Song. 
For though, they must confess, they often hear 
Those Lays, which much more deeply learned are ; 
Yet, when they well considered of the place, 
With how unlikely (in their thought) it was 
To give them hope of hearing of such a Strain ; 
Or that so young, and so obscure a Swain 
Should such a matchless Beauty's favour get ; 
And know her worth so well, to sing of it : 
They wondered at it. And some thus surmised 
That He a greater man was, so disguised ; 

^V^'Ie";] Mistress of P jr i l' a r e t e . 489 

Or else that She, whom he so much had praised, 
Some goddess was, that those his Measures raised, 
Of purpose, to that rare attained height 
In Envy's, and presuming Art's despite. 

But whilst they, musing with themselves, bethought 
Which way, out of this Shepherd to have wrought 
What Nymph this Fair One was? and where she lived ? 
Lo, at that very instant, there arrived 
Three men that, by their habits, Courtiers seemed : 
For, though obscure, by some, he is esteemed. 
Among the Greatest : who do not contemn. 
In his retired walks, to visit him ; 
And there, they taste those pleasures of the mind, 
Which they can, nor in Court, nor City find. 

Some news or message, these new guests had brought him ; 
And to make haste away, it seems, besought him : 
For instantly he rose ! And that his nurture 
Might not be taxed by a rude departure. 
Himself excusing; he, those Nymphs did pray 
His noble friends might bring him on their way. 
" Who, as it seems," said he, " were therefore come, 
That they might wait upon him to their home." 

So, with their favour, he departed thence ; 
And, as they thought, to meet her Excellence, 
Of whom he sung. Yet many deem that this 
But an Idea of a Mistress is : 
Because to none, he yet had deigned the telling 
Her proper name ; nor shown her place of dwelling ! 


Fair V i r t v e , the 

rc. With 

L % >6 

When he was gone, a Lady, from among 
Those Nymphs, took up his lute, and sang this Song, 


Entle Swain! Good speed befall thee.' 
And ill love still prosper thou ! 
Future Times shall happy, call thee ! 
Thoui;h thou lie ncf^kcted now. 

Virtue's lovers shall command thee ! 
And perpetual fame attend thee ! 

Happy are these woody mountains. 
In whose shadows, thou dost hide ! 
And as happy, are those fountains 
By whose murmurs, thou dost 'bide ! 
For Contents are here excelling. 
More than in a Prince's dwelling;. 

These, thy flocks do clothing bring thee ! 
And thy food, out of the fields : 
Pretty songs, the birds do sing thee ! 
Sweet perfumes the meadow yields : 

And what more is worth the seeing ? 

Heaven and Earth, thy prospect being ! 

None comes hither, who denies thee 
Thy contentments, for despite ; 
Neither any that envies thee, 
That wherein thou dost delight. 

But all happy things are meant thee ! 

And whatever may content thee! 

Thy Affection, Reason measures, 
A nd distempers none it feeds : 
Still so harmless are thy pleasures, 
That no other's grief it breeds. 

;^M/srj!£ss of P ii i l' a r e t e . 491 

And if night beget thee sorrow , 
Seldom stays it till the morrow. 

Why do foolish men so vainly 
Seek contentment in their store ? 
Since they may perceive so plainly 
Thou art rich, in being poor ! 

A nd that they arc vexed about it ; 

Whilst thou merry are without it ! 

Why are idle brains devising 

How high titles may be gained ! 

Since, by those poor toys despising, 

Thou hast higher things obtained ! 

For the man who scorns to crave them. 
Greater is than they that have them. 

If all men could taste that sweetness 

Thou dost, in thy meanness, know ! 

Kings would be to seek, where greatness 

And their honours to bestow. 

For it such content would breed them, 
As they would not think they need them. 

A nd if those, who so aspiring 
To the Court preferments be, 
Knew how worthy the desiring 
Those things are, enjoyed by thee ! 

Wealth and titles would, hereafter. 

Subjects be for scorn and laughter. 

He that Courtly styles affected, 

Should a May-Lord's honour have ; 

He that heaps of Wealth collected. 

Should be counted as a slave : 

And the man, with few' st things cumbered, 
With the noblest should be numbered. 

492 Fair Virtue, the 

Thou, their folly hast discerned; 
That neglect thy mind and thee ! 
And to slight them, thou hast learned. 
Of what title e'er they be ! 

That, no more with thee obtaineth ; 

Than with them, thy meanness gaineth. 

All their riches, honours, pleasures. 

Poor unworthy trifles seem ; 

If compared with thy treasures ! 

And do merit no esteem : 

For they, true contents provide thee. 
And from them, can none divide thee. 

Whether thralled, or exiled ; 
Whether poor, or rich thou be ! 
Whether praised, or reviled ; 
Not a rush it is to thee ! 

This, nor that, thy rest doth win thee ; 

But the Mind, which is within thee ! 

Then, 0, why so madly dote we 
On those things that us o'erload ? 
Why no more their vainness note we. 
But still make of them a god ? 

For, alas, they still deceive us ; 

And, in greatest need, they leave ns ! 

Therefore have the Fates provided 
Well, thou happy Swain I for thee ! 
That may'st here, so far divided 
From the world's distractions be ! 

Thee, distemper let them never; 

But in peace continue ever ! 

In these lonely groves, enjoy thou 
That contentment here begun ! 
And thy hours, so pleased, employ thou 
Till the latest glass be run ! 

^i^^'.'e":] M I S T J< E S S OF P II I L A R E T E . 493 

From a fortune so assured, 
By no temptings, be allured ! 

Much good do 't them, with their glories, 

Who, in Courts of Princes dwell ! 

We have read in antique stories 

How some rose, and how they fell. 
And 'tis worthy well the heeding, 
" There's like end, where's like proceeding." 

Be thou still, in thy affection. 
To thy noble Mistress, true ! 
Let her never-matched perfection 
Be the same unto thy view ! 

And let never other Beauty 

Make thee fail in love or duty ! 

For if thou shall not estranged. 
From thy course professed, be ; 
But remain, for aye, unchanged. 
Nothing shall have power on thee ! 

Those that slight thee now, shall love thee ; 

And, in spite of spite, approve thee ! 

So those virtues now neglected ; 
To be more esteemed, will come : 
Yea, those toys so much affected. 
Many shall be wooed from. 

And the Golden Age, deplored. 

Shall, by some, be thought restored. 

Hus sang the Nymph ! so rarely-well inspired, 
That all the hearers, her brave Strains admired ; 
And (as I heard by some that there attended) 
Whea this her Song was finished, all was ended. 


A Postscript. 

F ANY carp, for that my younger Times 
Brought forth such idle fruit, as these slight 

It is no matter, so they do not swear 
That they so ill employed, never were. 
Whilst their Desires, perhaps, they looselier spent; 
I gave my heats of youth this better vent : 
And, oft, by writing thus, the blood have tamed, 
Which some, with reading wanton Lays enflamed. 
Nor care I, though their censure some have past, 
Because my Songs exceed the Fidler's Last : 
For do they think that I will make my Measures 
The longer, or the shorter, for their pleasures ? 
Or maim, or curtalise my free Invention, 
Because Fools weary are, of their attention ! 
No! Let them know, who do their length condemn; 
I Make to please myself, and not for them ! 




THE Poem yvFOREqoiNq. 

Of the Invention of the Nine A fuses . 

He acts of Ages past doth Clio write. 

The Tragedies', Melpomene's delight. 

Thalia is with Comedies contented. 

Euterpe, first, the Shepherd's Pipe in- 

Terpsichore doth Song and Lute apply. 

Dancing Erato found Geometry. 
Calliope on loving Verses dwells. 
The secrets of the stars, Urania tells. 
Polyhymnia, with choice words, the speech doth trim 
And great Apollo shares with all of them. 
Those thrice three Feminines, we Muses call ; 
But that one Masculine is worth them all ! 


Of the Labours of Hercules. 

Ikst, he the strong Nemaean lion slew ; 
The many-headed Hydra, next, o'erthrew. 
The Erymanthian Boar he, thirdly, foils, 
Then of his golden horns, the Stag he spoils. 
The foul Stjmphalian birds he, fifthly, frayed: 
Next, he, the Queen of Amazons o'erswayed. 
Then cleansed AuGiAs' stalls, with filth so full ; 
And, eighthly, tamed the untamed Bull. 
He slew proud Diomedes with his horses. 
From triple Gerion, his rich beard he forces. 
He slew the Dragon for the fruit of gold : 
And made black Cerberus the day behold. 

Being left by a Gentleman in his dining-rooiu, where 

was nothing but a Map of England to entertain 

him ; he thus ttirned it into Verse. 

\iR England, in the bosom of the seas, 
Amid her two and fifty Provinces, 
Sits like a glorious Empress, whose rich throne 
Great Nymphs of Honour come to wait upon. 

First, in the height of bravery, appears 
Kent, East and South and Middle Saxon Shires; 
Next Surrey, Berkshire and Southampton get. 
With Dorset, Wilton, and rich Somerset. 
Then Devon, with the Cornish promontory, 
Glou'ster and W^orc'ster, fair Sabrina's glory ! 
Then Salop, Suffolk, Norfolk large and fair : 
Oxford and Cambridge, that thrice learned pair ! 
Then Lincoln, Derby, Yorkshire, Nottingham, 
Northampton, Warwick, Stafford, Buckingham, 
Chester and Lancaster with herds well stored, 
Huntington, Hertford, Rutland, Hereford. 
Then Princely Durham, Bedford, Leic'ster and 

"v^'i'to:] Epitaphs, and such other Verses. 497 

Northumber-, Cumber-, and cold Westmoreland. 

Brave English Shires ! With whom, loved equally, 
Welsh Monmouth, Radnor, and Montgomery 
Add all the glory, to her train, they can : 
So doth Glamorgan, Brecknock, Cardigan, 
Carnarvon, Denbigh, Merionethshire, 
With Anglesea, which o'er the sea doth rear 
Her lofty head. And the first, though last, 
Flint, Pembroke, and Caermarthen might be placed. 
For all of these, unto their power, maintain 
Their mistress, England, with a royal train. 
Yea, for Supporters, at each hand hath she, 
The Wight and Man, that two brave islands be. 

From these, I, to the Scottish Nymphs had journeyed ; 
But that my friend was back again returned : 
Who having kindly brought me to his home. 
Alone did leave me in his dining-room ; 
Where I was fain (and glad I had the hap !) 
To beg an entertainment of his Map. 

All Epitaph upon the right virtuous Lady, 
the Lady Scott. 

[Et none suppose this relic of the Just 
Was here wrapped up, to perish in the dust ! 
No, like best fruits, her time she fully stood, 
Then, being grown in Faith, and ripe in Good 
(With stedfast hope that She, another day. 
Should rise with Christ), with Death, here down she lay. 
And, that each part which Her in life had graced. 
Preserved might be, and meet again at last ; 
The Poor, the World, the Heavens, and the Grave, 
Her Alms, her Praise, her Soul, her Body have. 

ENc. Gar. IV. ^2 

49^ A Miscellany OF Epigrams, Sonnets, [°j^';^,'^; 

Aji Epitaph tipon a Woman and her Child buried 
together in the same Grave. 

Eneath this marble stone doth lie 
The subject of Death's tyranny ; 
A Mother, who, in this close tomb, 
Sleeps with the issue of her womb. 
Though cruelly inclined was He. 
And, with the Fruit, shook down the Tree ; 
Yet was his cruelty in vain ! 
For Tree and Fruit shall spring again. 

A Christmas Carol. 

0, NOW, is come otir joyful' st feast ; 

Let every man be jolly ! 

Each room with ivy leaves is drest ; 

A nd every post, with holly. 

Though some churls at our mirth repine , 
Round your foreheads, garlands twine ! 
Drown sorrow in a cup of wine ; 

And let us all be merry ! 

Now, all our neighbours' chimneys smoke. 

And Christmas blocks be burning ; 

Their ovens, they with baked meats choke, 

And all their spits are turning. 

Without the door, let sorrow lie I 
And if, for cold, it hap to die ; 
We'll bury it in a Christmas pie, 

A nd evermore be merry .' 

632.] Epitaphs, and such other Verses. 499 

Now, every lad is wondrous trim, 
A nd no man minds his labour ; 
Our lasses have provided them, 
A bagpipe and a tabor. 

Young men and maids, and girls and boys, 

Give life to one another's joys ; 

And you, anon, shall by the noise. 
Perceive that they are merry. 

Ranking misers, now, do sparing shun; 
Their Hall, of music soundeth ! 
And dogs thence, with whole shoulders run ; 
So all things there aboundeth. 

The country folk themselves advance ; 

For Crowdy-Mutton's come out of France ! 

And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance, 
And all the town be merry. 

Ned Swash hath fetched his Bands from pawn, 

And all his best apparel ; 

Brisk Nell hath bought a Ruff of Lawn 

With droppings of the barrel : 

And those that hardly, all the year, 
Had bread to eat, or rags to wear, 
Will have both clothes and dainty fare ; 

And all the day be merry. 

Now poor men, to the Justices, 

With capons make their arrants : 

And if they hap to fail of these. 

They plague them with their warrants. 

But, now, they feed them with good cheer. 
And what they want, they take in beer ; 
For Christmas comes but once a year! 

And then they shall be merry. 


Good farmers in the cotintry, nurse 

The poor that else were undone ; 

Some landlords spend their money worse 

On lust and pride in London. 

There, the roisfrers they play : 
Drab and Dice their lands away ; 
Which may be ours, another day, 

A nd therefore let's be merry ! 

The client now his suit forbears, 
The prisoner's heart is eased. 
The debtor drinks away his cares. 
And, for the time, is pleased. 

Though others' purses be more fat ; 

Why shoidd we pine, or grieve thereat ? 

Hang Sorrow ! Care will kill a cat 1 
And therefore let's be merry! 

Hark, how the wags abroad do call 
Each other forth to rambling ! 
A non, you'll see them in the Hall, 
For nuts and apples sc[r]ambling. 

Hark, how the roofs with laughter sound ! 

Anon, they'll think the house goes round ; 

For they, the cellar's depth have foujid. 
And, there, they will be merry. 

The wenches, with their wassail bowls, 

A bout the streets are singing ; 

The boys are come to catch the owls ; 

The Wild Mare in is bringing : 

Our kitchen boy hath broke his box ; 

And to the dealing of an ox, 

Our honest neighbours come by flocks ; 

And, here, they will he merry. 

;:] Epitaphs, and such other Verses. 501 

Now Kings and Queens, poor shcepcots have. 
And mate with everybody ; 
The honest, now, may play the Knave 
And wise men play at Noddy. 

Some youths will now a Mumming go, 

Some others play at Rowland-hoe, 

And twenty other gameboys moe 
Because they will be merry. 

Then, wherefore, in these merry days 
Shotdd we, I pray ! be dtdler ? 
No ! let us sing some Roundelays 
To make our mirth the fuller ! 

And whiVst, thus inspired, we sing ; 

Let all the streets with echoes ring ! 

Woods and Hills, and everything, 
Bear witness we are merry ! 

An Epitaph upon the Porter of a Prison. 

Ere lie the bones of him, that was, of late, 

A churlish Porter of a Prison gate ! 

Death, many an evening, at his lodging knocked ; 

But could not take him, for the door was locked! 
Yet, at a tavern, late one night, he found him ; 
And getting him into the cellar, drowned him. 
On which the world (that still the worst is thinking) 
Reports abroad that " He was killed with drinking ! " 
Yet let no Prisoner, whether thief or debtor. 
Rejoice, as if his fortune were the better ! 
Their sorrow 's likely to be ne'er the shorter ! 
The Warden lives ! though Death hath took the Porter. 

A Sonnet upon a Stolen Kiss. 

|0w gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes, 
Which waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe ; 
And free access unto that sweet lip lies, 
From whence I long, the rosy breath to draw, 

Methinks, no wrong it were, if I should steal 
From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss 1 
None sees the theft, that would the theft reveal ! 
Nor rob I her, of ought which she can miss! 

Nay, should I twenty kisses take away, 
There would be little sign I had done so ! 
Why then should I, this robbery delay ? 
O, she may wake ! and therewith angry grow ! 
Well, if she do : I'll back restore that one ; 
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan ! 

An Epitaph upon Abraham Goodfellow, 
a common Alehouse hunter. 

lEwARE, thou look not who hereunder lies ! 
Unless thou long to weep away thine eyes. 
This man, as sorrowful report doth tell us, 
Was, when he lived, the Prince of all Good Fellows. 
That day he died, it cannot be believed 
How, out of reason, all the Alewives grieved. 
And what abominable lamentation 
They made at Black Boy, and at Salutation. 
They howled and cried, and, ever more, among. 
This was the burden of their woful Song. 
Well, go thy ways ! thy like hath never been ! 
Nor shall thy match again be ever seen ! 
For, out of doubt, now thou art dead and gone, 
There's many a Taphouse will be quite undone ! 
And Death, by taking thee, did them more scath 
Thanyet, the Alehouse Project done them hath. 

;;] Epitaphs, and such other Verses. 503 

Lo, such a one but yesterday, was he ; 
But now, he much is altered, you do see ! 
Since he came hither, he hath left his riot ; 
Yea, changed both his company and his diet ; 
And, now, so civil lies, that, to your thinking, 
He neither for an Alehouse cares, nor drinking. 

An Epitaph upon a Gentlewoman who had 
foretold the time of her death. 

|Er, who, beneath this stone, consuming lies, 
For many virtues, we might memorise; 
But, most of all, the praise deserveth she 
In making of her words and deeds agree. 
For she so truly kept the word she spake ; 
As that with Death, she promise would not break, 
" I shall," quoth she, "be dead, before the mid 
Of such a month ! " And, as she said, she did. 

An Epitaph on a Child, son to Sir VV. H. Knight. 

Ere lies, within a cabinet of stone, 
The dear remainder of a Pretty One. 
Who did in wit, his years so far out-pass ; 
His parents' wonder, and their joy he was : 
And by his face, you might have deemed him 
To be on earth, some heavenly Cherubim. 
Six years with life he laboured ; then deceast 
To keep the Sabbath of eternal rest: 
So that, which many thousand able men 
Are labouring for till threescore years and ten ; 
This blessed child attained to, ere seven : 
And, now, enjoys it with the saints of heaven. 

504 A Miscellany of Epigrams, Sonnets, [^ 

A Song. 

Ow, Young Man ! Thy days and thy glories appear 
Like sunshine and blossoms in Spring of the year ; 
Thy vigour of body, thy spirits, thy wit, 
Are perfect, and sound, and untroubled yet. 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

Mispend nol a morning, so excellent clear ! 
Never, for ever, was happiness here ! 
Thy noontide of life hath but little delight ; 
And sorrows on sorrows will follow at night! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

That Strength, and those beauties that grace thee to-day , 
To-morrow may perish, and vanish away ! 
Thy Wealth, or thy Pleasures, or Friends that now be. 
May waste, or deceive, or be traitors to thee ! 

Now then, now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

Thy joints are yet nimble, thy sinews nnslack ! 
And marrow, unwasted, doth strengthen thy back! 
Thy Youth from diseases, preserveth the brain ; 
A nd blood, with free passage, plumps every vein ! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

"1^;:] Epitaphs, and such other Verses. 505 

Bui, trust tne ! it will not for ever be so ! 
Those Arms, that are mighty, shall feebler grow ! 
And those Legs, so proudly supporting thee now, 
With age, or diseases will stagger and bow ! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! 

Then all those rare Features, now graceful in thee, 
Shall, ploughed with Time's furrows, quite ruined be! 
And they who admired and loved thee so much. 
Shall loathe, or forget thou hadst ever been such ! 

Now then, now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

Those tresses of Hair, which thy youth do adorn, 
Will look like the meads in a winterly morn ; 
And where red and white intermixed did grow. 
Dull paleness, a deadly Complexion will show ! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

That Forehead imperious, whereon we now view 
A smoothness and whiteness, enamelled with blue, 
Will lose that perfection, which youth now maintains , 
And change it for hollowness, wrinkles, and stains ! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

Those Ears, thou with inusic didst oft entertain, 
A nd charm with so many a delicate strain ; 
May miss of those pleasures wherewith they are fed, 
And never hear Song more, when youth is once fled! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

5o6 A Miscellany OF Epigrams, Sonnets, ["^j^' 

Those Eyes, which so many, so much did admire, 
And with strange affections set thotisands on fire ; 
Shut up in that darkness which Age will constrain, 
Shall never see mortal, no, never again ! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

Those Lips, whereon Beauty so fully discloses 
The colour and sweetness of rubies and roses ; 
Instead of that hue, will ghastHncss wear : 
And none shall believe what perfection was there ! 

Now then, now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

Thy Teeth, that stood firmly, like pearls in a row, 
Shall rotten, and scattered, disorderly grow ! 
Thy Mouth, whose proportion, earth's wonder was thought ; 
Shall robbed of that sweetness, be prized at nought. 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; 

Mind thou, mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

That Gait and those Gestures, that win thee such grace. 
Will turn to a feeble and staggering pace ; 
And thou, that o'er mountains ran'st nimbly to-day ; 
Shall stumble at every rub in the way ! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

By these imperfections, Old Age will prevail. 
Thy marrow, thy sinews, and spirits will fail ! 
And nothing is left thee, when those are once spent. 
To give, or thyself, or another content ! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

le":] Epitaphs, and such other Verses. 507 

Those Fancies that lull thee with Dreams of Delight, 
Will trouble thy quiet, the comfortless night ! 
And thou that now steepest thy troubles away ; 
Shalt hear how each cockerel gives warning of day ! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

Then Thou, that art yet to thousands so dear, 

Of all, shall despised or neglected appear ! 

Which, when thou perceiv'st, though now pleasant it be. 

Thy life will be grievous and loathsome to thee ! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

That Lust, which thy youth can so hardly forego, 
Will leave thee I and leave thee Repentance and Woe ! 
And then, in thy folly no joy thou canst have ; 
Nor hope other rest than a comfortless grave ! 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

For next, shall thy Breath be quite taken away ; 
Thy Flesh turned to dust, and thai dust turned to clay ! 
And those, thou hast loved, and shared of thy store; 
Shall leave thee, forget thee, and mind thee no more ! 

Now then, now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

And yet, if in time thou remember not this, 
The slenderest part of thy sorrow it is ! 
Thy Soul, to a torture more fearful, shall wend. 
Hath ever, and ever, and never an end. 

Now then, O now then, if safety thou love ; 

Mind thou, mind thou, thy Maker above ! 

5o8 A Miscellany of Ei'Igkams, Sunnlts, l^)""' 

A Dream. 

Hen hrii^ht Phcebus at his rest, 

Was reposed in the West; 
And the cheerful daylii^'ht gone, 
Drew unwelcome darkness on : 

Night, her blackness wrapt about me ; 

And within, 'twas as without me ! 

Therefore on my tumbled bed, 
Down I laid my troubled head ; 
Where, mine eyes inured to care. 
Seldom used to slumbering were : 

Yet overtired of late, with weeping; 

Then, by chance, they fell asleeping. 

But such visions, me diseased, 
As in vain that sleep I seized; 
For I sleeping Fancies had, 
Which, yet waking, make me sad. 
Some can sleep away their sorroiv 
But mine doubles every morrow. 

Walking to a pleasant grove, 
Where I used to think of love, 
I, methought, a place did view 
Wherein Flora's riches grew; 
Primrose, hyacinth, and lilies, 
Cowslips, vi'lets, daffodillies. 

;:] Epigrams, and such other Verses. 509 

There, a fountain close beside, 

I, a matchless Beauty spied. 

So she lay as if she slept, 

But much grief, her waking kept. 
And she had no softer pillow 
Than the hard root of a willow. 

Down her cheeks, the tears did flow, 
Which a grieved heart did shew ; 
Her fair eyes, the earth beholding, 
A nd her arms, themselves enfolding ; 
She (her Passion to betoken). 
Sighed as if her heart were broken. 

So much grief, methought, she shewed, 

That my sorrow, it renewed : 

But when, nearer her I went, 

It iticreased my discontent ; 

For a gentle Nymph she proved, 
Who, me (long unknown) had loved. 

Straight on me she fixed her look ; 

Which, a deep impression took. 

And " Of all that live," quoth she, 

" Thou art welcomest to me I " 

Then (misdoubting to be blamed). 
Thus she spake, as half ashamed. 

" Thee ! unknown, I long affected 

And, as long, in vain expected. 

For I had a hopeful thought 

Thou wotdd'st crave, what others sought ! 
And I, for thy sake ! have stayed 
Many wanton Springs, a Maid." 

5IO A Miscellany of Epigrams, Sonnets, &c. ['^j^^'^'e,'; 

" Still, when any wooed me, 
They renewed the thought of thee ! 
And, in hope thou would' st have tried! 
Their affections, I denied. 

But a lover forced upon me 

By my friends, hath now undone me.'" 

" What I waking, dared not shew ; 

In a dream, thou, now, dost know ! 

But to better my estate. 

Now, alas, it is too late ! 

A nd I, both awake and sleeping. 
Now consume my youth with weeping." 

Somewhat, then, I would have said ; 
But replytngs were denied. 
For, methought, when speak I would, 
Not a word bring forth I could : 

And as I, a kiss was taking ; 

That I lost too, by awaking. 

Phil 'arete. 


M A JES T Y's 

Declaration to his 


lawful Sports to 
be used. 


Printed by Bonham Norton and John Bill, 

Deputy Printers for the King's most 

Excellent Majesty. 

M.D C.X V 1 1 1. 

[The text of this Monument of State Folly (the real drift of which was 
simply to affront the Puritans) is taken from a copy of the original 
edition in the Ilodleian Library, Oxford. 

We have also given at f>p. 517-518, the title and additional matter of 
its reprint by CHARLES I. in 1633.] 


y'm-yii''-fiof^>^i~ ^^'.''^fii(^ 

By the King. 

Hekeas upon Our return, the last year out 
of Scotland, We did publish Our Pleasure 
touching the recreations of Our people in 
those parts, under Our hand : for some 
causes Us thereunto moving, We have 
thought good to command these Our 
Directions, then given in Lancashire, with 
a few words thereunto added and most 
appliable to these parts of Our Realms, to be published to all 
Our subjects. 

Whereas We did justly, in Our progress through Lan- 
cashire, rebuke some Puritans and precise people, and took 
order that the like unlawful carriage should not be used by 
any of them hereafter, in the prohibiting and unlawful punish- 
ing of Our good people for using their lawful recreations and 
honest exercises upon Sundays and other Holy Days, after 
the afternoon Sermon or Service; We now find, that two 
sorts of people wherewith that country [county] is much in- 
fested (We mean Papists and Puritans) have maliciously 
traduced and caluminated those Our just and honourable pro- 
ceedings. And therefore lest Our reputation might, upon the 
one side, though innocently, have some aspersion laid upon 
it ; and that, upon the other part, Our good people in that 
country be misled by the mistaking and misinterpretation of 
Our meaning : We have therefore thought good hereby to 
clear and make Our Pleasure to be manifested to all Our 
good people in those parts. 

It is true, that at Our first entry to this Crown and 

Ef^G. CAR. IV. 


514 The First Edition of [ ^^'iL^^.'^IS; 

Kingdom, We were informed, and that too truly, that Our 
County of Lancashire abounded more in Popish Recusants 
than any county in England; and thus hath still con- 
tinued since, to our great regret, with little amendment, 
save that now, of late, in our last riding through Our said 
County, We find, both by the report of the Judges, and 
of the Bishops of that diocese, that there is some amend- 
ment now daily beginning, which is no small contentment to 

The report of this growing amendment amongst them, 
made Us the more sorry, when, with Our own ears. We heard 
the general complaint of Our people, that they were barred 
from all lawful recreation and exercise upon the Sunday's 
afternoon, after the ending of all Divine Service. Which can- 
not but produce two evils. The one, the hindering of the 
conversion of many whom their priests will take occasion 
hereby to vex ; persuading them that " no honest mirth or 
recreation is lawful or tolerable in Our Religion ! " which 
cannot but breed a great discontentment in Our people's 
hearts; especially of such as are, peradventure, upon the 
point of turning. The other inconvenience is, that this pro- 
hibition barreth the common and meaner sort of people from 
using such exercises as may make their bodies more able for 
war, when We, or Our Successors shall have occasion to use 
them : and in place thereof sets up filthy tiplings and 
drunkenness, and breeds a number of idle and discontented 
speeches in their alehouses. For when shall the common 
people have leave to exercise, if not upon the Sundays and 
Holy Days ? seeing they must apply their labour, and win 
their living in all working days ! 

Our express pleasure therefore is, That the Laws of Our 
Kingdom, and Canons of Our Church be as well observed in that 
County, as in all other places of this Our Kingdom. And, on the 
other part, that no lawful recreation shall be barred to our good 
people, which shall not tend to the breach of Our aforesaid Laws, 
and Canons of Otir Church. 

Which to express more particularly, 

Our Pleasure is. That the Bishop and all other inferior 
Churchmen [Clergy], and Churchwardens shall, for their parts, be 
carefid and diligent, both to instruct the ignorajtt, and convince 
and reform them that arc misled in religion, presenting [i.e., re- 

ifiU'i'^'g. ] The BooA' OF Sports. 515 

porting for punishment] them that will not conform themselves, 
but obstinately stand out to Our Judges and justices : whom. 
We likewise command to put the law in due execution against 

Our Pleasure likewise is, That the Bishop of that diocese take 
the like strait order with all the Puritans and Precisians within 
the same : either constraining them to conform themselves, or to 
leave the country, according to the Laws of Our Kingdom attd 
Canons of Our Church. And so to strike equally on both hands 
against the Contemners of Our Authority, and Adversaries of 
Our Church. 

And as for Our good people's lawful recreation ; Our 
Pleasure likewise is, That after the end of Divine Service, Our 
good people be not disturbed, letted, or discouraged from any law- 
ftd recreation, such as Dancing (either men or women). Archery for 
men. Leaping, Vaulting, or any other such liarmless recreations; 
nor from having of May Games, Whitsun A les, and Morris Dances; 
and the setting up of May Poles, and other sports therewith used : 
so as the same be had in due and convenient time, without impedi- 
ment or neglect of Divine Service. And, That women shall have 
leave to carry rushes to the church for the decoring [decorating] of 
it, according to their old custom. 

But withal, tVe do here account still as prohibited, all unlawful 
games, to be used upon Stmdays only; as Bear and Bull baitings. 
Interludes: and, at all times, in the meaner sort of people by Law 
prohibited. Bowling. 

And, likewise, We bar from this benefit and liberty, all such 
known Recusants, either men or women, as will abstain from 
coining to Church or Divine Service : being, therefore, unworthy 
of any lawful recreation after the said Service, that will not 
first come to the Church, and serve GOD. 

Prohibiting, in like sort, the said recreation to any that, though 
i,onforme [conformable] in Religion, are not present in the Church, 
at the Service of GOD, before their going to the said recreations. 
Our Pleasure likewise is, That they to whom it bclongeth in 
Office, shall present, and sharply punish all such, as in abuse of 
this Our liberty, will use these exercises before the ends of all Divine 
Services for that day. 

And We, likewise, straitly command, That every person shall 
resort to his own Parish Church to hear Divine Service ; and each 
Parish, by itself, to use the said recreation after Divine Service. 

5i6 The Book of Sports. [f;"^iJ/;S^ 

Prohibiting likewise, Any offensive weapons to be carried or used 
in the said times of recreation. 

And Our Pleasure is, That this Our Declaration shall be pub- 
lished by order from the Bishop of the diocese, through all the 
Parish Churches ; and that both Our Judges of Our Circuit, and 
Our Justices of Our Peace be informed thereof. 

Given at Our Manor of Greenwich, the four and twentieth 
day of May [1618] in the sixteenth year of Our reign of 
England, France, and Ireland ; and of Scotland, the one and 

GOD save the King ! 


Declaration to His 



lawful Sports to 

be used. 

Imprinted at L O N D O N by 

Robert Barker, Printer to the King's most excellent 

Majesty: and by the Assigns of John Bill. 


TotiieKing. [ "^^^ 

[Charles I.'s Preface and Conclusion.] 

jUr dear Father, of blessed memory, in his return 
from Scotland, coming through Lancashire found that 
Ills subjects were debarred from lawful recreations upon 
Sundays, after Evening Prayers ended, and upon 
Holy Days : and he prudently considered, that if these 
times were taken from them, the meaner sort, who labour hard all 
the week, should have no recreations at all to refresh their spirits. 

And, after his return, he further saw that his loyal subjects in 
all other parts of his kingdom did suffer in the same kind, though 
perhaps not in the same degree. And did therefore, in his Princely 
wisdom, publish a Declaration to all his loving Subjects con- 
cerning the lawful Sports to be used at such times ; which was 
printed and published , by his royal commandment, in the year 1618, 
in the tcnour which hereafter followeth. 

I Oik, out of a like pious care for the service of GOD, 
and for suppressing of any humours that oppose 
Truth, and for the ease, comfort, and recreation of 
our well deserving people : We do ratify and publish 
this Our blessed father's Declaration. The rather 
because, of late, in some counties of Our kingdom. We find that, 
binder pretence of taking away abuses, there hath been a general 
Forbidding, not only of ordinary meetings, but of the Feasts of 
the Dedication of the Churches, commonly called Wakes. 

Now, Our express Will and Pleasure is, that these Feasts, with 
others, shall be observed ; and that Our Justices of the Peace, in 
their several divisions, shall look to it, both, that all disorders, 
there, may be prevented or punished ; and that all neighbourhood 
and freedom, with manlike and lawful exercises be used. 

And We further Command Our Justices of Assize, in their 
several circuits, to see that no man do trouble or molest any of Our 
loyal or dutiful people in or for their lawful recreations ; having first 
done their duty to GOD, and continuing in obedience to Us and Our 
Laws. And of this. We command all Our Judges, Justices of the 
Peace, as well within Liberties as without. Mayors, Bailiffs, Con- 
stables, and other Officers to take notice of ; and to see observed, as 
they tender Our displeasure. And We further will, that publica- 
tion of this Our Command be made, by order from the Bishops, 
through all the Parish Churches of their several diocese respectively. 
Given at Our Palace of Westminster, the i&th day of October 
[^16331, in the ninth year of Our reign. GOD save the King ! 



Lyrics, Elegies, &'c. from Madrigals, 
Canzonets, &'c. 

John Dow land, Bachelor of Music, &c., and 
Lutenist to C h r i s t i a N IV., King of Denmark. 

The Second Book of SoNqg or Air^. 

To THE Right Honourable, the 
Lady LUCY, Countess of BEDFORD. 

XCELLENT Lady ! I send unto your Ladyship 
from the Court of a foreign Prince, this Volume 
of my Second Labours, as to the worthiest 
Patronness of Micsic; which is the noblest of all 
sciences. For the whole frame of Nature is 
nothing but Harmony, as well in souls, as [in] 
bodies. And because I am now removed from 
your sight, I will speak boldly; that your 
Ladyship shall be unthankfid to Nature herself, if you do not 
love and defend that Art, by which she hath given you so well 
timed a mind I 

Your Ladyship hath in yourself , an excellent agreement of many 
virtues ; of which, though I admire all, yet I am bound by my pro- 
fession, to give especial honour to your knowledge of Music : which, 
in the judgement of ancient times, was so proper an excellency in 
women, that the Muses took their name from it ; and yet so rare, 
that the world durst imagine but Nine of them. 

I most humbly beseech your Ladyship to receive this work into 
your favour ; and the rather, because itcomcth far, to beg it of you. 
From Elsinore in Denmark, the first of Jime, 1600. 
Your Ladyship's, in all humble devotion, 



To the Right Noble and Virtuous Lady 
Lucy, Countess of Bedford, 

G[eorge]. Eastland. 

To y. D o IV L A N d' s Lntc. 

L IJTE ! Arise, and charm the air, 
U iitil a thousand forms she bear ! 
C onjtire them all, that they repair 
I nto the circles of her ear ; 
E ver to dwell in concord there ! 

B y this, thy tunes may have access 

E veil to her spirit, whose flowing treasure 

D oth sweetest harmony express ; 

F illing all ears and hearts with pleasure : 

O n earth, observing heavenly measure. 

R ight well can she judge and defend them ! 

D oubt not of that, for she can mend them ! 


To the Courteous Reader. 


IF THE consideration of mine own estate, or the 
true worth of money had prevailed with me above 
the desire of pleasuring you and shewing my love 
to my friend, these Second Labours of Master 
DowLAND — whose very name is a large Preface of commenda- 
tions to the book — had for ever lain hid in darkness, or at 
the least frozen in a cold and foreign country. 

I assure you that both my charge and pains in publishing 
it, hath exceeded ordinary [ones] : yet thus much I have to 
assure me of requital, that neither the work is ordinary ; nor 
are your judgements ordinary, to whom I present it ! so that 
I have no reason but to hope for good increase in my labours, 
especially of your good favours towards me; which of all 
things I most esteem. Which if I find in this, I mean shortly, 
GOD willing, to set at liberty for your service, a prisoner taken 
at Cadiz : who, if he discovers not something, in [the] matter 
of music, worthy [of] your knowledge ; let the reputation of 
my judgement in music answer [for] it! 

In the meantime, I commend my absent friend to your 
remembrance 1 and myself, to your favourable conceits ! 

From my house near The Green Dragon and Sword, 
in Fleet Street. 

Lyrics^ Elegies^ &'c. from Madrigals^ 
Ca7izo?iets^ ^c. 

John D o w l a n d . 
The Second Book of Sonq? or Air?. 

To the viost famous Anthony H o lborn e . 

Saw my Lady weep! 

And Sorrow proud ! to be advanced so 

In those fair eyes, where all perfections keep. 

Her face was full of woe! 
But such a woe (believe me ! ) as wins more 

Than Mirth can do, with her enticing parts. 

Sorrow was there made fair ! 
And Passion, wise ! Tears, a delightful thing ! 
Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare ! 

She made her sighs to sing. 
And all things with so sweet a sadness move ; 
As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 

O Fairer than ought else 
The world can shew! leave off, in time, to grieve 
Enough, enough ! Your joyful look excels ! 

Tears kill the heart, believe ! 
O strive not to be excellent in woe, 
Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow ! 

^"'•''^•'•May''^:] Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 523 


Low, my tears ! fall from your springs ! 
Exiled for ever, let me mourn 
Where night's black bird, her sad infamy sings 1 
There, let me live forlorn ! 
Never may my woes be relieved, since pity is fled ; 
And tears, and sighs, and groans, my weary days, of all joys 
have deprived. 

Down vain lights ! Shine you no more ! 
No nights are dark enough for those. 
That in despair, their last fortunes deplore. 
Light doth but shame disclose ! 
From the highest spire of contentment, my fortune is thrown ; 
And fear, and grief, and pain, for my deserts, are my hopes; 
since hope is gone. 

Hark, you shadows ! that in darkness dwell, 
Learn to contemn light ! 
Happy ! happy they, that, in hell, 
Feel not the world's despite! 

Orrow ! Sorrow, stay ! Lend true repentant tears 
To a woful wretched wight ! 
Hence ! hence, Despair! with thy tormenting fears. 
O do not, my poor heart affright ! 
Pity ! Pity, help now, or never ! Mark me not to endless pain ! 
Alas, I am condemned ever, no hope there doth remain, 
But down, down, down, down I fall ; 
And arise, I never shall. 

|Ie not before thy day I poor man condemned ! 
But lift thy low looks from th' humble earth ! 
Kiss not Despair, and see sweet Hope contemned ! 
The hag hath no delight, but moan for mirth ! 

524 Lyrics, Elegies, &c, 

O fie, poor fondling! fie, be willing 
To preserve thyself from killing 1 
Hope, thy keeper, glad to free thee, 
Bids thee go ! and will not see thee. 
Hie thee, quickly, from thy wrong ! " 
So She ends her willing song. 

OuRN ! Day is with darkness fled ! 
What heaven then governs earth ? 
O none, but hell, in heaven's stead, 
Chokes with his mists, our mirth. 

Mourn ! Look, now, for no more day ! 
Nor night, but that from hell ! 
Then all must, as they may. 
In darkness learn to dwell ! 

But yet this change must change our delight, 
That thus the Sun should harbour with the Night. 

Ime's eldest son. Old Age (the Heir of Ease, 
Strength's Foe, Love's Woe, and Foster to Devotion) 
Bids gallant Youth in martial prowess please ! 
As for himself, he hath no earthly motion ; [fices. 
But thinks Sighs, Tears, Vows, Prayers, and Sacri- 
As good as Shows, Masks, Jousts, or Tilt devices. 

Then sit thee down! and say thy Nunc dimitis ! 

With Deprofundis, Credo, and Te DEUM ! 

Chant Miserere, for what now so fit is 

As that, or this, Parainm est cor vieum ! 

O that thy Saint would take in worth thy heart ! 

Thou canst not please her with a better part. 

Ed.byj.Dowi^.-j Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 525 

When others sing Venite exultemus ! 

Stand by, and turn to Noli emulari ! 

For Quare fremuerunt, use Oremus ! 

Vivat Eliza ! for an Ave Mari ! 

And teach those Swains that hve about thy cell ; 

To sing Amen, when thou dost pray so well ! 

IRaise blindness. Eyes ! for seeing is deceit. 
Be dumb, vain Tongue ! words are but ilattering 

Break Heart, and bleed ! for there is no receipt 
To purge inconstancy from most men's minds. 

And so I waked amazed, and could not move ; 

I know my dream was true, and yet I love ! 

And if thine Ears, false heralds to thy heart. 
Convey into thy head, hopes to obtain ; 
Then tell thy hearing, thou art deaf by Art ! 
Now, Love is Art ; that wonted to be plain. 

And so I waked amazed, and could not move ; 

I know my dream was true, and yet I love ! 

Now none is bald, except they see his brams ! 
Affection is not known, till one be dead ! 
Reward for love, are labours for his pains ! 
Love's quiver made of gold, his shafts of lead. 

And so I waked amazed, and could not move ; 

I know my dream was true, and yet I love 1 

To Master Hugh Holland. 

Rom Fame's desire, from Love's delight retired ; 
In these sad groves, an hermit's life I lead : 
And those false pleasures, which I once admired. 
With sad remembrance of my fall, I dread 

526 Lyrics, Elegies, &c. fuom [''''•''''■'m;;"'^ 

To birds, to trees, to earth, impart I this ; 
For she less secret, and as senseless is! 

O sweet woods ! the delight of solitariness ! 

how much do I love your solitariness I 

Experience which repentance only brings, 
Doth bid me, now, my heart from Love estrange ! 
Love is disdained, when it doth look at kings ; 
And Love low placed, base and apt to change. 
There, Power doth take from him his liberty 1 
Her Want of Worth makes him in cradle die ! 

O sweet woods ! the delight of solitariness ! 

O how much do I love your solitariness ! 

You men that give false worship unto Love, 
And seek that which you never shall obtain ; 
The endless work of Sisyphus you procure ! 
Whose end is this, to know you strive in vain. 
Hope and Desire, which now your idols be ! 
You needs must lose, and feel Despair with me ! 

sweet woods ! the delight of solitariness ! 

O how much do I love your solitariness 1 

You woods ! in you, the fairest Nymphs have walked ! 
Nymphs, at whose sights all hearts did yield to love. 
You woods ! in whom dear lovers oft have talked. 
How do you now a place of mourning prove ? 
Wansted, my Mistress, saith, " This is the doom ! 
Thou art Love's childbed ! nursery ! and tomb ! " 

sweet woods ! the delight of solitariness! 

O how much do I love your solitariness ! 

|Ine knacks for ladies! cheap! choice! brave! and 
Good pennyworths ! but money cannot move ! 
I keep a fair, but for the Fair to view ! 

'■'■May'"^:] Madrigals, Canzonets, &c, 527 

A beggar may be liberal of love. 

Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true, 
The heart is true, 
The heart is true. 

Great gifts are guiles, and look for gifts again. 
My trifles come, as treasures from my mind ! 
It is a precious jewel to be plain ! 
Sometimes in shell, th' orientest pearls we find. 
Of others, take a sheaf ! of me, a grain ! 

Of me, a grain ! 

Of me, a grain ! 

Within this pack, pins I paints I laces ! and gloves ! 
And divers toys fitting a country fair ! 
But my heart, where duty serves and loves, 
Turtles and twins ! Court's brood 1 a heavenly pair! 
Happy the heart that thinks of no removes ! 

Of no removes ! 

Of no removes ! 

i|Ow cease my wand'ring eyes, 
Strange beauties to admire ! 
In change least comfort lies. 
Long joys yield long desire. 
One faith, one love. 
Make our frail pleasures eternal, and in sweetness prove ! 

New hopes, new joys 
Are still, with sorrow, declining unto deep annoys. 

One man hath but one soul 

Which Art cannot divide ; 
If all one soul must love. 

Two loves must be denied ! 

One soul, one love, 
By faith and merit united, cannot remove! 

Distracted spirits 
Are ever changing, and hapless in their delights. 

Nature, two eyes hath given. 

All beauty to impart, 
As well in earth as heaven : 
But She hath given one heart ! 
That though we see, 
Ten thousand beauties, yet in us One should be ! 

One stedfast love ! 
Because our hearts stand fixed, although our eyes do move 

J|Ome, ye heavy States of Night ! 

Do my father's spirit right ; 

Soundings baleful, let me borrow, 

Burthening my song with sorrow. 

Come Sorrow, come ! Her eyes that sings, 
By thee, are turned into springs. 

Come, You Virgins of the Night, 

That, in dirges' sad delight ! 

Quire my anthems ! I do borrow 

Gold nor pearl, but sounds of sorrow ! 

Come Sorrow, come ! Her eyes that sings, 
By thee, are turned into springs. 

|HiTE as lilies was her face ! 

When She smiled, 
She beguiled ! 
Quitting faith, with foul disgrace. 
Virtue, Service, thus neglected, 
Heart with sorrows hath infected. 

Ed. by j.Dowiand.-] Madrigals, Canzonets. &c. 529 

When I swore my heart her own, 

She disdained ! 

I complained, 
Yet She left me overthrown ! 
Careless of my bitter groaning, 
Ruthless, bent to no relieving. 

Vows, and oaths, and faith assured. 
Constant ever, 
Changing never ; 

Yet She could not be procured, 

To believe my pains exceeding ! 

From her scant neglect proceeding. 

O that Love should have the art, 
By surmises, 
And disguises, 

To destroy a faithful heart ! 

Or that wanton looking women. 

Should reward their friends, as foemen I 

All in vain, is Ladies' love ; 

Quickly choosed, 
Shortly losed. 

For their pride is to remove ! 

Out, alas ! Their looks first won us, 

And their pride hath straight undone usl 

To thyself, the sweetest Fair ! 

Thou hast wounded, 
And confounded 

Changeless Faith, with foul Despair ! 

And my service hath envied; 

And my succours hath denied ! 

ENG. CAR IV. 34 

530 LvRics, Ei. Ef:iES, &c. from ['^'' '*' -'■m;,7','^. 

By thine error, thou hast lost 

Heart unfeigned, 

Truth unstained ; 
And the Swain, that loved most : 
More assured in love than many, 
More despised in love than any. 

For my heart, though set at nought ; 

Since you will it, 

Spoil and kill it ! 
I will never change my thoughts ! 
But grieve that Beauty e'er was born. 
[? But grieve that Beauty e'er was born.] 

[Oful Heart, with grief oppressed 1 
Since my fortunes most distressed, 

From my joys hath me removed. 
Follow those sweet eyes adored ! 
Those sweet eyes, wherein are stored, 
All my pleasures best beloved. 

Fly, my Breast ! Leave me forsaken ! 
Wherein Grief his seat hath taken ; 

All his arrows through me darting. 
Thou majest live by her sunshining ! 
I shall suffer no more pining 

By thy loss, than by her parting. 

Shepherd in a shade, his plaining made 

Of love, and lover's wrong. 
Unto the fairest Lass, that trode on grass, 

And thus began his song : 
'Since Love and Fortune will, I honour still 

Your fair and lovely eye ! 
What conquest will it be, sweet Nymph ! for tlitL 

If I, for sorrow die ? 

^''•''''^MaTS:] Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 531 

Restore ! restore, my heart again ! 

Which love, by thy sweet looks hath slain ! 

Lest that, enforced by your disdain, 

I sing ' Fie on love ! it is a foolish thing ! ' 

"My heart where have you laid, O cruel Maid! 
To kill, when you might save ! 
Why have ye cast it forth, as nothing worth, 

Without a tomb, or grave ? 
O let it be entombed, and lie 

In your sweet mind and memory ! 
Lest I resound on every warbling string, 

' Fie ! fie on love ! that is a foolish thing ! * 
Restore ! restore, my heart again ! 
Which love, by thy sweet looks hath slain ! 
Lest that, enforced by your disdain, 
I sing ' Fie on love ! it is a foolish thing ! ' " 

Hall I sue? shall I seek for grace ? 

Shall I pray ? shall I prove ? 
Shall I strive to a heavenly joy, 

With an earthly love ? 
Shall I think that a bleeding heart. 

Or a wounded eye, 
Or a sigh, can ascend the clouds, 

To attain so high ? 

Silly wretch ! Forsake these dreams 

Of a vain Desire ! 
O bethink what high regard, 

Holy hopes do require ! 
Favour is as fair as things are ! 

Treasure is not bought ! 
Favour is not won with words. 

Nor the wish of a thought. 

532 Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from ['"''■'"^Z 

Pity is but a poor defence 

For a dying heart : 
Ladies' eyes respect no moan 

In a mean desert. 
She is too worthy far, 

For a worth so base ! 
Cruel, and but just is She, 

In my just disgrace. 

Justice gives each man his own. 

Though my love be just. 
Yet will not She pity my grief ! 

Therefore die I must ! 
Silly heart ! then yield to die ! 

Perish in despair ! 
Witness yet, how fain I die, 

When I die for the Fair ! 

|Oss not my soul, O Love ! 'twixt hope and fear ! 
Show me some ground where I may firmly stand. 
Or surely fall ! I care not which appear ! 
So one will close me in a certain band. 

When once of ill, the uttermost is known ; 
The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown ! 

Take me, Assurance ! to thy blissful hold ! 

Or thou. Despair ! unto thy darkest cell ! 

Each hath full rest ! The one, in joys enroU'd : 

Th' other, in that he fears no more, is well. 
When once the uttermost of ill is known. 
The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown ! 

■''' ^?a;l6"o^:] Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 533 

|Lear or cloudy, sweet as April show'ring, 
Smooth or frowning, so is her Face to me. 
Pleased or smiling, like mild May all flow'ring : 
When skies, blue silk, and meadows, carpets be. 
Her Speeches, notes of that night bird that singeth, 
Who, thought all sweet, yet jarring notes outringeth. 

Her Grace, like June, when earth and trees be trimmed 

In best attire, of complete beauty's height. 

Her Love again, like Summer's days be dimmed, 

With little clouds of doubtful constant faith. 

Her Trust, her Doubt, like rain and heat in skies ; 

Gently thund'ring. She light'ning to mine eyes. 

Sweet Summer ! Spring ! that breatheth life and growing 

In weeds, as into herbs and flowers ; 

And sees of service, divers sorts in sowing. 

Some haply seeming, and some being yours : 

Rain on your herbs and flowers that truly seem ! 

And let your weeds lack dew, and duly starve ! 

A Dialogue. 

Umour, say ! What mak'st thou here 
In presence of a Queen ? 
Thou art a heavy leaden mood 1 

Chorus. But never Humour yet was true. 
But that which only pleaseth you ! 

Princes hold conceit most dear, 
All conceit in Humour seen ; 
Humour is Invention's food. 

534 Lyrics, Elegies, &c. ['■'■'" '■ii:;\Z 

Chorus. But never Humour yet was true, 
But that which only pleaseth you ! 

O, I am as heavy as earth, 

Say, then, who is Humour now ? 

Why, then, 'tis I am drowned in woe ? 

Chorus. But never Humour yet was true. 
But that which only pleaseth you ! 

I am now inclined to mirth, 
Humour I, as well as thou ! 
No, no Wit is cherished so. 

Chorus. But never Humour yet was true. 
But that which only pleaseth you! 

Mirth, then, is drowned in Sorrow's brim. 
No, no, fool ! The light things swim ; 
Heavy things sink to the deep ! 

Chorus. But never Humour yet was true, 
But that which only pleaseth you! 

O, in sorrow, all things sleep 1 
In her presence, all things smile; 
Humour, frolic then awhile ! 

Chorus. But never Humour yet was true, 
But that which only pleaseth you ! 

[Then follows a piece of instrumental music, entitled 
Dowland's Adieu for Master Oliver Cromwell. 


The Sequestration of Archbishop Abbot 

from all his Ecclesiastical 

Offices^ i7i 1627. 

John Rushworth, Esq., of 
Lincoln's Inn. 

[It will be necessary, ere long, to establish a Society for the Preservation 
of the Me mory of the Stuart Kiiis:s of Eiiglaiid, from Universal Exe- 
cration ; so much is it now seen, that, stripped of the mantle of their 
Kingship.theywereunworthy of the name of English Gentlemen. Scotland 
could have sent us many a better bred family ! 

What a picture has the good Archbishop given us of the English King 
and Court in the first days of the reign of the so called Royal Martyr. 
Charles, first claimingfor himself an unbounded power over his subjects, 
and then lavishly bestowing it on his favourite BUCKINGHAM, is the 
modern counterpart of NEBUCHADNEZZAR setting up his golden image 
"in the plain of Dura, in the province of Babylon." 

Note that this Narrative was written without the faintest concep- 
tion or realisation of such a possibility as a national rising under the 
guidance of the Long Parliament. The two characters, of Laud at/. 548, 
and of Buckingham at/. 574, are Eye-Witness portraits, and should be 
included, unabridged, in every future History of England. Imagine an 
Archbishop scornfully speaking (/. 548) of Bishop LAUD as "what a 
sweet man he was likely to be ! " 

It should be also remembered that LAUD records in his Diary, that 
on the 2nd October, 1626 {i.e., nine months before the Archbishop's 
present Narrative was written), CHARLES 1. promised him the reversion 
of the Archbishopric, when Doctor Abbot should die.] 

[Historical Colleclicis, i. 435- EJ. 1659.] 

RcHBiSHOP Abbot, having been long 
slighted at Court, now fell under the 
King's high displeasure ; for refusing to 
icense Doctor Sibthorp's sermon, en- 
tituled Apostolical Obedience, as he was 
commanded; and, not long after, he was 
sequestered from his Office, and a Com- 
mission was granted to the Bishops of 
Durham, Rochester, Oxford, and Doctor, 


536 The Royal Commission skouestrating [qOci. 

Laud, Bishop of Bath and Wells, to exercise archi- 

episcopal jurisdiction. 

The Commission is followeth — 

Charles, by the grace of GOD, King of England, 
Scotland, France, and Ireland ; Defender of the Faith, &c. 
To the Right Reverend Father in GOD, George [Mon- 
taigne], Bishop of London ; and to the Right Reverend 
Father in GOD, our trusty and iccll beloved Councillor, 
Richard [Neyle], Lord Bishop of Durham ; and to the 
Right Reverend Father in GOD, John [Buckeridge], 
Lord Bishop of ROCHESTER ; and to the Right Reverend 
Father in GOD, John [Howson], Lord Bishop of Ox- 
ford; and to the Right Reverend Father in GOD, our 
Right Trusty and Well Beloved Councillor, William 
[Laud], Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells. 

\Hereas George, now Archbishop of Canterbury, 
in the right of the Archbishopric, hath several and 
distinct Archiepiscopal, Episcopal, and other Spiritual 
and Ecclesiastical Powers and Jurisdictions, to be 
exercised in the Government and Discipline of the 
Church within the Province Y Canterbury, and in the Administra- 
tion of Justice in Causes Ecclesiastical within that Province, uhich 
are partly executed by himself in his own person, and partly and 
more generally by several persons nominated and authorised by him, 
being learned in the Ecclesiastical Laws of this Realm, in those 
several places whercunto they are deputed and appointed by the 
said Archbishop : which several places, as We are informed, they 
severally hold by several Grants for their several lives, as namely. 
Sir Henry Martin Knight hath and holdeth by the 
grants of the said Archbishop, the Offices and Places of the 
Dean of the A rches, and Judge or Master of the Prerogative 
Court, for the natural life of 'the said Sir Henry Martin. 
Sir Charles Caesar Knight hath and holdeth by grants 
of the said Archbishop, the Places or Offices of the Judge of 
the A udicnce, and Master of the Faculties, for the term of the 
natural life of the said Sir Charles Cjesar. 

Sir Thomas Ridley Knight hath and holdeth by the 
grant of the said Archbishop, the Place or Office of Vicar 
General to the said Archbishop. 
And Nathaniel Brent, Doctor of the Laws, hath and 

i627.]ARciiBisnop Abbot from his functions. 537 

holdeth by gvant of the said Archbishop, the Office or Place 
of Commissary to the said Archbishop, as of his proper and 
peculiar diocese of Canterbury. 

And likewise the several Registrars of the Arches, Prero- 
gative, Audience, Faculties, and of the Vicar General and 
Commissary of Canterbury, hold their places by grants by the 
said Archbishop respectively. 

Whereas the said Archbishop, in some or all of these several 
Places and Jurisdictions, doth and may sometimes assume unto his 
personal and proper Jtidicature, Order, or Direction, some parti- 
cular Causes, Actions, or Cases, at his pleasure. And forasmuch 
as the said A rchbishop cannot, at this present, in his own person, 
attend these services which are otherwise proper for his Cognisance 
and Jurisdiction ; and which as Archbishop of Canterbury, he 
might and ought in his own person to have performed and executed 
in Causes and Matters Ecclesiastical, in the proper function of 
Archbishop of the Province. 

We, therefore, of Our regal power, and of Our princely care 
and providence, that nothing shall be defective in the Order 
Discipline, Government, or Right of the Church, have thought fit 
by the service of some other learned and reverend Bishops, to be 
named by Us, to supply those which the said Archbishop ought or 
might, in the cases aforesaid, to have done ; but, for this present, 
cannot perform the same. 

Know ye, therefore, That We, reposing special trust and con- 
fidence in your approved wisdoms, learning, and integrity, have 
nominated, authorised, and appointed, and do, by these presents, 
nominate, authorise, and appoint You, the said George, Lord 
Bishop of London; Richard, Lord Bishop of Durham; 
John, Lord Bishop of Rochester ; John, Lord Bishop of 
Oxford; and William, Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells, 
or any four, three, or two of you, to do, execute, and perform all 
and every those acts, matters, and things any way touching or 
concerning the Power, Jurisdiction, or Atithority of the A rchbishop 
of Canterbury in Causes or Matters Ecclesiastical, as amply, 
fully, and effectually, to all intents andpurposes, as the said Arch- 
bishop himself might have done. 

And We do hereby Command you, and every of you, to attend, 
perform, and execute this Our Royal Pleasure in and touching 
the premises, until We shall declare Our Will and Pleasure to 
the contrary. 

ST,S A FIT Rkcord or Akhitkaky Powek. 

And We do further hereby Will and Command the said Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, quietly and without interruption, to 
permit and suffer you the said George, Bishop of London ; 
Richard, Bishop of Durham ; John, Bishop of Rochester: 
John, Bishop of Oxford; and William, Bishop of Bath 
and Wells; any four, three, or two of you, to execute and 
perform this Our Commission, according to Our Royal Pleasure 
thereby sii^nified. 

And We do further Will and Command all and every other 
person and persons, whom it may any way concern in their several 
Places or Offices, to be attendant, observant, and obedient to you 
and every of you, in the execution and performance of this Our 
Royal Will and Command; as they and every of them will answer 
the contrary at their utmost perils. 

Nevertheless, We do hereby declare Our Royal Pleasure to be 
That they the said Sir Henry Martin, Sir Charles Caesar, 
Sir Thomas Ridley, and Nathaniel Brent, in their 
several Offices and Places; and all other Registrars, Officers, ani 
Ministers in the several Courts, Offices, and Jurisdictions apper- 
taining to the said Archbishop, shall, quietly and without inter- 
ruption, hold, use, occupy, and enjoy their several Offices and 
Places, which they now hold by the grant of the said Archbishop, 
or of any other former Archbishop of CANTERBURY, in such 
manner and form, and with those benefits, privileges, powers, and 
authorities which they now have, hold, and enjoy therein or there- 
out, severally and respectively : they, and every of them, in 
their several Places, being attendant and obedient unto yon, the 
said George, Bishop of London; Richard, Bishop of 
Durham ; John, Bishop of Rochester ; John, Bishop of 
Oxford; and William, Bishop of Bath and Wells; 
or to any four, three, or two of you, in all things according to 
the tenour of this our Our Commission ; as they should or ought 
to have been to the said Archbishop himself, if this Commission 
had not been had or made. 

In witness whereof, We have caused these our Letters to be 
made Patents. Witness Our Self, at Westminster, the ninth day 
of October [1627] in the third year of our reign. 
Per ipsum Regem. 

E d M o N D s. 

Archbishop A b b o t's own Narrative. 

[RnSHWoRTH. Historical CoiUctioiis, ii/em.] 

Pars Prima. 

|T IS an example, so without example, that in the 
sunshine of the Gospel ; in the midst of profession 
of the true religion ; under a gracious King, whom 
all the world must acknowledge to be blemished 
with no vice ; a man of my place and years, who 
has done some service in the Church and Commonwealth, so 
deeply laden with some furious infirmities of body, should be 
removed from his ordinary habitation, and, by a kind of 
deportation, should be thrust into one end of the Island 
(although I must confess into his own diocese), that I hold 
it fit that the reason of it should be truly understood, least it 
may someways turn to the scandal of my person and calling. 
Which Declaration, notwithstanding, I intend not to com- 
municate to any, but to let it lie by me privately; that it 
being set down impartially, whilst all things are fresh in 
memory, I may have recourse to it hereafter, if questions 
shall be made of anything contained in this Relation. 

And this I hold necessary to be done, by reason of the 
strangeness of that, which, by way of Censure, was inflicted 
upon me ; being then of the age of sixty-five years, encum- 
bered with the gout, and afflicted with the stone : having 
lived so many years in a Place of great service, and, for 
ought I know, untainted in any of my actions; although my 
Master, King James (who resteth with GOD) had both a 
searching wit of his own to discover his servants, whom he 
put in trust, whether they took any sinister courses or not; 
and wanted not some suggesters about him, to make the 
worst of all men's actions whom they could misreport. 

Yet this innocency and good fame to be overthrown in a 
month ! and a Christian Bishop suddenly to be made jabiila 
vulgi, to be tossed upon the tongues of friends and foes, of 
Protestants and Papists, of Court and Country, of English 
and Foreigners, must needs, in common opinion, presuppose 
some crime, open or secret ; which, being discovered by the 

540 The Arciibisiiop afflicted with [^j^ jii^^s";; 

King, albeit not fully appearing to the world, must draw on 
indignation in so high a measure. 

I cannot deny that the indisposition of my body kept me 
from Court, and thereby gave occasion to maligners to traduce 
me, as, " withdrawing myself from public services, and there- 
fore misliking some coursesthat were taken " : which abstain- 
ing, perhaps, neither pleased the King, nor the Great Man 
that set them on foot. 

It is true, that in the turbulency of some things, I had not 
great invitements to draw me abroad ; but to possess my soul 
in patience till GOD sent fairer weather. But the true ground 
for my abstaining from solemn and public places, was the 
weakness of my feet, proceeding from the gout : which 
disease being hereditary unto me, and having possessed me 
now nine years, had debilitated me more and more ; so that 
I could not stand at all, neither could I go up or down a pair 
of stairs but, besides my staff, I must have the service of 
one at least, of my men, who were not fit to be admitted in 
every place where I was to come. 

And although I was oft remembered by the wisest of my 
friends, that " I might be carried, as the old Lord Treasurer 
Burleigh was!" yet I did not think my service so neces- 
sary for the commonwealth, as his Lordship's, by long experi- 
ence, was found to be. I did not value myself at so high a 
rate ; but remembered that it was not the least cause of 
overthrow to Robert [Devereux], Earl of Essex, that he 
prized himself so, as if Queen Elizabeth and the Kingdom 
could not well have stood, if he had not supported both the 
one and the other. 

Now for me, thus enfeebled, not with gout only, but with 
the stone and gravel, to wait on the King or the Council 
Table, was, by me, held a matter most inconvenient. In the 
Courts of Princes, there is little feeling of [for] the infirmities 
belonging to old age. They like them that be young and 
gallant in their actions, and in their clothes. They love not 
that men should stick too long in any room of greatness. 
Change and alteration bringeth somewhat with it ; what have 
they to do with kerchiefs and staves, with lame or sickly 
men ? It is certainly true, there is little compassion upon the 
bodily defects of any. The Scripture speaketh of " men stand- 
ing before Kings." It were an uncouth sight to see the subject 

^{■"'fuiy 1627'.] THE Gout and the Stone. 541 

sit the day before the Coronation : when, on the morrow, I 
had work enough for the strongest man in England, being 
weaii in my feet, and coming to Whitehall to see things in 
readiness against the next day. Yet, notwithstanding the 
stone and gout, I was not altogether an inutile servant in the 
King's affairs ; but did all things in my house that were to 
be done: as in keeping the High Commission Court, doing 
all inferior actions conducing thereto ; and despatching refer- 
ences from His Majesty that came thick upon me. 

These Relations which are made concerning me, be of 
certain truth ; but reach not to the reason I was discarded. 

To understand therefore the verity, so it is, that the Duke 
of Buckingham (being still great in the favour of the King; 
could endure no man that would not depend upon him) among 
other men, had me in his eye, for not stooping unto him, so 
asto become his vassal. 

I (that had learned a lesson, which I constantly hold, To 
be no man's servant, but the King's : for mine old royal Master 
which is with GOD, and mine own reason did teach me so) 
went on mine own ways ; although I could not but observe, 
that as many as walked in that path did suffer for it upon all 
occasions, and so did I : nothing wherein I moved my Master 
taking place ; which, finding so clearly (as if the Duke had 
set some ill character upon me), I had no way but to rest in 
patience ; leaving all to GOD, and looking to myself as 
warily as I might. But this did not serve the turn ; his 
undertakings were so extraordinary, that every one that was 
not with him, was presently [instantly] against him : and if a 
hard opinion were once entertained, there was no place left 
for satisfaction or reconciliation. What befell the Earl of 
Arundel, Sir Randal Carew, and divers others, I need not 
to report; and no man can make doubt but he blew the 

For myself, there is a gentleman called Sir H. S., who 
gave the first light what should befall me. 

This Knight, being of more livelihood than wisdom, had 
married the Lady D., sister of the now Earl of E. ; and 
had so treated her, both for safeguard of her honour, blemished 
by him scandalously ; and for her alimony or maintenance, 
being glad to get from him ; she was forced to endure a suit 
in the High Commission Court. 

So to strengthen his party, he was made known to the 
Duke ; and, by means of a dependent on his Grace, he got a 
letter from the King, that " The Commissioners should pro- 
ceed no further in hearing of that cause; by reason thatitbeing 
a difference between a Gentleman and his Wife, the King's 
Majesty would hear it himself." The solicitor for the lady, 
findingthatthecourseof Justice was stopped, did so earnestly, 
by petition, move the King, that, by another letter, there was 
a relaxation of the former restraint, and the Commissioners 
Ecclesiastical went on. 

But now, in the new proceeding, finding himself by justice 
like[ly] enough to be pinched ; he did publicly in the Court, 
refuse to speak by any Counsel, but would plead his cause 
himself: wherein he did bear the whole business so disorderly 
and tumultuously, and unrespectively [disrespectfully], that, 
after divers reproofs, I was enforced, for the honour of the 
Court and the reputation of the High Commission, to tell 
him openly that " If he did not carry himself in a better 
fashion, I would commit him to prison ! " 

This so troubled the young gallant, that, within few days 
after, being at dinner or supper (where some wished me well), 
he bolted it out that " As for the Archbishop, the Duke had a 
purpose to turn him out of his Place, and that he did but wait 
the occasion to effect it." Which being brought unto me, 
constantly, by more ways than one ; I was now in expecta- 
tion, what must be the issue of this Great Man's indignation ; 
which fell out to be, as followeth. 

There was one Sibthorp, who, not being so much as a 
Bachelor of Arts (as it hath been credibly reported unto me), 
by means of Doctor Peirce, Dean of Peterborough (being 
Vice Chancellor of O.xford), did get to be confirmed upon him, 
the title of a Doctor. 

This man is Vicar of Brackley, in Northamptonshire; and 
hath another benefice not far from it, in Buckinghamshire : 
but the lustre of his honour did arise from being the son-in- 
law of Sir John Lamb, Chancellor of Peterborough, whose 
daughter he married ; and was put into the Commission of 

When the Lent Assizes were, in February last [1627], at 
Northampton, the man that preached [wi the 22nd of the month] 

t%yf6°7^A postol/calObed/ejvce, atNortuaufton. 543 

before the Judges there, was this worthy Doctor : where, 
magnifying the authority of Kings (which is so strong in the 
Scripture, that it needs no flattery any ways to extol it), he 
let fall divers speeches which were distasteful to the auditors, 
and namely, " That Kings had power to put poll money upon 
their subjects' heads " : when, against those challenges, men 
did frequently mourn. 

He, being a man of low fortune, conceived that the putting 
his sermon [entitled " Apostolical Obedience "] in print, might 
gain favour at Court and raise his fortune higher, on he goeth 
with the transcribing of his sermon ; and got a bishop or two 
to prefer this great service to the Duke. It being brought 
unto the Duke, it cometh in his head, or was suggested to 
him by some malicious body, that, thereby, the Archbishop 
might be put to some remarkable strait. For if the King 
should send the sermon unto him, and command him to allow 
it to the press, one of these two things would follow : that, 
either he should authorise it, and so, all men that were in- 
different should discover him for a base and unworthy beast; 
or he should refuse it, and so should fall into the King's 
indignation, who might pursue it at his pleasure as against 
a man that was contrary to his service. 

Out of this fountain flowed all the water that afterwards so 
wet. In rehearsing whereof, I must set down divers par- 
ticulars ; which some man may wonder how they should be 
discovered unto me : but let it suffice, once for all, that in the 
word of an honest man and a Bishop, I recount nothing but 
whereof I have good warrant ; GOD Himself working means. 

The matters were revealed unto me, although it be not 
convenient that, in this Paper, I name the manner how they 
came unto me ; lest such as did, by well doing, farther me, 
should receive blame for their labour. 

Well, resolved it is, that " I be put to it ! and that, with 
speed ! " and therefore Master William Murray (nephew as, 
I think, unto Master Thomas Murray, sometimes Tutor to 
Prince Charles), now of the King's Bedchamber, is sent to 
me with the written Sermon : of whom, I must say, that 
albeit he did the King his Master's service ; yet he did use 
himself temperately and civilly unto me. 

For avoding of inquit and inqaam, as TuLLY saith, / said 

this and he said that, I will make it by way of dialogue : not 
setting down every day's conference exactly by itself, but 
mentioning all things in the whole; yet distinguishing of times 
where, for the truth of the Relation, it cannot be avoided. 

Murray. My Lord ! I am sent unto you by the King, to 
let you know that his pleasure is, That whereas there is 
brought unto him, a Sermon to be printed : you should allow 
this Sermon to the press. 

Archbishop. I was never he that authorised books to be 
printed : for it is the work of my Chaplains to read over other 
men's writings, and what is fit, to let it go ; what is unfit, to 
expunge it. 

Murray. But the King will have you yourself to do this, 
because he is minded that no books shall be allowed, but by 
you and the Bishop of London [then George Montaigne] : 
and my Lord of London authorised one the other day, 
CosENS's book ; and he will have you do this. 

Archbishop. This is an occupation that my old Master, King 
James, did never put me to ; and yet I was then young, and 
had more abilities of body than I now have : so that I see I 
must now learn a new lesson. But leave it with me ! and 
when I have read it, I shall know what to say unto it. A 
day or two hence, you shall understand my mind. 

When I had once or twice perused it ; I found some words 
which seemed to me to cross that which the King intended, 
and, in a sort, to destroy it ; and therefore upon his return a 
day or two after, I expressed myself thus : 

Master Murray ! I conceive that the King intended that 
this Sermon shall promote the service now in hand about 
the Loan of Money: but in my opinion he much crosseth 
it. For he layeth it down for a rule (and because it should 
not be forgotten, he repeateth it again) that Christians 
are bound in duty one to another, especially all subjects to 
their Princes, according to the Laics and Customs of the 
Kingdom wherein they live. Out of this, will men except 
this Loan ; because there is neither Law nor Custom for 
it, in the Kingdom of England. 

Secondly. In myjudgement, there followeth a dangerous 
speech, Habcmus nccessitatem vindicanda libertatis. (For 

^Yf^ly^tTj^ A TRAP TO CATCH THE AKClIlilSHOr. 545 

this was all that was then quoted out of Calvin, no 
mention being made of any the other words which are, 
now, in the printed copy.) For when, by the former rule 
he hath set men at liberty whether they will pay or not ; he 
imposeth upon them a necessity to vindicate this liberty ; 
and vindicare may be extended to challenge with violence, 
cum vi. But, for my part, I would be most unwilling to 
give occasion to Sedition and Mutiny in the kingdom ! 

Again, here is mention made of Poll Money; which, 
as I have heard, hath already caused much distaste 
where the Sermon was preached. 

Moreover, what a speech is this ? That he observes the 
forwardness of the Papists to offer double according to an A ct 
of Parliament so providing; yea, to profess that they would 
part with the half of their goods : where he quoteth in the 
margent, Anno 1. Caroli, the Act for the Subsidy of the 
Laity, whereby Popish Recusants were to pay double ; when 
indeed there is no such Act ! 

And in the fifth place, it is said in this Sermon, that 
the Princes of Bohemia have power to depose their Kings, as 
not being hereditary. Which is a great question : such a 
one as hath cost much blood ; and must not in a word 
be absolutely defined here, as if it were without con- 

I pray you, make His Majesty acquainted with these 
things ! and take the book with you! 
Wliere it is to be noted, that, all this time, we had but one 

single copy [manuscript] ; which was sometimes at the Court, 

and sometimes left with me. 

Murray. I will faithfully deliver these things to the King, 

and then you shall hear further from me ! 

Some two or three days after, he returneth again unto me, 
and telleth me. That he had particularly acquainted the King 
with my objections ; and His Majesty made this answer. 

First. For the Laws and Customs of the Kingdom, 

he did not stand upon that. He had a precedent for 

that which he did, and thereon he would insist. 

Archbishop. I think that to be a mistaking ; for I fear there 

will be found no such precedent. King Henry VHI., as the 

Chronicle sheweth, desired but a Sixth Part of men's estates, 

EA'C. G,IR. IV. 35 

546 Discussions over the manuscript ['^^'' j;,iy '.'^J; 

Ten Groats in the Pound : our King desireth the whole six 
parts, full out; so much as men are set at in the Subsidy Book. 
And in the time of King Henry, although he were a powerful 
King; yet, for that taxation, there began against him little 
less than a rebellion ; so that he held it wisdom to desist ; 
and, laying the blame upon Cardinal Wolsey, professed that 
" he knew nothing of the matter." 

Murray. Secondly. The King saith for the words, 
Habciiivs ncccssitatcm vindicanda libertatis; he taketh them 
to be for him, and he will stand upon his liberty. 
Thirdly. For Poll Money, he thinketh it lawful. 
Fourthly. It is true, there was no such Act passed ; 
and therefore it must be amended. (And yet in the 
printed book, it is suffered still to stand! Such slight, 
and, I may say, slovenly care was had, by them that 
published this Sermon.) 

And fifthly. For that of Bohemia : he hath crossed it 
out of the book. 
Some other matters there were, against which I took 
exception ; but Master Murray being a young gentleman, 
although witty and full of good behaviour : I doubted that, 
being not deeply seen in Divinity, he could not so well con- 
ceive me or make report of my words to His Majesty : and 
therefore I, being lame and so disabled to wait on the King, 
did move him, that " He would, in my name, humbly beseech 
His Majesty to send [William Laud, then] the Bishop of 
Bath and Wells unto me ; and I would, by his means, make 
known my scruples." And so I dismissed Master Murray ; 
observing with myself, that the Answers to my five Objections 
especially to two or three [of them], were somewhat strange ; 
as if the King were resolved (were it to his good, or to his 
harm) to have the book go forth. 

After one or two days more, the young Gentleman cometh 
to me again, and telleth me, that "The King did not think it 
fit to send the Bishop of Bath unto me ; but that e.xpecteth 
I should pass the book." 

In the meantime, had gone over one High Commission 
day ; and this Bishop (who used otherwise on very few days, 
to fail) was not there: which being joined to His Majesty's 
message, made me, in some measure to smell that this whole 

'^v'' jii'ij^lfc?.'] oi' Doctor Si r. tiiori>'sSerm ON. 547 

business might have that Bishop's hand in it ; especially I 
knowing in general, the disposition of the man. 

The minds of those that were Actors for the publishing of 
the book, were not quiet at the Court, that the thing was not 
despatched. Therefore, one day, the Duke said to the King, 
" Do you see how this business is deferred ! If more expe- 
dition be not used, it will not be printed before the end of 
the Term: at which time, it is fit that it be sent down into 
the countreys [counties]." So eager was he, that either by my 
credit, his undertakings might be strengthened ; or at least, 
I might be contemned and derided, as an unworthy fellow. 

This so quickened the King, that the next message which 
was sent by Master Murray, was in some degree minatory, 
" That if I did not despatch it, the King would take some 
other course with me ! " 

When I found how far the Duke had prevailed ; I thought 
it my best way, to set down in writing, many objections, 
wherefore the book was not fit to be published : which I did 
modestly, and sent them to the King. 

1. (Page 2.) These words deserve to be well weighed, 
Aticl whereas the Prince pleads not the Power 0/ Prerof^ative. 

2. (Page 8.) The King's duty is first to direct and make 
Laws. There is no law made till the King assent unto 
it ; but if it be put simply to make Laws, it will make 
much startling at it. 

3. (Page 10.) If nothing may excuse front Active 
Obedience, but what is against the Law of GOD, or of 
Nature, or impossible ; how doth this agree with the first 
fundamental position: (Pages.) That all subjects are 
bound to all their Princes, according to the Laws and Customs 
of the Kingdom wherein they live. 

4. (Page II.) This is a fourth Case of Exception. The 
Poll Money, mentioned by him in Saint MATTHEW, was 
imposed by the Emperor as a Conqueror over the Jews: 
and the execution of it in England, although it was by 
a Law, produced a terrible effect in King Richard II.'s 
time ; when only it was used, for ought that appeareth, 

5. (Page 12.) It is, in the bottom. View of the reign 
of Henry III. ; and whether it be fit to give such 
allowance to the book ; being surreptitiously put out ? 

548 William Laud, i>rawn to the quick! ['^'fji.iy'.'Ji'JJ: 

6. (In the same page.) Let the largeness of those 
wordsbe well considered ! Yea, all Antiquity to he absolutely 
for A bsolute Obedience to Princes, in all Civil and Temporal 
things. For such cases as Naboth's Vineyard, may fall 
within this. 

7. (Page 14.) SiXTUS V. was dead before 1580. 

8. (In the same page.) Weigh it well, How this 
Loan may be called a Tribute ! and when it is said, We 
are promised, it shall not be immoderately imposed, how 
agreeth that, with His Majesty's Commission and Pro- 
clamation, which are quoted in the margent ? 

It should seem that this paper did prick to the quick ; and 
no satisfaction being thereby accepted, Bishop Laud is 
called, and he must go to answer to it in writing. 

This man is the only inward [intimate] counsellor with 
Buckingham : sitting with him, sometimes, privately whole 
hours; and feeding his humour with malice and spite. 

His life in O.xford was to pick quarrels in the Lectures of 
the Public Readers, and to advertise [denounce] them to the 
then Bishop of Durham [? T. Matthew, or his successor, 
W. James], that he might fill the ears of King James with 
discontents against the honest men that took pains in their 
Places, and settled the truth (that he called Puritanism) in 
their auditors. 

He made it his work, to see what books were in the 
press ; and to look over Epistles Dedicatory, and Prefaces to the 
Reader, to see what faults might be found. 

It was an observation what a sweet man this was like[ly] 
to be, that the first observable act that he did, was the 
marrying of the Earl of D;^evonshike] to the Lady R[ich] 
[Sec Vol. I. p. 483 j : when it was notorious to the world, 
that she had another husband, and the same a nobleman, 
who had divers children then living by her. 

King James did, for many years, take this so ill, that he 
would never hear of any great preferment of him : insomuch 
that Doctor Williams, the Bishop of Lincoln (who takcth 
upon him, to be the first promoter of him) hath many times 
said "That when he made mention of Laud to the King, 
His Majesty was so averse from it, that he was constrained 


oftentimes to say that ' He would never desire to serve that 
Master, which could not remit one fault unto his servant.' " 

Well, in the end, he did conquer it, to get him [on the 10th 
October, 1621; the Bishopric of St. Davids: which he had 
not long enjoyed ; hut he began to undermine his benefactor, 
as, at this day, it appeareth. 

The Countess of Buckingham told Lincoln, that " St. 
Davids was the man that undermined him with her son." 
And, verily, such is his aspiring nature, that he will under- 
work any man in the world ! so that he may gain by it. 

This man, who believeth so well of himself, framed an 
Answer to my Exceptions. 

But to give some countenance to it ; he must call in three 
other Bishops, that is to say, Durham, Rochester, and 
Oxford, tried men for such a purpose! and the style of the 
Speech runneth, " We, and We." This seemed so strong a 
Confutation, that, for reward of their service, as well as for 
hope that they would do more, Doctor Neyle, Bishop of 
Durham, and the Bishop of Bath, were sworn of the Privy 

The very day, being Sunday, Master Murray was sent 
unto me, with a writing : but finding me all in a sweat, by 
a fit of the stone which was then upon me, he forbore, for 
that time, to trouble me, and said, " That on the morrow, 
he would repair to me again." 

I got me to bed, and lying all that night in pain ; I held it 
convenient not to rise the next day. 

And on the Monday, Master Murray came unto me; 
which was the eighth time that he had been with me, so 
incessantly was I plied with this noble work. 

I had shewed it [the Apostolical Obedience] to a friend or 
two : whereof the one was a learned Doctor of Divinity ; and 
the other had served many times in Parliament with great 
commendation. We all agreed that it was an idle work of 
a man that understood not Logic, that evidently crossed 
[contradicted] himself, that sometimes spake plausibly ; and, 
in the end of his Sermon, [it] fell so poor and flat, that it 
was not worth the reading. 

Master Murray coming to my bedside, said, " That he 

550 The Arciiup. ever loved a learned man ! [^''''j;',y H"); 

was sent again by the King, and had a paper to be shewed 
unto me." 

Archbishop. You see in what case I am, having slept 
little all this last night ; but nevertheless since you come 
from the King, I will take my spectacles, and read it. 

Murray. No, my Lord ! You may not read it, nor 
handle it ; for I have charge not to suffer it to go out of my 

Archbishop. How then, shall I know what it is? 

Murray. Yes, I have order to read it unto you! but I 
may not part with it. 

Archbishop. I must concei\e, that if I do not assent to it, 
His Majesty will give me leave to reply upon it ; which I 
cannot do, but in my study, for there are my books. 

Murray. I must go with you into your study ; and sit by 
you, till you have done. 

Archbishop. It is not so hasty a work. It will require 
time ; and 1 have not been used to study, one sitting by me. 
But first read it, I pray you ! 

The young gentleman read it from the one end to the 
other; being two or three sheets of paper. 

Archbishop. This Answer is very bitter; but giveth me no 
satisfaction. I pray you leave the writing with me ; and I 
shall batter it to pieces. 

Murray. No, my Lord! I am forbidden to leave it 
with you, or to suffer you to touch it. 

Archbishop. How cometh this about? Are the authors 
of it afraid of it, or ashamed of it ? I pray you tell His 
Majesty that I am dealt with neither manly, nor scholar like. 
Not manly, because I must fight with adversaries that I 
know not : not scholar like, because I must not see what it 
is that must confute me. It is now eight and forty years 
ago [i.e., in 1579], that I came to the University; and, since 
that time, I have ever loved a learned man. I have disputed 
and written divers books, and know very well what apper- 
taineth to the Schools. 

This is a new kind of learning unto me. I have formerly 
found fault, that the author of this Sermon quoteth not the 
places, whereupon he grounds his doctrine: and when I have 
oft called for them, it is replied to me that " I must take 
them upon the credit of the Writer," which I dare not do. 

*?''jii^i627.] He refuses to license the Sermon. 551 

For I have searched but one place, which he quoted in 
general, but sets down neither the words, nor the treatise, 
nor the chapter; and I find nothing to the purpose for which 
it is quoted : and therefore I have reason to suspect all the 

I pray you, therefore, in the humblest manner, to com- 
mend my service to the King my Master, and let him know 
that, unless I may have all the quotations set down, that 
I may examine them : and may have that Writing, wherein 
I am so ill used : I cannot allow the book ! 

Before I go further, it shall not be amiss to touch some 
particulars of that which I sent in writing to the King. 

The First was Page 2. These words deserve to be 
well weighed. And whereas the Prince pleads not the power 
of Prerogative. 
To this, Master Murray said, " The King doth not plead 

But my reply was, " But what then, doth he coerce those 
refractories ? for I have not heard of any Law, whereby they 
are imprisoned ; and therefore I must take it to be by the 
King's Prerogative." 

To the Second (Page 8). The King's duty is first to 

direct and make Laws. There is no Law made till the 

King assent unto it ; but if it be put simply to make 

Laws, it will cause much startling at it. 

To this I remember not any material thing was answered ; 

neither to the Third. 

(Page 10.) If nothing may excuse from Active Obedience, 
but what is against the Law of GOD, or of Nature, or 
impossible ; how doth this agree with the first fundamen- 
tal position: (Page 5.) That all subjects are bound to all 
their Princes, according to the Laws and Customs of the 
kingdom wherein they live. 

This is a fourth case of Exception. 
And here, before I go to the rest, the Doctor did truly hit 
upon a good point, in looking to the Laws and Customs, if he 
could have kept him to it. 

For in my memory, and in the remembrance of many 
Lords and others that now live, Doctor Harsenet, the then 
Bishop of Chichester, and now of Norwich, in Parlia- 

552 Abp. Abbot's Exceptjons-xo the Sermon, ['^?'' jiii^'.t?.' 

ment time, preached at Whitehall, a sermon (which was 
afterwards burned) upon the text, Give nntoC/ESAR, the things 
that be Cesar's! wherein he insisted that "Goods and 
Money were Cesar's ; and therefore they were not to be 
denied unto him." 

At this time, when the whole Parliament took main offence 
thereat, King James was constrained to call the Lords and 
Commons into the Banquetting House at Whitehall : and 
there His Majesty called all, by saying "The Bishop only 
failed in this, when he said The goocis were Caesar's, he did 
not add They were his, according to the Laws and Customs of 
the Country wherein they did live." 

So moderate was our C^sar then, as I myself saw and 
heard, being then an Eye and Ear Witness : for I was then 
Bishop of London. 

To the Fourth. The Poll Money, in Saint Matthew, 
was imposed by the Emperor, as a Conqueror over the 
Jews : and the execution of it in England, although it 
was by a Law, produced a terrible effect in Richard H.'s 
time; when only it was used, for ought that appeareth. 

Here the Bishop, in the Paper, excepted divers things 
" That sometimes among us, by Act of Parliament, strangers 
are appointed to pay by the poll :" which agreeth not with 
the Case : and that " It was not well to bring examples out 
of weak times ; whereas we live in better : but it was a 
marvellous fault, the blame was not laid upon the rebels of 
that Age." 

Those are such poor things, that they are not worth the 

But my Objection, in truth, prevailed so far, that in the 
printed book, it was qualified thus : Poll money, other persons, 
and upon some occasions. 

Where, obiter, I may observe that my refusing to sign the 
Sermon, is not to be judged by the printed book: for many 
things are altered in one, which were in the other. 

To the Fifth (Page 12). It is in the bottom, View of 
the reign of Henry III., whether it be fit to give such 
allowance to the book ; being surreptitiously put out ? 

To this, it was said, " That being a good passage out of a 
blameworthy book, there was no harm in it." 

But before the question of SurniORP's treatise ; the Bishop 

^jP-jii^je";':] -^ND Bishop Laud's Aa'sive/^s to tiiem. 553 

of Bath himself, being with me, found much fault with that 
Treatise, as being put out for a scandalous Parallel of those 

To the Sixth, in the same page. Let the largeness of 

those words be well considered ! Yea, all Antiquity to be 

absolutely for Absolute Obedience to Princes, in all Civil and 

Temporal Things. For such cases as Naboth's Vineyard 

may fall within this. 

Here the Bishop was as a man in a rage, and said, " That 

it was an odious comparison ! for it must suppose, that there 

must be an Ahab, and there must be a Jezebel, and I cannot 

tell what ! " 

But I am sure my Exception standeth true ; and reviling 
and railing doth not satisfy my argument. All Antiquity 
taketh the Scripture into it : and if I had allowed that 
proportion for good, I had been justly beaten with my own 

If the King, the next day, had commanded me to send him 
all the money and goods I had ; I must, by mine own rule, 
have obeyed liim ! and if he had commanded the like to all 
the clergymen in England, by Doctor Sibthorp's proportion 
and my Lord of Canterbury's allowing of the same ; they 
must have sent in all ! and left their wives and children in a 
miserable case. 

Yea, the words extend so far, and are so absolutely de- 
livered, that by this Divinity, If the King should send to the 
city of London, and the inhabitants thereof, commanding 
them " to give unto him all the wealth which they have," 
they are bound to do it 1 

I know our King is so gracious, that he will attempt no 
such matter : but if he do it not, the defect is not in these 
flattering Divines! who, if they were called to question for 
such doctrine, they would scarce be able to abide it. 

There is a Meum and a Tuum in Christian commonwealths, 
and according to Laws and Customs, Princes may dispose of it. 
That saying being true, Ad reges, potestas omnium per tinet, ad 
singulos, proprictas. 

To the Seventh (p. 14.), Pius V. was dead before the 
year 15S0 ; they make no reply, but mend it in the 
printed book; changing it into Gregory XIII. 

To the last (on the same page). Weigh it well ! 

554 AlSl'.'s SANCTION COVETED FOR 1!AI) DEEDS, [■^'i'' j^iy "'^J: 

How this Loan may be called a Tribute ; and when it 
is said, We are promised it shall not be immoderately 
imposed. How that agreeth with His Majesty's Com- 
mission and Proclamation, which are quoted in the 
margent ? 
They make no answer but in the published Sermon, dis- 
tinguish a Tribute from a Loan or Aid : whereby they 
acknowledge it was not well before, and indeed it was im- 
proper and absurd : worthy of none but Doctor Sibthorp. 

I have now delivered the grounds, whereupon I refused to 
authorise this book : being sorry at my heart, that the King, 
my gracious Master, should rest so great a building upon so 
weak a foundation ; the Treatise being so slender, and with- 
out substance, but that it proceeded from a hungry man. 

If I had been in Council, when the Project for this Loan 
was first handled, I would have used my best reasons to have 
had it well grounded ; but I was absent, and knew not where- 
upon they proceeded : only I saw, it was followed with much 
vehemency. And since it was put in e.xecution, I did not 
interpose myself to know the grounds of one, nor of the 

It seemed therefore strange unto me, that, in the upshot 
of the business, I was called in, to make that good by 
Divinity, which others had done ; and must have no other 
inducement to it, but Doctor Sidthokp's contemptible 
treatise ! 

I imagined this, for the manner of the carriage of it, to be 
somewhat like unto the Earl of Somhkset's case ; who 
having abused the wife of the Earl of Essex, must have her 
divorced from her husband, and must himself marry her. 
And this must not be done ; but that the Archbishop of 
Canterbury must ratify all, judicially! 

I know the cases are different ; but I only compare the 
manner of the carriage. 

When the approbation of the Sermon was by me refused, it 
was carried to the Bishop of London, who gave a great and 

'"f j;u;'l'6°7;] The fright of Dr. W0RRAL.555 

stately allowance of it [It was entered at Stationers' Hall, 
tinder his authority, on the ^rd May, 1627] : the good man 
beinj^ not willing that anything should stick which was sent 
unto him from the Court ; as appeareth by the book which is 
commonly called The Seven Sacra)iients, which was allowed 
by his Lordship, with all the errors ! which since that time 
have been expunged and taken out of it. 

But before this passed the Bishop's file, there is one 
accident which fitly cometh in to be recounted in this place. 

My Lord of London hath a Chaplain, Doctor Worral by 
name ; who is scholar good enough, but a kind of free fellow 
like man, and of no very tender conscience. 

Doctor SiBTHORP's Sermon was brought unto him ; and 
" hand over head " as the proverb is, he approved it, and 
subscribed his name unto it : but afterwards, being better 
advised, he sendeth it to a learned gentleman of the Inner 
Temple ; and writing some few lines unto him, craveth his 
opinion of that which he had done. 

The Gentleman read it ; but although he had promised to 
return his judgement by letter, yet he refused so to do : but 
desired Doctor Worral would come himself. Which being 
done, he spake to this purpose, " What have you done? You 
have allowed a strange book yonder ! which, if it be true, 
there is no Meum or Tiuun ! no man in England hath any- 
thing of his own ! If ever the tide turns, and matters be 
called to a reckoning ; you will be hanged for publishing such 
a book ! " 

To which, the Doctor answered, " Yea, but my hand is to 
it ! What shall I do ? " 

For that, the other replied, " You must scrape out your 
name ! and do not suffer so much as the sign of any letter to 
remain in the paper ! " 

Which, accordingly he did ; and withdrew his finger from 
the pie. 

But what the Chaplain, well advised, would not do; his 
Lord, without sticking, accomplished : and so, being un- 
sensibly hatched, it came flying into the world ! 

But in my opinion, the book hath persuaded very few 
understanding men ; and hath not gained the King, sixpence. 

J56 All the Keys of Engla; 

Pars Sccunda. 

IItherto, I have declared, at length, all passages 
concerning the Sermon ; and, to my remembrance, 
I have not quitted anytliing that was worthy the 
knowing. I am now, in the second place, to shew 
what was the issue of this not allowing the 
worthy and learned Treatise. 

In the height of this question, I privately understood from 
a friend in the Court, that " for a punishment upon me, it 
was resolved that I should be sent to Canterbury, and con- 
fined there." I kept this silently, and expected GOD's 
pleasure, yet laying it up still in my mind : esteeming the 
Duke to be of the number of them, touching whom, Tacitus 
observeth, that sucJi as arc false in their love, are true in their 
hate ! But whatsoever the event must be, I made use of the 
report, that jacula prcvvisa minus feriunt. 

The Duke, at the first, was earnest with the King, that I 
must be presently sent away before his going to sea [He left 
Portsmouth, on the Rochelle Expedition, on the 2']th June], 
" For, saith he, " if I were gone, he would be eVery day at 
Whitehall, and at the Council table ! and there, will cross all 
things that I have intended." 

To meet with this objection, I got me away to Croydon, a 
month sooner than, in ordinaiy years, I have used to do ; but 
the Term was ended early, and my main [strong] fit of the 
stone did call upon me to get me to the country, that there 
on horseback, I might ride on the downs : which I afterwards 
performed, and, I thank GOD ! found great use of it in re- 
covering of my stomach, which was almost utterly gone. 

The Duke hastened his preparations for the fleet : but still 
that cometh in for one memorandum, " That if he were once 
absent, there should no day pass over but that the Arch- 
bishop would be with the King, and infuse things that would 
be contrary to his proceedings." 

What a miserable and restless thing ambition is ! When 
one talented, but as a common person; yet by the favour of 
his Prince, hath gotten that Interest, that, in a sort, all the 

^'rjii^!.*"?:] ■^'^ '^^^^ Duke of Buckingham's girdle. 557 

Keys of England hang at his girdle (which the wise Queen 
Elizabeth would never endure in any subject) ; yet standeth 
in his own heart, in such tickle terms, as that he feareth 
every shadow, and thinketh that the lending of the King's 
ear unto any grave and well seasoned report, may blow him 
out of all ! which in his estimation, he thinketh is settled on 
no good foundation, but the aftection of the Prince ; which 
may be mutable, as it is in all men, more or less. If a man 
would wish harm unto his enemy; could he wish him a 
greater torment, than to be wrested and wringed with ambi- 
tious thoughts ! 

Well, at first, it went current, that " with all haste, I must 
be doffed ! " but, upon later consideration, " it must be stayed 
till the Duke be at sea, and then put in execution by the 
King himself ; that, as it seemeth, Buckingham might be free 
from blame, if any should be laid upon any person." 

Hence it was, that, after his going, there was a new prose- 
cution of the Yorkshire men ; and the refusing Londoners 
were pursued more fervently than before : and it is very 
likely that the arrow came out of the same quiver, that the 
Bishop coming to the election at Westminster, was diuven 
back so suddenly to Bugden. 

Take heed of these things, noble Duke ! You put your 
King to the worst parts ! whereof you may hear, one day ! 
So when your Sovereign, in the Parliament time, had spoken 
sharply to both Houses, commanding them " To go together 
again, and to give more money ! " and commanding them to 
" meddle no more with the Duke of Buckingham ! " you 
came, the next day, and thought to smooth all, taking the 
glory of qualifying disturbances to yourself! Whereas, if 
you read books of true State Government (wherewithal you 
are not acquainted !), sweet things are personally to be acted 
by Kings and Princes, as giving of honours, and bestowing of 
noted benefits ; and those things that are sour and distasting, 
are to be performed by their Ministers. You go the contrary 

But as before the whole house falleth on fire, some sparks 
do fly out ; so, before the message of the King was brought 
by the Secretary [of State], there were some inklings that 
such a thing would follow. And upon the naming of me, 
by occasion [incidentally], it was said by a creature of the 

558 Conway conveys the King's command [^j'' {^.ij'^l'i"); 

Duke, that " It would not be long, before the Archbishop 
should be sequestered ! " that was the word. So well ac- 
quainted are the Duke's followers, with great actions that are 
likely to fall out in State. 

Accordingly on Tuesday, the 5th of July, 1627, the Lord 
Conway 'Secretary of State] came to me to Croydon, before 
dinner-time ; " having travelled," as he said, " a long journey 
that morning, even from Oatlands thitlier." 

He would say nothing till he had dined. Then, because 
he was to return to Oatlands that night, I took him into the 
gallery : and when we were both sat down, we fell to it, in 
this manner. 

My Lord ! I know you, coming from Court, have some- 
what to say to me. 

Secretary. It is true, My Lord ! and I am the most unwil- 
ling man in the world, to bring unpleasing news to any 
Person of Quality, to whom I wish well ; and especially to 
such a one, as of whose meat I have eaten, and been merry 
at his house : but I come from the King, and must deliver 
his pleasure (I know who you are ! and much more) with 
very civil language. 

Archbishop. I doubt not, my Lord! but you have some- 
what to say ; and therefore, I pray you, in plain terms, let me 
have it ! 

Secretary. It is then His Majesty's pleasure, that you 
should withdraw yourself unto Canterbury! for which, he 
will afford you some convenient time. 

Archbishop. Is that it! Then I must use the words of 
the Psalmist, " He shall not be afraid of any evil tidings; for 
his heart standeth fast, and believeth in the LORD ! " But, 
I pray you, what is my fault that bringeth this upon me ? 

Secretary. The King saith, you know ! 

Archbishop. Truly, I know none, unless it be that I am 
lame ; which I cannot help. It is against my will, and I am 
not proud of it. 

Secretary. The King bade me tell you, "That if any expos- 
tulation were used " 

Archbishop. No, I will not use any expostulation I If it 
be his pleasure, I will obey. I know myself to be an honest 
man, and therefore fear nothing; but, my Lord! do you 

^?'' jiiy^ll.lTO Tiiic Archbishop, to imprison himself! 559 

think it is for the King's service, in this sort, to send me 
away ? 

Secretary. No, by GOD ! I do not thinic it : and so, yester- 
day, I told the King with an oath ; but he will have it so. 

Archbishop. I must say, as before, " He shall not be afraid of 
any evil tidings; for his heart standeth fast, and he believeth in 
the LORD ! " But, I pray you, my Lord ! is the King precisely 
set upon my going to Canterbury. There are questions in 
law between me and that town, about the liberties of my 
Archbishopric ; which I, by my oath, am bound to maintain : 
and if I should be among them, I have many adversaries of 
the citizens. I have there some tenants, and the Dean and 
Chapter are interested in the question. I would be unwilling 
that my servants and their people should fall together by the 
ears, while I am in the town. 

His Majesty knoweth this difference to be between us, by 
the token that a suit, which I lately brought against them, by 
a Quo Warranto in the King's Bench, was stopped : justice 
being denied me, which is not usual to be denied to any 
subject ; and the King well knoweth, by whose means it 
was stayed. 

I have therefore another house called Foord, five miles 
beyond Canterbury, and more out of the way. His Majesty 
may be pleased to let me go thither. 

Secretary. I can say nothing to that, but I will acquaint 
the King with it; and I conceive nothing to the contrary, but 
that His Majesty will yield so much unto you. 

I have a second Charge to deliver unto you, and that is 
that " His Majesty will not have you, from henceforth, to 
meddle with the High Commission. He will take care that 
it shall be done otherwise." 

Archbishop. I do not doubt but it shall be better managed 
than it hath been by me : and yet, my Lord I I will tell you, 
that, for these many years that I have had the direction of 
that Court, the time is to come, that ever honest man did find 
fault that he had not there justice done. 

Secretary. It is now Vacation time, and so consequently 
little to do; and by Michaelmas, His Majesty may set all in 

Archbishop. I am sorry the King proceedeth thus with me, 
and letteth me not know the cause. 

560 Tiiic ARciir.r. comforted at knowing [^'jpji'w^c^j: 

Secretary. Although I have no commission to tell you so. 
It is for a book which you would not allow, which concerned 
the King's service. 

Archbishop. If that be it; when I am questioned for it, I 
doubt not but to give an honest answer. 

Secretary. You will never be questioned for it ! 

Archbishop. Then am I the more hardly dealt withal; to 
be Censured, and not called to my answer. 

Secretary. Well, my Lord ! I will remember that of Foord: 
and will your Grace command me any more service ? 

Archbishop. No, my Lord! but GOD be with you! Only 
I end where I began, with the words of the Prophet, " He 
sliall not be afraid for any evil tidings; for his heart standeth 
fast, and believeth in the LORD ! " 

It comforted me not a little, that the word was now out : 
" My confining must be, for not allowing of a book ! " I had 
much ado to forbear smiling when I heard it : because now 
it was clear, it was not for felony or treason that was laid to 
my charge, nor for intelligence with the Spaniards or French, 
nor for correspondency [correspondence] with Jesuits and 
Seminary Priests ; I thank GOD for that ! 

I had almost forgotten that, among many other memorable 
speeches that passed between us, I used this one, that " Per- 
adventure, the King might be offended at me, because I was 
no more present at the matter of the Loan ; but," said I, 
"my lameness hindered me therein ; and I hoped thereby to 
do my Master better service. Because if ever course were 
taken to reconcile the King and his people (which if it be 
not, this Kingdom will rue it in the end !), I would hope, 
among many others, to be a good instrument therein, since 
my hand hath not been in those bitternesses, which have, of 
late, fallen out." 

" You say well ! " said the Secretary ; " would you that I 
should tell the King so much ? " 

"Yea," said I, "if you please, I hold it not unfit that His 
Majesty should know it." 

What he reported therein, I know not : but matters pro- 
ceeded in the former course, as if there were no regard had 
of any such thing. 


The Lord Conway being gone from me for two or three 
days; I expected to hear the resolution [as] to what place in 
Kent, I should betake myself. And receiving no news, I 
tossed many things in my mind, as perhaps that the King 
desired to hear somewhat from the Duke, how he sped on 
his journey [expedition] ; or that peradventure he might alter 
his purpose, upon report of my ready obeying ; or that it 
might so fall out, that some of the Lords at the Court, 
understanding, upon the Secretary's return from Croydon, 
that which was formerly concealed from them, might infuse 
some other counsels into the King. 

These thoughts I revolved. At last,not forgetting the courses 
of the Court, and imprinting that into my heart, that there 
K'as no good intended towards me, but that any advantage would 
be taken against inc, I sent a man to Whitehall, whither the 
King was now come for a night or two, and by him, I wrote 
to the Lord Conway, in these words 

My very good L r Di 

Do not forget the message, which you brought unto me 
on Thursday last; and because I have heard nothing 
from you since that time, I send this messenger on 
purpose to know what is resolved touching the house or 
houses where I must remain. There belong to the Archbishopric, 
three houses in Kent : one at Canterbury ; another five miles 
beyond, called Foord; and a third, on the side of Canterbury, 
but two miles off, the name whereof is Bceksbtmi. 

I pray your Lordship to let me know His Majesty's pleasure, 
whether he will leave the choice of any of those houses to reside in, 
to me ? 

I have reason to know the resolution thereof: because I must 
make my provision of wood and coals and hay for some definite 
place; and when I shall have brewed, it is fit I should know 
xvhere to put it, or else it will not serve the turn. It is an 
unseasonable time to brew now, and as untimely to cut wood (it 
being green in the highest degree) , and to make coals; without all 
which, my House cannot be kept. But when I shall know what 
must be my habitation, I will send down my servants presently [at 
once] to make the best provision they can. 

exG. C.i;;. IV. 36 

562 The King icxrECxs, that he shall not ['^'^pJ':.-,;''^?;: 

And so, expecting your Lordship's ansurr, I leave you to the 
Almighty, and remain, 

Your Lordship's very loving friend, 

G . Cant. 
Croydon, July 10, 1627. 

He made my servant stay: and when he had gone up to 
know the King's pleasure, he returned me the answer 

May it please your Grace, 

Am ashamed, and do confess my fault, that I wrote not 
to your Grace before I received your reproof , though a 
gracious one; but, in truth, I did not neglect, nor 
forget : but the continual oppression of business would 
not permit vie to advertise to your Grace, the King's Answer. 

His Majesty heard seriously your professions and answers, and 
commanded me to signify unto you that "He knew not the present 
differences between you and the town [i.e., of Canterbury]; and 
if' he had, he would not have cast you into that inconvenience." 
He was well pleased you should go to your house at Foord ; and 
said, "He did not expect when the question loas ended between 
your Grace and the town, that you should go to Canterbury." 

And he further said, " He would not tie you to so short a time, 
as might be any way inconvenient ; but doth expect that your 
Grace will govern it so, as His Majesty shall not need to warn you 
a second time." 

I will not fail to move His Majesty to give you liberty to choose 
either of the houses you name, and give yon knowledge of his 
pleasure, and in all things be ready to obey your commandments, 
or take occasion to serve you in the condition of 
Your Grace's 

Most humble servant, 

C N \V A y . 
Whitehall, July 10, 1627. 

I could not but observe therein that passage, that the King 

doth expect your Grace will so govern it, as His Majesty shall not 
need to warn you a second time. 

*t''Tuly^!;'6°7:] NEED TO GIVE A SECOND WARNING ! 563 

I needed no interpreter to expound those words, and there- 
fore did take order that one of my officers was presently 
despatched unto Foord, to see the house ready. 

While necessaries were caring for, and I lay for some days 
at Croydon, and afterwards at Lambeth ; the city of London 
was filled with the report of " my confining " (for so they did 
term it), and divers men spake diversely of it. 

I will not trouble myself to mention some idle things ; 
but some other of them require a little consideration. A 
main matter, that the Duke was said "to take in ill part," 
was the resort which was made to my house, at the times 
of dinner and supper, and that, oftentimes, of such as did not 
love him. 

My answer unto that is, That, by nature, I have been given 
to keep a house according to my proportion, since I have had 
any means, and GOD hath blessed me in it. That it is a 
property, by Saint Paul required in a Bishop, that " He 
should be given to hospitality '' ; that it is another of his 
rules, " Let your conversation be without covetousness 1 " 
and those things, I had in mine eyes. Besides I have no 
wife, nor child : and as for my kindred, I do that for them 
which I hold fit ; but I will not rob the Church, nor the poor, 
for them ! 

Again, it is so rare a fault in these things, that men not 
feeding on the King's meat, but of their own charge, should 
frankly entertain their friends when they come unto them ; 
that I deserve to be pardoned for it ! 

But this is not all. When King James gave me the 
Bishopric, he did once between him and me, and another 
time before the Earl of Salisbury, charge me that " I should 
carry my house nobly ! " that was His Majesty's word, " and 
live like an Archbishop ! " which I promised him to do. And 
when men came to my house, who were of all Civil sorts, I 
gave them friendly entertainment : not sifting what exceptions 
the Duke made against them ; for I knew he might as un- 
deservedly think ill of others, as he did of me. But I meddled 
with no man's quarrels : and if I should have received none, 
but such as cordially, and in truth had loved him ; I might 
have gone to dinner many times without company ! 

564 The Akciiiu'.'s visitors at LAMiir.Tn,['%^'if,'i'^: 

There, frequented me Lords Spiritual and Temporal, divers 
Privy Councillors, as occasion served, and men of the highest 
rank : where, if the Duke thought that we had busied our- 
selves about him, he was much deceived. Yet, perhaps the 
old saying is true, " A man who is guilty of one evil to him- 
self; thinketh that all men that talk together, do say some- 
what of him ! " I do not envy him that happiness ; but let it 
ever attend him ! 

As for other men, of good sort, but of lesser quality ; I have 
heard some by name, to whom exception has been taken : and 
these are three. I know from the Court by a friend, that my 
house, for a good space of time, hath been watched ; and I 
marvel that they have not rather named sixty, than three. 

The First of these, is Sir Dudley Digges, a very great 
mote in the Duke's eye, as I am informed : for it is said that 
this Knight hath paid him in Parliament, with many sharp 
speeches. If this be so, yet what is that to me ? He is of 
age to answer for himself ! 

But in the time of the late Parliament, when the Earl of 
Carlisle came unto me, and dealt with me thereabouts ; I 
gave him my word, and I did it truly, that I was not ac- 
quainted with these things : only, being sick as I was, I had 
in general given him advice that he should do nothing that 
might give just offence to the King. And I have credibly 
heard that when Sir Dudley was last in the Fleet, committed 
from the Council table ; he was much dealt with, to know 
whether he was not instigated by me to accuse the Duke in 
Parliament : the Knight, with all the protestations and as- 
surances that could come from a Gentleman, acquitted me of 
the part and whole: wherein he did me but right. 

And I do remember, when that man, now so hated ! was a 
great servant of the Duke. So that if he have now left him, 
it cannot but be presumed that it is for some unworthy 
carriage, which the Gentleman conceiveth hath, by that Lord, 
been offered unto him. 

Moreover, how can I but imagine the words and actions of 
Sir Dudley Digges have been ill interpreted and reported ; 
when I myself saw the Duke stand up nine times in a morn- 
ing, in a Parliament House, to fasten upon him words little 
less, if at all less than treason ; when by the particular votes 

^?'''jiil^i6°):] PENDING HIS REMOVING TO FoORD. 565 

of all the Lords and Commons in both Houses, he was quit 
[acquitted] of those things, which the other would have 
enforced upon him. And a little while before, he was hastily 
clapped into the Tower ; and within a day or two released 
again, because nothing was proved against him 1 

And I assure you, I am so little interested in his actions, 
that, to this day, I could never learn the reason why he was 
imprisoned in the Fleet ; although he was kept there for seven 
or eight weeks. 

I distinguish the King, from- the Duke of Buckingham. 
The one is our Sovereign, by the laws of GOD and men ! the 
other, a subject ! as we are : and if any subject do impeach 
another, though of different degrees ; let the party grieved, 
remedy himself by Law, and not by Power ! 

But, to speak further for this Knight, I may not forget that 
when he was publicly employed (one time to the Hague, a 
second time to Muscovia, and thirdly into Ireland about 
Affairs of the State), such opinions as were then held of his 
good endeavours. 

As for my own part, ever since the days of Queen Eliza- 
beth, I have been nearly acquainted with him. He was my 
pupil at Oxford, and a very towardly one ; and this knowledge, 
each of the other, hath continued unto this time. He calleth 
me. Father; and I term his wife, my daughter. His eldest 
son is my godson ; and their children are in love accounted 
my grandchildren. 

The Second that I have heard named, was Sir Francis 
Harrington : a Gentleman, whom for divers years, I have 
not seen ; and who, for ought I know, was never in my house 
but once in his life. 

The Third was Sir Thomas Wentvvorth [who after Fel- 
TON murdcved B UCKINGHAM on the 2yd xi ugust, 1628, went over 
to the Court, and ultimately became Earl of Strafford] ; who 
had good occasion to send unto me, and sometimes to see me ; 
because we were joint executors to Sir George Savile, who 
married his sister, and was my pupil at Oxford. To whose 
son also. Sir Thomas Wentworth and I were Guardians, 
as may appear in the Court of Wards ; and many 
things passed between us in that behalf: yet, to my 
remembrance, I saw not this gentleman but once, in these 

three-quarters of a year last past [i.e., since October, 1626]: at 
which time, he came to seek his brother-in-law, the Lord 
Clifford, who was then with me at dinner at Lambeth. 

For one of the punishments laid upon me, it was told me 
l)y the Lord Conway, that " I must meddle no more with 
the High Commission." Accordingly, within a few days 
after, a Warrant is sent to the Attorney-General, that the 
Commission must be renewed, and the Archbishop must be 
left out. This, under hand, being buzzed about the town, 
with no small mixture of spite; I conceived it to be agree- 
able to [correspond ccith] the proceedings with [against] the 
Lords and Gentlemen, who refused to contribute to the Loan: 
they all being laid aside in the Commissions for Lieutenancy, 
and of the Peace, in their several counties. 

For my part, I had no cause to grieve at this, since it was 
His Majesty's pleasure ! but it was, by the actors therein 
understood otherwise ; they supposing that this power gave 
me the more authority and splendour in the Church and 

To deliver therefore, truly, the state of this question. It 
cannot be denied but that it was a great point of policy for 
the establishing of order in the Ecclesiastical, and conse- 
quently Civil Estate also, to erect such a Court : whereby 
Church-men [clergy] that exorbitated [exceeded bounds] in any 
grievous manner, might be castigated and rectified ; and 
such sort of crimes in the laity might be censured [judged] 
as were of Ecclesiastical Cognisance. And, verily, this is of 
great use in the kingdom, as well for cherishing the study of 
the Civil Law, as otherwise ; so that it be kept incorruptible, 
and with that integrity as so grave a Meeting and Assembly 
requireth. This was principally my care ; who took much 
pains and spent much money that, in fair and commendable 
sort, justice was indifferently [impartially] administered to 
all the King's people that had to do with us. 

But every one might see that this was to my singular 
trouble ! For besides that to keep things in a straight course, 
sometimes in fits of the gout I was forced to be carried into 
the Court by my servants; where I could not speak much, 
but with difficulty: I was, at no time, free from petitions; 

^'rfuiy^iLt] Its great cost to the Archbishop. 567 

from examinations ; from of warrants to call some, 
to release others ; from giving way to speeding, and forward- 
ing Acts of Court. Suitors, as their fashion is, being so im- 
portunate as that, in summer and winter, in the day and in 
the night, in sickness and health, they would not be denied ! 

These things were daily despatched by me out of Duty ; 
and more, out of Charity ; no allowance of pay being from 
the King, or of fee from the subject to us that were the 
Judges. Nay, I may say more. The holding of that Court, 
in such sort as I did, was very expenseful to me, out of my 
private purse, in giving weekly entertainment to the Com- 
missioners. The reason whereof was this. King James 
being desirous, when he made me Archbishop, that all 
matters should gravely and honourably be carried, directed 
me that I should always call some of the Bishops that were 
about London, and some Divines and Civilians [Doctors of 
the Civil Law], that, by a good presence, causes might be 
handled for the reputation of the action : and willed me 
withal, to imitate therein the Lord Archbishop Whitgift, 
who invited weekly some of the Judges to dinner, the rather 
to allure them thither. This advice proceeded from [John 
Bridgman] the Bishop of Durham that now is ; which was not 
ill, if it came from a good intention. 

I obeyed it, singly ; and did that which was enjoined. 
But whereas in those times, the Commissioners were but 
few : since that time there hath been such an inundation 
of all sorts of men into that Company [i.e., the High Com- 
mission], that, without proportion, both Lords Spiritual and 
Temporal, Commissioners and not Commissioners, resorted 
thither; and divers of them brought so many of their men, 
that it was truly a burthen to me. I think it may, by my 
Officers, be justified upon oath, that since I was Archbishop, 
the thing alone hath cost me, out of my private estate [i.e., 
official incoinc as Arclibishop], one and a half thousand 
pounds; and if I did say two thousand pounds, it were not 
much amiss : besides all the trouble of my servants, who, 
neither directly nor indirectly, gained sixpence thereby in a 
whole year, but only travail and pains for their Master's 
honour; and of that, they had enough ! my houses being like 
a great hostLcFry every Thursday in the Term ; and for my 
expenses, no man giving me so much as thanks ! 

568 WiiYTiiE Abp. did not attend Council. ['^'rjiii^^'lT): 

Now this being the true case, if the Church and Com- 
monweahh be well provided for, in the administration of 
justice, and regard be had of the public Twelfare' ; can any 
discreet man think that the removing of me from this moles- 
tation, is any true punishment upon me ? I being one that 
have framed myself to Reality, and not to Opinion : and 
growing more and more in years, and consequently into 
weakness ; having before surfeited so long of worldly shews, 
whereof nothing is truly gained temporally but vexation of 
spirit, I have had enough of these things, and do not dote 
upon them. The world, I hope, hath found me more stayed 
and reserved in my courses. 

Nevertheless, what was expedient for this, was despatched 
by me while I lived at Lambeth and Croydon ; albeit I went 
not out of door. 

"Yea, but you were otherwise inutile, not coming to the 
Star Chamber, nor to the Council table ?" 

My pain or weakness by the gout, must excuse me herein. 
When I was younger, and had my health, I so diligently 
attended at the Star Chamber, that, for full seven years, I 
was not one day wanting. 

And for the Council table, the same reason of my indis- 
position may satisfy. But there are many other things 
that do speak for me. 

The greatest matters there handled, were for money, or 
more attempts of war. 

For the one of these, we of the Clergy had done our parts 
already : the Clergy having put themselves into payments of 
Subsidy, by an Act of Parliament ; not only for these last two 
years (when the Temporalty lay in a sort dry), but yet there 
are three years behind, in which our payments run on, with 
weight enough unto us. And no man can justly doubt but 
my hand was in those grants, in a principal fashion. 

And concerning the Provisions for War, I must confess 
my ignorance in the facts thereof. I knew not the grounds 
whereon the controversies were entered, in general. I 
thought that before wars were begun, there should be store of 
treasure; that it was not good to fall out with many great 
Princes at once ; that the turning of our forces another way, 
must needs be some diminution from the King of Denmark ; 

^''''fuiy^lfc;.'] Buckingham, the gkeat Church patron. 569 

who was engaged by us into the quarrel for the Palatinate 
and Germany, and hazarded both his person and dominions 
in the prosecution of the question. These matters I thought 
upon, as one that had sometimes been acquainted with 
Councils ; but I kept my thoughts unto myself. 

Again, I was never sent for to the Council table but I 
went; saving one time, when I was so ill that I might not 
stir abroad. 

Moreover, I was sure that there wanted no Councillors at 
the Board ; the number being so much increased as it was. 

Besides, I had no great encouragement to thrust my 
crazy body abroad ; since I saw what little esteem was 
made of me, in those things which belonged to mine own 
occupation. With Bishoprics and Deaneries, or other 
Church places I was no more acquainted ; than if I had 
dwelt at Venice, and understood of them but by some 

The Duke of Buckingham had the managing of these 
things, as it was generally conceived. For what was he not 
fit to determine in Church or Commonwealth, in Court or 
Council, in peace or war, at land or at sea, at home or in 
foreign parts ? 

Montague had put out [published] his Arminian book. 
I, three times, complained of it: but he was held up against 
me ; and by the Duke magnified, as a well deserving man. 

CosENS put out his treatise, which they commonly call 
The Seven Sacraments : which, in the first edition had many 
strange things in it, as it seemeth. I knew nothing of it, but 
as it pleased [John Brhigman] my Lord of Durham, and 
[William Laud] the Bishop of Bath, so the world did 

We were wont, in the High Commission, to repress obsti- 
nate and busy Papists. 

In the end of King James his time, a Letter was brought 
me, under the hand and signet of the King, that "We must 
not meddle with any such matter: nor exact the twelve 
pence for the Sunday, of those which came not to the 
Church (with which forfeit, we never meddled)." And this 
was told us to be, in contemplation of a marriage intended 
with the Lady Mary, the Daughter of France. 

After the death of King James, such another Letter was 

570 The ARCiir>r. could makk nothing of ["^yj^^iy't^'J; 

brought from King Charles; and all execution against 
Papists was suspended. 

But when the Term was at Reading, by open divulgation 
in all Courts under the Great Seal of England, we and all 
magistrates were set at liberty to do as it was prescribed by 
law. And our pursuivants must have their warrants again, 
and take all the priests they can ; whereof Master Cross 
took fourteen or fifteen in a very short space. 

Not long after, all these are set free ! and Letters come from 
the King, under his royal signet, that " All warrants must be 
taken from our messengers, because they spoiled the Catholics, 
and carried themselves unorderly unto them, especially the 
Bishops' pursuivants : " whereas we had in all, but two ; 
Cross, my messenger, for whom I did ever offer to be an- 
swerable ; and Thomlinson, for whom my Lord of London, 
I think, would do as much. But the caterpillars, indeed, were 
the pursuivants used by the sectaries [Puritans] : men of no 
value, and shifters in the world ; who had been punished and 
turned away by us, for great misdemeanours. 

But truth of religion and GOD's service was wont to over- 
rule human policies, and not to be overruled ; and I am 
ceitain that things best prosper, where those courses are 
held. But be it what it may be, I could not tell what to 
make of this Variation of the Compass, since it was only 
commanded unto me, to put such and such things in exe- 
cution : but I never understood anything of the counsel, 
whereby I might give my judgement how fit or unfit they 
were, or might speak to alter the tenour ; whereunto, in 
former times, I had been otherwise used. Variety [diversity] 
of reasons breedeth variety of actions. 

For the matter of the Loan, I knew not, a long time, what 
',0 make of it. I was not present when the advice was taken, 
I understood not what was the foundation whereupon the 
building was raised ; neither did ever any of the Council 
acquaint me therewith. 

I saw, on the one side, the King's necessity for money; 
and especially it being resolved that the war should be pur- 
sued. And, on the other side, I could not forget that in the 
Parliament, great sums were offered, if the Petitions of the 
Commons might be hearkened unto. 

Abp. r.. Abbot." 

•■ July 16^7.. 

It still ran in my mind, that the old and usual way was 
best ; that in kingdoms, the harmony was sweetest where the 
Prince and the people tuned well together ; that, whatsoever 
pretence of greatness [he might have], he was but an un- 
happy man ! that set the King and the Body of the Realm at 
division ; that the people, though not fit to be too much 
cockered, yet are they that must pray ! that must pay ! that 
must fight for their Princes ! that it could not be, but [that] 
a man so universally hated in the kingdom as the Duke was, 
must (for the preservation of himself) desperately adventure 
on anything ! if he might be hearkened unto. 

These meditations I had with myself, and, GOD knoweth! 
I frequently, in my prayers, did beg that he whom these 
things did most concern, would seriously think upon them. 

It ran in my mind, that this new device for money could 
not long hold out ! that then, we must return into the High- 
way, whither it were best, to retire ourselves betimes ; the 
shortest errors being the best. 

But these thoughts, I suppressed within my soul : neither 
did I ever discourage any man from lending, nor encourage 
any man to hold back ; which I confidently avouch. 

At the opening of the Commission for the Loan, I was sent 
for, from Croydon. It seemed to me a strange thing: but I 
was told there that " howsoever it shewed, the King would 
have it so ; there was no speaking against it." 

I had not heard [i.e., at any time before] that men, through- 
out the kingdom, should lend money against their will ! I 
knew not what to make of it ! But when I saw in the in- 
structions that refusers should be sent away for soldiers to 
the King of Denmark ; I began to remember Uriah, that 
was sent in the forefront of the battle : and, to speak truth, I 
durst not be tender in it. 

And when, afterwards, I saw that men were to be put to 
their oath, " With whom they had had conference, and 
whether any did dissuade them ? " and yet further beheld 
that divers were to be imprisoned ; I thought this was some- 
what a New World ! yet, all this while, I swallowed my own 
spittle, and spake nothing of it to any man. 

Nay, when after some trial in Middlesex ; the first sitting 
was for Surrey, in my House [the Palace] at Lambeth ; and 
the Lords were there assembled, with the Justices of the 

5/2 Tiiic Duke would upset all the Laws. [■^'■;''|;;iy',t'7: 

whole county : I gave them entertainment in no mean 

And I sat with them, albeit I said nothing ; for the con- 
fusion was such, that I knew not what to make of it. Things 
went on every day, and speech was of much money to be 
raised out of some counties, yet afterwards it was not so 
readily paid as preferred [ ? deferred] : and, at length, some 
refused, even in London itself, and Southwark; besides many 
gentlemen of special rank, and some Lords, as it was said. 
And though it was reported that "they were but acontemptible 
company ! " yet the prisons in London demonstrated that they 
were not a very few, but persons both of note and number. 

The Judges, besides, concurring another way, that "They 
could not allow the legality of the demand, and the enforce- 
ment that is used thereupon," did somewhat puzzle me, for 
being too busy in promoting of that for which I might, one 
day, suffer. Yet, hitherto, I remained silent ; hoping that 
time would break that off which was almost come to an 
absolute period [full stop]. 

But instead of this, by the permission of GOD, I was 
called up to the King, to look clearly into the question. 
When the allowance of Sibthorp's pamphlet was put upon 
me, I had then some reason, out of the grounds of that 
sermon to fear (and I pray GOD that my fear was in vain !) 
that the Duke had a purpose to turn upside down the Laws, 
and the whole Fundamental Courses, and Liberties of the 
Subject : and to leave us, not under the Statutes and Customs 
which our progenitors enjoyed; but to the Pleasure of Princes, 
of whom, as some are gentle and benign, so some others, to 
ingreat themselves [make themselves greater], might strain more 
than the string will bear. 

Besides, now it came in my heart, that I was present at 
the King's Coronation : where many things, on the Prince's 
part, were solemnly promised ; which, being observed, would 
keep all in order, and the King should have a loving and 
faithful people, and the Commons should have a kind and 
gracious King. 

The contemplations of these things made me stay my 
judgement, not any unwillingness to do my Prince any dutiful 
service : whom I must, and do honour above all the creatures 

^'r^uij^'/fc?:] Eye-Witness PORTRAIT OF Buckingham. 573 

in the world, and will adventure as far for his true good, as 
any one whatsoever. 

But I am loath to plunge myself, so over head and ears, 
in these difficulties, that I can neither live with quietness of 
conscience, nor depart out of the world with good fame and 
estimation. And, perhaps, my Sovereign (if, hereafter, he 
looked well into this paradox) would, of all the world hate 
me ! because one of my profession, age, and calling, would 
deceive him ; and, with base flattery, swerve from the truth. 
The hearts of Kings are in the hands of GOD, and He can turn 
them as rivers of water. 

Draw to a conclusion. Only repute it not amiss, 
because so much falleth in here, to observe a few 
words of the Duke of Buckingham — not as now he 
is, but as he was in his rising. 

I say nothing of his being in France, because I was not 
present ; and divers others there be, that remember it well : 
but I take him at his first repair to Court [in 1614]. 

King James, for many insolencies, grew weary of Somer- 
set : and the Kingdom groaning under the Triumvirate of 
Northampton, Suffolk, and Somerset (though North- 
ampton soon after died [in June, 1614]) was glad to be rid of 

We could have no way so good to effectuate that which 
was the common desire, as to bring in another in his room. 
" One nail," as the proverb is, "being to be driven out by 

It was now observed that the King began to cast his eye 
upon George Villiers, who was then Cup-bearer, and 
seemed a modest and courteous youth. But King James 
had a fashion, that he would never admit any to nearness 
about himself, but such a one as the Queen should commend 
unto him, and make some suit on his behalf: that if the 
Queen, afterwards, being ill intreated, should complain of 
this " Dear One ! " ; he might make his answer, '• It is 'long 
of yourself! for you were the party that commended him 
unto me ! " Our old Master took delight strangely, in things 
of this nature. 

That noble Queen, who now resteth in heaven, knew her 

574^'"^ Ar.i'. iiiii.i's tiik Duke's advancement,[*',''''j*';;i*^J;'°5: 

husband well ; and having been bitten with Favourites, both 
in England and Scotland, was very shy to adventure upon 
this request. 

King James, in the meantime, more and more loathed 
Somerset; and did not much conceal it, that his affection 
increased towards the other. 

But the Queen would not come to it; albeit divers Lords 
(whereof some are dead ; and some, yet living) did earnestly 
solicit Her Majesty thereunto. 

When it would not do; I was very much moved [i.e., 
desired by others] to put to, my helping hand : they knowing 
that Queen Anne was graciously pleased to give me more 
credit than ordinary; which, all her attendants knew, she 
continued to the time of her death. 

I laboured much, but could not prevail. The Queen oft 
said to me, " My Lord ! you and the rest of your friends 
know not what you do ! I know your Master better than 
you all ! For if this young man be once brought in, the first 
persons that he will plague, must be you that labour for him ! 
Yea, I shall have my part also ! The King will teach him 
to despise and hardly intreat us all; that he [BUCKINGHAM] 
may seem to beholden to none but himself." 

Noble Queen ! how like a Prophetess or Oracle did you 
speak ! 

Notwithstanding this, we were still instant, telling Her 
Majesty that "the change would be for the better! for 
George was of a good nature, which the other was not ; and 
if he should degenerate, yet it would be a long time before he 
were able to attain to that height of evil, which the other 

In the end, upon importunity, Queen Anne condescended 
[agreed to it] ; and so pressed it with the King, that he 
assented thereunto : which was so stricken, while the iron 
was hot, that, in the Queen's Bedchamber, the King 
knighted him with a rapier which the Prince [Charles] did 
wear. And when the King gave order to swear him of the 
Bedchamber, Somerset (who was near) importuned the 
King with a message that he might be only sworn a Groom. 
But myself and others, that were at the door, sent to Her 
Majesty that " She would perfect her work, and cause him to 
be sworn a Gentleman of her Chamber 1 " 


There is a Lord, or two, living that had a hand in this 
achievement. I diminish nothing of their praise for so 
happy a work : but I know mj' own part best ; and, in the 
word of an honest man, I have reported nothing but truth. 

G150KGE went in with the King ; but no sooner he got 
loose, but he came forth unto me, in the Privy Gallery, and 
there embraced me. He professed that " He was so infinitely 
bound unto me that, all his life long, he must honour me as 
his father." And now, he did beseech me, that I would give 
him some Lessons how he should carry himself. 

When he had earnestly followed this chase, I told him, 

I would give him three short lessons, if he would learn them. 

The First was. That, daily, upon his knees, he 

should pray to GOD to bless the King his Master, and 

to give him (George) grace studiously to serve and 

please him. 

The Second was, That he should do all good offices 
between the King and the Queen ; and between the King 
and the Prince. 

The Third was, That he should fill his Master's ears 

with nothing but truth. 

I made him repeat these three things unto me : and then 

I would have him, to acquaint the King with them ! and 

so tell me, when I met him again, what the King said unto 


He promised he would. And the morrow after, Master 
Thomas Murrav (the Prince's Tutor) and I standing to- 
gether, in the gallery at Whitehall, Sir George Villiers 
coming forth, and drawing to us, he told Master Murray 
how much he was beholden unto me, and that I had given 
him certain instructions : which I prayed him to rehearse ; 
as, indifferently well he did, before us. Yea, and that he 
had acquainted the King with them ; who said, " They were 
instructions worthy of an Archbishop, to give to a young 

His countenance of thankfulness continued for a few days, 
but not long ! either to me or any others, his well wishers. 
The Roman historian, Tacitus, hath somewhere a note that 
" Benefits, while they may be requited, seem courtesies ; but 
when they are so high, that they cannot be repaid, they 
prove matters of hatred." 

5/6 TUK GOOD AUCIIIJI'.'S concluding PRAVKR. ['^'j'"" julj'^iJ;'"^ 

iHus, to lie by me, to quicken my remembrance, I 
have laid down the Cause and the Proceedin<;s of 
my sending [bciii'; scut] into Kent ; where I remain 
at the writing of this Treatise. Praying GOU, to 
bless and guide our King aright ! to continue the prosperity 
and welfare of this Kingdom, which, at this time, is shrewdly 
shaken ! to send good and worthy men to be Governors 
[i.e., Bishops] of our Church ! to prosper my mind and body, 
that I may do nothing that may give a wound to my con- 
science ! and then, to send me patience quietly to endure 
whatsoever His Divine Majesty shall be pleased to lay upon 
me ! Da quod jnbcs, d jubc quod vis ! and, in the end, to give 
me such a happy deliverance, either in life or death, as may 
be most for His glory ; and for the wholesome example of 
others ! who look much on the actions and passions of Men 
of my Place. 



Ben Jonson. 
Answer to Master Wi th e rs Songy 
Shall I, wasting in despair. 

[Which Song originally appeared in the privately printed edition of 
Fidelia, in 1617 ; and was incorporated, with some variations in the text, 
in Fair Virtue in 1622, as may be seen at/- 454. Jonson's Parody was 
printed in a very rare Collection, entitled A Description of Love : with 
■:eriain Epigrams, Elegies, and Sonnets, &c., the Second Edition of which 
was printed in 1620. We have here used a copy of the Sixth Edition of 
1629, in the British Museum ; press mark, C. 39. a.] 

Hall I, wasting in despair. 
Die, because a woman's Fair ? 
Or my cheeks make pale with care, 
'Cause another's rosy are ? 
Be She fairer than the Day, 
Or the flowery meads in May ! 
If She be not so to me. 
What care I, how Fair She be ? 


Shall I, mine affections slack, 
'Cause I see a woman's Black ? 
Or myself, with care cast down, 
'Cause I see a woman brown ? 
Be She blacker than the night. 
Or the blackest jet in sight ! 
If She be not so to me, 
What care I, how Black She be ? 

5/8 JoiNSON's TARODV OF WiTIIER's -SONG, \_ ^"t^""^",, 
W 1 T II E R. 

Should my foolish heart be pined, 

'Cause I see a woman Kind ? 

Or a well disposed nature 

Joined with a comely feature ? 

Be She kind, or meeker than 

Turtle dove, or pelican 1 
If She he not so to me, 
What care I, how Fair She he ? 

J O N S O N. 

Shall my foolish heart be burst, 
'Cause I see a woman's curst ? 
Or a thwarting hoggish nature 
Joined in as bad a feature ? 
Be She curst, or fiercer than 
Brutish beast, or savage man ! 

If She be not so to me. 

What care I, how Curst She be ? 

W I T H E R. 

Shall a woman's virtxtes make 
Me to perish for her sake ? 
Or her merits' value known, 
Make me quite forget inine own 7 
Be She with that Goodness blest 
Which tnay merit name of Best ! 
If She seem not so to me. 
What care I, how Good She he ? 

™;] Shall/, \v ast i ng i n d es pa i k. 579 

J O N S N. 

Shall a woman's vices make 

Me her vices quite forsake ? 

Or her faults to me make known, 

Make me think that I have none ? 

Be She of the most accurst, 

And deserve the name of worst ! 
If She be not so to me, 
What care I, how Bad She be ? 


'Cause her fortunes seem too high, 

Should I play the fool, and die ? 

He that bears a noble mind, 

If not outward help he find ; 

Think, what, with them, he would do ; 

That, without them, dares to woo ! 
And unless that mind I see, 
What care I, how Great She be ? 

J o N s N. 

'Cause her fortunes seem too low, 
Shall I therefore let her go ? 
He that bears an humble mind 
And with riches can be kind. 
Think how kind a heart he'd have, 
If he were some servile slave 1 
And if that same mind I see, 
What care I, how Poor She be ? 



Great, or Good, or Kind, or Fair, 

I will ne'er the more despair ! 

If SJic love me (then believe ! ) 

/ will die, ere She shall grieve ! 

If She slight me, when I woo ; 

I can scorn, and let her go ! 
For if She be not for me I 
What care I, for whom She be ? 

J N S O N. 

Poor, or Bad, or Curst, or Black, 
I will ne'er the more be slack ! 
If she hate me (then believe !) 
She shall die, ere I will grieve ! 
If She like me, when I woo ; 
I can like and love her too ! 

If that She be fit for me! 

"What care I, what others be ? 



Wonderful Recovery 

of a Ship of Bristol, called the 

Exchange^ from the Turkish 
Pirates of Argier. 


attempts and good success of John Rawlins, Pilot in 
her, and other slaves : who, in the end (with the 
slaughter of about forty of the Turks and Moors), 
brought the ship into Plymouth, the 13th of 
February [1622] last, with the Captain 
a Renegado, and five Turks more ; 
besides the redemption of twenty- 
four men and one boy from 
Turkish slavery. 


Printed for Nathaniel Butter, dwelling at the 

Pied Bull, at Saint Austen's Gate. 


[This Narrative, which is reprinted from a very rare copy of the original 
edition in the Bodleian Library, was not written by Rawlins ; but the 
unknown illustrator, or cementer of " the broken pieces of well-tempered 
mortar," so describing himself at /. 607, who put the infomiation supplied 
by the brave Pilot, into its present shape.] 


To the Right Honourable 

George, Marquis of Buckingham, 

Viscount ViLLiERS, Baron of Whaddon, Lord High 

Admiral of England; Justice in Eyre of all His 

Majesty's Forests, Parks, and Chases beyond Trent ; 

Master of the Horse to His Majesty, and one of 

the Gendemen of His Majesty's Bed Chamber ; 

Knight of the most noble Order of the 

Garter, and one of His Majesty's 

most honourable Privy Council 

of England and Scotland. 

Right Honourable, 

jEeing it hath pleased GOD by so weak means as my 
poor self, to have His power and goodness made mani- 
fest to the World, as by this following Relation may 
appear : I thought it my dtiiy to present the same unto 
you ; whom the Majesty of England hath presented unto us, as our 
Patron, and Chief Commander of our sea affairs. Accept it then, 
I humbly beseech you ! as the unpolished work of a poor sailor ; 
and the rather, for that it exemplifies the glory of GOD. For by 
such men as myself, your Honour must be served, and England 
made the happiest of all nations. 

For though you have greater persons, and more braving spirits 

584 Dedication to Marquis of Buckingham. [ j mJ. ,6,, 

to be over our heads, and hold inferiors in subjection ; yet are we 
the vien that must pull the ropes, weigh up the anchors, toil in the 
night, endure the storms, sweat at the helm, watch the biticle 
[binnacle], attend the compass, guard the ordnance, keep the night 
hours, and be ready for all impositions. 

If, then, you vouchsafe to entertain it ! I have my desire. For, 
according to the oath of Jurors, it is " the truth, and the very 
truth." If otherwise, you suppose it trivial I it is only the prosti- 
tution of my service ; and Wisdom is not bought in the market ! 

Your Honour's humbly to be commanded, 




and Wonderful Recovery of the ExcJiajtge 

of Bristol from the Turkish pirates 

of Argier. 

He Psalmist saith, that " He that goeth to 
sea, shall see the wonders of GOD !" and 
I may well saj-, that he that converseth 
with mariners and sailors shall hear of the 
wonders of men ! as by this following Dis- 
course shall appear. 

Not that I am willing to be the author of 
novelty, or amaze you with incredible re- 
ports ; but because I would not let slip so remarkable an acci- 
dent, and so profitable a relation. Remarkable, as extending 
to manifest the power and glory of GOD, who hath variety of 
supportation in store to sweeten affliction, and make all en- 
durances subject to fortitude and patience : profitable, as being 
thus far exemplary, to teach all men of action and employment, 
not to despair in distress ; and to know thus much, that brave 
attempts are compassed by resolution and industrious em- 
ployment, and whether they thrive or not, yet shall the 
enterprise be Charactered with a worthy exploit. And if it 
end with success; O how shall the Actors be remembered to 
posterity ! and make their fame immortal that, either pur- 
chased their liberty, even out of fire ; or delivered themselves 
(though by death itself) from slavish captivity, or the thral- 
dom of barbarous Infidels ; who glory in nothing more than 
the perdition of our souls, and the derision of our Christ. 
Hearken, then, I pray you ! to this following Relation! and 

586 The N ic//olas cua'aku dy Turkish [?mJ. ,6,,. 

learn thereby, as I said, both to give GOD the praise of all 
deliverances ; and to instruct one another in the absolute 
duties of Christianity. By the one, the Power ajid Providence, 
with all the attributes belonging to so immense a Deity, shall 
be made manifest ; by the other, the weak brother shall be 
comforted, the strong confirmed, the wavering reduced, the 
faint-hearted erected, and the presumptuous moderated. By 
both. Religion shall have a sweet passage in the consciences 
of men ; and men made the happy instruments of GOD's 
glory, and their own increases of good example and imitation. 

And thus much for Preamble or Introduction. Now, to 
the matter itself! 

In the year 1621, the ist of November, there was one 
John Rawlins (born in Rochester, and dwelling three and 
twenty years in Plymouth) employed to the Straits of Gib- 
raltar, by Master[sj Richard, and Steven Treviles, 
Merchants of Plymouth ; and freighted in a bark called the 
Nicholas of Plymouth, of the burden of 40 tons: which had 
also in her company, another ship of Plymouth, called the 
George Bonaventiire, of 70 tons burden or thereabouts ; which, 
by reason of her greatness beyond the other, I will name the 
Admiral [flagship], and John Rawlins's bark shall, if you 
please, be the Vice-Admiral. 

These two, according to the time of the year, had a fair 
passage ; and, by the i8th of the same month, came to a 
place at the entering of the Straits, named Trafalgar; but the 
next morning [igi/i November, 1C21], being in the sight of 
Gibraltar, at the very mouth of the Straits, the watch de- 
scried five sail of ships. Who, as it seemed, used all the 
means they could to come near us; and we, as we had cause, 
used the same means to go as far from them ; yet did their 
Admiral take in both his topsails, that either we might not 
suspect them, or that his own company might come up the 
closer together. At last, perceiving us [to be] Christians, 
they fell from devices, to apparent discovery of hostility, and 
making out against us. We again suspecting them [to be] 
pirates, took our course to escape from them ; and made all 
the sails we possibly could for Terriff or Gibraltar : but all we 
could do, could not prevent their approach. For, suddenly, 
one of them came right over against us to windward ; and so 
fell on our quarter. Another came up on our luff, and so 


threatened us there. . And, at last, all five chased us ; making 
great speed to surprise us. 

Their Admiral was called Callfatcr ; having upon her main- 
topsail, two topgallant sails, one above another. But 
whereas we thought them all five to be Turkish Ships of War; 
we afterwards understood that two of them were their prizes 
(the one, a small ship of London, the other of the West 
Country), that came out of the Quactath, laden with figs 
and other merchandise, but now [were] subject to the fortune 
of the sea, and the captivity of pirates. But to our business ! 

Three ofthese ships got much upon us; and so much, that, ere 
half the day was spent, the Admiral, which was the best sailer, 
fetched up the George Bonaventure, and made booty of it. 

The Vice-Admiral again, being nearest unto the lesser bark 
whereof John Rawlins was Master, shewed him the force of 
a stronger arm; and by his Turkish name, called Villa Rise, 
commanded him, in like sort, to strike his sails, and submit 
to his mercy : which, not to be gainsaid, nor prevented, was 
quickly done. And so Rawlins, with his bark, was as quickly 
taken ; although the Rear-Admiral, being the worst sailer of 
the three, called Riggiprise, came not in, till all was done. 

The same day, before night, the Admiral (either loath to 
pester himself with too much company, or ignorant of the 
commodity [which] was to be made by the sale of English pri- 
soners, or daring not to trust them in his company for fear of 
mutinies, and exciting others to rebellion) set twelve persons 
who were in the George Bonaventure, and divers other English 
whom he had taken before, on the land, to try their fortunes 
in an unknown country. 

But Villa Rise, the Vice-Admiral, that had taken John 
Eawlins, would not so dispense with his men ; but com- 
manded him, and five more of his company to be brought 
aboard his ship : leaving in his bark, three men and his boy, 
with thirteen Turks and Moors, who were, questionless, suffi- 
cient to overmaster the others, and direct the bark to harbour. 

Thus they sailed direct for Argier [Algiers]. But, the 
night following followed them with great tempest and foul 
weather, which ended not without some effect of a storm: for 
they lost the sight of Rawlins's bark, called the Nicholas ; 
and, in a manner, lost themselves (though they seemed safe 
a shipboard) by fearful conjecturing what should become of us ? 

588 Sad news on arriving at Ai.c.iers. [, ^J, ,s„ 

At last, by the 22nd of the same month, they, or we 
(choose you whether ! for I would not be mistaken in alter- 
ing the persons, by either naming the first for the third, or 
the third for the first ; but only make the discourse equal, 
by setting down the business honestly and truly as it 
chanced) arrived in Argier ; and came in safety within the 
Mole : but found not our other bark there; nay, though we 
earnestly inquired after the same. 

Yet heard we nothing to our satisfaction ; but much 
matter was ministered to our discomfort and amazement. 
For although the Captain and our Overseers were loath we 
should have any conference with our countrymen ; yet did we 
adventure to inform ourselves of the present affairs, both of 
the town and of the shipping. So that finding many English 
at work in other ships, they spared not to tell us the danger 
we were in, and the mischiefs we must needs incur; as being 
sure, " If we were not used like slaves, to be sold as slaves : for 
there had been five hundred brought into the market for the 
same purpose, and above a hundred handsome youths com- 
pelled to turn Turks ; all English ! " Yet, like good Christians, 
they bade us " Be of good cheer ! and comfort ourselves in 
this! That GOD's trials were gentle purgations ; and these 
crosses were but to cleanse the dross from the gold, and bring 
us out of the fire again, more clear and lovely." 

Yet, I must needs confess, that they afforded us reason for 
this cruelty; as if they determined to be revenged of our last 
attempt to fire their ships in the Mole [by Siy Robert 
Mansell's fleet in May, 1621. See J. B's. Algiers Voyage. 
1621], and therefore protested " to spare none ! whom they 
could surprise, and take alone ; but either to sell them for 
money or to torment them to serve their own ends." 

Now their customs and usages, in both these, were in this 

First, concerning the first. The Bashaw [Pasha] had the 
overseeing of all prisoners who were presented unto him, at 
their first coming into the harbour ; and so chose one out of 
every eight, for a present or fee to himself. The rest were 
rated by the Captains, and so sent to the market to be sold : 
whereat, if either there were repining, or any drawing back ; 
then certain Moors and Officers attended, either to beat you 

fMar. i622.] Rawlins's crew sold for slaves. 589 

forward, or thrust you in the sides with goads. And this 
was the manner of the selling of slaves. 

Secondly, concerning their enforcing them, either to turn 
Turk or to attend their impieties : although it would make a 
Christian's heart bleed to hear of the same ; yet must the 
truth not be hid, nor the terror left untold. They commonly 
lay them on their naked backs or bellies, beating them so 
long till they bleed at the nose and mouth : and if yet they 
continue constant, then they strike the teeth out of their 
heads, pinch them by their tongues, and use many other 
sorts of tortures to convert them. Nay, many times, they 
lay them, their whole length, in the ground, like a grave ; 
and so cover them with boards, threatening to starve them, 
if they will not turn. And so, many, even for fear of tor- 
ment and death, make their tongues betray their hearts to 
a most fearful wickedness : and so are circumcised with new 
names, and brought to confess a new religion. Others again, 
I must confess, who never knew any god but their own 
sensual lusts and pleasures, thought that any religion would 
serve their turns : and so, for preferment or wealth, very 
voluntarily renounced their faith, and became Renegadoes ; in 
despite of any counsel which seemed to intercept them. 

And this was the first news we encountered with, at our 
coming first to Argier. 

The 26th of the same month, John Rawlins' bark, with his 
other three men and a boy, came safe into the Mole ; and so 
were put all together, to be carried before the Bashaw; but that 
they took the Owner's Servant [? Supercargo] and Rawlins's 
boy, and, by force and torment, compelled them to turn Turks, 

Then were they in all, seven English, besides John 
Rawlins : of whom the Bashaw took one ; and sent the rest 
to their Captains, who set a valuation upon them. So the 
soldiers hurried us, like dogs, into the market ; where, as men 
sell hackneys in England, we were tossed up and down, to see 
who would give most for us. And although we had heavy 
hearts, and looked with sad countenances ; yet many came to 
behold us; sometimes taking us by the hand, sometimes turn- 
ing us round about, sometimes feeling our brawns and naked 
arms: and so beholding our prices written in our breasts, they 
bargained for us accordingly; and, at last, we were all sold, and 
the soldiers returned with their money to their Captains. 

590 The fitting out of the Exchange. [iMJ-.e^i. 

John Rawlins was tlie last that was sold, by reason of 
his lame hand. He was bought by the Captain that took him, 
even that dog Villa Rise ! who (better informing himself of 
his skill fit to be a Pilot, and his experience to be an Over- 
seer) bought him and his Carpenter at very easy rates. For, 
as we afterwards understood by divers English Renegadoes, 
he paid for Rawlins but 150 Doublets, which make, of 
English money, £■] los. 

Thus was he and his Carpenter, with divers other slaves, 
sent into his ship to work ; and employed about such affairs 
as belonged to the well rigging and preparing the same. 

But the villainous Turks perceiving his lame hand, 
and that he could not perform so much as other slaves, 
quickly complained to their Patron : who as quickly appre- 
hended the inconvenience ; whereupon he sent for him, the 
next day, and told him, " He was unserviceable for his present 
purpose ! and therefore unless he could procure 3^15 of the 
English there, for his ransom : he would send him up into 
the country, where he should never see Christendom again, 
and endure the extremity of a miserable banishment." 

But see how GOD worketh all for the best for His servants ! 
and confoundeth the presumption of tyrants, frustrating their 
purposes, to make His wonders known to the sons of men ! 
and relieves His people, when they least think of succour and 
releasement ! 

Whilst John Rawlins was thus terrified with the dogged 
answer of Villa Rise, the Exchange of Bristol, a ship 
formerly surprised by the pirates, lay all unrigged in the 
harbour, till, at last, one John Goodale, an English Turk, 
with his confederates (understanding she was a good sailer, 
and might be made a proper Man of War) bought her from the 
Turks that took her ; and prepare her for their own purposes. 

Now the Captain that set them on work, was also an 
English Renegado, by the name of Rammetham Rise, but by 
his Christian name Henry Chandler : who resolved to make 
Goodale, Master over her. 

And because they were both English Turks (having the 
command, notwithstanding, of many Turks and Moors) they 
concluded to have all English slaves to go in her ; and for 
their gunners, English and Dutch Renegadoes : and so they 
agreed with the Patrons of nine English slaves and one 

? Ma'r. i622.] J • GOODALE AND TWO TuRKS BUY RaWLINS. 59 I 

French for their ransoms ; who were presently employed to 
rig and furnish the ship for a Man of War. 

And while they were thus busied, two of John Rawlins's, 
men ( who were taken with him), were also taken up to sei-ve 
in this Man of War : their names, James Roe and John 
Davies, the one dwelling in Plymouth ; and the other in Foy, 
where the Commander of this ship was also born, by which 
occasion they became acquainted. So that both the Captain 
and the Master promised them good usage, upon the good 
service they should perform in the voyage ; and withal, de- 
manded of Davies if he knew of any Englishman to be bought, 
that could serve them as a Pilot ; both to direct them out of 
harbour, and conduct them in their voyage. For, in truth, 
neither was the Captain a mariner, nor any Turk in her of 
sufficiency to dispose of [navigate] her through the Straits in 
security ; nor oppose any enemy that should hold it out 
bravely against them. 

Davies quick replied that, " As far as he understood, 
Villa Rise would sell John Rawlins, his Master, and Com- 
mander of the bark which was taken. A man every way 
sufficient for sea affairs, being of great resolution and good 
experience ; and for all he had a lame hand, yet had he a 
sound heart and noble courage for any attempt or adventure." 

When the Captain understood thus much, he employed 
Davies to search for Rawlins; who, at last lighting upon 
him, asked him, " If the Turk would sell him ? " 

Rawlins suddenly answered, that " By reason of his lame 
hand he was willing to part with him ; but because he had 
disbursed money for him, he would gain something by him ; 
and so priced him at 300 doublets, which amounteth to ^^15 
English ; which he must procure, or incure sorer indurances." 

AA^hen Davies had certified thus much, the Turks a 
shipboard conferred about the matter ; and the Master, 
whose Christian name was John Goodale, joined with 
two Turks who were consorted with him, and disbursed 
100 doublets a piece, and so bought him of Villa Rise : 
sending him into the said ship called the Exchange of 
Bristol ; as well to supervise what had been done, as to order 
what was left undone ; but especially to fit the sails, and to 
accommodate [fit out] the ship. All which, Rawlins was very 
careful and indulgent in ; not yet thinking of any particular 

592 The Exchange sails out of Algiers. [ , mJ. ,6;, 

plot of deliverance, more than a general desire to be freed 
from this Turkish slavery, and inhuman abuses. 

By the 7th of January [16221, the ship was prepared, with 
twelve good cast pieces, and all manner of munition and 
provision which belonged to such a purpose : and, the same 
day, hauled out of the Mole of Argier, with this company, and 
in this manner. 

There were in her sixty-three Turks and Moors, nine 
English slaves and one French, four Hollanders that were 
free men (to whom the Turks promised one prize or other, 
and so to return to Holland ; or if they were disposed to go 
back again for Argier, they should have great reward, and no 
enforcement offered, but continue, as they would, both their 
religion and their customs) : and for their gunners, they had 
two of our soldiers, one English and one Dutch Renegade. 
And thus much for the company. 

For the manner of setting out, it was as usual, as in other 
ships ; but that the Turks delighted in the ostent[ati]ous 
bravery of their streamers, banners, and topsails : the ship 
being a handsome ship, and well built for any purpose. The 
slaves and English were employed under hatches, about the 
ordnance and other works of order, and accommodating 
[baihiiig] themselves. 

All which, John Rawlins marked, as supposing it an in- 
tolerable slavery to take such pains, and be subject to such 
dangers; and still to enrich other men, and maintain their 
voluptuous lives ; returning themselves as slaves, and living 
worse than dogs amongst them. Whereupon, after he had 
conceited the indignity and reproach of their baseness, and 
the glory of an exploit that could deliver himself and the rest 
from this slavish captivity ; being very busy among the 
English in pulling of ropes, and placing of ordnance, he burst 
into these, or such like abrupt speeches: " O hellish slavery ! 
to be thus subject to dogs ! to labour thus to enrich infidels, 
and maintain their pleasures! to be ourselves slaves, and 
worse than the outcast of the world ! Is there no way ol 
releasement ? no device to free us from this bondage ? no 
exploit, no action of worth to be put in excution, to make us 
renown in the world, and famous to posterity ? O GOD ! 
strengthen my heart and hand, and something shall be done 
to ease us of these mischiefs, and deliver us from these cruel 
Mahomedan dogs! " 

t Mir. .6=3.] A Poi.ACCA CAPTURED OFF CaI-K DE GaTTE. 593 

The other slaves pitying his distraction, as they thought, 
bade him, " Speak softly ! least they should all fare the worse 
for his distemperature ! " 

" The worse ! " quoth Rawlins, " what can be worse ? 
Death is the determiner of all misery ! and torture can last 
but a while! But to be continually a dying, and suffer all 
indignity and reproach ; and, in the end, to have no welcome 
but into the House of Slaughter or Bondage, is insufferable ! 
and more than flesh and blood can endure ! And therefore, 
by that salvation which Christ hath brought, I will 
either attempt my deliverance at one time or another, or 
perish in the enterprise ! but if you would be contented to 
hearken after a release, and join with me in the action ; I 
would not doubt of facilitating the same, and shew you a way 
to make your credits thrive by some work of amazement, and 
augment your glory in purchasing your liberty ! " 

" A}', prithee, be quiet ! " said they again, " and think not 
of impossibilities ! Yet, if you can but open such a door of 
reason and probability that we be not condemn for desperate 
and distracted persons, in pulling the sun (as it were) out of 
the firmament ; we can but sacriiice our lives ! and you may 
be sure of secrecy and taciturnity ! " 

"Now, blessed be my genius ! " said Rawlins, " that ever 
this motive was so opportunely preferred ! and therefore we 
will be quiet a while, till the iron be hotter, that we may not 
strike in vain." 

The 15th January, the morning water [tide] brought us 
near Cape de Gatte, hard by the shore ; we having in our 
company, a small Turkish Ship of War that followed us out 
of Argier, the next day : and now joining us she gave us 
notice of seven small vessels, six of them being Sattees and 
one a Polacca ; who very quickly appeared in sight, and so 
we made towards them. 

But having more advantage of the Polacca than the rest, 
and loath to lose all, we both fetched her up, and brought 
her past hope of recovery ; wliich when she perceived, rather 
than she would voluntarily come into the slavery of the Maho- 
medans, she ran herself ashore ; and so all the men forsook her. 

We still followed as near as we durst, and for fear of 
splitting [i.e., on the rocks], let fall our anchors ; making out 
[sending] both our boats, wherein were many musketeers and 

j:.\r,. Car. IV. 38 

594 The Magician of the Negro sailors. [jMal. .e.,. 

some En,c;lish and Dutch Renegacloes : who came aboard 
home at their con^c [entered the vessel, without opposition' , and 
found three pieces of ordnance, and four murtherers [see 
Vol. I. p. 500 , but straiglitway threw them all overboard, to 
lighten the ship. So they got her off, being ladened with hides, 
and logwood for dyeing : and presently sent her to Argier, 
taking nine Turks and one English slave out of one ship, and 
six out of the lesser ; which, we thought, sufficient to man her. 

But see the chance ! or, if you will, how fortune smiled on 
lis. In the rifling of this Cataleynia [ ? Catalonianj, the Turks 
fell at variance, one with another ; and in such a manner 
that we divided ourselves [parted company] : the lesser ship re- 
turned to Argier and our Exchange took the opportunity of 
the wind, and plied out of the Straits ; which rejoiced John 
Rawlins very much, as resolving on some stratagem, when 
opportunity should serve. 

In the meanwhile, the Turks began to murmur, and would 
not willingly go into the Marr Granada, as the phrase is 
amongst them ; notwithstanding the Moors, being very super- 
stitious, were contented to be directed by their Hoshea, who, 
with us, signifieth a Witch [or rather Wizard] : and is ot 
great account and reputation amongst them, as not going in 
any great vessel to sea without one ; and observing whatso- 
ever he concludeth, out of his divination. 

The ceremonies he useth are many ; and when they come 
into the ocean, every second or third night, he maketh his 
conjuration. He beginneth, and endeth with prayer, using 
many characters, and calling upon GOD by divers names. 

Yet, at this time, all that he did, consisteth in these par- 
ticulars. Upon the sight, and, as we were afraid, the chasing 
of two great ships, being supposed to be Spanish Men of War, 
a great silence is commanded in the ship ; and when all is 
done, the company giveth as great a screech ; the Captain 
still coming to John Rawlins and sometimes making him to 
take in all his sails, and sometimes causing him to hoist them 
all out, as the Witch findeth by his book and presages. 

Then have they two arrows and a curtleaxe lying on a 
pillow, naked. The arrows are, one for the Turks, and the 
other for the Christians. Then the Witch readeth, and the 
Captain or some other, taketh the arrows in their hand by the 
heads, and if the arrow for the Christians cometh over the 

? Ma'. 162C..J Rawlins begins to plot the recapture. 595 

head of the arrow for the Turks, then do they advance their 
sails, and will not endure the fight, whatsoever they see ; 
but if the arrow of the Turks is found, in the opening of the 
hand, upon the arrow of the Christians, they will then stay 
and encounter with any ship whatsoever. 

The curtleaxe is taken up by some child that is innocent, 
or rather, ignorant of the ceremony ; and so laid down again. 
Then they do observe whether the same side is uppermost, 
which lay before : and so proceed accordingly. 

They also observe lunatics and changlings, and the Con- 
jurer writeth down their sayings in a book, grovelling on the 
ground, as if he whispered to the Devil, to tell him the truth : 
and so expoundeth the Letter, as it were, by inspiration. 

Many other foolish rites they have, whereon they do dote 
as foolishly ; and whereof, I could entreat more at large, but 
this shall suffice at this time. 

Whilst he was thus busied, and made demonstration that all 
was finished ; the people in the ship gave a great shout, and 
cried out " A sail ! " "a sail ! " : which, at last, was discovered 
to be another Man of War of Turks. For he made towards 
us, and sent his boat aboard us ; to whom, our Captain 
complained that being becalmed by the Southern Cape [? of 
Portugal, i.e., Cape St. Vincent] ; and having " made" no voyage, 
the Turks denied to go any further northward ; but the Cap- 
tain resolved not to return to Argier, except he could obtain 
some prize worthy his endurances ; but rather to go to Salle, 
and sell his Christians to victual his ship. Which the other 
Captain apprehended for his honour ; and so persuaded the 
Turks to be obedient unto him : whereupon followed a pacifi- 
cation amongst us ; and so that Turk took his course for the 
Straits, and we put up northward, expecting the good hour 
of some beneficial boot}-. 

All this while our slavery continued ; and the Turks, with 
insulting tyranny, set us still on work in all base and servile 
actions ; adding stripes and inhuman revilings, even in our 
greatest labour. Whereupon John Rawlins resolved to ob- 
tain his liberty and surprise the ship, providing ropes with 
broad specks of iron, and all the iron crows, with which he 
knew a way, upon the consent of the rest, to ram up or tie 
fast their scuttles, gratings, and cabins ; yea, to shut up the 
Captain himself with all his consorts : and so to handle the 

596 TiiK MUSI'; or Rawlins's crowbar, [j ^J ,f,„. 

matter, that, upon tlie wntchword Riven, the English beinp 
masters of the Gunner Ri om, ordnance and powder, they 
would either blow them into the air; or kill them, as they 
adventured to come down, one by one, if they should, by any 
chance, open their cabins. 

But because he would proceed the better in his enterprise, 
as he had somewhat abruptly discovered himself to the nine 
English slaves, so he kept the same distance with the four 
Hollanders that were free men : till finding them coming 
somewhat towards them ; he acquainted v.-ith them the whole 
conspiracy ; and they affecting the plot, offered the adventure 
of their lives in the business. 

Then, very warih', he undermined the English Renegado 
which was the Gunner; and three more, his associates : who, 
at first, seemed to retract. 

Last of all, were brought in the Dutch Renegadoes, who 
were also in the Gunner Room ; for always there lay twelve 
there, five Christians, and seven English and Dutch Turks. 

So that, when another motion had settled their resolutions, 
and John Rawlins's constancy had put new life, as it were, 
into the matter : the four Hollanders very honestly, according 
to their promise, sounded the Dutch Renegadoes ; who, with 
easy persuasion, gave their consent to so brave an enterprise. 

Whereupon John Rawlins, not caring whether the Eng- 
lish Gunners would } ield or not, resolved, in the Captain's 
morning watch, to make the attempt. 

But, you must understand that where the English slaves lay 
[in the Gun Room], there hung up always four or five crows of 
iron ; being still under the carriages of the pieces. And, when 
the time approached, being very dark: because John Rawlins 
would have his crow of iron ready, as other things were, and 
other men prepared, in their several places ; in taking it out of 
the carriage, by chance, it hit on the side of the piece, making 
such a noise, that the soldiers hearing it, awaked the Turks, 
and bade them come down. Whereupon, the Boatswain of 
the Turks descended, with a candle, and presently searched 
all the slaves' places, making much ado of the matter : but 
finding neither hatchet, nor hammer, nor anything else to 
move suspicion of the enterprise more than the crow of iron, 
which lay slipped down under the carriages of the pieces ; 
they went quietly up again, and certified the Captain, what 

TMa'..622.] His SUBSEQUENT FRIGHT FROM A Turk. 597 

had chanced, who satisfied himself that it was a common 
thing to have a crow of iron shp from his place. 

But by this occasion, we made stay of our attempt; yet 
were resolved to take another or a better opportunity. 

Only I must tell you, what John Rawlins would have done, 
if this accident had not happened. He was fully minded, with 
some others, with their naked knives in their hands, to press 
upon the Gunner's breast and the other English Renegadoes, 
and either force them to consent to their designs, or to cut 
their throats; first telling them plainly that "They had vowed 
lo surprise the ship, and, by GOD's assistance, to obtain their 
liberty; and therefore Die! or Consent (when you hear the 
watchword given. For GOD ! and King James ! and St. 
George for England ! ) [that] you presently keep your places ! 
and advise to execute what you are commanded ! " 

But as you have heard, GOD was the best physician to 
our wounded hearts ; and used a kind of preventing physic, 
rather than to cure us so suddenly. So that, out of His 
Providence, perceiving some danger in this enterprise, He 
both caused us to desist ; and, at last, brought our business 
to a better period, and fortunate end. 

For we sailed still more northward, and Rawlins had 
more time to tamper with his Gunners, and the rest of the 
lilnglish Renegadoes : who very willingly, when they con- 
sidered the matter, and perpended the reasons, gave way unto 
the project ; and with a kind of joy seemed to entertain the 
motives. Only they made a stop at [as to] the first onset, who 
should begin the enterprise, which was no way fit for them 
to do ; because they were no slaves, but Renegadoes, and 
so had always beneficial entertainment amongst them : but 
when it was once put in practice, they would be sure not to 
fail them ; but venture their lives for GOD and their country. 

When Rawlins had heard them out, he much liked their 
contradiction [reservation] ; and told them plainly, " He did 
require no such thing at their hands! but the slaves and 
himself would first sound the channel, and adventure the 
water." And so, after reciprocal oaths taken, and hands given ; 
Rawlins, once again, lay in wait for the fittest opportunity. 
But once again he was disappointed ; and a suspicious 
accident brought him to re-collect his spirits anew, and study 
on the danger of the enterprise : and thus it was. 

598 A BARQUE FROM ToRBAY CArTUUKD. [ ? mJ. .6.1. 

After the Renejjado Gunner had protested secrecy, by all 
that might induce a man to bestow some belief upon him ; 
he presently went up the scottle [scuttle] ; but stayed not 
aloft a quarter of an hour. Nay, he came sooner down ; and 
in the Gunner Room sat by Kawlins, who tarried for him, 
where he left him. 

He was no sooner placed, and entered into some conference, 
but there entered into the place, a furious Turk, with his 
'•cnife drawn, and presented it to Rawlins's body : who verily 
supposed he intended to kill him ; as suspicious that the 
Gunner had discovered something. Whereat Rawlins was 
much moved; and so hastily ask;d, "What the matter 
meant ? or whether he would kill him or not ? " observing his 
countenance ; and (according to the nature of jealousy) con- 
ceiting that his colour had a passage of change, whereby his 
suspicious heart condemned him for a traitor ; but that, at 
more leisure, he sware the contrary, and afterwards proved 
faithful and industrious in the enterprise. And for the pre- 
sent, he answered Rawlins, in this manner, " No, Master! 
be not afraid ! I think, he doth but jest ! " 

With that, John R.uvlins gave back a little, and drew 
out his knife ; stepping also to the Gunner's sheath, and 
taking out his, whereby he had two knives to one : which, 
when the Turk perceived, he threw down his knife, saying, 
" He did but jest with him ! " 

But, as I said, when the Gunner perceived, R.wvLiNstook 
it so ill, he whispered something in his ear, that, at last, 
satisfied him : calling heaven to witness that " He never 
spake a word of the enterprise, nor ever would 1 either to the 
prejudice of the business, or danger of his person." 

Notwithstanding, RAWLI^•s kept the knives in his sleeve, 
all night, and was somewhat troubled ; for that he had made 
so many acquainted with an action of such importance : but, 
the ne.xt day, when he perceived the coast clear, and that 
ihere was no further cause for fear, he somewhat comforted 
himself; and grew bolder and bolder in disposing the affairs 
of the ship. Only it grieved him that his enterprises were 
ihus procrastinated : whereby the Mahomedan tyranny in- 
creased, and the poor slaves even groaned again under the 
burden of their bondage; and thought every day a year, till 
somethingwas put in execution for their deliverance. For it was 
now full five weeks, since Rawlins first projected the matter. 

?mJ. .63:.] I'l"-'' Master is informed of the Plot. 599 

All this while, Rawlins drew the Captain to lie for the 
Northern Cape [ ? Cape Finisterre], assuring him, that thereby 
he should not miss purchase ; which accordingly fell out, as a 
wish would have it: but his drift was, in truth, to draw him from 
any supply or second {reinforcement] of Turks, if GOD should 
give way to their enterprise, or success to the victory. 

Yet, for the present, the 6th of February, being twelve 
leagues from the Cape, we descried a sail ; and presently, took 
the advantage of the wind in chasing her, and at last fetched 
her up, making her strike all her sails : whereby we knew 
her to be a bark belonging to Torbay, near Dartmouth, that 
came from Averare, laden with salt. 

Ere we had fully despatched, it chanced to be foul weather ; 
so that we could not, or at least would not make out our 
boat ; but caused the Master of the bark to let down his, and 
come aboard with his company ; there being in the bark but 
nine men, and one boy. 

And so the Master, leaving his Mate with two men in the 
same, came himself, with five men and the boy unto us ; 
whereupon our Turkish Captain sent ten Turks to man her: 
amongst whom, were two Dutch and one English Renegado, 
who were of our confederacy, and acquainted with us. 

But when Rawlins saw this partition of his friends, before 
they could hoist out their boat for the bark ; he made means 
to speak with them, and told them plainly that " He would 
prosecute the matter, either that night, or the next : and 
therefore, whatsoever came of it, they should acquaint the 
English with his resolution, and make towards England ; 
bearing up the helm, whiles the Turks slept and suspected 
no such matter. For, by GOD's grace, in his first watch, 
about midnight, he would shew them a light ; by which 
they might understand that the enterprise was begun, or, at 
least, in a good forwardness for the execution." 

So the boat was let down, and they came to the bark of 
Torbay ; where the Master's Mate being left, as before you 
have heard, apprehended quickly the matter, and heard the 
discourse with amazement. 

But time was precious, and not to be spent in disputing or 
casting of doubts, whether the Turks that were with them 
were able to master them or not ; being seven to six : con- 
sidering they had the helm of the ship, and the Turks being 

6oo Rawlins persuadics the Captain to keep [ ., ^J .6„ 

soldiers, and ignorant of sea affairs, could not discover 
whether they went to Argier or not ; or, if they did, they 
resolved, by Rawlins's example, to cut their throats, or cast 
them overboard. And so I leave them to make use of the 
Renegadoes' instructions : and return to Rawlins again. 

The Master of the bark of Torbay and his company were 
quickly searched, and as quickly pillaged, and dismissed to. 
the liberty of the ship; whereby Rawlins had leisure to 
entertain him with the lamentable news of their extremities, 
and the adventure of their voyages : whereby he understood of 
his first setting out from the West country, of his taking and 
surprising at sea by Villa Rise ; of his twice being sold as a 
slave, and so continuing to his heart-burning and excruciation; 
of the making of] the Exchange of Bristol, a Man of War, 
which they were now in ; of the Captain and Master, who 
were both English Renegadoes ; of the cruelty of the Turks 
in general, and his own fortunes in particular ; of his 
admission into the ship as a Pilot ; of the friendship which 
passed between him and the Hollanders ; of the imparting of 
the secret ofsurprising the ship,both to the slaves and Christian 
Renegadoes ; of their consent and courageous apprehension 
of the matter ; of the first attempt, and their twice disappoint- 
ing; of his still resolution presently [at once] to put it in 
practice; of his last acquainting [of] the Dutch Renegadoes 
who went aboard his bark ; and in a word, of every particular 
which was befitting to the purpose. 

" Yea," he told him, that "that night, he should lose the 
the sight of them, for they would make the helm for Eng- 
land ; " and that he " would, that night, and evermore, pray 
for their good success and safe deliverance." 

When the Master of the Bark of Torbay had heard him 
out, and that his company were partakers of his story ; 
they all became silent : not either diffident of his discourse 
or afraid of the attempt ; but as wondering at the goodness 
of GOD, and His mercy in choosing out such weak instru- 
ments to set forth His glory. 

"True," quoth Rawlins, when he found them coming 
towards him, " it is so I For mark but the circumstance of 
the matter! and you shall see the very finger of GOD to 
point us out our deliverance ! When we came into the main 
ocean to hunt after prizes, according to the nature of pirat';s, 

tmJ. 1622.] THE Turkish soldiers aft of the ship. 6oi 

and that I resolved on the enterprise, there were si.\t3--five 
Turks in our ship, and only seventeen of our confederacy. 
Then it pleased GOD to abate us ten of the Turks, who were 
sent with the Polacca before recited. And when we were 
disappointed again of our purposes; you see now what hath 
chanced ! We are rid of more Turks, and welcome you, as a 
new supply ! so that, if you please, we shall be twenty-four 
strong ; and they, in all, are but forty-five. Be therefore 
courageous ! and let us join heart, hand, and foot together 
that we may execute this brave attempt for GOD's glory, 
our country's honour, the good example to others, our own 
deliverance, and (if we may not be counted vainglorious) our 
everlasting memory." 

By that time he had finished this discourse also, the Master 
of the Bark and his company resolved to assist him : as pro- 
jecting [fursccin^!^] the misery and wretchedness they should 
endure by being slaves to the Turks, and the happiness of 
their liberty besides the reputation of the enterprise. As for 
death, it was in community to all men : and so in the hands 
of GOD to dispose, at His pleasure ; and either could not 
happen before the hour of limitation, or could not be pre- 
vented. For human policy must submit to Divine Providence. 

Yet to shew himself an understanding man, he demanded 
of Rawlins, " What weapons he had? and in what manner 
he would execute the business ? " 

To which, he answered, that " He had ropes and iron 
hooks, to make fast the scottels, gratings, and cabins. He 
had also in the Gunner Room two curtleaxes,andthe slaves had 
five crows of iron before them. Besides, in the scuffling, they 
made no question [of taking] of some of the soldiers' weapons." 

Then for the manner, he told them, " They were sure of 
the ordnance, the Gunner Room, and the powder : and so 
blocking them up, would either kill them, as they came 
down ; or turn the ordnance against their cabins, or blow 
them into the air by one stratagem or other." Thus were 
they contented, on all sides ; and resolved to the enterprise. 

The next morning, being the 7th of February, the prize of 
Torbay was not to be seen or found ; whereat the Captain 
began to storm and swear, commanding Rawlins to search 
the seas up and down for her : who bestowed all that day in 
that business, but to little purpose ; whereupon, when tiie 

6o2 James R o e g i v k s the signal. [ ? Ma', .r.,,. 

humour was spent, the Captain pacified himself, as conceiting 
he should be sure to find her at Argier. But, by the per- 
mission of the Kuler of all actions, that Argier was England 1 
and all his wickedness frustrated. 

For Rawlins beingnowstartled, lest he should return in this 
humour, for the Straits; the 8th of February went down into the 
hold, and finding a great deal of water below ; told the Captain 
of the same : adding that " It did not come to the pump ! " 
which he did very politicly, that he might remove the ordnance. 

For when the Captain asked him the reason, he told him, 
" the ship was too far after the head." 

Then, he commanded to use the best means he could, to 
bring her in order. 

" Sure, then," quoth Rawlins, we must quit our cables, and 
bring four pieces of ordnance after [abaft] ; and that would bring 
the water to the pump." Which was presently put in practice. 

So the pieces being usually made fast thwart the ship, we 
brought two of them, with their mouths right before the 
biticle [binnacle]. And because the Renegado Flemings 
would not begin [i.e., the flight]; it was thus concluded. 

That the ship having three decks; we that did belong to 
the Gunner Room should be all there, and break up the 
lower deck. The English slaves, who always lay in the 
middle deck should do the like, and watch the scuttles. 
Rawlins himself prevailed with the Gunner, for so much 
powder as should prime the pieces : and so told them all, there 
was no better watchword, nor means to begin, than, upon 
the report of the piece, to make a cry and screech [shout], " For 
GOD, and King James ! " and " St. George for England ! " 

When all things were prepared, and every man resolved, 
as knowing what he had to do ; and the hour when it should 
happen, to be two in the afternoon : Rawlins advised the 
Master Gunner to speak to the Captain, that the soldiers 
might attend on the poop, which would bring the ship after 
[)nore aft]. To which the Captain was very willing; and 
upon the Gunner's information, the soldiers gat themselves 
to the Poop to the number of twenty ; and five or six went 
into the Captain's cabin, where always lay divers curtlea.xes 
and some targets [shields]. 

And so we fell to work to pump the water; and carried the 
matter fairly till the ne.\t day, which was spent as the former ; 

f Mar. 1622.] Desperate fighting, without quarter. 603 

being the 9th of February, and, as GOD must have the 
praise ! the triumph of our victory. 

For by that time, all things were prepared, and the 
soldiers got upon the Poop as the day before. To avoid sus- 
picion, all that did belong to the Gunner Room went down ; 
and the slaves in the middle deck, attended [to] their business. 
So that we may cast up our account in this manner. 

First, nine English slaves, besides John Rawlins; five 

of the Torbay men and one boy ; four English Renegadoes 

and two Dutch ; four Hollanders : in all, four and 

twenty and a boy. 

So that lifting up our hearts and hands to GOD, for the 

success of the business ; we were wonderfully encouraged, 

and settled ourselves till the report of the piece gave us 

warning of the enterprise. 

Now, you must consider that, in this company, were two 
of Rawlins's men, James Roe and John D.a.vies, whom he 
brought out of England ; and whom the fortune of the sea 
brought into the same predicament with their Master. 

These were employed about noon, being, as I said, the gth 
of February, to prepare their matches ; while all the Turks, 
or at least most of them, stood on the Poop, to weigh down 
the ship as it were, to bring the water forward to the pump, 
the one brought his match lighted between two spoons, the 
other brought his, in a little piece of a can. And so, in the 
name of GOD ! the Turks and Moors being placed as you 
have heard, and five and forty in number ; and Rawlins 
having proined the touchholes : James Roe gave fire to one 
of the pieces, about two o'clock in the afternoon ; and the 
confederates, upon the warning, shouted most cheerfully. 

The report of the piece did tear and break down all the 
biticle and compasses ; and the noise of the slaves made all 
the soldiers amazed at the matter : till seeing the quarter of 
the ship rent and feeling the whole body to shake under them ; 
understanding the ship was surprised, and the attempt tended 
to their utter destruction, never bear robbed of her whelps 
was so fell and mad ! 

For they not only called us " Dogs ! " and cried out " Usance 
dc la mar" which is as much as to say, " The fortune of the 
wars ! " but attempted to tear up the planks, setting a work 
hammers, hatchets, knives, the oars of the boat, boat-hook, 


their cuitleaxes, and what else came to hand ; besides stones 
and bricks in the Cook Room : all which tliey threw amongst 
us ; attempting still and still, to break and rip up the hatches 
and boards of the steering, not desisting from their former 
execrations, and horrid blasphemies and revilings. 

When John Rawlins perceived them so violent, and 
understood how the slaves had cleared the decks of all the 
Turks and Moors beneath ; he set a guard upon the powder, 
and charged their own muskets against them : killing them 
from divers scout holes, both before and behind ; and so 
lessened their number, to the joy of all our hearts. 

Whereupon the}' cried out, and called for the Pilot : and 
so IvAWLiNS, with some to guard him, went to them ; and 
understood them, by their kneeling, that they cried for mercy 
and to have their lives saved ; and they would come down ; 
which he bade them do. And so they were taken one by one, 
and bound ; yea, killed with their own curtleaxes. Which, 
v.'hen the rest perceived, they called us, " English dogs ! " 
and reviled us with many opprobrious terms ; some leaping 
overboard, saying, " It was the chance of war! " Some were 
manacled, and so thrown overboard : and some were slain 
and mangled with the curtleaxes ; till the ship was well 
cleared, and ourselves assured of the victory. 

At the first report of our piece, and the burly burly in the 
decks ; the Captain was writing in his cabin : and hearing 
the noise, thought it some strange accident ; and so, came 
out with his curtleaxe in his hand, presuming by his authority 
to pacify the mischief. 

But when he cast his eyes upon us, and saw that we were 
like to surprise the ship ; he threw down his curtleaxe, and 
begged to save his life : intimating to Rawlins, "how he had 
ledeemed him from Villa Rise; and e\er since admitted 
liim to place of command in the ship; besides honest usage 
in the whole course of the voyage." 

All which Rawlins confessed ; and at last, condescended 
^agreed] to mercy : and brought the Captain and five more into 

The Captain was called Ramtham Rise; but his Christian 
name, Henry Chandler: and, as they say, a chandler's 
son in Southwark. John Goodale was also an English 
Turk. Richard Clarke, in Turkish, Jaiv\.r; George Cooke, 

tMar..622.] The Toruay lark gkts to Pknzance. 605 

Ramedam ; John Browne, Mamme ; William Winter, 
Mustapha: besides all the slaves and Hollanders; with 
other Renegadoes, who were willing to be reconciled to their 
true Saviour, as being formerly seduced with the hopes of 
riches, honour preferment, and such like devilish baits to 
catch the souls of mortal men and entangle frailty in the 
tarriers of horrible abuses and imposturing deceit. 

When all was done, and the ship cleared of the dead 
bodies ; John Rawlins assembled his men together, and 
with one consent gave the praise to GOD: using the ac- 
customed Service on ship board ; and, for want of books, 
lifted up their voices to GOD, as He put into their hearts or 
renewed their memories. Then, did they sing a Psalm ; and, 
last of all, embraced one another, for playing the men in such 
a deliverance, whereby our fear was turned into joy, and 
trembling hearts exhilarated ; that we had escaped such in- 
evitable dangers, and especially the slavery and terror of 
bondage, worse than death itself! 

The same night, we washed our ship, put everything in as 
good order as we could, repaired the broken quarter, set up 
the biticle, and bore up the helm for England: where, by 
GOD's grace and good guiding, we arrived at Plymouth, the 
13th of February [1622] ; and were welcomed like the 
recovery of the lost sheep, or as you read of a loving mother 
that runneth, with embraces to entertain her son from along 
voyage and escape of many dangers. 

Not long after, we understood of our confederates that 
returned home in the bark of Torbay, that they arrived in 
Penzance in Cornwall, the nth of February. 

And if any ask after their deliverance, considering there 
were ten Turks sent to man her, I will tell you that too. 

The next day after they lost us [ i.e., jth], as you have 
heard, the three Renegadoes had acquainted the Master's 
Mate and the two English in her, with Rawlins' determina- 
tion ; and that they themselves would be true to them, and 
assist them in any enterprise : then, if the worst came, there 
were but seven to six. 

But, as it fell out, they had a more easy passage than 
turmoil and manslaughter. For they made the Turks believe 
the wind was come fair, and that they were sailing to Argier, 
till they came within sight of England : which one of them 

6o6 T II !■: Moral of t ii ic S t o r y . [ , m.J. ,6,,. 

amonfjst the rest discovered, sajing plainly, " that land was 
not like Cape St. Vincent ! " 

" Yes ! " saith he that was at the helm, " and [if] you will 
be contented, and go down into the hold ; and turn the Salt 
over to windward, whereby the ship may bear full sail : you 
shall know and see more to-morrow I " 

Whereupon five of them went down very orderly, the 
Kenegadoes feigning themselves asleep; who presently start 
up, and with the help of the two English, nailed down the 
hatches. Whereat the principal amongst them much re- 
pmed ; and began to grow into choler and rage, had it not 
quickly been overpassed. For one stepped to him, and dashed 
out his brains ; and threw him overboard. 

The rest were brought to Exeter : either to be arraigned 
according to the punishment of delinquents in that kind, or 
disposed of as the King and Council shall think meet. 

And this is the story of this Deliverance, and end of John 
Rawlins's voyage. 

Now, gentle Reader ! I hope you will not call in question 
the power and goodness of GOD, who, from time to time, 
extendeth His mercy to the miraculous preservation of His 
servants ; nor make any doubt that He hath still the same 
arm and vigour as He had in times past, when Gideon's three 
hundred men overcame the Midianites : and many ancient 
stratagems are recorded to have had a passage of success, 
even within our memories, to execute as great a wonder as 
this. Nor do I think you will be startled at anything in the 
discourse touching the cruelty and inhumanity of Turks and 
Moors themselves : who, from a native barbarousness, do hate 
all Christians and Christianity; especially if they grow into 
the violent rages of piracy, or fall into that exorbitant course 
of selling of slaves, or enforcing of men to be Mahomedans. 

Nor can I imagine, you will call in question our natural 
desire of liberty, and saving of our lives, when you see, from 
instinct of nature, all the creatures of the world come to the 
law of preservation : and our Saviour Himself, alloweth the fly- 
ing out of one city into another, in the time of persecution ; and 
Paul, by saying " He was a Roman I " procured his delivery. 

Well, then, it is only the truth of the story that you are 
amazed at : making doubt whether your belief of the same 
may be bestowed to your own credit ! I can say no more. 

? Man 16=2] Final admonitions. 607 

The actors in this comic tragedy are most of them alive. 
The Turks are in prison! the ship is to be seen! and 
Rawlins himself dare justify the matter! For he hath pre- 
sented it to the Marquis I a man not to be dallied withal in 
these things ; nor any way to be made partaker of deceit. 

Nay, I protest I think he durst not, for his ears ! publish 
(concerning tiie substance) such a discourse to open over- 
looking, if it were not true ! As for illustration, or cementing 
the broken pieces of well-tempered mortar, blame him not in 
that ! For precious stones are worn enamelled and wrought 
in gold ; which otherwise would still be of value and estima- 
tion ; but published and receiving the addition of art and 
cunning, who doth not account [them] the better, and 
esteemeth himself the ruler for their possession. 

So, then, entertain it for a true and certain discourse ! 
Apply it ! make use of it ! and put it to thy heart for thy 
comfort ! It teachetli the acknowledgment of a powerful, 
provident, and merciful GOD, vho will be known in His 
wonders, and make weak things the instruments ot His glory ! 
It instructeth us in the practice of thanksgiving when a 
a benefit is bestowed, a mercy shown, and a deliverance 
perfected. It maketh us strong and courageous in adversity, 
like cordial restoratives to a sick heart; and our patience 
shall stand like a rock, against the impetuous assaults of 
affliction. It is a glorious sun to dissipate the clouds of 
desperation ; and cheer us thus far that GOD can restore us, 
when we are under the pressure of discomfort and tribulation : 
for preferment comes neither from the East, nor the West ; 
but from Him that holdeth ihe winds in His hands, and puts 
a hook in the nostrils of Leviathan. 

So that if He do not give way to cur contentment, it is be- 
cause He will supply us with better graces, or keep us from 
the adder's hole of Temptation, whereat, if we tarry, we shall 
be sure to be stung unto death. 

In a word, it is a Mirror to look Virtue in the face! and 
teach men the way to industry and noble performances ; that 
a brave spirit and honest man shall say, with Nehemiah, 
" Shall such a man as I ! fly ? Shall I fear death or some 
petty trial ; when GOD is to be honoured ! my country to be 
terved ! my King to be obeyed ! Religion to be defended ! 
the Commonwealth supported ! honour and renown obtained ! 

and, in the end, the crown of immortality purchased ? " 



«^tf «^w «^w «^tf t^v «^V «^V «^Nv v^w v^Sv v^v v^ty v^w v^v v^^ \^u t^^t/ v^» v^u v^c/ 

J]He names of those [four] English Renegadoes as con- 
sented, and joined with the Slaves, in the recovery 
of the Ship, were these : 

Richard Clarke, the Gunner; called in Turkish, 


George Cooke, Gunner's Mate ; called in Turkish, 

William Winter, Carpenter; in Turkish, Mus- 

John Browne, in Turkish, Memme. 

One Dutch Renegade. 

Four Dutch Slaves. 

One French Slave. 

Five Englishmen and a boy, taken but three days before. 

Nine English Slaves, which they took with them from 

In all twenty-four men and a boy : which were all safely 
landed at Plymouth, the 13th of February, 1621 [i.e., 1622]. 

They saved alive, of the forty-five Turks and Moors, the 
Captain, one Henry Chandler (born in Southwark), an 
English Renegado : and five Turks more, who are at this 
present in Plymouth Gaol, &c. 

*^^^ *^^^ *^" *^^^ *^^ *^^^ *^^ *^*"^^ *^^ *^^ ^^^K^ ^^" ^^^ *^" *^a" ^^a" *^^^ ^'^^ *^^" 


LyricSy Elegies, &'c. from Madrigals, 
Cazonets, ^c. 

John D o w i, a n d, Bachelor of Music, &c., and 
Lutenist to Christian IV., King of Denmark. 

The Third and XhA^t Book of 

SoNQg OR AlRg. 

I 603. 


JOHN SOUCH, Esquire : 

for many courtesies, for which I embolden myself; 

presuming of his good favour, to present 

this simple work, as a token of my 


He estimation and kindness, which I have ever 

bountifully received from your favour, have 

moved me to present this novelty of Music to 

you : who, of all others, are fittest to judge of 

it, and worthiest out of your love, to protect it. 

If I gave life to these, you gave spirit to me I 

for it is ahvays the worthy respect of others, 

that makes Art prosper in itself. That I may therefore possess, 

and make manifest to the world, your singular affection to me ; and 

my grateful mind, in my weak ability, to you: I have here pre- 

^.vc c.,.. IV. 39 

6io The Epistle TO THE Reader. [],"b*',tot 

fixed your Jionourable name, as a bulzcnrk of safety and a title of 
l^racc ; thinking myself no way able to deserve your favours more, 
than by further engaf^iiijr myself to you, for this your noble pre- 
sumed patronage. " lie that hath acknowledged a favour ," they say, 
"hath half repaid it!" ; and if such payment may pass for current, I 
sJiall be ever ready to grow the one half out of your debt : though 
how that should be, I know not ! since I owe myself, and more (if 
it ivere possible) unto you. 

Accept me wholly then, I beseech you, in what terms you please ! 
being ever, in my uttermost service. 

Devoted to your Honour's kindness, 


The Epistle to the Reader. 

|He applause of them that judge, is the encourage- 
ment of those that write. My first two Books of 
Airs sped so well, that they have produced a third, 
which they have fetched far from home, and 
brought even through the most perilous seas : where having 
escaped so many sharp rocks ; I hope they shall not be 
wracked on land, by curious and biting censures. As in a 
hive of bees, all labour alike to lay up honey ; opposing them- 
selves against none but fruitless drones : so in the House of 
Learning and Fame, all good endeavours should strive to 
add somewhat that is good, not malicing one another; but 
altogether banding against the idle and malicious ignorant. 
My labours, for my part, I freely offer to every man's 
judgement ! presuming, that favour once attained, is more 
easily increased than lost. 

John Dow land. 


Lyrics J Elegies, &'c.from Madrigals, 
Canzonets, &'c. 

The Third and JL(AgT.BooK of 

SoNQg OR AlRg. 

Arewell, too fair ! too chaste ! but too too 

cruel ! 
Discretion never quenched fire with swords ! 
Why hast thou made my heart, thine 

anger's fuel ; 
And now would kill my Passions with thy 

words ? 
This is Proud Beauty's true anatomy. 
If that secure, severe in secrecy, farewell. 

Farewell too dear ! and too too much desired ! 
Unless compassion dwelt more near thy heart. 
Love by neglect (though constant) oft is tired ! 
And forc'd from bliss, unwillingly to part. 

This is Proud Beauty's true anatomy. 

If that secure, severe in secrecy, farewell. 

Ime stands still, with gazing on her face ! 
Stand still, and gaze ! for minutes, hours, and years, 

to her give place. 
All other things shall change ! but She remains the 
Till heavens changed have their course, and Time hath lost 
his name. 

6i2 Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from [^'"'^JfrTj: 

Cupid doth hover up and down, bhnded with her fair eyes ! 
And Fortune captive at her feet, contemned and conquered 

When Fortune, Love, and Time attend on 
Her with my fortunes, love, and time, I honour will alone, 
If bloodless Envy say, "Duty hath no desert ! " 
Duty replies, that " Envy knows, herself, his faithful heart 1 " 
My settled vows and spotless faith, no fortune can remove ! 
Courage shall shew my inward faith ! and faith shall try my 
love ! 

Ehold a wonder here ! 
Love hath received his sight ! 
Which, many hundred years, 
Hath not beheld the light. 

Such beams infused be, 
By Cynthia in his eyes ; 
As first have made him see. 
And then have made him wise. 

Love now no more will weep 
For them, that laugh the while ! 
Nor wake for them that sleep ! 
Nor sigh for them that smile ! 

So powerful is the Beauty, 
That Love doth now behold ; 
As Love is turned to Duty, 
That's neither blind, nor bold. 

This Beauty shews her might. 
To be of double kind ; 
In giving Love his sight, 
And striking Folly blind. 

Ed. by J. Dowia^d.-j Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 613 

|Aphne was not so chaste, as she was changing, 
Soon begun, Love with Hate estranging. 

He that to-day triumphs, with favours graced ; 
Falls before night, with scorns defaced. 
Yet is thy beauty feigned ! and every one desires 
Still, the false light of thy trait'rous fires ! 

Beauty can want no grace by true love viewed, 

Fancy by looks is still renewed ; 

Like to a fruitful tree it ever groweth, 
Or the fresh spring that endless floweth. 

But if that Beauty were of one consent with Love ; 

Love should live free, and true pleasure prove ! 

E ! MH ! and none but me ! Dart home ! O gentle 
Death ! 
And quickly ! for I draw too long this idle breath. 
O how long till I may fly to heaven above. 
Unto my faithful and beloved turtle dove ! 

Like to the silver swan before my death I sing ! 
And yet alive, my fatal knell I help to ring ! 
Still I desire from earth, and earthly joys to fly ! 
He never happy lived, that cannot love to die I 

1 Ay, Love ! if ever thou didst find 
A woman with a constant mind ? " 

" None but one!" 
" And what should that rare mirror be ? 
Some goddess or some Queen is she ?" 
She I She ! She ! and only She ! 
She, only Queen of Love and Beauty ! 

" But could thy fiery poisoned dart. 
At no time, touch her spotless heart. 
Nor come near ? " 

" She is not subject to Love's bow. 

Her eye commands, her heart saith ' No ! ' 

No! no! no! and only No ! 

One No ! another still doth follow. 

" How might I that fair wonder know, 
That mocks Desire with endless ' No I ' ? " 

"See the Moon ! 
That ever in one change doth grow; 
Yet still the same ! and She is so ! " 
So ! so ! so ! and only so ! 
From heaven, her virtues she doth borrow. 

" To her, then, yield thy shafts and bow! 
That can command affections so! " 

" Love is free. 
So are her thoughts that vanquish thee ! " 
There is no Queen of Love but She! " 
She ! She ! She ! and only She I 
She, only Queen of Love and Beauty ! 

Low not so fast, ye fountains ! 

What needeth all this haste ? 

Swell not above your mountains. 

Nor spend your time in waste ! 

Gentle springs ! freshly your salt tears 
Must still fall, dropping from their spheres. 

Weep not apace, whom Reason 

Or lingering Time can ease ! ' 

My sorrow can no season. 

Nor ought besides appease. 

Gentle springs ! freshly your salt tears 
Must still fall, dropping from their spheres. 

^''•'"'■'•F'r'.6»1:] Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 615 

Time can abate the terror 

Of every common pain : 

But common grief is error, 

True grief will still remain. 

Gentle springs ! freshly your salt tears 
Must still fall, dropping from their spheres. 

Hat if I never speed! 

Shall I straight yield to despair ? 
And still, on sorrow feed, 

That can no loss repair ? 
Or shall I change my love; 

For I find power to depart ; 
And, in my reason, prove 
I can command my heart ! 
But if she will pity my Desire, and my Love requite ; 
Then ever shall she live my dear delight ! 
Come I come ! come ! while I have a heart to desire thee 
Come! come! come! for either I will love, or admire thee 

Oft have I dreamed of joy, 
Yet never felt the sweet ; 
But, tired with annoy, 

My griefs each other greet ! 
Oft have I left my hope. 

As a wretch by fate forlorn ; 
But Love aims at one scope, 
And lost will still return. 
He that once loves with a true desire, never can depart I 
For Cupid is the King of every heart. 
Come ! come ! come ! while I have a heart to desire thee ! 
Come! come! come ! for either I will love, or admire thee ! 

6i6 Lyrics, Elegies, &c. f r o m p*'- ''>' ■"v'^S