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Volume VI. 




TRIUMPHED OVERl'riss^ i j'OsS^iv. 

Sit (m.EafewTj, I 3f . ^iltojt , 

Hist.ofike World. | Areopagitlca. 

E.ARBER. I Montague ROAD, 


1 May, ^rSS==a;^ 1883. 




v. ^ 

Contents of tf)z %ixtl) Oolume. 


William of Thorpe. 77^^? Examination of Master William 
Thorpe, priest, of Heresy, before Thomas Arundell, 
Archbishop of Canterbury , the year of our Lord, M.CCCC. and 
seven. (1407.)^ 41 

The Examination of the honourable Knight, Sir foHN Old- 
CASTLE, Lord CoBHAM, burnt by the said Archbishop in the 
first year of King Henry the Fifth. (1413.) 119 

[?] Here beginneth a little geste of Robin Hood and his meiny : 
\jind6f the proud Sheriff of Nottingham. (Printed about 15 id.) 423 

John Chilton. Travels in Mexico. 1 568-1 585 a.d. (? 1586.) n 

Richard Ferris. The most dangerous ajid memorable adi/enture 
of Richard Ferris,- one of the five ordinary Messengers of 
Her Majesty's Chamber : who departed frotn Tower Wharf on 
Midsummer Day last past, with Andrew Hill and 
William Thomas; who utidertook, in a small wherry boat, 
to row, by sea, to the city of Bristow ; and are now safely 
returned. Wherein is particularly expressed their perils sus- 
tained iti the said Voyage ' and the great entertainment they 
had at several places zepon the coast of England, as they went ; 
but especially at the said city of Bristow. (August, 1590.) ... 1 53 

Michael Drayton, Esq. Idea. (1594-1619.) ... 289 

W. Percy. Sonnets to the Fairest Coelia.. (1594.) 135 

Lyrics, E LEG I ES,&r='c: The Triumphs of Ori ana. Edited 

by Thomas Morley. (1601.) 29 

■ An Hour's Recreation in Mtcsic. By 

Richard Alison, Gentleman. (1606.) 389 



C. Wither. Fidelia. (1615.) 167 

[?] The Interpreter. Wherein three principal Terms of State, much 

m'.staken by the vulgar, are clearly tmfolded. (1622.) 231 

[?] Leather: A Discourse tendered to the High Court of Parlia- 
ment. (1627.) -09 

H. P[eacham], M.A. The Worth of a Penny: or a Caution to 
keep Money. With the Causes of the scarcity and misery of 
the want hereof, in these hard and merciless Times. ( 1 64 1 .) . . . 245 

Sir William Petty, F.R.S. Political AritJunctic, or a Discoztrse 
coiuerning the extent and value of Lands, People, Bidldings ; 
Husbandry, Manufactures^, Commerce, Fishery, Artisans, 
Seamen, Soldiers; Public Revenues, Interest, Taxes, Super lu- 
cration. Registries, Banks; Valuation of Men, Increasing of 
Seamen ; of Militias, harbours, situation. Shipping, Power at 
sea, ^'c. : as the same relates to every country in general, but 
more particularly to the territories of His Majesty of Great 
Britain, and his neighbours of Holland, Zealand, atid France, I 
1677. (1690.) 323 

John Bion. An Account of the Torments, the Frcjtch Protestants 

endure aboard the Galleys. (1708.) 397 

The Controversy between Isaac Bickerstapf [Jonathan 
S w 1 n] and John Pa r 7 ridge i 708- 1 7 1 o. 

1. Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq. Predictions for the Year lyoS. 
IV herein the Month ajid Day of the Month are set down, 
the Persons named, and the great Actions and Events of 
next Year particularly related, as they will come to pass. 
(Feb. 1708.) 469 

2. A Revenue Officer [Jonathan Swift]. A Letter to a 
Lord. (30 March 170S.) 480 

3. [Jonathan Swift.] An Elegy on Mr. Pa trige, the Alma- 

nack maker, who died on the 2(jth of this instant March, 
1708. (30 March 170S.) 483 

4. John Partridge, Student in Physic and Astrology. Squire 

HiCKER.sTAEF detected; or the Astrological Impostor coti- 

viclcd. (1708.) 4S7 

A true and impartial Account of the Proceedings of ISAAC 
BicKEKrAFi; Esq., against Me. (? 1708.) ... 489 

Contents of the Sixth Volume. 7 


5. Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq. A Vindication of Isaac 
BiCKERSTAFF, Esq.; against what is objected to him, by 
Mr. Patridge, in his Almanack for the present Year 
1709. (1709.) 495 

J. Gay. The PreseJtt State of Wit, in a Letter to a Friend in the 

Country. (3 May 1711.) 503 

[J. Arbuthnot, M.D.] Law is a Bottomless Pit. In Five Parts. 

1. Exe7nplified in the Case of the Lord Strutt, John BulLj 
Nicholas Frog, and Lewis Baboon: who spent all they 
had in a Lawsuit. (28 February 1712.) 537 

2. yoHN Bull in his Senses. (18 March 17 12.) 557 

■^. fOHN Bull Still in his Senses. (10 April 1712.) 577 

4. An Appendix to John Bull still in his Senses. (2 May 
1712.) 611 

5. Lewis Baboon turned honest, and John Bull, politician. 
(24july 1714.) 625 

Henry Carey. The Ballad of Sally in our Alley. (Before 

1719-) 150 

The Cojttroversy between Thomas Tick ell and Sir Richard 
Steele, 172 1-2. 

1. Thomas TiCKELL. Lifeof Joseph Addison. (1721.)... 513 

2. Sir Richard Steele. Dedicatory Epistle to William 

CONGREVE. (1722.) 523 



AH creatures now are ... 33 

Al! ihe people of 465 

An evil Spirit (your 301 

A Protestant is such 237 

A Puritan is such 233 

Arise! awake ! you 36 

A Romanist is such 243 

As in some countries ... 316 

As Luvc and I late 320 

As other men, so I 295 

As Vesta was from 37 

A Witless Gallant 301 

Bright Ph(euus greets... 39 

Bright Star of Beauty 1 293 

But now, my lines 203 

But now we may behold 165 

But, O (I pray 204 

But tell, " What Fruit... 207 

But yet it seems a 393 

Calfmg to mind since .. 316 

Calm was the air and ... 34 

Can I abide this 395 

Christ have mercy 468 

Clear Ankor, on whose 317 

C<KLIA, of all sweet 145 

Cume, blessed bird 40 

Come, gentle swains ... 35 

Come, old and young !... 164 

CuriD, I hatetheel 315 

Dear ! why nhould you 309 

Define my Weal, and ... 321 

' Earth 't but a point to ... 396 

Fair Cvth area presents 39 

I'l r i.ymphs I hcird ... 37 

I I < h.iANA, Beauty's 33 

Kur I ii lANA in the 38 

Fair Ukiana, seeming... 39 

Fair Queen of Cniilos I 141 

Vuf Lust ii frail 31^4 


From London city 164 

Good Andrew Hill ... 165 

Good God! how 142 

Had Robin dwelled 466 

Hard by a crystal 40 

Hast thou any 464 

Hath silly wherry done 165 

Hence stars ! too dim ... 31 

He only can behold 391 

Htre five foot deep 486 

Her father, he makes ... 151 

His boat not bulged ... 164 

How many paltry 294 

I can no more but hope 393 

" I cannot conquer 748 

I end with prayers to ... 166 

I ever love, where never 304 

If he, from heaven that 298 

If it be sin, so dearly ... 142 

I hear some say 303 

Into tluse Loves, who ... 290 

In former times, such as 320 

In hope, a king doth .. 392 

In pride of Wit, wnen... 314 

Is not Love here, as 'tis 304 

It shall be said I died ... 148 

Judged by my Goddess' 139 

Letters and lines, we ... 297 

Lightly She whipped ... 32 

Like an .idventurous ... 291 

Lithe and listen 423 

Lithe and listen 454 

Lithe and listen 437 

Long live fair 32 

Love banished heaven 302 

Love, in a humour 294 

Marvel not. Love! 308 

Mcthinks, I sec some ... 306 

'Mongst all the 299 


Muses ! which sadly ... 313 

My Fair! if thou wilt... 318 

My Genius! say 207 

My heart the anvil 311 

My heart was slain 2q2 

My master and the 152 

My master carries me to 152 

My prime of youth is ... 394 

Nothing but " No ! " ... 293 

Now hath the Knight ... 451 

Now is the Knight 431 

Now let we that 448 

Of all the women 144 

Of all the girls that 151 

Of all the days that's in 152 

Oft I heard tell, and 175 

O gallant minds and ... 165 

O happy hour, and yet 140 

O heavenly Ccelia 141 

O heavy heart ! whose... 392 

O mighty Jove ! thou... 164 

Our floods' Queen 307 

O, why should Nature... 303 

Plain pathed Experience 314 

Prove her ! Ah, nol ... 140 

Receive these 7vrits 149 

Relent, my dear 147 

Rest with yourselves ... 394 

Robin dwelled in 468 

Round about her chariot 38 

Shall I abide this 395 

Shall I prefer this to ... 165 

Since there's no help ... 321 

Since to obtain thee ... 298 

Sing shepherds all 35 

Sitting alone, Love bids 310 

Some men there be 312 

Some misbelievinp; and 308 

Some, when in rhyme ... 310 

First Lines of Poems and Stanzas. 9 


Stay, speedy Time ! 299 

Strike up, my Lute ! ... 143 

Taking my pen, with ... 292 

That learned Father ... 297 

That the unwise may ... 232 

The Fauns and Satyrs... 35 

The King came to 458 

The Knight started 435 

The Lady Oriana 37 

The man upright of life 391 

The nymphs and 33 

The Sheriff dwelled 443 

The spring is past 394 

The stately stag that ... 39s 

The sturdy rock, for all 395 

Then bespake good 468 

There's nothing grieve 293 

This Knight then 436 

Those priests which first 306 

Though Wit bids Will... 392 


Thou leaden brain 315 

Thou purblind Boy I ... 309 

Thus BoNNY-BOOTES ... 34 

Thus our King and 463 

Thus then helped him ... 450 

To nothing fitter can I 296 

To such as say, thy 305 

To this our World, to ... 300 

" To what new Study ... 208 

To win the Fort 144 

Truce, gentle Love ! 322 

Well, Ferris, now, the 166 

Well, 'tis as 483 

What dost thou mean 317 

What if a day, or a 396 

What is the Fair 146 

What may be thought ... 147 

When Christmas comes 152 

When conquering Love 305 

When first I ended 322 


When first I heard 149 

When he came to 467 

When like an Eaglet ... 319 

When once I saw 146 

When she is by 151 

Whilst others ween 143 

Whilst thus my pen 313 

Whilst yet mine Eyes... 307 

Who loves his life 393 

Why do I speak of joy 3x1 

Why should your fair ... 312 

With angel's face and ... 31 

Withdraw yourselves ... 36 

With fools and children 302 

With grievous thoughts 143 

Yet read at last the 318 

You best discerned of ... 319 

You cannot love, my ... 300 

You're not alone when... 296 



Ew OF us adequately realize the immense 
Literature which has descended to us from our 
ancestors. Generation after generation has 
passed away ; each of which has produced {in 
the order of its own thought, and with the 
tuition of its inherited or acquired experience) 
many a wise, bright, or beautiful thing : which 
having served its own brief day, has straightway passed away into 
utter forgctfulness, there to remain till Doomsday ; unless some 
effort like the present, shall restore it to the knowledge and enjoy- 
ment of English-reading peoples. 

This Collection is to gather, for the gratification of this and 
future Ages, a vast amount of incomparable poesy and most stirring 
prose; which hardly any one woidd imagine to be in existence at all. 
Of many of the original impressions there survive but one or two 
copies, and these often are most difficidt of access ; so that it is not 
too much to say of the following contents as a whole, that they 
have never hitherto come within the ken of any single English 

The reader must be prepared often to find most crude and 
imperfect theories or beliefs, which later experience has exploded^ 
mixed up with most important facts or allusions as to the timeSy 
manners, or customs of the period then tinder illustration : leaving 
to us the obligation to reject the one, and to receive the other. 

Many of the following books and tracts are the original 
materials out of which modern historians have culled the most 
graphic touches of their most brilliant pages. In fact, the Series 
is, in regard to much of its prose, a Study on a large scale of 
detached areas of English history; and stands in the same relation 
to the general national Story, as a selected Collection of Parish 
Maps would do to the Ordnance Survey of English land. 

Vol. VI. 

John Chilton. 
Travels in Mexico, 1568 — 1585 a.d, 

[Hakluyt. Voyages. 1589I 

A notable Discourse of Master John Chilton, touching the 
people, manners, mines, cities, riches, forces, and other 
memorable things of the West Indias; seen and noted 
by himself in the time of his travels, continued in those 
parts the space of seventeen or eighteen years. 

These travels, which also refer to Sir JOHN Hawkins's disaster at 
San Juan de Ulua, conclude our series of pieces relating to the tirst 
English residents in Mexico and the West Indies. 

J 2 Chilton's arrival at Vera Cruz. \J-f^. 

N THE year of our Lord 1561, in the month of 
July, I, John Chilton, went out of this city 
of London into Spain ; where I remained for 
the space of seven years : and from thence, I 
sailed into New Spain, and so travelled there, 
and by the South Sea [Pacific] into Peru, the 
space of seventeen or eighteen years. 

After that time expired, I returned into 
Spain; and so, in the year 1586, in the month of July, I 
arrived at the foresaid city of London : where perusing the 
notes which I had taken in the time of my travel in those 
years, I have set down, as followeth. 

In the year 1568, in the month of March, being desirous 
to see the world, I embarked myself in the Bay of Cadiz, in 
Andalusia, in a ship bound for the isles of the Canaries ; 
where she took in her lading, and set forth from thence for 
the voyage, in the month of June the same year. 

Within a month after, we fell with the isle of Santo 
Domingo; and from thence, sailing directly to New Spain, 
we came into the port of San Juan de Ulua [about two months 
before Ha WKINS's arrival at the same port on September 16, 1568 : 
sec Vol. V. p. 221, and the following description probably describes 
the island as Sir John found it] : which is a little island stand- 
ing in the sea, about two miles [?J from the land : where the 
King maintaineth about 50 soldiers, and Captains, that keep 
the forts ; and about 150 Negroes, who, all the year long, are 
{iccupied in carrying stone for building and other uses, and 
to help to make fast the ships that come in there with their 
cables. There are two Bulwarks [batteries], d-t each end of a 
wall, that standeth likewise in the said island ; where the 
ships use [are accustomed ] to ride, made fast to the said wall 
with their cables; so near, that a man may leap ashore. 

l-'rom this port, I journeyed by land to a town called Vera 
Cruz, standing by a river's side : where all the Factors of the 
Spanish merchants dwell, which receive the goods of such 
bhips as come thither ; and also lade the same with such 
treasure and merchandize as they return back into Spain. 

^•^''^sej The Tlascalan tax of a handful of wheat, i 3 

They are in number, about 400 : who only remain here durin^:^ 
the time that the Spanish Fleet dischargeth and is ladened 
again ; which is from the end of August, to the beginning of 
April following : and then, for the unwholesomeness of the 
place, they depart thence sixteen miles further up within the 
country, to a town called Xalapa [sec Vol. V. p. 301], a very 
healthful soil. 

There is never any woman delivered of child in this town ; 
for so soon as they perceive themselves conceived with child, 
they get them up into the country, to avoid the peril of the 
infected air: although they use [are accustomed], every morn- 
ing, to drive through the town, about 2,000 head of cattle, to 
take away the ill vapours of the earth. 

From Xalapa, seven leagues, I came to another place 
named Perota; wherein are certain houses built of straw, 
called by the name of Ventz : the inhabitants whereof are 
Spaniards, who accustom to harbour such travellers as are 
occasioned to journey that way, up into the land. It standeth 
in a great wood of pine and cedar trees ; the soil being very 
cold, by reason of store of snow, which lieth on the mountains 
there, all the year long. There are in that place, an infinite 
number of deer, of highness like unto great mules, having 
also horns of great length. 

From Perota, nineleagues, I came to the fo[u]ntsof Ozumba ; 
which fo[u]nts are springs of water issuing out of certain 
rocks into the midst of the highway : where likewise are 
certain ranges ; and houses for the uses before mentioned. 

Eight leagues off, from this place, I came to the City of 
Angels [Piiebla de los Angeles], so called by that name, of the 
Spaniards ; who inhabit there to the number of 1,000, besides 
a great number of Indians. This city standeth in very plain 
fields, having near adjoining to it many sumptuous cities: 
as, namely, the city of Tlascala, a city of 200,000 Indians, 
tributary to the King [of Spain] ; although he exacteth no 
other tribute of them than a handful of wheat a piece, 
which amounteth to 13,000 hannegas [2,600 English Quarters] 
yearly, as appeareth by the King's Books of Account. And 
the reason why he contenteth himself with this tribute only 
from them, is because they were the occasion that he took 
the city of Mexico : with which, the Tlascalans had war at 
the same time that the Spaniards came into the country. 

14 The Mexican Indians taxed at 12s. each, p-f^^.'^^e. 

The Governor of this city is a Spaniard, called among them 
Alcadc Major, who administereth chiefest causes of justice, 
both unto the Christians and Indians ; referring smaller and 
lighter vices, as drunkenness and such like, to the judgement 
and discretion of such of the Indians as are chosen, every 
year, to rule amongst them, and called by the name of 

These Indians [at Piiehla de los Angeles], from fourteen 
years old and upwards, pay unto the King for their yearly 
tribute one ounce of silver [the Peso = 6s. 8d. {or in present 
value 53s.); see Vol. V. p. 227] and a hannega [}th of an 
English Quarter] of maise, which is valued among them com- 
monly at 12 Rials of Plate [or silver = 6s. {or in present valu 
48s.)]. The widows among them pay half of this. 

The Indians both of this city, and of the rest lying about 
Mexico, go clothed with mantles of linen cloth made of cotton 
wool, painted throughout with works of divers and fine 

Distant from the City of the Angels, four leagues to the 
northward, and fourteen from Mexico; there is another city 
called Cholula, consisting of more than 60,000 Indians, 
tributaries : and there dwelleth not above twelve Spaniards 

From it, about two leagues, there is another called 
Acassingo, of about 5,000 Indians, and eight or twelve 
Spaniards ; which standeth at the foot of the Volcano of 
Mexico [Popocatepetl]. 

There are besides these, three other great cities, the one 
named Tepeaca, a very famous city; Huexotzinco, and 

All these, in times past, belonged to the kingdom Tlascala: 
and from these cities they bring all their cochineal into Spain 
[sec Vol. V.p. 60]. 

The distance from the City of the Angels to the city of 
Mexico is twenty leagues. This city, Mexico, is the city 
of greatest fame in all the Indias : having goodly and 
costly houses in it, built all of lime and stone; and seven 
streets in length, and seven in breadth, with rivers running 
through every second street, by which they bring their pro- 
vibiuns in canoes. 

•^■?^5.'] First trip to New Biscay in 1569. 15 

It is situated at the foot of certain hills, which contain in 
compass by estimation above twenty leagues, compassing 
the said city on the one side ; and a lake, which is fourteen 
leagues about, on the other side. Upon which lake, there 
are built many notable and sumptuous cities, as the city of 
Tescuco : where the Spaniards built six frigates at that time 
when they conquered Mexico; and where also Hernando 
Cortes made his abode five or six months, in curing of the 
sickness of his people, which they had taken at their coming 
into the country. There dwell in this city about 60,000 
Indians, which pay tribute to the King. 

In this city [Mexico] the said Hernando built the finest 
Church that ever was built in the Indias ; the name whereof 
is St. Peter's. 

After I had continued six months in this city; being 
desirous to see farther the countries, I employed [invested] 
that which I had, and took my voyage [in 1569J towards the 
Provinces of the California : in the which was discovered a 
certain country by a Biscayan, whose name was Diego de 
Guiara, and called it after the name of his country, New 
Biscay ; where I sold my merchandise for exchange of silver, 
for there were there certain rich mines discovered by the 
aforesaid Biscayan. 

Going from Mexico, I directed my voyage towards the 
south-west, to certain mines called Tamalxaltepec ; and so 
travelled forward, the space of twenty days, through desert 
uninhabited places, till I came to the Valley of St. Bar- 
tholomew, which joineth to the province of New Biscay. In 
all these places, the Indians are for the most part naked, and 
are wild people. Their common armour is bows and arrows. 
They use [are accustomed] to eat up such Christians as they 
come by. 

At my return to Mexico, I came along by the coast of the 
South Sea, through the Province of Zacatula ; from thence in 
the Province of Coloa : where I employed the silver that I had 
in a certain grain growing like an almond, called among the 
Indians Cacao [Cocoa beans] which in New Spain is current 
for money, to buy things of small value, as fruits, &c. ; fof 
they have no small money there ; and in which, also, they pay 

1 6 Chilton loses igoo ducats by Drake, [^-f^'l'^l 

the King his tribute. They grind this grain to a powder, and 
mingle it with water; and so is made both bread and drink 
to them; which is a provision of great profit and good 

From thence departing, I came to another province named 
Xalisco, and from thence to the port of Navidad which is 
sixty-six leagues from Mexico. In which port arrive, always 
in the month of April, all the ships that come out of the South 
Sea, from China and the Philippines; and there they lay 
their merchandise ashore : the most part whereof is mantles 
made of cotton wool, wax, and fine platters gilt made of earth, 
and much gold. 

The next summer following, being in the year 1570, which 
was the first year that the Pope's Bidls were brought into 
the Indias ; I undertook another voyage towards the Province 
of Sonsonate, which is in the kingdom of Guatemala ; whither 
I carried di\ers merchandise of Spain, all by land on mules' 
backs. The way thitherward, from Mexico, is to the City of 
the Angels ; and from thence to another city of Christians, 
eighty leagues off, called Guaxaca, in which there dwelt about 
fifty Spaniards and many Indians. All the Indians of this 
Province pay their tribute in mantles of cotton wool, and 
cochineal, whereof there growelh great abundance about this 

Near to this place, there lieth a port in the South Sea, 
called Aquatulca [Acapulco] : in which there dwelleth not 
above three or four Spaniards, with certain Negroes which 
the King maintaineth there. In which place, Sir Francis 
Drake arrived in the year 1579, in the month of April [see 
Vol. V. p. 294] : where I lost with his being there, about 
1,000 ducats* [=;^275 =now about ;^2,20o] : which he took 
away, with much other of goods of other merchants of Mexico, 
from one Fkanxiso Gomes Kangifa, Factor there, for all the 
Spanish merchants that then traded in the South Sea. For 
from this port, they use to embark all their goods that go for 
Peru, and to the kingdom of Honduras. 

From Guaxaca, I came to a town named Nixapa, which 

* This loss was subsequent to the conclusion of Chilton's narrative 
of his personal adventures ; which ends with his journey to Yucatan ia 
//. 25, 26. 

■^■?^'''i586.'] Hawkins's brass tiece at Teiiuantepec. 17 

standeth upon certain very high hills in the Province of 
Zapatecos, wherein inhabit about the number of twenty 
Spaniards by the King of Spain's commandment, to keep 
that country in peace ; for that the Indians are very rebel- 
lious : and for this purpose he bestoweth on them the towns 
and cities that be within that Province. 

From hence, I went to a city called Tehuantepec, which 
is the furthest town to the eastward in all New Spain, 
which sometime did belong to [Hernando Cortes] the 
Marquis de la Valle : and because it is a very fit port, 
standing in the South Sea, the King of Spain, upon a re- 
bellion [!] made by the said Marquis against him, took it from 
him, and doth now possess it as his own. 

Here, in the year 1572, I saw a piece of ordnance of brass, 
called a Demi-Culverin, which came out of a ship called the 
Jesus of Lubeck [See Vol. V. pp. 223, 238], which Captain 
Hawkins left in San Juan de Ulua, being in fight with the 
Spaniards, in the year 1568, which piece they afterward 
carried a hundred leagues by land, over mighty mountains, 
to the said city, to be embarked for the Philippines. 

Leaving Tehuantepec, I went still along by the South Sea, 
about 150 leagues, in the desolate Province of Soconusco : in 
which Province there groweth Cacao, which the Christians 
carry from thence into New Spain ; for that it will not grow 
in any cold country. The Indians of this country pay the 
King their tribute in Cacao, giving him 400 Cargas (every 
Carge is 2,400 almonds) which Carge is worth in Mexico, 30 
pieces of Rials of Plate [15s. {^£6 now)]. They are men of 
great riches, and withal very proud : and in all this Province 
throughout, there dwell not twenty Christians. 

I travelled through another Province called Suchetepec^ 
and thence to the Province of Guasacapan, in both of which 
Provinces are very few people ; the biggest town therein 
having not above 200 Indians. The chiefest merchandise 
there is Cacao. 

Hence, I went to the city of Guatemala, which is the 
chief city of all this Kingdom. In this city, do inhabit about 
eighty Spaniards : and here the King hath his Governors 
and Council, to whom all the people of the kingdom repair 
for justice. This city standeth from the coast of the South 
Sea, fourteen leagues within the land, and is very rich, 

£ng. Gar. VI. 2, 

1 8 Second trip, in 1570-71, to Guatemala, P-p.'fg^; 

by reason of the gold that they fetch out of the coast of 

From this city, to the Eastward, sixty leagues, hath the 
Province of Sonsonate; where I sold the merchandise I 
carried out of New Spain. The chiefest city of this Province 
is San Salvador, which hath seven leagues from the coast of 
the South Sea, and hath a port lying by the sea coast, 
called Acaxutla, where the ships arrive with the merchandise 
they bring from New Spain ; and from thence, lade back the 
Cacao. There dwell there to the number of sixty Spaniards. 

From Sonsonate, I travelled to Nicoya, which is the 
Kingdom of Nicaragua. In which port, the King buildeth 
all the shipping that travel out of the Indies to the Moluccas. 

I went forward from thence to Costa Rica, where the 
Indians, both men and women, go all naked ; and the land 
lieth between Panama and the Kingdom of Guatemala. 

And for that the Indians there, live as warriors, I durst 
not pass by land : so that here, in a town called San Salvador, 
I bestowed that which I carried in anil [indigo], which is a 
kind of thing to dye blue withal, which I carried with me 
to the port of Cavallos [see Vol. V.p. 302. At present, called 
Puerto Cortes or Cabellos], lying in the Kingdom of Honduras: 
which port is a mighty huge river; and at the coming in 
of the one side of it, there lieth a town of little force, without 
ordnance or any other strength, having in it houses of straw. 
At which town, the Spaniards use yearly, in the month of 
August, to unlade four ships which come out of Spain laden 
with rich merchandise, and receive in again here, a kind of 
merchandise called anil, cochineal (although it be not of such 
value as that of New Spain), silver of the mines of Toma 
Angua, gold of Nicaragua, hides, and salsaparilla the best in 
all the Indies. All which merchandise they return [take back', 
and depart from thence always in the month of April following 
[Chilton evidently ivcnt this voyage in April, 1571], taking their 
course by the island of Jamaica : in which island, there dwell 
on the west side of it certain Spaniards of no great number. 
From this place, they go to Cape St. Antonio ; which is the 
uttermost part of the westward of the isle of Cuba. 

And from thence, to Havanna, lying hard by ; which is the 
chiefest port that the King of Spain hath in all the countries 
of tiic Indies, and of greatest importance. For all the ships 

J-^'^'^i'^g";] Honduras, Havanna, and Peru; and back. 19 

from Peru, Honduras, Porto Rico, Santo Domingo, Jamaica, 
and all other places in his Indies, arrive there, on their 
return to Spain; for that in this port, they take in victuals 
and water, and the most part of their lading. Here they 
meet from all the foresaid places, always in the beginning of 
May, by the King's commandment. At the entrance of 
this port, it is so narrow that there can scarce come in two 
ships together ; although it be above six fathoms deep in 
the narrowest place of it. 

In the north side of the coming in, there standeth a tower, 
in which there watcheth every day a man to descry the sail 
of ships which he can see on the sea : and as many as he 
discovereth, so many banners he setteth upon the tower, 
that the people of the town (which standeth within the port 
about a mile from the tower) may understand thereof. [See 
Vol. III. p. 444, for a similar arrangement at Terceira.] 

Under this tower, there lieth a sandy shore, where men 
may easily go aland : and by the tower, there runneth a hill 
along by the water's side ; which easily, with small store of 
ordnance, subdueth the town and port. The port within is 
so large, that there may easily ride a thousand sail of ships, 
without anchor or cable : for no wind is able to hurt them. 

There inhabit within the town of Havanna, about 300 
Spaniards, and about sixty soldiers ; which the King main- 
taineth there, for the keeping of a certain castle which he 
hath of late erected, which hath planted in it about twelve 
pieces of small ordnance. It is compassed round with a small 
ditch, wherethrough, at their pleasure, they may let in the sea. 

About two leagues from Havanna, there lieth another town 
called Guanabacoa, in which there are dwelling about 100 
Indians : and from this place sixty leagues, there lieth 
another town named Bahama, situated on the north side of 
the island. The chiefest city of this island of Cuba, which 
is above 200 miles in length, is also called Cuba [Santiago 
de Cuba] ; where dwelleth a Bishop and about 200 Spaniards: 
which town standeth on the south side of the island about 
a hundred leagues from Havanna. 

All the trade of this island is cattle ; which they kill only 
for the hides that are brought thence into Spain. For which 
end, the Spaniards maintain there many negroes to kill their 
cattle : and foster [breed] a great number of hogs, which 

20 Returning by Guatemala, to Mexico, [^f^'l^, 

being killed and cut into small pieces, they dry in the sun ; 
and so make provision for the ships which come for Spain. 

Having remained in this island two months, I took shipping 
[ ? in July, 1571] in a frigate [briganiine], and went over to 
Nombre de Dios ; and from thence by land to Panama, which 
standeth upon the South Sea. From Nombre de Dios to 
Panama is seventeen leagues [see Vol. V. pp. 537 and 552I. 
From which town ^Nombre] there runneth a river, which is 
called the River of Chagres, which runneth [up] within five 
leagues of Panama, to a place called [Venta de] Cruzes : by 
which river they carry their goods and disembark it at the said 
Cruzes ; and from thence it is conveyed on mules' backs to 
Panama by land : where they again embark it, in certain 
small ships, in the South Sea for all the coast of Peru. In 
one of these ships, I went to [started for] Potosi, and from 
thence by land to Cuzco, and from thence to Paita. Here 
I remained the space of seven months. 

I then returned towards the Kingdom of Quatemala ; and 
arrived in the Provinces of Nicoya and Nicaragua. 

From Nicaragua, I travelled by land to a Province called 
Nicamula, which lieth towards the North Sea [Giilf of 
Mexico] in certain high mountains : for that I could not pass 
through the kingdom of Quatemala at that time, for the 
waters wherewith all the low countries of the Province of 
Soconusco, lying by the South Sea, are drowned with the 
rain that falleth above in the mountains, enduring always 
from April to September ; which season for that cause they 
call their winter. 

From this Province, I came into another called Vera 
Paz ; in which the chiefest city is also called after that name, 
where there dwelleth a Bishop, and about forty Spaniards. 
Among the mountains of this country towards the North 
Sea, there is a Province called La C and on a, \wherQ are Indian 
men of war which the King cannot subdue : for they have 
towns and forts in a great lake of water above, in the said 
mountains. The most part of them go naked, and some 
wear mantles of cotton wool. 

Distant from this, about eighty leagues, I came into an- 
other Province, called the Province of Chiapa ; wherein the 
chiefest city is called Zacatlan [Ciudad Real] : where dwelleth 
a Bishop and about a hundred Spaniards. In this country 

J-j^^'^e;] Third trip, 1572-3, toTampico & Zacatecas. 2 1 

there is great store of cotton wool; whereof the Indians make 
line linen cloth, which the Christians bu}' and carry into New 
Spain. The people of this Province pay their tribute to the 
King all in cotton wool and feathers. 

Fourteen leagues from this city, there is another city 
called Chiapa ; where are the finest gennets in all the Indies, 
which are carried hence to Mexico, 300 leagues from it. 

From this city, I travelled still [going now southward] 
through hills and mountains till I came to the end of this 
Province, to a hill called Ecatepec, which in English signi- 
fieth, the " Hill of Wind " : for that they say it is the highest 
hill that was ever discovered, for from the top of it may be 
discovered both the North and South Seas ; and it is in height 
supposed to be nine leagues. They which travel over it, lie 
always at the foot of it overnight, and begin their journey 
about midnight to travel to the top of it before the sunrise 
of the next day : because the wind bloweth with such force 
afterwards, that it is impossible for any man to go up. 

From the foot of this hill to Tehuantepec, the first town 
of New Spain, is about fifteen leagues. And so from thence, I 
journeyed to Mexico. 

By and by, after I came to Mexico, which was in the year 
1572 ; in the company of another Spaniard, who was my 
companion in this journey [to Peru and hack] ; we went to- 
gether toward the Province of Panuco which lieth upon the 
coast of the North Sea. 

Within three days' journey, we entered a city called Mez- 
titlan, where there dwelt twelve Spaniards. The Indian 
inhabitants there were about 30,000. This city standeth in 
certain high mountains, which are very thick planted with 
trees; very wholesome and fruitful, having plentiful fountains 
of water running through them. The highways of these hills 
are all set with fruits and most pleasant trees of divers kinds. 
In every town, as we passed through, the Indians presented 
us with victuals. 

Within twenty leagues of this place, there is another city, 
called Tlanchinoltepec, belonging to a gentleman, where 
there inhabit about 40,000 Indians: and there are among 
them, eight or nine Friars of the order of Saint Augustine, 
who have there a monastery. 

2 2 C HILTON 41 DAYS SICK AT PaNUCO. [■^•,^"''^'386; 

Within three days after, we departed from this place, and 
came to a city called Guaxutla; where there is another 
Monastery of Friars of the same order. There dwell in this 
town about twelve Spaniards. 

From this place forwards, beginneth a Province called 
Guastecan ; which is all plain grounds without any hills. 
The first town we came unto is called Tanguilabe, in which 
there dwell many Indians high of stature, having all their 
bodies painted with blue, and wear their hair long down to 
their knees, tied as women used to do with their hairlaces. 
When they go out of their doors, they carry with them their 
bows and arrows, being very great archers : going for the 
most part naked. 

In those countries, they take neither gold nor silver for 
exchange of anything; but only salt: which they greatly 
esteem, and use it as a principal medicine for certain v/orms 
which breed in their lips and in their gums. 

After nine days' travel from this place, we came to a town 
called Tampico, which is a port town upon the sea ; wherein 
there dwell, I think, forty Christians : of which number, 
whilst we abode there, the Indians [Chichimics] killed four- 
teen, as they were gathering salt ; which is all the trade that 
they have in this place. It standeth upon the entry of the 
river of Panuco, which is a mighty great river : and were it 
not for a sand that lieth at the mouth of it, ships of 500 
tons might go up into it above threescore leagues. 

From hence, we went to Panuco, fourteen leagues from 
Tampico ; which in times past had been a goodly city, where 
the King of Spain had his Governor : but by reason that the 
Indians [Chichimics] there destroyed the Christians, it lieth 
in a manner waste, containing in it not above ten Christians, 
with a priest. 

In this town, I fell sick : where I lay forty-one days, having 
no other sustenance than fruit and water : which water I sent 
for, about six leagues off within the country. Here I remained 
till my companion came to me, who had departed from 
me another way ; I having kept in my company only a slave 
which I brouglit with me from Mexico : and the last day in 
Easter week [1572 or 1573], my companion came to me, 
finding me in a very weak state, by reason of the unwhole- 
bomencss of the place. 

^■j^H'sse."] Nearly eaten by the Ciiiciiimic Indians. 23 

Notwithstanding my weakness, I being set on a horse and 
an Indian behind me to hold me ; we went forward in our 
voyage all that day till night. 

The next day, in the morning, we passed over the river in 
a canoe : and being on the other side, I went myself before 
alone ; and by reason there met many ways trailed by the 
wild beasts, I lost my way : and so travelled through a great 
wood about two leagues ; and at length fell into the hands 
of certain wild Indians [Chicldmics], which were in certain 
cottages made of straw. Who seeing me, came out, to the 
number of twenty of them, with their bows and arrows ; 
and spake unto me in their language ; which I understood 

So I made signs unto them to help me from my horse ; 
which they did, by commandment of their lord [chief] which 
was there with them : and [a] lighted down, they carried me 
under one of their cottages, and laid me upon a mat on the 

Perceiving that I could not understand them, they brought 
unto me a little Indian wench, of Mexico, of fifteen or sixteen 
years of age ; whom they commanded to ask me in her 
language, from whence I came, and for what intent I am 
among them ? " For," said she, " dost thou not know, 
Christian ! how that these people will kill and eat thee ? " 

To whom I answered, " Let them do with me, what they 
will ! here now I am ! " 

She replied, saying, " Thou mayst thank GOD thou art 
lean ! for they do fear thou hast the [small] pox, otherwise 
they would eat thee ! " 

So I presented to the King [caique or chief] a little wine, 
which I had with me in a bottle ; which he esteemed above 
any treasure : for for wine they will sell their wives and 

Afterwards the wench asked me, " What I would have, 
and whether I would eat anything ? " 

I answered that " I desired a little water to drink, for that 
the country is very hot! " 

She brought me a great gilded Venice glass full of 
water. Marvelling at the glass, I demanded, " How they 
came by it ? " 

She told me that " the Caique brought it from Shallapa 


On the march from Panuco to Zacatecas. [^-Pf^l 

r? Jalapa^, a town on the hills distant from this place thirty 
leagues; whereas dwelt certain Christians and certain Friars 
of the order of St. Augustine : which this Caique with his 
people, on a night, slew ; and burning the Friars' Monastery, 
among other thmgs, reserved this glass; and from hence also 
brought me." 

Having now been conversant with them, three or four 
hours, they bid her ask me, " if I would go my way ? " 

I answered her that " I desired nothing else." 

So the Caique caused two of the Indians to lead me for- 
ward in my way, going before me, with their naked bows and 
arrows, the space of three leagues, till they brought me to a 
highway : and then making a sign to me, they signified that 
in a short time, I should come to a town where Christians 
inhabited ; which was called Santiago de las Villas, standing 
in the plain fields, walled about with a mud wall. The num- 
ber of Christians that dwelt therein were not above four or 
five and twenty : unto which the King of Spain giveth Indians 
and towns, to keep the country subject unto him. 

Here the Christians have their mighty mules, with which 
they carry to all parts of the Indies, and into Peru ; for all 
their merchandise is carried by land by this means. 

In this town aforesaid, I found my company [his Spanish 
friend, &c.] which I had lost before ; who made no other 
account of me but that I had been slain. And the Christians 
there likewise marvelled to hear that I came from those kind 
of Indians alive : which was a thing never seen, nor heard of 
before. For they take great pride in killing a Christian, and 
to wear any part of him where he hath any hair growing 
[r.^^, the scalp], hanging it about their necks, and so are 
accounted for valiant men. 

In this town, I remained eighteen days, till I recovered 
my health. In the mean space, there came one Don 
Fkanxisco de Pago, whom the Viceroy, Don HenricoManki- 
QUEs, had sent, for Captain General, to open and discover a 
certain way from the seaside to the mines of Zacatecas, 
which is from this place i6o leagues ; for to transport 
their merchandise that way : and to leave the way by Mexico, 
whicli is se\'cn or eight months' travel. 

So tiiis Captain took me and my company [Iiis slave, 

•^■?*^^is86.'] Fourth trip, to Campeche and Yucatan. 25 

Spanish friend, &c.] with the rest of his soldiers, to the num- 
ber of forty, which he had brought with him, and 500 Indians 
which we took out of two towns in this Province called 
Tanchipa and Tamadelipa, all good archers and naked men ; 
and went thence to the river de las Palmas [ ? Rio Satander] 
of great bigness, parting the kingdom of New Spain and 

Going still along by this river the space of three days, seek- 
ing a passage to pass over and finding none : we were at length 
enforced to cut timber to make a balsa [raft] which when we 
had made, we sat on it, and the Indians swimming in the 
water and thrusting it before them to the other side. 

Within thirty days after, after travelling through woods, 
hills, and mountains, we came to the mines of Zacatecas : 
which are the richest mines in all the Indies, and from 
thence they fetch most silver. In which mines, there dwelt 
above 300 Christians. 

There, our Captain gave us leave to depart. So we came 
to the Valley of Saint Michael, toward Mexico; and from 
thence to Puebla Neuva. 

And from that place, to the Province of Mechuacan (after 
which name, the chiefest city of that place is called, where 
dwell a Bishop and above a hundred Spaniards in it). It 
aboundeth with all kinds of Spanish fruits, and hath woods 
full of nut trees and wild vines. Here are many mines of 
copper, and great store of cattle. It lieth sixty leagues from 
Mexico (whither we came within four days after). The 
Indians of this country are very mighty and big men. 

Afterwards, I returned another way, to the Province of Son- 
sonate, by Vera Cruz; and so to the Rio Alvarado ; and from 
thence to the Province of Campeche [now Yncatan], which 
lieth on the south side of the Bay of Mexico. The chief town 
of this Province is called Merida, in which is a Bishop and 
almost a hundred Spaniards. The Indians of this Province 
pay all their tribute in mantles of cotton wool and cocoa. 
There is no port in all this Province for a ship of a 100 tons 
to ride in, but only in the river of Tabasco, by which river 
the city of Merida standeth. The chiefest merchandise with 
which they lade there in small frigates, is a certain wood 

26 The King of Spain's W. Indian revenue. P^^'^S": 

called campcche [logwood] wherewith they use to dye, as also 
hides and anil. 

By this, there lieth the Province of Yucatan near the 
Honduras, by the North Sea coast; where there is also 
another Bishop, and a town likewise named Yucatans 
[ ? Valladolid], where dwell a few Spaniards. They have no 
force at all, in all this coast, to defend themselves withal ; 
save only that the land is low, and there is no port to receive 
any shipping unless they be frigates, which carry from thence 
to the port of San Juan de Ulua, wax, cocoa, honey: also 
mantles of cotton wool, whereof they make their great store ; 
and of which kind of merchandise there is great trade thence 
to Mexico. Of the same also, they pay their tribute to the 

The King hath tribute brought him yearly out of the Indies 
into Spain of between nine and ten millions of gold and silver 
[t.e., crowns, equal to seventy to eighty millions of the present day]. 
Yov he receiveth of every Indian that is subject to him, ex- 
cepting those which do belong to the Inconimenderos (which 
are the children of those Spaniards who first conquered the 
land ; to whom the King gave and granted the government 
of the cities and towns subdued, for three lives) 12 Rials of 
Plate [= 6s., or in present value 485.] and a hannega (five of 
them make a Quarter of English measure) of maize which is 
a wheat of the country : and of every widow woman, he had 
6\ rials [^s.^^d., or 26s. noiv] and half a hannega of maize. 
So if an infidel [heathen] have twenty children in his house, 
he payeth for every one of them, being above fifteen years 
old, after that rate. This wheat, being duly brought to the 
Governor of every Province and city, is sold in Mexico, by 
the King's Governors there, every year. So that the money 
received for it is put into the King's Treasury there ; and so 
is yearly carried from thence into Spain. 

Of the Spaniards which are owners of the mines of gold 
and silver, he receiveth the Fifth Part, which he calleth his 
(,)uinlas : which being taken out of the heap, there are his 
arms set on it ; for, otherwise, it may not be brought out of 
the land into Spain, under pain of death. 

Ihc Mark of Silver, wiiich ib 8 ounces, when it cometh 

j.chiuon.-i The Christians and Indians rebellious. 27 

! 1585.J 

carry it to the Km^ s ^^reabu thereby, to 

?;yrofTl"t:Vr/s: Ve' K^rfh for his custom ,a., 
"'^Stltear Sirc^Mifwas the year that the Pope;;s 

flSfhef car;'^o?h "P^.r with then, into the Indies 

^r^'ZwhiifiltVanVway, stolen; and so is par- 
^Tlfe'ilvenue'of his Bulk, after this manner, yieldeth unto 

"Sf do^re^to t^:VBuns: for t\at thev 
?il:r t.Lr fo'r^ :.Tr e^.'^- ^vheLl' n former 


house), and tearetn uic ^..^ sav n? thus, 

^-^-l^r:^^f:^^r:^, 'in^Lr^hlch tLy%ou,ht 

28 No WINE OR OIL MAY GROW IN MeXICO. [^-f^l'^^e. 

the year before they had above 10,000 years' Pardon.'' 
These pieces they stick up in the wall of the houses where 
they lie. 

Both the Christians and Indians are weary with these 
infinite taxes and customs, which, of late, he hath imposed 
upon them more than in the years before. 

So the people of both sorts did rebel twice in the time 
that I was among them [1568-1585 ? ] ; and would have set 
up another King of themselves. For which cause, the King 
hath commanded, upon pain of death, that they should not 
plant either wine or oil there ; but should always stand in 
need of them to be brought out of Spain : although there 
would more grow there in four years, than there groweth in 
Spain in twenty, it is so fertile a country. 

And the King, to keep the country always in subjection 
and to his own use, hath straitly provided by law, upon pain 
of death and loss of goods, that none of these countries 
should traffic with any other nation, although the people 
themselves do much now desire to trade with any other 
that with them [than with them] ; which they would un- 
doubtedly do, if they feared not the peril. 

About Mexico and other places in New Spain, there groweth 
a certain plant called Nc<^e [ilic Mexican A^avc], which yieldeth 
wine, vinegar, honey, and black sugar ; and of the leaves of it 
dried, they make hemp, ropes, shoes which they use, and tiles 
for their houses : and at the end of every leaf there groweth a 
sharp point like an awl, wherewith they use to bore or pierce 
through anything. 

Thus I make an end. I have here set down the sum of 
all the chiefest things that I have observed and noted in my 
seventeen years' travels in those parts. 


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

The Triumph 3 of Oriana. 

Edited by Thomas Morley. 

I 6 o I. 

To THE Right Honourable 

Earl of Nottingham, Baron of Effingham, 

Knight of the noble Order of the Garter; 

Lord High Admiral of England, Ireland, and 

Wales, &c.; and one of Her Majesty's most 

honourable Privy Council. 

Right Honourable. 

Have adventured to dedicate these few discordant 
tunes, to be censured by the ingenious disposition of 
your Lordship's honourable rare perfection ; persuad- 
ing myself that these labours, composed by me and 
others-as in "the survey hereof, your Lordship may well perceive 
—may not, by any means, pass without the malignity of some 

30 Dedication to the Earl of Nottingham. [^-^^T'o^; 

malicious MoMUS, whose malice, being as toothsome as adder's 
sti7ig, couched in the progress of a wayfaring man's passage, might 
make him retire, though almost at his journey's end. 

Two special motives have emboldened me. Right Honourable ! 
in this my proceeding. First, for that I consider that as the body 
cannot be without the shadow ; so HOMER, the prince of poets, 
may not be without a Zoilist. The second and last is the most 
forcible motive : I know not only by report, by also by experience, 
your Lordship to be not only Philomusus, a Lover of the Mnses 
and of Learning ; but Philomathes, a personage always desirous, 
though in all arts sufficiently skilful, to come to a more high per- 
fection or summum bonum. 

/ will not trouble your Lordship with too too tedious circum- 
stances, only I humbly entreat your Lordship — in the name of 
many — to patronage this work, with not less acceptance, than I 
with a willing and kind heart, dedicate it. So shall I think 
the initium of this work not only happily began, but to be finited 
with a more happy period. 

Your Honour's devoted in all duty, 

T II O M a S M O R L E Y . 


Lyrics^ Elegies^ Sf r. from Madrigals^ 
Canzonets^ &'c. 

The Triumph^ of Oriana. 


Ence Stars ! too dim of light ! 
You dazzle but the sight ! 
You teach to grope by night ! 
See here the shepherd's star I 
Excelling you so far." 
Then Phcebus wiped his eye, 
And Zephyr cleared the skies 
In sweet accented cries, 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 

IT This Song being sent too late, and all my others printed, 
I placed it before the rest, rather than to leave it out. 


|ITH Angel's face and brightness, and orient hue, 
' Fair Oriana shining, with nimble foot she tripped 
o'er hills and mountains ; 

Hard by Diana's fountains; 
At last in dale she rested. 
This is that maiden Queen of the Fairy Land, 

With sceptre in her hand. [lightness. 

The Fawns and Satyrs dancing, did show their nimble 
Fair Nais and the nymphs did leave their bowers, 
And brought their baskets full of herbs and flowers: 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair ORIANA ! 

Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from [ 

Ed. by T. Morley. 


Ightly She whipped o'er the dales. 
Making the woods proud with her presence ; 
Gently She trode the flowers, and they as gently 
kissed her tender feet. 
The birds in their best language bade her welcome, 
Being proud that Oriana heard their song. 
The clove-foot Satyrs singing, made music to the Fauns 

And both together, with an emphasis,sang Oriana's praises 
Whilst the adjoining woods with melody did entertain their 

sweet harmony. 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 


Also set to music by Thomas hunt. 

OxG live fair Oriana ! 
Hark ! did you ever hear so sweet a singing? 

They sing, young Love to waken ! 
The nymphs unto the woods, their Queen are 

There was a note well taken ! 
O good.', hark ! how joyfully 'tis ditticd ! 
A Queen and Song most excellently fitted. 
I never saw a fairer, 
I never heard a rarer : 
Then sing, ye shepherds and nymphs of DiANA, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 

Ed. by T. Moriey.i Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 33 

I60I. J 


ILL creatures now are merry-minded, 

The shepherd's daughters playing : 

The nymphs are " Fa, la la-ing," 

Yon bugle was well winded ! 
At Oriana's presence, each thing smileth ! 

The flowers themselves discover ! 

Birds over her do hover ! 

Music, the time beguileth ! 
See, where She comes, with flow'ry garlands crowned, 

Queen of all queens renowned. 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 


Air Oriana, Beauty's Queen ! 
Tripped along the verdant green ; 
The Fauns and Satyrs running out, 
Skipped and danced round about. 
Flora forsook her painted bowers, 
And made a coronet of flowers. 
Then sang the nymphs of chaste Diana, 
Long live fair OrianA ! 


|He nymphs and shepherds danced 

^' La Voltos in a daisy-tapestred valley ; 

Love from their face-lamps glanced, 
Till wantonly they dally : 
Till in a rose-banked alley 
Bright Majesty advanced, 
A crown-graced Virgin, whom all people honour; 

ENG. Gar. VI. ■J 


Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from [^^^^ '^^ ^- '^^tT. 

They leave their sport, amazed, 

Run all to look upon her. 

A moment scarce they gazed, 
Ere Beauty's splendour all their eyes had dazed, 
Desire to see yet ever fixed on her. 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 


Alm was the air and clear the sky, 
Fair Oriana passing by, 
Over the downs to Ida plains, 
Where heaven-born Sisters with their trains. 
Did all attend her sacred Beauty, 
Striving to excel in duty. 
Satyrs and Nymphs dancing together, 
Shepherds triumphing, flocking thither. 
Seeing their sov'reign Mistress there. 
That kept their flocks and them from fear ; 
With high-strained voice 
And hearts rejoice. 
Thus sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 



Hus BoxNY-BOOTES the birthday celebrated, 
Of her, his Lady dearest, 
Fair Oriana, which to his heart was nearest. 
The Nymphs and Shepherds feasted 
With clouted cream, and were to sing requested. 
" Lo here, the Fair created," quoth he, "the world's chief 

Goddess ; " 
Sing then, for She is Bonny-bootes sweet Mistress ! 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 

^'^•''■^•''TH Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. 35 


Ing shepherds all, and in your roundelays, 
Sing only of fair Oriaxa's praise. 
The gods above will help to bear a part, 
And men below will try their greatest art, 
Though neither gods nor men can well apply 
Fit song or tune to praise her worthily. 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of DiANA, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 


He Fauns and Satyrs tripping, 
With lively Nymphs of fresh cool brooks and foun- 

And those of woods and mountains, 

Like roes came nimbly skipping. 

By signs, their mirth unripping, 

My fairy Queen, they presented. 

With Amaltheas twenty. 

Brim full of wealthy plenty. 

And still to give frequented, 

With bare gifts not contented, 
The demi-gods pray to the gods supernal. 
Her life, her wealth, her fame may be eternal ! 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 


Ome, gentle swains and shepherds' dainty daughters, 

Adorned with courtesy, and comely duties I 
Come sing, and joy, and grace with lovely laughters, 

The birthday of the beauties 1 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana I 

-6 Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from [Ed- by t. Moriey. 


Ithdraw yourselves, ye shepherds ! from your bowers, 
And strew the path with flowers. 

The Nymphs are coming ! 
Sweetly the birds are chirping, 
The swift beasts running, 
As all amazed, they stand still gazing, 
To see such bright stars blazing, 
To DiAN bravely treading. 
The powers divine, to her do vail their bonnets. 
Prepare yourselves to sound your pastoral sonnets. 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Lo7ig live fair Oriana ! 


Rise ! awake ! you silly shepherds sleeping, 
Devise some honour for her sake by mirth to banish 


Lo ! where she comes in gaudy green arraying ! 
A Prince of beauty, rich and rare, for her delighting 

pretends to go a-Maying. 
You stately nymphs, draw near, and strew your 
paths with roses. 

In you, her trust reposes ! 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of DiANA, 
Long live fair OlilANA ! 

Ed.byT.Mo,^^y.-| Madrigals, Canzonets, &c. z7 


Air Nymphs, I heard one telling 
Diana's train are hunting in this Chace. 
To beautify this place 
The Fauns are running; 
The Shepherds their pipes tuning, 
To show their cunning : 
The lambs amazed, leave off their grazing, 

And blind their eyes with gazing : 
While the earth's Goddess doth draw nearyour places, 
Attended by the Muses and the Graces, 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 


He Lady Oriana 

Was dight all in the treasures of Guiana ; 
And on her Grace, a thousand graces tended, 
And thus sang they, "Fair Queen of Peace and 
Plenty ! 
The fairest Queen of twenty ! " 
Then with an olive wreath, for peace renowned, 
Her virgin head, they crowned. 
Which ceremony ended. 
Unto her Grace, the thousand graces bended. 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 


S Vesta was from Latmos hill descending, 
She spied a Maiden Queen the same ascending, 
Attended on by all the shepherds' swain. 
To whom Diana's darlings came running down 
a-main : 

2S Lyrics, Elegies, & c . from [ 

Ed. by T. IMorley. 

First two by two, then three by three together, 
Leaving their goddess all alone, hasted thither 
And rningling with the shepherds of her train, 
With mirthful tunes her presence entertain. 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of DiANA, 
Long live fair OjilANA ! 

JOHN MILTON [the father of the Pod], 

Air Oriana in the morn, 
Before the day was born ; 
With velvet steps on ground, 
Which made nor print nor sound, 
Would see her Nymphs a-bed ; 
What lives those Ladies led. 
The roses, blushing, said, 
♦' O stay thou Shepherd's Maid ! " 
And on a sudden all. 
They rose and heard her call. 
Then sang those shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Lo7tg liv^ fair Oriana ! 

ELLIS gibbons, 

OuND about her chariot with all admiring strains, 
The Hyades and Uryades give sweetest entertains, 
Lo, how the gods, in revels, do accord, 
Whilst doth each goddess melodies afford. 
Now Bacchus is consorting, 
Silvanus falls a sporting, 
Amphion's harp reporting, 
To the shepherds' pipes, sing the nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 

Ed. by T. MorW.J M A D R I G A L S , C A N Z O N E T S , & C. 2,9 


Right Phcebus greets most clearly, 
With radiant beams, fair Oriana sitting ! 
Her apple, Venus yields, as most befitting ! 
A Queen beloved most dearly ! 
Rich Pluto leaves his treasures ! 
And Proserpine, glad, runs in her best array * 
Nymphs deck her crown with bay ! 
Her feet, are lions kissing ! 
No joy can there be missing! 
Now Thetis leaves the Mermaids' tunes admired, 
And swells with pride, to see her Queen desired ! 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 

Robert jones, 

Air Oriana, seeming to wink at folly, 
Lay softly down to sleeping ; 
But hearing that the world was grown unholy, 

Her rest was turned to weeping. 
So waked, she sighed ; and with crossed arms. 
Sat drinking tears for others' harms ; 
Then sang the nymphs and shepherds of Diana, 
Long live fair ORIANA ! 


Air Cytharea presents her doves ! Minerva singeth ! 
Jove gives a crown ! a garland Juno bringeth ! 
Fame summoned each celestial power 

To bring their gifts to Oriana's bower. 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 


Lyrics, Elegies, &c. [^■'^^ 

by T. Morley. 


Ard by a crystal fountain, 
Oriana the bright, lay down a sleeping. 
The birds they finely chirped, the winds were stilled 
Sweetly with these accenting, the air was filled, 
This is that Fair whose head a crown deserveth, 

Which heaven for her reserveth. 
Leave, shepherds, your lambs' keeping upon the barren 

mountain ! 
And Nymphs attend on her, and leave your bowers ! 
For She, the shepherd's life maintains, and yours. 
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 


Ome, blessed bird, and with thy sugared relish, 
Help our declining quire now to embellish : 
For BoNNY-BOOTES that so aloft would fetch it, 
O he is dead ! and none of us can reach it. 
Then tune to us, sweet bird ! thy shrill recorder. 
For fault of better, will serve in the chorus ! 
Begin, and we will follow thee in order ! 
Then sang the wood-born Minstrel of DiANA, 
Long live fair Oriana ! 


urije €jcammation 

of fl^aster cmtUiam CDorpc, priest, 

of l)eresp, before Cl)omas i^runtiell, 

:arcl)bt6t)op of Canterbury, 

tl)e pear of our 3LorD, 

S^X€€€. auD 

«C!)e Cjcammation 

of m l)onouraftle iSimgl)t, ^ir 3o\^n 

£)lDca6tle, JLorU Cobi)am, burnt 

ftp tl)e saiD ;arcl)bi6l)op/ in 

tl)e first pear of iBitng 

i^enrp m fiftt). 

C TBe no more asbamen to ftear it, tban ge toete 
ann be, to no it 

[=;^ This is incorrect, Archbishop AR^deix condemned Sir John Old- 
castle on September 25th, 141 3- who was then sent to the Tower, see 
5fTi? 132 Som which he escaped ; and being recaptured m Wales in 
IAI7 was burnt on the 14th December of that year. But m the mean- 
time,' Xrchbiship ARUNDLLL had died on the 14th February, 1414 ; and 
Henry Chicheley had become Archbi?hop.J 


C 5anto tl)e Ct)ristian ^aeaDer. 

Race and peace in our Lord Jesus Christ. Read 
here with jtidgewent, good Reader ! the Examination 
of the blessed Ma7i of GOD, and there thou shalt 
easily perceive wherefore our Holy Church (as the 
most iinholy sort of all the people will be called) make all their 
examinations in darkness ; all the lay people clean excluded from 
their counsels. 

For if their lies had been openly confuted, and also that the 
Accused of Heresy might as well have been admitted to reason 
their Articles with Counsel, whether they were heresy or no[t] , as 
the A ccused of Treason against the King is admitted to his Council 
to confute his cause and Articles, whether they be treason or not, 
they should never have murdered nor prisoned so many good 
Christian men as they have done. 

For their cloaked lies could never have continued so long in the 
light, as they have done in corners. They, good men ! when they 
come in the pulpit, and preach against the Truth, cry, "If their 
learning [i.e., of the Protestants] were good and true, they would 
never go in corners ; but speak it openly I " 

Whereunto I answer, that besides that Christ and his Apostles 
were compelled (for because of the furiousncss of their fathers, the 
Bishops and Priests, which only, that time also, would be called 
Holy Church) oftentimes for to walk secretly, and absent them- 
selves, and give place to their malice. Yet we have daily examples, 
of more than one or two, that have not spared nor feared for to 
speak, and also [to] preach openly the Truth ; which have been taken 
of them, prisoned, and brent: besides others that for fear of death, 
have abjured and carried faggots. Of whose Articles and 
Examination there is no layman that can shew a word. 

Who can tell ivhcrcfore, not many years past, there ivcrc Seven 

44 Deaths of seven at Coventry, &c. [ 

W. Tindale. 

burnt in Coventry on one day ? Who can tell wherefore that 
good priest and holy martyr, Sir [the reverend] THOMAS 
HiTTON was brent, now this year, at Maidstone in Kent ? I 
am sure, no man ! For this is their cast [contrivance] ever when 
they have put to death or punished any man : after their secret 
Examinations, to slander him of such things as he never thought ; 
as they may do well enough, seeing there is no man to contrary 

Wherefore I exhort thee, good brother! whosoever thou be that 
rcadest this treatise, mark it well, and consider it seriously ! and 
there thou shall find, not only what the Church is, their doctrine 
of the Sacrament, the Worshipping of Images, Pilgrimage, Con- 
fession, Swearing, and Paying of Tithes : but also thou may est see 
what strong and substantial arguments of Scripture and Doctors, 
and what clerkly reasons my Lord the head and Primate of the 
Holy Church in England (as he will be taken) bringeth against 
this poor, foolish, simple, and mad loscll, knave, and heretic, as he 
calleth him. And also the very cause wherefore all their Examina- 
tions are made in darkness. 

And the Lord of all Light shall lighten thee with the candle of 
II is grace, for to see the Truth ! Amen. 

C This I have corrected and put forth in the English that 
now is used in England, for our Southern men ; 
nothing thereto adding, ne yet therefrom 
minishing. And I intend hereafter, 
with the help of GOD to put it 
forth in his own old English, 
which shall well serve, I 
doubt not, both for the 
Northern men and 
the faithful 
of Scot- 



tlliam of Cijorpe's 

He lord god that knoweth all things, 
wotteth well that I am right sorrowful for 
to write or make known this Sentence 
beneath written, where that of mine even 
Christian, set in high state and dignity, so 
great blindness and malice may be known ; 
that they, that presume of themselves to 
destroy vices and to plant in men virtues, neither dread 
to offend GOD, nor lust [desire] to please Him: as their 
works shew. For, certes, the bidding of GOD and His 
Law (which, in the praising of His most Holy Name, He 
commandeth to be known and kept of all men and women, 
young and old ; after the cunning and power that He hath 
given to them), the Prelates of this land and their ministers, 
with the comente [community] of priests chiefly consenting to 
them, enforce them most busily to withstand and destroy the 
holy Ordinance of GOD. And therethrough, GOD is greatly 
wroth and moved to take hard vengeance, not only on them 
that do the evil, but also on them all that consent to the Anti- 
christ's limbs ; which know or might know their malice and 
their falsehood, and [adjdress them not to withstand their 
malice and great pride. 

Nevertheless, four things moveth me to write this Sentence 

The first thing, that moveth me hereto is this, that where- 
as it was known to certain friends that I came from the 
prison of Shrewsbury, and (as it befell in deed), that I 
should to the prison of Canterbury ; then divers friends, 

46 Truth impugned, iiatii a sweet smell. [W'"-- of Thorp. 

in divers places, spake to me full lieartfully and full 
tenderly, and commanded me then, if it so were that I 
should be examined before the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury, that, if I might in any wise, I should write mine 
Apposing and mine Answering. And I promised to my 
special friends, that if I might, I would gladly do their 
biddings, as I might. 

The second thing that moveth me to write this Sentence is 
this. Divers friends which have heard that I have been 
examined before the Archbishop, have come to me in 
prison and counselled me busily, and coveted greatly that 
I should do the same thing. And other brethren have 
sent to me, and required me, on GOD's behalf! that I 
should write out and make known both mine Apposing 
and mine Answering "for the proht that," as they say, 
"over my [ac]knowledging may come thereof." But 
this, they bade me, that I should be busy in all my wits 
to go as near the Sentence and the words as I could ; 
both that were spoken to me, and that I spake: up[on] 
adventure this Writing came another time, before the 
Archbishop and his Council. And of this counselling I 
was right glad ! for in my conscience, I was moved to do 
this thing; and to ask hereto the special help of GOD. 

And so then, I considering the great desire of divers 
friends of sundry places, according all in one; I occupied 
all my mind and my wits so busily, that through GOD's 
grace, I perceived by their meaning and their charitable 
desire some profit might come therethrough. 

For Soothfastness and Truth hath these conditions. 
Wherever it is impugned, it hath a sweet smell, and 
thereof comes a sweet savour. And the more violent the 
enemies [adjdress themselves to oppress and to with- 
stand the Truth, the greater and the sweeter smell 
comcth thereof. And tlierefore this heavenly smicU of 
GOU's Word will n(;t, as a smoke, pass away with the 

William or Thorpe.-j'pjjg FOUR MOTIVES TO THIS Narrative. 47 

wind ; but it will descend and rest in some clean soul 
that thirsteth thereafter. 

And thus, some deal, by this Writing, may be perceived, 
through GOD's grace, how that the enemies of the 
Truth, standing boldly in their malice, enforce them to 
withstand the freedom of Christ's Gospel ; for which 
freedom, Christ became man, and shed his heart's 
blood. And therefore it is great pity and sorrow that 
many men and women do their own wayward will ; nor 
busy them not to know nor to do the pleasant will of GOD. 

Ye men and women that hear the Truth and Soothfast- 
ness,and hear or knowofthis,perceiving what isnow in the 
Church, ought therethrough to be the more moved in all 
their wits to able them to grace, and set lesser price by 
themselves : that they, without tarrying, forsake wilfully 
[voluntarily] and bodily all the wretchedness of this life ; 
since they know not how soon, nor when, nor where, nor 
by whom GOD will teach them, and assay their patience. 
For, no doubt, who that ever will live piteously, that is 
charitably, in Christ Jesu shall suffer now, here in this 
life, persecution in one wise or another, that is, if we 
shall be saved. 

It behoveth us to imagine full busily, the vilite and 
foulness of sin, and how the LORD GOD is displeased 
therefore: and of this vilite of hideousness of sin, it be- 
hoveth us to busy us in all our wits for to abhor and hold 
in our mind a great shame of sin, ever ! and so then we 
owe [ought] to sorrow heartily therefore, and ever flying 
all occasion thereof. And then [it] behoveth us to take 
upon us sharp penance, continuing therein, for to obtain 
of the LORD, forgiveness of our foredone sins, and 
grace to abstain us hereafter from sin ! And but if 
[except] we enforce us to do this wilfully and in con- 
venient time, the LORD (if He will not utterly destroy 
and cast us away ! ) will, in divers manners, move 
tyrants against us, for to constrain us violently for to do 

48 This Storv may startle some consciences. [^^ZTi- 

penance, which we would not do wilfully. And, trust ! 
that this doing is a special grace of the LORD, and a 
great token of life and mercy ! 

And, no doubt, whoever will not apply himself, as is 
said before, to punish himself wilfully, neither will suffer 
patiently, meekly, and gladly the rod of the LORD, 
howsoever that He will punish him : their wayward 
wills and their impatience are unto them earnest of ever- 
lasting damnation. 

But because there are but few in number that do able 
them thus faithfully to grace, for to live here simply and 
purely, and without gall of malice and of grudging, 
herefore the lovers of this world hate and pursue them 
that they know patient, meek, chaste, and wilfully poor, 
hating and fleeing all worldly vanities and fleshly lusts. 
For, surely, their virtuous conditions are even contrary 
to the manners of this world. 

The third thing that moveth me to write this Sentence is 
this. I thought I shall busy me in myself to do faith- 
fully, that all men and women occupying all their 
business in knowing and in keeping of GOD's com- 
mandments, able them so to grace, that they might 
understand truly the Truth, and have and use virtue and 
prudence ; and so to serve to be lightened from above 
with heavenly wisdom : so that all their words and their 
works may be hereby made pleasant sacrifices unto the 
LORD GOD ; and not only for help for their own souls, 
but also for ediiic^.tion of all Holy Church. 

For I doubt not but all they that will apply them to 
have this foresaid business shall profit full mickle both 
to friends and to foes. For some enemies of the Truth, 
through the grace of GOD, shall, through charitable 
folks, be made astonied in their conscience, and perad- 
venture converted from vices to virtues ; and also they 
that labour to know and to keep faithfully the biddings 

William of Thorpe.1 Innocence RECEIVES Dtvine help. 49 

of GOD, and to suffer patiently all adversities, shall 
hereby comfort many friends. 

And the fourth thing that moveth me to write this Sentence 
is this. I know my sudden and unwarned Apposing 
and Answering that all they that will of good heart 
without feigning able themselves wilfully and gladl}', 
after their cunning and their power, to follow Christ 
patiently, travailing busily, privily and apertly, in work 
and in word, to withdraw whomsoever that they may 
from vices, planting in them (if they may) virtues, com- 
forting them and furthering them that standeth in grace ; 
so that therewith they be not borne up into vainglory 
through presumption of their wisdom, nor enflamed with 
any worldly prosperity : but ever meek and patient, 
purposing to abide steadfastly in the Will of GOD, 
suffering wilfully and gladly, without any grudging 
whatsoever, the rod the LORD will chastise them with. 
Then this good LORD will not forget to comfort all such 
men and women in all their tribulations, and at every 
point of temptation that any enemy purposeth for to do 
against them ([to] such faithful lovers specially, and patient 
followers of Christ), the LORD sendeth His wisdom 
from above to them ! which the adversaries of the Truth 
may not know nor understand ; but through their old 
and new unshamefast sins, those tyrants and enemies of 
Soothfastness shall be so blinded and obstinate in evil, 
that they shall ween themselves to do pleasant sacrifices 
unto the LORD GOD in their malicious and wrongful 
pursuing and destroying of innocent men's and women's 
bodies ; which men and women for their very virtuous 
living and for their true knowledging of the Truth and 
their patient, wilful, and glad suffering of persecution for 
righteousness, deserve through the grace of GOD to 
be heirs of the endless bliss of heaven. 

And for [on account of] the fervent desire and the great 
Eng. Gar. VI. 4 

:o Heaven IS THE LORD GOD Himself! [' 

iam of Thorpe, 

love that those men have, as to stand in Soothfastness 
and witness of it, though they be, suddenly and unwarned, 
brought forth to be Apposed of their adversaries : the 
HOLY GHOST yet, that moveth and ruleth them, 
through His charity, will, in the hour of their Answering, 
speak in them, and shew His wisdom, that all their 
enemies shall not again say [gainsay] and against stand 
lawfully [by rigid]. 
And therefore all they that are stedfast in the faith of 
GOD, yea, which (through diligent keeping of His com- 
mandments, and for their patient suffering of whatsoever 
adversity that cometh to them) hope surely in His mercy, 
purposing to stand continually in perfect charity : for those 
men and women dread not so the adversities of this life, that 
they will fear (after their cunning and their power) to 
[acjknowledge prudently the truth of GOD's Word! when, 
where, and to whom that they think their [acjknowledging 
may profit. Yea, and though therefore, persecution come to 
them, in one wise or another, certes, they patiently take it ! 
knowing their conversation to be in heaven. 

It is a high reward and a special grace of GOD for to 
have and enjoy as the everlasting inheritance of heaven, for 
the suffering of one persecution in so short a time as is the 
term of this life. For, lo, this heavenly heritage and end- 
less reward is the LORD GOD Himself! which is the best 
thing that may be. This Sentence witnesseth the LORD 
GOD Himself, whereas He said to Abraham, / am thy uicde ! 
And as the LORD said He was, and is the mede of Abraham; 
so He is of all His other saints. 

This most blessed and best mede He grant to us all I for 

His holy name, that made us of nought, and sent His only 

most dear worthy Son, our Lord Jesu Christ, for to redeem 

us with His most precious 

heart's blood. 



[C|)e Cxamtnatton of sir 
illiam of C|)orpe.] 

NowN be it to all men that read or hear 
this Writing beneath, that on the Sunday 
next [August yth] after the Feast of St. Peter 
that we call Lammas [August ist], in the 
year of our Lord a thousand four hundred 
seventh year, I, William of Thorpe, being 
in prison in the castle of Saltwood [near 
Hythe, in Kent], was brought before Thomas 
Arundell, Archbishop of Canterbury, and i^LordJ Chan- 
cellor then of England. 

And when that I came to him, he stood in a great chamber, 
and much people [were] about him ; and when that he saw 
me, he went fast into a closet [private room], bidding all 
secular men [laymen] that followed him, to go forth from him 
soon ; so that no man was left then in that closet, but the 
Archbishop himself, a physician that was called Malveren 
[i.e., John Malverne, S.T.P.], Parson of St. Dunstan's 
[Church, in Tower Street] in London, and two other persons 
unknown to me, which were Ministers of the Law [i.e., the 
Canon Law : later on, they are called Clerks, i.e., Chaplains]. 

Archbishop. And I standing before them, by and by, the 
Archbishop said to me, "' William ! I know well, that thou 
hast, this twenty winter and more [i.e., from before 1387], tra- 
velled about busily, in the North country and in other divers 
countries [counties] of England, sowing about false doctrine : 
having great business, if thou might, with thine untrue teach- 
ing and shrewd will, for to infect and poison all this land. But, 
through the grace of GOD ! thou art now withstanded, and 
brought into my ward ! so that I shall now sequester thee 
from thine evil purpose, and let [hinder] thee to envenom the 
sheep of my Province. Nevertheless, St. Paul saith, // it 
may be, as far as in us is, we owe [ought] to have peace with all 
men. Therefore, William ! if thou wilt now, meekly, and 
of good heart, without any feigning, kneel down and lay thy 


hand upon a book, and kiss it ; promising faithfully as I shall 
here charge thee, that ' thou wilt submit thee to my correc- 
tion and stand to mine ordinance, and fulfil it duly by all 
thy cunning and power,' thou shalt yet find me gracious 
unto thee ! " 

William. Then said I, to the Archbishop, "Sir, since ye 
deem me an heretic out of belief, will ye give me here 
audience to tell my Belief y 

Archbishop. And he said, " Yea, tell on ! " 

William. And I said, " / believe that there is not but one GOD 

Almighty, and in this Godhead and of this Godhead are three 

Persons ; that is the Father, the Son, and the soothfast HOLY 

GHOST. And I believe that all these tJiree Persons are even 

in power, in cunning, and in might, fidl of grace and of all 

goodness : for whatever that the Father doth or can or will, 

that thing also the Son doth can and will ; and in all their 

power cunning and will, the HOLY GHOST is equal to 

the Father and to the Son. 

Over this, I believe that, through counsel of this most blessed 

Trinity {in most convenient time, before ordained), for the 

salvation of mankind, the second Person of this Trinity 

was ordained to take the form of Man, that is the Kind of 

man. And I believe that this second Person, onr Lord 

Jesu Christ was conceived, through the HOLY GHOST, 

into the womb of the most blessed Virgin Mary without any 

man's seed. And I believe that after nine months, CHRIST 

was born of this most blessed Virgin without any pain or 

breaking of the closter of her womb, and without filth of her 


And I believe that CHRIST our Saviour was circumcised in the 

eighth day after his birth, in fulfilment of the Law ; and his 

name was called Jesus, which was called of the angel before 

he was conceived in the womb of Mary his mother. 

And I believe that Christ, as he was about thirty years old, 

was baptized in the flood of Jordan of John [the] Baptist, 

and in likeness of a dove the HOLY GHOST descended 

there upon him ; and a voice was heard from heaven, saying. 

Thou art my well beloved Son ! In Thee, I am full 

pleased ! 

And I believe that CllRiST -was moved then by the HOLY 

GHOST for to go into [the] desert, and there he fasted forty 


1407. J 

days and forty nights without bodily meat and drink. And 
I believe that by and by, after his fasting, when the manhood 
of Christ hungered, the Fiend came to him and tempted him 
in gluttony, in vainglory, and in covdise : but in all those 
temptations CHRIST concluded [confounded] the Fiend and 
withstood him. 
And then, without tarrying, Jesu began to preach, and to say 
unto the people. Do ye penance ! for the Realm of Heaven 
is now at hand ! 
And I believe that CHRIST, in all his time here, lived most holily; 
and taught the Will of his Father most truly : and I believe 
that he suffered therefore most wrongfully, greatest reproofs 
and dcspisings. 
And after this, when CHRIST woidd make an end here, of his 
temporal life, I believe that, in the day next before that^ he 
would suffer passion on the morn, in form of bread and ivinc, 
he ordained the Sacrament of his flesh and blood, that is his 
own precious body, and gave it to his Apostles for to eat, 
commanding them, and by them all their after-comers, that 
they should do it, in this form that he shaved to them, use 
themselves and teach and common forth to other men and 
women this most worshipful holiest Sacrament ; in mindful- 
ness of his holiest Living and of his most true Teaching, and 
of his wilful and patieni Suffering of the most painful Passion. 
And I believe that thus, CHRIST our Saviour, after that he had 
ordained this most worthy Sacrament of his own precious 
body, he went forth wilfully against his enemies, and he suffered 
them most patiently to lay their hands most violently upon 
him, and to bind him, and to lead him forth as a tliief, 
and to scorn and buffet him, and all to blow or [de]file him 
with their spittings. 
Over this, I believe tJiat Christ suffered, most meekly and 
patiently, ' his enemies for to ding [beat] _ out laith sharp 
scourges, the blood that ivas between his skin and his flesh : 
yea, without grudging, CHRIST suffered wicked Jews to 
crown him with most sharp thorns, and to strilie him with 
a reed. And, after, CHRIST suffered wicked Jews to draw 
[lay] him out upon the Cross, and for to nail him 
there, upon foot and hand; and so, through this pitiful 
nailing, CHRIST shed out wilfully, for man's life, the 
blood that was in his veins : and then, Christ gave 



wilfully his spirit into the hands or power of his Father. 
And so, as he would, and when he would, Christ 
died wilfully, for man's sake, upon the Cross. And not- 
withstanding that Christ was wilfully, painfully, and 
most shaiJiefnlly pnt to death as to the world, tJicre was 
left blood and water in his heart, as he before ordained 
that he would shed out this blood and this water for 
man's salvation. And therefore he suffered the Jeivs to 
make a blind [ignorant] Knight to thrust him into the heart 
with a spear ; and this the blood and water that was in his 
heart, Christ would shed oid for mart's love. 

And, after this, I believe that Christ was taken down from the 
Cross, and buried. 

And I believe that on the third day, by the power of his godhead, 
Christ rose again from death to life. And forty days there- 
after, I believe that Christ ascended up into heaven ; and that 
he there sitteth on the right hand of GOD the Father Almighty. 
And the tenth day after his up going, he sent to his Apostles 
the HOLY GHOST, that he had promised them before. 

And I believe that Christ shall come and judge all mankind, 
some to everlasting peace, and some to everlasting pains. 

And as I believe in the Father, and in the Son, that they are one 
GOD Almighty ; so I believe in the HOLY GHOST that is 
also, with them, the same GOD Almighty. 

And I believe [in] an Holy Church, that is, all they that have been, 
and that now are, and always to the end of the world shall be, 
a people the ivhich shall endeavour them to know, and keep the 
commandments of GOD ; dreading over all things to offend 
GOD, and loving and seeking most to please Him. And I 
believe that all they that have had, and yet have, and all they 
that yet shall have the foresaid virtues, surely standing in 
the Belief of GOD, hoping steadfastly in His mcrcifid doings, 
continuing to their end in perfect charity, wilfully patiently 
and gladly suffering persecutions by the example of CHRIST 
chiefly and His Apostles; and these have their names written in 
the Book of Life. Therefore I believe that the gathering together 
of this people living now in this life, is the Holy Church of 
GOD, fighting here on earth against the Fiend, the prosperity 
of the world, and their fleshly lusts. Wherefore, seeing that all 
the gathering together of this Church beforesaid, and every part 
thereof, neither covctcth, nor willeth, nor loveth, nor seeketh 


anytliing, but to eschew the offence of GOD, and to do His 
pleasing will : meekly, gladly, and wilfully, of all mine 
heart, I submit myself unto tins Holy Church of Christ ; to 
be ever buxom and obedient to tlie ordinance of it, and of every 
member thereof, after my knowledge and power, by the help of 

Therefore I [ac]knowledge noiv, and evermore shall {if GOD will !) 
that, of all my heart, and of all my might, I will submit me 
only to the rule and governance of them whom, after my 
knowledge, I may perceive, by the having and nsing of the 
beforcsaid virtues, to be members of the Holy Church. 

Wherefore these Articles of Belief and all others, both of the Old 
Law and of the New, which, after the commandment of GOD, 
any man ought to believe, I believe verily in my soul, as a 
sinftd deadly wretch of my cunning and power ought to be- 
lieve ; praying the LORD GOD, for His holy name, for to 
increase my belief, and help my unbelief. ' 

And for because, to the praising of GOD's name, I desire above 
all things to be a faithful member of Holy Church, I make 
this Protestation before you all four that are now here present, 
coveting that all men and women that [are] now absent knew 
the same ; that what thing soever before this time I have said 
of done, or what thing here I shall do or say at any time 
hereafter, I believe that all the Old Law and the Neiv Law 
given and ordained by the counsel of these three Persons in 
the Trinity, were given and written to [for] the salvation of 
mankind. And I believe these Laws are sufficient for the 
man's salvation. And I believe every Article of these Laws 
to the intent that these Articles were ordained and commanded, 
of these three Persons of the most blessed Trinity, to be believed. 
And therefore to the rule and the ordinance of these, GOD's 
Laics, meekly, gladly, and wilfully, I submit me with all mine 
heart: that whoever can or will, by authority of GOD'sLaw, 
or by open reason, tell me that I have erred, or now err, or 
any time hereafter shall err in any Article of Belief {from 
which inconvenience, GOD keep me, for his goodness ! ) I 
submit me to be reconciled, and to be buxom and obedient 
tinto these Laws of GOD, and to every Article of them. For 
by authority specially of tJiese Laws, I will, through the grace 
of GOD, be tmied [united] charitably unto these Lavvs. 
Yea, Sir, and over this, I believe and admit all the Sentences, 

56 Archbishop's conditions to William. [^^'''' 

am of Thorpe. 
? 1407. 

autlwritics, and reasons of the Saints and Doctors, according 
iinto Holy Scripture, and declaring it truly. I submit me 
wilfnlly and meekly to be ever obedient, after my cunning and 
power, to all these Saints and Doctors as they are obedient in 
work and in word to GOD and his Law : and further, not 
tomy knowledge; nor for any cartJily power, dignity, or state, 
through the help of GOD. 

" But, Sir, I pray you tell me, if after your biddin<;, I 
shall lay my hand upon the book, to the intent to swear 
thereby ? " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said unto me, "Yea! 
wheretore else ? " 

William. And I said to him, " Sir, a book is nothing else 
but a thing coupled together of diverse creatures [created 
things] ; and to swear by any creature, both GOD's Law and 
man's law is against. But, Sir, this thing I say here to you, 
before these your Clerks, with my foresaid Protestation, that 
how, where, when, and to whom, men are boundento swear 
or to obey, in any wise, after GOD's Laws, and Saints and 
good Doctors according with GOD's Law; I will, through 
GOD's grace, be ever ready thereto, with all my cunning and 
power ! 

"But I pray you. Sir, for the charity of GOD! that ye 
will, before that I swear as I have rehearsed to you, tell me 
how or whereto that I shall submit me ; and shew me 
whereof that ye will correct me, and what is the ordinance 
that ye will thus oblige me to fulfil ? " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said unto me, " I will, 
shortly, that now thou swear here to me, that thou shalt for- 
sake all the opinions which the Sect of Lollards hold, and is 
slandered [charged] with ; so that, after this time, neither 
privily nor apertly, thou hold any opinion which I shall, after 
that thou hast sworn, rehearse to thee here. Nor thou shalt 
favour no man nor woman, young nor old, that holdeth any 
of these foresaid opinions ; but, after thy knowledge and 
power, thou shalt enforce thee to withstand all such dis- 
troublers of Holy Church in every diocese that thou comest 
m ; and them that will not leave their false and damnable 
opmions, thou shalt put them up, publishing them and their 
names ; and make them known to the Bishop of the diocese 

William of Thorpe. -| J-Jj- jg TO BE THE BiSHOPS STY. 57 

that they are in, or to the Bishop's Ministers And, over 
thfs I will that thou preach no more, unto the time that 
I fcow, bv good witness and true, that thy conversation 
be such that thy heart and thy mouth accord truly m one 
conti-arying [of] all the lewd learning that thou nast taught 

^Itdt' hearing these words, thought in my heart that this 
was an unlawfSl asking; and I deemed myself curbed ^f 
GOD, if I consented hereto: and I thought how Susanna 
said, Anguish is to me on every side I ^ .,, , , ^ . . 

Archbishop. And in that I stood still, and spake not 
the Archbishop said to me, " Answer one wise or ano her 1 

William. And I said, " Sir, if I consented to >-ou thus, as 

ye have here rehearsed to me; I should become an Appealei% or 

every Bishop s Spy! Summonerof all England! For an [vf\ I 

Tould thus'put upland publish the names of men and women 

I should herein deceive lull many persons: yea, Su asit is 

il ly%y the doom of my conscience I should herein be 

causl of the death, both of men ^^^^ ™T.en; >ea, both 

hoHilv and ehostlv. For many men and women that stand 

now m thef uthfandare in the way of salvation if I should 

for the learning and reading of their Belief publish them 

or pit them therefore up to ^Bishops or to their unpiteous 

Ministers, I know some deal by experience, that they 

should be so distroubled and dis-eased with persecution or 

otherwise, that many of them, I think, would rather choose 

to forlake the Way of Truth than to be travailed scorned, 

and sTand "d or^nished as Bishops and their Ministers 

now use rar. accustlned] for to constrain men and women to 

'^^"Tut'l tT in no place in Holy Scripture that this 
office that ye would now enfeoff me with, ^---^^^^^J^^'^^ 
Driest of Christ's sect, nor to any other Chiistian man. 
indU.ei.foreto do thus, were to me a ^ ^^ ->--^^;;^^^^ 
bounden with, and over grievous charge, l^'^.^r^!! Sir 
if I thus did, many men and women m the ^^f ^' >^^' .^'^^ 
mi-ht iustlv, unto my confusion say to me that I weie a 
"litor^o GOD and\o them 1 ' since, as thin^c m -n 
heart, many men and women trust_ so mickle n me tl. s 
case that I would not, for the saving of my life, do thus to 
Sem. For if I thus should do, full many men and women 

58 ArUxXdell threatens to burx\ William. [ 

William of Thorpe 


would, as they might full truly, say that ' I had falsely and 
cowardly forsaken the Truth, and slandered shamefully the 
Word of GOD! ' For if I consented to you, to do hereafter 
your will, for bonchief and mischief that may befall to me in 
this life, I deem in my conscience that I were worthy here- 
fore to be cursed of GOD, as also of all His Saints ! From 
which inconvenience keep me and all Christian people, 
Almighty GOD ! now and ever, for His holy name ! " 

Archbishop. And then the Archbishop said unto me, 
" O thine heart is full hard, endured [hardened] as was the 
heart of Pharaoh ; and the Devil hath overcome thee, and 
perverted thee ! and he hath so blinded thee in all thy wits, 
that thou hast no grace to know the truth, nor the measure 
of mercy that I have proffered to thee ! Therefore, as I per- 
ceive now by thy foolish answer, thou hast no will to leave 
thine old errors. But I say to thee, lewd loseli ! [base lost 
one ! or base son of perdition !] either thou quickly consent to 
mine ordinance, and submit thee to stand to my decrees, or, 
by Saint Thomas! thou shalt be disgraded [degraded], and 
follow thy fellow in Smithfield !" 

And at this saying, I stood still and spake not ; but I 
thought in mine heart that GOD did to me a great grace, if 
He would, of His great mercy, bring me to such an end. And 
in mine heart, I was nothing [a^fraid with this menacing of 
the Archbishop. 

And I considered, there, two things in him. One, that he 
was not jet sorrowful, for that he had made William Sautre 
wrongfully to be burnt [on Feb. 12, 1401, at Smithfield]. 
And as I considered that the Archbishop thirsted yet after 
more shedding out of innocent blood. And fast therefore 
I was moved in all my wits, for to hold the Archbishop 
neither for Prelate, nor for priest of GOD ; and for that mine 
inward man was thus altogether departed from the Arch- 
bishop, methought I should not have any dread of him. 
But I was right heavy and sorrowful for that there was none 
audience of secular [lay] men by: but in mine heart, I prayed 
the LORD GOD to comfort me and strengthen me against 
them that there were against the Soothfastness. And I pur- 
posed to speak no more to the Archbishop and his Clerks 
[Chaplains] than me need behoved. 

And all thus I prayed GOD, for Plis goodness, to give me 

? 1407. 

] How William came to Wycliffe, about 1377. 59 

then and always grace to speak with a meek and an easy 
spirit ; and whatsoever thing that I should speak, that I 
might thereto have true authorities of Scriptures and open 

A Clerk. And for that I stood still, and nothing spake, 
one of the Archbishop's Clerks said unto me, " What thing 
musest thou ? Do thou, as my Lord hath now commanded 
to thee here ! " 

And yet I stood still, and answered him not. 

Archbishop. And then, soon after, the Archbishop said 
to me, " Art thou not yet bethought, whether thou wilt do as 
I have here said to thee ? " 

"William. And I said then to him, *' Sir, my father and 
mother (on whose souls GOD have mercy ! if it be His will) 
spent mickle money in divers places about my learning; for 
the intent to have made me a priest to GOD. But when 
I came to years of discretion, I had no will to be priest; 
and therefore my friends were right heavy to me. And then 
methought their grudging against me was so painful to 
me, that I purposed therefore to have left their company. 
And when they perceived this in me, they spake some time 
full fair and pleasant words to me : but for that they might 
not make me to consent, of good heart, to be a priest, they 
spake to me full ofttimes very grievous words, and menaced 
me in divers manners, shewing to me full heavy cheer. 
And thus, one while in fair manner, another while in 
grievous, they were long time, as methought, full busy 
about me, ere I consented to them to be a priest. 

"But, at the last, when, in this matter, they would no 
longer suffer mine excusations ; but either I should consent 
to them, or I should ever bear their indignation ; yea, ' their 
curse,' as they said. Then I seeing this, prayed them that 
they would give me license for to go to them that were 
named wise priests and of virtuous conversation, to have 
their counsel, and to know of them the office and the charge 
of priesthood. 

"And hereto my father and my mother consented full 
gladly, and gave me their blessing and good leave to go, and 
also money to spend in this journey. 

"And so then I went to those priests whom I heard to be of 
best name and of most holy living, and best learned and 


60 Wycliffe's co-workers in translating the |_ 

most wise of heavenly wisdom: and so I communed with 
them unto the time that I perceived, by their virtuous and 
continual occupations, that their honest and charitable 
works [sur] passed their fame, which I heard before of them. 
Wherefore, sir, by the example of the doctrine of them, and 
specially for the godly and innocent works which I perceived 
of them and in them ; after my cunning and power I have 
exercised me then, and in this time, to know perfectly GOD's 
Law: having a will and desire to live thereafter, willing that 
all men and women exercised themselves faithfully there- 

" If then, Sir, either for pleasure or displeasure of them 
that are neither so wise, nor of so virtuous conversation 
(to my knowledge, nor by common fame of other men's 
knowledge in this land) as these men were, of whom I 
took my counsel and information ; I should now forsake, 
thus suddenly and shortly, and unwarned, all the learning 
that I have exercised myself in, this thirty winter [i.e., from 
1377J and more, my conscience should ever be herewith out 
of measure unquieted. And as. Sir, I know well that many 
men and women should be therethrough greatly troubled 
and slandered ; and (as I said, Sir, to you before) for mine 
untruth and false cowardness many a one should be put 
into full great vq^v tie' [reproof]. Yea, Sir, I dread that many 
a one, as they might then justly, would curse me full 
bitterly: and, Sir, I fear not but the curse of GOD (which 
I should deserve herein) would bring me to a full evil end, 
if I continued thus. 

"And if through remorse of conscience, I repented me 
at any time, returning into the Way which you do your dili- 
gence to constrain me now to forsake ; yea, Sir, all the 
Bishops of this land, with full many other priests, would 
defame me, and pursue me as a Relapse : and they that now 
have (though I be unworthy) some confidence in me, here- 
after would never trust to me, though I could teach and live 
never so virtuously more that I can or may. 

" For if, after your counsel, I left utterly all my Learning: 
I should hereby, first wound and defile mine own soul ; and 
also I should herethrough give occasion to many men and 
women of full sore hurting. Yea, Sir, it is likely to me, if I 
consented to your will, 1 should herein by mine evil example 


in it, as far as in me were, slay many folk ghostly, that 
I should never deserve for to have grace of GOD to the 
edifying of His Church, neither of myself, nor of none other 
man's life, and [be] undone both before GOD and man. 

" But, Sir, by example chiefly of some, whose names I will 
not now rehearse, [Nicholas de] H[ereford], of J[ohn] 
PTurvey], and B[owland] ; and also by the present doing of 
Philip of Repington that [after being a Lollard] is now 
become Bishop of Lincoln [consecrated on March 28, 1405 ; 
and about a year folloiaing this Examination ivas made, on Sep- 
tember 19, 1408, a Cardinal] : I am now learned, as many 
more hereafter through GOD's grace shall be learned, to hate 
and to flee all such slander that these foresaid men chiefly 
hath defiled principally themselves with. And in it that in 
them is, they have envenomed all the Church of GOD ; for the 
slanderous revoking at the Cross of Paul's, of H[ereford], 
P[urvey], and of B'owland], and how now Philip Reping- 
ton pursueth Christ's people. And the feigning that these 
men dissemble by worldly prudence, keeping them cowardly 
in their preaching and communing, within the bonds and 
terms, which, without blame, may be spoken and shewed out 
to the most worldly livers, will not be unpunished of GOD. 
For to the point of truth that these men shewed out some 
time, they not will now stretch forth their lives: but by 
example, each one of them, as their words and works shew, 
they busy them, through their feigning, for to slander and 
to pursue Christ in his members, rather than they will be 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, "These 
men the which thou speakest of now, were fools and 
heretics, when they were counted wise men of thee and 
other such losells : but now they are wise men, though thou 
and such others deem them unwise. Nevertheless, I wist 
never none, that right said ; that any while were envenomed 
with your contagiousness, that is contaminated and spotted 

William. And I said to the Archbishop, " Sir, I think 
well that these men and such others are now wise as to this 
world, but as their words sounded sometime and their works 
shewed outwardly, it was likely to move me that they had 
earnest of the wisdom of GOD, and that they should have 

■'. 1407. 

62 J. Purvey, Vicar of West Hytiie, 140 1-3 

deserved mickle grace of GOD to have saved their own souls 
and many other men's, if they had continued faithful in wilful 
poverty and in other simple virtuous living; and specially if 
they had with these foresaid virtues, continued in their busy 
fruitful sowing of GOD's Word, as, to many men's knowledge, 
they occupied them a season in all their wits full busily to 
know the pleasant Will of GOD, travailing all their members 
full busily for to do thereafter purely, and chiefly to the 
praising of the most holy name of GOD and for grace of 
edification and salvation of Christian people. But woe worth 
false covetise ! and evil counsel ! and tyranny ! by which 
they and many men and women are led blindly into an evil 

Archbishop. Then the Archbishop said to me, " Thou 
and such other losells of thy sect would shave your beards 
full near, for to have a benefice ! For, by Jesu ! I know 
none more covetous shrews than ye are, when that ye have a 
benefice. For, lo, I gave to John Purvey a benefice but a 
mile out of this Castle [i.e., the vicarage of West Hythe, near 
Saltwood Castle in Kent, which PURVEY held from August 11, 
1401, till he resigned it on October 8, 1403], and I heard more 
complaints about his covetousness for tithes and other mis- 
doings, than I did of all men that were advanced within my 

William, And I said to the Archbishop, " Sir, Purvey is 
neither with you now for the benefice that ye gave him, nor 
holdeth he faithfully with the learning that he taught and 
writ before time ; and thus he sheweth himself neither to be 
hot nor cold: and therefore he and his fellows may sorcLly] 
dread that if they turn not hastily to the Way that they have 
forsaken, peradventure they be put out of the number of 
Christ's chosen people." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, "Though 
Pi'RVEY be now a false harlot [debased man. This term was at 
this time applied also to men], I quite me [absolve myself in 
respect] to him : but come he more for such cause before me, 
ere we depart, I shall know with whom he holdeth ! But I 
say to thee. Which are these holy men and wise of whom 
thou hast taken thine information ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, Master John Wycliffe was 
holdcn ol full many men, the greatest Clerk [Divine] that they 

Willbm of Thorpe.-| -pjjj^ FIRST LEADERS OF THE LoLLARDS. 63 

knew then living; and therewith he was named a passing 
ruely man and an innocent in his living : and herefore great 
many commoned [communed] oft with him, and they loved so 
much his learning that they writ it, and busily enforced 
them to rule themselves thereafter. Therefore, Sir, this fore- 
said learning of Master John Wycliffe is yet holden of full 
many men and women, the most agreeable learning unto the 
living and teaching of Christ and his Apostles, and most 
openly shewing and declaring how the Church of Christ 
hath been, and yet should be, ruled and governed. There- 
fore so many men and women covet this learning, and pur- 
pose, through GOD's grace, to conform their living like to 
this learning of Wycliffe. 

" Master John Aiston taught and writ accordingly, and full 
busily, where, and when, and to whom that he might : and 
he used it himself right perfectly, unto his life's end. 

" And also Philip of Repington, while he was a Canon of 
Leicester [He was CJiancellor of Oxford in 1397, ^^^'^ again 
in 1400]; Nicholas Her[e]ford; David Gotray of 
Pakring, Monk of Bylande and a Master of Divinity ; and 
John Purvey, and many others, which were holden right 
wise men and prudent, taught and writ busily this foresaid 
learning, and conformed them thereto. And with all these 
men I was oft right homely [qnite at home], and communed 
with them long time and oft : and so, before all other men, 
I choose wilfully to be informed of them and by them, and 
especially of Wycliffe himself; as of the most virtuous and 
godly wise men that I heard of or knew. And therefore of 
him specially, and of these men I took my learning, that I 
have taught ; and purpose to live thereafter, if GOD will ! to 
my life's end. 

" For though some of these men be contrary to the learning 
that they taught before, I wot well that their learning was 
true which they taught ; and therefore, with the help of GOD, 
I purpose to hold and to use the learning which I heard of 
them while they sat on Moses' chair, and specially while they 
sat on the chair of Christ. But after the works that they 
now do, I will not do! with GOD's help. For they feign and 
hide and contrary the Truth which before they taught out 
plainly and truly. For as I know well, when some of these 
men hath been blamed for their slanderous doing, they grant 

64 William's Sermon at St. Chad's, [wim- of xho^pe. 

not that they have taught amiss, or erred before time ; but 
that they were constrained by pain[s] to leave to tell out the 
Sooth : and thus they choose now rather to blaspheme GOD 
than to suffer awhile here bodily persecution for Soothfastness 
that Christ shed out his heart-blood for." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, "That learning 
that thou callest Truth and Soothfastness is open slander to 
Holy Church, as it is proved of Holy Church. For albeit 
that Wycliffe your author [founder] was a great Clerk, and 
though that many men held him a perfect liver : yet his 
doctrine is not approved of Holy Church, but many Sen- 
tences of his learning are damned [condemned] as they are well 

" But as touching Philip of Repington that was first 
Canon, and after Abbot of Leicester, which is now Bishop of 
Lincoln; I tell thee that the Day is now comen for which he 
fasted the Even 1 For neither he holdeth now, now will hold 
the learning that he thought when he was Canon of Leicester ; 
for no Bishop of this land pursueth now more sharply them 
that hold thy Way than he doth." 

William. And I said, " Sir, full many men and women 
wondereth upon him, and speaketh him mickle shame, and 
holdeth him for a cursed enemy of the Truth." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Where- 
fore tarriest thou me thus here, with such fables ? Wilt thou 
shr)rtly, as I said to thee, submit thee to me or no ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, I tell you at one word. I dare 
not, for the dread of GOD, submit me to you after the tenour 
and Sentence that ye have above rehearsed to me." 

Archbishop. And then, as if he had been wroth, he said 
to one of his Clerks, " Fetch hither quickly the Certification 
that came to me from Shrewsbury, under the Bailiff's seal, 
witnessing the errors and heresies which this losell hath 
venemously witnessed there ! " 

Then hastily the Clerk took out and laid forth on a cup- 
board divers rolls and writings ; among which there was a 
little one, which the Clerk delivered to the Archbishop. 

And by and by ihe Archbishop read this roll containing this 

William of Thorpe.-j ^^j^ DESIRE OF THE SHREWSBURY MEN. 65 

tr The third Sunday [April 17th] after Easter [March 27th], 
the year of our Lord 1407, William Thorpe came unto the 
town of Shrewsbury, and, through leave granted to him to preach, 
he said openly in St. Chad's Church, in his sermon, 

That the Sacrament of the Altar after the consecration was 
material bread. 

And that images should in no wise be worshipped. 

And that men shotdd not go on any pilgrimages. 

And that priests have no title to tithes. 

And that it is not lawful to swear in any wise. 

Archbishop. And when the Archbishop had read thus 
this roll, he rolled it up again, and said to me, " Is this 
wholesome learning to be among the people ? " 

William. And I said to him, " Sir, I am both ashamed on 
their behalf, and right sorrowful for them that have certified 
you these things thus untruly : for I never preached nor taught 
thus, privily nor apertly." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " I will give 
credence to these worshipful men which have written to me 
and witnessed under their seals there among them. Though 
thou now deniest this, weenest thou that I will credence to 
thee ! Thou, losell ! hast troubled the worshipful com- 
minalty of Shrewsbury, so that the Bailiffs and commin- 
alty of that town have written to me, praying me, that am 
Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate, and Chancellor of 
England, that I will vouchsafe to grant them, that if thou shalt 
be made, as thou art worthy ! to suffer open jotiresse [? penance or 
pillory] for thine heresies, that thou may have thy jouresse openly 
there among them ; so that all they whom thou and such like losells 
have there perverted, may, through fear of thy deed [i.e., martyr- 
dom] be reconciled again to the unity of Holy Church ; and also 
they that stand in true faith of Holy Church may through thy 
deed be more stablished therein." And as if this asking had 
pleased the Archbishop, he said, *' By my thrift ! this hearty 
prayer and fervent request shall be thought on ! " 

But certainly neither the prayer of the men of Shrewsbury, 
nor the menacing of the Archbishop made me anything afraid : 
but, in the rehearsing of this malice, and in the hearing of it, 
my heart greatly rejoiced, and yet doth. I thank GOD, for the 
grace that I then thought, and yet think, shall come to all 

Eng. Gar. VI. 5 


William of Thorpe. 
i 1407. 

the Church of GOD herethrough, by the special merciful 
doing of the LORD. 

William. And as having no dread of the mahce of tyrants, 
by trusting stedfastly in the help of the LORD, with full 
purpose for to [ac] knowledge the Soothfastness, and to stand 
thereby after my cunning and power, I said to the Arch- 
bishop, " Sir, if the truth of GOD's Word might now be 
accepted as it should be, I doubt not to prove by likely 
evidence, that they that are famed to be out of the faith of 
Holy Church in Shrewsbury and in other places also, are in 
the true faith of Holy Church. For as their words sound 
and their works shew to man's judgement, dreading and 
loving faithfully GOD ; their will, their desire, their love, 
and their business, are most set to dread to offend GOD 
and to love for to please Him in true and faithful keeping 
of His commandments. 

" And again, they that are said to be in the faith of Holy 
Church at Shrewsbury and in other places, by open evidence 
of their proud, envious, malicious, covetous, lecherous, and 
other foul words and works, neither know nor have will to 
know nor to occupy their wits truly and effectuously in the right 
faith of Holy Church. Wherefore [none of] all these, nor 
none that follow their manners, shall any time come verily 
in the faith of Holy Church, except they enforce them more 
truly to come in the way which now they despise. For 
these men and women that are now called Faithful and 
holden Just, neither know, nor will exercise themselves to 
know, ot faithfulness, one commandment of GOD. And thus 
full many men and women now, and specially men that are 
named to be " principal limbs of Holy Church," stir GOD to 
great wrath ; and deserve His curse for that they call or hold 
them "just men" which are full unjust, as their vicious 
words, their great customable swearing, and their slanderous 
and shameful works shew openly and witness. And here- 
fore such vicious men and unjust in their own confusion call 
them " unjust men and women," which after their power and 
cunning, busy themselves to live justly after the command- 
ment of GOD. 

*' And where. Sir, ye say, that I have distroubled the com- 
minalty of Shrewsbury and many other men and women with 
my teaching; if it thus be, it is not to be wondered [atj of 

? 1407 

•] The office of every Priest is to preach. 67 

wise men, since all the comminalty of the city of Jerusalem 
was distroubled of Christ's own person, that was Very GOD 
and Man, and [the] most prudent preacher that ever was or 
shall be. And also all the Synagogue of Nazareth was 
moved against Christ, and so full-filled with ire towards him 
for his preaching, that the men of the Synagogue rose up and 
cast Christ out of their city, and led him up to the top of a 
mountain for to cast him down there headlong. Also accord- 
ing hereto, the LORD witnesseth by Moses, that He shall 
put dissension betwixt His people, and the people that con- 
trarieth and pursueth His people. Who, Sir, is he that shall 
preach the truth of GOD's Word to that unfaithful people, 
and shall let [hinder] the Soothfastness of the gospel, and the 
prophecy of GOD Almighty to be fulfilled ? " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said tome, "Itfolloweth 
of these thy words, that thou, and such other, thinkest that 
ye do right well for to preach and teach as ye do, without 
authority of any Bishop. For ye presume that the LORD 
hath chosen you only, for to preach as faithful disciples and 
special followers of Christ ! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, by authority of GOD's law, 
and also of Saints and Doctors, I am learned to deem that it 
is every priest's office and duty for to preach busily, freely, 
and truly the Word of GOD. 

" For, no doubt, every priest should purpose first in his soul 
and covet to take the order of priesthood chiefly for to make 
known to the people the Word of GOD, after his cunning and 
power, approving his words ever to be true by his virtuous 
works ; and for this intent we suppose that Bishops and 
other prelates of Holy Church should chiefly take and use 
their prelacy. And for the same cause, Bishops should give 
to priests their orders. For Bishops should accept no man to 
priesthood, except that he had good will and full purpose, 
and were well disposed and well learned to preach. Where- 
fore, Sir, by the bidding of Christ, and by example of His 
most holy living, and also by the witnessing of His holy 
apostles and prophets, we are bound under full great pain to 
exercise us after our cunning and power (as every priest is 
likewise charged of GOD), to fulfil duly the office of priest- 
hood. We presume not hereof, ourselves, for to be es- 
teemed, neither in our own reputation nor in none other 

68 GOD WILL BE A Letter of License! [wm-m -r Thorpe. 

man's, faithful disciples and special followers of Christ: 
but, Sir, as I said to you before, we deem this, by authority 
chiefly of GOD's Word, that it is the chief duty of every priest 
to busy him faithfully to make the law of GOD known to 
His people; and so to comune [communicate] the command- 
ment of GOD charitably, how that we best, where, when, and 
to whom that ever we may, is our very duty. And for the 
will and business that we owe of due debt to do justly our 
office, through the stirring and special help, as we trust, of 
GOD, hoping stedfastly in His mercy, we desire to be the 
faithful disciples of Christ : and we pray this gracious 
LORD, for His holy name ! that He make us able for to 
please Him with devout prayers and charitable priestly 
works, that we may obtain of Him to follow Him thankfully." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Lewd losell ! 
whereto makest thou such vain reasons to me ? Asketh not 
Saint Paul, How should priests preach, except they be sent ? 
But I sent thee never to preach ! For thy venomous doctrine 
is so known throughout England, that no Bishop will admit 
thee for to preach, by witnessing of their Letters ! Why then, 
lewd idiot ! willst thou presume to preach, since thou art 
not sent nor licensed of thy Sovereign to preach ? Saith not 
Saint Paul that Subjects owe [ought] to obey their Sovereigns ; 
and not only good and virtuous, but also tyrants that are vicious ! " 

William. And I said to the Archbishop, " Sir, as touching 
your Letter of License or other Bishops', which, ye say, we 
should have to witness that we were able to be sent for to 
preach ; we know well that neither you, Sir, nor any other 
Bishop of this land will grant to us any such Letters of 
License but [except] we should oblige [bind] us to you and to 
other Bishops by unlawful oaths for to pass not the bounds 
and terms which ye, Sir, or other Bishops will limit to us. 
And since in this matter, your terms be some too large, and 
some too strait ; we dare not oblige us thus to be bound to you 
for to keep the terms which you will limit to us, as ye do to 
Friars and such other preachers : and therefore, though we 
have not your Letter, Sir, nor Letters of other Bishops written 
with ink upon parchment ; we dare not herefore leave the 
office of preaching ; to which preaching, all priests, after 
their cunning and power are bound, by divers testimonies of 
GOD's Law andof great Doctors, without any mention making 
of Bishops' Letters. 

? 1407 

;] Both good and bad are witnesses. 69 

" For as mickle as we have taken upon us the office of 
priesthood, though we are unworthy thereto, we come and 
purpose to fulfil it, with the help of GOD, by authority of 
His own law, and by witness of great Doctors and Saints 
according hereto, trusting stedfastly in the mercy of GOD. 
For that [because] He commandeth us to do the office of 
priesthood. He will be our sufficient Letters and witness, if 
we, by the example of his living and teaching specially 
occupy us faithfully to do our office justly : yea, that people 
to whom we preach, be they faithful or unfaithful, shall be 
our Letters, that is, our witness bearers; for that Truth where 
it is sown may not be unwitnessed. For all that are con- 
verted and saved by learning of GOD's Word and by working 
thereafter are witness bearers, that the Truth and Soothfast- 
ness which they heard and did after, is cause of their 
salvation. And again, all unfaithful men and women which 
heard the Truth told out to them and would not do thereafter, 
also all they that might have heard the Truth and would 
not hear it, because that they would not do thereafter, all 
these shall bear witness against themselves, and the Truth 
(which they would not hear, or else heard it and despised to 
do thereafter through their unfaithfulness) is and shall be 
cause of their damnation. 

" Therefore, Sir, since this foresaid witnessing of GOD, and 
of divers Saints and Doctors, and of all the people good and 
evil sufficeth to all true preachers : we think that we do not 
the office of the priesthood, if that we leave our preaching 
because that we have not or may not have duly Bishops' 
Letters to witness that we are sent of them to preach. This 
Sentence approveth Saint Paul where he speaketh of him- 
self and of faithful Apostles and disciples, saying thus. We 
need 110 letters of conuncndation as some other preachers do ; which 
preach for covetousness of temporal goods, and for men's praising. 

" And where ye say. Sir, Saint Paul biddeth subjects obey 
their Sovereigns ; this is Sooth, and may not be denied. But 
there are two manner of Sovereigns ; virtuous sovereigns 
and vicious tyrants. Therefore to these last Sovereigns, 
neither men nor women that be subject owe [ought] to obey. 
In two manners. To virtuous Sovereigns and charitable, 
subjects owe to obey wilfully and gladly in hearing of their 
good counsel, in consenting to their charitable biddings, and 

70 The old theory of Political Responsibility. lT'^o^" 

in working after their fruitful works. This Sentence, Paul 
approveth where he saith thus to subjects, Be ye mindful of 
your Sovereigns that speak to you the Word of GOD ; and follow 
you the faith of them, whose conversation yoii know to be virtuous. 

" For as Paul saith after, These Sovereigns to whom sub- 
jects owe to obey in following of their manners, work busily 
in holy studying how they may withstand and destroy vices, 
first in themselves and after in all their subjects, and 
and how they may best plant in them virtues. Also these 
Sovereigns make devout and fervent prayers for to purchase 
[obtain] grace of GOD, that they and their subjects may, 
over all things, dread to offend Him, and to love for to 
please Him. Also these Sovereigns to whom Paul bid- 
deth us obey, as it is said before, live so virtuously that 
all they that will live well may take of them good example 
to know and to keep the commandments of GOD. 

" But, in this foresaid wise, subjects owe [ought] not to obey 
nor to be obedient to tyrants, while they are vicious tyrants; 
since their will, their counsel, their biddings, and their works 
are so vicious that they owe [ought] to be hated and left. 
And though such tyrants be masterful and cruel in boasting 
and menacing, in oppressions and divers punishings ; Saint 
Peter biddeth the servants of such tyrants to obey meekly 
to such tyrants, suffering patiently their malicious cruelness. 
But Peter counselleth not any servant or subject to obey to 
any Lord, or Prince, or Sovereign, in anything that is not 
pleasing to GOD." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said unto me, " If the 
Sovereign bid his subject do that thing that is vicious, this 
Sovereign herein is to blame : but the subject, for his 
obedience, deserveth meed of GOD. For obedience pleaseth 
more to GOD than any sacrifice." 

William. And I said, " Samuel the Prophet said to 
Saul the wicked King, that GOD was more pleased with 
the obedience of His commandment, than with a^iy sacrifice of 
beasts: but David saith, and Saint Paul and Saint Gre- 
gory accordingly together, that not only they that do evil 
are worthy of death and damnation ; but also all they that 
consent to evil doers. And, Sir, the law of Holy Church 
teacheth, in the Decrees, that no servant to his Lord, nor 
child to the father or mother, nor wife to her husband, 

William of Thorpe.j ^ Priest NOT PREACHING, IS Antichrist. 7 1 

nor monk to his abbot, ought to obey, except in lefull 
[loyal] things and lawful." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " All these 
allegings that thou bringest forth are nought else but proud 
presumptuousness. For hereby thou enforcest [endcavourest] 
thee to prove, that thou and such others are so just, that 
ye owe [ought] not to obey to Prelates : and thus against 
the learning of Saint Paul that telleth you not to preach, but 
if ye were sent, of your own authority, ye will go forth and 
preach, and do what ye list ! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, [re]presenteth not every 
priest the office of the Apostles or the office of the disciples 
of Christ?" 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, "Yea !" 

William. And I said, "Sir, as the loth Chapter of Matthew 
and the last Chapter of Mark witnesseth, Christ sent his 
Apostles for to preach. And the loth Chapter of Luke wit- 
nesseth Christ sent his two and seventy disciples for to 
preach in every place that Christ was to come to. And 
Saint Gregory in the Conunon Law saith, that every man 
that goeth to priesthood taketh upon him the office of 
preaching : for as he saith, tliat priest stirreth GOD to great 
wratli, of whose mouth is not heard the voice of prcacJiing. And 
as other more glosses upon Ezekiel witness, that the priest 
that preacheth not busily to the people shall be partaker of 
their damnation, that perish through his default : and though 
the people be saved by other special grace of GOD than by the 
priest's preaching ; yet the priests (in that they are ordained 
to preach, and preach not) as before GOD, they are man- 
slayers. For as far as in them is, such priests as preach not 
busily and truly, slayeth all the people ghostly, in that they 
withhold from them the Word of GOD, that is [the] life and 
sustenance of men's souls. And Saint Isidore saith. Priests 
shall be damned for [the] wickedness of the people, if they teach 
not them that are ignorant, and condemn them that are sinners. For 
all the work and witness of priests standeth in preaching 
and teaching ; that they edify all men, as well by cunning of 
faith, as by discipline of works, that is virtuous teaching. 
And, as the gospel witnesseth, Christ said in his teaching, 
/ am born and come into this world to bear witness to the Truth, 
and he that is of the TrutJi heafctJi my voice. 

72 The Psalter taken from William. P^' 

llianTof Tliorpe. 

" C Then, Sir, since by the word of Christ specially, that 
is his voice, priests are commanded to preach ; whatsoever 
priest that it be, that hath not goodwill and full purpose 
to do thus, and ableth not himself after his cunning and 
power to do his office, by the example of Christ and his 
Apostles : whatsoever other thing that he doeth, displeaseth 
GOD. For, lo, Saint Gregory saith, That thing left, that a 
man is bound chiefly to do ; whatsoever other thing that a man 
doeth, it is unihankful to the HOLY GHOST. And therefore 
saith [Robert Grosset£te, Bishop of] Lincoln, That priest 
that preacheth not the Word of GOD, though he be seen to have 
none other default, he is Antichrist and Sathanas, a night-thief 
and a day-thief, a slayer of souls, and an angel of light turned 
into darkness. 

" Wlierefore, Sir, these authorities and others well con- 
sidered, I deem myself damnable, if I, either for pleasure 
or displeasure of any creature, apply me not diligently to 
preach the Word of GOD : and in the same damnation, I 
deem all those priests which, of good purpose and will, en- 
force them not busily to do thus, and also all them that have 
purpose or will to let [hinder] any priest of this business." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to those three 
Clerks that stood before him, " Lo, Sirs, this is the manner 
and business of this losell and such others, to pick out 
such sharp sentences of Holy Scripture and of Doctors to 
maintain their sect and lore [teaching] against the ordinance 
of Holy Church. And therefore, losell ! is it, that thou 
covetest to have again the Psalter that I made to be taken 
from thee at Canterbury, to record sharp verses against us ! 
But thou shalt never have that Psalter, nor none other book, 
till that I know that thy heart and thy mouth accord fully 
to be governed by Holy Church." 

William. And I said, " Sir, all my will and power is, and 
ever shall be, I trust to GOD ! to be governed by Holy 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop asked me, " What was 
Holv Church?" 

William. And I said, "Sir, I told you before, what was 
Holy Church : but since ye ask me this demand, I call 
CiiKisT and liis saints, Holy Church." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said unto me, " 1 wot 

^''l4c^.'] The 1ST CHARGE of the Shrewsbury men. jt, 

well that Christ and his saints are Holy Church in heaven ; 
but what is Holy Church in earth ? " 

William. And I said, "Sir, though Holy Church be every 
one in charity ; yet it hath two parts. The first and princi- 
pal part hath overcomen perfectly all the wretchedness of this 
life, and reigneth joyfully in heaven with Christ. And the 
other part is here yet in earth, busily and continually fight- 
ing, day and night, against temptations of the Fiend, forsaking 
and hating the prosperity of this world, despising and with- 
standing their fleshly lusts ; which only are the pilgrims of 
Christ, wandering towards heaven by steadfast faith, and 
grounded hope, and by perfect charity. For these heavenly 
pilgrims may not, nor will not, be letted [hindered ] of their 
good purpose by reason of any Doctors discording from Holy 
Scripture, nor by the floods of any tribulation temporal, nor 
by the wind of any pride of boast, or of menacing of any crea- 
ture ; for they are all fast grounded upon the sure stone 
Christ, hearing his word and loving it, exercising them 
faithfully and continually in all their wits to do thereafter." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to his Clerks, " See 
ye not how his heart is endured [hardened], and how he is 
travailled with the Devil, occupying him thus busily to allege 
such Sentences to maintain his errors and heresies ! Certain, 
thus, he would occupy us here all day, if we would suffer him 1" 

Ne of the Clerks answered, " Sir, he said, right now, 
that this Certification \.h.^.t came to you from Shrews- 
bury is untruly forged against him. Therefore, Sir, 
appose you him now here, in all the points which 
are certified against him ; and so we shall hear of his own 
mouth his answers, and witness them." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop took the Certification in 
his hand, and looked thereon awhile ; and then he said to me, 
" Lo, herein is certified against thee, by worthy men and 
faithful of Shrewsbury, that thou preachedst there openly in 
Saint Chad's Church, that the Sacrament of the Altar was material 
bread after the consecration. What sayest thou ? Was this 
truly preached ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, I tell you truly that I touched 
nothing there of the Sacrament of the Altar, but in this 
wise, as I will, with GOD's grace, tell you here. 

74 Material bread not found in ScRirxuRE. P?'''';^?: 

" As I stood there in the pulpit, busying me to teach the com- 
mandment of GOD, there knelled a sacring-bell ; and there- 
fore mickle people turned away hastily, and with great noise ran 
from towards me. And I seeing this, say to them thus, ' Good 
men! ye were better to stand here full still and to hear GOD's 
Word. For, certes, the virtue and the mede of the most holy 
Sacrament of the Altar standeth much more in the Belief 
thereof that ye ought to have in your soul, than it doth in the 
outward Sight thereof. And therefore ye were better to stand 
quietly to hear GOD's Word, because that through the hear- 
ing thereof, men come to very true belief.' And otherwise, 
Sir, I am certain I spake not there, of the worthy Sacrament 
of the Altar." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " I believe 
thee not! whatsoeverthou sayest, since so worshipful menhave 
witnessed against thee. But since thou deniest that thou 
saidest thus there, what sayest thou now ? Resteth there, 
after the consecration, in the [h]ost, material bread or no ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, I know of no place in Holy 
Scripture, where this term, material bread, is written : and 
therefore. Sir, when I speak of this matter, I use not [am not 
accustomed ] to speak of material bread." 

Archbishop. Then the Archbishop said to me, " How 
teachest thou men to believe in this Sacrament ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, as I believe myself, so I teach 
other men." 

Archbishop. He said, "Tell out plainly thy belief 
hereof! " 

William. And I said, with my Protestation, " Sir, I believe 
that the iii<^ht before that Christ Jesu would suffer wilfully 
Passion for mankind on the morn after, he took bread in his holy 
and most worshipful hands, lifting np his eyes, and giving 
thanks to GOD Iiis Father, blessed this bread and brake it, and 
gave it to his disciples, saying to tJiem, Take, and eat of this, all 
of you ! This is my body ! 

"And that this is, and ought to be all men's belief, Mat- 
thew, Mark, Luke, and Paul witnesseth. 

" Other belief, Sir, have I none, nor will have, nor teach : 
for I believe that this sufficeth in this matter. For in this 
belief, with GOD's grace, I purpose to live and die : lac]- 
knowlcdging as I believe and teach other men to believe, 

William of Thorpe.-] 3t. Paul, A DocTOR OF HoLY Church. 75 

that the worshipful Sacrament of the Altar is the Sacrament of 
Christ's flesh and his blood, in form of bread and wine.'' 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " It is sooth , 
that this Sacrament is very Christ's body in form of bread : 
but thou and thy sect teachest it to be the substance of bread ! 
Think you this true teaching? " 

William. And I said, " Neither I nor any other of the 
sect that ye damn [condemn], teach any otherwise than I have 
told you, nor beheve otherwise, to my knowing. 

" Nevertheless, Sir, I ask of you, for charity ! that will ye 
tell me plainly, how ye shall understand this text of Saint 
Paul, where he saith thus, This thing feel you in yourselves, 
that is, in CHRIST Jesu, while he was in the form of GOD. 
Sir, calleth not Paul here, the form of GOD, the substance or 
kind of GOD ? Also, Sir, saith not the Church, in iht Hours 
of the most blessed Virgin, accordingly hereto, where it is 
written thus. Thou Author of Health ! remember that some time 
thou took, of the imdcfiled Virgin, the form of our body ! Tell me, 
for charity! therefore, Whether the form of our body be called 
here, the kind of our body, or no ? " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Wouldst 
thou make me declare this text after thy purpose, since the 
Church hath now determined that 'there abideth no substance 
of bread after the consecration in the Sacrament of the 
Altar ! ' Believest thou not, on this Ordinance of the Church ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, whatsoever Prelates have or- 
dained in the Church, our Belief standeth ever whole. I have 
not heard that the ordinance of men under Belief, should be 
put into Belief." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, *' If thou 
hast not learned this before, learn now, to know that thoa art 
out of belief, if, in this matter, and others, thou believest 
not as Holy Church believeth ! What say Doctors treating 
of this Sacrament ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, Saint Paul, that was a great 
Doctor of Holy Church, speaking to the people and teaching 
the right belief of this most holy Sacrament, calleth it bread 
that we break. And also in the Canon of the Masse, after the 
consecration, this most worthy Sacrament is called holy bread. 
And every priest in this land, after he hath received this 
Sacrament, saith to this wise, That thing wliichwchavctakenwith 

76 The FxMTIi of the Church for 1,000 years. P7i 


our mo7ifh,wcpray GOD, that we may take it with a pure and dean 
mind : that is, as I understand, ' We pray GOD, that we may 
receive, through very beHef, this holy Sacrament worthily.' 
And, Sir, Saint Augustine saith. That thin^ that is sense is 
bread, but that men's faith asketh to be informed of is very Christ's 
body. And also Fulgentius, an ententif Doctor, saith, 
As if were an error to say that Christ was bid a substance, that 
is Very Man and not Very GOD, or to say that Christ was 
Very GOD and not Very Man ; so is it, this Doctor saith, an 
error to say that the Sacrament of the Altar is but a snhstance. 
And also, Sir, accordingly hereto, in the Secret of the mid- 
Mass of Christmas day, it is written thus, Idem refnlsit 
DEUS, sic terrena substantia nobis confer at quod divinum est ; 
which sentence, with the Secret of the fourth ferye quatuor 
iemporum Scptemhris, I pray you, Sir, declare here openly in 
English ! " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " I perceive 
well enough whereabout thou art ! and how the Devil blindeth 
thee, that thou maist not understand the ordinance of Holy 
Church, nor consent thereto ! But I command thee now, 
answer me shortly, ' Believest thou that, after the consecra- 
tion of this foresaid Sacrament, there abideth substance of 
bread or not ? ' " 

William. And I said, " Sir, as I understand, it is all one 
to grant or to believe that there dwelleth substance of bread, 
and to grant or to believe that this most worthy Sacrament 
of Christ's own body is one Accident without Subject. But, 
Sir, for as mickle as your asking passeth mine understanding, 
I dare neither deny it nor grant it, for it is a School matter 
[a subject for debate in the University Schools], about which I 
busied me never for to know it : and therefore I commit this 
term accidens sine subjecto, to those Clerks which delight them 
so in curious and subtle sophistry, because they determine oft 
so difficult and strange matters, and wade and wander so in 
them, from argument to argument, with pro and contra, till 
they wot not where they are ! nor understand not themselves! 
But the shame that these proud sophisters have to yield 
them to men and before men, maketh them oft fools, and to 
be concluded shamefully before GOD." 

Al'chbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, *' I purpose 
not to oblige thee to the subtle arguments of Clerks, since 

? 1407 


thou art unable thereto ! but I purpose to make thee obey to 
the determination of Holy Church." 

William. And I said, " Sir, by open evidence and ,£;reat 
witness, a thousand years after the Incarnation of Christ, 
that determination which I have, here before you, rehearsed 
w^as accepted of Holy Church, as sufficient to the salvation 
of all them that would believe it faithfully, and work there- 
after charitably. But, Sir, the determination of this matter, 
which was brought in since the Fiend was loosed by Friar 
Thomas [Acquinas, d. 1274] again, specially calling the most 
worshipful Sacrament of Christ's own body, an Accident with- 
out Subject ; which term, since I know not that GOD's law 
approveth it in this matter, I dare not grant : but utterly I 
deny to make this friar's sentence [emendation] or any such 
other my belief; do with me, GOD ! what Thou wilt ! " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Well, 
well ! thou shalt say otherwise ere that I leave thee ! " 

Ut what sayest thou to this second point that is re- 
corded against thee, by worthy men of Shrewsbury, 
saying that thou preachedst openly there that the 
images ought not to he worshipped in any wise ? " 
William. And I said, " Sir, I preached never thus, nor, 
through GOD's grace, I will not, any time, consent to think 
nor to say thus ; neither privily, nor apertly. For, lo, the 
LORD witnesseth by Moses, that the things which He made 
were right good, and so then they were, and yet are, and shall 
be good and worshipful in their kind. And thereto, to the 
end that GOD made them to, they are all preisable [valuable] 
and worshipful ; and specially man that was made after the 
image and likeness of GOD is full worshipful in his kind : 
yea, this holy image, that is man, GOD v^0Y^h\Y>^&i}\[respecteth]. 
And herefore every man should worship others in kind, and 
also for heavenly virtues that men use charitably. Also I 
say, wood, tin, gold, silver, or any other matter that images 
are made of; all these creatures [created things] are worshipful 
in their kind, and to the end that GOD made them for. 

" But the carving, casting, nor painting of any imagery 
made with man's hands (albeit that this doing be accepted of 
men of highest state and dignity, and ordained of them to be 
a calendar [horn book] to lewd men that neither can nor will 

yS How Image-carvers SHRIVE THEMSELVES FIRST. \^^ 


be learned to know GOD in His Word, neither by His crea- 
tures, nor by His wonderful and divers workings) ; yet this 
imagery ought not to be worshipped in the form, nor in the 
likeness of man's craft : nevertheless that every matter that 
painters paint with, since it is GOD's creature ought to be 
worshipped in the kind and to the end that GOD made and 
ordained it to serve man." 

Archbishop. Then the Archbishop said to me, " I grant 
well that nobody oweth [ought] to do worship to any such 
images for themselves ; but a crucifix ought to be worshipped 
for the Passion of Christ that is painted therein, and so 
brought therethrough to man's mind : and thus the images 
of the blessed Trinity and of [the] Virgin Mary, Christ's 
mother, and other images of the saints ought to be worshipped. 
For, lo, earthly kings and lords, which use to send their 
letters ensealed with their arms or with their privy signet, to 
men that are with them, are worshipped of these men. For 
when these men receive their lord's letters, in which they see 
and know the wills and biddings of their lords, in worship of their 
lords, they do off their caps to these letters : why not, then, 
since in images made with man's hands, we may read and 
know many divers things of GOD and of His saints, shall we 
not worship their images? " 

William. And I said, with my foresaid Protestation, " I 
say that these worldly usages of temporal lords that ye speak 
now of, may be done in case without sin : but this is no simi- 
litude to worship images made by man's hand, since that 
Moses, David, Solomon, Baruch, and other saints in the 
Bible, forbid so plainly the worshipping of all such images." 

Archbishop. Then the Archbishop said to me, " Lewd 
losell ! In the Old Law, before that Christ took mankind 
[human nature], was no likeness of any person of the Trinity 
neither shewed to man nor known of man ; but now since 
Christ became man, it is lawful to have images to shew His 
manhood. Yea, though many men which are right great 
Clerks, and others also, hold it an error to paint the Trinity ; 
I say, it is well done to make and to paint the Trinity 
in images. For it is a great moving of devotion to men, to 
have and to behold the Trinity and other images of Saints 
carved, cast, and painted. For beyond the sea, are the best 
painters that ever I saw. And, sirs ! I tell you, this is their 

^'"'4^!] Great boldness of the Lollard Apostle. 79 

manner; and it is a good manner ! When that an image- 
maker shall carve, cast in mould, or paint any images ; he 
shall go to a priest, and shrive him as clean as if he should 
die, and take penance, and make some certain vow of fasting, 
or of praying, or of pilgrimages doing : praying the priest 
specially to pray for him, that he may have grace to make a 
fair and a devout image." 

William. And I said, " Sir, I doubt not, if these painters 
that ye speak of, or any other painters understood truly the 
text of Moses, of David, of the Wise Man [i.e., Solomon], of 
Baruch, and of other Saints and Doctors, these painters 
should be moved to shrive them to GOD, with full inward 
sorrow of heart ; taking upon them to do right sharp penance 
for the sinful and vain craft of painting, carving, or casting 
that they had used ; promising GOD faithfully never to do so 
after, [acjknowledging openly before all men, their reprovable 
earning. And also, sir, these priests, that shrive, as ye do sa}', 
painters, and enjoin them to do penance, and pray for their 
speed, promising to them help of their prayers for to be curious 
[cunning] in their sinful crafts, sin herein more grievously 
than the painters. For these priests do comfort and give 
them counsel to do that thing, which of great pain (yea, 
under the pain of GOD's curse !) they should utterly forbid 
them. For, certes, Sir, if the wonderful working of GOD, 
and the holy living and teaching of Christ and of his 
Apostles and Prophets were made known to the people by 
holy living and true and busy teaching of priests ; these 
things, Sir, were sufficient books and kalendarsto know GOD 
by, and His Saints : without any images made with man's 
hand : but, certes, the vicious living of priests and their 
covetousness are [the] chief cause of this error and all other 
viciousness that reigneth among the people." 

Archbishop. Then the Archbishop said to me, ** I hold 
thee a vicious priest, and a curst ! and all them that are of 
thy sect ! for all priests of Holy Church and all images that 
move men to devotion ; thou and such others go about to 
destroy ! Losell ! were it a fair thing to come into a church, 
and see therein none image ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, they that come to the church, 
for to pray devoutly to the LORD GOD, may in their inward 
wits be the more fervent [when] that all their outward wits 

8o There is no miracle in an Image, [wniiam of Thorpe. 

be closed from all outward seeing and hearing and from all 
distroublance and lettings [hindrances]. And since Christ 
blessed them that saw him not bodily,' and have believed 
faithfully in him: it sufficeth then, to all men, through hearing 
and knowing of GOD's Word, and to do thereafter, for to be- 
lieve in GOD, though they see never images made with man's 
hands, after any Person of the Trinity, or of any other Saint." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me with a 
fervent spirit, " I say to thee, losell ! that it is right well 
done to make and to have an image of the Trinity ! Yea, 
what sayest thou ? Is it not a stirring thing to behold such 
an image ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, ye said, right now, that in the 
Old Law, ere Christ took mankind, no likeness of any Person 
of the Trinity was shewed to men ; wherefore. Sir, ye said it 
was not then lawful to have images : but now ye say, since 
Christ is become man, it is lawful to make and to have an 
image of the Trinity, and also of other saints. But, sir, this 
thing would I learn of you ! Since the Father of heaven, 
yea, and every Person of the Trinity was, without beginning, 
GOD Almighty, and many holy prophets, that were dedely 
[deathly, i.e., liable to death] men, were martyrized violently in 
the Old Law, and also many men and women then died holy 
Confessors : why was it not then, as lawful and necessary as 
now, to have made an image of the Father of heaven, and to 
have made and had other images of martyrs, prophets, and 
holy confessors to have been kalendars to advise men and 
move them to devotion, as ye say that images now do ? " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, " The Synagogue 
of jews had not authority to approve these things, as the 
Church of Christ hath now." 

William. And I said, " Sir, Saint Gregory was a great 
man in the New Law, and of great dignity ; and as the 
Common [? Canon] Law witnesseth, he commended greatly 
a Bishop, in that he forbade utterly the images made with 
man's hand, should be worshipped." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, " Ungracious 
losell ! thou lavourest no more the truth, than a hound ! 
Since at the RoodI_s] at the North Door [of Saint Patd's 
Chunlii at London, at our Lady at Walsingham, and many 
other divers places in England, are many great and preisable 

William of Thi 

I'w.] In what image, may god be shewed ? 8i 

[precioiis] miracles done : should not the images of such holy 
saints and places, at [on account of \ the reverence of GOD, 
and our Lady, and other saints, be more worshipped, than 
other places and images where no such miracles are done ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, there is no such virtue in any 
imagery, that any images should herefore be worshipped ; 
wherefore I am certain that there is no miracle done of GOD 
in any place in earth, because that any images made with 
man's hand, should be worshipped. And herefore, Sir, as 
I preached openly at Shrewsbury and other places, I say now 
here before you : that nobody should trust that there were 
any virtue in imagery made with man's hand, and herefore 
nobody should vow to them, nor seek them, nor kneel to 
them, nor bow to them, nor pray to them, nor offer any- 
thing to them, nor kiss them, nor incense them. For, 
lo, the most worthy of such images, the Brazen Serpent, by 
Moses made, at GOD's bidding! the good King Hezekiah 
destroyed worthily and thankfully ; for because it was 
incensed. Therefore, Sir, if men take good heed to the 
writing and to the learning of Saint Augustine, of Saint 
Gregory, and of Saint John Chrysostom, and of other 
Saints and Doctors, how they speak and write of miracles 
that shall be done now in the last end of the world ; it is to 
dread that, for the unfaithfulness of men and women, the 
Fiend hath great power for to work many of the miracles that 
now are done in such places. For both men and women 
delight now, more for to hear and know miracles, than they do 
to know GOD's Word or to hear it effectuously. Wherefore, 
to the great confusion of all them that thus do, Christ saith. 
The generation of adulterers requircth tokens, miracles, and wonders. 
Nevertheless, as divers Saints say, now, when the faith of 
GOD is published in Christendom, the Word of God sufhceth 
to man's salvation, without such miracles; and thus also the 
Word of GOD sufhceth to all faithful men and women, with- 
out any such images. 

"But, good Sir, since the Father of heaven, that is GOD in 
His Godhead, is the most unknown thing that may be, and the 
most wonderful Spirit, having in it no shape or likeness of 
any members of any dedely [deadly, i.e., liable to death] crea- 
ture : in what likeness, or what image, may GOD the Father 
be shewed or painted ? " 

Emg Car. VI, 6 

82 The 3RD charge of the Shrewsbury men. [T.'r/. 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, "As Holy Church 
hath suffered, and yet suffereth the images of all the Trinity, 
and other images to be painted and shewed, sufficeth to them 
that are members of Holy Church. But since thou art a 
rotten member cut away from Holy Church, thou favourest 
not the ordinance thereof! But since the day passeth, leave 
we this matter 1 " 

IRchbishop. And then he said to me, " What sayest 
thou, to the third point that is certified against 
thee, preaching openly in Shrewsbury that Pilgrim- 
age is not laivfnl ? And, over this, thou saidest that 
those men and women that go on pilgrimages to Canterbury, to 
Beverley, to Carlington,to Walsingham,and to any such other places, 
arc accursed; and made foolish, spending their goods in waste.'" 

William. And I said, " Sir, by this Certification, I am ac- 
cused to you, that I should teach that no pilgrimage is lawful. 
But I never said thus. For I know that there be true pilgrim- 
ages, and lawful and full pleasant to GOD ; and therefore, 
Sir, howsoever mine enemies have certified you of me, I told 
at Shrevv'sbury of tw^o manner of pilgrimages." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, "Whom 
callest thou true pilgrims ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, v^'ith my Protestation, I call 
them true pilgrims travelling towards the bliss of heaven, 
which (in the state, degree, or order that GOD calleth them) 
do busy them faithfully for to occupy all their wits bodily and 
ghostly, to know truly and keep faithfully the biddings of 
GOD, hating and fleeing all the seven deadly sins and every 
branch of them, ruling them virtuously, as it is said before, 
with all their wits, doing discreetly wilfully and gladly all 
the works of mercy, bodily and ghostly, after their cunning 
and power abling them to the gifts of the HOLY GHOST, 
disposing them to receive in their souls, and to hold therein 
the right blessings of Christ ; busying them to know and to 
keep the seven principal virtues : and so then they shall 
obtain herethrough grace for to use thankfully to GOD all 
the conditions of charity; and then they shall be moved with 
the good Spirit of GOD for to examine oft and diligently 
their conscience, that neither wilfully nor wittingly they err 
in any Article of Belief, having continually (as frailty will 

? 1407. 

] Every good thought is a step heavenward. 8; 

suffer) all their business to dread and to flee the offence of 
GOD, and to love over all things and to seek ever to do His 
pleasant will. 

"Of these pilgrims, I said, * Whatsoever good thought that 
they any time think, what virtuous word that they speak, and 
what fruitful work that they work; every such thought, word, 
and work is a step numbered of GOD towards Him into heaven. 
These foresaid pilgrims of GOD delight sore, when they hear 
of saints or of virtuous men and women, how they forsook 
wilfully the prosperity of this life, how they withstood the 
suggestion of the Fiend, how they restrained their fleshly 
lusts, how discreet they were in their penance doing, how 
patient they were in all their adversities, how prudent they 
were in counselling of men and women, moving them to 
hate all sin and to flee them and to shame ever greatly 
thereof, and to love all virtues and to draw to them, imagin- 
ing how Christ and his followers (by example of him) suffered 
scorns and slanders, and how patiently they abode and took 
the wrongful menacing of tyrants, how homely they were and 
serviceable to poor men to relieve and comfort them bodily 
and ghostly after their power and cunning, and how devout 
they were in prayers, how fervent they were in heavenly 
desires, and how they absented them from spectacles of vain 
seeings and hearings, and how stable they were to let [hinder] 
and to destroy all vices, and how laborious and joyful they 
were to sow and plant virtues. These heavenly conditions 
and such others, have the pilgrims, or endeavour them for to 
have, whose pilgrimage GOD accepteth.' 

"And again I said, ' As their works shew, the most part of 
men or women that go now on pilgrimages have not these 
foresaid conditions ; nor loveth to busy them faithfully for to 
have. For (as I well know, since I have full oft assayed) 
examine, whosoever will, twenty of these pilgrims ! and he 
shall not find three men or women that know surely a Com- 
mandment of GOD [i.e., one of the Ten Couwiandmcnts], nor 
can say their Pater nostcr and Ave Maria ! nor their Credo, 
readily in any manner of language. And as I have learned, 
and also know somewhat by experience of these same pilgrims, 
telling the cause why that many men and women go hither 
and thither now on pilgrimages, it is more for the health of 
their bodies, than of their souls ! more for to have richesse and 

84 The singing and jangling of pilgrims, pviuiam of Thorpe. 

prosperity of this world, than for to be enriched with virtues 
in their souls ! more to have here worldly and fleshly friend- 
ship, than for to have friendship of GOD and of His saints in 
heaven. For whatsoever thing a man or woman doth, the 
friendship of GOD, nor of any other Saint, cannot be had 
without keeping of GOD's commandments.' 

" For with my Protestation, I say now, as I said at Shrews- 
bury, 'though they thathave fleshlywills, travel for their bodies, 
and spend mickle money to seek and to visit the bones or 
images, as they say they do, of this saint and of that : such 
pilgrimage-going is neither praisable nor thankful to GOD, 
nor to any Saint of GOD ; since, in effect, all such pilgrims 
despise GOD and all His commandments and Saints. For 
the commandments of GOD they will neither know nor keep, 
nor conform them to live virtuously by example of Christ 
and of his Saints.' 

"Wherefore, Sir, I have preached and taught openly, and 
so I purpose all my lifetime to do, with GOD's help, saying 
that 'such fond people waste blamefully GOD's goods in their 
vain pilgrimages, spending their goods upon vicious hostelars 
[innkeepers], which are oft unclean women of their bodies; and 
at the least, those goods with the which, they should do works 
of mercy, after GOD's bidding, to poor needy men and women.' 

" ([ These poor men's goods and their livelihood, these 
runners about offer to rich priests! which have mickle more 
livelihood than they need : and thus those goods, they waste 
wilfully, and spend them unjustly, against GOD's bidding, 
upon strangers; with which they should help and relieve, after 
GOD's will, their poor needy neighbours at home. Yea, and 
over this folly, ofttimes divers men and women of these 
runners thus madly hither and thither into pilgrimage, borrow 
hereto other men's goods (yea, and sometimes they steal 
men's goods hereto), and they pay them never again. 

" Also, Sir, I know well, that when divers men and women 
will go thus after their own wills, and finding out one pil- 
grimage, they will ordain with them before^hand] to have 
with them both men and women that can well sing wanton 
songs; and some other pilgrims will have with them bagpipes: 
so that every town that they come through, what with the 
noise of their singing, and with the sound of their piping, and 
with the jangling of their Canterbury bells, and with the 

William of Thorpe.-| 'YuE ArCIIBP.'s CURE FOR A TOEACIIE. 85 

barking out of dogs after them, they make more noise than 
if the King came there away, with all his clarions and many 
other minstrels. And if these men and women be a month 
out in their pilgrimage, many of them shall be, a half year 
after, great janglers, tale-tellers, and liars." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Lewd 
losell ! thou seest not far enough in this matter! for thou 
considerest not the great travail of pilgrims ; therefore thou 
blamest that thing that is praisable ! I say to thee, that it 
is right well done ; that pilgrims have with them both singers 
and also pipers : that when one of them that goeth barefoot 
striketh his toe upon a stone and hurteth him sore and 
maketh him to bleed ; it is well done, that he or his fellow, 
begin then a song or else take out of his bosom a bagpipe for to 
drive away with such mirth, the hurt of his fellow. For with 
such solace, the travail and weariness of pilgrims is lightly 
and merrily brought forth." 

William. And I said, " Sir, Saint Paul teacheth men, to 
weep with them that iceep." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, " What janglest 
thou against men's devotion ? Whatsoever thou or such 
other say, I say, that the pilgrimage that now is used, is to 
them that do it, a praisable and a good mean[s] to come the 
rather to grace. But I hold thee unable to know this grace ! 
for thou enforcest thee to let [hinder] the devotion of the 
people, since by authority of Holy Scripture, men may law- 
fully have and use such solace as thou reprovest ! For 
David in his last Psalm, teacheth me to have divers instru- 
ments of music for to praise therewith GOD." 

William. And I said, "Sir, by the sentence [opinions] of 
divers Doctors expounding the Psalms of David, the music 
and minstrelsy that David and other Saints of the Old Law 
spake of, owe [ouglit], now, neither to be taken nor used by 
the letter ; but these instruments with their music ought to 
be interpreted ghostly [spiritually] : for all those figures are 
called Virtues and Grace, with which virtues men should 
please GOD and praise His name. For Saint Paul saith, 
All such things befell to them in figure. Therefore, Sir, I 
understand that the letter of this Psalm of David and of such 
other Psalms and sentences, doth slay them that taken them 
now literally. This sentence, I understand, Sir, CiiRisT ap- 

86 The 4TH charge of the Shrewsbury men. [V^l^^i. 

proveth himself, putting out the minstrels, ere that he would 
quicken the dead damsel." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, *' Lewd 
Josell ! is it not lawful for us to have organs in the church, 
for to worship therewithal GOD ? " 

William. And I said, "Yea, Sir, by man's ordinance ; but, 
by the ordinance of GOD, a good sermon to the people's 
understanding, were mickle more pleasant to GOD 1 " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said that " organs and 
good delectable songs quickened and sharpened more men's 
wits, than should any sermon ! " 

William. But I said, " Sir, lusty men and worldly lovers 
delight and covet and travail to have all their wits quickened 
and sharpened with divers sensible solace : but all the faithful, 
lovers and followers of Christ have all their delight to hear 
GOD's Word, and to understand it truly, and to work there- 
after faithfully and continually. For, no doubt, to dread to 
offend GOD, and to love to please Him in all things, 
quickeneth and sharpeneth all the wits of Christ's chosen 
people, and ableth them so to grace, that they joy greatly to 
withdraw their ears, and all their wits and members from all 
worldly delight, and from all fleshly solace. For Saint 
Jerome, as I think, saith, Nobody may joy with this world, 
and rci:j:n with CHRIST.'' 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop, as if he had been dis- 
pleased with mine answer, said to his Clerks, " What guess 
ye this idiot will speak there, where he hath none dread ; since 
he spaketh thus now, here in my presence ? Well, well, by 
God ! thou shalt be ordained for ! " 

|Nd then he spake to me, all angerly, " What sayest 
thou to this fourth point that is certified against 
thee, preaching openly and boldly in Shrewsbury, 
That priests have no title to tithes ? " 
William. And I said, " Sir, I named there no word of 
tithes in my preaching. F)Ut, more than a month after [? June, 
1407] that I was arrested, there in prison \at Shreicsbury], a man 
came to me into the prison, asking me 'What I said of tithes ?' 
" And I said to him, ' Sir, in this town, are many Clerks and 
Priests; of which some of them are called Religious Men, 
though many of them be Seculars. Therefore, ask ye of 
them this question ! ' 

William of Thorpe.j ClIRIST & HIS ApOSTLES TOOK NO TITHES. 87 

" And this man said to me, * Sir, our prelates say that we 
are also obliged to pay our tithes of all things that renew to 
us ; and that they are accursed that withdraw any part 
wittingly from them of their tithes,' 

"And I said, Sir, to that man, as with my Protestation, I 
say now here before you, that ' I had wonder[ed] that any 
priest dare say men to be accursed, without ground of GOD's 

" And the man said, 'Sir, our priests say that they curse 
men thus, by authority of GOD's Law.' 

" And I said, ' Sir, I know not where this sentence of 
cursing is authorized now in the Bible. And therefore, Sir, I 
pray you that ye will ask the most cunning Clerk of this 
town, that 5'e may know where this sentence, " cursing them 
that tythe not now," is written in GOD's Law : for if it were 
written there, I would right gladly be learned [informed] where.' 

" But, shortly, this man would not go from me, to ask this 
question of another body ; but required me, there, as I would 
answer before GOD ! if, in this case, the cursing of priests 
were lawful and approved of GOD ? 

" And, shortly, therewith came to my mind the learning of 
Saint Peter, teaching priests especially, to halloiv the LORD 
Christ in their hearts, being evermore ready, as far as in. them 
is, to answer throtigh faith and hope, to them that ask of them a 
reason. And this lesson Peter teacheth me to use, with a 
meek spirit, and with dread of the LORD. 

" Wherefore, Sir, I said to this man, in this wise, ' In 
the Old Law, which ended not fully till the time that Christ 
rose up again from death to life, GOD commanded tithes to 
be given to the Levites for the great business and daily 
travail that pertained to their office : but Priests, because 
their travail was mickle more easy and light than was the 
office of the Levites, GOD ordained that Priests should 
take for their lifelode [livcliJwod] to do their office, the tenth 
part of those tithes that were given to the Levites. 

" ' But now,' I said, ' in the New Law, neither Christ 
nor any of his Apostles took tithes of the people, nor com- 
manded the people to pay tithes, neither to Priests nor to 
Deacons. But Christ taught the people to do almesse 
[alms], that is, works of mercy to poor needy men, of surplus 
that is superfluouse [superfluity] of their temporal goods which 

88 Apostle Paul worked witti ins hands. [^^'"^7°^ '^"^-p^^; 

they had more than them needed reasonably to their necessary 
livelihood. And thus,' I said, ' not of tithes, but of pure 
alms of the people Christ lived and his Apostles, when they 
were so busy in teaching of the Word of GOD to the people, 
that they might not travail otherwise for to get their liveli- 
hood. But after Christ's Ascension, and when the Apostles 
had received the HOLY GHOST, they travailed with their 
hands for to get their livelihood when that they might thus 
do for [on account of] busy preaching. Therefore, by example 
of himself, St. Paul teacheth all the priests of Christ for 
to travail with their hands, when for busy teaching of the 
people, they might thus do. And thus all these priests 
(whose priesthood GOD accepteth now, or will accept ; or 
did [accept] in the Apostles' time, and after their decease) 
will do, to the world's end. 

'" But as Cistcrcicnsis telleth, in the thousand year of our 
Lord Jesus Christ, two hundred and eleventh year, one 
Pope, the tenth Gregory, ordained new tithes first to be 
given to priests now in the New Law. But Saint Paul in 
his time (whose trace or example, all priests of GOD enforce 
them to follow), seeing the covetousness that was among the 
people (desiring to destroy this foul sin, through the grace 
of GOD, and true virtuous living and example of himself) 
wrote and taught all priests for to follou' him, as he followed 
Christ, patiently, willingly, and gladly in high poverty. 
Wherefore Paul saith this, The LORD hath ordained, that 
they that preach the Gospel shall live by the Gospel. But we, 
saith Paul, that covet and busy us to be faithful followers of 
Christ, use not this power. For, lo, as Paul witnessed after- 
ward, when he was full poor and needy, preaching among 
the people, he was not chargeous \clwirgeable] unto them, but 
with his hands he travailed, not only to get his own living, 
but also the living of other poor and needy creatures. And 
since the people were never so covetous nor so avarous 
[avaricious], I guess, as they are now ; it were good counsel 
that all priests took good heed to this heavenly learning of 
Paul : following him here, in wilful poverty, nothing charging 
the people for their bodily livelihood. 

'" But because that many priests do contrary Paul in this 
foresaid doctrine, Paul biddeth the people take heed to those 
pricbts, that follow him, as he had given them example : as if 

William of Thorpe. J p^iEyTs SPEND THE PARISH OFFERINGS. 89 

Paul would say thus to the people, "Accept ye none other 
priests, than they that live after the form that I have taught 
you ! " For, certain, in whatsoever dignity or order that any 
priest is in, if he conform him not to follow Christ and his 
Apostles in wilful poverty and in other heavenly virtues, and 
specially in true preaching of GOD's Word ; though such 
a one he named a Priest, yet he is no more but a Priest in 
name : for the work of a very Priest such a one wanteth ! 
This sentence [opinion] approveth Augustine, Gregory, 
Chrysostom, and [Grosset£te, Bishop of] Lincoln 
plainly.' " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Thinkest 
thou this wholesome learning for to sow openly, or yet privily 
among the people I Certain, this doctrine contrarieth 
plainly the ordinance of Holy Fathers : which have ordained, 
granted, and licensed priests to be in divers degrees ; and to 
live by tithes and offerings of the people, and by other duties." 

William. And I said, " Sir, if priests were now in mea- 
surable measure and number; and lived virtuously, and taught 
busily and truly the Word by the example of Christ and of 
his Apostles, without tithes offerings and other duties that 
priests now challenge and take : the people would give them 
freely sufficient livelihood." 

A Clerk. And a Clerk said to me, " How wilt thou make 
this good, that the people will give freely to priests their 
livelihood; since that now, by the law, every priest can 
scarcelv constrain the people to give them their livelihood ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, it is now no wonder, though 
the people grudge to give the priests the livelihood that they 
ask ! for mickle people know, now, how that priests should 
live ; and how that they live contrary to Christ and His 
Apostles. And therefore the people are full heavy to pay, as 
they do, their temporal goods to Parsons and to other Vicars 
and Priests; which should be faithful dispensators of the 
parish's goods, taking to themselves no more but a scarce 
living of tithes nor of offerings by the Ordinance of the Coni- 
mon Law. For whatsoever priests take of the people, be it 
tithes or offering, or any other duty or service, the priests 
ought not to have thereof no more but a bare living : and to 
depart [give away] the residue to the poor men and women, 
specially of the parish of whom they take this temporal living. 

90 Christ lived wholly upon alms, [wmiam of Thorp. 

But the most deal [greater portion] of priests now waste their 
parish's goods, and spendeth them at their own will, after the 
world in their vain lusts: so that in few places poor men have 
duly, as they should have, their own sustenance, neither of 
tithes nor of offerings, nor of other large wages and foundations 
that priests take of the people in divers manners, above that 
they need for needful sustenance of meat and clothing. But 
the poor needy people are forsaken and left of priests, to be 
sustained of the paroshenis [parishioners]; as if the priests took 
nothing of the parishioners, for to help the poor people with. 
And thus. Sir, into over great charges of the parishioners, 
they pay their temporal goods twice ; where once might 
suffice, if priests were true dispensators. 

" Also, Sir, the parishioners that pay their temporal goods, 
be they tithes or offerings, to priests that do not their office 
among them justly, are partners of every sin of those priests: 
because that they sustain those priests' folly in their sin, with 
their temporal goods. If these things be well considered, 
what wonder is it then. Sir, if the parishioners grudge against 
these dispensators ? " 

Archbishop. Then the Archbishop said to me," Thou that 
shouldest be judged and ruled by Holy Church, presump- 
tuously, thou deemest Holy Church to have erred in the ordi- 
nance of tithes and other duties to be paid to priests ! It 
shall be long ere thou thrive, losell ! that thou despisest thy 
ghostly Mother! How darest thou speak this, losell ! among 
the people ? Are not tithes given to priests for to live by ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, Saint Paul saith that tithes 
were given in the Old Law to Levites and to Priests, that 
came of the lineage of Levi. But onr priest, he saith, came not 
of the lineage of LEVI, but of the lineage ofJUDAH; to which 
JUDAH, no tithes were promised to be given. And therefore Paul 
saith. Since the priesthood is changed from the generation of Levi 
to the generation of JUDAH, it is necessary t/iat changing also be 
made of the Law. So that priests live now without tithes and 
other duties that they now claim ; following Christ and his 
Apostles in wilful poverty, as they have given them ex- 
ample. For since Christ lived all the time of His preaching 
by pure [the simple] alms of the people, and (by example of 
him) his Apostles lived in the same wise, or else by the 
travail of their hands, as it is said above; every priest, whose 

William of Thorpe.-| u HeARD YE EVER LOSELL SPEAK THUS ! " 9I 

priesthood Christ approveth, knoweth well, and confesseth 
in word and in work that a disciple oivdh [ought] not to be above 
his Master, but it snjjiccth to a disciple to be as his Master, simple 
and pure, meek and patient : and by example specially of his 
Master Christ, every priest should rule him in all his living; 
and so, after his cunning and power, a priest should busy 
him to inform and to rule whomsoever he might charitably." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, with a great 
spirit, " GOD's curse have thou and thine for this teaching ! 
for thou wouldest hereby make the Old Law more free and 
perfect than the New Law ! For thou say est it is lawful for 
Levites and to Priests to take tithes in the Old Law, and so 
to enjoy their privileges; but to us priests in the New Law, 
thou sayest it is not lawful to take tithes ! And thus, thou 
givest the Levites of the Old Law more freedom, than to 
priests of the New Law ! " 

"William. And I said, " Sir, I marvel, that ye understand 
this plain text of Paul thus ! Ye wot well, that the Levites 
and Priests in the Old Law, that took tithes, were not so free 
nor so perfect as Christ and his Apostles that took no tithes ! 
And, Sir, there is a Doctor, I think that it is Saint Jerome, 
that saith thus, The priests that challenge now in the Neie) Law, 
tithes, say, in effect that Christ is not become Man, nor that he 
hath yet suffered death for man's love. Whereupon, this Doctor 
saith this sentence, Since tithes were the hires and wages limited 
to Levites and to Priests of the Old Law, for bearing about of 
the Tabernacle, and for slaying and flaying of beasts, and for 
burning of sacrifice, and for keeping of the Temple, and for trwnping 
of battle before the host of Israel, and other divers observances that 
pertained to their office; those priests, that ivill challenge or take 
tithes, deny that Christ is comen in flesh, and do the Pricsfs office 
of the Old Law, for whom tithes were granted : for else, as the 
Doctor saith, priests take now tithes wrongfullyJ" 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to his Clerks, 
*' Heard ye ever losell speak thus ! Certain, this is the 
learning of them all, that wheresoever they come, and they 
may be suffered, they enforce them to expugn the freedom of 
Holy Church ! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, why call you the taking of 
tithes and of such other duties that priests challenge now 
wrongfully * the freedom of Holy Church ' ; since neither 

92 Priests are the stomach of the people ! \y^. 

Christ nor his Apostles challenged nor took such duties? 
Herefore these takings of priests now, are not called justly 
'the freedom of Holy Church ' : but all such giving and tak- 
ing ought to be called and holden ' the slanderous covetous- 
ness of men of the Holy Church.' " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Why, 
losell ! wilt not thou and others that are confedered \con- 
fcdcratcd] with thee, seek out of Holy Scripture and of the 
sentence of Doctors, all sharp authorities against Lords and 
Knights and Squires, and against other secular men, as thou 
dost against priests ? " 

"William. And I said, " Sir, whatsoever men or women. 
Lords or Ladies, or any others that are present in our 
preaching specially, or in our communing, after our cunning, 
we to tell to them their office and their charges: but. Sir, since 
Chrvsostom saith the priests are the stomach of the people, it is 
needful in preaching and also in communing, to be most busy 
about this priesthood, since by the viciousness of priests, 
both Lords and Commons are most sinfully infected and led 
into the worst. And because that the covetousness of priests, 
and pride and the boast that they have and make, of their 
dignity and power, destroyeth not only the virtues of priest- 
hood in priests themselves : but also, over this, it stirreth 
GOD to take great vengeance both upon Lords and Com- 
mons, which suffer these priests charitably." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Thou 
judgest ever)' priest proud that will not go arrayed as thou 
dost ! By God ! I deem him to be more meek that goeth 
every day in a scarlet gown, than thou, in that threadbare 
blue gown ! Whereby knowest thou a proud man ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, a proud priest may be known 
when he denieth to follow Christ and his Apostles in wilful 
poverty and other virtues ; and coveteth worldly worship, 
and taketh it gladly, and gathereth together with pleting 
[? pleading] menacing or with flattering, or with simony, any 
worldly goods : and most if a priest busy him not chieliy in 
himself, and after in all other men and women, after his 
cunning and power, to withstand sin." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Though 
thou knewest a priest to have all these vices, and though 
thou sawest a priest, lovely, lie now by a woman, knowing 


l'^';';^;] The 5x11 charge of the Shrewsbury men. 93 

her fleshly ; wouldest thou herefore deem this priest damn- 
able ? I say to thee, that in the turning about of thy hand, 
such a sinner may be verily repented! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, I will not damn any man for 
any sin that I know done or may be done ; so that the sinner 
leaveth his sin ! But, by authority of Holy Scripture, he 
that sinneth thus openly, as ye shew here, is damnable for 
doing of such a sin ; and most specially a priest that should 
be [an] example to all others for to hate and fly sin : and in 
how short time that ever ye say, that such a sinner may be 
repented, he oweth [ought] not, of him that knoweth his 
sinning, to be judged verily repentant, without open evidence 
of great shame and hearty sorrow for his sin. For whosoever, 
and specially a priest, that useth pride, envy, covetousness, 
lechery, simony, or any other vices ; and sheweth not, as open 
evidence of repentance, as he hath given evil example and 
occasion of sinning : if he continue in any such sin as long as 
he may, it is likely that sin leaveth him and he not sin ; and, 
as I understand, such a one sinneth unto death, for whom 
nobody oweth [ought] to pay, as Saint John saith." 

A Clerk. And a Clerk said to the Archbishop, " Sir, the 
longer that ye appose him, the worse he is ! and the more 
that ye busy you to amend him, the waywarder he is ! for he 
is of so shrewd a kind, that he shameth not only to be himself 
a foul nest ; but, without shame, he busieth him to make his 
nest fouler ! " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to his Clerk, 
*' Suffer a while, for I am at an end with him ! for there is 
one other point certified against him ; and I will hear what 
he saith thereto." 

Nd so then, he said to me, *' Lo, it is here certified 
against thee, that thou preachedst openly at Shrews- 
burv tJiat it is not lawful to swear in any case.'' 

William. And I said, " Sir, I preached never so 
openly, nor I have not taught in this wise, in any place. But, 
Sir, as I preached in Shrewsbury, with my Protestation I say 
to you now here. That by the authority of the Gospel and of 
Saint James, and by witness of divers Saints and Doctors, I 
have preached openly, in one place or other, that it is not law- 
ful in any case to swear by any creature. And, over this, Sir, 

94 A Man of Law and a Master of Divinity. 

L '! 1407- 

have also preached and taught, by the foresaid authorities, 
that nobody should swear in any case, if that without oath, in 
any wise, he that is charged to swear, might excuse him to 
them that have power to compel him to swear in leful things 
and lawful : but if a man may not excuse him without oath to 
them that have power to compel him to swear, then he ought 
to swear only by GOD, taking Him only, that is Soothfast- 
ness, for to witness the soothfastness." 

A Clerk. And then a Clerk asked me, " If it were not 
leful [lawful] to a subject, at the bidding of his Prelate, for to 
kneel down and touch the Holy Gospel book, and kiss it 
saying, So help me, GOD ! and this holy doom! for he should, 
after his cunning and power, do all things, that his Prelate 
commandeth him?" 

William. And I said to them, ** Sirs, ye speak here full 
generally and largely ! What, if a Prelate commanded his 
subject to do an unlawful thing, should he obey thereto?" 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " A subject 
ought not to suppose that his Prelate will bid him do an 
unlawful thing. For a subject ought to think that his Pre- 
late will bid him do nothing but that he will answer for 
before GOD, that it is lefull [lawful] : and then, though the 
bidding of the Prelate be unlawful, the subject hath no peril 
to fulfil it ; since that he thinketh and judgeth that what- 
soever thing his Prelate biddeth him do, that is leful to 
him for to do it." 

William. And I said, ** Sir, I trust not hereto 1 But to 
our lirst purpose 1 Sir, I tell you that I was once in a 
gentleman's house, and there were then two Clerks there, a 
Master of Divinity and a Man of Law ; which Man of Law 
was also communing in divinity. And among other things, 
these men spake of oaths. And the Man of Law said, ' At 
the bidding of his Sovereign which had power to charge him 
to swear, he would lay his hand upon a book, and hear 
his charge; and if his charge, to his understanding were 
unlawful, he would hastily withdraw his hand from the 
book ; and if he perceived his charge to be leful he would 
hold still his hand upon the book, taking there only GOD to 
witness that he would fulfil that leful charge after his 
power.' And the Master of Divinity said then to him thus, 
' Certain, he that layeth his hand upon a book in this wise, 


ri'w.'] William to explain Ciirvsostom's Homil v. 95 

and maketh there a promise to do that thing that he is 
commanded, is obliged there, by book oath, then, to fulfil 
his charge. For, no doubt, he that chargeth him to lay his 
hand thus upon a book, touching the book and swearing by 
it, and kissing it, promising in this form, to do this thing or 
that, will say and witness, that he that toucheth thus a book 
and kisseth it, hath sworn upon that book ; and all other 
men that see that men thus do, and also all those that 
hear thereof in the same wise, will say and witness that 
this man hath sworn upon a book ! Wherefore,' the Master 
of Divinity said, ' it was not leful, neither to give nor to 
take any such charge upon a book! for every book is 
nothing else but divers creatures [created tilings], of which it 
is made of: therefore to swear upon a book, is to swear by 
creatures ! and this swearing is ever unlefuL' 

" This sentence witnesseth Chrysostom, plainly blaming 
them greatly, that bring forth a book for to swear upon, 
charging Clerks that in nowise they constrain anybody to 
swear, whether they think a man to swear true or false." 

And the Archbishop and his Clerks scorned me, and 
blamed me greatly for this saying. And the Archbishop 
menaced me with great punishment and sharp, except I 
left this opinion of swearing. 

"William. And I said, " Sir, this is not mine opinion ; but 
it- is the opinion of Christ our Saviour ! and of Saint James ! 
and of Chrysostom ! and of other divers Saints and Doctors ! " 

Then the Archbishop bad a Clerk read this Homily of 
Chrysostom, which Homily this Clerk held in his hand 
written in a roll ; which roll the Archbishop caused to be 
taken from my fellow at Canterbury : and so then this Clerk 
read this roll, till he came to a clause where Chrysostom 
saith that it is sin, to swear well. 

A Clerk (?Malveren). And then a Clerk, Malveren 
as I guess, said to the Archbishop, *' Sir, I pray you wit 
of him, how that he understandeth Chrysostom here, saying 
it to be sin, to swear well." 

Archbishop. And so the Archbishop asked me, " How I 
understood here Chrysostom ? 

William. And, certain, I was somewhat afraid to answer 
hereto ; for I had not busied me to study about the sense 
hereof: but lifting up my mind to GOD, I prayed Him, of 

96 ArCIIBP.'s views enforced by force. [Wnuam of Thorpe. 

j^race. And, as fast, as I thought how Christ said to 
his apostles, When, for my name, ye shall be brott^ht before 
judges, I will give into your month, wisdom, that your adver- 
saries shall not against say [gainsay] ; and trusting faithfully 
in the Word of GOD, I said, " Sir, I know well, that many 
men and women have now swearing so in custom, that they 
know not, nor will not know that they do evil for to swear 
as they do : but they think and say, that they do well 
for to swear as they do ; though they know well that they 
swear untruly. For they say, ' They may by their swearing, 
though it be false, [a]void blame or temporal harm; which 
they should have, if they swore not thus.' 

" And, Sir, many men and women maintain strongly that 
they swear well, when that thing is sooth that they swear for. 

" Also full many men and women say now that ' It is 
well done to swear by creatures, when they may not (as they 
say) otherwise be believed.' 

" And also full many men and women now say that * It is 
well done to swear by GOD and by our Lady, and by other 
Saints ; for to have them in mind ! ' 

" But since all these sayings are but excusations [excuses] 
and sin, methinketh, Sir, that this sentence of Chrysostom 
may be alleged well against all such swearers : witnessing that 
these sin grievously ; though they think themselves for to 
swear in this foresaid wise, well. For it is evil done and 
great sin for to swear truth, when, in any manner, a man 
may excuse him without oath." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said that " Chrysos- 
tom might be thus understood." 

A Clerk. And then a Clerk said to me, " Wilt thou tarry my 
Lord no longer ! but submit thee here meekly to the ordinance 
of Holy Church ; and lay thine hand upon a book, touching 
the Holy Gospel of GOD, promising, not only with thy moutli 
but also with thine heart, to stand to my Lord's ordinance ?" 

William. And I said, " Sir, have I not told you here, how 
that I heard a Master of Divinity say that, in such a case, 
it is all one to touch a book, and to swear by a book ?" 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, " There is no 
Master of Divinity in England so great, that if he hold this 
opinion before me, but I shall punish him as I shall do thee, 
except thou swear as I shall charge thee ! ■' 

1 1407, 

;] Specimen of the arguments of Schoolmen. 97 

William. And I said," Sir, is not Chrysostom an ententil 
Doctor? " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, " Yea ! " 

"William. And I said, " If Chrysostom proveth him 
worthy great blame that bringeth forth a book to swear upon, 
it must needs follow that he is more to blame that sweareth 
on that book ! " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, " If Chrysostom 
meant according to the ordinance of Holy Church, we will 
accept him ! " 

A Clerk. And then said a Clerk to me, " Is not the Word 
of GOD, and GOD Himself equipollent^ that is, of one 
authority ? " 

William. And I said, " Yea ! " 

A Clerk. Then he said to me, *' Why wilt thou not swear, 
then, by the Gospel of GOD, that is, GOD's Word ; since it is 
all one to swear by the Word of GOD and by GOD Himself ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, since I may not, now, other- 
wise be believed but by swearing, I perceive, as Augustine 
saith, that it is not speedful that ye, that should be my 
brethren, should not believe me : therefore I am ready, by 
the Word of GOD (as the LORD commanded me by His 
Word), to swear." 

A Clerk. Then the Clerk said to me, " Lay, then, thine 
hand upon the book, touching the Holy Gospel of GOD ; and 
take th}^ charge ! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, I understand that the Holy 
Gospel of GOD may not be touched with man's hands ! " 

A Clerk. And the Clerk said I fonded [Jooled], and that I 
said not truth. 

William. And I asked this Clerk, " Whether it were 
more to read the Gospel, or to touch the Gospel ? " 

A Clerk. And he said, " It was more to read the Gospel ! " 

William. Then I said, " Sir, by authority of Saint 
Jerome, the Gospel is not the Gospel for [through] reading 
of the letter, but for the belief that men have in the Word of 
GOD ; that it is the Gospel that we believe, and not the 
letter we read : for because the letter that is touched with 
man's hand is not the Gospel, but the sentence that is verily 
believed in man's heart is the Gospel. For so Saint Jerome 
saith, The Gospel, that is the virtue of GOD's Word is not in the 

£ng. Gar. VI. 7 

98 Gospel hid in the Letter of Scripture. [Y'' 


leaves of the hook, but it is in the root of reason. Neither the 
Gospel, he saith, is in the writing above of the letters ; but the 
Gospel is in the marking of the sentence of Scriptures. 

" This sentence approveth Saint Paul, saying thus, The 
Kingdom of GOD is not in word, but in virtue. And David 
saith. The voice of the LORD, that is, His Word, is in virtue. 
And, after, David saith, Through the Word of GOD, the heavens 
were formed ; and in the Spirit of His mouth is all the virtue of 
them. And I pray you, Sir, understand ye well how David 
saith that, in the Spirit of the mouth of the LORD is all the virtue 
of angels and of men'' ? 

A Clerk. And the Clerk said to me, " Thou wouldst make 
us to fond with thee ! Say we not that the Gospels are 
written in the Mass book ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, though men use [are accus- 
tomed] to say thus, yet it is unperfect speech. For the 
principal part of a thing is properly the whole thing : for, 
lo, man's soul that may not now be seen here, nor touched 
with any sensible thing, is properly Man ! And all the virtue 
of a tree is in the root thereof, that may not be seen ; for do 
away with the root, and the tree is destroyed ! And, Sir, as 
ye said to me, right now, GOD and His Word are of one 
authority; and. Sir, Saint Jerome witnesseth that Christ, 
Very GOD and Very Man, is hid in the letter of his Law; 
thus also, Sir, the Gospel is hid in the letter ! 

" For, Sir, as it is full likely many divers men and women 
here in the earth touched Christ, and saw him, and knew 
his bodily person ; which neither touched, nor saw, nor knew 
ghostly his Godhead : right thus. Sir, many men now touch, 
and see, and write, and read the Scriptures of GOD's Law, 
which neither touch, see, nor read effectually the Gospel. 
For as the Godhead of Christ, that is, the virtue of GOD, is 
known by the virtue through belief ; so is the Gospel, that is 
Christ's Word ! " 

A Clerk. And a Clerk said to me, " These be full misty 
matters and unsavoury, that thou showest here to us ! " 

"William. And I said, " Sir, if ye, that are Masters, know 
not plainly this sentence, ye may sore dread that the Kingdom 
ot Heaven be taken from you ! as it was from the Princes 
of Priests and from the Elders of the Jews." 

A Clerk (? Malveren). And then a Clerk, as I guess 

T'"moT] Tiiey layed wait to entrap William. 99 

Malveren, said to me, " Thou knowest not thine equivoca- 
tions! for the ' King-dom of Heaven' hath diverse under- 
standings. What callest thou the ' Kingdom of Heaven ' in 
this sentence, that thou shewest here ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, by good reason, and sentence 
of Doctors, the Realm of Heaven is called here, the under- 
standing of GOD'S Word." 

A Clerk. And a Clerk said to me, *' From whom, thinkest 
thou, that this understanding is taken away ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, by authority of Christ 
himself, the effectual understanding of Christ's word is 
taken away from all them chiefly which are great-lettered 
[learned] men, and presume to understand high things, and 
will be holden wise men, and desire mastership and high 
state and dignity : but they will not conform them to the 
living and teaching of Christ and of His Apostles." 

Archbishop. Then the Archbishop said, " Well, well, 
thou wilt judge thy sovereigns ! By God ! the King [Henry 
IV.] doeth not his duty, but he suffer thee to be condemned ! " 

A Clerk. [^^^^1 N d then another Clerk said to me, " Why, 
on Friday last, that was [August 5, 1407], 
counselledst thou a man of my Lord's, that 
he should not shrive him to Man, but 
only to GOD?" 

And with this asking, I was abashed ; and then, by and 
by, I knew that I was surely betrayed of a man that came 
to me in prison [ ? at Saltwood Castle] on the Friday before, 
communing with me in this matter of confession : and, 
certain, by his words, I thought that this man came then to 
me of full fervent and charitable will. But now I know, he 
came to tempt me and to accuse me. GOD forgive him, if 
it be His holy will ! 

And with all mine heart, when I had thought thus, I said 
to this Clerk, " Sir, I pray you that ye would fetch this man 
hither ! and all the words, as near as I can repeat them, 
which that I spake to him on Friday in the prison, I will 
rehearse now here, before you all, and before him." 

Archbishop. And, as I guess, the Archbishop then said 
to me, " They that are now here, suffice to repeat them. How 
saidest thou to him ? " 

lOO Talk on Confession, in Saltwood Castle. 


William. And I said, " Sir, that man came and asked me 
of divers things ; and after his asldng, I answered him, as I 
understood that good was. And, as he shewed to me by his 
words, he was sorry for his living in Court, and right heavy 
for his own vicious living, and also for the viciousness of 
other men, and specially of priests' evil living; and herefore, 
he said to me with a sorrowful heart, as I guessed, that he pur- 
posed fully, within short time, for to leave the Court, and busy 
him to know GOD's Law, and to conform all his life hereafter. 

" And when he had said to me these words, and others more, 
which I would rehearse and [if] he were present, he prayed 
me to hear his confession. 

" And I said to him, ' Sir, wherefore come ye to me, to be 
confessed of me ? Ye wot well that the Archbishop putteth 
and holdeth me here, as one unworthy either to give or to 
take any Sacrament of Holy Church ! ' 

" And he said to me, ' i3rother, I wot well, and so wot 
many others more, that you and such others are wrongfully 
vexed ; and herefore I will common [coinmune] with you the 
more gladly.' 

"And I said to him, * Certain, I wot well that many men 
of this Court [i.e., the Archbishop's], and specially Priests of 
this household [Chaplains], would be full evil a paid, both with 
you and me, if they wist that ye were confessed of me ! ' 

" And he said that he cared not therefore, for he had full 
little affection in them ! and, as methought, he spake these 
words and many others of so good v.'ill and of so high desire 
for to have known and done the pleasant Will of GOD. 

" And I said then to him, as with my foresaid Protesta- 
tion, I say to you now here, ' Sir, I counsel you for to absent 
you from all evil company, and to draw you to them that 
love and busy them to know and to keep the precepts of GOD ; 
and then the good Spirit of GOD will move you for to 
occupy busily all your wits in gathering together of all your 
sins, as far as ye can bethink you ; shaming greatly of them, 
and sorrowing heartily for them. Yea, Sir, the HOLY 
GHOST will then put in your heart a good will and a fervent 
desire for to take and to hold a good purpose, to hate ever 
and to lly, after your cunning and power, all occasion of sin : 
and so then wisdom shall come to you from above, lightening 
with divers beams of grace and of heavenly desire all your 

William of Thorpe.-| QQD ALONE CAN FORGIVE SINS ! lOI 

wits, informing you how ye shall trust stedfastly in the mercy 
of the LORD, [acjknowledging to Him only all your vicious 
living, praying to Him ever devoutly of charitable counsel 
and continuance, hoping without doubt that if ye continue 
thus busying you faithfully to know and keep his biddings, 
that He will, for He only may, forgive you all your sins ! ' 

"And this man said then to me, ' Though GOD forgive 
men their sins, yet it behoveth men to be assoiled [absolved] 
of priests, and to do the penance that they enjoin them ! ' 

" And I said to him, ' Sir, it is all one to assoil men of 
their sins, and to forgive men their sins: wherefore since it 
pertaineth only to GOD to forgive sin, it sufficeth in this 
case, to counsel men and women for to leave their sin, and 
to comfort them that busy them thus to do, for to hope 
stedfastly in the mercy of GOD. And againward, priests 
ought to tell sharply to customable sinners, that if they will 
not make an end of their sin, but continue in divers sins 
while that they may sin, all such deserve pain without 
end. And herefore priests should ever busy them to live well 
and holily, and to teach the people busily and truly the 
Word of GOD ; shewing to all folk, in open preaching and in 
privy counselling, that the LORD GOD only forgiveth sin. 
And therefore those priests that take upon them to assoil 
men of their sins, blaspheme GOD ; since that it pertaineth 
only to the LORD to assoil men of all their sins. For, no 
doubt, a thousand years after that Christ was man, no 
priest of Christ durst take upon him to teach the people, 
neither privil}^ nor apertly, that they behoved needs to come 
to be assoiled of them ; as priests do now. But by authority 
of Christ's word, priests bound indured [hardened] custom- 
able sinners to everlasting pains, [those] which, in no time of 
their living, would busy them faithfully to know the biddings 
of GOD, nor to keep them. And, again, all they that would 
occupy all their wits to hate and to flee all occasion of sin, 
dreading over all things to offend GOD, and loving for to 
please Him continually; to these men and women, priests 
shewed how the LORD assoileth them of their sins. And 
thus Christ promised to confirm in heaven, all the binding 
and loosing that priests, by authority of his Word, bind men 
in sin that are indured therein ; or loose them out of sin here 
upon earth that are verily repentant.' 

I02 The Monk of Faversiiam's sermon, [wniiam of Thorpe. 

" And this man hearing these words, said that he ' might 
well in conscience consent to this sentence. But,' he said, 
* is it not needful to the lay people that cannot thus do, to 
go shrive them to priests ? ' 

" And I said, ' If a man feel himself so distroubled with 
any sin, that he cannot by his own wit, avoid this sin without 
counsel of them that are herein wiser than he ; in such a case, 
the counsel of a good priest is full necessary. And if a good 
priest fail, as they do now commonly, in such a case ; Saint 
Augustine saith that a man may lefully comon [lawfidly 
commune] and take counsel of a virtuous secular man. But, 
certain, that man or woman is overladen and too beastly, 
which cannot bring their own sins into their mind, busying 
them night and day for to hate and for to forsake all their 
sins, doing a sigh for them, after their cunning and power. 
And, Sir, full accordingly to this sentence, upon mid-Lenton 
Sunday, two years [March 29, 1405], as I guess, now agone, I 
heard a Monk of Feversham, that men called Moredom, 
preach at Canterbury, at the Cross within Christchurch 
Abbey, saying thus of Confession : As through the suggestion 
of the Fiend, without counsel of any other body than of themselves, 
many men and women can imagine and find means and ways 
enough to come to pride, to theft, to lechery, and to other divers 
vices : in contrary wise, this Alonk said, since the LORD GOD 
is more ready to forgive sin than the Fiend is or may be of power 
to move anybody to sin, then u'hoever will shame and sorroiv 
heartily for their sins, [ac]knowlcdging them faithfully to GOD, 
amending them after their power and cunning, without counsel of 
any other body than of GOD and himself, through the grace of 
GOD, all such men and women may find sufficient means to 
come to GOD's mercy, and so to be clean assoiled of all their sins.'' 
This sentence I said, Sir, to this man of yours, and the self 
words, as near as I can guess." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, " Holy Church 
approveth not this learning." 

William. And I said, " Sir, Holy Church, of which 
Christ is head in heaven and in earth, must needs approve 
this sentence. For, lo, hereby all m.en and women may, if 
they will, be sufficiently taught to know and to keep the 
commandments of GOD, and to hate and to fly continually 
all occasion of sin, and to love and to seek virtues busily, 

? 1407. 

] William calls Alkerton, Flatterer! 10; 

and to believe in GOD stably, and to trust in His mercy 
stedfastly, and so to come to perfect charity and continue 
therein perseverantly : and more, the LORD asketh not of 
any man here now in this life. And, certain, since Jesus 
Christ died upon the cross wilfully to make men free ; Men 
of the Church are too bold and too busy to make men thrall ! 
binding them ' under the pains of endless curse, ' as they say, to 
do many observances and ordinances, which neither the living 
nor the teaching of Christ, nor of his Apostles approveth." 

A Clerk. And a Clerk said then to me, " Thou shewest 
plainly here thy deceit, which thou hast learned of them that 
travail to sow popil \tare^'\ among wheat ! But I counsel thee to 
go away clean from this learning, and submit thee lowly to 
my Lord, and thou shalt find him yet to be gracious to thee ! " 

Another Clerk. And as fast, another Clerk said to me, 
" How wast thou so bold at Paul's Cross in London, to stand 
there hard, with thy tippet \cape'\ bounden about thine head, 
and to reprove in his sermon, the worthy Clerk Alkerton, 
drawing away all, that thou mightest ! Yea, and the same 
day at afternoon, thou meeting that worthy Doctor in VVat- 
lins: street, calledst him, ' False flatterer, and hypocrite ! ' " 

William. And I said, " Sir, I think certainly, that there 
was no man nor woman that hated verily sin and loved 
virtues, hearing the sermon of the Clerk of Oxford, and also 
Alkerton's sermon, but they said, and might justly say, that 
Alkerton reproved the Clerk untruly, and slandered him 
wrongfully and uncharitably. For, no doubt, if the living and 
teaching of Christ chiefly and his Apostles be true, nobody 
that loveth GOD and His Law will blame any sentence that 
the Clerk then preached there ; since, by authority of GOD's 
Word, and by approved Saints and Doctors, and by open 
reason, this Clerk approved all things clearly that he preached 

A Clerk. And a Clerk of theArchbishop said to me, " His 
sermon was false, and that he sheweth openly, since he dare 
not stand forth and defend his preaching, that he then 
preached there." 

William. And I said, " Sir, I think that he purposeth to 
stand stedfastly thereby, or else he slandereth foully himself 
and many others that have great trust that he will stand by 
the truth of the Gospel. For I wot well his sermon is writ- 

I04 The Clerk at Oxford, a Lollard. [ 

William of Thorpe. 
? 1407. 

ten both in Latin and in English ; and many men have it, 
and they set great price thereby. And, Sir, if ye were 
present with the Archbishop [i.e., of CANTERBURY, in whose 
presence he was then standing] at Lambeth, when this Clerk 
appeared ; and were at his Answer before the Archbishop : ye 
wot well that this Clerk denied not there his sermon ; but, two 
days, he maintained it before the Archbishop and his Clerks." 

Archbishop or a Clerk. And then the Archbishop, or 
one of his Clerks said (I wot not which of them !), " That 
harlot [at this time applied to men also] shall be met with, for 
that sermon. For no man but he, and thou, and such other 
false harlots, praiseth any such preaching." 

Archbishop. And then the Archbishop said, ** Your cursed 
sect is busy, and it joyeth right greatly to contrary and to 
destroy the privilege and freedom of Holy Church." 

William. And I said, " Sir, I know no men travail so 
busily as this sect doth, which you reprove, to make rest and 
peace in Holy Church. For pride, covetousness, and simony 
which distrouble most Holy Church, this sect hateth and 
flyeth, and travaileth busily to move all other men in like 
manner unto meekness and wilful poverty and charity, and 
free ministring of the sacraments : this sect loveth, and useth, 
and is full busy to move all other folks, thus to do. For these 
virtues oweall membersof Holy Church to their head, Christ." 

A Clerk. Then a Clerk said to the Archbishop, " Sir, it is 
far day, and ye have far to ride to-night ; therefore make an 
end with him, for he will none make ! But the more. Sir, 
that ye busy you for to draw him towards you, the more con- 
tumax \coniuuiacious] he is made, and the further from you." 

Malveren, And then Malveren said to me, " William ! 
kneel down, and pray my Lord, of grace ! and leave all thy 
fantasies, and become a child of Holy Church !" 

William. And I said, '* Sir, I have prayed the Archbishop 
oft, and yet I pray him, for the love of Christ ! that he will 
leave his indignation that he hath against me ; and that he 
will suffer me, after my cunning and power, for to do mine 
office of priesthood, as I am charged of GOD to do it. For I 
covet nought else, but to serve my GOD to His pleasing, in 
the state that I stand in, and have taken me to." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " If, of 
good heart, thou wilt submit thee now, here, meekly to be 


ruled, from this time forth by my counsel, obeying meekly 
and wilfully to mine ordinance, thou shalt find it most profit- 
able and best to thee for to do thus. Therefore, tarry thou 
me no longer ! Grant to do this,- that I have said to thee 
now, here, shortly ; or deny it utterly ! " 

William. And I said to the Archbishop, " Sir, owe [ought] 
we to believe that Jesus Christ was and is Very GOD and 
Very Man ? " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, " Yea ! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, owe we to believe that all 
Christ's living and his teaching is true in every point ? " 

Archbishop. And he said, " Yea ! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, owe we to believe that the 
living of the Apostles and the teaching of Christ and of all 
Prophets are true, which are written in the Bible for the 
health and salvation of GOD's people ? " 

Archbishop. And he said, " Yea ! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, owe all Christian men and 
women, after their cunning and power, for to conform their 
living to the teaching specially of Christ; and also to the 
teaching and living of his Apostles and of Prophets, in all 
things that are pleasant to GOD, and edification to His 
Church ? " 

Archbishop. And he said, " Yea ! " 

William. And I said, "Sir, oughtthe doctrine, the bidding, 
or the counsel of anybody to be accepted or obeyed unto, 
except this counsel, these biddings, or this counsel may be 
granted and affirmed by Christ's living and his teaching, 
or by the living and teaching of his Apostles and Pro- 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Other 
doctrine ought not to be accepted, nor we owe not to obey to 
any man's bidding or counsel ; except we can perceive that 
this bidding or counsel accordeth with the bidding and 
teaching of Christ and of his Apostles and Prophets ? " 

William. And I said, " Sir, are not all the learning and 
biddings and counsels of Holy Church means and healthful 
remedies to know, and to withstand the privy suggestions 
and the apert temptations of the Fiend ; and also ways and 
healthful remedies to slay pride and all other deadly sins and 
the branches of them ; and sovereign means to purchase 

io6 William VERY firm; Abp. in a passion, [wnuam of Thorpe. 

grace, for to withstand and overcome all fleshly lusts and 
moving?. ? " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, " Yea ! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, whatsoever thing ye or any 
other body bid or counsel me to do ; according to this foresaid 
learning, after my cunning and power, through the help of 
GOD, I will meekly, with all mine heart, obey thereto ! " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said to me, " Submit 
thee then, now, here, meekly and wilfully to the ordinance of 
Holv Church, which I shall shew to thee ! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, according as I have here, now 
before you, rehearsed, I will now be ready to obey full gladly 
to Christ, the Head of all Holy Church, and to the learning 
and biddings and counsels of every pleasing member of Him." 

Archbishop. Then the Archbishop striking with his hand 
fiercely upon a cupboard, spake to me^ with a great spirit, 
saying, " By Jesu ! but if thou leave such additions, obliging 
thee now here without any exception to mine ordinance, ere 
that I go out of this place, I shall make thee as sure as any 
thief that is in the prison of Lantern. Advise thee now, 
what thou wilt do ! " And then, as if he had been angered, 
he went from the cupboard where he stood, to a window. 

And then Malveren and another Clerk came nearer me, and 
they spake to me many words full pleasantly, and another 
while they menaced me and counselled full busily to submit 
me, or else they said I should not escape punishing over 
measure ; for they said I should be degraded, cursed, and 
burned, and so then damned ! 

Malveren and a Clerk. " But now," they said, " thou 
mayest eschew all these mischiefs, if thou will submit thee 
wilfully and meekly to this worthy Prelate, that hath cure of 
thy soul ! And for the pity of Christ ! " said they, " bethink 
thee, how great clerks [Philip de Repington] the Bishop of 
Lincoln, Hereford, and Purvey were, and yet are; and 
also B;owton] that is a well understanding man : which also 
have forsaken and revoked all the learning and opinions that 
thou and such others hold ! Wherefore, since each of them 
is mickle wiser than thou art ; we counsel thee for the best, 
that, by the example of these four Clerks, thou follow them, 
submitting thee as they did ! " 

A Clerk. And one of the [Arch'bishop's Clerks said, then, 

? 1407, 

'] The Chaplains try their hands on him, 107 

there, that " he heard Nicholas Hereford say, that ' since 
he forsook and revoked all the learning and opinions of the 
Lollards, he hath had mickle greater favour and more delight 
to hold against them ; than ever he had to hold with them, 
while he held with them. ' " 

Malveren. And therefore Malveren said to me, "I un- 
derstand and [if] thou wilt take thee to a priest, and shrive 
thee clean, forsake all such opinions, and take thy penance of 
my Lord here, for the holding and teaching of them, within 
short time thou shalt be greatly comforted in this doing ! " 

William. And I said to the Clerks, that thus busily coun- 
selled me to follow these foresaid men, " Sirs, if these men, of 
whom ye counsel me to take example, had forsaken benefices 
of temporal profit and of worldly worship, so that they had 
absented them and eschewed from all occasions of covetous- 
ness and of fleshly lusts; and had taken them to simple living 
and wilful poverty : they had herein given good example to 
me and many others to have followed them. But now, since 
all these four men have slanderously and shamefully done 
the contrary, consenting to receive and to have and to hold 
temporal benefices, living now more worldly and more fleshly 
than they did before, conforming them to the manners of this 
world ; I forsake them herein, and in all their foresaid slan- 
derous doing ! 

" For I purpose, with the help of GOD into remission of 
all my sins and of my foul cursed living, to hate and to fly, 
privily and apertly, to follow these men ! teaching and coun- 
selling whomsoever that I may, for to fly and eschew the way 
that they have chosen to go in, which will lead them to the 
worst end, if, in convenient time, they repent them not, verily 
forsaking and revoking openly the slander that they have put, 
and every day yet put to Christ's Church. For, certain, 
so open blasphemy and slander, as they have spoken and done 
in their revoking and forsaking of the Truth, ought not, nor 
may not, privily be amended duly. Wherefore, Sirs, I pray 
you that ye busy you not for to move me to follow these men 
in revoking and forsaking of the Truth and Soothfastness ! 
as they have done, and yet do ; wherein by open evidence, they 
stir GOD to great wroth, and not only against themselves, 
but also against all them that favour them or consent to them 
herein, or that comoneth [coimnundh] with them, except it be 

io8 William rejects the Lollard turncoats. [ 



for their amendment. For whereas these men first were 
pursued of enemies, now they have obliged them by oath for 
to slander and pursue Christ in his members ! Wherefore, 
as I trust stedfastly in the goodness of GOD, the worldly 
covetousness, and the lusty living, and the sliding from the 
truth of these runagates [renegades] shall be to me, and to 
many other men and women, an example and an evidence to 
stand the more stiffly by the Truth of Christ. 

" For, certain, right many men and women do mark and 
abhor the foulness and cowardice of these aforesaid untrue 
men, how that they are overcome, and stopped with benefices, 
and withdrawn from the truth of GOD's Word, forsaking 
utterly to suffer therefore bodily persecution. For by this 
unfaithful doing and apostasy, of them specially that are 
great lettered men, and have [acjknowledged openly the truth ; 
and now either for pleasure or displeasure of tyrants have 
taken hire and temporal wages, to forsake the Truth and to 
hold against it, slandering and pursuing them that covet to 
follow Christ in the way of righteousness: many men and 
women therefore are now moved. But many more, through 
the grace of GOD, shall be moved hereby, for to learn the 
Truth of GOD, and to do thereafter, and to stand boldly 

Archbishop. Then the Archbishop said to his Clerks, 
" Busy you no longer about him ! for he, and others such as 
he is, are confeder[at]ed so together, that they will not swear 
to be obedient, and to submit them to Prelates of Holy 
Church. For now, since I stood here, his fellow sent me 
word that he will not swear, and that he [William of Thorpe] 
counselled him that he should not swear to me. But, losell ! in 
that thing that in thee is, thou hast busied thee to lose this 
3''oung man; but, blessed be GOD! thou shalt not have 
thy purpose of him ! For he hath forsaken all thy learning, 
submitting him to be buxom [submissive] and obedient to the 
ordinance of Holy Church ; and weepeth full bitterly, and 
curseth thee full heartily for the venomous teaching which 
thou hast shewed to him, counselling him to do thereafter. 
And for thy false counselling of many others and him, thou 
hast great cause to be right sorry ! For, long time, thou hast 
busied thee to pervert whomsoever thou mightest ! Therefore 
as many deaths thou art worthy of, as thou hast given evil 

? 1407. 

] AbP. says, " HE SHALL CONFORM IN 8 DAYS ! " IO9 

counsels. And therefore, by Jesu ! thou shalt go thither 
where Nicholas Hereford and John Purvey were har- 
boured ! and I undertake, ere this day eiji^ht days, thou shalt 
be right glad for to do what thing that ever I bid thee do ! 

"And, losell ! I shall assay if can make thee there, as 
sorrowful as, it was told me, thou wast glad of my last going 
out of England [in 1397]. By St. Thomas ! I shall turn thy 
joy into sorrow ! " 

William. And I said, " Sir, there can nobody prove law- 
fully that I joyed ever of the manner of your going out of 
this land [the Archbishop had been banished]. But, Sir, to 
say the sooth, I was joyful when ye were gone ! for [Robert 
DE Braybrooke] the Bishop of London (in whose prison ye 
left me !) found in me no cause for to hold me longer in his 
prison ; but, at the request of my friends, he delivered me 
to them, asking of me no manner of submitting." 

Archbishop. Then the Archbishop said to me, " Where- 
fore that I yede [went] out of England is unknown to thee 1 
But be this thing well known to thee ! that GOD, as I wot 
well, hath called me again and brought me into this land, 
for to destroy thee and the false sect that thou art of 1 as, by 
God ! I shall pursue you so narrowly that I shall not leave 
a step of you in this land ! " 

William. And I said to the Archbishop, " Sir, the holy 
prophet Jeremy said to the false prophet Hananiah, When 
the word, that is, the prophecy, of a prophet is known or ful- 
filled ; then it shall be known that the LORD sent the prophet in 
truth ! " 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop, as if he had not been 
pleased with my saying, turned him away-ward, hither and 
thither, and said, " By God ! I shall set on thy shins a pair 
of perils [? pearls], that thou shalt be glad to change thy voice !" 

These and many more wondrous and convicious [railing] 
words were spoken to me ; menacing me and all others of the 
same sect, for to be punished and destroyed to the utter- 

And the Archbishop called then to him, a Clerk; and 
rounded with him [whispered in his ear], and that Clerk went 
forth : and soon he brought in the Constable of Saltwood 
Castle, and the Archbishop rounded a good while with him. 

And then the Constable went forth, and then came in 

I lo The Constable places him in a den. [wnnam of Thorpe. 

divers secular [laymen] ; and they scorned me on every side, 
and menaced me greatly. And some counselled the Arch- 
bishop to burn me by and by [at once] : and some others 
counselled him to drown me in the sea, for it is near [at] 
hand there. 

A Clerk. And a Clerk standing besides me there, kneeled 
down to the Archbishop, praying him that he would deliver 
me to him for to say Matins with him ; and he would under- 
take that, within three days, I should not resist anything 
that was commanded me to do, of my Prelate. 

And the Archbishop said that he would ordain for me 

And then, after, came in again the Constable and spake 
privily to the Archbishop, 

And then the Archbishop commanded the Constable to lead 
me forth thence, with him : and so he did. 

And when we were gone forth thence, we were sent after 

And when I came in again before the Archbishop, a Clerk 
bade me kneel down, and ask grace, and submit me lowly, 
and I should find it for the best. 

William. And I said then to the Archbishop, "Sir, as I 
have said to you, divers times, to-day, I will wilfully and 
lowly obey and submit me to be ordained ever, after my 
cunning and power, to GOD and His Law, and to every 
member of Holy Church ; as far forth as I can perceive that 
these members accord with their head, Christ, and will 
teach me, rule me, or chastise me by authority specially of 
GOD'S Law." 

Archbishop. And the Archbishop said, " I wist well, 
he would not, without such additions, submit him ! " 

And then, I was rebuked, scorned, and menaced on every 
side ; and yet, after this, divers persons cried upon me to 
kneel down and submit me : but I stood still, and spake no 

And then there was spoken of me and to me many great 
words ; and I stood, and heard them menace, curse, and 
scorn me : but I said nothing. 

Archbishop. Then a while after, the Archbishop said to 
me, " Wilt thou not submit thee to the ordinance of Holy 
Church ? " 


William. And I said, " Sir, I will full gladly submit me, 
as I have shewed 5'ou before." 

And then, the Archbishop bade the Constable to have me 
forth thence in haste. 

And so then I was led forth, and brought into a foul 
unhonest prison, where I came never before. But, thanked 
be GOD ! when all men were gone forth then from me, and 
had sparred [barred] fast the prison door after them, by and 
by [immediately] after, I therein by myself busied me to think 
on GOD, and to thank Him of His goodness. 

And I was then greatly comforted in all my wits, not only 
for that I was then delivered, for a time, from the sight, from 
the hearing, from the presence, from the scorning, and from 
the menacing of my enemies : but much more I rejoiced in 
the LORD, because that through His grace, He kept me so, 
both among the flattering specially, and among the men- 
acing of mine adversaries, that without heaviness and 
anguish of my conscience, I passed away from them. For 
as a tree laid upon another tree overthwart or on cross wise, 
so was the Archbishop and his three Clerks always contrary 
to me, and I to them. 

Now, good GOD ! (for Thine holy name and for the praising 

of Thy most blessed name, make us one together), if it be 

Thy will, by authority of thy Word that is true perfect 

charity : and else not ! And that it may thus be, all that 

this writing read or hear, pray heartily to the LORD GOD ! 

that He (for His great goodness that cannot be with tongue 

expressed) grant to us and to all others, that in the same 

wise and for the same cause specially, or for any other 

cause be at [a] distance, to be knit and made 

One in true Faith, in stedfast Hope, and 

in perfect Charity. 


C C)[)U0 entiett) i\)t 6;camination of 
fl^aster aHJiUiam i:i)orpe. 

I 12 

Znh l)ereafter follotoetl) Us 

Atthew, an Apostle of Christ and his 
gospeller, witnesseth truly in the Holy Gospel, 
the most holy living and the most wholesome 
teaching of Christ. He rehearseth how that 
Christ likeneth them that hear his words and 
keep them, to a wise man that buildeth his 
house upon a stone, that is a stable and a sad 
[firm] ground. 

This house is man's soul, in whom Christ delighteth to dwell, 
if it he grounded, that is, stablished, faithfully in his living, and 
in his true teaching, adorned or made fair with divers virtues, 
which Christ used and taught without any meddling of any 
error, as are chiefly the conditions of charity. 

This foresaid stone is CHRIST, upon lohich every faithf id soul 
must be buildcd, since upon none other ground than upon Christ's 
living and his teaching, nobody may make any building or house- 
ing wherein Christ will come and dwell. This sentence wit- 
nesseth Paul to the Corinthians, shewing them that nobody may 
set any other ground than is set, that is, Christ's living and his 

And because that all men and women shordd give all their 
business here in this life to build them virtuously upon this sure 
foundation. Saint Paul [ac]knowledging the fervent desire and 
the good will of the people of Ephesus, wrote to them comfortably, 
saying, Now ye are not strangers, guests, nor yet comeHngs, 
but ye are the citizens and of the household of GOD, 
builded above upon the foundament of the Apostles and 
Prophets. In which foundament, every building that is 
builded and made through the grace of GOD, it increaseth 
or groweth into a holy temple ; that is, everybody that is 

19 Sept. i46o.] William of Thorpe's Testament. 113 

grounded and hnildcd faithfully in the teaching and living of 
Christ is theretJirungh made the holy tonple of GOD. 

This is the stable ground and stedfast stone, Christ ! which is 
the sure corner-stone fast joining and holding mightily together 
two walls. For through Christ Jesu, mean or middle Person 
of the Trinity, the Father of Heaven is piteous or mercifidly joined 
and made one together to Mankind : and through dread to offend 
GOD, and fervent love to please him, men be unseparably made 
one to GOD, and defended surely under His protection. 

Also this foresaid stone Christ was figured by the square 
stones of which the Temple of GOD was made. For as a square 
stone, wheresoever it is cast or laid, it abideth and lieth stably ; so 
Christ and every faithful member of his Church, by example of 
him, abideth and dwelleth stably in true faith and in all other 
heavenly virtues, in all adversities that they suffer in this Valley of 
Tears. For, lo, when these foresaid square stones were hewen and 
wrought for to be laid in the walls or pillars of GOD's Temple, 
none noise or stroke of the workmen was heard. Certain, this 
silence in working of this stone figureth Christ chiefly, and his 
faithful members, which by example of him have been, and yet are, 
and ever to the world's end shall be, so meek and patient in every 
adversity, that no sound nor yet any grudging shall any time be 
perceived in them. 

Nevertheless this chief and most worshipfid corner-stone, which 
only is ground of all virtues, proud beggars reproved ! but this 
despite and reproof CHRIST suffered most meekly in his own 
person, for to give example of all meekness and patience to all his 
faithful followers. Certain, this world is now so full of proud 
beggars which are named priests ; but the very office of working of 
priesthood which CHRIST approveth true, and accepteth, is far 
from the multitude of priests that now reign in this world. 

For, from the highest priest to the lowest, all (as who say) 
study, that is, they imagine and travail busily how they may please 
this world and their flesh. This sentence and many such others 
dcpendeth upon them, if it be well considered ; either GOD the 
Father of heaven hath deceived all mankind by the living specially 

£.VG. Gar. VI. 8 

114 William of Tiiorle's Te st a me NT.[_^9'^^vi-M^o. 

and teaching of Jesvs Christ, and by the living and teaching 
of his Apostles and Prophets ; all else all the Popes that have been 
since I had any knozvlcdge or discretion, with all the College 
of Cardinals, Archbisliops, and Bishops, Monks, Canons, and 
Friars, with all the contagious flock of the comminalty of priest- 
hood, which have, all my life-time and inichlc longer, reigned and 
yet reign and increase damnably from sin into sin, have been and 
yet be proud obstinate heretics, covetous simoners [trafficers in 
ecclesiastical preferments], ajid defouled adulterers in the minis- 
tering of the Sacraments, and especially in the ministering of the 
Sacrament of the Altar, 

For, as their works shew (whereto Christ biddeth ns take 
heed !) the highest priests and Prelates of this priesthood challenge 
and occupy [hold] unlawfully temporal lordships. And for 
temporal favour and mcde, they sell and give benefices to unworthy 
and Jiuable persons ; yea, these simoners sell sin ! suffering men 
and women in every degree and estate, to lie and contimie, from 
year to year, in divers vices slanderously. And thus, by evil 
example of high priests in the Church, lower priests under tlicm are 
not only suffered, but they are maintained to sell full dear to the 
people for temporal mede, all the Sacraments. And tJius all this 
foresaid priesthood is bloimi so high, and borne up in pride and 
vainglory of their estate and dignity, and so blinded with worldly 
covetousness, that they disdain to follow CHRIST in very meekness 
and wilful poverty, living holily, and preaching GOD's Word 
truly, freely, and continually; taking their livelihood at the free 
will of the people, of their pure almose [alms], wliere and when, 
they suffice not (for their true and busy preaching) to get their 
sustenance with their hands. 

To this true sentence, grounded on Christ's own living and 
teaching of his Apostles; these foresaid worldly and fleshly priests 
will not consent effectually. But, as their works and also their words 
shew, boldly and imshamefastly these foresaid named priests and 
Prelates covet, and enforce them mightily and busily, that all Holy 
Scripture lucre expounded and drawn according to their manners, 
and to their ungrounded [unwarranted] usages and findings. 

19 Sept. 1460.] WiLiJA^r OF Thorpe's T e st a me nt. 115 

For they will not (since they hold it but folly and madness !) 
conform their manners to the pure and simple living of CHRIST 
and his Apostles, nor they will not follow freely their learning* 
Wherefore all the Emperors and Kings, and all other lords and 
ladies, and all the common people in every degree and state, which 
have before time known or might have known ; and also all they 
that now yet know or might know this foresaid witness of priest- 
hood ; and would not, nor yet will enforce them, after their cun- 
ning and power, to withstand charitably the foresaid enemies and 
traitors of Christ and his Church : all these strive, with Anti- 
christ, against Jesu ! And they shall bear the indignation of 
GOD Almighty without end, if in convenient time they amend 
them not, and repent them verily ; doing therefore due mourning 
and sorrow, after their cunning and power. 

For through presumptions and negligence of priests and Pre- 
lates (not of the Church of Christ, but occupying their prelacy, 
unduly in the Church, and also by flattering and false covetousncss 
of other divers named priests), lousengers, and lonnderers are 
wrongfidly made and called Hermits ; and have leave to defraud 
poor and needy creatures of their livelihood, and to live by their 
false winning and begging in sloth and other divers vices. And 
also of these Prelates, these cokir noses [ ? ] are suffered to live in 
pride and hypocrisy, and to dcfoul themselves both bodily and 

Also by the suffering and counsel of these foresaid Prelates and 
of other priests, are made vain, both Brotherhoods and Sisterhoods, 
full of pride and envy ; which are full contrary to the Brotherhood 
of Christ, since they are cause of mickle dissension : and tJicy 
multiply and sustained it uncharitably, for in lusty eating, and 
drinking immeasurably and out of time, they exercise themselves. 
Also this vain confederacy of Brotherhoods is permitted to be of 
one clothing, and to hold together. A nd in all these ungrounded 
and unlawful doings, priests are partners and great meddlers and 

And over this viciousness, herinits and pardoners, ankers 
[anchorites], and strange beggars are licensed and admitted of 

ii6 William of Thorpe's Te sta men t.\j9?>^v^-h('o. 

Prelates and priests for to he<;iiile the people with flatterings 
and leasings [falsehoods] slanderously, against all good reason 
and true belief ; and so to increase divers vices in themselves, and 
also among all them that accept them or consent to them. 

And thus, the viciousncss of these forenamcd priests and Pre- 
lates, has been long time, and yet is, and shall be cause of wars, 
both within the realm and without. 

And, in the same wise, these unable [useless] priests have been, 
and yet are, and shall be, the chief cause of pestilence of men, and 
murrain of beasts, and of bareness of the earth, and of all other 
mischiefs, to the time that Lords and Commons able them through 
grace for to know and to keep the Commandments of GOD, enforc- 
ing them then faithfully and charitably by one assent, for to redress 
and make one, this foresaid priesthood to the wilfid poor, meek, and 
innocent living and teaching, specially of CHRIST and his 

Therefore all they that know, or might knoio the viciousness that 
reigncih noiv cursedly in these priests and in their learning, if 
they suffice not to ivitlistand this contagious viciousness : let them 
pray to the LORD heartily for the health of his Church! abstain- 
ing them prudently from these endured [hardened] enemies of 
Christ and his people, and from all their Sacraments ! since to 
them all that knonD them, or may knoiv, they are but fleshly deeds 
and false: as Saint Cyprian ivitnesseth in the first Question of 
Decrees and in the first Cause. Ca. Si quis inquit. 

For as this Saint, and great Doctors witness there, that not only 
vicious priests, but also all tJiey tJiat favour them or consent to them 
in their viciousness, shall together perish with them, if they aniend 
them not duly: as all they perished tJiat consented to Dathan 
and Abiram. For nothing ivere more confusion to these foresaid 
vicious priests, than to eschew them prudently in all their unlawful 
Sacraments, while they continue in their sinful living slanderously, 
as they have long time done and yet do. And nobody need to be 
afraid, though death did follow by any wise or other, for to die out 
of this world ivithout taking of any Sacrament of these foresaid 
Christ's enemies: since Christ will not fail for to minister 

19 Sept. 1460.] William of Thorpe's Testament. 117 

himself all lawful and heal-ful sacraments, and necessary at all 
time ; and especially at the end, to all them that are in true faith, 
in steadfast hope, and in perfect charity. 

But yet some mad fools say, for to eschew slander they will be 
shriven once a year and comuned [receive the Sacrament] of their 
proper priests ; though they know them defouled with slanderous 
vices. No doubt, but all they that thus do or consent, privily or 
apertly, to such doing, are culpable of great sin ; since St. Paul 
witnesseth that not only they that do evil are worthy of death and 
damnation, but also they that consent to evil doers. Also, as their 
slanderous works ivitness, these foresaid vicious priests despise and 
cast from them heavenly cunning that is given of the HOLY 
GHOST. Wherefore the LORD throw etli all such despisers from 
Him, that they use nor do any priesthood to Him. No doubt 
then, all they that wittingly or wilfully take, or consent that any 
other body should take any Sacrament of any such named priest, 
sinncth openly and damnably against all the Trinity, and are 
unable to any Sacrament of health. 

And that this foresaid sentence [opinion] is altogether true unto 
remission of all my sinful living, trusting steadfastly in the mercy 
of GOD, I offer to Him my soul ! 

And to prove also this foresaid sentence true, with the help of 
GOD, I purpose fully to suffer meekly and gladly my most wretched 
body to be tormented, where GOD will! and of whom He will ! how 
He will and when He will ! and as long as He will I and what 
temporal pain He will ! and death ! to the praising of His name, 
and to the edification of His Church. And I, that am most un- 
worthy and wretched caitiff, shall now, through the special grace 
of GOD, make to Him pleasant sacrifice of my most sinful and 
unworthy body. 

Beseech heartily all folk that read or hear this end of 
my purposed Testament, that, through the grace of 
GOD, they dispose verily and virtuously all their wits, 
and able, in like manner, all their members for to under- 
stand truly and to keep faithfully, charitably, and continually all 

ii8 William of Thorpe's T es ta m e nt .\^9?><^v^-^^^o. 

the commandments of GOD, and so then to pray devoutly to all 

the blessed Trinity, that I may have grace with wisdom andprndence 

from above, to end my life here, in this foresaid Truth and for this 

Cause in true faith 

and steadfast hope 

and in perfect 



Ere endeth, sir [the Reverend] William Thorpe's 
Testament on the Friday after the Rood Day [Holy 
Rood-day, or Exaltation of the Holy Cross, falls on 
Sept. 14th], and the twenty [ ? nineteenth] day of September, 
in the year of our Lord a thousand four hundred and sixty. 

And on the Sunday [August yth] next after the feast of Saint 
Peter that we called Lammas Day [August 1st] in the year of 
our Lord a thousand four hundred and seven, the said sir 
William Thorpe was accused of these points, before written 
in this book, before Thomas Arundell, Archbishop of 
Canterbury, as it is said before. 

And so was it then betwixt the Pay of his Accusing, and 
the Day that this was written three and fifty years; 
and as mickle more as from the Lammas 
[Aiigust 1st] to the Woodmas 
[September igth]. 

Behold the end ! 

^ The strength of a tale is in its end. 


jj)ere foUotoetb 

Clje examination of tt)e 
JLorD Cobl)am* 

[The following is but an abridgement of the Story of Sir John Old- 
C^STl E • respecting which, Miss L. TOULMIN SMITH has recently pub- 
lished, in \h^Ani^lia for April 1882, THOMAS OcCLKVE's Ballad against 
Lord COBHAM and the Lollards, in 1415-] 

Cbe "JSclief of t})e Lorn Cobbam. 

"lE IT known to all men ! that in the year of 
our LORD a thousand four hundred and 
thirteen, in the first year of King Henry 
the Fifth; the King gave to [Thomas 
Arundell] the Bishop of Canterbury, 
leave to correct the Lord Cobham. 

And because no man durst summon him 
personally, the Archbishop set up a Citation 
on his Cathedral Church door on the Wednesday [September 
6, 14131 next before the nativity of our Lady [September mi m 
the foresaid year: and that Citation was taken down by the 
friends of the Lord Cobham. 

And, after that, the Bishop set up another on our Lady 
Day [September 8, 1413I ; which also was rent down. 

And because he came not to answer on the day assigned 
in the Citation, the Bishop cursed him for contumacy. 

And the Lord Cobham seeing all this malice purposed 
against him, wrote this Belief that followeth, with his own 
hand; and noted [signed] it himself; and also answered to 
Four Points put against him by the Bishop : and he went to 
the King, supposing to get of him good favour and lordship. 

C Cl)e 15elief. 

Believe in GOD the Father Almighty, Maher of 
heaven and earth; and in Jesu Christ His only 
Son our Lord, which was conceived of the HOLY 

GHOST, born of the Virgin Mary, and suffered 

death under PoNTius PiLATE, crucified, dead, and buried. He 

I20 The Belief oy Sir John Oldcastle. [sept. 1413. 

went down to hells. The third day He rose again from death. 
He ascended up into heavens. He sitteth on the right hand of 
GOD, the Father Almighty. From thence, He is to come to judge 
the quick and dead. 

I believe in the HOLY GHOST, all Holy Church, the Com- 
miinion of Saints, forgiveness of sins, uprising of flesh, and ever- 
lasting life. Amen. 

Nd for to declare more plainly my soothfastness in the 
belief of Holy Church, I believe faithfully and verily, 
that there is but one GOD Almighty; and in this God- 
head and of this Godhead be TJirce Persons, the Father, 
the Son, and the HOLY GHOST ; and these Three Persons be the 
same GOD Almighty. 

Furthermore, I believe that the Second Person of this most 
blessed Trinity, in most convenient time before ordained, took flesh 
and blood of the most blessed Virgin, our Lady Saint Mary, for 
the redemption and salvation of mankind; that was lost before, for 
Adam's sin. 

And I believe that Jesu Christ our Lord, which is both GOD 
and Man, is head of all Holy Church ; and that all those that be, 
and shall be saved, be members of this most Holy Church. Which 
Holy Church is departed [divided] in three parts. Of the which, 
one part is now in Heaven; that is to say, the saints that in this life 
live accordingly with the most blessed Law of Christ and his 
living, despising and forsaking the Devil and his works, the pros- 
perities of this world, and the foul lust of the flesh. 

The seco7idpart is in Purgatory, abiding the mercy of GOD, and 
purging them there of their sins; of the wliich they have been truly 
confessed in deed, or else in will to have been. 

The third part of this Church is here in Earth, the which is called 
the Fighting Church ; for it fighteth, every day and night, against 
the temptation of the Devil, the prosperity of this false failing 
world, and the proud rebellion of the flesh against the soid. This 
Church is departed [divided] by the most blessed ordinance of GOD 

Sept. 1413-] The Belief oy Sir John Oldcastle. 121 

into three Estates; that is to say, Priesthood, Knighthood, and 
Commons : to every Estate of the which, GOD gave charge that 
one should help another, and none destroy other. 

As to Priests, they should be most holy and least worldly ; and 
tndy living as near as they could, after the example of CHRIST 
and his Apostles. And all their business should be, day and 
night, in holy example of living, and true preaching and teaching 
of GOD' s Law to both the other parts. And also they should be 
most meek, most serviceable, and most lovely in spirit, both to GOD 
and man. 

In the second part of this Church, that is Knighthood, be con- 
tained all that bear the sword by the law of Office : which should 
maintain GOD' s Law to be preached and taught to the people; 
and principally the Gospel of Christ ; and truly to live thereafter. 
The which part should rather put themselves to peril of death, than 
to suffer any Law or Constitution [referring to the Constitutions 
of Arundel in 1408] to be made of man, wherethrough the free- 
dom of GOD' s Law might be letted to be preached and taught to 
the people, or whereof any error or heresy might grow in the 
Church. For I suppose fully that there may come none heresy nor 
error among the people, but by false Laws, Constitutions, or teachings 
contrary to Christ's Law, or by false leasings [lies]. 

Also the second part should defend the common people from 
tyrants, oppressors, and extortioners : and maintain the Clergy, 
doing tndy their office, in preaching, teaching, praying, and freely 
ministering the Sacraments of Holy Churcli. And if this Clergy 
he negligent in doing this office, this second part of the Church 
ought, by their office that they have taken of GOD, to constrain 
the Clergy in due wise, to do their office in the form that GOD 
hath ordained to be done. 

The third part of this Fighting Church oweth [ought] to bear 
good will to Lords and Priests, truly to do their bodily labour in 
tilling the earth, and with their true merchandise doing their duties 
that they owe both to Knighthood and to Priesthood, as GOD's 
Law limitcth ; keeping faithfully the commandments of GOD. 

Moreover, I believe all the Sacraments of Holy Church for to be 

122 The Bel//- F OF Sir John Oldcastle. [sept. 1413. 

meedful and prcfitable to nil that shall be saved ; taking them after 
the intent that GOD and Holy Church have ordained. 

And for as mickle as I am slandered falsely in my Belief in the 
Sacrament of the Altar, I do all Christian men to wit, that I believe 
verily that the most blessed Sacrament of the Altar is very 
Christ's body inform of bread ; the same body that was born of 
the blessed Virgin our Lady Saint Mary, done on the cross, dead, 
hnried, and on the third day rose from death to life, the which 
body is now glorified in heaven. 

Also I believe that all GOD's Law is true; and who that 
liveth contrary to this blessed Law, and so continueth to his life's 
end, and dieth so breaking the holy commandments of GOD, that 
he shall be damned into everlasting pains. And he that will 
learn this most blessed Law, and live thereafter, keeping these holy 
commandments of GOD, and endeth in charity shall have ever- 
lasting bliss. 

Also I understand that this followeth of Belief, that our Lord 
Jesu Christ (tliat is both GOD and Man) askcth no more here 
in earth, but that he obey to him after the form of his Law, 
in truly keeping of it. And if any Prelate of the Church ask 
more obedience than this, of any man living ; he exalteth himself, in 
that, above CHRIST : and so lie is an open Antichrist. 

Also tJiese points I hold as of Belief in especial. 

And in general, I believe all that GOD wills that I believe^ 
praying, at the reverence of Almighty GOD, to you my liege Lord 
[Henry V.] that tliis Belief might be examined by the wisest and 
truest Clerks of your realm : and if it be truth, that it might be 
confirmed, and I to be holden for a true Christian man; and if it 
be false, that it might be damned [condemned], and I taught a 
better Belief by GOD's Law; and I will gladly obey thereto. 

This foresaid Belief, the Lord Cobham wrote ; and took it 
with him, and offered it to the King \Henry V.], for to see: 
and the King would not receive it, but bade him take it to 
them that should be his judges 

And then the Lord of Cobham offered to bring before the 

Sept. 1413-] His Answer to the Four Points. 123 

King, to purge him of all error and heresy, that they would 
put against him, a hundred Knights and Squires. 

And also he offered to fight with any man, Christian or 
heathen, that would say he were false in his belief; except 
the King and his brethren. 

And after, he said " He would submit him to all manner [ofj 
correction, that any man would correct him, after GOD's 

And notwithstanding all this, the King suffered him to be 
summoned personally, in his own \the. King's] chamber. 

And the Lord of Cobham said to the King, that he had 
appealed to the Pope from the Archbishop ; and therefore, he 
said, " he ought not to take him for his judge " : and so he had 
there his Appeal ready written, and shewed to the King. 

And therewith the King was more angry, and said, " He 
should not pursue his appeal : but rather he should be in 
ward till his appeal were admitted, and then (would he or 
not !) he should be his judge ! " 

And thus nothing of all this was allowed; but, because he 
would not swear to submit him to the Church, and take what 
penance the Archbishop would enjoin Lim, he was arrested, 
and sent to the Tower of London to kedp his day that the 
[archjbishop assigned him in the King's Chamber. 

And then he made the Be/z>/ aforesaid, with the Answer to 
Four Points that now follow, to be written in two parts of an 

And when he came to answer ; he gave that one part to 
the [archjbishop, and that other part he kept to himself. 

Cbe 3lnnenture of tfje Lorn Cotiftam* 

, John Oldcastle Knight, and Lord of COBHAM, 
will that all Christian men wit, how that THOMAS of 
Arundell, Archbishop of CANTERBURY hath not 
only laid it to my charge maliciously, but also very 
untruly, by his Letter and his Seal written against me in most 
slanderous wise, that I should otherwise feel and teach of the 
Sacraments of the Holy Chtirch ; assigning in special the 
Sacrament of the Altar, the Sacrament of Penance, and also in 
Worshipping of Images, and in Going on Pilgrimages, otherwise 

124 The Answer to the Four Points, [sept. 1413. 

than fcdeth and teacheth the universal Holy Church. I take Al- 
mighty GOD to witness, that it hath been, and now is, and ever, 
with the help of GOD, shall be, mine intent and my will to believe 
faithfully and truly in all the Sacraments that ever GOD ordained 
to be done in Holy Church. 

And, moreover, for to declare me in these points aforesaid. 

I believe that the jnost worshipful Sacrament of the Altar is very 
Christ's body in form of bread : the same body that was born of 
the blessed Virgin our Lady Saint Mary, done on the cross, dead 
and buried, and the third day rose from death to life ; the which 
body is now glorified in heaven. 

Also as for the Sacrament of Penance, I believe that it is need- 
ful to every man that shall be saved, to forsake sin, and to do due 
penance for sin before done, with true confession, very contrition, 
and due satisfaction, as GOD' s Law limiteth and teacheth; and 
else, may he not be saved ; which penance I desire all men to do. 

And as for Images, I understand that they be not of Belief , but 
they were ordained (since Belief was given of Christ) by suffer- 
ance of the Church for to be Kalenders to laymen, to represent and 
bring to mind the Passion of our Lord Jesu Christ, and [the] 
martyrdom and good living of other Saints. And that who so it 
be, that doeth the ivorship to dead images that is due to GOD ; or 
puiteth hope, faith, or trust in help of them as he should do to GOD ; 
or hath affection in one more than in another : he doth in that, the 
great sin- of Idolatry. 

Also I suppose this fully, that every man in this earth is a 
Pilgrim towards Bliss or towards Pains. And he that knowcth not, 
nor will not know, nor keep the holy commandments of GOD in 
his living (albeit that he gocth on pilgrimage in all parts of tlie 
world), and he die so, he shall be damned. And he that knoweth the 
holy commandments of GOD and kecpcth them to his end, he shall 
be saved ; though he never in his life, go on pilgrimage as men use 
[are accustomed] now to Canterbury, or to Rome, or to any other 

This Belief indented, containing the foresaid Belief with 

Sept. I4I3.] Lord Cobham's final ExaminatiOxM. 125 

these foresaid Answers, he took to the Bishops when he came 
to answer [in the Chapter House of St. PauFs] on the Saturday 
next before Michaelmas in the year beforesaid [September 

23, 1413]. 

And whatsoever the Bishops asked him, he bade them look 
what his Bill said thereto ; and thereby he would stand to 
the death. Other answer gave he not that day : but the 
Bishops were not quieted herewith. 

And the Archbishop bade him take avisement [coimsel] till 
Monday [September z^th] next following, to answer to this 
point : 

// there remained material bread in the Sacrament of the Altar, 
after the words of consecration ? 

And in the meantime, he perceived that the uttermost 
malice was purposed against him, howsoever he answered : 
therefore he put his life in GOD's hand, and answered thus, 
as foUoweth. 

This is the judgement and sentence given upon Sir 
John Oldcastlb Knight and Lord of Cobham, the 
Monday [September 25th] next before Michaelmas Day, 
at the Friar Preachcrs's [the Dominican Friary within 
Ludgate] in London, in the year of our Lord, a thou- 
sand, four hundred and thirteen. 

[Thomas Arundell] the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
[Richard Clifford] the Bishop of London, [Henry Beau- 
fort] the Bishop of Winchester, [Benedict Nicolls] the 
Bishop of Bangor; Master John Witnam, Master John 
Whitehead [both of New College, Oxford], Doctors of 
Divinity; Master Philip Morgan, Master Henry Ware, 
Master John Kemp, Doctors of [Canon] Law; and sir [i^^y.] 
Robert Wombewell, Vicar of St. Lawrence in the Jewry ; 
Master John Stevens, Master James Cole, Notaries: 
with the Four Orders of Friars, and many other Clerks, 
deeming and convicting him for an heretic and a cursed man. 

The Archbishop made all these Clerks, both Religious and 
Secular, to swear upon a book, that they should not, for love 
or favour of the one party, nor for any envy or hatred of the 
■other party, say, nor witness but the truth. 

And the two foresaid Notaries were sworn also to write and 

126 The Abp. again offers to absolve iiim. [sept. 1413. 

to witness the words and process that were to be said on 
both the parties, and to say the sooth if it otherwise were. 

After this, the Lord of Cobham came, and was brought 
before them all, to his Examination, and to his Answer. 

Then the Archbishop said to him, " Lord of Cobham, ye be 
advised well enough of the words and Process that were said 
to you, upon Saturday last past, in the Chapter House of 
Paul's : the which Process were now too long to rehearse. 
Then I proffered to have assoiled [absolve] you (for ye were 
accursed !) of your contumacy and disobedience to Holy 

Then said the Lord Cobham forthwith, " GOD saith, 
Maledicam benedictionibus vcstns, that is to say, ' I shall curse 
your blessings ! ' " 

Then said the Archbishop, " Sir, then I proffered to have 
assoiled you, if ye would have asked it ; and }et I do the 
same ! " 

Then said the Lord of Cobham, " Nay, forsooth, I tres- 
passed never against you ! and therefore will I not do it." 

And with that, he kneeled down on the pavement, and 
held up his hands and said, " I shrive me to GOD ! and to 
j^ou all, Sirs ! that, in my youth, I have sinned greatly 
and grievously in lechery and in pride, and hurt many men, 
and done many other horrible sins ; Good Lord ! I cry Thee, 
mercy ! " 

And therewith weepingly, he stood up again and said, "Here, 
for the breaking of GOD's Law and His commandments, 
ye cursed me not ! but for your own laws and traditions, 
above GOD's Law : and therefore it shall be destroyed." 

Then the Archbishop examined the Lord of his Belief. 
And the Lord of Cobham said, "I believe fully in all GOD's 
Law, and I believe that it is all true ! and I believe all that 
GOD wills that I believe." 

Then the Archbishop examined him of the Sacrament of 
the Altar, how he believed therein ? 

The Lord of Cobham said, "Christ upon Shere [or Shrive 
or Maunday] Thursday [the day be/ore Good Friday] at night, 
sitting with his disciples at the Supper, after that he had 
supped, he took bread and giving thanks to the Father, he 
blessed it and brake it, and gave it to his disciples saying, 

Sept. I4I3.] Smiling THEY say, "It is an pieresy ! " 127 

Take, and eat ye of this, all ! This is my body that shall be betrayed 
Joy yoit ! Do you this, in the remembrance of me. This I 
believe ! " said he. 

Then the Archbishop asked him, " If it were bread after the 
consecration, and the sacramental words said ? " 

The Lord of Cobham said, " I believe that the Sacrament 
of the Altar is very Christ's body in form of bread ; the same 
body that was born of theVirgin Mary, done on the cross, 
dead and buried, and the third day rose from death to life : 
which body is now glorified in heaven." 

Then said one of the Doctors of the Law, " After the sacra- 
mental words said, there remaineth no bread but the body of 

Then the Lord of Cobham said to one, Master John 
Whitehead, " You said to me in the Castle of Cowling 
[Lord Cobham' s home], that the host sacred was not Christ's 
body: but I said, ' It was Christ's body ! ' though Seculars 
and Friars hold each one against other in this opinion." 

Then said they, " We say all that it is GOD's body ! " 

And they asked him, " Whether it were material bread 
after the consecration ?" 

Then said the Lord, " I believe it is Christ's body in 
form of bread. Sir, believe ye not thus ? " 

And the Archbishop said, " Yea ! " 

Then the Doctors asked him, "Whether it were only 
Christ's body after the consecration, and no bread ? " 

And he said to them, " It is Christ's body and bread. 
For right as Christ was here in manhood, and the godhead 
hid in the manhood : so I believe verily that Christ's flesh 
and his blood is hid there in the form of bread." 

Then they smiled each on other, deeming him taken in 
heresy ; and said, " It is an heresy ! " 

The Archbishop asked him, " What bread it was?" and 
the Clerks also, " Whether it were material or not ? " 

Then the Lord said, " The Gospel speaketh not of this 
term material', and therefore I will not! but say, it is 
Christ's body and bread ! For the Gospel saith, Ego sum 
panis vivus qtn de coelo descendi, that is to say, " I am quick 
bread that came down from heaven." For as our Lord 
Jesus Christ is Very GOD and Very Man; so the most 
blessed Sacrament of the Altar is Christ's body and bread. 

128 Lollard definition of "Holy Church." [sept. 1413. 

Then they said, "It is an heresy, to say that it is bread 
after the consecration and the sacramental words said, but 
only Christ's body." 

The Lord said, " Saint Paul the Apostle was as wise as 
ye be ! and he called it bread ; where he saith thus The bread 
that we break, is it not the partaking of the body of the 
LORD ? " 

Then they said, " Paul must be otherwise understanded ; 
for it is an heresy to say, that it is bread after the conse- 
cration, but only Christ's body : for it is against the deter- 
mination of the Church." 

Then they asked him, " Whether he believed not in the 
determination of the Church ? " 

And he said, *' No, forsooth ! but I believe all GOD's 
Law, and all that GOD wills that I believe; but not in your 
law nor in your determination : for ye be no part of 
Holy Church, as openly your deeds shew ; but very Anti- 
christs, contrary to GOD's law. For ye have made laws for 
your covetousness." 

" This," they said, " was heresy : not for to believe in the 
determination of the Church." 

Then the Archbishop asked him, " What was Holy 

He said, " I believe that Holy Church is the number of all 
them that shall be saved ; of whom Christ is head : of the 
which Church, one part is in Heaven, another in Pur^^^atory, 
and the third here in Earth. This part here, standeth in 
three degrees and estates, Priesthood, Knighthood, and the 
Comminalty, as I said plainly in my Belief.'" 

Then the Archbishop said to him, " Wot you who is ot 
this Church ? It is doubt to you who is thereof ? Ye should 
not judge ! " 

The Lord said, "Operibiis credite ! jnstiun judicium judicate ! " 
that is to say, " Believe ye the works ! judge ye rightful 
judgement ! " 

Also he said to them all, " Where find ye by GOD's Law, 
that ye should set thus upon any man, or any man's death, as 
ye do? But Annas and Caiaphas sat and judged Christ; 
and so do you ! " 

Then said they, " Yes, Sir, Christ judged Judas ! " 

The Lord of Cobham said, " No, Christ judged not Judas! 

sept.1413.] The venom of worldly possessions. 129 

but he judged himself, and went and hanged himself : but 
Christ said, Woe to him, as he doth to many of you ! For 
since the venom was shed into the Church ; ye followed 
never Christ, nor ye stood never in perfection of GOD's 
Law ! " 

Then the Archbishop asked him, " What was that venom ?" 

The Lord said, " The lordships and possessions. For 
then, cried an angel, ' Woe ! woe ! woe ! This day is venom 
shed into the Church of GOD ! ' For before that time, 
there many martyrs of Popes ; and since I can tell of none ! 
but, sooth it is, since that time one hath put down another, 
and one hath slain another, and one hath cursed another, 
as the Chronicles tell ; also of much more cursedness." 

Also he said, " Christ was meek, and the Pope is proud. 
Christ was poor and forgave ; the Pope is rich and a man- 
slayer, as it is openly proved. And thus this is the nest of 
Antichrist, and out of this nest cometh Antichrist's disciples, 
of whom these Monks and Friars be the tail." 

Then said [Richard Dodington] Prior of the Friars 
Augustines, " Sir, why say ye so ? " 

And the Lord of Cobham said, ** For as ye be Pharisees, 
** divided," and divided in habit [dress] ; so ye make division 
among the people. And thus these friars and monks with 
such others be the members of the nest of Antichrist." 

And he said, " Christ saith. Woe be to you, Scribes and 
Pharisees, hypocrites ! for ye close ttp the Kingdom of Heaven before 
men : for, sooth, ye enter not yourselves ! nor ye will not suffer 
them that would, to enter in ! And thus, ye be the disciples 
of Antichrist ! For ye will not suffer GOD's Law to go 
through, nor to be taught and preached of good priests; which 
will speak against your sinsv, and reprove them : but of such 
that be flatterers, which sustain you in your sins and cursed- 

Then said the Archbishop, ** By our Lady ! Sir, there 
shall no such preach, that preacheth dissension and division, 
if GOD will!" 

Then said the Lord of Cobham to the Archbishop, " Christ 
saith that there shall be so great tribidation, as never was since 
the beginning. And this shall be in your days ! and by you ! 
for ye have slain many men, and shall more hereafter: but 
Christ saith. Except that those days were shortened, no flesh 

Eng. Gar. VI. 9 

130 The 4 Determinations of the Church. [?ept. 1413. 

should he saved : but hastily GOD will short[en] your days ! 
Furthermore, Bishops, Priests, and Deacons be grounded in 
GOD'sLaw: but not these other Religious [Monks and Friars] 
as far as I can wit." 

Then a Doctor of Law, one Master John Kemp, put to 
him these four Points that follow : 

" The faith and determination oj HolyChurchtouching the blessed 
Sacrament of the Altar is this. That after the sacramental words 
be said of a priest in his Mass, the material bread that was before, 
is turned into Christ's body, and the material wine that was 
before, is turned into Christ's very blood : and so there remaineth 
in the Sacrament of the Altar, no material bread nor material 
wine; the which were there, before the saying of the sacramental 
words. Sir, believe you this ? " 

The Lord of Cobham said, " This is not my belief. For 
my belief is, as I said to you before, that the worshipful 
Sacrament of the Altar is very Christ's body in form of 

Then said the Archbishop, " Sir John! ye must say other- 
wise ! " 

The Lord of Cobham said, " Nay, if GOD will ! but that 
it is Christ's body in form of bread, as all the common 
belief is." 

The Doctor [John Kemp] said, "The second is this, 
The Holy Church hath determined that every Christian man living 
bodily upon the earth oweth [ought] to be shriven to a priest 
ordained by the Church, if he may come to him. Sir, what say 
ye to this ? " 

The Lord answered and said, " A sick man and sore 
wounded had need to have a sure Leech and a true, knowing 
his cure ; and therefore a man should be principally 
shriven to GOD ; and else his confession is nought. And a 
man should rather go and be counselled with a good priest 
that knoweth GOD's Law, and liveth thereafter ; than with 
his own priest, if he were an evil man, or with any other 

The Doctor said, "The Third is this, Christ ordained 
Saint Peter to be his Vicar in earth, whose See is the Church of 
Rome ; ordaining and granting that the same power tJiat he gave 

Sept. 1413] "Where is the cross Christ died on ? " 131 

to Peter sJionld succeed to all Peter's successors, the which we 
call now the Popes of Rome : by whose power in the Church par- 
ticularly and specially, be ordained Prelates as Archbishops, 
Bishops, and other degrees; to whom Christian men owe [ought] 
to obey after the law of the Church of Rome. This is the 
determination of the Church." 

To this, he answered and said, " Who that followeth next 
Peter in living, is next him in succession : but your living 
refuseth poor Peter's living, and many other Popes that 
were martyrs in Rome that followed Peter in manner of 
living; whose conditions ye have clean forsaken, all the 
world may know it well ! " 

The Doctor said, " The fourth point is this. Holy Church 
hath determined that it is meedful to a Christian man, to go on 
pilgrimages to holy places ; and there especially to worship holy 
relics of Saints, Apostles, Martyrs, Confessors, and all Saints 
approved by the Church of Rome." 

To this, he said, " It were enough to bury Saints fair in 
the earth ; but now Saints that be dead, be compelled to beg 
for covetousness ! the which in their life, hated covetousness 
and begging. But I say to you all, and know it for a truth, 
that with your shrines and idols, and your feigned absolu- 
tions and indulgences, and your temporalities, ye draw to 
you all the richesse of this world." 

*' Why Sir," said one of the Clerks, " will ye not worship 
images ? " 

** What worship ? " said the Lord. 

Then said Friar [Thomas] Palmer [Warden of the 
Minorites], " Sir, ye will worship the Cross of Christ that 
he died on ? " 

*' Where is it ? " said the Lord. 

The Friar said, " I put case, Sir, that it were here before 
you ! " 

The Lord said, *' This is a ready man ! to put to me a 
question of a thing, that they wot never where it is ? And 
yet I ask you, What worship? " 

A Clerk said, " Such worship as Paul speaketh of, that is 
this, GOD forbid me to joy, but in the cross of our Lord Jesu 

Then said the Lord, and spread his arms abroad, " This is 
a very cross ! " 

132 Lord Cobiiam adjudged a heretic, [sept. 1413. 

Then said the [Henry Beauclerc] Bishop of London, 
" Sir, ye wot well ! that he died on a material cross." 

Then said the Lord, " Our salvation come in only by him 
that died on the cross, and by the material cross. And, well 
I wot, that this was the cross that Paul joyed on, that is, in 
the Passion of our LORD Jesu Christ." 

The Archbishop said, "Sir John ! ye must submit you to 
the ordinance of the Church ! " 

The Lord said, " I wot not whereto ? " 

Then the Archbishop read a bill of his judgement, and 
convicted him for a heretic. 

After the reading of the bill, the Lord said, "Though ye 
judge my body, I hope to GOD ! that He will save my soul ! " 
and he said that he "would stand to the death, by these things 
beforesaid; with the help of Jesu !" 

And then he said to all the people, " Sirs, for GOD's love! 
be well ware of these men ! for they will beguile you else ! 
and lead you blindlings into hell, and themselves also ! For 
Christ saith, ' If one blind man lead another, both fall into the 

And after this, thus he prayed for his enemies, and said, 
" LORD GOD ! I beseech thee, forgive my pursuers! if it be 
thy will ! " 

And then he was led again to the Tower of London : and 
thus was the end. 

|HiLEtheLordof Cobiiam was in the Tower, he sent out 
privily to his friends ; and they, at his desire, in- 
formed and writ this bill that followeth next, com- 
mending it to the people, that they should cease the 
slanders and leasings that his enemies made on him. 

Sept. 1413] The MS. notice in London Streets. 

Or as mickle as Sir John Oldcastle, Kni<^ht and 

Lord of COBHAM, is untruly convicted and prisoned, 

and falsely reported and slandered among the people 

by his adversaries, that he should othemvise 

feel and speak of the Sacraments of Holy 

Church, and especially of the blessed 

Sacrament of the Altar, than 

was written in his Belief, 

which was indented 

and taken to the 

Clergy, and set 

up in divers 

open places 

in the city of 

London: Known 

he it to all the world, 

that he never varied in any 

point therefrom ; but this is plainly 

his Belief, that all the Sacraments of 

Holy Church be profitable and meedful to 

all them that shall be saved, taking them after 

the intent that GOD and Holy Church hath 

ordained. Furthermore he believeth 

that the blessed Sacrament of the 

Altar is verily and 

tndy Christ's 

body inform 

of bread. 

Truth long-hid now is disclosed. 
Praised be GOD! Amen. 



f^ .fv .O/' 'H- V 




C O E L I A. 

Pan'e, nee jnvideo, sine me liber iHs ad illam, 
Hei »iihi quod dovuno >ton licet jVf U40. — J'KIST. i. 


Primed by Adam I slip, 

for IV. P. 



■ •^ -gir -titr tir -tja- -d^ i 

To the Reader. 

Courteous Reader, 

Hereas I was fully determined to have con- 
cealed my Sonnets as tilings privy to myself ; 
yet, of courtesy, having lent them to some, 
they were secretly committed to the Pi'ess and almost 
finished, before it came to my knowledge. 

Wherefore making, as they say. Virtue of Necessity, 
I did deem it most convenient to prepose ?ny Epistle, ^;z/)/ 
to beseech you to acco2int of them as of toys and amorous 
devices ; and, ere long, 1 will impart unto the World 
another" Poem, which shall be both more fruitful 
and ponderotcs. 

In the mean while, I commit these, as a pledge, to your 
i7idifferent censures. 

London, 1594. 


^ «^^ -j^ j^ u^ V 





Udged by my Goddess' doom to endless pain ; 
Lo, here I ope my Sorrow's Passion ! 
That every silly eye may view most plain 
A Sentence given on no occasion. 

If that, by chance, they fall most fortunate 
Within those cruel hands that did enact it ; 
Say but " Alas, he was too Passionate ! " 
My doom is passed, nor can be now unactit." 
So mayst Thou see I was a spotless lover ! 
And grieve withal that, ere, thou dealt so sore ! 
Unto remorse, who goes about to move her. 
Pursues the winged winds, and tills the shore ! 

Lovely is her Semblance, hard is her Heart ; 

Wavering is her Mind, sure is her Dart ! 






Happy hour, and yet unhappy hour ! 
When first by chance I had my Goddess viewed ; 
Then first I tasted of the sweetest sour 
Wherewith the cup of Cypria is embrued. 
For gazing firm without suspicion, 
Love, cooped behind the chariot of her eye, 
Justly to school my bold presumption, 
Against my heart did let an arrow fly. 

" Fair Sir," quoth he, " to practise have you nought 
But to be gazing on Divinity ? 
Before you part, your leare you shall be taught ! " 
With that, at once, he made his arrows hie. 
" Imperious God ! I did it not to love her! 
Ah, stay thy hand ! I did it but to prove her ! " 


Rove her ! Ah, no ! I did it but to love her ! 
Then shoot amain, dread Liege ! I stand unarmed. 
Although no hope that anything may move her ; 
Some ease it is, to be by beauty charmed. 
Then quick, my Liege! then quick, and end thy game! 
That all the World may see how thou hast plagued us ; 
Then cruel She shall view, unto her blame, 
That "all men be not fickle," as they've termed us. 

May be, my words may win contrition ! 
If not my words, my sobs ! if not my sobs, 
My tears may move her to compassion ! 
If tears do fail, my tears, my words, my throbs. 
Ay me ! ah no ! tears, words, throbs, all in vain ! 
She scorns my dole, and smileth at my pain ! 

W. Percy.' 


C (E L I A . 



Heavenly Ccelia, as fair as virtuous! 
The only Mirror of true Chastity ! 
Have I been 'gainst thy godhead impious, 
That thus am guerdoned for my fealty ? 

Have I not shed upon thine iv'ry shrme 
Huge drops of tears with large eruptions? 
Have I not offered, Evening, and at Prime, 
My sighs, my Psalms of invocations ? 

«' What be men's sighs but cauls of guilefulness^.^ 
" They shew, dear Love ! true proofs of firmity ! ^^ 
" What be your tears but mere ungraciousness? 
*' Tears only plead for our simplicity ! " 

When all strike mute, She says " It is my duty ! 
And claims as much as to her deity. 


Air Queen of Cnidos! come, adorn my forehead! 
And crown me with the laurel. Emperor! 
U, thrice sing 16 about thy poet ! 
Lo, on my goddess, I am conqueror ! _ 

For once, by chance, not sure or wittingly, 
Upon my foot, her tender foot alighted 
With that, she plucked it off full nimbly 
As though the very touch had her affrighted. 

Dear Mistress! will you deal so cruelly, 
To 'prive me of so small a benefit ? 
What ! do you jerk it off so nimbly _ _ 

As though, in very sooth, a snake had bit it . 
Yea bit perhaps indeed ! Ho, Muses, blab you ? 
Not' a word, Pieanncts ! or I will gag you ! 


C CE L 1 A . 

fW. Percy. 
L 1394- 


OoD God ! how senseless be we paramours, 
So proudly on a Nothing for to vaunt it ! 
We cannot reap the meanest of all favours, 
But, by-and-by, we think our suit is grantit ! 

Had ye observed two Planets which then mounted, 
Two certain signs of indignation ; 
Ye would have deemed rather both consented 
To turn all hopes to desperation. 

Then can you waver so inconstantly 
To shew first Love, and then Disdainfulness ? 
First for to bring a dram of courtesy. 
Then mix it with an ounce of scornfulness ? 

No, no, the doubt is answered ! Certainly, 

She trod by chance ; She trod not wittingly ! 


F IT be sin, so dearly for to love thee ; 
Come bind my hands ! I am thy prisoner! 
If yet a spark of pity may but move thee, 
First sit, upon the cause, Commissioner ! 

The same, well heard, may wrest incontinent, 
Two floods from forth those rocks of adamant ; 
Which streaming down with force impatient 
May melt the breast of my fierce Rhadamant. 

Dearest Cruel, the cause, I see dislikes thee ! 
On us thy brows thou bends so direfully ! 
Enjoin me penance whatsoever likes thee ; 
Whate'er it be, I'll take it thankfully ! 

Yet since, for love it is, I am thy Bondman ; 

Good CcELiA, use me like a Gentleman ! 

Percy " 

C (E L I A 



Trike lip, my Lute ! and ease my heavy cares, 
The only solace to my Passions : 
Impart unto the airs, thy pleasing airs ! 
More sweet than heavenly consolations. 

Rehearse the songs of forlorn amor'us 
Driven to despair by dames tyrannical 1 
Of Alpheus' loss, of woes of Troilus, 
Of Rowland's rage, of Iphis' funeral ! 

Ay me ! what warbles yields mine instrument ! 
The Basses shriek as though they were amiss 1 
The Means, no means, too sad the merriment ! 
No, no ! the music good, but thus it is 

I loath both Means, merriment. Diapasons ; 

So She and I may be but Unisons. 


HiLST others ween sole hopes to be a sa[l]ve, 
Sole hopes I find to be my corrosive ! 
Whilst others found in hopes, an harbour have ; 
From hopes, I feel a sea of sorrows rise 1 

For when mild hopes should ease my raging fires, 
They fester more, in that they are but ropes ; 
Then whilst I touch the foot of my Desires, 
A storm of hate doth burst mine anchor ropes. 

Were I but once resolved certainly. 
Soon should I know which point my helm to steer ; 
But She denies my suit most womanly, 
As hidden documents for us to hear. 

Lo, this the cause my hell forsakes me never. 

"Tell me," dear Sweet, "thus shall I live for ever?" 


C CE L I A . 

"W. Percy. 


'li A Mystery. 

[Seir Vol. I. //. 74, 128, 460, 651 : V. p. 370-] 

O WIN the Fort, how oft have I assayed ! 
Wherein the heart of my fair Mistress lies. 
What rams, what mines, what plots have I not laid! 
Yet still am frighted fiom mine enterprise. 

First from the leads of that proud citadel 
Do foulder forth two fiery Culverins, 
Under, two red coats keep the Larum Bell 
For fear of close or open venturings ; 

Before the gates, Scorn, Fear, and Modesty 
Do toss amain their pikes ; but 'bove them all 
Pudicity wields her staff most manfully, 
Guarded with blocks, that keep me from the wall. 

Yet if this staff will ford me clear the way ; 

In spite of all, I'll bear my Dame away ! 



F ALL the women which of yore have been, 
Alcest for virtue may be glorified ; 
For courage, Teuce; for features, Sparta's Queen; 
For all in one, Polyxen deified. 

If true it be, by old philosophy, 
These souls to have, since destin, entered 
To other bodies of like sympathy ; 
Thou art the last of these metampsychosed ! 

Thy courage wondrous ! thy virtues peerless ! 
Thy features have the fairest ladies blamed ! 
Then (if thou scorn'st not such a Monarchess) 
Henceforth, by reason good, thou shalt be named, 

Nor Teuce, nor Alcest, nor fair Helena ; 

Thou shalt be named my dear Polvxena ! 

VV. Percy.' 

C (E L I A 



^Rlia, of all sweet courtesies resolve me ! 
For wished grace, how must I now be doing ? 
Since Ops, the completest frame which did absolve 

Hath made each parcel to my sole undoing ! 

Those wires which should thy corps to mine unite, 
Be rays to daze us from so near approach. 
Thine eyne, which should my 'nighted sailors light, 
Be shot to keep them off with foul reproach. 

Those ruddy plums embrued with heavenly foods, 
When I would suck them, turn to driest coral ; 
And when I couch between her lily buds, 
They surge, like frothy water mounts above all. 

Surely, they were all made unto good uses ; 

But She, them all untowardly abuses. 


^rn grievous thoughts and weighty care opprest, 
One day, I went to Venus's Fanacle ; 
Of Cyprian dreams, which did me sore molest, 
To be resolved by certain Oracle. 

No sooner was I past the temple's gate. 
But from the shrine, where Venus wont to stand, 
I saw a Lady fair and delicate 
Did beckon to me with her ivory hand. 

Weening She was the Goddess of the Fane, 
With cheerful looks I towards bent my pace : 
Soon when I came, I found unto my bane, 
A Gorgon shadowed under Venus' face ; 

Whereat affright, when back I would be gone, 

I stood transformed to a speechless stone. 
Eng. Gar. VI. 10 

146 ccELiA. r^:;:: 


[Hen once I saw that no intreats would move her; 
All means I sought to be delivered: 
Against white Cupid and his golden Mother, 
In high contempt, base words I uttered : 
When both, from clouds of her bright firmament, 
With heavy griefs and strong disdain surmounted, 
Upon my thoughts and me did shoot revengement. 
Whilst in our highest prides we were amounted. 

Nor be they pleased to give us all these wounds, 
To make me languish as a dying liver : 
But from her orbs they fling their firebrands. 
Thereby to quite consume both heart and liver. 
Pardon, dread Powers ! pardon my rash offence ! 
By Heaven's bright vail ! 'twas 'gainst my conscience ! 



Mat is the Fair, to whom so long I plead ? 

What is her face, so angel-like ? Angel-like. 

Then unto Saints in mind, Sh'is not unlike ? Unlike. 
What may be hoped of one so evil nat'red ? Hatred. 

O then my woes how shall I ope best ? Hope best ! 

Then She is flexible ? She is flexible. 

Fie, no, it is impossible ! Possible. 

About her straight then only our best ! You're best ! 

How must I first her loves to me approve ? Prove ! 
How if She say I may not kiss her? Kiss her! 

r^or all her bobs I must them bear, or miss her? Yes, sir ! 
Then will She 3'ield at length to Love ? To love ! 

Iwcn so ! Even so ! By Narcisse ! is it true ? True ! 

Of thine honesty ? /. Adieu ! Adieu ! 


^Hat may be thought of thine untowardness, 
That movest still at every motion ? 
What may be hoped of so strange uncouthness, 
That scorns all vows, scorns all devotion ? 
If I but sue, thou wouldst relieve mine anguish, 
Two threatening arcs thou bendest rigorously ! 
Then if I swear thy love did make me languish. 
Thou turn'st away, and smilest scornfully ! 

Then if I wish thou would'st not tyrannize ; 
Of Tyranny thou mak'st but a mockery ! 
And if I weep, my tears thou dost despise ! 
And if I stir, thou threatenest battery ! 

Frown on ! smile on ! mock me ! despise me ! threat me ! 
All shall not make me leave for to intreat thee ! 


Elent, my dear, yet unkind Ccelia ! 
At length, relent, and give my sorrows end ! 
So shall I keep my long-wished holiday, 
And set a trophy on a froward friend ! 

Nor tributes, nor imposts, nor other duties 
Demand I will, as lawful Conqueror ! 
Duties, tributes, imposts unto thy beauties, 
Myself will pay as yielded Servitor ! 

Then quick relent ! thyself surrender us ! 
"Brave Sir, and why," quoth She, "must I relent ? " 
" Relent," cried I, " thyself doth conquer us ! " 
When eftsoons with my proper instrument 

She cut me off, ay me ! and answered, 

**You cannot conquer, and be conquered." 


C Oi. L I A 



Cannot conquer and be conquered ! " 
Then whole myself I yield unto thy favour ! 
Behold my thoughts float in an ocean, battered ; 
To be cast off, or wafted to thine harbour ! 
If of the fame, thou wilt then take acceptance, 
Stretch out thy fairest hand, as flag of peace ! 
If not, no longer keep us in attendance ; 
But all at once thy fiery shafts release ! 
If thus I die, an honest cause of love 
Will of my fates the rigour mitigate ; 
Those gracious ey'n, which will a Tartar move. 
Will prove my case the less unfortunate. 

Although my friends may rue my chance for aye, 
It will be said, " He died for Ccelia ! " 


T SHALL be said I died for Ccelia ! 
riien quick, thou grisly man of Erebus, 
Transport me hence unto Proserpina, 
To be adjudged as "wilful amorous." 
To be hung up within the liquid air ! 
For all the sighs which I in vain have wasted : 
To be through Lethe's waters cleansed fair ! 
For those dark clouds which have my looks o'ercasted 

To be condemned to everlasting fire ! 
Because at Cupid's fire, I wilful brent me, 
And to be clad for deadly dumps in mire. 
Among so many plagues which shall torment me, 
One solace I shall find, when I am over; 
It will be known I died a constant lover! 

W. lercy."! 

C (E L I A . 



KcEiVE these writs, my sweet and dearest Friend ! 
The lively patterns of my lifeless body ; 
Where thou shall find in ebon pictures penned. 
How I was meek, but thou extremely bloody ! 

ril walk forlorn along the willow shades, 
Alone, complaining of a ruthless Dame : 
Where'er I pass, the rocks, the hills, the g!ades. 
In piteous yells shall sound her cruel name ! 

There will I wail the lot that Fortune sent me, 
And make my moans tmto the savage ears ! 
The remnant of the days which Nature lent me ; 
ril spend them all, concealed, in ceaseless tears ! 

Since unkind Fates permit me not Venjoy her ; 

No more, burst eyes ! I mean for to annoy her ! 


To Parthenophil! 
Upon hisLAYAand Parthenophe. 

[See Vol. V. pp. 335-486.I 

MA D R I G A L. 

Hen first I heard thy loves to Lay A, 
I wished the gods to turn it to good hap ! 
Yet since I hear thy blessed flight away, 
I joy thy chance, for fear of aftcrclap ! 

Unwily man I why couldst not keep thee there ? 
But must with Parthenoph\ thee 'gain entrap ! 
I little rue thy well deserved tears ! 
The beast once 'scaped will ever shim the trap ! 
What telVst thou me, ''By spells,* th' hast won thy Dear!'' 
Believe her, Friend ! no more than La ya past ! 
Charmed Love endures but whilst the Charm doth last ! 
[* See the Sestine at Vol. V. pp. 479-482.] 


Henry Carey. 

The Ballad of 
Sally in our alley, 

[Poems on several occasions. 3rd. ^</. 1729.] 

The Argument. 

A vulgar error having long prevailed among many persons, 
who imagine Sally Salisbury the subject of this ballad ; 
the Author begs leave to undeceive and assure them it has 
not the least allusion to her ; he being a stranger to her very 
name, at the time this Song was composed. For as Innocence 
and Virtue were ever the boundaries of his Muse, so in this 
little poem, he had no other view than to set forth the beauty 
of a chaste and disinterested Passion, even in the lowest 
class of human life. 

The real occasion was this. A shoemaker's apprentice 
making holiday with his sweetheart, treated her with a sight 
of Bedlam [Bethlehem Hospital for the insane, in London] ; the 
Puppet Shows, the Flying Chairs, and all the elegancies of 
Moorfields. From whence, proceeding to the Farthing Pie 
House, he gave her a collation of buns, cheesecakes, gammon 
of bacon, stuffed beef, and bottled ale. Through all which 
scenes, the Author dodged them, charmed with the simplicity 
of their courtship ; from whence he drew this little sketch of 
Nature. But being then young and obscure, he was very 
much ridiculed by some of his acquaintance, for this per- 
formance : which, nevertheless, made its way into the polite 

H. Carey."] 
Before 1719. J 

Sally in our Alley 


world, and amply recompensed him by the applause of the 
Divine Addison ; who was pleased, more than once, to men- 
lion it with approbation. 









F all the girls that are so smart, 

There's none like pretty Sally ! 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley ! 
There is no Lady in the land 

Is half so sweet as Sally ! 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley ! 

Her father, he makes cabbage nets ; 

And through the streets, does cry 'em 
Her mother, she sells laces long, 

To such as please to buy 'em. 
But, sure, such folks could ne'er beget 

So sweet a girl as Sally ! 
She is the darling of my heart. 

And she lives in our alley ! 

When she is by, I leave my work 

(I love her so sincerely !) ; 
My Master comes, like any Turk, 

And bangs me most severely. 
But let him bang his belly full ! 

I'll bear it all for Sally ! 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley ! 

152 SaLLYINOUrAlLEY. [BeLe '7' 

Of all the days that's in the week, 

I dearly love but one day ! 
And that's the day that comes betwixt 

A Saturday and Monday ; 
For then I'm drest, all in my best, 

To walk abroad with Sally : 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley ! 

My master carries me to Church, 

And often am I blamed, 
Because I leave him in the lurch. 

As soon as Text is named. 
I leave the Church in sermon time, 

And slink away to Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, "> 

And she lives in our alley ! 

When Christmas comes about again, 

O then I shall have money ! 
I'll hoard it up, and box and all 

I'll give it to my Honey ! 
And would it were ten thousand pounds, 

I'd give it all to Sally ! 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley ! 

My master and the neighbours all. 

Make game of me and Sally : 
And (but for her !) I'd better be 

A slave, and row a galley ! 
But when my seven long years are out, 

O then, I'll marry Sally ! 
And then we'll wed, and then we'll bed ; 

But not in our alley ! 


The most dangerous 

and memorable adventure 

of Richard Ferris, one of the five 

ordinary Messengers of Her Majesty's Chamber : 

who departed from Tower Wharf, on Midsummer 

Day last past, with Andrew Hill and William Thomas; 

who undertook, in a small wherry boat, 

to row, by sea, to the city of Bristow j 

and are now safely returned. 

Wherein is particularly expressed their perils 
sustained in the said Voyage: and the great entertain- 
ment they had at several places upon the coast of 
England, as they iventj but especially at the 
said city of Bristoiv. 

Published by the said Richard Ferris. 


Printed by John Wolfe for Edward White, and 

aie to be sold at his shop, being at the Little North Door ot 

Paul's, at the sign of the Gun. i 5 9 ^ • 


To the Right Honourable Sir Thomas 
H E N E A G E Knight, one of Her 
Majesty's honourable Privy Council, 
Vice-Chamberlain to Her High- 
ness, and Treasurer of Her 
Majesty's Chamber ; 
prosperous health ! long life ! and much increase 

of honour ! 

Right Honourable, 

He late dangerous attempt, rashly by me under- 
taken, to row in a small boat to the city of 
Bristow [Bristol], along the perilous rocks, 
breaches, races, shelves, quicksands, and very 
unlikely places for passage with such small boats, along the 
coast of England, is now, by the assistance of Almighty 
GOD, truly performed : as appeareth by our several certifi- 
cates ready to be seen; with our safe return, contrary to 
the expectation of sundry persons. Which being truly and 
particularly discoursed, I have presumed to dedicate unto your 
Honour; wherein may plainly be seen, how we adventured 
to pass the force of dangerous flaws and rough seas, which 
we found in our voyage ; and proveth the attempt the more 



I :;6 Dedication to Sir T. H e x p: a g e. [Aug^rsgo: 

strange in respect that I was never trained up on the water. 
Not doubting but the same may be a just occasion to prick 
forward others of my native countrymen, to practise an 
ordinary passage through the like dangers, in such small 
wherry boats ; especially when necessary occasion shall serve, 
the better to daunt the enemies [the Spaniards] of this nation ; 
who in such flaws and frets at sea, dare not hazard their 
galleys to go forth, though they be of far greater force to brook 
the seas. 

Thus humbly desiring your Honour's favourable accept- 
tance hereof, I end : beseeching GOD to send health and 
long life to Her Majesty, my dread Sovereign and most 
gracious Mistress ! peace to this land ! and to your Honour, 
even your heart's desire ! 

Your Honour's 

Most humble to command, 

Richard Ferris. 



Richard Ferris, his travels 
to Bristow. 

Fter that I had rashly determined to pass 
the seas in a wherry, and to row myself in 
the same to the city of Bristow, though 
with the evil will of sundry my good 
friends; and especially full sore against my 
aged father's consent, now dwelling in the 
city of Westminster, where I was born : I 
thought it convenient to seek out some one 
expert pilot, to direct me and my companion by his skill, the 
better to pass the perils and dangers, whereof I was foretold. 
Whereupon, I took unto me one W. Thomas, a man of 
sufficient skill and approved experience ; by whom I was still 
content to be advised, even from my first going forth, until 
my last coming home. 

The boat wherein I determined to perform my promise 
was new built; which I procured to be painted with green, 
and the oars and sail of the same colour, with the Red Cross 
for England, and Her Majesty's arms, with a vane [pennon] 
standing fast to the stern of the said boat : which being in 
full readiness, upon Midsummer Day last [Jnne 24, 15901, 
myself, wdth my companions, Andrew Hill and William 
Thomas, with a great many of our friends and well-willers 
accompanying us to the Tower Wharf of London, there we 
entered our boat : and so, with a great many of our friends in 
other like boats, rowed to the Court at Greenwich : where 
before the Court Gate, we gave a volley of shot. 

Then we landed and went into the Court, where we had 
great entertainment at every Office; and many of our friends 
were full sorry for our departing. 

158 The track of the Voyage. [,{; 


ig- isyo- 

And having obtained leave before, of the Right Honourable 
the Lord Chamberlain [Lord HuNSDON], the Lord Admiral 
[Earl of Nottingham], and Master Vice-Chamberlain [Sir 
Thomas Heneage] for my departure: I took my leave, and so 
departed. Setting up our sails, and taking to our oars, we 
departed towards this our doubtful course. 

And first we took our way to Gravesend ; and from thence, 
to these places hereafter mentioned, namely : 

To Margate. 

To Dover. 

To Newhaven, in Sussex. 

To Portsmouth. 

To Sandwich [? Swanage] in 

To Abbotsbury. 
To Lyme. 
To Seaton. 
To Teignmouth. 
To Dartmouth. 
To Salcombe. 
To Plymouth. 

To Low [Looe], in Cornwall. 
To St. Mawes, in Falmouth. 

To the great bay at Pen- 
zance, called Alounts Bay. 

To St. Ives, at the further 
side of Land's End. 

To Godrevy. 

To Padstow. 

To Bottrick's Castle, which 
is in the race of Hart- 
land alias Harty Point. 

To Clevelley [Clovelly]. 

To IlfordCoume [Ilfracombc], 

To Mynett [? Minehead] high 

And, lastly, to the City of 

At these places before recited, we stayed and refreshed 
ourselves. Sometimes we were constrained to put into these 
places for want of victuals ; sometimes, for to have their 
certificates to testify of our being there ; sometimes, we were 
weather bound ; and sundry accidents worth the noting, 
happened unto us in many of these places : and our welcome 
in all places deserveth due commendations, the particulars 
whereof hereafter followeth. 

After we had passed Gravesend as is aforesaid, we came to 
the land's end ; then we bent our course to Margate ; which 
place having passed, we wan the Foreland, with some high 

From thence, to the South Foreland : and soon after, we 
put in at Dover; where we stayed about six hours, and where 
we were greatly entertained. 

From thence, we took to the Camber nestes [?J which 

A^g^isQoG ^L^'^*^ THE South Coast of England. 159 

is between Rye and Dover; and so along the main sea towards 
fair Lee [? Fair light]. 

Then we rowed or sailed along the coast, until we came to 
Beachy [Head], and passing by it, we harboured at Newhaven, 
in Sussex. 

Where we had reasonable good weather, till we came 
between the Isle of Wight and Portsmouth. There, we had a 
great storm ; and were in such sort, overpressed with weather 
that we were constrained to make towards a castle called 
Hurst Castle : from whence, at the fall of wind and tide, we 
put forth again to sea, and recovered Sandwich [? Swanage] in 

From thence, we passed through a race called St. Albans, 
which is a headland ; where we were in a great fret by reason 
of the race ; and so continued hazarding our lives by means 
of that fret, to the great and dangerous race of Portland : 
where, by the good direction of our pilot and master, we sought 
and strove by great labour, to take the advantage of the tide 
and weather ; whereby we passed through it in one hour. 
Here did the billows rise very high, so that we were in great 
danger : yet, GOD be thanked ! we escaped them without 
any damage. 

From thence, we passed to Lyme Bay, where we stayed 
but one night : and from thence to Seaton. 

At which place, we were compelled to carry and lift up our 
boat on shore, by extremity of foul weather ; for we were 
there in great danger, by reason of frets, sands, and foul 
weather, which greatly troubled us. 

From thence, we went to Teignmouth ; and so to Dart- 
mouth. There we remained two days, and had good enter- 
tainment and great courtesy offered us by the inhabitants 

And upon the next day morning, being Sunday, we put to 
sea again. There being a fair wind and tide, we came to the 
Start, where the wind rose and hemmed us in round about 
into a very dangerous race (this was on the 15th of July) ; 
where we were in such an extremity that we had like to have 
been drowned : yet it pleased GOD so far to work for us, that 
we escaped the danger thereof. 

Which done, we went to the Westward, to Salcombe. 
There, we were constrained to haul up our boat in a cove 


called Sower Mill, behind a rock, near to Sir William 
Courtney's, a very bountiful Knigjht; at whose house we lay 
all that night, and he would have had us to have stayed 

But from thence, having fair weather, we came to 

Here we met with Her Majesty's ships, where Master 
Captain Fenner and Master Captain Wilkinson gave us 
great entertainment, especially for that they saw we had 
leave given us from the Right Honourable Her Majesty's 
Council, for our quiet and safe passage. And for that I was 
Her Majesty's Messenger, they gave us the greater entertain- 
ment. We stayed there one night. 

From thence, we went to Lowe [Looe], and there stayed 
one night. 

And from thence, to St. Maws, with very calm and good 
weather, until we came to the Lizard, being a place well 
known to be most dangerous, and full of rocks and races : 
where, GOD be thanked ! we passed in the current of the 
tide, with great swiftness but with wonderful danger ; where, 
had it not been well looked unto, of the Master, we had been 
all cast away. 

Then we did cut over the Mouse Bay to Mouse hole; which 
is four miles beyond the Mount : where we were constrained 
for want of necessary victuals, to come back again to 
Penzance ; where we lodged all night. 

The next morning [Jtdy 20th], we set out to go for Land's 
End ; where setting from Penzance with our half tide, to 
recover the first of the tide at Land's End, we being in our 
boat a great way from the shore : our Master descried a pirate, 
having a vessel of four tons ; who made towards us amain, 
meaning doubtless to have robbed us. But doubting [feavbig] 
such a matter, we rowed so near the shore as we might. 
And by that time as he was almost come at us, we were near 
to a rock standing in the sea ; where this pirate thought to 
have taken us at an advantage. For being come close to the 
outside of the said rock, called Raynalde stones ! ? RnniUcsfouc] ; 
he was becalmed, and could make no way, and so were we. 
But GOD (who never faileth those that put their trust in 
Him !) sent us a comfort unlooked for. For as we rowed to 
come about by this rock, suddenly we espied a plain and veiy 

A^ug^iS] Narrow escape from a Pirate. i6i 

easy way to pass on the inner side of the said rock ; where 
we went through very pleasantly ; and by reason thereof, he 
could not follow us. Thus we escaped safely ; but he was 
soon after taken, and brought in at Bristow. 

Here we found great breaches, races, and rocks; the wind 
being then northerly and altogether against us : which was 
wonderfullLy] painful, troublesome, and dangerous to us. 
Nevertheless, GOD be thanked ! we escaped in safety; and 
recovered St. Ives: where we were well entertained. 

The next day, we put to sea again : but being within five 
miles of St. Ives, we were constrained to seek for a cove ; 
which we found called St. Dryvey, in Cornwall. 

Here, for that we wanted victuals, our Master was con- 
strained to go climb the great cliff at Godrevy, which is at 
least forty fathoms high and wonderfull[y] steep ; which none 
of us durst venture to do: and GOD be blessed for it! 
he had no harm at all ; but surely, to all likelihoods, had his 
foot once slipped, there could have been no recovery to have 
saved him, but that he would have been bruised to pieces. 
At this place we stayed two days, at Master Arundel's 
house ; where we were greatly welcomed. 

And from thence, we went to Bottrick's Castle, where 
dwelleth a Gentleman called Master Hynder. There we 
were weatherbound, and constrained to stay full seventeen 
days ; where we had great entertainment : he himself offer- 
ing us " if we would stay a whole year, we should be wel- 
come !" and the rather, for that I was one of Her Majesty's 

But upon the eighteenth day, the foul weather ceasing, 
we did again put to sea, through the race of Hartland alias 
Harty Point ; which is as ill as the race at Portland : which 
we escaped, and recovered to Clevelley \Clovelly] ; where we 
were entertained by a very courteous Gentleman, called 

And from thence, we came to Ilford Coume [Ilfracomhe] ; 
which was on Saturday at night, the ist of August last 

Whereupon for that we were so near Bristow, I desired 
my company, that we might put to sea that night ; which 
they were loth to do ; yet, at my importunate suit, they 
granted thereto. But being at sea, the wind arose very sore 

Ei\G. Gar. VI. 11 

1 62 Grand reception by the Bristol people, [^,/j; J. 

from the land ; which put us all in great fear : whereby I 
myself was constrained to row four hours alone, on the 
larboard side ; and my fellow rower was compelled_ to lade 
forth water (so fast as it came into the boat) which beat 
upon me and over me very sore, the wind then being East- 

Thus was I constrained to labour for life, and yet had 
almost killed myself through the heat I took, in that time : 
rowing, as is aforesaid, until we came to Mynette [Minchead]. 
This done, we went from Mynette ; and so, between the two 
homes [?] came to Bristow, in one tide : and arrived at the 
back of Bristow, about six of the clock at night. _ 

But it was wonderful to see and hear what rejoicing there 
was, on all sides, at our coming ! The Mayor of Bristow, 
with his brethren the Aldermen, came to the water side, and 
welcomed us most lovingly ; and the people came in great 
multitudes to see us ; insomuch as, by the consent of the 
IMagistrates, they took our boat from us, not suffering us 
once to meddle with it, in that we were extremely weary : 
and carried our said boat to the High Cross in the city. 
From thence, it was conveyed to the Town House, and there 
locked safe all night. 

And on the next morning, the people gathered themselves 
together, and had prepared trumpets, drums, fifes, and 
ensigns [flags] to go before the boat ; which was carried 
upon men's shoulders round about the city, with the Waits 
of the said city playing orderly, in honour of our rare and 
dangerous attempt achieved. 

Afterwards, we were had to Master Mayor's, to the 
Aldermen's and Sheriffs' houses; where we were feasted most 
royally, and spared for no cost, all the time that we remained 

Thus having a while refreshed ourselves after our so 
tedious labours; we came to London, on Saturday, being 
the 8th of August, 1590 : where, to speak our truth with- 
out dissembling, our entertainment at our coming was great 
and honourable ; especially at the Court, and in the cities of 
London and Westminster. And generally, I found that the 
people greatly rejoiced to see us in all places. 

Augl'is'^ Triumph of the boat in London. 163 

To conclude. I have given order that the said boat shall 
be brought by land from Bristovv to London ; where the 
vi'atermen and sundry others have promised to grace the 
said boat with great melody and sundry volleys of shot ; 
which is very shortly intended to be performed. 

Here is to be remembered that between Harty Point and 
Clevelley, the wind being very strong, my companion and 
oar-fellow, Andrew Hill, in taking down our sail, fell over- 
board into the sea : where, by great goodhap, and by means 
that he held fast to a piece of our sail, we recovered him 
and got him up again, although he were a very weighty 
man ; which if we had not done, I could not have gotten any 
man to have supplied his room. But when we saw that he 
was amended ; we gave GOD thanks for his recovery. 

Thus to GOD, I, with my fellow mates, give most hearty 
prayers and thanks for our safe deliverance from so imminent 
dangers as we have been in, since our departure from the 
Court at Greenwich : being still defended by the mighty and 
handy work of Almighty GOD. To whom, we, in all 
obedience and duty, daily pray for the prosperous health of 
Her Majesty and her honourable Council, whose lives and wel- 
fare are the strength and maintenance of this land; and 
whom Almighty GOD prosper and preserve, now and ever ! 

Richard Ferris. 



A new Sonnet made upon the arrival 

and brave entertainment of R i c h a r d 

Ferris with his boat ; who 

arrived at the city of Bristow, 

the 3rd day of August 1590. 

JJOme, old and young ! behold and view ! 

A thing most rare is to be seen ! 

A silly wherry, it is most true ! 

Is come to town, with sail of green ; 
With oars, colour of the same : 
To happy Ferris' worthy fame ! 

From London city, this wager sure, 
Was for to bring his wherry small, 
On surging seas if life endure, 
From port to port, hap what hap will ! 
To Bristow city of worthy name. 
Where Ferris now hath spread his fame. 

His boat not bulged, but at High Cross, 
Was seen the third of August, sure ; 
Whereby the man hath had no loss, 
But did each willing heart procure 
For to be ready there in haste, 
To see the boat that there was placed. 

O mighty Jove ! thou guide of guides ! 

Which brought this boat from surging seas, 

Clean from the rage of furious tides ; 

No doubt, Ferris ! GOD thou didst please ! 
Both thou and thine which were with thee. 
You served GOD ! He set you free ! 

auJTmo.'] Song on Ferris's voyage to Bristol. 165 

Good Andrew Hill, thy pains were great! 
And William Thomas', in this wherry ! 
And honour, Ferris, sure, doth get ! 
He doubtless means to" make you merry ! 

Your fame is such, through travail's toil, 

You win the spur within our soil. 

Shall I prefer this to 3-our skill : 
No, no ! 'twas GOD that did you guide ! 
For this, be sure ! without His will 
You could not pass each bitter tide. 

But, pray I you did no doubt, each hour, 
Whereby GOD blest you, by His power. 

O gallant minds and venturous bold ! 

That took in hand, a thing most rare. 

'Twill make the Spaniards' hearts wax cold ! 

If that this news to them repair, 

That three men hath this voyage done, 
And thereby wagers great have won. 

But now we may behold and view 
That English hearts are not afraid. 
Their Sovereign's foes for to subdue : 
No tempest can make us dismayed ! 

Let monstrous Papists spit their fill ! 

Their force is full against GOD's will. 

Hath silly wherry done the deed, 
That gallejs great dare not to try! 
And hath she had such happy speed, 
That now in rest on shore she lie ! 

Doubtless the LORD, her pilot was ! 

It could not else been brought to pass. 

1 66 Song on Ferris's voyage to Bristol. [iuJ''f;9o: 

Well, Ferris, now, the game is thine ! 
No loss thou hast ! (thank Him above !) 
From thy two mates, do not decline ; 
But still in heart, do thou them love ! 

So shall thy store increase, no doubt ; 

Through Him that brought thy boat about. 

I end with prayers to the LORD, 

To save and keep our royal Queen ! 

Let all true hearts, with one accord. 

Say, " LORD, preserve Her Grace from teen ! 

JBless, LORD ! her friends ! confound her foes! 

For aye, LORD save our royal Rose ! " 

James Sargent. 

i;'ij^'ijff''»j*--'*j*--%ii''ijfs--4*-"^^ 1^ I^P !!^ 




L O ND O N, 

Printed by Nicholas 
O K E s. i6 I 5. 




^^ The Occasion of the 

private Impression of this Elegy. 

Omnlius ad quos pervenerit, 

PREVENT [anticipate] tJiose that would else be 
inquisitive after my intent in the dispersing of this 
Elegy among my private friends ; I have left this 
Preface to inform them, that after my liberty seemed 
to add a period to my troubles, and I, thinking the worst 
past, had afresh settled myself to some serious study : wanting 
consideration to foresee at first what was expedient for him to 
he furnished withal, that ivoidd compass so great a business, as 
my Phantasy had begun ; I ivas forced to wrestle with so many 
lets and discouragements in my fortune, that, with all my 
endeavours, the best forwardness I could bring it unto was, that I 
had gotten together a confused heap of some materials, necessary 
for such a structure as I had already fashioned in my brain. Yet 
despairing not, but comforting myself with hope, that I should, 
notwithstanding all disadvantages, one day, be able to set together 
in a uniform building, what my Invention had yet drawn to 
nothing but an undigested Pile of different matters ; I still added 
something more to that chaos of conceits ; such as I deemed necessary 
either to strengthen or adorn. 

Which, whilst I was so busied about, that I almost seemed 
wholly to forget the looking to my estate ; Providence, a friend 

lyo The Occasion of the trivate [g- wither. 


that I was never yet well acquainted withal ! whispered such 
doubts, provisoes, and considerations into my ears, as half startled 
my Muse, and so distempered the whole frame of my studies, that 
I could no sooner bend my Invention to any intended piece, but 
it was presently confounded by the intrusion of some molested 
thoughts, ofttimes even in the very height of conceit. 

Wherewith, as it were, awakened; I began to foresee my future, 
and weigh my present estate. And having noted the general 
condition of Man, with the uncertainty of this world's favours ; 
and how soon, for the most part, the want of outward fortunes or 
a little trouble will make the best friends weary of their dearest 
familiars, if they become but a little chargeable ; I saw reason 
enough to doubt [fear] that if I should (by neglecting my worthy 
friends to apply me wholly to my studies) wear myself out of their 
respect and acquaintance : perhaps, hereafter, when I had, with 
my Youth, wasted my Fortunes, and by much labour, brought to 
^ass somewhat for others' contentments; one mighty Fool or other, 
incensed by some great Villain, might, for all my pains, pick an 
nnjiLst quarrel, and cause me to be shut ivhere, despised of tJie 
world, forgotten of my friends, and beggared in my estate, I may 
lis and hear myself pitied, only by a few good natures that were 
not able to help me. 

A7id for the present, I perceived my late troubles had already, 
not only wasted my time ivith the hindrance of my fortunes ; 
but also brought me so far behind, that I was fain to engage my 
credit firther than ever I thought in that kind to do : which, 
though I should forfeit but a day [and that never so much against 
my will) many, I see, would be ready to take that advantage to 
my disgrace ; whilst few or none are of so good nature or noble 
disposition as to excuse me, by considering the troubles I had 
passed, and the many unlocked for occasions that might force me 
to such an inconvenience. 

Hereupon, I resolved, before I woidd busy my head with any more 
inventions than for recreation only, to try, if, by any means, I might, 
first cither recover my former hindrances; or suit my mind with 
such an estate as might make me hereafter able, of myself, without 

^■?^^i6iT] impression of this Elegy. 171 

relying on any others' friendships, to bear out the brunt of ensuing 

Once, I was determined, since most men deemed me a prisoner 
at His Majesty's charge, to petition that it would please him, to 
make me as happy in deed as I was in opinion : but when I 
remembered how little I had in me to deserve it, and tmderstood 
how far my Sovereign was from being so much as acquainted 
with my endurance till his justice delivered me ; and withal, 
knowing how many that had nothing but begging to live by, 
depended on his royal bounty, I was loth to rob them of their 
occupation. And, in truth, I feared also, lest, if ought were 
granted me, I should have been fain, after twelve months' dancing 
attendance, to part with three moieties to get one ! and perhaps to 
some Under Officer ! to whom the being beholding, woidd be worse 
to me than three years' close imprisonment ! 

But knowing somewhat was suddenly to be determined of, to 
prevent loss of time ; and seeing the best men, with their noblest 
actions, obscured by poverty, while wealth made the owners 
thereof esteemed of those that once scorned them, and the base 
means by which they obtained it, quite forgotten : when I perceived 
also, the greatest men thought nothing base that might increase 
their profit, and that this was no Age to stand on curious terms, 
I found small reason why I shoidd think scorn to undertake any 
course, so it were honest, that might bring me any such reasonable 
benefit, whereby I might be enabled to keep even with the world, 
and to go forward with what I intended, as well for the good of 
others as mine own contentment. 

Therefore finding how helpful a little travel with some com- 
modity might prove to my intended studies, at first I proposing a 
voyage, meant to put out somewhat among my friends, to be repaid 
me again with reasonable advantage at my return. 

But having many well willers that outwardly professing me 
more than an ordinary love, seemed desirous of occasion to shew 
it; I was advised by divers of my best friends to imprint this 
Elegy, and to put it out for an adventure [a speculation] amongst 
my acquaintance, upon a certain consideration : yet I thought it 

172 The Occasion of the private [^'-riS: 

fit, before I presumed too much upon them, to make trial how they 
stood affected to such a project. And indeed, no sooner had I 
discovered my intent, hut I found every man in whom I had any 
confidence, so voluntarily ready to accept it, that I have now set it 
on foot; and hope thereby, to make myself able to compass that 
which shall make both me and them gainers by the bargain. 

Yet I trust no man will imagine, that I am driven to nse this, 
as my ultimum refugium ; for let this fail, and the worst that 
can betide me ! yet I am verily persuaded GOD will so provide for 
me, that I shall ever find an estate [position] {or, stcre, a mind at 
least) as shall make me content. 

And therefore I have undertaken this, not altogether in hope of 
profit ; but being an honest enterprise, I rather attempt it, partly 
to make trial who are friends ? and partly to shew this great 
world, that the Little World of my Mind is not so barren but it 
can, out of itself, spare somewhat wherewithal to make traffic for 
others' best commodities. In which my comfort is, if I have an ill 
voyage, none but I myself shall be in danger to lose anything ; 
whereas if I make a prosperous return, many are like[ly] to gain, 
and perhaps, too, more than they had ever hope of. 

Now this {among other poems in my hand, long since penned; 
whereof some might peradventure have been thought fitter for such 
a purpose) for two reasons, I have made use of. First, for that it 
pleased sundry of my friends to make choice hereof. Secondly, I 
knowing how jealous these Times are of my writings, and hoiv 
ready some would be to take occasion of hurtin^g me (though they 
everlastingly disgraced themselves), thought it good policy to take 
such a piece as, I was certain, would be free from the least 
exception : whereas else, when I shall look to have the liberty of 
the whole world to wander in, I may chance, once again, to be 
scarce allowed two rooms to walk in ! The subject is but light, 
yet those I know that desire to do me good, will no less accept 
thereof, than if it were a jewel of some greater value. 

Examples of such undertakings, we daily see in Gentlemen, both 
of good birth and reasonable fortunes : only this difference there is, 
ihcy put out their money ; and I, not only that wliich some will 

G. W 

'll;l;^ IMPRESSION OF THIS Elegv. I 73 

mo7x esteem, but what, without me, no money can purchase. They 
seek their own commodity ; and I, with my particular profit, to 
be able to do my friends and country good. 

By this means also, I shall be sure to be beholding to none but 
those that love Virtue and Me ! and [shall] preserve the unequalled 
happiness of a Free Spirit ! Whereas else, being forced to accept 
of some particular bounties : it may be, blinded by seeming 
courtesies, I might fall into the common baseness incident to 
flatterers ; and so, at length, become like those great Clergy-men of 
our Times, who dare not upbraid all sins, for fear they should 
seem so saucy as to reprehend their patrons. 

Yet the best is, I see few apt to corrupt any with their liberality ; 
though I make no question there be such, and some Phillips too, 
that if they knew the danger of a flatterer, woidd think themselves 
as much honoured by that boy who should every day remember 
them, They were but men ! as Alexander could be by his sly 
courtiers, who hourly proclaimed him, the son of Jupiter ! 

But I d) not greatly doubt any such alternation ! for whatever 
my fortunes be, so far is my Mi)id in love with her own liberty, 
that with more contentment could I die in poverty, than live in 
abundance subjected to baseness. For I cannot admire any one 
because he is rich, nor believe a man aught the wiser for his titles ! 
I shall never praise my Lord's running horse that is a jade, to 
please him; nor fashion myself to humour his follies for his 
revenues ! I cannot laugh, when he doth, unless I see some 
occasion ; nor be sad, when he is so, unless I love him ! Nor 
shall I ever need to do so, if my friends continue but so much 
love as they have now begun to make shew of. For some of 
my acquaintance, out of their oivn worth only ; others, merely 
moved by their good loill towards me, freely proffered more 
than ever I could, of myself, have requested: yea, many, in a sort 
strangers (partly in consideration of the good they seemed to have 
received from my former pains, and partly in hope to make me 
able to perform some greater matter), have, both by their promises 
and persuasions, so encouraged me, as I have resolved to make 
trial of the world's fair shews of new professed friendship. 

174 The Occasion OF PRIVATE PRINTING, &c. [^-riS: 

If it take effect, I shall thereby find means to free myself from 
those cares ivhich might else much abate the vigour of my spirit, 
trouble my inventions, and consume my youth before I could be 
fit to settle myself about that, which, if I may live to effect accord- 
ing to my intent, will require, besides an tmdistetnpered mind, all 
the best assistances of Nature, with the utmost of my endeavours. 

And if I fail in my hopes, it shall never discontent me ! for my 
greatest loss will be but a little labour, which will be, another way, 
very well recompensed. For when I shall perceive the No Trust 
that is to be reposed on this world's love, I shall, ever after, be so 
far from flattering myself again with any such confidence, or 
troubling my mind with studying after others' satisfactions, as I 
will persuade myself all my former determinations were but 
impossible Ideas / and with less charge and pain, enjoy alone 
that delight and contentment which with dis-easing myself, I 
shoidd but share amongst an unthankful multitude. 

But I make no question, I shall find as good success in this as 
I do or can justly expect : and the sooner, because as the project is 
honest, so it is unhurtful to all. And my comfort is, if any 
should, in their foolish imagination, deem me aught disparaged 
thereby ; it were but their weakness to think so ! for in respect of 
those base courses, suits, and enterprises {by which some men, now 
of great account) have increased aud raised their fortunes out of 
the dunghill; I hold this honourable ! seeing I shall receive 
willingly with love, what they, against men's wills, have either 
defrauded by subtilties, or extorted by violence. 

But what mean I ? My intent is, by this time, sujficiently 
tmderstood ! and there needs no more Apologies to my Friends : 
because they will approve or hold it indifferent ; and, questionless, 
to their power, further it. Now, as for others, they shall, by my 
will, never come to the honour or credit to be acquainted with a 
Fidelia ! 



An Elegiacal Epistle 

of Fl DELIA: 

to her unconstant friend. 

The Argument. 

Thh Elegiacal Epistle, being a fragment of some 
greater poem, discovers the modest affections of a dis- 
creet and constant woman, shadowed under the name of 
Fidelia ; wherein you may perceive the height of her 
Passions so far as they seem to agree with Reason, and 
keep within such decent bounds as beseemeth their Sex : 
but further it meddles not. 

The occasion seems to proceed from some mutability in 
her friend ; whose objections she here presupposing, con- 
futeth : and, in the person of him, justly upbraideth all 
that are subject to the like change or fickleness in 

Among the rest, some more weighty arguments than 
are, perhaps, expected in such a subject, arc briefly, and 
yet somcivhat seriously handled. 

Ft I heard tell, and now for truth I find, 
"Once out of sight, and quickly out of 

And that it hath been rightly said of old, 
" Love that's soonest hot, is ever soonest 

Or else my tears at this time had not 
The spotless paper, nor my lines complained! 
I had not now been forced to have sent 
These for the Nuncios of my discontent ; 
Or thus exchanged, so unhappily, 

I ;6 Fidelia. [' 

G. Wither. 

My Songs of Mirth, to write an Elegy ! 

But now I must ! and since I must do so ; 

Let me but crave, thou wilt not flout my woe! 

Nor entertain my sorrows with a scoff; 

But, at least, read them ! ere thou cast them off. 

And though thy heart's too hard to have compassion, 

If thou'It not pity, do not blame my Passion ! 

For, well thou knowst ! (alas, that e'er 'twas known !) 
There was a time, although that time be gonej^ 
I, that for this, scarce dare a beggar be; 
Presumed for more ! to have commanded thee ! 
Yea, the day was (but see how things may change !) 
When thou and I have not been half so strange ; 
But oft embraced, with a gentle greeting, 
And no worse words than " Turtle-dove !" and " Sweeting 
Yea, had thy meaning, and those vows of thine 
Proved but as faithful and as true as mine, 
It still had been so ! (for, I do not feign !) 
I should rejoice, it might be so again. 
But sith thy love grows cold, and thou, unkind ; 
Be not displeased I somewhat breathe my mind ! 
I am in hope, my words may prove a mirror ; 
Whereon, thou looking, mayest behold thine error! 
And yet the Heaven, and my sad heart doth know, 
How grieved I am ! and with what feeling woe 
My mind is tortured, to think that I 
Should be the brand of thy disloyalty ! 
Or live, to be the author of a line 
That shall be tainted with a fault of thine ! 
Since if that thou but slightly touched be ; 
Deep wounds of grief and shame, it strikes in me ! 

And yet I must ! Ill hap compels me to ! 
What I ne'er thought to have had cause to do. 
And therefore seeing that some angry Fate 
Imposes on me what I so much hate; 
Or since it is so, that the Powers divine, 
Me miserable ! to such cares assign : 
O that Love's Patron, or some sacred Muse, 
Amongst my Passions, would such Art infuse, 
My well-framed words and airy sighs might prove 
The happy blasts to re-inflame thy love I 

G- Wither.-! Fidelia, 1^7 

Or, at least, touch thee with thy fault so near. 

That thou mightst see thou wrongedst who held thee dear ! 

Seeing, confess the same ! and so, abhor it ! 

Abhorring, pity ! and repent thee for it ! 

But, Dear ! I hope that I may call thee so ! 
(For thou art dear to me, although a foe) 
Tell me, is't true that I do hear of thee 
And by thy absence now, so seems to be ? 
Can such abuse be in thy Court of Love ? 
False and inconstant now, thou He shouldst prove ; 
He that so woful and so pensive sate, 
Vowing his service at my feet, of late? 
Art thou that quondam lover, whose sad eye 
I never saw yet, in my presence dry ? 
And from whose tongue, I know 
So many pity-moving words could flow ? 
Was't thou ! so soughtst my love ? so seeking that 
As if it had been all th' hadst aimed at ! 
Making me think th}' Passion without stain, 
And gently quite thee with my love again ? 
With this persuasion, I so fairly placed it ; 
Nor Time, nor Envy should have e'er defaced it ! 
Is 't so ? Have I done thus much ? and art thou 
So over-cloyed with my favours now ? 
Art weary since with loving, and estranged 
So far ? Is thy affection so much changed, 
That I, of all my hopes must be deceived ; 
And all good thoughts of thee be quite bereaved ? 

Then I find true, which, long before this day, 
I feared myself, and heard some wiser say, 
" That there is nought on earth so sweet, that can 
Long relish with the curious taste of Man ! " 

Happy was I ! Yea, well it was with me ! 
Before I came to be bewitched by thee, 
I joyed the sweet'st content that ever Maid 
Possessed yet ! and, truly well-a-paid. 
Made to myself alone, as pleasant mirth 
As ever any Virgin did on earth ! 
The melody I used was free, and such 
As that bird makes, whom never hand did touch ; 
But unallured with fowlers, whistling flies 

Ea-g. Gar. VI. j_2 

r-S Fidelia. \^^^ 

A:cvc the reach of human treacheries- 

And well I do remember, often then, 

Cou'.i I read o'er the policies of men ! 

Disc: ver v. jij.: uncertatnttes they were ! 

How they wonld s- ,. k sad ! protest \ and swear [ 

Nay, feign to die : ./ ey did never prove 

The slenderest touch of a right worthy love : 

But had chilled hearts, whose dulness understood 

No more of Passion, than they did of Good ! 

All which I noted well, and in my —•- -' 

(A general humour amongst womer. 

This vow I made (thinking to keep :i LJicn !j, 

*^ That never the fair tongue of any man. 

Nor his Complaint, though never so much grieved. 

Should move my heart to liking, whilst I lived \ " 

But who can say what she shall live to do ? 
I have beheved, and let in liking too I 
And that so far, I cannot %-et see how 
I mav so much as hope, to help it now ! 
Wliich makes me think, whate'er we women say, 
'■ Another mind will come another day ! 
And that men may to things unhoped for climb, 
Who watch but Opportunity and Time." 

For 'tis well known, we were not made of clay. 
Or such coarse and Ol-tempered stnff as they I 
For He that framed us of their fiesh, diddeign, 
\\lien 'twas at best, to new refine 't again ! 
Which makes ns, ever since, the kinder creatures. 
Of far more fiesble and yielding natures. 
And as we oft excel in outward parts. 
So have we nobler and more gentle hearts ! 
Which you, well knowing, daily do devise. 
How to imprint on them, your cruelties ! 

But do I find my cause thus bad indeed; 
Or else on things imaginary- feed ? 
Am I the Lass that late so truly jolly. 
Made myself merr}*, oft, at others' folly ? 
Am I the Nj-mph that, Cupid's fancies blamed : 
That was so cold, so hard to be inflamed ? 
Am I myself ? or is myself that She. 
Who, irom this thraldom, or such falsehoods free. 

G. Wither. 

^s.] Fidelia. i 79 

Late owned mine own heart ? and, full merry then, 
Did forewarn others to beware of men ! 
And could not, having taught them what to do, 
Now learn myself to take heed of you too ? 
Fool that I am ! I fear my guerdon's just ! 
In that I knew this, and presumed to trust. 
And yet, alas, for aught that I could tell. 
One Spark of Goodness in the world might dwell ! 
And then I thought, " If such a thing might be, 
Why might not that One Spark remain in thee ? " 
For thy fair outside, and thy fairer tongue, 
Promised much, although thy years were young ! 
And Virtue (wheresoever she be now!). 
Seemed then, to sit enthroned upon thy brow ! 
Yea, sure it was ! But whether 'twere or no ; 
Certain I am, I was persuaded so ! 
Which made me loth to think that words of fashion 
Could be so framed, so overlaid with Passion ! 
Or sighs so feelingly feigned from any breast ! 
Nay, say thou hadst been false in all the rest ; 
Yet from thine eye, my heart such notice took, 
Methought Guile could not feign so sad a look ! 
But now I've tried, my bought experience knows, 
" They are oft worst, that make the fairest shows ! " 
*' And howsoe'er men feign an outward grieving; 
'Tis neither worth respecting, nor believing ! " 
For She that doth one to her mercy take, 
Warms in her bosom but a frozen snake ; 
Which heated with her favours, gathers sense, 
And stings her to the heart, in recompense ! 

But tell me why, and for what secret spite, 
You, in poor women's miseries delight ? 
For so it seems ! Else what d' ye labour for 
That, which, when 'tis obtained, ye do abhor ? 
Or to what end, do you endure such pain 
To win our love, and cast it off again ? 
O that we either, your hard hearts could borrow ; 
Or else your strengths, to help us bear our sorrow ? 

But we are cause of all this grief and shame ; 
And we have none but our own selves to blame ! 
For still we see your falsehoods for our learning, 

i8o Fidelia, [«-^^=;^- 

Yet never can have power to take 't for warning ; 

But, as if born to be deluded by you, 

We know you, trustless ; and yet, still we try you ! 

Alas, what wrong was in my power to do thee ! 
Or what despite have I e'er done unto thee, 
That thou shouldst choose Me ! above all the rest, 
To be thy scorn ! and thus be made a jest ! 
Must men's ill natures such true villains prove them, 
To make them only wrong those that most love them ! 
Couldst thou find none in Country, Town, or Court, 
But only Me ! to make thy fool ! thy sport ! 
Thou knowst I have no wanton courses run, 
Nor seemed easy unto lewdness won. 
And though I cannot boast me of much Wit ; 
Thou sawst no sign of fondness in me yet ! 
Nor did ill-nature ever so o'ersway me. 
To flout at any, that did woo or pray me ! 
But grant, I had been guilty of abusage ; 
Of thee (I'm sure !) I ne'er deserved such usage ! 
But thou wert grieved to behold my smilings, 
When I was free from love and thy beguilings : 
Or to what purpose else, didst thou bestow 
Thy time and study to deceive me so ? 
Hast thou good parts ! and dost thou bend them all 
To bring those that ne'er hated thee in thrall ? 
Prithee, take heed ! although thou yet enjoy'st them ! 
They'll be took from thee, if thou so employst them ! 
For though I wish not the least harm to thee ! 
I fear, the just Heavens will revenged be ! 

0, what of Me, by this time, had become ; 
If my desires, with thine had happed to roam ? 
Or I, unwisely, had consented to 
What, shameless, once, thou didst attempt to do ! 
I might have fallen by those immodest tricks, 
Had not some Power been stronger than my sex. 
And if I should have so been drawn to folly, 
I saw thee apt enough to be unholy ! 
Or if my Weakness had been prone to sin, 
I poorly by thy Strength had succoured been !' 
You men make us believe, " You do but try ! 
And that's your part ! " you say ; " Ours to deny !" 

G. W 

';j^^::] Fidelia. i8i 

Yet I much fear, if we through frailty stray; 
There's few of you within your bounds will stay ; 
But, maugre all your seeming virtue, be 
As ready to forget yourselves as we ! 

I might have feared thy part of love not strong, 
"When thou didst offer me so base a wrong ! 
And that I after loathed thee not, did prove 
In me some extraordinary love ! 
For, sure, had any other but in thought 
Presumed unworthily what thou hast sought ; 
Might it appear, I should do thus much for him! 
Wiih a scarce reconciled Jiate, abhor him ! 
My young experience never yet did know. 
Whether Desire might range so far or no, 
To make true lovers carelessly request 
What, rash enjoying, makes them most unblest ? 
Or blindly, through frailty, give consenting 
To that, which done, brings nothing but repenting? 
But in my judgement, it doth rather prove 
That thou art fired with Lust, than warmed with Love ! 
And if it be for proof, men so proceed. 
It shews a doubt ! Else what do trials need ? 
And where is that man living ever knew 
That false Distrust could be with Love that's true ? 
Since the mere cause of that unblamed effect. 
Such an opinion is, as hates suspect. 

And yet I will thee, and thy love excuse ; 
If thou wilt neither me, nor mine, abuse ! 
For I'll suppose thy Passion made thee proffer 
That unto me ; thou, to none else wouldst offer! 
And so think thou ! if I have thee denied, 
(Whom I more loved than all men else beside !) 
What hope have they, such favours to obtain. 
That never half so much respect could gain ? 
Such was my love, that I did value thee 
Above all things below Eternity ! 
Nothing on earth, unto my heart was dearer ! 
No joy so prized ! nor no jewel dearer ! 
Nay, I do fear, I did idolatrize ! 
For which Heaven's wrath inflicts these miseries. 
And makes the things, which it for blessings sent. 

„ re. Wither. 

182 Fidelia, L 1015. 

To be renewers of my discontent. 

Where were there any of the Naiades, 

The Dryades, or the Hamadryades ; 

Which of the British Shires can yield a,c:ain 

A Mistress of the Spring, the Wood, or Plain, 

Whose eye enjoyed more sweet contents than mine ? 

Till I received my overthrow by thine ! 

Where's She did more delight in Springs and Rills ; 

Where's She that walked more Groves, or Downs, or Hills ! 

Or could, by such fair artless prospects, more 

Add bv conceit, to her contentment's store 

Than 1 ? whilst thou wert true ! and with thy graces, 

Didst give a pleasing presence to those places ! 

But now. What is ! What ivas, hath overthrown ! 

My rose-decked alleys, now with rue are strown ! 

And from those flowers that honeyed used to be ; 

I suck nought now, but juice to poison me ! 

For even as She, whose gentle spirit can rise 
To apprehend Love's noble mysteries, 
Spving a precious jewel richly set 
Shine in some corner of her cabinet, 
Taketh delight, at first, to gaze upon 
The pretty lustre of the sparkling stone ; 
And pleased in mind by that, doth seem to sei 
How virtue shines through base obscurity : 
But prying nearer, seeing it doth prove 
Some relic of her dear deceased Love ; 
Which to her sad remembrance doth lay ope 
WHiat She most sought, and sees most far from hope, 
Fainting almost beneath her Passions' weight, 
(And quite forgetful of her first conceit) 
Looking upon 't again, from thence, She borrows 
Sad melancholy thoughts to feed her sorrows. 

So I, beholding Nature's curious bowers 
Ceiled, strewed, and trimmed up with leaves, herbs, and 

Walked, pleased, on awhile, and do devise 
How on each object I may moralize. 
But ere I pace on many steps, I see 
There stands a Hawthorn that was trimmed by thee ! 
Here, thou didst once slip off the virgin spra} s, 

^•''■':!;r;:] Fidelia. 183 

To crown me with a wreath of living Bayes I 

On such a bank, I see how thou didst He 

When, viewing of a shady Mulberry, 

The hard mishap thou didst to me discuss 

Of loving Thisbe and young Pyramus. 

" And O," think I, " how pleasing was it then ! 

Or would be yet, might he return again ! " 

But if some neighbouring row do draw me to 

Those Arbours, where the shadows seem to woo 

The weary love-sick passenger, to sit 

And view the beauties. Nature strews on it. 

" How fair," think I, "would this sweet place appear, 

If he I love were sporting with me here ! 

Nay, every several object that I see, 

Doth severally (methinks) remember thee ! 

But the delight I used from it to gather; 

I now exchange for cares, and seek them rather ! 

But those, whose dull and gross affections can 
Extend but only to desire a Man, 
Cannot, the depths of these rare Passions know! 
For their imagmations flag too low ! 
And 'cause their base conceits do apprehend 
Nothing but that, whereto the flesh doth tend : 
In Love's embraces, they ne'er reach unto 
More of content, than the brute creatures do ! 
Neither can any judge of this, but such 
Whose braver minds, for braver thoughts do touch : 
And having spirits of a nobler frame, 
Feel the true heat of Love's unquenched flame. 
lliey may conceive aright what smarting sting 
To their remembrances, the place will bring, 
Where they did once enjoy, and then do miss, 
\\'hat to their souls most dear and precious is ! 
With me, 'tis so ! For those walks that once seemed 
Pleasing, when I of thee was more esteemed ; 
To me, appear most desolate and lonely, 
And are the places now, of torment only ! 
Where I, the highest of contents did borrow ; 
There am I paid it home, with treble sorrow ! 

Unto one place, I do remember well ! 
We walked, the evenings, to hear Philomel ; 

1 84 

^ re. Wither. 



And that seems now to want the light it had ! 

The shadow of the grove 's more dull and sad : 

As if it were a place but fit for fowls 

That screech ill-luck, as melancholy owls ! 

Or fatal ravens, that seld boding good, 

Croak their black auguries from some dark wood ! 

Then, if from thence, I half despairing go ; 
Another place begins another woe ! 
For thus unto my thought, it seems to say, 
" Hither, thou sawest him riding once, that way ! " 
" Thither, to meet him, thou didst nimbly haste thee ! " 
" Yond, he alighted, and e'en there embraced thee ! " 
Which whilst I sighing, wish to do again ; 
Another object brings another pain 1 
For passing by that Green, which (could it speak !) 
Would tell, it saw us run at Barley break ! 
There, I beheld what, on that thin-rind tree, 
Thou hadst engraven, for the love of me ; 
When we two, all alone, in heat of day. 
With chaste embraces, drove swift hours away ! 
Then I remember too (unto my smart !) 
How loth we were, when time compelled, to part ! 
How cunningly thy Passions, thou couldst feign ; 
In taking leave, and coming back again 
So oft, until (as seeming to forget 
We were departing) down again we set ; 
And freshly in that sweet discourse went on : 
Which now I almost faint to think upon ! 

Viewing again, those other walks and groves 
That have been witnesses of our chaste loves; 
When I behold those trees, whose tender skin 
Hath that cut out, which still cuts me within ! 
Or come by chance unto that pretty rill. 
Where thou wouldst sit and teach the neighbouring hill 
To answer in an echo, unto those 
Ixare Problems which thou often didst propose ! 
When I come there, think I, " If these could take 
That use of words and speech which we partake ; 
Tliey might unfold a thousand pleasures then, 
Which I shall never live to taste again ! " 
And thereupon, Remembrance doth so rack 

^•''''zt;:] Fidelia. 185 

My thoughts, with representing what I lack, 
That, in my mind, those Clerks do argue well 
Which hold Privation, the greatest plague of hell : 
For there's no torment gripes me half so bad, 
As the Remembrance of those joys I had. 

O hast thou quite forgot, when sitting by 
The banks of Thames, beholding how the fry 
Played on the silver waves ? There, where I first 
Granted to make my Fortune (thus accurst !). 
There, where thy too too earnest suit compelled 
My over-soon believing heart to yield 
One favour first ; which then another drew. 
To get another ! till (alas, I rue 
That Day and Hour!) thinking I ne'er should need 
As now, to grieve for doing such a deed ! 
So freely I, my courtesies bestowed; 
That whose I was, unwarily I showed ! 
And to my heart, such passage made for thee. 
Thou canst not, to this day removed be ! 

And what breast could resist it 1 having seen 
How true thy love had in appearance been ? 
For I shall ne'er forget when thou hadst there 
Laid open every discontent and care. 
Wherewith thou deeply seemedst to me opprest ; 
When thou, as much as any could protest, 
Hadst vowed and sworn, and yet preceivedst no sign 
Of pity moving in this breast of mine ! 
" Well, Love ! " saidst thou, " since neither sigh nor vow 
Nor any service may prevail me now ! 
Since neither the recital of my smart. 
Nor those strong Passions that assail my heart ! 
Nor anything may move thee to belief 
Of these my sufferings, or to grant relief! 
Since there's no comfort, nor desert that may 
Get me so much as hope of what I pray ! 
Sweet Love, farewell ! Farewell, fair Beauty's light ! 
And ever-pleasing object of the sight I 
My poor despairing heart here biddeth you 
And all Content, for evermore, adieu ! " 

Then, even as thou seemedst ready to depart. 
Reaching that hand, which after gave my heart ; 

7- PG. Wither. 

i86 Fidelia. [ 1^,15 

And thinking this sad " Farewell ! " did proceed 

From a sound breast but truly moved indeed : 

I stayed thy departing from me so, 

Whilst I stood mute with sorrow ; thou, for show ! 

And the meanwhile, as I beheld thy look, 

]\Iy eye th'impression of such pity took 

That, with the strength of Passion overcome, 

A deep-fetched sigh, my heart came breaking from. 

Whereat thou (ever wisely using this. 

To take advantage, when it offered is) 

Renewed they suit to me ; who did afford 

Consent, in silence lirst, and then in word. 

So, for that yielding, thou mayst thank thy Wit ! 

And yet whenever I remember it ; 

Trust me, I muse ! and often wondering, think, 

Through what cranny, or what secret chink. 

That Love, unawares, so like a sly close Elf, 

Did to my heart insinuate itself. 

Gallants I had, before thou cam'st to woo ! 
Could as much love, and as well Court me too ! 
And though they had not learned so the fashion 
Of acting such well-counterfeited Passion ; 
In Wit and Person, they did equal thee ! 
■ (And worthier seemed, unless thou'll faithful be !) 
Yet still unmoved, unconquered I remained ! 
No, not one thought of love was entertained ! 
Nor could they brag of the least favour to them, 
Save what mere courtesy enjoined to do them ! 
Hard was my heart : but would 't had harder been ! 
And then, perhaps, I had not let thee in ! 
Thou, Tyrant ! that art so imperious there ! 
And only tak'st delight to domineer! 
But held I out such strong, such oft assailing, 
And ever kept the honour of prevailing ; 
Was this poor breast, from Love's allurings free, 
Cruel to all, and gentle unto thee ? 
Did I unlock that strong Affection's door 
That never could be broken ope before, 
Only to thee ? and, at thy intercession, 
^0 freely give up all my heart's possession, 
That to myself I left not one poor vein ! 

c. Wither.-] Fidelia. 187 

Nor power, nor will to put thee from 't again ? 

Did I do this ! and all, on thy bare vow ! 

And wilt thou thus, requite my kindness now? 

O that thou either hadst not learned to feign, 

Or I had power to cast thee off again ! 

How is it, that thou art become so rude, 

And overblinded by ingratitude ? 

Swearest thou so deeply, that thou wouldst persever. 

That I might thus be cast away for ever ? 

Well then, 'tis true that "lover's perjuries," 

Among some men, " are thought no injuries ! " 

And that " she only hath least cause of grief; 

Who, of your words hath small'st or no belief." 

Had I the wooer been or fondly woon ; 
This had been more though, than thou couldst have done ! 
But neither being so, what reason is 
On thy side, that should make thee offer this ? 

I know, had I been false, or my faith failed ; 
Thou wouldst at women's fickleness have railed ! 
And if in me, it had an error been : 
In thee, shall the same fault be thought no sin ? 
Rather I hold that which is bad in me, 
Will be a greater blemish unto thee ! 
Because, by Nature, thou art made more strong. 
And therefore abler to endure a wrong. 
But 'tis our fortune ! You'll have all the Power ! 
Only the Care and Burden must be our ! 
Nor can you be content, a wrong to do ; 
Unless you lay the blame upon us too ! 

O that there were some gentle minded Poet 
That knew my heart as well as, now, I know it ! 
And would endear me to his love so much. 
To give the World, though but a slender touch 
Of that sad Passion, which now clogs my heart ; 
And shew my truth ; and thee, how false thou art ! 
That all might know (what is believed by no man) 
There 's Fickleness in Man, and Faith in Woman ! 

Thou saw'st, I first let Pity in, then Liking, 
And lastly, that which was thy only seeking : 
And when I might have scorned that love of thine 
(As now ungently, thou despisest mine !) 

iS8 Fidelia. [ 

G. Wither. 

Amon,£^ the inmost angles of my breast, 
To lodge it, by my heart, I thought it best ! 
Which thou has stolen too, like a thankless mate, 
And left me nothing but a black self-hate. 

What can'st thou say for this, to stand contending ? 
What colour hast thou left for thy offending ? 
That Wit, perhaps, hath some excuse in store, 
Or an evasion to escape a sore ! 
But well I know, if thou excuse this treason. 
It must be by some greater thing than Reason ! 

Are any of those virtues yet defaced. 
On which thy first affections seemed placed ? 
Hath any secret foe, my true faith wronged, 
To rob the bliss that to my heart belonged ? 
What then ! Shall I condemned be unheard, 
'Before thou knowest how I may be cleared ? 
Thou art acquainted with the Times' condition ! 
Knowest it is full of envy and suspicion ! 
So that the wariest in thought, word, and action 
Shall be most injured by foul-mouthed Detraction, 
And therefore thou, methinks ! shouldst wisely pause 
Before thou credit rumours without cause ! 
But I have gotten such a confidence 
In thy opinion, of my innocence ; 
It is not that, I know ! withholds thee now ! 

Sweet ! tell me, then ! Is it some sacred vow ? 
Hast thou resolved not to join thy hand 
With any one in Hymen's bold band ? 
Thou shouldst have done it then, when thou wert free ! 
Before thou hadst bequeathed thyself to me ! 
\Vhat vow do'st deem more pleasing unto Heaven, 
Than what is by unfeigned lovers given ? 
If any be, yet sure it frovvneth at 
Those that are made for contradicting that ! 
Pjut if thou wouldst live chastely all thy life ; 
Than thou mayst do, though we be man and wife ! 

Or if thou long'st a virgin-death to die, 
Why, if it be thy pleasure, so do I ! 
Make me but thine ! and I'll, contented, be 
A virgin still ; }-et live and lie with thee 1 
Then let not thy inventing brain assay 

«-^^':a Fidelia. 189 

To mock, and still delude me every way ! 
But call to mind, how thou hast deeply sworn 
Not to neglect, nor leave me thus forlorn ! 

And if thou wilt not be to me, as when 
We first did love ; do but come see me then ! 
Vouchsafe that I may sometimes with thee walk ! 
Or sit and look on thee, or hear thee talk ! 
And I, that most, Content once aimed at ; 
Will think there is a world of bliss in that 1 

Dost thou suppose that my Desire denies 
With thy Affections well to sympathize ? 
Or such perverseness hast thou found in me, 
May make our natures disagreeing be ? 
Thou knowst, when thou didst wake, I could not sleep ! 
And if thou wert but sad, that I should weep ! 
Yet even when the tears, my cheek did stain ; 
If thou didst smile, why, I could smile again ! 
I never did contrary thee in ought ! 
Nay, thou canst tell, I oft have spake thy thought ! 
Waking, the self-same course with thee I ran ! 
And sleeping, oftentimes our dreams were one ! 

The dial needle, though it sense doth want, 
Still bends to the beloved Adamant. 
Lift the one up, the other upward tends ! 
If this fall down, that presently descends ! 
Turn but about the stone, the steel turns too ! 
Then straight returns, if but the other do ! 
And if it stay, with trembling keeps one place, 
As if it, panting, longed for an embrace ! 
So was 't with me ! For if thou merry wert, 
That mouth of thine moved joy within my heart ! 
I sighed, too, when thou didst sigh or frown ! 
When thou wert sick ; thou hast perceived me swoon ! 
And being sad, have oft, with forced delight 
Strived to give thee content, beyond my might ! 
When thou wouldst talk, then have I talked with thee ! 
And silent been, when thou wouldst silent be ! 
If thou abroad didst go, with joy I went ! 
If home thou lovedst, at home was my content! 
Yea, what did to my nature disagree, 
I could make pleasing ! 'cause it pleased thee ! 

T7 r T^ T^ T T /I rC'- Wither. 

190 r I D E L I A . \_ ,cii. 

But if 't be either my weak Sex or Youth 
Makes thee misdoubt m}' undistained truth ; 
Know this ! As none, till that unhappy hour 
When I was first made thine, had ever power 
To move my heart, by vows' or tears' expense : 
No more (I swear!) could any creature since! 
No looks lout thine, though aimed with Passion's Art, 
Could pierce so deep, to penetrate my heart ! 
No name but thine was welcome to my ear, 
No word did I so soon, so gladly hear! 
Nor never could my eyes behold or see 
What I was since delighted in, but thee ! 
And, sure, thou wouldst believe it to be so. 
If I could tell, or words might make thee know 
How many a weary night my tumbled bed 
Hath known me sleepless ! what salt tears I've shed ! 
What scalding sighs (the marks of souls opprest) 
Have hourly breathed from my careful breast ! 

Nor wouldst thou dream those waking sorrows feigned. 
If thou mightst see how, sleeping, I am pained ! 
For if sometimes I chance to take a slumber, 
Unwelcome dreams my broken rest doth cuml^er ! 
Which dreaming makes me start ! startmg, with fears 
Wakes 1 and so waking, I renew my cares, 
Until my eyes o'ertired with watch and weeping, 
Drowned in their own floods, fall again to sleepmg ! 

that thou couldst but think, when last we parted, 
How much I, grieving for thy absence, smarted ! 
My very soul fell sick ! my heart, to aching ! 
As if they had their last " Farewells ! " been taking : 
Or feared, by some secret divination. 
This thy revolt, and causeless alteration ! 
Didst thou not feel, how loth that hand of mine 
Was to let go the hold it had of thine ? 
And with what heavy, what unwilling look ; 
I leave of thee, and then of comfort, took ? 
I know thou didst ! and though now thus thou do ; 
I am deceived but then, it grieved thee too ! 

Then if I so, with Love's fell passion vexed, 
For thy departure only was perplexed ; 
When I had left to strengthen me, some trust 

G. Wither. 

'''jg^jj Fidelia. 191 

And hope that thou wouldst ne'er have proved unjust : 
What was my torture then, and hard endurance, 
When of thy falsehood I received assurance ? 

Alas, my tongue, a while, with grief was dumb ! 
And a cold shuddering did my joints benumb ! 
Amazement seized my thought ! and so prevailed, 
I found me ill, but knew not what I ailed ! 
Nor can I yet tell ! since my suffering then 
Was more than could be shown by Poet's pen, 
Or well conceived by another heart 
Than that, which in such care hath borne a part. 

me ! how loth was I to have believed 
That to be true, for which so much I grieved ? 
How gladly would I have persuaded been, 
There had been no such matter ! no such sin ! 

1 would have had my heart think that I knew 
To be the very truth, not to be true 1 

" Why may not this," thought I, " some vision be, 

Some sleeping dream, or waking phantasy, 

Begotten by my over-blinded folly, 

Or else engendered through my melancholy ? " 

But finding it so real, thought I, " Then, 

Must I be cast from all my hopes again ? 

What are become of all those fading blisses, 

Which late my hope had, and now so much misses ? 

Where is that future fickle happiness 

Which I so long expected to possess ? " 

And thought I too, " Where are his dying Passions? 

His honeyed words ? his bitter lamentations ? 

To what end were his Sonnets, Epigrams ? 

His pretty Posies ? witty Anagrams ? " 

I could not think all that, might have been feigned ! 

Nor any faith I thought so firm, been stained ! 

Nay, I do sure and confidently know 

It is not possible it should be so. 

If that rare Art and Passion was thine own ! 

Which in my presence, thou hast often shown. 

But since thy change ; my much presaging heart 

Is half afraid thou, some imposter wert ; 

Or that thou didst but (Player-like addrest) 

Act that, which flowed from some more gentle breast ! 


Fidelia, \_ ,01= 

Thy puffed Invention, with worse Matter swollen ; 
Those thy Conceits, from better wits, hath stolen ! 
Or else, I know it could not be, that thou 
Shouldst be so over-cold, as thou art now ! 
Since those who have that feelingly their own, 
Ever possess more worth concealed than known. 
And if Love ever any mortals touch 
To make a brave impression, 'tis in such 
Who, sworn Love's Chaplains, will not violate 
That, whereunto, themselves they consecrate. 

But O you noble brood ! on whom the World 
The slighted burden of neglect hath hurled : 
Because your thoughts for higher objects born, 
Their grovelling humours and affections scorn ! 
You, whom the Gods, to hear your strains, will follow, 
Whilst you do court the Sisters of Apollo! 
You whom, there 's none that 's worthy, can neglect, 
Or any that unworthy is, affect ! 
Do not let those (that seek to do you shame !) 
Bewitch us with those Songs they cannot frame ! 
The noblest of our sex, and fairest too. 
Do ever love and honour such as you ! 
Then wrong us not so much, to give your Passion 
To those, that have it but in imitation ! 
And in their dull breasts, never feel the power 
Of such deep thoughts as sweetly move in your! 
As well as you ; they, us thereby abuse ! 
For, many times, when we our lovers choose 
Where we think Nature, that rich jewel sets. 
Which shines in you ! we light on counterfeits ! 

But see, see whither discontentment bears me ! 
And to what uncouth strains my Passion rears me ! 
Yet, pardon me ! I here again repent, 
If I have erred through that discontent ! 
Be what thou wilt ! be counterfeit or right ! 
Be constant ! serious ! or be vain or light ! 
My love remains inviolate the same. 
Thou canst be nothing that can quench this flame ! 
But it will burn, as long as thou hast breath 
To keep it kindled ! (if not after death) 
Ne'er was there one more true than I to thee ! 

G. WitVier. 

.'S:] Fidelia. 193 

And though my faith must now despised he, 

Unprized, unvalued at the lowest rate, 

Yet this, I'll tell thee ! 'tis not all thy State, 

Nor all that better-seeming Worth of thine, 

Can buy thee such another Love as mine ! 

Liking, it may ! But O, there's as much odds 

'Twixt Love and that, as between men and gods ! 

And 'tis a purchase not procured with treasure ! 

As some fools think; not to be gained at pleasure ! 

For were it so, and any could assure it, 

What would not some men part with, to procure it ? 

But though thou weigh 't not, as thou ought'st to do. 

Thou know'st I love ! and once, didst love me too ! 

Then where 's the cause of this dislike in thee ? 

Survey thyself! I hope there 's none in me. 

Yet look on her, from whom thou art estranged ! 

See, is my Person, or my Beauty changed ? 

Once, thou didst praise it ! Prithee, view 't again ! 

And mark if 't be not still the same 'twas then ! 

No false vermilion dye my cheek distains, 

'Tis the pure blood, dispersed through pores and veins. 

Which thou hast, oft, seen through my forehead flushing. 

To shew no dauby colour hid my blushing ! 

Nor never shall ! Virtue, I hope, will save me ! 

Contented with that beauty. Nature gave me. 

Or if it seem less, for that Grief's veil hath hid it : 

Thou threwst it on me ! 'twas not I that did it ! 

And canst again restore, what may repair 

All that 's decayed, and make me far more fair! 

Which if thou do, Fll be more wary then 

To keep 't for thee unblemished, what I can ! 

And 'cause, at best, 'twill want much of perfection : 

The rest shall be supplied with true affection ! 

But I do fear, it is some other's riches ; 
Whose more abundance that thy mind bewitches; 
So that base object, that too general aim, 
Makes thee my lesser fortune to disclaim ! 
lie ! can'st thou so degenerate in spirit, 
As to prefer the Means before the Merit ! 
(Although I cannot say, it is in me !) 
Such Worth, sometimes, with poverty may be, 

Eng. Gar VI. JO 

194 Fidelia, r'''':ft 

To equalize the match she takes upon her ; 

Though th' other vaunt of Birth, Wealthy, Beauty, Hcnour: 

And many a one, that did for Greatness wed, 

Would gladly change it for a meaner bed ! 

Yet are my fortunes known indifferent. 

Not basely mean, but such as may content ! 

And should I yield, the better to be thine ; 

I may be bold to say thus much for mine : 

" That if thou couldst of them, and me esteem; 

Neither, thy state, nor birth would misbeseem ! 

Or if it did, how can I help 't, alas ! 

Thou, not alone, before, knew'st what it was ! 

But I (although not fearing so to speed !) 

Did also disenable 't more than need : 

And yet thou wooedst ! and wooing, didst persever, 

As if thou hadst intended Love for ever ! 

Yea, thy account of wealth, thou mad'st so small 

Thou hadst not any question of 't at all : 

But, hating much that peasant-like condition. 

Didst seem displeased I held it in suspicion. 

Whereby I think, if nothing else do thwart us, 

It cannot be the want of that, will part us I 

Yea, I do rather doubt indeed, that this 
The needless fear of friends' displeasure is ! 
That is the bar that stops out my delight. 
And all my hope and joy confoundeth quite ! 
But bears there any, in thy heart such sway, 
To shut me thence, and wipe thy love away ! 
Can there be any friend that hath the power 
To disunite hearts so conjoined as our ? 
Ere I would have so done by thee, I'd rather 
Have parted with one dearer than my father ! 
For though the will of our Creator binds 
Kach child to learn, and know his parents' minds ; 
Yet, sure I am ! so just a Deity 
Commandeth nothing against Piety ! 
Nor doth that Bond of Duty give them leave 
To violate their faith, or to deceive ! 
And though that parents have authority 
To rule their children in minority ; 
Yet they are never granted such power on them 

G. Wither. 

S Fidelia. 195 

That will allow to tyrannize upon them ! 
Or use them under their command, so ill, 
To force them without reason, to their will ! 
For who hath read in all the Sacred Writ, 
Of any one compelled to marriage, yet ? 
Or father so unkind, thereto required. 
Denied his child the match that he desired ; 
So that he found the laws did not forbid it ? 
I think, those gentler Ages, no man did it ! 
In those days therefore, for them to have been 
Contracted without license, had been sin ! 
Since there was more good nature among men, 
And every one more truly loving then. 
But now, although we stand obliged still 
To labour for their liking and good will ; 
There is no Duty, whereby they may tie us 
From aught, which, without reason, they deny us, 
For I do think, it is not only meant 
Children should ask ; but parents should consent ! 
And that they err, their duty as much breaking 
For not consenting, as we for not speaking. 
It is no marvel, many matches be 
Concluded, now, without their privity; 
Since they, through greedy avarice misled, 
Their interest in that have forfeited. 
For these, respectless of all care, do marry 
Hot youthful May to cold old January : 
Those for some greedy end, do basely tie 
The sweetest Fair to foul Deformity ; 
Forcing a love, from where 'twas placed late. 
To re-ingraff it, where it turns to hate. 
It seems no cause of hindrance in their eyes, 
Though manners, nor affections sympathise ! 
And two religions, by their rules of State, 
They may in one-made body tolerate ! 
As if they did desire that double stem 
Should fruitful bear but Neuters, like to them 1 
Alas, how many numbers of both kinds 
By that, have ever discontented minds ! 
And live, though seeming unto others well, 
In the next torments unto those of hell ! 

196 Fidelia. [ 

G. WitVi-r. 

How many desperate grown by this their sin ; 

Have both undone themselves and all their kin ! 

Many a one, v/e see, it makes to fall 

With the too-late repenting Prodigal. 

Thousands, though else by Nature gentler given, 

To act the horridst murders, oft, are driven ! 

And which is worse, there's many a careless elf, 

(Unless Heaven pity !) kills and damns himself! 

O what hard heart, or what unpitying eyes. 

Could hold from tears, to see those tragedies. 

Parents (by their neglect in this) have hurled 

Upon the Stage of this respectless world 1 

'Tis not one man, one family, one kin ; 

No, nor one country that hath ruined been 

By such their folly : which the cause hath proved 

That Foreign oft, and Civil Wars were moved. 

By such beginnings, many a city lies 

Now in the dust, whose turrets braved the skies ; 

And divers monarchs, by such fortunes crossed. 

Have seen their kingdoms fired, and spoiled, and lost. 

Yet all this while, thou seest ! I mention not 
The ruin, shame, that Chastity hath got ! 
For 'tis a task too infinite to tell 
How many thousands, that would have done well, 
Do, by the means of this, suffer desires 
To kindle in their hearts, unlawful fires. 
Nay, some in whose cold breast ne'er flame had been, 
Have, only for mere vengeance, fallen to sin ! 

Ahself have seen (and my heart bled to see 't) 
A witless clown enjoy a match unmeet. 
She was a Lass, that had a look to move 
The heart of cold Diogenes to love ! 
Her eye was such, whose every glance did know 
To kindle flames upon the hills of snow ; 
And by her powerful piercings could imprint, 
Or sparkle fire into a heart of flint ! 
And yet (unless I much deceived be) 
In very thought, did hate immodesty ! 
And, had she enjoyed the man she could have loved, 
Might, to this day, have lived unreproved ! 
But being forced, preforce, by seeming friends : 

^- ^^■';|,7;;] Fidelia, 197 

With her consent ; she, her contentment ends ! 
In that compelled, herself to him she gave ; 
Whose bed, she rather could have wished her grave ! 
And since, I hear (what I much fear is true !) 
That " she hath bidden Shame and Fame, adieu ! " 

Such are the causes, now, that parents quite 
Are put beside much of their ancient right. 
The fear of this, makes children to withhold 
From giving them those dues which else they would. 
And those, thou seest ! are the too fruitful ills, 
Which daily spring from their unbridled wills ; 
Yet they, forsooth, will have it understood. 
That all their study is their children's good ! 
A seeming love shall cover all they do, 
When (if the matter were well looked into) 
Their careful reach is chiefly to fulfil 
Their own foul, greedy, and insatiate will ! 
Who, quite forgetting they were ever young, 
Would have their children doat, with them, on dung! 

Grant, betwixt two, there be True Love, Content ; 
Birth not mis-seeming, Wealth sufficient, 
Equality in years, an honest Fame, 
In every side the person without blame ; 
And they obedient too : what can you gather 
Of love or of affection in that father, 
That, but a little to augment his treasure, 
(Perhaps, no more but only for his pleasure !) 
Shall force his child to one he doth abhor ? 
From her he loves and justly seeketh for : 
Compelling him (for such misfortune grieveth !) 
To die with care, that might, with joy have lived ! 
This, you may say is Love : and swear as well 
There are pains in Heaven, and delights in Hell ! 
Or that the Devil's fury and austerity. 
Proceeds out of his care of our prosperity ! 
Would parents, in this Age, have us begin 
To take, by their eyes, our affections in ? 
Or do they think, we bear them in our fist ! 
That we may still remove them, as they list ? 
It is impossible it should be thus ! 
For we are ruled by Love, not Love by us ! 

198 Fidelia. \!:'-^'''tl 

And so our power so much ne'er reacheth to, 
To know where we shall love, until we do ! 
And when it comes, hide it awhile we may ! 
But 'tis not in our strengths to drive 't away ! 

Either mine own eye should my Chooser he, 
Or I would ne'er wear Hymen's livery ! 
For who is he, so near my heart doth rest, 
To know what 'tis that mine approveth best ? 
I have myself beheld those men, whose frame 
And outward personages had nought of blame, 
They had (what might their good proportion grace !) 
The much more moving part, a comely face ! 
With many of those complements, which we. 
In common men of the best breeding see. 
They had discourse and wit enough to carry 
Themselves in fashion, at an Ordinary. 
Gallants they were, loved company and sport. 
Wore favours, and had mistresses at Court ! 
And, every wa)', were such as they might seem ; 
Worthy of note, respect, and much esteem. 
Yet hath my eye more cause of liking seen, 
Where nought perhaps by some hath noted been ; 
And I have there found more content, b}' far ! 
Where some of these perfections wanting are. 
Yea, so much, that their beauties were a blot 
To them, methought ! because he had them not. 

There some peculiar thing innated is, 
That bears an uncontrolled sway in this ! 
And nothing but itself knows how to tit 
The mind with that which best shall suit with it! 

Then why should parents thrust themselves into 
What, they want warrant for, and power to do ? 
How is it they are so forgetful grown, 
Of those conditions, that were once their own ? 
Do they so doat, midst their wit's perfection, 
To think that Age and Youth hath like aftection ; 
W'hen they do see, 'mong those of equal years. 
One hateth what another most endears ? 
Or do they think their wisdoms can invent 
A thing to give, that 's greater than Content ? 
No, neither shall they wrap us in such blindness. 

G, WUli 

l^r;:] Fidelia. 199 

To make us think, the spite they do, a kindness ! 

For as I would advise no child to stray 

From the least duty that he ought to pay; 

So would I also have him wisely know 

How much that duty is ! that he doth owe : 

That knowing what doth, unto both belong ; 

He may do them, their right ! himself, no wrong! 

For if my parents, him I loathe, should choose, 

'Tis lawful ! yea, my duty, to refuse ! 

Else how shall I lead so upright a life 

As is enjoined to the Man and Wife ? 

Since that we see, sometimes there are repentings 

F'en where there are the most and best contentings ! 

\Vhat though that by our parents, first we live; 

Is not Life misery enough to give I 

Which at their births, the children doth undo. 

Unless they add some other mischief too ? 

'Cause they gave Being to this flesh of our, 

Must we be therefore slaves unto their power? 

We ne'er desired it ! For how could we tell. 

Not Being, but that Not to Be was well I 

Nor know they whom they profit by it, seeing 

Happy were some if they had had no being ! 

Indeed, had they produced us without sin ; 

Had all our duty, to have pleased them been ; 

Of the next life, could they assure the state : 

And both beget us, and regenerate ! 

There were no reason then, we should withstand 

To undergo their tyrannous command ! 

In hope that, either for our hard endurance. 

We should, at last, have comfort in assurance: 

Or if, in our endeavours, we mis-sped 

At least feel nothing, when we should be dead! 

But what 's the reason for 't, that we shall be 
Enthralled so much unto mortality ? 
Our souls on will of any men, to tie 
Unto an everlasting misery ? 
So far, perhaps so, from the good of either : 
We ruin them, ourselves, and all together ! 

Children owe much, I must confess 'tis true ! 
And a great debt is to the parents due. 

J-, , , TG. Wilher. 

200 P I D E L I A , L 16.5. 

Yet if they have not so much power to crave, 

But in their own defence, the lives they gave : 

How much less then, should they become so cruel 

As to take from them, the high-prized jewel 

Of Liberty of Choice, where depends 

The main contentment that the Heaven here lends ? 

Woit'i life or wealth ! nay, far more worth than either! 

Or twenty thousand lives all put together ! 

Then howsoever some, severer bent, 
^lay deem of my opinion or intent, 
With that which follows, thus conclude I do ; 
And I have Reason for't, and Conscience too ! 
" No parent may, his child's just suit deny, 
On his bare will, without a reason why ! 
Nor he, so used, be disobedient thought ! 
If, unapproved, he take the Match he sought." 

So then, if that thy faith uncrazed be, 
Thy friends' dislike shall be no stop to me ! 
For if their Will be not of force to do it : 
They shall have no cause else, to drive them to it ! 
Let them bring all forth, that they can allege ! 
We are both young, and of the fittest age ! 
(If thou dissemblest not) both love ! and both 
To admit hinderance in our loves were loth ! 
'Tis prejudicial unto none that live ; 
And GOD's and human Law, our warrant give ! 
Nor are we much unequal in degree ; 
Perhaps, our fortunes somewhat different be ! 
But say, that little means which are, were not ; 
The want of wealth may not dissolve this knot ! 
For though some, such preposterous courses wend, 
Prescribing to themselves no other end ; 
Marriage was not ordained to enrich men by ! 
Unless it were in their posterity : 
And he that doth for other causes wed 
Ne'er knows the true sweets of a marriage bed ! 
Nor shall he, by my will ! For 'tis unfit 
Me should have bliss, that never aimed at it ! 
Though that bewitching gold, the rabble blinds 
And is the object of the vulgar minds : 
Yet those, methinks, that graced seem to be 

Wither. "I 

Fidelia, 201 

With so much good, as doth appear in thee ! 

Should scorn their better-taught desires to tie 

To that, which Fools do get their honour by 1 

I can like of the wealth, I must confess ! 

Yet more I prize the Man ! though moneyless. 

I am not of their humour yet, that can 

For title or estate affect a man ; 

Or of myself. One Body deign to make 

With him I loathe, for his possessions' sake ! 

Nor wish I ever to have that mind bred 

In me, that is in those; who when they wed, 

Think it enough, they do attain the grace 

Of some new honour! to fare well ! take place ! 

Wear costly clothes ! in others' sight agree ! 

Or happy, in opinion seem to be ! 

I weigh not this ! for were I sure before. 
Of Spencer's wealth, or our rich Sutton's store ! 
Had I therewith a man whom Nature lent 
Person enough to give the eye content ! 
If I no outward due, nor right did want ; 
Which the best husbands, in appearance, grant ! 
Nay, though, alone, we had no private jars; 
But merry lived from all domestic cares ! 
Unless I thought his nature so incline 
That it might also sympathize with mine, 
And yield such correspondence with my mind, 
Our souls might mutually contentment find 
By adding unto these which went before 
Some certain unexpressed pleasures more 
(Such as exceed the straight and curbed dimensions 
Of common minds and vulgar apprehensions) : 
I would not care for such a Match ! but tarry 
In this estate I am, and never marry ! 

Such were the sweets, I hoped to have possessed. 
When Fortune should, with thee have made me blest ! 
My heart could hardly think of that content. 
To apprehend it without ravishment ! 
Each word of thine, methought, was to my ears 
More pleasing than that music, which the Spheres 
(They say) do make the gods, when, in their chime, 
Their motions diapson with the time. 

202 Fidelia. [^■^''?,:;: 

In my conceit, the opening of th}' eye 

Seemed to give light to every object by, 

And shed a kind of life unto my shew 

In everything that was within its view. 

More joy I have felt, to have thee but in place 

Than many do in the most close embrace 

Of their belovedst friend ! which well doth prove 

Not to thy body only tends my love : 

But mounting a true height, grows so divine; 

It makes my soul to fall in love with thine ! 

And, sure, now, whatsoe'er thy body do, 
Thy soul loves mine, and oft they visit, too ! 
For, late, I dreamed they went I know not whither, 
Unless to heaven ! and there played together; 
And to this day, I ne'er could know or see 
'Twixt them or us the least antipathy ! 

Then what should make thee keep thy person hence ! 
Or leave to love ! or hold it in suspense ! 
If to offend thee, I unawares was driven ; 
Is 't such a fault as may not be forgiven ? 
Or if by frowns of Fate, I have been checked, 
So that I seem not worth my first respect ; 
Shall I be therefore blamed and upbraided 
With what could not be holpen or avoided ? 
'Tis not my fault ! yet 'cause my Fortunes do, 
Wilt thou be so unkind to wrong me too ? 
Not unto thine, but Thee, I set my heart ! 
So naught can wipe my love out, while thou art ! 
Though thou wert poorer, both of house and meat, 
Than he that knows not where to sleep or eat ! 
Though thou w^ert sunk into obscurity, 
Become an abject in the world's proud eye ! 
Though by perverseness of thy Fortune crost ; 
Thou wert deformed, or some limb hadst lost ! 
That Love, which Admiration first began ; 
Pity would strengthen, that it failed not ! 
Yea, I should love thee still, and without blame. 
As long as thou couldst keep thy mind the same ! 
Which is of virtues so compact (I take it !), 
No mortal change shall have the power to shake it ! 
This may, and will, I know, seem strange to those 

G. Wither.") FT r r, r- r t a 

1615.J -^ I D E L I A 


That cannot the Abyss of Love disclose ; 

Nor must they think, whom but the outside moves, 

Ever to apprehend such noble loves ; 

Or more conjecture their unsounded measure, 

Than can we mortals, of immortal pleasure ! 

Then let not those dull unconceiving brains. 
Who shall hereafter come to read these strains, 
Suppose that no Love's fire can be so great 
Because it gives not their cold clime such heat ! 
Or think m' Invention could have reached here 
Unto such thoughts, unless such Love there were ! 
For then they shall but shew their knowledge weak ; 
And injure me, that feel of what I speak! 

But now, my lines grow tedious, like my wrong ! 
And as I thought that thou think'st this too long ! 
Or some may deem, I thrust myself into 
More than beseemeth modesty to do ! 
But of the difference, I am not unwitting, 
Betwixt a peevish coyness, and things unfitting. 
Nothing respect I, who pries o'er my doing ! 
For here's no vain allurements, nor fond wooing, 
To train some wanton stranger to my love ! 
But with a thought that's honest, chaste, and pure ; 
I make my Cause unto thy Conscience known ; 
Suing for that, which is, by right, my own ! 
In which Complaint, if thou do hap to find 
Any such word, as seems to be unkind, 
Mistake me not! It but from Passion sprang, 
And not from an intent to do thee wrong ! 
Or if among these doubts, my sad thoughts breed, 
Some, peradventure, may be more than need ; 
They are to let thee know (might we dispute !) 
There's no objection but I could refute ! 
And spite of Envy, such defences make, 
Thou shouldst embrace that Love thou dost forsake I 

Then do not, forgetful man ! now deem, 
That 'tis ought less, than I have made it seem ; 
Or that I am unto this Passion moved. 
Because I cannot elsev/here be beloved ! 

204 Fidelia, [^'- ^^''le;^: 

Or that it is thy State ; whose greatness known, 
Makes me become a suitor for my own ! 
Suppose not so ! For know, this day, there be 
Some that woo hard for what I offer thee ! 
And I have ever yet contented been, 
With that estate I first was placed in ! 

Banish those thoughts, and turn thee to my heart ! 
Come once again, and be what once thou wert ! 
Revive me, by those wonted joys repairing, _ 
That am nigh dead with sorrows and despairing ! 
So shall the memory of this Annoy 
But add more sweetness to my future Joy ! 
Yea, make me think thou meanst not to deny me ; 
But only wert estranged thus, to try me ! 
And lastly, for that love's sake thou once bar'st me ! 
By that right hand thou gav'st ! that oath, thou swor'st me! 
By all the Passions ! and (if any be) 

For her dear sake, that makes thee injure me ! 

I here conjure thee ! no, intreat 1 and sue ! 
That if these lines do overreach thy view : 
Thou wouldst afford me so much favour for them, 
As to accept, or, at least, not abhor them ! 

So (though thou wholly cloak not thy disdain) 

I shall have somewhat the less cause to 'plain 

Or if thou needs must scoff at this, or me ; 

Do 't by thyself! that none may witness be. 

Not that I fear 'twill bring me any blame ; 

Only I'm loth the World should know thy shame ! 

For all that shall this Plaint with reason view, 

Will judge me, faithful ; and thee, most untrue ! 

]5ut if Oblivion, that thy love bereft 

Hath not so much good nature in thee left; 

But that thou must, as most of you men do, 

When you have conquered, tyrannize it too I 

Know this, before ! That it is praise to no mail 

To wrong so frail a creature as a woman ! 

And to insult o'er one, so much made thine. 

Will more be to thy disparagement than mine ! 

But O (I pra}' that it portend no harms!) 

G. Wither. 

u,Z'~\ Fidelia. 205 

A cheering heat, my chilled senses warms ! 

Just now, I, flashing feel into my breast, 

A sudden comfort not to be exprest ! 

Which, to my thinking, doth again begin 

To warm my heart, to let some Hope come in ! 

It tells me, " 'Tis impossible that thou 

Shouldst live, not to be mine ! " It whispers how 

Myformer fears and doubts have been in vain ! 

And that thou meanest, yet, to return again. 

It says, " Thy absence, from some cause did grow, 

Which, or I should not, or I could not know ! " 

It tells me, now, that all those proofs, whereby 

I seemed assured of thy disloyalty, 

May be but treacherous plots of some base foes 

That, in thy absence, sought our overthrows ! 

Which if it prove (as yet, methinks it may ! ) 
O, what a burden shall I cast away ! 
What cares shall I lay by ! and to what height 
Tower in my new ascension to Delight ! 
Sure, ere the full of it, I come to try ; 
I shall e'en surfeit in my joy, and die ! 
But such a Loss might well be called a Thriving, 
Since more is got by dying so, than living ! 

Come, kill me then, my Dear ! if thou think fit ! 
With that which never killed woman yet 1 
Or write to me before, so shalt thou give 
Content more moderate, that I may live ! 
And when I see my Staff of Trust unbroken, 
I will unspeak again what was mis-spoken ! 
What I have written in dispraise of men ; 
I will recant, and praise as much again ! 
In recompense, I'll add unto their stories, 
Encomiastic lines to imp their glories ! 
And for those wrongs, my Love to thee hath done, 
Both I and it, unto thy Pity run ! 
In whom, if the least guilt thou find to be; 
For ever let thy arms imprison me ! 

Meanwhile, I'll try if Misery will spare 
Me so much respite, to take truce with Care ! 
And patiently await the doubtful doom ; 
Which I expect from thee, should shortly come ! 

2o6 Fidelia. [^-^'.t^^: 

Much longing that I, one way, may be sped ; 

And not still linger 'twixt alive and dead 1 

For I can neither live yet, as I should ; 

Because I least enjoy of that I would ! 

Nor quiet die, because, indeed, I first 

Would see some better days, or know the worst !' 

Then hasten, Dear ! if to my end it be ! 
It shall be welcome, 'cause it comes from thee ! 
If to renew my Comfort, aught be sent ; 
Let me not lose a minute of Content ! 
The precious Time is short, and will away ! 
Let us enjoy each other while we may ! 
Cares thrive ! Age creepeth on ! Men are but shades ! 
Joys lessen ! Youth decays ! and Beauty fades ! 
New turns come on, the old returneth never ! 
If we let ours go past, 'tis past for ever ! 

Then follows the original text of Shall I ivnsthig in despair : of which 
we have given two versions in Vol. IV./ip. 454, 577. 

G. Wither 


A Palinode. 


Inter Equitandum 

Y Genius ! say, " What Thoughts, these 
pantings move ? " 

" Thy Thoughts of Love ! " 
" What Flames are these, that set my 
heart on fire ? " 

" Flames of Desire ! " 
" What are the Means, that these two underprop ? " 

*' Thy earnest Hope ! " 
Then yet Fm happy in my sweet Friend's choice ! 
For they in depth of Passion may rejoice, 
Whose Thoughts and Flames and Means have such blest scope, 
They may, at once, both Love, Despair, and Hope ! 

But tell, " What Fruit at last, my Love shall gain ? " 

" Hidden Disdain ! " 

" What will that Hope prove, which yet Faith keeps fair ? " 

" Hopeless Despair ! " 

" What End will run my Passions, out of breath ? " 

*' Untimely Death ! " 

O me ! that Passion joined with Faith and Love 

Should with my Fortunes so ungracious prove ; 

That She'll no Fruit, nor Hope, nor End bequeath, 

But cruellest Disdain, Despair, and Death ! 


A Palinode. 

re. Wither. 

L 1615. 

" To 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 ! " 
Vv-'ell, so I will ! and since my Fate may give 
Nothing but discontents whilst here I live ; 
My Studies, Cares, and Thoughts, Fll all apply 
To weigh my Folly well, Repent, and Die ! 



yl Discourse 

tendered to the Hish Court 

of Parliament, 


I The general Use of heather ^ 
The general Abuse thereof^ 
The good which may arise to Great Britain, 
from the reformation. 
The several Statutes made in that behalf, by 
our ancient Kings : 

And, lastly, a Petition to the High Court of Par Ha- 
ment, that, out of their pious care to their country, they 
would be pleased to take into consideration the redress of 
all old abuses ; and by adding some remedies of their own, 
to cut of the new. 



Printed by T. C. for Michael Sparke, dwelling at the 
sign of the Blue Bible^ in Green Arbor. 1629. 

Eng. Gar. VI. 14 


The Contents of this Discourse. 

Irst, a Proem, or Induction to it. 

Secondly, a Comparison made between the commo- 
dities of other countries, and this of our own ; and 
then is shewed the general use of Leather. 
Thirdly, are laid open several abuses offered to England, by 
transporting her leather into foreign kingdoms. 

Fourthly, is delivered, what profit to the King, and what good 
to the Siibject shall arise by a due reformation of the abuses. 

Fifthly, are brought in several Statutes made by our ancient 
Kings, and pleading in tliat behalf. 

Sixthly and lastly, a Petition to the High Court of Parliament, 
that they would be pleased to look upon their country, and cure her 
of these enormities. 

1 1 

A Discourse concerning Leather^ 

tendered to the High Court of Parhament, 

Ingdoms are Palaces built by the great Architect 
of the world, for Monarchs to dwell in ! Nations, 
the Courtiers ! every common subject, an Officer 
attending there upon his Sovereign ! The higher 
men are seated, the broader and stronger ought 
their shoulders to be, in supportation of that State which 
they are to bear up ; whilst the hard-hand artificer and 
poorest mechanic are parts and pieces of that scaffolding 
which serves to strengthen the glory of so magnificent a 
structure. For though Kings are the Master Bees in their 
full and swelling hives ; subjects may well be called minores 
apes, which fly every day to bring home the honey. 

And albeit the earth be the proper and main foundations 
of these kingdoms : yet the best and soundest timber to raise 
up buildings, the most curious adornings, beautifyings, and 
embellishings of them, when they are up, yea, even at the 
erecting of the first story, are wise, profound, politic, and 
wholesome Laws. 

Without Laws, all nations are lame, and Sovereignty itself 
walks upon crutches ; Authority lies sick of a consumption : 
and none (at such times) have able bodies, but Insolence, 
and the rage of the harrowing multitude. The beast with 
many heads will then be head of all ! and when such a 
head is distracted, how can the limbs be but laid upon the 
rack, and torn to pieces ! 

It hath ever, therefore, been a custom in all countries, 
especially in this of ours, to invent, enact, and establish good 
Ordinances and Statutes, to serve to two uses : one as a 
snaffle, to be thrust into the mouths of the headstrong ; the 
other, as a sevenfold shield to protect the obedient. 

Yet, as there can be no concord in music without discord, 
as the best-working medicines are tempered with poison, as 
the noblest and clearest rivers have by-ways, creeks, and 
crooked windings : so there are no stratagems projected, 
how beneficial soever to a kingdom, but some busy-pated 
and malevolent spirits are raised out of hell, by sorcerous 

2 12 Look ijack upon the reigns of our Kings! \J^^^ 

charms, to cross and countermine it. Hence it comes, that 
if the whole race of man should study how to steer the helm 
of a commonwealth, hy a strong and steady hand ; yet whirl- 
winds will be raised on shore, and tempests hurl down their 
malice in thunder and lightning at sea, to shipwreck the 
industry, courage, and knowledge of those excellent pi'">ts. 

Let Law be never so sweetly strung ; there are meddling, 
spiteful singers, which can put it out of tune. Abuses even 
of the best things, grow apace, and spread their branches 
over the largest dominions : but amendments can hardly take 
rooting in the narrowest cities. 

Look back upon the reigns of our ancient Kings, upon the 
honourable Courts of Parliament holden in their ages, upon 
the wisdom, judgement, counsel, gravity, and sincerity of both 
Houses, Upper and Lower, then assembled; upon the Laws, 
the excellent Laws ! those men made ; and upon the care, 
deliberation, and serious resolution they took, in the con- 
stitution, comprising, and composing of those Laws : yet 
what statutes, how strongly soever knit then together, but by 
the paws of Lions (great men) have been since rent in sunder, 
mangled, and misused ; or by the subtilty of Foxes (blood- 
suckers of States) have had holes eaten into them, and been 
broken through, as if they had been the cobweb lawn of spiders. 

The same infection reigns now ! Corruption of goodness 
will never die ! Enormities, once crept into Kingdoms, sure, 
are whole-breasted monsters ; and it is long ere their hearts 
will break ! The sweetest sprigs are nipped in the blossom ; 
the fairest trees, eaten by caterpillars ; and the noblest land 
hath her bowels gnawn out by vipers of her own breeding. 

W'ho are those vipers ? Men, evil-minded men ! that care 
not, so their own turns be served, what laws they subvert ! 
what statutes they infringe ! what customs they violate ! 
what Orders they break ! on what sacred urns of our English 
Kings, they commit sacrilege ! by stealing from them the 
reverence due to their names for calling honourable Parlia- 
ments, Councils, and Consultations together, how to preserve 
in health this royal Kingdom ; and if any bi-disorders and 
misdemeanours should strike her sick, how to cure her. 
I leave the main ocean to expert navigators ; it is only a 
poor rivulet, that I crave pardon to row in ; and thus it runs, 
The general Use of Leather. 



The general Use of Leather. 

He heavenly Distributor of blessings hath 
with so excellent a moderation and judge- 
ment parted [shared] them among nations, 
that what one abounds in, the other wants ; 
or, if any one hath share in her neighbour's 
benefits, it is not a superfluous heap, but a 
husbandly and sparing handful : so that 
the world is the great Vine, and every 
Kingdom a Prop to support the branches, and make them 

Here will I spread the table ! and on it, plant some of the 
dishes belonging to this banquet. 

The West Indies open their womb, and are delivered of 
their golden ingots. These are the King of Spain's best sons ; 
whom he sends foith, to fight against, and conquer (if he can) 
all Christendom. 

Other countries on the American shore have their peculiar 
endowments. Some boast of their several grained woods, 
accommodable to rare and extraordinary excellent uses ; some, 
of tobacco ; some, of fishing : all can speak of their own par- 
ticular rarities ; and all are profitable and useful amongst 
countries far remote from them. 

Let us come nearer home, and look into our next neigh- 
bours' orchards, walks, and delicate gardens. 

Spain is proud of her fat wines ; her oils, iron, hides : and 
her golden apples of the Hesperides. France glories in her 
vineyards, her saltpits, and marble quarries. Germany, of her 
seventeen rich and warlike daughters, sitting enthroned, with 
the abundance of all things about them. Russia lays before 

2 14 Unmatchable goodness of English Leather, [^g-^, 

you the costly furs and the rich skins of beasts. The Eastern 
tountries [Baltic seashore] are happy in their masts, cables, 
flax, hemp, rosin, pitch, tar, turpentine, &c. 

And this, the Almighty Benefactor does, to the intent, with 
a maims manum fricat, the fire of one country should thaw the 
ice of another; the fulness of one supply the other's empti- 
ness ; and so be ever mindful of the good turns received, with 
a study of the requital Qucb milti prccstiteris meniini, seuiperque 
tcnebo. So that, by this means, they being severally beholden 
to foreigners and strangers unknown, may love one together, 
though living never so far asunder, like united friends, allies, 
and neighbours. 

This participation of the fruits and commodities which one 
land suffers to be made with another, opens a free market for 
all commerce. It is a noble mart, to which the Christian 
and Turk are invited alike. This is the golden Chain of Traffic 
and Negotiation, which doth concatenare (tie) merchants of far 
separated countries so fast together, as if they dwelt in their 
own. This increases shipping, advances the trade of fish- 
ing, nurseth up mariners, and makes us as familiar inhabi- 
tants and tenants of the sea, as the farmer and the husband- 
man are to the land. 

And as these forenamed Kingdoms have their royal maga- 
zines and storehouses; so hath England hers. Eor when she 
unlocks her treasury, there you may behold mines of tin, lead, 
and iron. What Kingdom in the world hath goodlier and 
greater cattle, to feed man, and do him service ? And where 
nobler pasture than here, to fatten beasts ? Where, larger 
sheep? where fo.ks so numerous ? where better and more 
useful wool ? What fields can please the eye for grass ; or 
fill the barns with hea\ier sheaves of corn ? Where sit any 
people by warmer fires ? our sea coalpits being able, if not 
abused, to furnish the whole island, and lend fuel to neighbour- 
ing nations. 

And yet, if truly you cast up the accounts of all those rich 
merchandises in foreign kingdoms, and balance them with 
these of our own; you shall find that not one of them all, 
either abroad or at 'home, are able for common use, extraor- 
dinar}' employment, enforced necessity, unrateable value, and 
unmatchable goodness, to compare with our English 

.^y Its necessity to all classes of people. 215 

We can live without the gold of Peru, the trees of Brazil, 
the smoke of Virginia, and the whales of Newfoundland. 
What need have we of the hot Spanish, or cool French grape ? 
Without Russia's furs, we have cloth of our own to keep us 
warm, and to make robes to adorn our Princes. But can 
our Kingdom want that excellent, useful, and commendable 
commodity of her own English Leather ? 

We have amongst us, a kind of humble, though sometimes 
complimentally cogging, proverbial speech ; when, to shew 
how well we wish to a man or woman, we say, " I would lay 
my hands under his feet, to do him good ! " What submission 
can be greater ! What free expression of love, duty, and ser- 
vice 1 Now if Leather were able to do no more but this ; to 
lay itself under our feet, were it not sufficient ? 

If no use could be made of Leather, but out of it only to cut 
and fashion boots and shoes; what a universal benefit were 
this to our country ! It reaches from the King downwards to 
his meanest vassals ; and ascends from the common subject, 
up to the Prince and Nobleman. 

Suppose we had no Leather, either of our own or from any 
other nation! and that, then necessity compelled us to travail 
hard for some new invention to preserve our feet from the 
ground : what could the brain of man hnd out for the foot and 
leg, so fit, so pliant, so comely to the eye, so curious in the 
wearing, so lasting, and so contemning all sorts of weather, as 
this treasure of the Shoemaker? 

In times of peace, how many thousand employments have 
we for Leather ? In times of war, are there not as many ? 
WHiat can W^ar perform without it ? and what not undergo, 
having the free use of it ? 

All our ancient English Kings, all our former Parliaments, 
all the Nobility, Clergy, Judges, and the learned Wits of the 
land would never have enacted so many, so severe, and such 
politic laws to bar the transportation of English Leather into 
any foreign dominions : but that they well knew, how bene- 
ficial a commodity it was to their own kingdom, being kept 
at home; and how prejudicial it would prove to the State, if 
ever it were suffered to be consumed abroad. 

How many millions, wdthin the bounds of this little island, 
of men, women, and children, eat their bread by the sweat of 
their labour ; who deal only, in this leathern commodity ? 

2i6 The Trades making use of Leather. [lel/. 

There is no City in England, no Corporation, but have hands 
working in this Tan Vat. The Kingdom is by their industry 
generally furnished : and how London thrives by them, wit- 
ness our Fairs ! by the cartloads of leather brought into 
Leadenhall, Smithfield, and other places; and all bought up 
within three days at most ! 

How many masters, besides menservants, in and about this 
honourable and populous City, would be enforced to leave 
London, and lose their freedoms, or else run into base and 
desperate courses, should they give over their trading in 
leather ! How many professions were undone, wanting the 
use of it ! How many rich households would be shut up, as 
in a time of sickness [plague] ! and though the persons might 
happily [haply] not be missed ; yet their labours would ! 

How many occupations and manual trades must be left- 
handed and go lame, if Leather, which is the staff they partly 
lean upon, be taken from them ? 

Take a survey of these few : et ah uno discc omnes. 

Shoemakers, and \ get their maintenance only by 
Curriers j Leather. 

These trades might want work, were it not for Leather. 

Book binders. 
Budget makers. 
Trunk makers. 
Belt makers. 
Case makers. 
Wool-card makers. 

Sheath makers. 

Hau-k's-Jiood makers. 

Scabbard makers. 

Box makers. 

Cabinet makers. 

Bottle and Jack makers. 



And now, within the compass of a few years, those upstart 

Coach makers, and 

Harness makers for Coach horses. 

And let thus much, being but little in words, though 
enough in substance, serve to prove the general and neces- 
sary Use of Leather. 

Now, to the Abuse. 


Of the Abuses of Leather, 

S DARKNESS shoves away light, and as the 
best working physic hath poison in it : so 
the most wholesome laws may be perverted, 
corrupted, confounded, and condemned; as 
purest waters grow thick by being troubled, 
Sithence then, that these few following 
AcUy established by all the wisdom, care, 
and providence of former times, and serv- 
ing but as a taste to a thousand more, stand up as proofs 
that the goodliest buildings may be undermined and blown 
up : it is no marvel, if this weak one and poor one of Leather 
be likewise shaken, and in danger to be confounded. 

The Use of Leather hath his place before. Now, do but 
cast your eyes on this other side, and behold what Abuses 
do attend upon it ! 

They are not many ; yet able enough to do much mischief. 
Is it not strange that our Kingdom being as plentifully 
stored with leather as any one part of the world, there 
should here, notwithstanding, be a dearth of leather? Are 
not boots and shoes (which every man, woman, and child 
must, of necessity, have) sold at extreme, unusual, and 
intolerable prices? insomuch that the rich complain of the 
excessive dearness, and the poor cannot reach to the honour 
of a new pair. How comes this to pass ? 

Doth the Abuse spring from transportation of our leather 
into foreign countries ? which hath, in all our Kings' reigns, 
as shall be shewn hereafter, been forbidden ; and is still 
forbidden ! Yet what cannot golden hooks pluck away from us ? 
to serve strangers beyond the seas ; yea, our greatest enemies. 

21 8 S'OOO Coaches in London & Westminster. [2^^ 

This, if it be true (as it is to be feared), is a great Abuse. 
But is not our wanton and prodigal expense of it at home, 
as great an Abuse, or greater than the former? I believe 
any man may say so, when he doth but look upon our infinite 
number of coaches ! What prodigal spending of leather is 
there made, in covering but one coach, and cutting out the 
harness for it ! and this leather is not the meanest sort or 
worst; but the principal and strongest, which might, otherwise, 
serve both for Sooling [soling] Leather and Upper Leather. 

It is thought, and it is easy to be known, that in London 
and Westminster and the parts adjoining, are maintained 
at least 5,000 coaches and caroches; to the furnishing of 
which throughout with leather, are consumed 5,000 hides of 

And if these two places only, spoil so much what doth the 
whole kingdom ? sithence Pride leaps into her chariot in every 
Shire, Town, and City ? 

Every private Gentleman now is a Phzeton, and must 
hurry with his thundering caroch along the streets, as that 
proud boy. 

Or, if this be not a wasting, decaying and abuse of leather ; 
what shall we think of the prodigality of our legs and feet ? 
what over lavish spending of leather is there, in boots and 
shoes ! To either of which, is now added a French proud 
superfluity of Galloshes 1 

The wearing of Boots is not the abuse ; but the generality 
of wearing, and the manner of cutting boots out with huge, 
slovenly, unmannerly, and immoderate tops! 

For the general walking in Boots, it is a pride taken up by 
the Courtier, and is descended down to the clown. The 
merchant and the mechanic walk in boots! Many of our 
Clergy, either in neat boots, or shoes and galloshes ! Uni- 
versity scholars maintain the fashion likewise. Some 
citizens, out of a scorn not to be gentile [genteel], go, every 
day, booted ! Attorneys, lawyers' clerks, serving-men, all 
sorts of men delight in this wasteful wantonness ! 

Wasteful, I may well call it! for one pair of boots eats up 
the leather of six pair of reasonable men's shoes ! 

How many thousand pairs of boots are worn in London 

and Westminster, every year ! They cannot be numbered ! 

But if there were but 1,000 pairs worn: in them are 

J.J A PAIR OF Boots equal to 6 tair of Shoes. 219 

consumed 6,000 pairs of shoes, the soles only excepted ; for 
it is meant only 6,000 upper leathers. 

Is not this,think you ! an excessive devouring, and anexceed- 
ing abuse of leather ? If this be not, I know not what can be ! 

Besides, how many several new pairs of boots doth some 
one man lavishly wear out in one year ? 

If these things, these abuses, were not ; the poor might go 
as well shod as the rich, and leather would be sold at a 
reasonable rate : which now carries a higher price, than ever 
was known in England. 


Abuses of Leather Markets, 

THESE abuses of leather, add the abuses of markets 
where hides and leather are sold ! 

And to avoid the nomination of too man}' places, 
for these disorders spread all over the kingdom, let 
Leadenhall only be pricked down ! for the circle 
and centre, in which all these devilish abuses are conjured up. 
Of which, this is the main one, viz. : 

The market is full of excellent leather, strong backs and 
good upper leathers ; all this in the morning, lies unsealed. 
Then into the market enter a crew of ancient, careful, good 
men, (ancient in villainy! careful to get wealth! but not 
caring whom to undo ! good to themselves, but bad members 
to a commonwealth !) citizens by title, Cordwainers or Shoe- 
makers by profession. 

And these are not above eight or ten in number ; rich in 
purse, poor in conscience ! full of gold, empty of goodness I 
These eight or ten (no matter what their number is, so they 
were honest !) stalk severally up and down the market, and 
spying where the heaps of best leathers are, a price is beaten 
in the tanner's ear ; but the closing up of the bargain must 
be at the tavern : where they and the tanners meet, have a 
breakfast of 30s. or 40s, { = £0 or —£% now\ which the tanner 
or they easily discharge ; and there, the leather is bought, 
before it be sealed ! which ought not to be. 

But then, a Sealer is sent for, a crown [6s.] clapped into 
his hand (where not Half is his due) to go and despatch : 
which being done, every shoemaker comes in, and seeing it 
sealed, cheapens, but cannot buy ! 

" It is sold," they say, " already." And so, on a sudden, 
all is swept away to the warehouses or cellars of these un- 
conscionable engrossers. 

So that if a shoemaker that brings but ;^4 or £^ [£i6 or 
£20 now\ to the market (his estate happily reaching no 
higher), is enforced to buy leather of these cormorants, at 
such rates as they please to set them. 

j637.] The abuses of the Leather markets. 221 

The hurts done by these men are many ; and whole famiHes 
smart and want through their greediness. Yet the mischief 
they do, comes not alone : for here another abuse follows. 

The poorer sort of tanners ; they, seeing the market swept 
of all the best leather, hold up their worst hides at as dear a 
rate as the best were paid for : and so, the said shoemaker 
is glad to buy ill ware, and pay dear for it too ! or else go 
home and do nothing. 

Another abuse is, that every week are bought and carried 
away from the market 300 or 400 raw hides at the least ; 
which being conveyed in carts to certain ends of the town, 
are there first dried and then salted ; and then sent into 
several counties to be tanned : but are never again brought 
into London. By which means, the market of the City is 
cheated of much good ware in a year; and the tradesmen 
thereby hindered, if not undone. 

The good that may arise by Reformation 
of these Abuses. 

[F IT would please the High Court of Parliament to 
take into consideration, a redress of these wrongs, 
disorders, and abuses ; by restraining the prodigal 
wasting of Leather, 

1. The prices of boots and shoes would, in a very short 
time be abated. 

2. Our country would be abundantly furnished with this 
beneficial and needful commodity. 

3. The knitting of worsted and woollen stockings, now much 
decayed throughout the whole kingdom, [would be] 
greatly put in practice. 

4. An infinite number of poor children, which now go 
begging up and down, fwouldj be set at work. 

5. Tradesmen and shopkeepers in all our cities, [would] 
have quicker doings. 

222 Probable benefits from a Reformation. [,^'7. 

6. The ancient Company of Hosiers (who, in former times, 
lived richly, by cutting out Kerseys into Cloth Stockings^; 
but are now utterly in a manner, extinguished) might 
be set up again : to the good and maintenance of many 
hundreds of families ; who might be set at work, only 
to serve their shops with those kinds of wares. 

7. And, lastly, by this means, our own country commo- 
dities might be kept at home in full abundance : whereas, 
now, they are conveyed away into other Kingdoms to 
furnish them, whilst we feel the scarcity. 

If the Masters and Wardens of the Companies of Saddlers, 
Cordwainers, and Curriers might be examined, what they 
know touching these abuses, how they come ? and from 
whom ? and by what ways these mischiefs may be prevented ? 
no question is to be made, but an easy path might be beaten 
out, to do a general good to our nation ; because they are 
men better informed in these mysteries than any others. 


The Statutes enacted in several Kings' 

Anno. 27 
Hen. 8, 
cap. 14. 

reigns, touching Leather. 

MANNER of Estranger or Denizen shall 
pack, or cause to be packed, any manner of 
Leather, to be conveyed over the seas out of 
this Realm, Wales, or other the King's 
Dominions ; otherivise than in this Act is 
expressed, that is to say, that all such Leather shall be here- 
after packed by a Packer sworn in every such port, where 
any leather shall be shipped to be conveyed out of this 
Realm, Wales, or other the King's Dominions, upon pain of 
forfeiture of all such leather, &c. 

No tanner within this Realm, Wales, or other the King's 
Dominions, or other persons occupying or having a tan house, 
shall from henceforth send, or cause to be conveyed over the sea, by 
way of merchandise or otherwise, any manner of leather, tanned or 
untanned : upon pain of forfeiture of all such leather, or the value 

Nor that any person or persons, at any time hereafter, shall 
carry over the sea out of this Realm &c,, any salted or untanned 
hide, or any leather called Back or Sole Leather, &c. 

Anno. 2 Ed. 6, cap. 11. An Act was made for the true 
tanning of Leather. 

An Act enacted in Anno, 3 Ed. 6, cap. 6. That it shall 
be lawful to divers artificers there named, to buy and sell 
tanned leather, curried or not curried : so that such should 
be converted by the buyers into wares within the King's 

Again, in Anno, 5 Ed, 6, cap, 15. No person or persons 

2 24 Statutes relatIxMG to Leather. [J,^^ 

shall ship, or cause to be shipped, to the intent to carry transport 
or convey over the seas, as merchandise to be sold or exchanged 
there, any shoes, boots, buskins, startups, or slippers : upon pain 
to forfeit all and every such shoes, &c. 

Again Anno, i Eliz., cap. lo. An Act was made that the 
carrying of leather, tallow, and raw hides out of this Realm 
for merchandise, should be Felony. 

There was a Statute made concerning Cordwainers and 
Shoemakers in 25 Ed. 3, cap. 2. 
Another in 13 Rich. 2, cap. 12. 
Another in 4 Hen. 4, cap. 35. 
Another in 2 Hen. 5, cap. 7. 

Another in 4 Ed. 4, intituled, Cordwainers and Cobblers. 
Another in i Hen. 7, called An Act against Tanners and 

Another in ig Hen. 7, intituled, For Curriers and 

Another in 3 Hen. 8. 

Another in 5 Hen. 8, intituled, An Act for Strangers for 
buying of Leather in open market. 

Another in the 14 or 15 Hen. 8, intituled, An Act concern- 
ing the liberty of Cordivaincrs and Shoemakers. 

Another in 22 Hen. 8, intituled. An Act concerning Tanners 
and Butchers. 

Another in 24 Hen. 8, intituled, An Act concerning true 
tanning and currying of Leather. 

Another to the same purpose, Anno. 2 and 3 Ed. 6, cap. g. 
Another in 4 Ed. 6, intituled, An Act for buying of rough 
hides and calves' skins. 

Another in i Eliz., where it was enacted, Thatit shall not be 
lawful for any person or persons to lade, ship, or carry into any 
vessel or ship, or otherwise, any Leather, Tallow, or raw Hides, 
of intent to transport or carry the same into any place or places of 
the parts beyond the seas, or into the Realm of Scotland, by land 
or by seas, other than Scottish hides : upon the forfeiture S-c. 

And the owners of the said ships or vessels, knowing of such 
offence, to forfeit the said ships or vessels, with all their apparel 
[tackle! and furniture to them and every of them belonging. 

And the Masters and Mariners knowing of such offence, to for- 
feit all their goods and chattels ; and to have imprisonment by the 
space of One Year, without bail or mainprize. 

jel;.] Statutes relating to Leather. 225 

Then in 4 Jacob, cap. 5, there is a long Act set down 

touching Cordwainers, Curriers, Tanners, Butchers, and 

Leather ; spreading into many and several branches, viz. : — 

No Btitcher by himself or any other person, shall gash, 

slaughter, or cut any Hide of any ox, bull, steer, or cow. 

No Butcher shall water any Hide, except in the months of 
June, July, and Augtist ; nor shall offer to put to sale any Hide 

No Butcher shall use the craft, feat, or mystery of a Tanner. 
No Tanner shall use the craft or mystery of a Shoemaker, 
Currier, Butcher, or other artificer using, or exercising, cutting, or 
working of leather. 

No Tanner shall suffer any Hide or Skin to be in the lime till 
the same be ovcrlinied ; nor shall put any Hides or Skins into any 
tan vats before the lime be well and perfectly soaked ; nor shall 
use any stuff about tJie tanning of Leather, but only ash-bark, 
oak-bark, topwort, malt, meal, or lime ; nor shall suffer his 
Leather to he laid, or to hang, or to lie wet in any frost ; nor to 
parch or dry his leather with the heat of the fire or of the summer 
sun ; nor shall suffer the hide for utter [outward] Sole Leather, 
to lie in the woozes, any less time than nine months at the least. 

No Tanner shall tan any Hide, Calves' skin, or Sheep's skin, 
with hot or warm woozes : upon forfeiture of ^10 for every such 
offence ; and also for every such offence, stand in the pillory, three 
market days. 

No Currier shall curry any kind of Leather in the house of any 
Shoemaker ; but only in his own house, and that must be situate 
in a corporate or market town : nor shall curry any kind of 
Leather, except it be well and perfectly tanned ; nor curry any 
hide being not perfectly dried after his wet season. In which wet 
season, he shall not tise any deceitful mixture ; nor curry any 
Leather meet for utter Sole Leather with miy other stuff than hard 
tallow; nor curry any leather for Over [Upper] Leather and 
Lnncr Soles but with good scuff, being fresh and not salt ; nor 
shall burn or scald any Hide or Leather in the currying, nor shall 
have any leatJier too thin ; nor shall gash or hurt any Leather in 
ili€ shaving. 

No Currier shall use the mystery of a Tanner, Cordwainer, 
Shoemaker, Butcher, or any other artificer using or cutting uf 

No Cordwainer or Shoemaker shall make, or cause to be made 
EAG. G.-iJi. VI. 15 

226 Statutes relating to Leather. \_J^^_ 

any boots, shoes, bnskins, startups, slippers, or pantoffies ; or any 
part of them, of English Leather wet curried (otJier than Dect 
skins, Calf skins, or Goat skins dressed like Spanish Leather) ; 
but of Leather zz'ell and truly tanned, and curried substantially, 
sewed with good thread {well twisted and made and sufficiently 
waxed with wax, and well rosined), and the stitches hard drawn 
with hand-leathers, without mingling of Over Leathers ; that is 
to say, part of the Over Leather being of Neafs Leather, and pari 
of Calf Leather. 

No Cordwainer or Shoemaker shall put into any boots, shoes, 
&c. (as before) any Leather made of Sheepskin, Bull hide, or 
Horse hide ; nor in the Upper Leathers of any shoes, startups &c., 
or in the nether [lower] part of any boots (the inner part of the 
shoes only excepted) any part of any Hide from which the Sole 
Leather is cut, called the Womb, Neck, Shank, Flank, Poul, or 
Cheek. Nor put in the Utter Sole, any other leather than the 
best of the Ox or Steer Hide ; nor into the Lnncr Sole, than the 
Wombs, Necks, Pouls, or Cheeks ; nor into the trewsels of the 
double-soled shoes, other than the Flanks of Hides. 

Moreover, the Masters and Wardens of Cordwainers, Curriers, 
Girdlers, and Saddlers of the City of London, upon pain to forfeit 
£^0 [=;^200 now] for every year they make default, shall, once 
every quarter, make a true search and vieiv within London, and 
within three miles of the same, for all boots, shoes, buskins, &c., 
made of tanned leather ; and if they be not made and wrought, as 
they ought to be, or insufficiently curried ; then the said Masters 
and Wardens have power to take, seize, and carry away to their 
Common Halls, all such boots, shoes, wares, stuff, or other things. 

And that all coach makers dwelling in London, or within three 
miles of the city, shall be under the survey and search of the Mas- 
ters and Wardens of the Company of the Saddlers. 

Moreover, that the Lord Mayor of London and the Aldermen 
are, upon pain of £/[o yearly, to appoint Eight Persons, free of 
the Cordwainers, Curriers, Saddlers, or Girdlers (of the which one 
shall be a Sealer, and the rest Searchers), to view and search every 
tanned Hide, Skin, or Leather which shall be brought to Leaden- 
hall Market : and there, if they find them sufficiently tanned and 
tJioroughly dried, then to seal them ; or being found defective, to 
seize them. 

And within six days after the seizing, such Hides or Leathers 
arc to be reviewed by certain Triers; whereof there are two of the 

lel?-] Statutes relating to Leather. 227 

hdtcr sort of tJie Company of the Cordicaincrs, two of the better 
sort of the Company of Curriers, and the other two of the better 
sort of the Tanners nsing Leadenhall Market. 

These Searchers and Sealers, for fear of corruption, are not 
suffered to continue in the office longer than two years : taking for 
the searching, sealing, and registering of every Ten Hides, Backs, 
or Butts of Leather (with the Necks, Wombs, and Dibbins, or 
other pieces of offal cut from the Backs or Butts), of the Seller 2d. 
[ = 6d. now], and of the Buyer as much. 

Now for the avoiding of all ambiguities and doubts, which 
may grow and arise upon the definition of this word Leather : it 
is enacted S-c, That the Hides and Skins of Ox, Steer, Bull, 
Cow, Calf, Deer red or fallow. Goat and Sheep, being tanned or 
tawed ; and every Salt Hide is, shall be, and ever hath been, 
reputed and taken for " Leather." 

All currying and dressing of Leather, commonly called Dry 
Currying and Frizzing, being construed to be ^Dressing and 
Currying of Leather after the manner of Spanish leather.'" 

To shew how careful this Parliament was to keep this 
excellent commodity of Leather to ourselves, the want of it 
bein^ so hurtful ; hear what the Act speaks against transpor- 

It is enacted &c., That if any Leather wrought, cut, or un- 
wrought, to the intent to be sold or bartered, shall hereafter 
7mlawfully be transported, or purposed to be transported into other 
parts beyond the sea, from or otd of any port, haven, or creek of 
this Realm or Wales : every Controller, Customer [Customs 
Collector], Surveyor, Collector of Tonnage and Poundage, and 
the Searchers ; and the deputy of any of them, or any other persons 
hearing or knowing, by any ways, of any Leather meant to be 
transported from any place within his Office, and do not his best 
endeavour to seize the same ; or being transported, do not disclose 
or cause the same to be disclosed within forty days next after such 
knowledge or hearing of the same, in some Court of Record, so as 
the offender may be punished according to the laws in that case 
provided, shall, for every the first offence committed against this 
Article, forfeit ;!rioo [ = ;£'500 now], and for the second offence, his 

Again, Every Customer, Officer, or Officer's Deputy that shall 
make any false certificate of any Leather in any port, creek, or 
place of this Realm, sliall also forfeit for every such offence £"100. 

2 28 Statutes relating to Leather. [2^ 

Now whereas by the covefousness of divers, regrating and in- 
grossing [rigging the market of] tanned Leather, and selling it 
again at excessive prices to saddlers, and such other artificers making 
wares of tanned Leather, those wares he grown to unreasonable 
prices: Be it enacted &c.. That no person or persons, of what 
estate degree or condition soever he or they be, shall buy or ingross, 
or cause to be bought or ingrossed any kind of tanned leather, to 
the intent to sell the same again : upon pain to forfeit the said 
leather so bought. Provided S-c, That all Saddlers, Girdlers, 
Cordwamers, and all other artificers such as make mails, bougets 
[bags], leather-pots, tankards, boar-hides, or any other wares of 
Leather, shall or may buy all such kind 
of Tanned Leather. 



The Ge?ural Grievance of all E 77 gland ; 
Man^ JFoman^ and Child. 

To THE High and Honourable Court of Parliament. 

Hereas, We, your poor Petitioners, 
jointly, with one unanimity, humbly desire 
a Reformation of this general and great 
Grievance of late, for, and in consideration 
of the great Abuse of Transportation of 
Raw Hides, Tanned Skins of great growth, 
and Calves' Skins : all which are trans- 
ported in most unreasonable manner, and under the colour 
[pretence] of the transporting of some hundred Dozens, 
many thousands are daily transported ; and that in such 
an excessive manner that not only all Skins that are brought 
into the market at Leadenhall and elsewhere, are so enhanced 
in price that they be of late raised Treble to the price they 
have been ; but, by secret bargains, almost all sorts of leather 
be bought underhand, in all countries [counties] before they 
come to markets to be sold, by divers merchants for to be 

And, moreover, it is, for certain, known, that divers 
Dutchmen come daily over, and employ poor shoemakers, 
currier?, and cobblers to be their bargain -drivers in all 
chief fairs, for great parcels of ware and sums of money, 

230 A Petition to the Parliament. Qg'^, 

whilst they themselves sit private in taverns or tippling- 
houses, to pay the money when others have driven the 
bargain. By which means the fairs and markets be so fore- 
stalled, that His Majesty's subjects cannot have the benefit of 
the fairs and markets as in times past ; the said commodities 
being bought out of His Majesty's subjects' hands. 

And likewise, of late days, some leather sellers of London, 
who do not cut, or work, or use leather, finding the great 
benefit and profit to be got by transporting, have and do 
(contrary to all equity or right) buy, or cause in private to be 
bought up, what they conveniently may. 

So that, unless there be some speedy course taken by this 
Honourable Court now assembled; it is most likely that all 
mechanics that get their livings by the said use of Leather, 
are likely to fall to utter ruin and decay ; and this commodity 
to be enhanced to such an unreasonable price that our 
enemies shall go well shod, and we bare foot ! and be utterly 
impoverished in that commodity: and all trades, which in 
times past have flourished by Leather, are now likely to be 
utterly ruinate and overthrown. 

Therefore, We, His Majesty's poor subjects, in most 
humble manner, desire in commiseration of our poor wives 
and children, [you] to take into consideration this our 
extreme grievance, and to provide for some speedy remedy.' 

And we shall daily pray for 3'our prosperous success. 



Wherein three principal Terms of State, 

mtich tnistaken by the vulgar^ 

are clearly unfolded. 

^^ui vult decipi^ decipiatur. 
Anno 1622. 

[\' This important Political Satire, which gives us, with such freshness, the 
national opinions of the hour in which it was written, is thought to have been 
printed either in Scotland or Holland.] 


'To such as understand not the English 
tongue perfectly, 

-I AT the unwise may learn to understand 

How certain Words are used in our land ; 

And that they may write sense, whilst they 

In foreign parts, or shall return again ; 
(For idioms, fashions, manners alter here. 
As friendship and religion ever\-where") : 
I have some elegancies for our tongue 
Observed, as they are used now, among 
Our ablest linguists, who mint for the Court 
Words fit to be proclaimed ; and do resort 
^\'here lords and ladies couple and converse. 
And trade lip learning, both in prose and verse. 
And by these few, the docible may see 
How rich our language is ! religious, we ! 

Time was, aPcRiTAN was counted such 
As held some Ceremonies were too much 
Retained and urged : and would no Bishops grant, 
Others to rule, who government did want. 

Time was, a Protestant was only taken 
For such as had the Church of Rome forsaken ; 
Or her known falsehoods in the highest point : 
But would not, for each toy, true peace disjoint. 

Time was, a P a p i s T was a man who thought 
Rome could not err, but all her Canons ought 
To be canonical ; and, blindly led, 
He from the Truth, for fear of Error, fled. 

But now these words, with divers others more. 
Have other senses than they had before : 
Which plainly I do labour to relate, 
As they are now accepted in our Stale. 


y^ Purita?i. 

(So nicknamed, but indeed the sound Protestant.) 

Puritan is such another thing 

As says, with all his heart, '^ GOD save the 

And all his issue ! " and to make this 

Will freelv spend his money and his blood ; 

And in his factious and fond mood, dare 
-' 'Tis madness, 'for the Palsgrave, thusto stay 
And wait the loWng leisure of kind Spain I 
Who gets at first, only to give again 
In courtesv, that faithless heretics 
May taste 'the Faith and Love of Catholics. 
And Hope too ! ^' For a Puritan is he 
That doth not hope these Holy Days to see ; 
And would a wasted countr}", on condition 
Scorn to receive \ although the High Commission 
Of England, Spain, and Rome would have it so. 
False favours he'd not take from a true foe I 

A Puritan is he, that rather had 
Spend all. to help the States he is so mad !), 
Than spend one hundred thousand pounds a year 
To guard the Spanish coasts from pirates' fear : 
The whilst, the Catholic King might force combme 
Both Holland. Beame, and PaLz to undermine ; 
And bv his cross-curse-Christian counterwork 
To mcLke Rome both fcr Antichrist and Turk 

234 T H E Interpreter. T n e P u ritan. [.eL. 

Right Catholic. So th' Empire first divided, 

By Holy Mother's pious plots (who sided 

The East, and West ; that she might get between, 

And sit aloft, and govern like a Queen) ; 

The Turk did great Constantinople gain, 

And may win Rome too, by the help of Spain. 

A Puritan is he that would not live 
Upon the sins of other men ; nor give 
Money for Office in the Church or State, 
Though 'twere a Bishopric : he so doth hate 
All ceremonies of the Court and Church, 
Which do the coffer and the conscience lurch 
Of both the'jr] treasures. So that (covetous!) he 
Would not have such as want both, better be ! 

A Puritan is he that thinks, and says 
He must account give of his works and ways : 
And tliat whatsoever calling he assumes, 
It is for others' good. So he presumes 
Rashly to censure such as wisely can 
(By taking timely bribes of every man), 
Enrich themselves : knowing to that sole end, 
GOD and the King did, them their honours send ; 
And that Simplicity hath only mounted 
By virtue ; but such fools, they'll not be counted ! 

A Puritan is he, that, twice a day. 
Doth, at the least, to GOD devoutly pray. 
And twice a Sabbath, he goes to church to hear, 
To pray, confess his sins, and praise GOD there 
In open sight of all men : not content 
GOD knows his heart, except his knee be bent, 
That men, and angels likewise, may discern 
He came to practise there, as well as learn ; 
And honour GOD with every outward part. 
With knee, hand, tongue, as well as with the heart. 

A Puritan is he, which grieves to think 
Religion should in France shipwreck and sink ; 
Whilst we give aim ! and that those men should sway 
The kingdom there, who made the King away 
The whilst all such as helped to crown the father* [♦henryiv.] 
Should by the son i be now proscribed the rather. [| louis 

A Puritan, in unadvised zeal, y.iw.^ 

,4.] The Interpreter. The P u r i t a n, 2^^ 

Could wish that huntsmen ruled the Common weal : 
And that the King's hounds were the only spies, 
For they would tell truth ! as the others, lies. 
He wisheth beasts were men, as men resemble 
Beasts: for surely they would not dissemble ! 
But would tell where the fault lies, and hunt home 
The subtle Fox, either to Spain or Rome. 

A Puritan is he, that speaks his mind 
In Parliament : not looking once behind 
To others' danger ; nor yet sideways leaning 
To promised honour, his direct true meaning. 
But for the Laws and Truth doth firmly stand : 
By which, he knows, Kings only do command; 
And Tyrants otherwise. He crosseth not 
This man, because a Courtier or a Scot ; 
Or that, because a Favourite, or soe : 
But if the State's friend, none can be his foe ! 
But if the State's foe (be he what he will, 
Illustrious, wise, great, learned), he counts him ill. 
He neither sides with that man nor with this, 
But gives his voice just as the reason is, 
And yet, if Policy would work a fraction 
To cross Religion by a foreign faction 
Pretending public good; he'll join with those 
Who dare speak Truth, not only under the rose, 
But though the White Rose and the Red do hear ! 
And though the pricking Thistle too be there ! 
Yea, though the stars,''' the moon,''' the sun,* [»TheNobi- 

, , lity, Prince 

look on, CHAiii.Es, arid 

And cast, through clouds, oblique aspects upon King james.] 

His clear and free intentions ; he's as bold 

And confident as the bright marigold ! t tt Buckingham.] 

That flatterer, that favourite of the sun, 

Who doth the self-same course observe and run ; 

Not caring though all flowers else wax sear, 

So he, the golden livery may wear ! 

But our free, generous, and noble spirit 

Doth from his ancient English stock, inherit 

Such native worth and liberty of mind, 

As will omit no slavery of his kind ; 

Yet he is ready to obey wheresoe'er 

236 T 11 E I N T E R r R E T E R. T 11 E P U R I TA N. [J^^^ 

He may not prejudice the Truth by fear, 
Nor faintly seem to shrink, withdraw, give way, 
Whilst other mushrumpes * do the State betray. 
He'll not a traitor, be unto the King, [* Mushrooms.] 

Nor to the Laws (for that's another thing 
Men dream not of, who think they no way can 
Be traitors unto many, for one man), 
But his chief error is to think that none 
Can be a traitor, till Law calls him one ; 
And that the Law is what the State decrees 
In Parliament : by which, whilst that he sees 
His actions and intentions justified. 
He counts himself a martyr glorified. 
If, in this cause, he suffers ; and contemns 
All dangers in his way. Nay, he condemns 
All such as traitors be to Church and State, 
Who for the love of one, all others hate ! 
And for particular ends and private aims. 
Forsake their Country ! and their conscience maim ! 
His Character abridged, if you would have. 
He's one, that would a Subject be, no Slave ! 



A Protestarit, 

(So will the Formalist be called.) 

Protestant is such an other thing 

As makes, within his heart, God of the 

And (as if he did, with his Crown inherit 
A never-erring and infallible spirit). 
Labours to blow him up by praise of wit, 
And by false flatteries cosen him of it. 
A Protestant is one that shakes his head 
And pities much the Palsgrave was misled 
To meddle with Bohemia, and incense 
The Spanish wrath ; 'gainst which, there is no fence ! 
That his revenues in the Palz again 
Were well restored, he wishes ; so that Spain 
Would take the honours of that house, and give 
Mentz his demands, letting the Palsgrave live : 
For such a favour as his lands and life, 
Not one, except the father of his wife 
(That King of Peace and Love !) dares boldly crave 
But what is it he may despair to have 
By means of th'English and the Scottish Saint, 
Who, at their pupils' suit, doth still acquaint 
The Spanish Patron, how, the first of May, 
Philip and James make one Holy Day ; 
What therefore's given to one, the other must 
Be shares in ; for James is surnamed " Just." 
And so, this year, by Holy Church's count, 

238THE Interpreter. TheProtestant. [.sL. 

The Calendar reformed hath singledout, 

These two most sacred Saints to wait upon 

Our Saviour's feast of Resurrection, 

Which by the English heathen computation 

Meets with May Day among the Catholic nation ; 

And may be such a dav, as that, for goodness, 

Which some called "111 May Day " from people's woodness, 

A day of feasting, and a day of pleasure, 

A day of marriage, and withal of treasure, 

A day of Catholic unity and love 

Which may a kind of resurrection move 

In our State, Union ; almost now forgot, 

Being buried both by th'English and the Scot. 

Spain strikes betwixt, and like a Lord commands, 

They join their Laws together with their Lands : 

And join they will ! but in despite of Spain, 

Making his Holy Day of hope but vain. 

A Protestant is he, that fain would take 
Occasion from the East or West, to shake 
Our League with the United Provinces : 
To which end, he hath many fair pretences. 
Our Honour first, for in the Greenland, they, 
And the East Indies, beat our ships away. 
Our Profit likewise, for in both those places 
We do great loss sustain, besides disgraces : 
And in the Narrow Seas, where we are masters; 
They will presume to be our herring-tasters ! 
But we should have white herrings wondrous plenty, 
If they would give us two of every twenty ; 
Or stay our idle leisure, till that none 
Remained for them or us, but all were gone. 
And if they will not thus, our humours serve, 
" That we," saith he, "should leave them, they deserve ! " 
A herring cob. we see, will make him quarrel ; 
What would the man do, think you ! for a barrel ? 
Well could I wish these things were all amended ; 
But greater business, now, is to be 'tended. 
Our Lives, Religions, Liberties, and Lands 
Upon this nice and tickle quarrel stand; 
And we must for a fitter time attend, 
lilse Spain will soon this controversy end ! 

leLJTiiE Interpreter. The Protestant. 239 

A Protestant is he, that, by degrees, 
Climbs every Office ; knows the proper fees 
They give and take, at entrance of the Place, 
And at what rate again, they vent that grace ; 
Knows in how many years a man may gather 
Enough to make himself a reverend father, 
Or from the lowest civil step arise 
To sit with honour in the starry skies : 
For he hath gone that Progress, step by step, 
As snails creep up where safely none can leap ; 
For snails do leave behind their silver slime, 
And guild the way for falling as they climb. 

A Protestant is he that with the stream 
Still swims, and wisely shuns every extreme ; 
Loves not in point of faith to be precise ; 
But to believe as Kings do, counts it wise : 
If CoNSTANTiNE the Great will christened be ; 
This will the white robe wear as well he ! 
And in the hallowed fountain plunge amain 
His naked body, as if every stain 
Were now washed off, and his inflamed zeal 
Thirsted these waters, which soul's sin doth heal. 
Again, if Julian will renounce his faith; 
This man will say, just as his Sovereign saith. 
If he intend Religion to betray. 
And yet will walk a close and covert w^ay, 
Corrupting men by office, honour, bounty, 
You shall find this man will deserve a County ; 
By double dealing and by broking so, 
That none shall think him ere they find him too 
Apostated : for no way so doth work 
To make a man an Atheist, Jew, or Turk, 
As do corrupted manners, which let in 
A deluge of impiety and sin. 
These, backed by favour and preferment, may 
Have power to make all error open way ; 
And every man will censure opposition, 
When gilden flattery kills without suspicion. 
This poisoned vial then was poured in 
When, first, the Church got means to maintain sin; 
And now the means withdrawn or misemployed, 

240 The Ixtertreter. The Protestant, \_J^,_^ 

Makes all religion and all conscience void. 

For man that hunts for honour, wealth, or fame, 

Will be as those be, who dispose the same. - 

So that no readier way there can be found 

To conquer us, than to corrupt the sound 

By bribes ; the worst assault that can befall 

To Bodies Politic, confounding all. 

Gifts blind the wise. And though the Chequer be 

Open and empty, as erst full and free ; 

Yet other bribes can work the same effect 

That Mammon would. The favour and respect 

Of Favourites, a nod or wink from Kings, 

Employment, Office, Grace are able things ! 

Besides, the honoured style of Viscount, Lord, 
Earl, Marquess, Duke can work, at every word, 
Strange alterations, more than Circe's cup, 
In such as can, no other ways get up. 

Will he speak tnith directly ? Make him then 
A Dean, or Bishop ! they are no such men ! 
The wolf hath seen them first ! Their throat is furred, 
You shall not hear from them, a factious word ! 

Stands he for Laiv, and custom of the land ? 
Make him an Officer! Give him command ! 
Command, where he may gain ! this will bewitch 
Demosthenes, who labours to be rich. 

What, is he bold and forward ? Send him out 
On some embassage ! or employ the stout 
At sea or land ! some desperate voyage, where 
They may be lost ! Then leave them helpless there ! 
Undo them thus ! Before, they had too much ; 
But being poor, they'll nothing dare to touch ! 
This ostracism will, sure, abate their pride; 
And they sliall give great thanks for it beside ! 

If he he poor, oppress him ! shut him out 
In forlorn banishment, where round about 
The faithless world, he may his living seek! 
Then no man, after him, will do the like. 

If he he faint, check him ! or do but chide. 
He'll hold his tongue, and his tail closely hi_le ! 

Is he free-tongued, tJioiigh serious and discreet ? 
Proclaim him silent ! Whip him through the street ! 

jg-^J The Interpreter. J h e P ro t es t a nt. 241 

Thus, whatsoe'er is done, nor bird shall dare 
To warn the rest, till all be in the snare. 

7s he a rich man ? Then, the Fleet and fine 
Will make him seem, although he be not, thine. 

Briefly, whatsoe'er he be, except alone 
Directly honest (of which few or none 
Remain alive) a Statist, ways can find, 
By policy to work him to his mind. 
And thus the Common wealth may conquered be, 
The Church deflowered, beslaved our Liberty, 
Without all bloodshed ; under the pretence 
Of Peace, Religion, Love, and Innocence. 

A Protestant is an indifferent man, 
That with all faiths, or none, hold quarter can ; 
So moderate and temperate his passion 
As he to all times can his conscience fashion. 
He at the Chapel, can a Bishop hear; 
And then in Holbom a religious Freer. 
A Mass ne'er troubles him more than a Play; 
All's one : he comes all one, from both away. 

A Protestant, no other fault can spy 
In all Rome's beadroll of iniquity, 
But that, of late, they do profess King-killing ; 
Which Catholic point, to credit he's unwilling. 
Only because he gains by Kings far more. 
Than he can hope for, by the Romish whore. 
He saith, " This only, doth the Pope proclaim 
For Antichrist, because that Greekish name 
Doth signify Against the LORD's Anointed"; 
As if it only, 'gainst this doctrine pointed. 
And therefore leaving this out of their Creed; 
He in the rest, with them is soon agreed. 
And so the King's part may be safe from fear : 
Let GOD Himself, for His own part, take care ! 

A Protestant is he, that guards the ear 
Of Sovereign Justice, so that Truth to hear 
He's not permitted ; nor to know the danger 
He stands in, 'twixt the Subject and the Stranger; 
The plots which strangers have, grief of his own; 
Which may too late be prevented, known. 
For though his foes be wily wolves and foxes, 

£JVG. Gar. VI. l6 

242 The IXTERTRETER. TlIE P R O T E S T A N T.\_J^^^ 

His subjects shackled asses, yoked oxes : 
Yet time will show them not to be such daws 
As will look on, whilst others change the Laws, 
And rob the State, Religion do deflower; 
Having their Prince imprisoned in their power ! 
As Princes have been prisoners to their own ; 
And so may ours too, if the truth were known : 
The liberty of will by strong affection 
May be restrained ; which is the worst subjection \ 
Vov then the understanding will not see, 
But rusheth on whatsoe'er the danger be. 

A Protestant is be, whose good intention 
Deserves an English and a Spanish pension, 
Both for One service ; and obtains it too 
By winning Spain, more than their arms could do. 
With long delays : and losing us and ours ; 
\\'hat lost, to get again we want both powers. 
And perhaps will. 

Others by treaties and disputes may gain ; 
But we by blows : else old said saws be vain ! 

A Protestant is he, that hath no eye 
Beyond his private profit ; but doth lie 
In wait to be the first that may propound 
What he foresees Power plots. The solid ground 
He ne'er examines : be it right or wrong, 
All's one 1 since it doth to his part belong. 
For to his part belongs to sooth and flatter 
The greatest Man, though in the foulest matter; 
And him, he holds a rebel, that dare say 
" No man against the Laws, we must obc}' ! " 

His character abridged, if you will have. 

He's one that's no true Subject, but a Slave ! 


A Papist. 

Romanist is such an other thing 

As would, with all his heart, murder the 

That saith, " The House of Austria is ap- 
To rule all Christians ; and for this anointed 
By Christ's own Vicar: and they, rebels 
are ; 

Who dare against this House make any war, 
Invasive or defensive." Jesuits' wit 
And Indian gold do both attend on it ; 
And all Rome's hierarchy do plot, pray, curse, 
And spend the strength of body, soul, and purse 
To this sole end, that every State besides, 
May be the vassals to the Austrian pride. 
And so Rome may, of both the Empirics, 
Keep still the Civil and Religious keys. 

A Romanist is he, that sows debate 
'Twixt Prince and People; and 'twixt every State 
Where he remains : that he, by the division, 
May work himself some profit in decision ; 
Or bring in Rome and Spain to make all friends 
Who, having footing once, have half their ends. 
For as the Devil, since first he got within 
Man's heart, keeps still there by Original Sin ; 
So those wheresoe'er once they Interest gain 
Keep all ; or such a party let remain 
Behind, assured to them, as may procure 
A relapse, when men think themselves secure. 

244 The Interpreter. The Papist. Q^L 

Thus each disease, though cured, remains in part : 
And thus the frail flesh oft betrays the heart. 
Now, for the rest, no Romish false opinion 
Can make a Papist in the King's dominion ; 
Nor absence from the Church : for, at this season, 
He is no Papist that commits not treason ! 
Let him to Church resort, or be Recusant ; 
All's one ! he's counted a good Protestant. 
Nay, 'tis a question, if Guy Fawkes were one > 
But 'tis resolved that Papist, he was none. 
His Character abridged, if you will have, 
He is Spain's Subject, and a Romish Slave ! 




O R A 

Caution to keep Money. 

With the 

Causes of the scarcity and misery of the want 

hereoj, in these hard and jnerciless Times, 

AS AL so 

How to save it in our diet, apparel, recreations, &c. 

yfnd also 
What honest courses men in want may take to live. 

By H. P., Master of Arts. 





Printed Ann. Dom. i 647. 

[This date is a misprint, apparently for 1641. This first edition was privately printed, 
see/. 248.] 


(\Ve have been careful to distinguish in the present text, what 
Peacham himself wrote, from the additions by his friend [p. 248] and 
others, in the posthumous editions of 1664, 1667, 1669, and 1676. 

All such fresh matter, whether in the text or side-notes, is shewn 
between square brackets, [ ].) 


To the every way deserving and worthy 
Gentleman, Master Richard Gipps, 
eldest son unto Master Richard Gipps, 
one of the Judges of the Court of Guild- 
hall, in the city of London. 

Hen I finished this discourse of The Worth of a 
Penny, or A Caution to keep Money, ajid bethinking 
myself luito icJiom I should offer the Dedication ; none 
came more opportmiely into my thought, than your- 
self ! For I imagined, if I should dedicate the same unto any 
penurious or miser-able minded man, it would make him worse, 
and be more uncharitable and illiberal : if unto a bountiful and 
free-minded Patron, I should teach him to hold his hand ; and, 
against his nature, make him a miser. I, to avoid either, made 
choice of yourself ! who being yet unmarried, walk alone by your- 
self ; having neither occasion of the one nor the other. 

Besides, you. have travelled [in] France and Italy, and I hope 
have learned Thrift in those places : and understand what a virtue 
Parsimony is, for want thereof, how many young heirs iii Eng- 
land have galloped through their estates, before they have been 
thirty ! 

Lastly, my obligation is so much to your learned and good 
father, and (for goodness) your incomparable mother; that I 
should ever have thought the worse of myself, if I had not cum 
tota mea supellex sit chartacea, as Erasmus saith, I had 
not expressed my duty and hearty love to yoit, one way or other. 
Whose in all service, 

I am truly, 

Henry P e a c h a m . 


[An Advertisement to the Reader. 

By William Lee, the Publisher, in 1664, and 1667. 

1664. Master Peacham, many years since, having finished this httle 
book of Tlie Wortli of a Penny, did read it unto me ; and some eminent 
friends of his, being then present, we were much pleased with his con- 
ceits. The chief intent of printing it, was to present then\ \copies\ to 
his friends. 

But some years after, Mr. Peacham dying, and the book being so 
scarce that most of the considerable booksellers in London had never 
heard of it, many Gentlemen of great worth were very importunate with 
me, to print the book anew : but after much search and inquiry, I found 
the book without any printer's name, and without any true date \i.c., 
1647 instead 1641 or 2] ; and having procured it, to be licensed and 
entered [/>/ 1664], and corrected all the mistakes in it, I have, in an orderly 
way, reprinted a small number of them, word for word, as it was in the 
original. Only a friend of his, that knew him well in the Low Countries, 
and when he was Tutor to the Earl of Arundel's children, hath added 
some notes in the margent, and translated some Greek and Latin 
sentences, which were omitted in the first impression. 

To speak much of the worth of the Author is needless, who, by his 
own Works, hath left unto the World a worthy memorial of himself ; his 
book called The complete Gentleman, being in the year 1661, reprinted 
the third time : and divers others books of his. 

And, Reader, know, that there is no felicity in this life, nor comfort at 
our death, without a good conscience in a healthful body, and a com- 
petent estate : and most remarkable is the saying of that eminent wise 
man — 

Industry is Fortune's right hand, and Frugality her left. 

Read this book over, and if thou hast a Penny, it will teach thee how to 
keep it ; and if thou hast not a Penny, it will teach thee how to get it. 
And so, farewell. W. L. 

1667. Reader, I reprinted this little book about two years since \June 
24, 1664], and the number printed presently selling in a few days all away, 
I intended suddenly to have printed it again ; but the great judgement of 
that fearful Plague, 1665, hindered the printing of it : and it being after- 
wards fitted for the press, the late dreadful Fire burnt that copy {eaition^ 
with many thousands of otlier books burnt with it. 

But now [JA^y 17, 1667], it is so well fitted and corrected ; with some 
useful additions printed in a change of letter Yltalic type, as also in this 
1883 edition^ that, with your good husbandry it will so increase your 
store, that you may have " a penny to spend, a penny to lend, and a penny 
for thy friend." 

The number of books {copies^ printed then [1664] was so much sold off 
within a few days in London, that there hath not been books left for to 
serve the country, not one for every shire in England ! that the country 
at this day, is altogether unfurnished with them. W. L.] 




R A 

Caution to keep Money. 

He Ambassador [J. Ben Abdella] of 
MuLEY Hamet Sheik, King of Morocco, 
when he was in England, about four or 
five years since [He arrived in London on 
October 8, 1637], said on a time, sitting at 
dinner at his house at Wood street, " He 
thought verily, that Algiers was four times 
as rich as London." An English merchant 
replied that he " thought not so ; but that London was far 
richer than that ! and for plenty, London might compare 
with Jerusalem, in the peaceful days of Solomon." 

For my part, I believe neither ! especially the merchant. 
For, in the time of Solomon, silver was as plentiful in Jeru- 
salem as stones in the street : but with us, stones are in far 
more abundance, when, in every street in London, you may 
walk over five thousand loads, ere you will find a single Penny. 
Again, the general complaint and murmur throughout the 
Kingdom, of the scarcity and want of money, argues that we 
fall far short of that plenty which the merchant imagined. 

And, one time, I began to bethink myself, and to look into 
the causes of our want and this general scarcity : and I found 
them manifold. 

First, some men, who, by their wits or industry, or both, 
have screwed or wound themselves into vast estates, and 
gathered thousands like the griffins of Bactria; when they 
have met with a gold mine, so brood over and watch it, day 
and night, that it is impossible for Charity to be regarded, 
Virtue rewarded, or Necessity relieved : and this we know to 
have been the ruin, not only of such private persons them- 
selves, but of whole Estates and Kingdoms. That I may 
instance one for many. Constantinople was taken by the 

250 IMoxsiEUR Gaulart andiils iiiduex money. ["■r^^'^l'g^™: 

Turk, when the citizens abounding in wealth and money, 
would not part with a penny in the common necessity : no, 
not for the repair of their battered walls ! or the levying of 
soldiers to defend them. 

Another sort doat upon the stamp of their money, and the 
bright lustre of their gold ; and, rather than they will suffer 
it to see the light, will hide it in hills, old walls, thatch or 
tiles of their houses, tree roots, and such places : as, not 
many years since, at Wainfleet in Lincolnshire, there was 
[Helmets eaten found in digging of a back side to sow hemp in, an 
the°r"olinru'lt, old rusty hclmct of iron, rammed in full of pieces 
foimd''f!iied of go^*^ '^^^^^ ^^^ picture and arms of King Henry I. 
with monies of And moncy thus hid, the owner seldom or never 

ancient inscrip- , -,11 -i" x* ij 

tion. 1664.] meets withal agaui ; bemg, many tunes, prevented 
by sudden death, by casualty, or their forgetfulness. 

Monsieur Gaulart, a Great Man of France, though none of 
[About 33 the wisest, in the times of the Civil Wars, buried 

years suice v nr r -• -t 

[1629], not far somc 2,000 crowns [^£000= £3, 000 iiow\, a mile 
stabie^^many or two from his housc, in an open fallow field: and 
pieces of silver ^^^^^ }^g might know thc place again, took his mark 

were taken o_ r . 

up; which the froiii thc spirc of a steeple that was right against 
thrown upon the place. The wars being ended, he came, with a 
funw"^t!ems frlcnd of his, as near the place as he could guess, 
riie'-'were ^^ '°°^ ^'^^ ^^^ moncy. Which he not finding, and 
found to be wondering what the reason should be, after, in the 
impr'essIon'oV^ circumferencc, he had gone about the steeple, 
[iiem!" Mr. being right against it which way soever he went ; 
John ski.den quoth hc to liis friend, " Is there no cheating 

much valued , . 1 • 1 1 • j 1 11 • 

them for their knavc, think you ! m the steeple, that turns it 
someoflhem about, intending to cheat me of my money ? " 
having been imagining that it went round and himself stood 

stamped, as he -ii r\ ■> • ^ r- 

said, above Still, as CoPERNicus did of thc Globe of the 

900, and some t^ .,1 
a 1000 years. i^ ai t U . 

1664.] Indeed, much money and treasure, in former 

manygreat'^^'^ timcs, as in the invasions of the Saxons, Danes, 

sumsofmoney and Nomians here with us, and of others in other 

ground; which places, hath been this way bestowed ; and for this 

the're,''dur1n? fcason, in such troublesome times, become scarce 

theheatof the for wholc Agcs aftcr, but this is no true cause of 

late unnann-al „ ^ . ,^. 

wars. 1664.] Want ol moncy in our 1 imes : wherein, it is true, 
we have little money to hide ; yet there are not wanting 

H. Peaehatn 
? 164 

"JThe characteristics of a Miser in 1641. 251 

among us, those monednlcB or money-hiding daws, who repine 
and envy that either King or country should be one penny 
better (yea, even in the greatest extremity !) for what they 
have conveyed into their holes. 

And most true it is, that money so heaped up in chests 
and odd corners, is like, as one saith, to dung; which while 
it lieth upon a heap doth no good, but dispersed and cast 
abroad, maketh fields fruitful. Hence Aristotle concludeth 
that the prodigal man is more beneficial to, and deserveth 
better of, his country, than the covetous miser. Every trade 
and vocation fareth the better for him, as the tailor, haber- 
dasher, vintner, shoemaker, sempster, hostler, and the like. 

The covetous man is acquainted with none of these. For 
instead of satin, he suits himself in sacken. He trembles, 
as he passeth by a tavern door, to hear a reckoning of 8s. 
[^30s. now] sent up into the Half Moon [? how window] for 
wine, oysters, and faggots : for his own natural drink, you 
must know ! is between that the frogs drink [simple water] 
and a kind of pitiful small beer too bad to be drunk, scarbeer, 
and somewhat too good to drive a water mill. Broom in'the 
The haberdasher gets as little by him as he did by lovv countries 
an old acquaintance of mine at Lynn in Norfolk : «<7w"]theglnon, 
who, when he had worn a hat eight and thirty '^ -""ch uke k. 
years, would have petitioned Parliament against haberdashers 
for abusing the country, in making their ware so slight ! 
For the shoemaker, he hath as little to do with him, as ever 
Tom Coryat had. For sempsters, it is true, that he loves 
their faces better than their fashions. For Plays, if he read 
but their titles upon a post [the Bill of the Play], it is enough. 
Ordinaries [Eating-houses with table d'hotcs] he knows none ! 
save some of three pence [i.e., a threepenny ( = is. now) dinner], 
in Black Horse Alley, and such places. For tapsters and 
hostlers, they hate him as hell ! as not seeing a mote in his 
cup once in seven years. [This miser-able Master supped liis 
man and himself, at the inn, with a quart of milk ! 1664.J 

Another cause of scarcity and want of money are peaceful 
Times, the nurses of pride and idleness ; wherein people 
increase, yet hardly get employment. Those of the richer 
and abler sort give themselves to observe and follow every 
fashion ; as what an infinite sum of money goeth out of this 
kingdom into foreign parts, for the fuel of our fashionable pride ! 

252 Occasions of the great want of Coin. ["-^ 


Let me hereto add the multitude of strangers that daily 
,-,.^ ^ ,. ^ come over into our warmer soil, as the cranes in 
g.,id being at a Winter betake themselves to -bgypt ; where, havmg 
beyond'iheTeas cnrichcd themsclvcs through our folly and pride, 
n-uion.'isa'^'^" they return and purchase great estates in their 
great cause of Qwu countrlcs : euhaucing there, our monies to a 

the transpor- , • , . j. i 1 • • • j xl • 

tationofit. higher rate, to their excessive gain and the im- 
"^^^^■^ poverishing our people of England. 

Let me add hereto besides, the great sums of money and 
many other great and rich gifts, which have been formerly 
conferred on strangers : which, how they have been deserved, 
I know not ! Some, I am sure ! like snakes taken up, and 
having got warmth from the Royal fire, have been ready to 
hiss at and sting, as much as in them lieth, both their finders 
and their founders. 

Again, there is an indisposition of many to part with 
money in these tickle Times : being desirous if the worst 
should happen, to " have their friends about them," as Sir 
Thomas More said, filling his pockets with gold, when he was 
carried to the Tower. 

There is likewise almost a sensible decay of Trade and 
traffic : which being not so frequent, as heretofore, by reason, 
as some would have it, the seas are now more pestered with 
pirates than in times past ; the " receipt of custom," like the 
stomach, wanting the accustomed nourishment, is constrained 
to suck it from the neighbourfing] veins to the ill disposition 
and weakening of the whole body. 

They are no few or small sums, which, in Pieces of Eight 
[How much -i.e., eif:;ht Rials, the brc sent Mexican dollar =^ as. yi. 

gold IS con- I ' o _ ' r _ T^ o 

yeyed thither now] arc camcd over to the East Indies : no doubt to 
1664.7 "^ the great profit and enriching of some in particular; 
but whether of the whole Kingdom in general, I know not ! 

What hurt, our late questioned Patentees, in Latin Hiru- 
dincs [bloodsuckers], have done to the common body, in suck- 
ing and drawing forth even the very life-blood from it ; 
we know daily, and more we shall know shortly. 

I wish some of the craftiest and most dangerous among 
them, might be singled out for examples ! remembering 
that of Tacitus: 

PcBna ad paucos, timor ad multos. 
[The punishment to feiv, but the terror to many. 1664.] 

H.Peacham.-| jjjg MoNEY Lenders OF MooR Fields. 253 

All people complain generally, as I have said, of the want 
of money ; which, like an epidemical disease, hath over-run 
the whole land. The City hath litde Trading [which is the 
Mother of Money : for he who buys and sells, feels not what he 
spends. 1667]. Country farmers complain of their rents yearly 
raised (especially by their Catholic landlords, which, in times 
past, have been accounted the best ; though now the case 
is altered, and easily may the reason be guessed) : yet can 
find no utterance for their commodities, or must sell them at 
under rates. Scholars, without money, get neither patrons 
nor preferment ; mechanic artists [skilled workmen], no work : 
and the like of the other professions. 

One very well compared worldly wealth or Money unto a 
Foot Ball : some few nimble-heeled and [nimblej-headed 
run quite away with it ; when most are only lookers-on, and 
cannot get a kick at it, in all their lives. 

Go but among the Usurers in their walk in Moor Fields, 
and see if you can borrow :!f 100 [=£350 now] of any of them, 
without a treble security, with the use [interest] , one way or 
other, doubled ! and as yourself, so must your estate be 
particularly known ! 

A pleasant fellow came, not long since, to one of them, 
and desired him that he would lend him £^0 [a country 

• — riJC now]. tenant meeting: 

LAj/J - ,..,^, With his miser- 

Ouoth the usurer, " My friend, I know you able landlord, 

y, „ f J > •'in the 'leim 

not ! time, did offer 

" For that reason only, I would borrow the money ^^"^^ ^^l p™"'" 

of you," [said the other, 1Q67\ ; "for if you knew °4om'^iie uind 

me, I am sure you would not lend me a penny! " lord said,"i;ea 

Another meets a creditor of his, in Fleet street : fnd?aveone ' 

who seeing his old debtor, " Oh, Master A," quoth ^'^f^^fiv'^ , 

<-> . '. ' 11 ^^ '"^ other ! 

he, "you are met m good time! You know there and i win take 
is money between us, and hath been a long time ; Ifyouhadspe^it 
and now it is become a scarce commodity." (/'!"'/«'////'^'' 

" It is true, Sir," quoth the other, " for," he '£';'^fl'^^{j 
looking down upon the stones that were between, 
"" in good faith ! I see none." 

And this was all the citizen could get at that time ; but 
afterwards, he was well satisfied. 

Whom would it not vex, to be indebted to many of your 
shopkeepers ? who, though they have had their bills truly paid 

254 Money is required for everything. ["•^'^^'^I;"; 

them for many years together, yet (upon the smallest distaste 
of a petty mistake, reckoning, or some remnant behind) 
will be called upon ! openly railed at ! by their impudent and 
clamorous wives, insulted over ! and lastly, arrested ! which 
should, methinks, teach every young Fashion-monger, either 
to keep himself out of debt, or money in his purse to provide 
Cerberus a sop. 

Another misery proceeding from the want of money is that 
when it is due unto you, by your own labour or desert, from 
some rich miser-able, or powerful man or other, by long wait- 
ing, day by day, yea hourly attendance, at his house or 
lodging; you not only lose your time and opportunity of 
getting it elsewhere, and when all is done, to be paid after 
five in the hundred, in his countenance, or else fair and can- 
did promises, which will enrich you straight ! 

Promissis dives qidlihet esse potest. 
[If words and promises would pass for coin; there- 
would be no man poor. 1664 [, 

And some poor men there are, of that currish and inhuman 
nature : whom, if you shall importune through urgent neces- 
sity, then are you in danger to lose both your monies and 
their favour for ever. 

Would you prefer and place your son in the University ? 
Let him deserve never so well, as being an able and ready 
Grammarian, yea, Captain of his Form ! you shall very hardly 
prefer him, wdthout Great Friends joined with your great 
Purse ! For those just and charitable Times wherein Desert 
seldom went without its due, are gone ! 

The like, I may say of the City : where, if the Trade [line 
of business] be anything like, j^ou cannot place your son, 
under ^^'Go or ;£"ioo [=£210 or ^350 now] ; though by nature 
he were, as many are, made for the same, and of wit and 
capacity never so pregnant. 

Or have you a daughter, by birth well descended, virtuous, 
chaste, fair, comely, endued with the best commendable 
qualities that may be required in a young, beautiful, and 
modest Maid : if you have not been, in your life-time, thrifty 
to provide her a Portion, she may live till she be as old as 
Creusa, or the Nurse of ^Eneas, ere you shall get her a good 

H. Peach 

lov.'] Successful pleading of a Frexcii Lady. 255 

Nam genus et forniam Regina Pecunia donat, 
[Money 's a Queen ! that doth bestow 
Beauty and Birth to high and low. 1664.] 

is as true as old. Hence the Dutch have a proverb, that 
" Gentihty and Fair Looks buy nothing in the market." 

If you happen to be sick and ill ; if your purse hath been 
lately purged, the Doctor is not at leisure to visit you ! yea, 
hardly your neighbours and familiar friends ! But unto 
monied and rich men, they fly as bees to the willow palms ! 
and, many times, they have the judgement of so many, that 
the Sick is in more danger of them, than of his disease. 

A good and painful Scholar having lately taken his Orders, 
shall be hardly able to open a Church door without a Golden 
Key, when he should ring his bells [i.e., ring himself in]. 
Hence it comes to pass, that so many of our prime wits run 
over sea to seek their fortunes ; and prove such vipers to 
their mother country. 

Have you but an ordinary suit in law, let your cause or 
case be never so plain or just, if you want wherewith to 
maintain it, and, as it were, ever and anon to water it at the 
root, it will quickly wither and die ! 

I confess friends may do much to promote it, and may 
prevail by their powerful assistance in the prosecution [as 
by the following story appears. 1667.] 

There was, of late years, in France, a marvellous fair and 
goodly Lady, whose husband being imprisoned for [Beauty i/ not 
debt or something else, was constrained to be his T>-ovfrmo"eak 
Solicitor, and, in her own person, to follow his suit jrw/i^eeV] 
in law, through almost all the Courts in Paris; and indeed, 
through her favour, got extraordinary favour among the 
Lawyers and Courtiers, and almost a final despatch of all 
business : only she wanted the King's hand, who was Henry 
IV. of famous memory. He, as he was a noble, a witty, and 
an understanding Prince, understanding how well she had 
sped (her suit having been, in the opinion of most men, 
desperate or lost), told her that "for his part, he would 
willingly sign her Petition." Withal, he asked her, " How 
her husband did ? " and bade her, from himself, to tell him, 
" That had he not pitched upon his horns, he had utterly 
been spoiled and crushed ! " 

256 How CONFIDENT ARE MONEYED MeN ! ["' ^r'l'e^'^: 

So that hereby was the old proverb verified, " A Friend in 
ithgoodto Court is better than a Penny in the Purse." But, 
'b7u/u7ar'' as friends go nowadays, I had rather seek for 
hetterneverto thcm in my purse, than in the Court: and I 

ha'ne need of r\ , • c "J 

them. 1669. behcve many Courtiers are 01 my mind. 

Again, to teach every one to make much of and to keep 
money, when he hath it ; let him seriously think with him- 
self. What a misery it is, and how hard a matter to borrow 
it ! And most true it is, that one saith : 

Semper comitem jfEris Alieni esse Miseriam. 
That Misery is ever the companion of Borrowed Money. 

Hereby, a Man is made cheap and undervalued ! despised ! 
deferred ! mistrusted ! oftentimes flatly denied ! and besides, 
upon the least occasion, upbraided therewith, in company and 
among friends ! 

And sometimes. Necessity drives men to be beholden to 
such as, at another time, they would scorn to be ! wherein 
the old saying is verified — 

Miserum est debere cui nolis. 
[A miserable thing it is, to oive money to hiniy 
whom thou woiddst not ! 1664.] 

And, on the contrary, how bold, confident, merry, lively, 
and ever in humour, are Moneyed Men. [For being out debt, 
[They need not they are out of danger ! 1667.] They go where 
but'^are^sueet they Hst ! They wear what they list ! They eat 
proof. 1664.] and drink what they list ! And as their minds, so 
their bodies are free ! 

They fear no City Serjeant, Court Marshal's man, or 
Country Bailiff. Nor are they followed or dogged home to 
their Ordinaries and lodgings, by City shopkeepers and other 
creditors : but they come to their houses and shops, where 
they are bidden welcome ; and if a stool be fetched [i.e., for 
them] into the shop, it is an extraordinary favour, because all 
passers by take notice of it. And these men can bring their 
wives or friends to see in Court, the King and Queen at din- 
ner, or to see a Masque ; by means of some eminent man of 
the Guard, or the carpenter that made the scaffold [i.e., for 
the Masque] . 

H.Peacham-j WhY ARE MEN POOR? 257 

The common and ordinary Causes zuhy men 
are poor and want money. 

Here must, by the Divine Providence, in the Body 

of the Common wealth, be as well poor [xhe 



as rich : for as a human body cannot °i god upon 

,. ., , , ,. •',, the prosperity 

subsist Without hands and leet to labour, oftheindus- 
and to walk about, to provide for other members; contented.'^ 
the rich being the belly, which devour all yet do ^664.] 
no part of the work : but the cause of every man's poverty is 
not one and the same. 

Some are poor by condition, and, content with their calling, 
neither seek, nor can work themselves into a better fortune : 
yet GOD raiseth up, ashy miracle, the children and posterity 
of these, oftentimes, to possess the most eminent places, 
either in Church or Commonwealth, as to become Arch- 
bishops, Bishops, Judges, Commanders, Generals in the field. 
Secretaries of State, Statesmen, and the like. So that it 
proveth not ever true, which Martial saith, 

Pauper eris semper, si pauper es AiMlLIANE ! 
If poor thou beest ; poor, shalt thou ever be ! 
i^MiLiANUS, I assure thee ! 

Of this condition are the greatest number in every Kingdom. 
Others there are, who have possessed great estates, but 
those estates, as I have seen and known it in some families, 
and not far from the City, have not thrived or continued; as 
gotten by oppresson, deceit, usury, and the like : which 
commonly lasteth not to the Third generation ; according to 
the old saying: 

De male qucEsitis vix gaudet tertius hceres. 
[The Grandchild seldom is the heir 
Of goods that evil gotten are. 1664.] 

Others come to want and misery, and spend their fair 
estates in ways of vicious living, as upon drink and women : 
for Bacchus and Venus are inseparable companions ; and he 
that is familiar with the one, is never a stranger to the other. 

Uno namque modo, Vina VENUSque nocent. 
[In one same way, manner, and end ; 
Both Wine and Women do offend. 1664.] 

Eng. Gar. VI. I7 

258 Idleness & Prodigality, causes of Want.["- ^'^=1'^;^; 

Some again live in perpetual want, as being naturally 
wholly given to idleness [ivhich turns the edge of Wit, and is the 
Key of Beggary. 1667.] These are the drones of the Common 
wealth, who deserve not to live. 

Qui noH laborat, non mandiicet. 
[He that laboureth not, must not eat. 

'* Labour, nirht and day ! rather than be burdensome,^' saith St. 
Paul. 1664.] 

Both country and City swarm with this kind of people. 
" The diligent hand," saith Solomon, " shall make rich ; but 
the sluggard shall have scarcity of bread." 

I remember, when I was in the Low Countries, there were 
three soldiers, a Dutchman, a Scot, and an Englishman, for 
their misdemeanours, condemned to be hanged. Yet their 
lives were begged by three several men. One, a Bricklayer, 
that he [the Dutch soldier] might help him to make bricks, and 
carry them to the walls. The other was a Brewer of Delft, 
who begged his man [the Scot] to fetch water, and do other 
work in the brewhouse. Now, the third was a Gardener, and 
desired the third man, to help him to work in and dress a 

The first two accepted their offers thankfully. The 
Englishman told his master, in plain terms, '* his friends 
never brought him up to gather hops !" but desired he might 
be hanged first : and so he was. 

[The reasons ^ Othcrs haviug had great and fair estates left 
sogrrates"at°s uuto them by friends, and who never knew the 
cont^methem- P^i" ^nd carc of getting them, have, as one 
"'^nth'in '"'" ^^^^ truly, *' galloped through them in a very short 
1664.]" time." 

These are such, of whom Solomon speaketh, " who, having 
riches, have not the hearts (or rather the Wit), to use 

These men, Homer, most aptly, compareth unto the Willow 
Tree, which he calleth by a most significant epithet wXeo-i- 
Kap7ro<i, in haiin frugi-perda, or " loose fruit : " because the 
palms [buds] of the willow tree are no sooner ripe, but are 
blown away with the wind. 

I remember, in Queen Elizabeth's time, a wealthy citizen 

H. Peacham 

^16^1]] Some undone by foolish marriages. 259 

of London left his son a mii^hty estate in money : who 
imagining he should never be able to spend it, would 
usually make " ducks and drakes " in the Thames, with 
Twelve pences [ = 55. now], as boys are wont to do with tile 
sherds and oyster shells. And in the end, he grew to that 
extreme want, that he was fain to beg or borrow sixpence : 
having, many times, no more shoes than feet ; and some- 
times, " more feet than shoes," as the Beggar said in the 

[WJio more than his worth doth spend, 
Maketh a rope, his life to end ! 1667.] 

Many also there are, who, having been born to fair estates, 
have quite undone themselves by marriage : and that, after a 
twofold manner. 

First, by matching themselves, without advice of parents or 
friends, in heat of youth, unto proud, foolish, and light house- 
wives, or such perfect "linguists," that one were ♦ a place near 
better to take his diet in Hell,* than his dinner at to. west- 

A 1 1 • • 1 r 1 • Tiinster Hall ; 

home. And this is the reason so many of their where very 
husbands travel beyond the seas ; or, at home, go dr^sseXaiuhe 
from town to town, from tavern to tavern, to look Tef"!'""^- 
for company : and, in a word, to spend anything to live any- 
where, save at home in their own houses. 

Others there are, again, who match themselves (for a little 
handsomeness and eye-pleasing Beauty, [which, so soon as 
Poverty conicth in at the door, leapcth onto/ the window. 1664. J 
into very mean and poor kindred ; and are sometimes drawn 
in hereto by broken knaves, necessitous parents, who are glad 
to meet with such, that they may serve them as props to up- 
hold their decaying and ruinous families. And these poor 
silly young birds are commonly caught up before they be 
fledged, and pulled bare before ever they knew they had 
feathers : for their fathers-in-law or some near of the kin, 
as soon as they have seen one and twenty, have so belimed 
them with Bonds, that they shall hardly, as long as they 
live, be able to fly over ten acres of that land, their friends 
left them. 

[// Youth be joined with Honour and Riches, how dangerous, 
if the reins be then let loose, we see the many destructive effects it 
hath, and do work ! but the Three joined with Wisdom, how 
honourable and noble are they all ! 

26o Learn the just bounds of Pleasure! ["' ^^"^I'g^"?: 

Bid the greatest snare, the Author writes of, is Beauty : which, 
of itself , is a blessing. We see how comfortably the candle causes 
light, not offending in burning ; yet the foolish fly offends in 
scorching itself in the fame ! Yea, it is no small misery to become 
a temptation unto another, and to be made the occasion of other's 
ruin ; Beauty being not well governed. Which fails, if the Soul 
answers not the Face ! for the foulest soids often dwell fairest ! 
How happy, if Virtue be joined thereto ! 

If Preccptswill notforcivarn thee, yet let a midtitude of Examples 
affright thee from unequal and unfit marriages ! 

He that takes his fidl liberty in what he may, shall repent him ! 
how much more, in what he should not / Nothing can overturn 
him that hath power of himself ! Learn first, by a just survey, to 
know the jusc due and law fid bounds of Pleasu,re ! and then 
knowing the danger of going beyond a man's strength, use pleasures 
wiihout dotage ! I n^^ver knew a wise man that repented him of 
too little w' or Idly pleasure. The surest course in all earthly delights 
is to rise [therefrom] with an appetite, and to be satisfied with 
moderation. 1669.1 

A Knight of ^£'8,000 or £10,000 [=£25,000 or £30,000 
now] [by] land in a year, doated upon a poor Alewife's 
daughter, and made her a Lady. It cannot be denied but 
women of the meanest condition may make good wives ; since 

Paupertas non est vitiwn ; 
Poverty is no vice : 

but herein is the danger, that when their husbands, in a 
short time, having as it were taken a surfeit of their beauties, 
and finding their error; they begin, as I have known many, 
to contemn them, and fly abroad, doat upon others, and 
devise all the ways they can (being grown desperate) to give 
or sell all that they have. 

Besides, such poor ones, oftentimes, prove so impious and 
proud, as that they make no conscience to abuse, insult over, 
and make silly fools of their husbands ; as by letting and 
disposing of their lands, gathering up his rents, putting away 
and entertaining what servants they list, to verify that old 
verse : 

Aspcrius nihil est humili, cum surgit in altum. 
There's nothing more perverse and proud than She, 
Who is to Wealth advanced from Beggary. 

H. Peacha 

^™:] Flee Pleasure, and it will be nigh! 261 

An Italian Earl, about Naples, of 100,000 Crowns 
[ = 5^30,000 then =^£"100, 000 now] by the year in estate, 
married a common laundress. Whereupon old Pasquin (the 
image of stone in Rome), the next Sunday morning or 
shortly after, had a foul and most filthy shirt put on his back, 
and this tart libel beneath : 

" Pasquin, how now I a foul shirt upon a Sunday ! " 
The risposto or answer, in Pasquin's behalf was : 
" I cannot help it, my laundress is made a Countess ! " 

Besides, another inconvenience is that, besides the 
calling of his Wit and Judgement into question ; he draws 
unto him so many leeches and down-drawers upon his estate, 
as his wife hath necessitous friends and kindred. But they 
that thus marry, are commonly such young men as are left 
to themselves : their parents, overseers [^i^uar^m»s], or faithful 
friends, being either dead, or far from them. 

Others, not affecting marriage at all, live, as they say, 
" upon the Commons " : unto whom it is death to NUaUest 
be put into the Several. They spend what they {/,y'"4-/X'"^ 
have, altogether in irregular courses of life, and in ""''''^• 
change of horses and lodgings, entertainment of new ac- 
quaintance, making great feasts in taverns, invitations and 
meetings of their common mistresses, coach hire, clothes in 
fashion, and the like. [Who forget that old but true Proverb : 

Follow Pleasure, and Pleasure will fly ! 

Flee Pleasure, and Pleasure will be nigh ! 1667.] 

besides the hanging on and intrusion of some necessitous 
parasites ; of w^hom they shall find as much use, as of water 
in their boots. [And it is well said by one, that "he that over- 
much studies his own contentment, ever wanteth it /" 1667.] 

There are others, again, of overgood free natures and dis- 
positions ; who are easily fetched and drawn in by decayed 
and crafty knaves (I call them, no better!) to enter into 
bonds, and to pass their words for their old debts and engage- 
ments : and this they are wrought to do in taverns in their 
cups and merriment, at Ordinaries, and the like places. 

262 Many ways of coming to poverty. ["-^^ 


I would have in the fairest room of one of these houses, 
The old an Emblem of a gallant young heir creeping in at 
si^etyship. the great end of a hunter's horn with ease ; but 
cruelly pinched at the coming forth at the small end : a 
fool standing not far off, laughing at him. And these be 
those fools who will be so easily bound! and pass their words 
in their drink. 

Fact lis descensus Averni, sed revocare gradum. 
I'Tis easy into hell to fall ; 
But to come back from thence is all ! 1664.] 

It is easy slipping in, but the return and getting out is full 
of difficulty. 

Infinite also are the Casualties that are incident to the 
Life of Man, whereby he may fall into poverty : as mis- 
fortune by fire, loss at sea, robbery and theft on land, wounds, 
lameness, sickness, and the like. 

Men run out of great estates, and have undone themselves 
by over sumptuous building, above and beyond their means 
and estates. [F07' he that builds a fair house, without good 
counsel, builds himself to prisoji ! It being a sweet impoverish- 
ment ! 1667. J 

Others have been undone by carelessness and thriftless 
servants, such as waste and consume their Masters' goods ; 
[for thcreisa great deal savedwhere alittle is spent. 1667.': neither 
saving nor mending what is amiss ; but whatsoever they 
are entrusted withal, they suffer to be spoiled and to run to 
ruin. For 

Qtd nwdica spernit, panlatim defliiit, 
*' He that despiseth small things, falls by little and little," 
says the Wise Man. 

Some, yea, a great many, have brought themselves to 
beggary by play and gaming, and never lying [staying] out 
of Ordinaries and Dicing-houses : which places, like quick- 
sands, so suddenly sink and swallow them, that hardly you 
shall ever see their heads appear any more. [And so, these 
idle practices turn the edge of their Wit. 1667.] 

Others, and Great Ones too, affect unprofitable, yea, im- 
possible inventions and practices, as the Philosopher's Stone, 
the Adamantine Alphabet,* the discovery of that new w^orld 
'■• Tossibly referring to Bp. F. Godwin's book in 1638. E. A. 


in the Moon by these new devised perspective glasses \teks- 
copes] , far excelling, they say, those of Galileo, sundry kinds 
of useless wild fire, water works, extractions, distillations, 
and the like. 

If any would be taught the true use of money, let him 
travel to Italy ! For the Italian, the Florentine especially, 
is able to teach all the world. Thrift ! For Italy being 
divided into many Principalities and Provinces, and all very 
fertile ; the inhabitants are many, and by reason of so often 
differences among them, apt to take arms. The people are 
subject to taxes and impositions : as, in Florence, the Duke 
hath a custom [octroi\ at the gates, even out of herbs that 
are brought for sallets [sallads] and broths into the city. 

T/ic Symptoms of a JMiiid dejected and discontented 

for want of money. 

|E THAT wanteth money is, for the most part? 
extremely melancholic in every company, or alone 
by himself [He is a Cypher among Niunbers! 1667,] 
especially if the weather be foul, rainy, or cloudy. 
Talk to him, of what you will ; he will hardly give you the 
hearing ! Ask him any questions ; he answers you with 
monosyllables, as Tarleton did one, who out-eat him at 
an Ordinary : " Yes ! No ! That ! Thanks ! True ! " &c. 

That rhetorical passage of 5/a//« /m;is/a^z7;z« [the State trans- 
lative, 1664.J is of great use with him, when he lays the cause 
of his want upon others : as protesting, this great Lord, that 
Lady, or kinsman owes him money ; but not a denierc can he 
get ! He swears, he murmurs against the French and other 
strangers, who convey such sums of money out of the land, 
besides our leather hides under the colour of calfskins : with 
that, he shews you his boots out at the heels, and wanting 
mending 1 He walks with his arms folded ; his belt without 
a sword or rapier, that perhaps be somewhere in [Theinu- 
trouble. A hat without a band, hanging over his ^animiiscnt 
ej-es ; only it wears a weather-beaten fancy, for ''t".itfuZ'idkr. 
fashion' sake. He cannot stand still, but like one i664.] 
of the Tower wild beasts, is still walking from one end of his 
room to another, humming out some new Northern time or 
other. If he meets with live or ten pieces ha.^'^Wy [by chance] 


264 Poverty makes men to be scorned. ["• ^'^'x6,"1: 

conferred upon him, by the beneficence of some noble friend 
or other [althottgh he may carry all his friends on his back. 1667.1 ; 
he is become a new man ! and so overjoyed with his fortune, 
that not one drop of small drink will down with him, all that 
day ! 

T/ie misery of want of money in regard of 
contempt in the world. 

HosoEVER wanteth money is ever subject to con- 
tempt and scorn in the world ; let him be furnished 
with never so good gifts, either of body or mind. 
So that, most true it is, that one saith, 

l^il habet infcelix paupertas durins in se 
Qiiain quod ridiculos homines facit. 

[Nothing there is more hard in penury. 
Than that it makes men so despised be ! 1664.] 

The worst property that Poverty hath, it maketh men 
ridiculous and scorned, but oftentimes of such as are more 
to be contemned themselves, in regard either of their igno- 
rance, or vicious living, or useless company. 

If we do but look back into better and wiser Ages, we 
shall find Poverty, simply in itself, never to have been, as 
nowadays in this last and worst Act of Time, esteemed a 
Vice, and so loathsome, as many would have it : it having 
been the Badge of Religion and Piety in the primitive times 
since Christ, and of Wisdom and Contempt of the World 
among the wisest Philosophers long before. 

But Tempera mutantur [The Times are changed. 1664.]. And 
in these Times, we may say with the W^ise Man, " My son, 
' od°o?the''^ better it is to die, than to be poor ! " For, now, 
worid.andthe moncy is the World's God, and the Card, which 
card'. 1664.']'^ the Dcvil tums up trump, to win the set withal ! 
for it gives Birth, Beauty, Honour, and Credit; and the 
most think, it conferreth Wisdom to every possessor. 

PecunicE omina obediunt. 
[All thi}igs obey money. 1664.] 

Hence it is so admired, that millions venture both soul and 
body, for the possessio'U of it. 

"■ ^?''"'i64'^:] Indignities offered to a needy one. 265 

But there is a worse effect of Poverty than that. It 
maketh men dissolute and vicious [so that ''Debtors are 
said to be liars." 1664.]. 

O mala Paupertas ! vitii scelerisque Ministra, 
[0 wretched Poverty, a bawd 
To every wickedness and fraud. 1664.] 

saith Mantuan. 

It wresteth and maketh crooked the best natures of all ; 
which, were their necessities supplied, would rather die than 
do as they sometimes do, borrow and not be able to pay, to 
speak untruths, to deceive, and sometimes to cheat their own 
fathers and friends. 

What greater grief can there be to an ingenious and free 
spirit, sitting at a superior's table (and thought to be 
necessitous and only to come for a dinner) than to fj,';,te;;'lhe "^ 
be placed the lowest! to be carved unto of the occasion of 

Jt f 1 -1 1 1 r 1 J il much con- 

worst and first cut, as of boiled beet brawn and the tempt, deceit, 

like ! and if the Lady or loose-bodied Mistress nel'T664j 

presents unto him, the meat from her trencher, then assuredly 

it is burnt to the body [we shoidd now say " burnt to the bone "] ! 

if he be carved unto out of a pasty of venison, it was some 

part that was bruised in the carriage, and began to stink ! yet 

for all this, he must be obsequious ! endure any jeer! whisper 

for his drink ! and rise, at the coming in of the basin and 

ewer ! To do the which, any generous and true noble spirit 

had rather, as I am persuaded, dine with my Lord Mayor's 

hounds in Finsbury Fields. 

Another misery, akin to the former, is, what discourse so- 
ever is offered at such tables, the necessitous man, though 
he can speak more to the purpose than them all ; yet he 
must give them leave to engross all the talk! And though he 
knows they tell palpable and gross lies, speak the absurdest 
nonsense that may be : yet must he be silent ! and be held 
all the while for a vau-neant ! 

Let these, and the like examples, then, be motives to all, 
to make much of Money ! to eat their own bread ^^;::r"' 
in their houses ! and to be beholden as little as f'^^7;4%'"'^ 
may be, to any for their meat. For lee?.] 

Est aliena vivere quadra, miserrimiim. 
{It is most miserable to live on the trencher of another man. 1664.] 

266 How Want leads to CriiME. ["■ 

? 1641. 

How Necessity and Want compelleth to offend 
both against body and soul. 

Eek not Death, in the error of your lives ! " saith 
the Wise Man ; that is, by taking evil wisdom. 
courses to procure unto yourselves untimely ends : 
as those do, who, through extreme necessity, are 
constrained to steal, lie, forswear themselves, become cheaters, 
common harlots, and the like ; whereof, nowadays, we have 
too m.any examples everywhere, to the hazard of their souls 
to hell, and their bodies to the hands of the executioner. 

Hereby, we may see, how much it concerns all parents 
\The,ii,tycf to give their children virtuous education in the 
iirtumJZui- fear of GOD, and to employ them betimes in 
'^"htidreV'"''' lionest vocations; whereby they may be armed 
1664.] ■ against want and ill courses. 

And doubtless many, yea, too many parents have been, 
and are herein much to blame ; who, when they have given 
their children a little breeding and bringing up till about 
twelve or fourteen 3'ears of age, they forsake them ! and 
send them out into the wide world to shift for themselves, to 
sink or swim ! without trades or portions provided. So they 
be rid of a charge, what care they ! 

Hence we see so many young men and women come to un- 
timely ends; who living might have been comfortsto their friends 
and parents, and proved good members in the Common wealth. 

[Some years since, I saw one Master Ward, one of the dehau- 
cJiedst men of that Age, much known by the name of ^^ Damn 
Ward " : w^Jw, being in Newgate, it was reported that he did 
drink a health to the Devil. 

He being at Tyburn, at his execution did speak short, beginning 
thus, "A man of an ill name is half hanged!" saying, ^^ he was 
in his youth brought up a Gentleman at the charge of his father's 
brother; but his uncle dying, his maintenance failed.'" WisJiing 
all parents to bciuare how they breed their children above their 
means, and without a calling. Much blaming his uncle's fond- 
ness. Denying the drinking of such a Health; said ''he was 
forced to live by liis sword." Confessed his fact [crime^ : and so 
was executed. 1667.] 

I spake before of idle persons, whom St. Paul denieth to 
eat ; which are the drones of the Common wealth, nut to be 
pitied: \\'hum Homlr prettily described. 


Of Frugality or Parsimony : 
what it is^ and the effects thereof, 

AviNG already shewed you the Misery of 
Want from the want of money; let me give 
you a Presei'vative against that Want, from 
the nature and effects of Thrift, which if not 
observed and looked to, he shall live in 
perpetual want. 

And indeed, next to the serving of GOD, 
it is the first thing we ought, even from 
children, to learn in the w^orld. 

Some men are thrifty and sparing by nature ; yea, saving 
even in trifles. As Charles V. was so naturally sparing, 
that if a point [tai^] from his hose had broken, he would have 
tied the same upon {in\ a knot, and made it to serve again. 

Others again are thrifty in small matters, but lavish and 
prodigal in great. These, we say, " are Penny ]J',^/Jy'''^^ 
wise, and Pound foolish!" Many great Ladies Ladiepnnd 
and our great Dames are subject to this disease. 7w"l-«'fi664.i 
Others having had long experience in the world, and 
having been bitten with Want, through their unthriftiness 
when they were young, have proved very good husbands at 
the last. 

Others again there be, who cloak their miserable baseness 
under the pretence of Thrift : as one would endure none of 
his family to eat butter with an egg but himself; because 
it was sold for 5d. [=i8t/. »0tC' the lb. 

268 Of every Shilling, spend a Penny ! ["• ^"^"I's;?: 

The definition of Frugality or Th'ift. 

[RuGALiTY is a virtue which holdeth her own, layeth 
out or expendeth profitably, avoideth unnecessary 
expenses, much buying, riot, borrowing, lending, 
superfluous buildings, and the like: yet can spend, 
in a moderate way, as occasion shall require, \a^. That Groat 
is well spent ! that saveth a Shilling. 

Many years since, a very aged Gentleman having bought wares 
of a citizen in London ; the master sends a young boy, his appren- 
tice, to carry the goods with the said party. 

The old Gentleman gave the boy a single Penny, saying, "/ 
give thee but this small piece of money ; but I will give thee good 
counsel ! That when thy master's more liberal customers have 
given thee, to the value of One Shilling, then spend but One 
Penny ! and when it incrcaseth to Two Shillings, spend Two pence! 
and keep the money, spending thus sparingly, and thou mayest be 
a rich man, many years after my dcatli ! " 

The boy observing this rule, did ^^ make his penny ^' icith 
diligence and a small portion, up to thousands of pounds. 1667. ] 

It is a virtue very nearly allied to Liberality, and hath the 
same extremes. For as Liberality is opposite to Covetous- 
ness, so Frugality is more opposite to Profuseness or Prodi- 
gality. [For he that livcth not well one year, sorroweth for it 
seven years after. 1667.] 

This virtue is the Fountain or Springhead of Beneficence 
and Liberality : for none can be bountiful except they be 
parsimonious and thrifty. Bonus Servatius facit bonum Boni- 
faciuni, is an old Monkish, but true, proverb. Quod ccssat 
reditu ex frugalitate supplctuv, ex quo velut fonte libcralitas nostra 
decurnt, quce ita tamcn tcnipcranda est, ne nimia profusione 
inarescat, saith Seneca. [That which becometh defecteth in our 
revenues is to be supplied by Thrift : from whence, as from a foun- 
tain, our Liberality fioweth ; which, notwithstanding, is so to 
be moderated that it grow not dry by too much profuseness. 

It avoideth the ambitious buildings, pomps, shows, Court 

H. Peacham.j Examples of Extravagance and Avarice. 269 

maskings, with excessive feasts and entertainments. As 
Mark Antony spent, at one supper, a thousand For the 

^ .. 11* J. K.oiTians n^Q 

wild boars. Heliogabalus had served nim up at no dinners, 
a supper likewise, six hundred heads of ostriches, ^"hich weTe' 
ViTELLius, at one feast, had two thousand fishes, f^^;;![J,5!7„'= °^ 
and mostly of several kinds; besides seven thou- the afternoon. 
sand fowls. 

Many such like feasts have been made by the Roman 
Emperors ; and some so excessive, that an infinite quantity 
of bread, meat, and other good victuals, all sorts of people 
being satisfied, hath been thrown into the river of Tiber. 

Again, on the other side, there are miserable Euclios and 
base penurious slaves to be found in all parts ; yea, in every 
town of the kingdom. As one at Priors Thorney, near to 
Swaffham in Norfolk, made his man pay a penny out of his 
wages for a rope he [? the servant] cut [down], when he [? the 
master] was hanging of himself in his barn. 

Another, in the Spring time, because [in order that] the 
market should not thrive by him, would make boys climb 
trees and search steeples, for all the crows and daws they 
could find : which he lived upon, while they lasted, to save 
other victuals. 

Now there is an aurdpKeia, or a Self-contented Sufficiency, 
which is most pleasing and agreeable to the nature of many 
men. As Phocion, when Alexander had sent him a gift of 
a hundred talents of gold : he sent it back with [shewing he 
this message, that " he needed not Alexander's rhrn'hft'hat 
money." eVtSe/^a? -rrXova Loire pov rov 8c86vto<; gaveit.i664.] 
Toaavra, &c. [Thou hast shewed thyself a richer man than the 
owner himself! 1664] be the words of Plutarch. 

T/ie derivation of the word Penny, and of the value 
and worth thereof. 

Ur English Penny consists of four Farthings. And 

a Farthing is so called from the old Saxon or High 

Dutch [German] Ein viert ding, that is, a fourth 

thing : because from the Saxons' time until Edward 

III., the Penny of this land had a cross struck so deep in the 

70 Etymology of the word Pen.xy. ["■ 


midst thereof, that you might break out any part of the four, 
to buy what you thought good withal ; which was, in those 
times, their Farthing. 

The word Penny is so called, airo rrj^; 7revla<;, that is, 
Poverty; because, for the most part, poor people are here- 
with relieved. The old Saxon called it Pcnig, the High 
Dutch Pfennig, the Netherlanders Penninck, in Italian 
Denaro, in Spanish Dinero, in Latin Denaritis, which some 
fetch from the Chaldean Denar, but somebody hath taught 
the Chaldean to speak Latin. It is indeed derived a nmncro 
denario, because decern asses made a Penny ; or, according to 
Plutarch, a decern ccreis, koL to heKo.'^aXKov eKoXelro hrjvdpiov. 
[Ten small pieces of brass were called a Penny. 1664.] 

In the British or Welsh, it is Keniog from being current, 
because it goes away faster than other money : as Scavernog 
is Welsh for a hare, because she runs over the mountains 
faster than an ordinary runner in Wales can overtake or 
catch her ; as my honest friend Master Owen Morgan, that 
country-man once, in good earnest, told me. 

There are as many kind of Pence, as there are several 
countries or nations. Our English penny is a Scotch shilling. 

In the time of King Edward I. our English Penny being 
round and undipped, was to weigh thirty grains of wheat 
taken out of the midst of the ear. Twenty of these grains 
made an ounce, and twelve [of these] ounces made a pound. 

There were also golden pence, as we may find in Didymus 
Claudius de analogia Ronianoriim. In a word, I might dis- 
course ad infinitnui, of the variety of Pence, as well for 
the form and stamp as weight and value ; though I sought 
no further than among those of our Saxon kings, but it were 
needless. I will only content myself with our ordinary 
Penny, and stay the reader a while upon the not unpleasant 
consideration of the simple worth of a single Penny ; reflect- 
ing or looking back, as oft as I can (and as Pliny adviseth), 
upon my Title. 

Peacham.-l fjiE WORTH OF A PeNNY in I 64 1. 271 

'i i04i._j 

T/ie simple worth of a single Penny, 

Penny bestowed in charity upon a poor body shall 
not want a heavenly reward. 

For a Penny, you may, in the Low Countries, in 
any market, buy eight several commodities ; as nuts, 
vinegar, grapes, a little cake, onions, oatmeal, and the like. 

A^Penny bestowed in a small quantity of aniseed, aqua 
vitcB, or the like strong water, may save one's life in a faintmg 

or swoon. 

[At the Apothecaries, you may buy a pennyworth of any of these 
things following, viz., Lozenges for a cold or cough; Juice of 
Liquorish [liquorice^, or Liquorish; a Diachilon plaster for an 
issue ; Paracelsus, Oil of Roses, Oil of St. John's Wort, a penny- 
worth of each is good for a sprain; Syrup-lettuce, to make one 
sleep ; Jallop, to give a purge ; Mithridate, to make you sweat if 
you have taken cold, or good to expel and prevent infection ; 
Diascordium Diacodium, if you cannot sleep. 1667.] 

For a Penny, you may hear a most eloquent oration upon 
our English Kings and Queens, if, keeping your hands off, 
you will seriously listen to David Owen, who keeps the 
Monuments at Westminster [i.e., the Abbey]. 

Some, for want of a Penny [for a ferry or boat across the 
Thames], have been constrained to go trom Westmmster, 
about by London Bridge to Lambeth ; and might say truly, 
Defessi sunius abulando. • , j • 

You may have in Cheapside, your Penny tripled in the 
same kind : for you shall have Penny Grass, Penny Wort, 
and Penny Royal for your Penny. 

For a Penny, you may see any Monster, Jacknapes; or 
those roaring boys, the Lions. t- 1 j j 

For a Penny, you may have all the news in England and 
other countries, of murders, floods, witches, fires, tempests, 
and what not, in one of Martin Parker's Ballads [in the 
weekly News books. 1664], 

For a Penny, you may have your horse rubbed and walked, 
after a long journey ; and [itj being at grass, there are some 
that will breathe [exercise] him for nothing. 

For a Penny, you may buy a fair cucumber ; but not a 
breast of mutton ! except it be multiplied [maggoty]. 

2/2 The worth of a Penny in 1641. ["• 


For a Penny, you may buy Time, which is precious ; yea, 
and Thrift too, if you be a bad husband. 

For a Penny, a hostess or an hostler [innkeeper] may buy 
as much chalk as will score up £2,0 or ^^40 [= £120 or £"i6o 
now] ; but how to come by their money, that let them look to ! 

For a Penny, you may have your dog wormed [cured of 
worms], and so be kept from running mad. 

For a Penny [doubled. 1664], a drunkard may be guarded 
to his lodging, if his head be light and the evening dark. 

For a Penny, you shall tell what will happen a year hence, 
(which the Devil himself cannot do !) in some Almanack or 
other rude country. 

A hard-favoured and ill-bred wench made Penny white, 
may, as our Times are, prove a gallant Lady. 

For a Penny, you may be advanced to that height that 
you shall be above the best in the City ; yea, the Lord 
Mayor himself ! that is, to the top of Paul's. 

For a Penny, a miserable and covetous wretch that never 
did, nor never will, bestow a penny on a Doctor or Apothe- 
cary for their physic or advice, may provide a remedy for all 
diseases [viz., a halter. 1664]. 

[For a Penny, you may buy a dish of coffee (not yet sold in 
cups), to quicken your stomach and refresh your spirits. 1664.] 

For a Penny, you may buy the hardest book in the world, 
and which, at some time or other, has posed the greatest 
Clerks in the land, viz., a hornbook [the making up of which 
books employeth above thirty trades. 1664]. 

In so great esteem, in former times, have our English 
pence been, that they have been carried to Rome by cart 
loads [i.e., Peter's Pence], 

For a Penny, you may search among the Rolls, and withal 
give the Master good satisfaction. I mean, in a baker's basket. 

For a Penny, a chambermaid may buy as much red ochre 
as will serve, seven years, for the painting of her cheeks. 

For a Penny, the Monarch of a free school, may provide 
himself of so many arms, as will keep all his rebellious 
subjects in awe. 

For a Penny, you may walk within one of the fairest 
gardens in the City, and have a nosegay or two made you 
of what sweet flowers you please [to satisfy your sense of 
smelling. 1664j. 

H.Peacham.j f jj g WORTH OF A PeNNY in 1 64 I. 273 

[And for a Penny, you may have that so useful at your trencher, 
as will season your meat to please your taste, a month. 1684.] 

For a Penny, you may buy as much wood of that tree, 
which is green all the year and beareth red berries, as will 
cure any shrew's tongue, if it be too long for her mouth [viz., 
a holly wand. 1664]. 

A Penny may save the credit of many. As it did of four or 
five young* scholars in Cambridge, who, going into * some of 
the town to break their fast with puddings, havinsf f'^^'" ^^/^ yet 

. r o ' o living in 

sent to their college for bread and beer, the hostess London. 
brought them twelve puddings, broiled ; and finding among 
themselves that they had but eleven pence, they were much 
troubled about the other penny, not having any book about 
them, to lay in pawn for it. 

Quoth one, bolder than the rest, " Audaces fortuna javat :" 
" Fortune favours the venturous ;" and biting off a piece of 
the pudding's end, by wonderful luck, spat out a single 
penny, that paid for it ; which, it seems, was buried in the 
oatmeal or spice. So for that time, they saved their credits. 

But I will leave this discourse of a Penny's worth to their 
judgements and experience, who, having been troubled with 
overmuch money, afterward, in no long time, have been fain, 
after "a. long dinner with Duke Humphrey," to take a 
nap on " penniless bench," only to verify the old proverb, 
"A fool and his money is soon parted." 

£JVG. Gar. VI. 18 

How 7?io?tey 7nay^ 77ta7iy wajs^ be saved 

171 diet^ apparel, 7^ecreatio72^ 

a7id the like, 

5 vS THERE are infinite ways and occasions of 
spending and laying out money, which it 
were superfluous here to recount ; whereof 
some may be well omitted ; but others 
not, except we would want meat, drink, 
and our apparel, with other external 
necessaries, as horses, armour, books, and 
the like ; in a word, whatsoever may con- 
duce to our profit or honest pleasure. Yet in husbanding 
our money in all these, there is a great deal of caution and 
discretion to be used. 

For most true it is, that of all nations in Europe, our 
English are the most profuse and careless in the way of 
expense. Go into other countries, especially Italy ! the 
greatest magnifico in Venice will think it no disgrace to his 
magnificenza to go to market, to choose and buy his own meat, 
what him best liketh : but we in England scorn to do either; 
surfeiting indeed of our plenty, whereof other countries fall 
far short. Insomuch, as I am persuaded, that our City of 
London, of itself alone, eateth more good beef and mutton 
in one month, than all Spain, Italy, and a part of France, in 
a whole year. If we have a mind to dine at a tavern, we 
bespeak a dinner at all adventure ! never demanding or 
knowing the price thereof till it be eaten. After dinner, 
there is a certain sauce brought up by the Drawer, called a 
Reckoning, in a bill as long as a broker's inventory. 

H. Peacham 

^,eZ\] The necessary use of taverns. 275 

^ I have known, by experience, in some taverns, some- 
times of at least twice, and sometimes thrice, as t^'^"".*: '"'""■^ 
much as the meat and dressing hath been worth nZ'f,fJ/y'Z 
[is_ charged]. No question but a fair and honest S'./'fr" 
gain is to be allowed, in regard of house -rent, fZad£yfor 
linen, attendance of servants, and the like. There t-'^p dinners 
are, without doubt, very many taverns veiy honest T.Lll'aur'the 
and reasonable. And the use of them is neces- xmly'^''''''''' 
sary. For if a man meets with his friend or acquaintance 
in the street, whither should they go, having no friend's 
house near to go into, especially in rainy or foul weather, 
but to a tavern ? where, for the expense of a pint or quart of 
wine, they may have a dry house and room, to confer with, 
and to write to any friends about business. 

But to have in a bill, 8s. [= 30s. now^„ brought up for an 
ordinary capon, as my Lord of Northampton's Gentleman 
had, at Greenwich, in King James his time ; "]$. or 95. 
[= 25s. or 30s. now'] for a pair of soles; 4s. [= 15s. now] for 
a dozen of larks ; would make a Florentine run out of his 
wits ! How excellently, in some houses, are their neats' 
tongues powdered, when the reckoning is brought you up ! 

Again, what can be m.ore distasteful to an ingenious and 
free spirit, than to stand to the courtesy of a nimble-tongue 
Drawer, or his many-ringed Mistress, whether they or your- 
self shall have the disposing of your money ! It is no small 
sum that our Gallants might save in a year, if they would be 
wise in this respect. 

{Mm commanly are very cautious in purchasing bargains of 
great value, as buying of houses, horses, or rich apparel, or any 
other commodity of the like nature; but for small expenses, as a 
penny, or two pence at a time, that many daily lay out about 
trivial things, they are altogether regardless of : and, for the most 
part, those are most free in spending these small sums, who have 
nothing else to spend, when their wives and children are ready to 

Now, a frequent custom of these small expenses, in a short time, 
arise to a considerable sum. As is. [= 3s. now] a day spent, 
Cometh to £iS 5s. 6d. in the year ; and id. a day to £1 10s. 5^. 
in the year. And a man of credit may take tip, at interest, £2$, 
for id. a day, being the full use [interest] of that sum after the 
rate of Six per Cent. 1667.] 

2/6 The grExVT temperance of Italians, &c. [ 

II. Peacham. 


Besides, in your own private house or chambers, a dish or 
{Moderation two, and a good stomach for a sauce, shall give 
^andrn'orJ'''''^' j'ou morc contcnt, continue your health, and keep 
^Atnud'an!!''''' your body in better plight, than a variety of many 
1664.] dishes. This pleased ever the wisest and best men. 

Horace affirmeth him to live healthy and happy, ctu 
splendet in mensa tcniie salinnm, meaning by the small and 
poor salt cellar, a slender and frugal diet. 

CuRius, that noble Roman, a man of marvellous honesty, 
temperance, and valour, who overcame the Samnites and 
Pyrrhus himself; when the ambassadors of the Samnites 
brought him a huge sum of gold, they found him sitting by 
the fire, and seething of turnips for his dinner, with an 
earthen dish in his lap. At which time, he gave them this 
answer, " I had rather eat in this dish, and command over 
them that have gold ; than be rich myself." Awhile after, 
being accused for deceiving the State of money which he 
had gotten in his conquests and kept to himself; he took a 
solemn oath, that he saved no more of all he got, but that 
one treen or wooden barrel, which he had there by him. 

Marvellous was the temperance of the Romans in their 
diet ; as also of the Turks at this day, the Italians, and the 
Spaniards : but it is in them natural, not habitual ; and by 
[The.^rcat consequcncc, no virtue, as themselves would have it. 
jr"gaiity of Pqj. the inhabitants of hot countries have not their 

tlie Italinns, .... 

Spaniards, digcstiott SO strong as those under cold climates ; 
1664.]"'^" whose bodies, by an antipcristasis or surrounding 
\i\T.iR/oT, of of cold, have the natural heat repelled and 
grea'/an'eatTr ^^P^ within them : which is the reason that the 
as any 0/ iafe Northcm nations are, of all others, the greatest 
sometTmeseat catcrs and drlnkcrs ; and of those, the French say 
(=9j'oriL we of England have the best stomachs and are 
,,ov.-)i„,„ntton the greatest trenchermen of the world. Lcs Andais 

at a iiteal ; ana , . 777 

other fine meat sout Ics pLus gvos UHDigcurs dc tout Ic niondc. But they 
llponAisoitm' arc dcccived ; those of Denmark and Norway 
purse, he often excccd US, and the Russians, them. 

Jeeaing on t r 

coarse meats, \ confcss wc havc had, and vet have, some re- 

inadeM.orZci. 1 vi i. , , r 

(=--is.6d. markable eaters amongst us: who, for a wager, 
°;";/?rL« would have eaten with the best of them; as 
,„eat. 1664.] WoLMER of Windsor. And not long since. Wood 
of Kent eat up, at one dinner, fourteen green geese, equal 


to the old ones in bigness, with sauce of gooseberries: as I 
heard it affirmed to my Lord Richard, Earl of Dorset, at 
a dinner time, at his house at Knowle, in Kent, by one of 
his Gentlemen, who was an eye-witness of the same. 

But the truth is, that those men live the longest, and 
are commonly in perfect health, who content themselves 
with the least and simplest meat ; which not only saves 
the purse, but preserves the body : as we may see in Lan- 
cashire, Shropshire, Cheshire, Yorkshire, and other counties 
which are remote from the City. And it is Master [oid p irr 
Camden's observation in his Britannia, Ut diutius nvingakmi 
vivant qiLCB vescuntur Lacticiniis, " they commonly Van'iy'eat any 
are long-lived, who live by white meats," as milk, ■^"''' ^^^^^ 
butter, cheese, curds, and the like. 

For Multa fercula innltos morbos gigncre* was * That many 
truly said of St. Jerome, as being apt, by their many^'diseases. 
sundry and opposite qualities to breed much corruption. 
How healthful are scholars in our Universities, whose 
commons are no more than needs must ! 

Neither would I have any man starve himself to save his 
purse, as a usurer confessed upon his death-bed, how he was 
above ;f200 1 =;£"6oo now] indebted to his belly for breakfasts, 
dinners, and suppers ; which he had defrauded it, in Term 
times at London, and in other places, employing his money 
to other miserable purposes. 

[Another rich usurer {who made it his custom, every Term to 
travel on foot, in ragged clothes, and who sometimes did beg of 
the thieves themselves) was so well known that, at last, they took 
notice of him : and, examining his pockets, tJiey found little store 
of gold ; bnt a great black pudding, in one end whereof his gold 
was. The usurer, pleading hunger, desired the thieves, for GOD's 
sake ! to give him half of it back again : which granted, and the 
usurer finding it to be the wrong end; lie desired them to give 
some of tJie fat in the other end, to his lean. " No, you rogue ! " 
said the thieves, ^^ you have had your cut already ! you, shall not 
have a crnmb more I " 1664.] 

Money may be well saved in travel, or in town, if three or 
four shall join their purses ; and provide their diet at the 
best hand. It is no shame so to do. 

I have known also some who have been very skilful in 
dressing their own diet. Homer tells us, that Achilles 

278 A TLAIN GARB IS THE BEST. ["' ^/'"l'^™; 

could play the cook excellently well. And I believe it were 
not amiss for our English travellers so to do, in foreign 
countries : for many reasons I have known. 

And execrable is the miser-able and base humour of many, 
who, to save their money, will live upon vile and loathsome 
[A miser-ahie thlngs, as mushrooms, snails, frogs, mice, young 
^^.w^^V";'/::'^, kltllngs, and the like. 

"jondofdi'I ^" ivi^t of extreme dearth or famine, people, I 
agree tJ have confcss, havc bccn driven to look out for whatso- 
'touIgeTahout ever could nourish, and, as we say, " keep life and 
'drail^htof sou^ together " : yea, and of far worse things than 
small heerjf thcsc, as JosEPHUs rcportcth of the Jews, in that 
^asmZly "" horrlblc and fearful famine in Jerusalem at the time 
t^n'li of the siege by Titus and Vespasian. Such we 
Mta<casi,e blame not ! 

ivould put '"•,,,, , . , 

tayingonc Most blamcworthy are they who, as it were 

nmv'u'iay;' surfciting of, or loathing that abundant plenty of 
/1'luu"he''Ld. all good and wholesome meats GOD hath afforded 
ijinthe us in this land, and which GOD, by name hath com- 

ivintcr, the , , t t • 1 1 1 • rr 1 • 

benefit of a_ mcndcd to His people, make this stuff their greatest 
theluvnne'r, a dalntlcs : as I havc known Ladies who, when 
'^anccfor'Jmah ^^^Y ^avc eatcn till they could eat no more of 
heer. 1664.] all the dainticst dishes at the table : yet they must 
eat the legs of their larks roasted anew in a greasy tallow 
candle ; and if they carved but a piece of a burnt claw 
to any Gentleman at the table, he must take it as an extra- 
ordinary favour from her Ladyship. It were much to be 
wished that they were bound to hold them to their diet, 
in a dear )ear, or a wet spring ! when frogs and snails may 
be had in greatest abundance. 

Of thrift and good husbandry in Apparel. 

|0u must, if you would keep money in your purse to 
uphold your credit, at all times be frugal and thrifty 
also in your apparel : not dogging the Fashion, or 
^ setting your tailor a work at the sight of every 
Monsieur's new suit. 

There is a middle, plain, and decent garb, which is best 
and most to be commended. This is commonly affected of 
the most staid and wisest. 

H. p.ach^am.-j 'YuE English are the Apes of EuRorE. 279 

[7 have observed that this year 1667, many that had lost 
thousands by the late dreadful Fire, both nienandivomen that have 
worn the best of clothing, said that " they would wear over their 
old clothes again, by altering of them in a plain way.'' Thousands 
1WW have estates [fortunes] to repair, and therefore must not de- 
spise small things. It is good to abridge or take away petty charges ; 
and to stoop to petty gcttings. Also, a man ought to avoid all 
charge begun, that will continue. 1667.] 

What money might be saved, if we were so wise as the 
Dutch or Spaniards, who, for these two or three hundred years, 
have kept themselves to one fashion : but we, the [t/,^ cam- 
Ape^ of Europe, like Proteus, must change our '"u"tnm 0/ tiie 
shapes every year ! nay quarter ! month ! and s'/^a/aa,''/, in 
week ! as well in our doublets, hose, cloaks, hats, ^J^'^'^'''^^'"'^' 
bands, boots, and what not ? 

That emblem was not improper which I saw at Antwerp, 
where was a he-fool and a she-fool turning a double- 
rimmed wheel upon one axle tree, one on the one side, 
and the other on the other. Upon the he-fool's wheel 
were the several fashions of men's apparel ; on the other 
wheel, of women's : which, with the revolution of time, went 
round, and came into the same place, use, and request again ; 
as for the present aloft and followed of all, by and by, was 
cast down and despised. 

I see no reason why a Frenchman should not imitate our 
English fashion, as we do his. What! have the French 
more wit than we in fitting clothes to the body, or a better 
invention or way in saving money, or making of apparel ? 
Surely, I think not. It may be our English, when they had 
to do in France, got a humour of affecting their fashions, 
which they could not shake off since. 

There is no man ever the warmer, or ever the wiser fqr a 
fashion, so far forth as it is a fashion 2 but rather the 
contrary, a fool ! for needless expense, and suffering himself 
to quake for cold ; when his clothes in the fashion must be 
cut to the skin, his hat hardly cover his crown, but stand 
upon his periwig like an extinguisher. And we know by 
ridiculous experience, every day in the street, that our ladies 
and waiting-women will starve and shiver in the hardest 
frost, rather than they will suffer their bare necks and breasts 
to pass your eyes un viewed. 

2 So Greatest Princes often dress plainest. ["• 

Peach am. 
? 1641. 

But some will say, as I have heard many, there is no man 
nowadays esteemed, that follows not the fashion. Be it 
so. The fashion of these Times is very fit to be observed ! 
which is, to be deeply indebted to mercers, haberdashers, 
sempsters, tailors, and other trades, for the fulfilling of a 
fashionable humour: which a thrifty and wise man avoideth, 
accommodating himself with apparel fair and seemly, for half 
or a third of others' charge. 

What makes so many of our city tailors arise to so great 
estates, as some of them have ; and to build so brave houses, 
but the fashion ? silkmen and mercers to buy such goodly 
Lordships in the countries [coimiics^ , where (many times) 
they are chosen High Sheriffs, but the fashion ? 

And I would fain know of any of our prime fashion- 
mongers, what use there is of laced bands of £6, £'j, and 
£8 [=£i8, ;;^2i, ;^24 now] the band ? nay, of ;^40 or £50 the 
band ? such daubing of cloaks and doublets, with gold and 
silver points, of ;;^5 and £8 [=£1^ and £2^ now] the dozen, 
to dangle uselessly at the knees? 

Philopcemen, a brave Commander among the Grecians, 
inPHiLOPCE- as Plutarch reporteth, commanded that all the 
WEN. gold and silver which he had taken away from his 

enemies, which was a very great quantity, should be em- 
ployed in gilding and inlaying of swords, saddles, bridles, 
all warlike furniture both for his men and horses. " For 
gold and silver worn by martial men addeth," saith 
Plutarch, " courage and spirit unto them ; but in others, 
effeminacy or a kind of womanish vanity." 

Modcrata durante [Things that are nioderaie, endure. 1664^ ; 
vicdiocra firinti [Things of mediocrity are firm. 1664. {Lord 
Bacon)], were the mottoes of two as grave and great 
Councillors as were, of their Times, in England. 

A Gentleman in a plain cloth suit, well made, may appear 
in the presence of the greatest Prince. The Venetians, as 
wise a people and State as any other in Europe, are bound 
by the laws of their Common wealth, that their upper gar- 
ment, worn within the city, should ever be of plain black. 

Yea, the greatest Princes go, many times, the plainest in 
their apparel. Chakles the Fifth, Emperor, the Bulwark 
and Moderator of Christendom, in his time, went veiy plain ; 
seldom or never wearing any gold or silver, save his Order of 
the Golden Fkecc about his neck. 


Henry IV., King of France, worthily styled the Ninth 
Worthy, many times, in the heat of summer, would only go 
in a suit of buckram cut upon white canvas, or the like : 
so little they, who had the Kernel of wisdom and magna- 
nimity, cared for the Shell of gaudy apparel. 

And it is worthy the observation how, for the IJ^'/ greatest 

. "^ , , , .0 clwla rs nave 

most part, the rarest and most excellent men m I'eo, the 
inward knowledge and multiplicity of learning, i7»s,"!ifi/!ey 
have been most negligent and careless in their ''/'■"^ t'^^": 'i 

00 to be no dis- 

apparel ; and, as we say, slovens. Erasmus saith credit to tiiem. 
of Sir Thomas More, Quod a pitero semper in ^^^^ 
vestitu fnit negligentissimns, "that from a child, he Episto'iarwi. 
was ever most careless and slovenly in his apparel." Para- 
celsus we read to have been the like : and, to parallel him, 
our late Master Butler of Cambridge [died 1618I, that 
learned and excellent Physician. 

[0/ Scholars and Wits, in all Ages, both poets and others, some 
there have been who, of force, and against their own will, have 
been forced to keep an old fashion. 

I remember that an old Poet, of excellent parts for learning and 
pleasant discourse, did, many years since, tell me. A Gentleman 
of great estate in Derbyshire, desiring his company into the 
country with him, it being in the Long Vacation in summer 
time, when great breeches had been [were] much in fashion, with 
baggings out at the knees, taking up much cloth, and a great 
store of linings. This scholar being at present very low in his 
fortunes, had worn very long and threadbare, a suit of this 
fashion till his linings being so broken that he' was fain, every 
night, li'hcn he put them off, to be a long time putting them in 
order, that he might find the way to put them on, in the morning. 

But in the morni^ig, the Gentleman coming into the room, and 
taking icp his breeches, threw them upon his bed, saying, " He was 
a slugger-bed ! " 

" O, Sir,'' said the scholar, "you, have tmdone me ! for I was 
a great while setting my breeches the last nigJii ; and now I shall 
not know how to get my legs into them /" 

The Gentleman fell into a laughter, and sent for a tailor to 
make him a new suit. 

This is as near the story as I can remember ; according to the 
scholar's own relation, about 1625. 1669.] 

There is much money to be saved in apparel, in choice of 

282 Godfrey Colton, the Cambridge tailor. ["•^,^'"^^6^"?; 

stuff for lasting and expense : and that you may not be de- 
ceived in the stuff or price, take the advice of some honest tailor, 
your friend ; as, no question, but everywhere there are many. 

I will instance one. In Cambridge, there dwelt, some 
twenty or thirty years ago [about 1620', one Godfrey 
Colton ; who was, by trade, a tailor : but a merry com- 
panion with his tabour and pipe, and for singing of all manner 
of Northern Songs before Nobles and Gentlemen, who much 
delighted in his company ; besides, he was Lord of Stour- 
bridge Fair and all the misorders there. 

On a time, an old Doctor of the University brought unto 
him five yards of pure fine scarlet, to make him a Doctor of 
Divinity's gown : and withal, desired him to save him the 
least shred, to mend a hole if a moth should eat it. 

Godfrey having measured it, and found there was enough, 
laid it by. 

"Nay," quoth the Doctor, " let me see it cut ere I go ! for 
though you can play the knave abroad, I think you are honest 
at home and at your work." 

" GOD forbid else ! " quoth Godfrey, " and that you shall 
find by me! For give me but 20s. from you, and I will save 
you 40s. in the making of your gown." 

" That I will ! " said the Doctor, who was miser-able 
enouj^h, " with all mine heart ! " 

With that, he gave him two old Harry Angels out of his 
velvet pouch : which Godfrey having put into his pocket, 
the Doctor desired him to tell him how he should save him 40s. 

" Marry ! will I," quoth Godfrey, " in good faith, Sir. 
Let some other tailor, in any case, make it ! For if I take 
it in hand, I shall utterly spoil it ! for I never, in all my life, 
made any of this fashion ! " 

I report this, for the credit of honest tailors ; who will ever 
tell their friends the truth. 

0/ Recreations. 

F recreations, some are more expensive than others, 

as requiring more address and charge [outlay] ; as 

Fittings, Masques, Plays, and the like:" which are 

^ proper to Princes' Courts. 

But I speak of those which are proper [appropriate] to private 

H. Peacham 

I'g^"^;] English recreations in 1641.283 

men. For such is our nature, that we cannot stand long^ 
bent ; but we must have our relaxations as well of mind, as of 

For of Recreations, some are proper to the mind and 
speculation, as reading of delightful and pleasant books, the 
knowledge of the mathematical and other contemplative 
sciences ; which are the more pleasing and excellent, by how 
much the pleasure of the Mind excelleth that of the Body. 

Others belong to the body, as walking, riding upon pleasure, 
shooting, hunting, hawking, bowling, ringing, Paille Maille 
[Note the occurrence of this name 18 years before the Restoration, 
when Charles II. brought it into fashion], and the like ; which 
are recreations without doors : others are within doors, as 
chess, tables, cards, dice, billiards, gioco d'oco, and the like. 

But the truth is, the most pleasing of all, is riding with 
a good horse and a good companion, in the spring [T/tatrec>-ea. 
or summer season, into the country, when the bios- IZ'st^f/ealant. 
soms are on the trees and flowers in the fields ; or i664.] 
when corn and fruit are ripe in autumn. What sweet and 
goodly prospects shall you have, on both sides of you, upon 
the way ! delicate green fields ! low meadows ! diversity of 
crystal streams ! woody hills ! parks with deer ! hedgerows ! 
orchards ! fruit trees ! churches I villages ! the houses of 
gentlemen and husbandmen ! several habits [different clothes] 
and faces ! variety of country labours and exercises ! 

And if you happen, as often it falleth out, to converse with 
countrymen of the place; you shall find them, for the most 
part, understanding enough to give you satisfaction : and some- 
times country maids and market wenches will give as unhappy 
answers as they be asked knavish and uncivil questions. 

Others there be, who, out of their rustical simplicity, will 
afford you matter of mirth, if you stay to talk with them. I 
remember, once, by Horncastle, near to Stikeswold, in Lin- 
colnshire, in the heat of summer, I met with a swineherd 
keeping his hogs on a fallow field. 

" My friend," quoth I, " you keep here a company of unruly 
cattle ! " 

" I [Ay], poor souls, they are indeed," quoth he. 

"I believe," said I, "they have a language among them- 
selves, and can understand one another." 

" I, as well as you or I." 

284 Recreation should re-create a man. ["' ^'''I'g.T. 

** Were they ever taught ? " 

" Alas, poor things, they know not one letter of the book ! 
I teach them all they have." 

" Why, what saith that great hog with red spots," quoth 
I, " that lies under another, in his grunting language ? " 

" Marry, he bids him that sleeps so heavy upon him, to lie 
farther off." 

But to our purpose. The most ordinary recreations in the 
country are foot-ball, skales or nine-pins, shooting at butts ; 
quoits, bowling, running at the base, stoolball, leaping, and 
the like : whereof some are too violent and dangerous. 

The safest recreations are within doors, but not in regard 
of cost and expense ; for thousands sometimes are lost at 
Ordinaries and Dicing-houses. Yea, I have known goodly 
Lordships to have been lost at a cast ! and. for the sport of one 
night, some have made themselves beggars all their lives after. 

Recreation is so called a rccreando, that is, by a metaphor, 
from creating a Man anew, by putting life, spirit, and delight 
into him, after the powers of his mind and body have been 
decayed and weakened with over much contemplation, study, 
and labour : and therefore to be used only to that end. 

Some go for recreations which trouble and amuse the 
mind as much or more than the hardest study ; as chess, 
In Basiikon whlch Klug James called therefore " over philo- 
doron. sophical a folly." 

And, indeed, such recreations should be so used that leave 
no sting of repentance for sin committed by them, or grief and 
sorrow, for loss of money and time, many days after. 

I could instance many of that nature, but I will only give 
Excellent rules somc cxcellent rules to be observed in some of 

recreation. ,1 



If you have a mind to recreate yourself by Play, never 
adventure but a Third part of that money you have ! 
Let those you play withal, be of your acquaintance, and 
not strangers ; if you may avoid it. 

Never miss Time yourself, by sitting long at Play, as 
some will do three or four nights together ; and so make 
yourself unfit for any business in many days after. 

Never play until you be constrained to borrow, or 
pawn an3thing of your own ; which becometh a base 
groom better than a Gentleman. 

"■ ?'''i6":] W A Y S TO GET A LIVING IN I 64 I. 2S5 

Avoid quarrelling, blasphemous swearing; and, in a 

word, never play for more than you are willing to lose, 

that you may find yourself, after your pastime, not the 

worse, but the better : which is the end of all recreations. 

There are some, I know, so base and penurious, who, for 

fear of losing a penny, will never play at anything : yet, 

rather than they should want their recreation, I would wish 

them to venture at Span-counter and Dust-point, with 

schoolboys, upon their ordinary play days, in a market-place 

or Church porch ! 

Of such Jionest ways that men in want may 
take to live and get money. 

|F A man hath fallen into poverty or distress, either 
by death of friends, some accident or other \a proper 
by sea or land, sickness, or the like ; let IVgsi^'o/a 
him not despair! ior paupcrtas non est vitium. Centtemanin. 

... , f-^ '■ '■'■.,. ..^ U-rfordsIn re. 

And smce the Common wealth is like unto a theCentteman 
human Body, consisting of many members so use- fJid^iirnXft 
ful, each to either, as one cannot subsist without "«'''«« ^/"^ 

11 f-\ • ^ • r\ • 1 yoittli and 

the other; as a Prince, his Council and Statesmen, umbs »i,ght be 
are as the Head; the Arms, are men-at-arms; the VePr\vhere- 
Backthe commonality; Hands and Feet are country 'l^Zarlaid 
and mechanic trades, &c. : so, GOD hath ordained "-^'-f'" .^, 

, ,, 1111 1 r 1 1 trotibled ivitli 

that all men should have need one 01 another, that a bad disease, 
none might live idly or want employment. Where- wZ'asL',ned:' 
fore Idleness as the bane of a Common wealth, '^he Centie- 

. . 7iia7i giving 

hath a curse attending upon it ; it should be >^''" ■^^- (=6d. 
clothed with rags ! it should beg its bread ! &c. Tiding/or- 

I remember I have read in an Italian history, of '^lltanlack tT 
one so idle, that he was fain to have one to help ^,".'""" ^^''''"^ 

,. .... , , lit 1 • "'-f aisease 

him to stir his chops, when he should eat his meat, w^?- The 

Now, if you would ask me. What course he ^Jfdi him,hit 

should take, or what he should do that wanteth ^f^'^'/JZ"^' 

money? let him first bethink himself to what cudgei/ed.he 

profession or trade of life he hath been formerly se,vh^g-ntan. 

brought up? _ 'u&u"5us 

If of the inferior rank of people, as a tradesman '/X7JJT 

[mechanic] or artificer; for those are the persons .w«fwr« 

most concerned in this general complaint. xQit]^"^^''" 

286 Loss OF TIME IN COFFEE-HOUSES IN 16/6. ["• ^ 


First, let them be diligent and industrious in their 
several trades and callings. 

Secondly, let them avoid all such idle society that 
squandered away a great deal of tune at a cheap rate. 

[I shall instance, in those sober and civil Conventions as at 
coffee-houses and clubs, where little Money is pretended to be 
spent, but a great deal of precious Time is lost : which the 
person never thinks of, but measures his expenses by what goes 
out of his pocket ; nor considers what he might have put in 
by his labour, and what he might have saved, being employed 
in a shop for example. 

A mechanic tradesman, it may be, goes to the coffee-house 
or ale-house, in the morning, to drink his morning's draught; 
where he spends twopence, and in smoking and talking con- 
sumes at least an hour : in the evening, about six o'clock, he 
goes to his twopenny Club, and there stays for his twopence 
till nine or ten. Here are fourpence spent ; and four hours 
at least lost, which in most mechanic trades, cannot be 
reckoned at less than a shilling : and, if he keep servants, 
they may lose him nearly as much by idling and spoiling his 
goods, which his presence might have prevented. So that, 
upon these considerations, for this, his supposed Groat a day's 
expenses, he cannot reckon less than seven groats : which 
comes to 14s. [ = 425. now] a week, Sundays excepted ; this is 
£^,6 105. a year [=z£iog 10s. now], a great deal of money in 
a poor tradesman's pocket. 1676.] 
If brought up to no trade, to what his genius or natural 
disposition stands most affected unto. 

If he hath a mind to travel, he shall find entertain- 
[Thetimcsin mcnt in the Netherlands; who are the best 

"o /lin/7/io paymasters ; except the Emperor of Russia, 

deny imiustry ^si^ the Vcnctians (I mean, for the most 

aiiTeiihood. means) m Europe. 

waylillTy If you llst not to follow the wars, you may 

^hhSiuord,°£ fi"^ entertainment among our new Planta- 

ike schoi'ar by tions in Amcrica I as New England, Virginia, 

the exercise of , t~> i i c~. r^t • 11 i 1 < 

hhPen: and the barbadocs, bt. Christopher s, ana the rest : 

'Zuilhaf where with a great deal of delight, you may have 

'Z'^uUrstntdcih variety of honest employment, as fishing with 

7iot. 1C64.] the net or hook, planting, gardening, and the 

like ; which, besides your maintenance, you shall find it 

H. Peach nm. 
2 104 

':] Get, and keep a friend! 287 

a great content to your conscience to be in action, which 
GOD commands us all to be! vniereis,w 

If you have been ever in Grammar School, 'i:Z"lva,u\f 
you may everywhere find children to teach ; %"ll'^;,/J, 
so many, no doubt, as will keep you from "ponmUawfui 
starving, and it may be in a Gentleman's mf/{Z'';''a»j, 
house. Or if you get entertainment of any s^So, 
who followeth the Law or practiseth Physic: ''"f^^-" ', 
you may, with diligence and practice, prove a hima,ii,u-h 
Clerk to himself or some Justice of the Peace. t^nTtL'\mi.\ 
By the other, you may get the knowledge and nature of 
herbs and all foreign drugs from his apothecary ; and 
perhaps many good receipts for agues, wounds, and the 
like. I have known many, this way, to have proved in 
a country town, tolerable physicians, and have grown 
If being born a Gentleman, you scorn, as our Gentlemen do, 
to do any of these; you may get to be a Gentleman 
Usher to some Lady or other. They are not few that 
have thrived passing well this way. 
And, in a word, rather than be in miserable and pitiless 
want, let a man undertake any vocation and labour ! always 
remembering that homely, but true, distich of old Tusser's, 

Think no labour slavery. 
That brings in Penny saverly ! 

And as a necessary rule hereto coincident, let every man 
endeavour, by a dutiful diligence, to get a friend ! and when 
he hath found him (neither are they so easily found in these 
days!) with an equal care to keep him ! and to use him, as one 
would do a crystal or Venice glass, to take him up softly and 
use him tenderly ; or as you would a sword of excellent 
temper and mettle, not to hack at every gate or cut every 
staple and post therewith, but to keep him to defend you in 
your extremest danger. 

False and seeming friends are infinite. Such be our 
ordinary acquaintance, with the compliment, " Glad to see 
you well ! " " How have you done, this long time?" &c. : 
and with these, we meet every day. 

In a word, for a conclusion, let every one be careful to get 

>.SS " We will want money, for no man ! " ["• 

? 1641. 

and keep money. Know the worth of a Penny ! [There is 
no companion like a Penny ! Be a good husband ! and iliou 
wilt soon get a penny to spend, a penny to lend, and a penny for 
thy friend. 1667.] 

And since we are born, we must live. Vivons nons ! Let 

us live as well, as merrily, as we can, in these hardest 

Times ! and say, every one of us, as Sir Roger Williams, 

that brave soldier, said to Queen Elizabeth, when he 

wanted pay for himself and his soldiers, " Madam, 

I tell you true ! we will be without money for 

no man's pleasure ! " 


I D E ^ , 

I N 

S I X T Y-T H R E E 


B Y 

Michael Drayton, 




Printed for John Smethwick. 

I 6 I 9. 

ENG. Gar. VI. 


^A ^i To the Reader of 
these Sonnets. 

N'to these Loves, w/io btit for Passion looks ; 
At tills first sight, here let him lay them by / 
And seek elsezvJiere in tttrning other books, 
Which better may his labour satisfy. 
No far-fetched Sigh shall ever wound my bi'east I 
Love from 7nine eye, a Tear shall never wring I 
No " Ah me I "s my whiiiing sofinets drest I 
A Libertine / fantastic ly I sing ! 

My Verse is the true image of my ATind, 
Ever in motion, still desiring change : 
And as thus, tovariety inclined ; 
So in all humottrs sportively / range I 

My MtLse is rightly of the English strain, 
That cannot long 07ie fashion entertain. 



Ike an adventurous seafarer am I, 
Who hath some long and dangerous voyage 

been ; 
And called to tell of his discovery, 
How far he sailed, what countries he had 
seen ; 
Proceeding from the port whence he put 
Shews by his compass how his course he steered, 
When East, when West, when South, and when by North, 
As how the Pole, to every place was reared ; 

What capes he doubled, of what continent, 
The gulfs and straits that strangely he had past ; 
Where most becalmed, where with foul weather spent, 
And on what rocks in peril to be cast : 
Thus in my Love, Time calls me to relate 
My tedious travels, and oft-varying fate. 



CM. Drayton. 

Y HEART was slain, and none but you and I ? 
Who should I think the murder should commit ; 
Since but yourself, there was no creature by 
But only I, guiltless of murdering it ? 

It slew itself? The verdict on the view 
Do quit the dead, and me not accessory. 
Well, well ! I fear it will be proved of you ! 
Th'evidence so great a proof doth carry. 

But see ! See, we need inquire no further ! 
Upon your lips, the scarlet drops are found ! 
And in your eye, the Boy that did the murder ! 
Your cheeks yet pale, since first he gave the wound ! 

By this I see, however things be past, 

Yet Heaven will still have murder out at last. 

Aking my pen, with words to cast my woe, 
Duly to count the sum of all my cares ; 
I find, my griefs innumerable grow : 
The reck'nings rise to millions of despairs. 

And thus dividing of my fatal hours : 
The payments of my Love, I read and cross ; 
Subtracting, set my Sweets unto my Sours. 
My Joys' arrearage leads me to my loss. 

And thus mine eyes a debtor to thine eye, 
Which by extortion gaineth all their looks ; 
My heart hath paid such grievous usury, 
That all their wealth lies in thy Beauty's books. 

And all is Thine which hath been due to me ; 

And I a bankrupt, quite undone by Thee ! 

M. Dray 





Right Star of Beauty ! on whose Eyelids sit 
A thousand nymph-like and enamoured Graces, 
The Goddesses of Memory and Wit, 
Which there in order take their several places. 

In whose dear Bosom, sweet delicious Love 
Lays down his quiver, which he once did bear, 
Since he that blessed Paradise did prove ; 
And leaves his mother's lap, to sport him there. 

Let others strive to entertain with words ! 
My soul is of a braver mettle made : 
I hold that vile, which vulgar Wit affords. 
In me 's that faith which Time cannot invade ! 

Let what I praise, be still made good by 3'ou ! 

Be you most worthy, whilst I am most true ! 

Othing but «'No!" and "*I !", and "I!" and "No!". 

" How falls it out so strangely? " you reply. 

I tell ye, Fair ! I'll not be answered so ! v^y^ 

With this affirming " No ! ", denying " I ! ". 

I say " I love ! " You slightly answer " I ! ". 
I say " You love ! " You pule me out a " No ! ". 
I say " I die 1 " You echo me with " I ! ". 
" Save me ! " I cry ; you sigh me out a " No ! ". 

Must Woe and I have naught but " No ! " and " I ! " ? 
No " I 1 " am I, if I no more can have. 
Answer no more I With silence make reply, 
And let me take myself what I do crave ! 

Let " No ! " and " I ! " with I and you be so. 

Then answer «' No ! " and '' I ! ", and " I ! " and " No ! ". 


I D E A: 

[M. Drayton. 


Ow many paltry foolish painted Things, 
That now in coaches trouble every street, 
Shall be forgotten (whom no Poet sings) 
Ere they be well wrapped in their winding sheet ! 

Where I, to thee Eternity shall give ! 
When nothing else remaineth of these days. 
And Queens hereafter shall be glad to live 
Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise. 

Virgins and matrons, reading these my rhymes. 
Shall be so much delighted with thy Story, 
That they shall grieve they lived not in these Times, 
To have seen Thee, their sex's only glory ! 

So shalt thou fly above the vulgar throng, 

Still to survive in my immortal Song. 

OvE, in a humour, played the prodigal, 
And bade my Senses to a solemn feast ; 
Yet more to grace the company withal, 
Invites my Heart to be the chiefest guest. 

No other drink would serve this glutton's turn. 
But precious Tears distilling from mine ey'n ; 
Wliich with my Sighs this epicure doth burn. 
Quaffing carouses in this costly wine : 

Where, in his cups, o'ercome with foul excess, 
Straightways he plays a swaggering ruffian's part, 
And at the banquet, in his drunkenness, 
Slew his dear friend, my kind and truest Heart. 

A gentle warning, friends ! thus may you see. 

What 'tis to keep a drunkard, company ! 


. Drayton."] 




Here's nothing grieve me, but that Age should haste, 
That in my days, I may not see the old ! 
That where those two clear sparkling Eyes are placed, 
Only two loopholes, then I might behold ! 
That lovely arched ivory-polished Brow 
Defaced with wrinkles, that I might but see! 
Thy dainty Hair, so curled and crisped now, 
Like grizzled moss upon some aged tree ! 

Thy Cheek, now flush with roses, sunk and lean ! 
Thy Lips, with age as any wafer thin ! 
Thy pearly Teeth, out of thy head so clean, 
That when thou feed'st, thy Nose shall touch thy Chin ! 
These Lines that now scornst, which should delight thee : 
Then would I make thee read, but to despite thee ! 

S OTHER men, so I myself, do muse 
Why in this sort I wrest Invention so ? 
And why these giddy metaphors I use, 
Leaving the path the greater part do go ? 

I will resolve you ! I am lunatic ! 
And ever this in madmen you shall find. 
What they last thought of, when the brain grew sick, 
In most distraction, they keep that in mind. 

Thus talking idly, in this Bedlam fit. 
Reason and I (you must conceive) are twain ; 
'Tis nine years now, since first I lost my Wit. 
Bear with me then, though troubled be my brain ! 

With diet and correction, men distraught, 
(Not too far past), may to their wits be brought. 



FM. Drayton. 
L 1594-1619. 



O NOTHING fitter can I thee compare, 
Than to the son of some rich penny-father ; 
Who having now brought on his end with care, 
Leaves to his son, all he had heaped together. 
This new rich Novice, lavish of his chest, 
To one man gives ! doth on another spend ! 
Then here he riots ! yet, amongst the rest, 
Haps to lend some to one true honest friend. 

Thy Gifts, thou in obscurity dost waste ! 
False friends, thy Kindness ! born but to deceive thee. 
Thy Love that is on the unworthy placed ! 
Time hath thy Beauty, which with age will leave thee! 
Only that little, which to me was lent, 
I give thee back ! when all the rest is spent. 


Ou're not alone when You are still alone, 
O God ! from You that I could private be ! 
Since You one were, I never since was one ; 
Since You in Me, my self since out of Me. 

Transported from my Self into your Being, 
Though either distant, present yet to either : 
Senselessly with too much joy, each other seeing; 
And only absent, when We are together. 

Give me my self! and take your self again ! 
Devise some means but how I may forsake You I 
So much is mine that doth with You remain, 
That taking what is mine, with me I take You ! 

You do bewitch Me ! O that I could liy 

From my self You, or from your pwn self I I 






To the Soul. 

Hat learned Father, which so firmly proves 
The Soul of Man immortal and divine, 
And doth the several Offices define : 

Gives her that Name, as she the body moves. 

Then is she Love, embracing Charity. 

Moving a will in us, it is the Mind : ^ 

Retaining knowledge, still the same in kind. 

As intellectual, it is Memory. 

In judging. Reason only is her name. 

In speedy apprehension, it is Sense. 







Sensiis, ^ - J 

Conscientia, In right and wrong, they call her Conscience. 

Spiritus, The Spirit, when it to GODward doth mflame. 
These of the Soul, the several functions be, 
Which my heart lightened by thy Love, doth 


To the Shadow. 

Etters and lines, we see are soon defaced. 
Metals do waste and fret with canker's rust. 
The diamond shall once consume to dust; 
And freshest colours, with foul stains disgraced. 

Paper and ink can paint but naked words. 
To write with blood, of force offends the sight. 
And if with tears, I find them all too light : 
And sighs and signs, a silly hope afford : 

O sweetest Shadow, how thou serv'st my turn ! 
Which still shalt be, as long as there is sun. 
Nor whilst the world is, never shall be done ; 
Whilst moon shall shine, or any fire shall burn : 

That everything whence shadow doth proceed, 

May in his shadow, my Love's story read. 



E A 

[M. Drayton. 


F HE, from heaven that filched that living fire. 
Condemned by JovE to endless torment be ! 
I greatly marvel, how you still go free! 
That far beyond Prometheus did aspire. 

The fire he stole, although of heavenly kind, 
Which from above he craftily did take, 
Of liveless clods, us living men to make ; 
He did bestow in temper of the mind. 

But you broke into heaven's immortal store, 
Where Virtue, Honour, Wit, and Beauty lay ! 
Which taking thence, you have escaped away. 
Yet stand as free as e'er you did before : 

Yet old Prometheus punished for his rape! 

Thus poor thieves suffer, when the greater 'scape. 


Hh Remedy for Love. 

Ince to obtain thee, nothing me will stead, 
I have a Med'cine that shall cure my Love. 
The powder of her Heart dried, when she is dead, 
That gold nor honour ne'er had power to move ; 

Mixed with her Tears that ne'er her True Love 
Nor, at fifteen, ne'er longed to be a bride ; 
Boiled with her Sighs, in giving up the ghost. 
That for her late deceased husband died ; 

Into the same, then let a woman breathe. 
That being chid, did never word reply ; 
With one thrice-married's Prayers, that did bequeath 
A legacy to stale virginity. 

If this receipt have not the power to win me; 

Little I'll say, but think the Devil 's in me ! 

M. Dray 



I D E A » 



An Allusion to the Phxnix. 

Ongst all the creatures in this spacious round, 
Of the birds' kind, the Phoenix is alone : 
Which best by you, of living things is known ; 
None like to that ! none like to you is found ! 

Your Beauty is the hot and splend'rous sun. 
The precious spices be your chaste Desire ; 
Which being kindled by that heavenly tire, 
Your life, so like the Phoenix 's begun. 

Yourself thus burned in that sacred flame, 
With so rare sweetness all the heavens perfuming ; 
Again increasing, as you are consuming, 
Only by dying born the very same. 

And winged by Fame, you to the stars ascend ! 
So you, of time shall live beyond the end. 


To Time. 

Tay, speedy Time ! behold, before th«u pass 
From Age to Age, what thou hast sought to see ! 
One in whom all the excellencies be, 
In whom Heaven looks itself as in a glass. 

Time ! look thou too in this tralucent glass ! 
And thy youth past, in this pure mirror see ! 
As the World's Beauty in his infancy, 
What it was then ; and thou, before it was. 

Pass on ! and to posterity tell this! 
Yet see thou tell but truly, what hath been ! 
Say to our nephews, that thou once hast seen 
In perfect human shape, all Heavenly Bliss ! 

And bid them mourn, nay more, despair with thee, 

(That she is gone) her like again to see ! 

5& -3 s 

300 IDEA. 1_ ,s94-l6i9. 


To the Celestial Numbers, 

THIS our World, to Learning, and to Heaven ; 
Three Nines there are, to every one a Nine : 
One number of the earth, the other both Divine, 
One Woman now makes three odd numbers even. 

Nine Orders first, of Angels be in heaven ; 
Nine Muses do, with Learning still frequent; 
These with the gods are ever resident. 
Nine worthy Women, to the World were given. 

My worthy One, to these Nine Worthies addeth ! 
And my fair Muse, one Muse unto the Nine ! 
And my good Angel (in my soul, divine!), 
With one more Order, these nine Orders gladdeth ! 

My Muse, my Worthy, and my Angel then 

Makes every One of these three Nines, a Ten. 


To Humour. 

fOu cannot love, my pretty Heart ! and why ? 
There was a time you told me that you would ; 
But now again, you will the same deny! 
If it might please you, would to God you could ! 
What, will you hate ? Nay, that you will not neither ! 
Nor love, nor hate ! how then ? What will you do ? 
What, will you keep a mean then betwixt either ? 
Or will you love me, and yet hate me too ? 

Yet serves not this ! What next, what other shift ? 
You Will, and Will Not; what a coil is here ! 
I see your craft ! Now, I perceive your drift I 
And all this while, I was mistaken there. 

Your love and hate is this, I now do prove you ! 
You love in hate, by hate to make me love you. 

M. Drayton.' 

. Drayton."] 




N EVIL Spirit (your Beauty) haunts me still, 
Wherewith, alas, I have been long possesst ; 
Which ceaseth not to attempt me to each ill, 
Nor give me once, but one poor minute's rest. 

In me it speaks, whether I sleep or wake : 
And when by means to drive it out I try. 
With greater torments then it me doth take, 
And tortures me in most extremity. 

Before my face, it lays down my despairs, 
And hastes me on unto a sudden death : 
Now tempting me, to drown myself in tears ; 
And then in sighing to give up my breath. 

Thus am I still provoked to every evil. 

By this good-wicked Spirit, sweet Angel-Devil. 


Witless Gallant, a young wench that wooed 
(Yet his dull spirit, her not one jot could move), 
Intreated me, as e'er I wished his good. 
To write him but one Sonnet to his Love. 

When I, as fast as e'er my pen could trot, 
Poured out what first from quick Invention came ; 
Nor never stood one word thereof to blot : 
Much like his wit, that was to use the same. 

But with my verses, he his Mistress won ; 
Who doated on the dolt beyond all measure. 
But see ! For you, to heaven for phrase I run. 
And ransack all Apollo's golden treasure ! 

Yet by my froth, this Fool, his Love obtains : 

And I lose you, for all my wit and pains ! 



[M. Drayton. 


To Folly. 

Ith fools and children, good discretion bears. 
Then, honest people, bear with Love and me ! 
Nor older yet, nor wiser made by years, 
Amongst the rest of fools and children be. 

Love, still a baby, plays with gauds and toys, 
And like a wanton sports with every feather ; 
And idiots still are running after boys : 
Then fools and children fittest to go together. 

He still as young as when he first was born ; 
No wiser I, than when as young as he : 
You that behold us, laugh us not to scorn ; 
Give Nature thanks, you are not such as we ! 

Yet fools and children sometimes tell in play, 

Some wise in shew, more fools indeed than they ! 


OvE banished heaven, in earth was held in scorn ; 
Wand'ring abroad in need and beggary t 
And wanting friends, though of a goddess born. 
Yet craved the alms of such as passed by. 
I, like a man devout and charitable, 
Clothed the naked, lodged this wandering guest; 
With sighs and tears still furnishing his table, 
With what might make the miserable blest. 
But this Ungrateful ! for my good desert, 
Inticed my thoughts, against me to conspire; 
Who gave consent to steal away my heart, 
And set my breast (his lodging) on a fire. 

Well, well, my friends! when beggars grow thus bold; 
No marvel then, though Charity grow cold. 

M. Dray 






Hear some say, "This man is not in love ! " 
" Who ! can he love ? a likely thing ! " they say. 
" Read but his Verse, and it will easily prove ! " 
O, judge not rashly, gentle Sir, I pray ! 

Because I loosely trifle in this sort, 
As one that fain his sorrows would beguile : 
You now suppose me, all this time, in sport ; 
And please yourself with this conceit the while. 

Ye shallow Censures ! sometimes, see ye not, 
In greatest perils, some men pleasant be ; 
Where Fame by death is only to be got. 
They resolute ! So stands the case with me. 

Where other men, in depth of Passion cry ; 

I laugh at Fortune, as in jest to die ! 


, Why should Nature niggardly restrain, 
That foreign nations relish not our tongue ? 
Else should my Lines glide on the waves of Rhine, 
And crown the Pyren's with my living Song. 

But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth ! 
Thence take you wing unto the Orcades ! 
There let my Verse get glory in the north, 
Making my sighs to thaw the frozen seas. 

And let the Bards within that Irish isle, 
To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall pass. 
Call back the stiff-necked rebels from exile, 
And mollify the slaughtering Gallowglass ! 

And when my flowing Numbers they rehearse, 

Let wolves and bears be charmed with my Verse ! 



TM. Drayton. 
L 1594-1619. 


To Despair. 

Ever love, where never Hope appears, 

Yet Hope draws on my never-hoping care ; 

And my life's Hope would die but for Despair ; 
My never-certain joy breeds ever certain fears. 

Uncertain dread gives wings unto my Hope; 
Yet my Hope's wings are laden so with fear 
As they cannot ascend to my Hope's sphere ; 
Though fear gives them more than a heavenly scope. 

Yet this large room is bounded with Despair, 
So my Love is still fettered with vain Hope, 
And liberty deprives him of his scope, 
And thus am I imprisoned in the air. 

Then, sweet Despair, awhile hold up thy head ! 

Or all my Hope, for sorrow, will be dead. 


S NOT Love here, as 'tis in other climes ? 
And differeth it, as do the several nations? 
Or hath it lost the virtue, with the Times ? 
Or in this island altereth with the fashions ? 

Or have our Passions lesser power than theirs, 
Who had less Art, them lively to express ? 
Is Nature grown less powerful in their heirs, 
Or in our fathers, did she more transgress ? 

I am sure, my sighs come from a heart as true 
As any man's that Memory can boast 1 
And my respects and services to you, 
Equal with his, that loves his Mistress most! 
Or Nature must be partial in my cause, 
Or only You do violate her laws 1 

M. Dray 





SUCH as say, thy Love I overprize, 
And do not stick to term my praises, folly ; 
Against these folks, that think themselves so wise, 
I thus oppose my reason's forces wholly. 

Though I give more than well affords my state. 
In which expense, the most suppose me vain 
(Which yields them nothing, at the easiest rate), 
Yet, at this price, returns me treble gain. 

They value not, unskilful how to use ; 
And I give much, because I gain thereby : 
I that thus take, or they that thus refuse ; 
Whether are these deceived then, or I ? 

In everything, I hold this maxim still. 

The circumstance dotli make it good or ill. 


To the Senses. 

Hen conquering Love did first my Heart assail ; 
WVfii Unto mine aid I summoned every Sense : 
)^^ Doubting, if that proud tyrant should prevail, 
My Heart should suffer for mine eyes' offence. 

But he with beauty first corrupted Sight, 
My Hearing bribed with her tongue's harmony. 
My Taste by her sweet lips drawn with delight. 
My Smelling won with her breath's spicery. 

But when my Touching came to play his part 
(The King of Senses, greater than the rest). 
He yields Love up the keys unto my Heart ; 
And tells the others, how they should be blest. 
And thus by those, of whom I hoped for aid ; 
To cruel Love, my soul was first betrayed. 

Eng. Gar. VI. 20 

3o6 Idea, \^\ 



To the Vestals. 

Hose priests which first the Vestal Fire began, 
\\"hich might be borrowed from no earthly flame, 
Devised a vessel to receive the sun, 
Being stedfastly opposed to the same : 

Where, with sweet wood, laid curiously by Art, 
On which the sun might by reflection beat ; 
Receiving strength for every secret part. 
The fuel kindled with celestial heat. 

Thy blessed Eyes, the sun which lights this fire ! 
My holy Thoughts, they be the Vestal Flame 1 
The precious odours be my chaste Desires ! 
My Breast's the vessel which includes the same! 

Thou art my Vesta ! Thou, my goddess art 1 

Thy hallowed temple only is my Heart ! 


To the Critics. 

jiEthinks, I see some crooked Mimic jeer, 
And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace ; 
Turning my papers, asks, " What have we here?" 
Making withal some filthy antic face. 

I fear no censure, nor what thou canst say ! 
Nor shall my spirit, one jot of vigour lose ! 
Think'st thou, my Wit shall keep the packhorse way, 
That every dudgen low Invention goes ? 

Since Sonnets thus in bundles are imprest. 
And every drudge doth dull our satiate ear ; 
Think'st thou, my Love shall in those rags be drest, 
That every dowdy, every trull doth wear ? 

Up to my pitch, no common judgement flies ! 

I scorn all earthly dung-bred scarabies ! 

M. Dray 


.-rrj Idea. 307 


To the River Ankor. 

Ur floods' Queen, Thames, for ships and swans is 

crowned ; 
And stately Severn, for her shore is praised. 
The cr3^stal Trent, for fords and fish renowned ; 
And Avon's fame, to Albion's cliffs is raised, 

Carlegion Chester vaunts her holy Dee. 
York, many wonders, of her Ouse can tell. 
The Peak, her Dove, whose banks so fertile be : 
And Kent will say, her Medway doth excel. 

Cotswold commends her Isis to the Tame. 
Our northern borders boast of Tweed's fair flood. 
Our western parts extol their Wilis' fame ; 
And the old Lea brags of the Danish blood. 

Arden's sweet Ankor, let thy glory be, 

That fair Idea only lives by thee ! 


To Imagination. 

HiLST yet mine Eyes do surfeit with delight, 
My woful Heart (imprisoned in my breast) 
Wisheth to be transformed to my sight. 
That it, like, those, by looking, might be blest. 

But whilst mine Eyes thus greedily do gaze, 
Finding their objects over-soon depart; 
These now the other's happiness do praise, 
Wishing themselves, that they had been my Heart. 

That Eyes were Heart, or that the Heart were Eyes, 
As covetous the other's use to have. 
But finding Nature, their request denies, 
This to each other mutually they crave. 

That since the one cannot the other be, 

That Eyes could think of that my Heart could see. 



[M. Drayton. 



To Admiration. 

Arvel not, Love ! though I thy power admire ! 
Ravished a world beyond the farthest thought, 
And knowing more, than ever hath been taught, 
That I am only starved in my Desire : 

Marvel not, Love ! though I thy power admire ! 
Aiming at things exceeding all perfection ; 
To Wisdom's self to minister direction, 
That I am only starved in my Desire : 

Marvel not. Love ! though I thy power admire ! 
Though my Conceit I further seem to bend 
Than possibly Invention can extend ; 
And yet am only starved in my Desire : 

If thou wilt wonder ! here 's the wonder, Love ! 

That this to me doth yet no wonder prove. 


To Miracle. 

Ome misbelieving and profane in Love, 
When I do speak of miracles by thee. 
May say, that thou art flattered by me ; 
Who only write, my skill in Verse to prove. 

See miracles ! ye Unbelieving, see ! 
A dumb-born Muse made to express the mind 1 
A cripple Hand to write, yet lame by kind ! 
One by thy name, the other touching thee. 

Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine ; 
And mine ears deaf, by thy fame healed be : 
My vices cured by virtues sprung from thee ; 
My hopes revived, which long in grave had lien. 

All unclean thoughts (foul spirits) cast out in me, 

Only by virtue that proceeds from thee. 

I. Drayton. "1 





Cupid conjured. 

Hou purblind Boy ! since thou hast been so slack 
To wound her heart, whose eyes have wounded me ; 
And suffered her to glory in my wrack : 
Thus to my aid, I lastly conjure thee ! 

By hellish Styx (by which the Thunderer swears)! 
By thy fair Mother's unavoidrd power ! 
By Hecate's names ! by Proserpine's sad tears, 
When she was rapt to the infernal bower ! 

By thine own loved Psyche's ! by the fires 
Spent on thine altars, flaming up to heaven ! 
By all true lovers' sighs, vows, and desires ! 
By all the wounds that ever thou hast given ! 

I conjure thee, by all that I have named, 

To make her love ! or, Cupid, be thou damned ! 


Ear ! why should you command me to my rest, 
When now the night doth summon all to sleep ? 
Methinks, this time becometh lovers best ! 
Night was ordained, together friends to keep. 

How happy are all other living things. 
Which, through the day, disjoined by several flight. 
The quiet evening yet together brings. 
And each returns unto his Love at night ! 

O thou that art so courteous else to all, 
Why shouldst thou, Night ! abuse me only thus ! 
That every creature to his kind dost call. 
And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us ? 

Well could I wish, it would be ever day; 

If, when night comes, you bid me go away ! 



[M. Drayton. 

Itting alone, Love bids me go and write ! 
Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay ! 
Boasting that She doth still direct the way, 
Or else Love were unable to indite. 

Love growing angry, vexed at the spleen, 
And scorning Reason's maimed argument. 
Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to invent 
Where She with Love conversing hath not been. 

Reason reproached with this coy disdain, 
Despiteth Love, and laugheth at her folly : 
And Love contemning Reason's reason wholly, 
Thought it in weight too light by many a grain. 

Reason put back, doth out of sight remove ; 

And Love alone picks reason out of love. 


O.ME, when in rhyme, they of their loves do tell ; 
With ilames and lightnings their exordiums paint. 
Some call on heaven, some invocate on hell, 
And Fates and Furies, with their woes acquaint. 

Elizium is too high a seat for me. 
I will not come in Styx or Phlegethon. 
The thrice-three Muses but too wanton be. 
Like they that lust, I care not, I will none ! 

Spiteful Ekinnys frights me with her looks, 
My manhood dares not, with foul Ate mell. 
I quake to look on Hecate's charming books. 
I still fear bugbears in Apollo's cell. 

I pass not for Minerva ! nor Astrea ! 

Only I call on my divine Idea ! 

[. Drayton."! 




R^ Y HEART the Anvil where my thoughts do beat ; 
My words the Hammers fashioning my Desire ; 
My breast the Forge including all the heat, 
Love is the Fuel which maintains the fire. 
My sighs the Bellows which the flame increaseth, 
Filling mine ears with noise and nightly groaning. 
Toiling with pain, my labour never ceaseth ; 
In grievous Passions, my woes still bemoaning. 

My eyes with tears against the fire striving, 
Whose scorching glede, my heart to cinders turneth : 
But with those drops, the flame again reviving 
Still more and more it, to my torment burneth. 
With Sisyphus thus do I roll the stone, 
And turn the wheel with damned Ixion. 


Love's Lunacy. 

^Hy do I speak of joy, or write of love. 
When my heart is the very den of horror ; 
And in my soul the pains of hell I prove. 
With all his torments and infernal terror ? 

What should I say ? What yet remains to do ? 
My brain is dry with weeping all too long. 
My sighs be spent in uttering of my woe. 
And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong. 

But still distracted in Love's lunacy, 
And Bedlamlike, thus raving in my grief. 
Now rail upon her hair, then on her eye. 
Now call her "Goddess!" then I call her "Thief!" 

Now I deny her! then I do confess her! 

Now do I curse her! then again I bless her! 

/„ „ , riSI. Drayton. 

D E A . j_ X594-X619. 


Ome men there be, which Hke my method well, 
And much commend the strangeness of my vein. 
Some say I have a passing pleasing strain, 
Some say that in my humour I excel. 

Some, who not kindly relish my conceit, 
They say, as poets do I use to feign, 
And in bare words paint out my Passions' pain. 
Thus sundry men, their sundry minds repeat. 

I pass not, I, how men affected be ! 
Nor who commends or discommends my Verse 1 
It pleaseth me, if I my woes rehearse ! 
And in my lines, if She, my love may see ! 

Only my comfort still consists in this; 

Writing her praise, I cannot write amiss ! 

JHy should your fair eyes, with such sovereign grace. 

Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit, 
Ij Whilst I in darkness, in the self-same place, 
Get not one glance to recompense my merit ? 

So doth the plowman gaze the wandering star. 
And only rest contented with the light ; 
That never learned wl^ajt constellations are. 
Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight. 

O why should Beauty (custom to obey), 
To their gross sense apply herself so ill ! 
Wpuld God ! \ were as ignorant as they ! 
"When I am made unhappy by my skill ! 

Only compelled on this poor good to boast. 

Heavens arc not kind to them, that know them most! 

[. Drayt 






HiLST thus my pen strives to eternize thee, 
Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face ; 
Where, in the Map of all my Misery, 
Is modelled out the World of my disgrace : 

Whilst in despite of tyrannizing Times, 
MEDEAlike, I make thee young again! 
Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing rhymes, 
And murder'st Virtue with thy coy disdain ! 

And though in youth, my youth untimely perish, 
To keep Thee from oblivion and the grave ; 
Ensuing Ages yet my Rhymes shall cherish, 
Where I entombed, my better part shall save ; 

And though this earthly body fade and die, 

My Name shall mount upon Eternity ! 


Uses ! which sadly sit about my chair, 
Drowned in the tears extorted by my lines ; ^ 
With heavy sighs, whilst thus I break the air, 
Painting my Passions in these sad designs. 

Since She disdains to bless my happy Verse, 
The strong built Trophies to her living fame. 
Ever henceforth my bosom be your hearse ! 
Wherein the World shall now entomb her name. 

Enclose my music, you poor senseless walls ! 
Sith She is deaf and will not hear my moans, 
Soften yourselves with every tear that falls ! 
Whilst I, like Orpheus, sing to trees and stones. 

Which with my plaint seem yet with pity moved, 

Kinder thai] She whom I so long have loved. 



[M. Drayton. 


Lain pathed Experience (th' unlearned's guide), 
Her simple followers evidently shews 
Sometimes what Schoolmen scarcely can decide, 
Nor yet wise Reason absolutely knows. 
In making trial of a murder wrought, 
If the vile actors of the heinous deed 
Near the dead body happily be brought, 
Oft 't hath been proved, the breathless corse will bleed. 

She coming near, that my poor heart hath slain, 
Long since departed (to the World no more), 
Th' ancient wounds no longer can contain. 
But fall to bleeding, as they did before. 

But what of this ! Should She to death be led, 
It furthers Justice ; but helps not the dead ! 


jN PRIDE of Wit, when high desire of fame 
Gave life and courage to my lab'ring pen, 

i And first the sound and virtue of my name 
Won grace and credit in the ears of men ; 

With those, the thronged Theatres that press, 
I in the Circuit for the laurel strove ! 
Where the full praise, I freely must confess, 
In heat of blood, a modest mind might move. 

With shouts and claps at every little pause, 
When the proud Round on every side hath rung ; 
Sadly I sit, unmoved with the applause. 
As though to me it nothing did belong. 

No public glory vainly I pursue : 

All that I seek is to eternize you ! 

I. Drayton.-j J D E A . 3^5 

1594-1619.J "^ 


Upid, I hate thee ! which I'd have thee know ! 

A naked starveling ever mayst thou be ! 

Poor rogue ! go pawn thy fascia and thy bow 

For some poor rags, wherewith to cover thee ! 

Or if thou 'It not, thy archery forbear ! 
To some base rustic do thyself prefer ! 
And when the corn 's sown, or grown into the ear; 
Practice thy quiver, and turn crowkeeper ! 

Or being blind, as fittest for the trade. 
Go hire thyself some bungling harper's boy ! 
They that are blind are minstrels often made ! 
So mayst thou live, to thy fair mother's joy ! 

That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old way, 

Thou, her blind son, mayst sit by them and play. 


Hou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write, 
And sayst my lines be dull, and do not move. 
I marvel not thou feelst not my Delight, 
Which never felt'st my fiery touch of Love ! 
But thou, whose pen hath like a packhorse served, 
Whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food. 
Whose senses, like poor prisoners, hunger starved, 
Whose grief hath parched thy body, dried thy blood. 

Thou which hast scorned life, and hated death ; 
And in a moment, mad, sober, glad, and sorry ; 
Thou which hast banned thy thoughts, and curst thy birth, 
With thousand plagues more than in Purgatory : 
Thou, thus whose spirit. Love in his fire refines ! 
Come thou and read, admire, applaud my Lines! 



LM. Drayton. 


S IN some countries, far remote from hence, 
The wretched creature destined to die ; 
Having the judgement due to his offence, 
By Surgeons begged, their Art on him to try : 

Which on the living, work without remorse, 

First make incision on each mastering vein, 

Then staunch the bleeding, then transpierce the corse, 

And with their balms recure the wounds again. 

Then poison, and with physic him restore ; 
Not that they fear the hopeless man to kill, 
But their experience to increase the more. 
Even so my Mistress works upon my ill. 
By curing me and killing me each hour. 
Only to shew her Beauty's sovereign power. 


Allikg to mind since first my Love begun, 
The uncertain Times, oft varying in their course ; 
How things still unexpectedly have run, 
As it please the Fates, by their resistless force. 
Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seen 
Essex's great fall ! Tyrone his peace to gain ! 
The quiet end of that long living Queen ! 
This King's fair Entrance ! and our peace with Spain! 

We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever ! 
Thus the World doth and evermore shall reel : 
Yet to my goddess am I constant ever ! 
Howe'er blind Fortune turn her giddy wheel. 

Though heaven and earth prove both to me untrue, 
Yet am I still inviolate to You ! 

M. Drayton.-] I D E A . Z"^ 1 


Hat dost thou mean, to cheat me of my heart ? 
To take all mine, and give me none again ? 
Or have thine eyes such magic, or that Art 
That what they get, they ever do retain ? 
Play not the Tyrant, but take some remorse ! 
Rebate thy spleen, if but for pity's sake ! 
Or cruel, if thou can'st not, let us scorse ! 
And for one piece of thine, my whole heart take ! 

But what of pity, do I speak to thee ! 
Whose breast is proof against complaint or prayer: 
Or can I think what my reward shall be 
From that proud Beauty, which was my betrayer ! 
What talk I of a heart, when thou hast none ! 
Or if thou hast, it is a flinty one. 


Another to the river Ankor. 

Lear Ankor, on whose silver-sanded shore, 
My soul-shrined Saint, my fair Idea lives; 
O blessed brook! whose milk-white swans adore 
Thy crystal stream, refined by her eyes. 
Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr, in the Spring, 
Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers : 
Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing 
Amongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers. 

Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy Queen, 
" Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wandering years ! 
And in these shades, dear Nymph ! he oft hath been ! 
And here to thee, he sacrificed his tears ! " 
Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone ! 
And thou, sweet Ankor, art my Helicon ! 

3i8 Idea. [^ 



Et read at last the Story of my Woe ! 
The dreary abstracts of my endless cares, 
With my life's sorrow interlined so. 
Smoked with my sighs, and blotted with my tears. 
The sad Memorials of my Miseries ! 
Penned in the grief of mine afflicted ghost. 
My Life's Complaint in doleful Elegies ! 
With so pure love as Time could never boast. 

Receive the incense which I offer here, 
By my strong faith ascending to thy fame ! 
My zeal, my hope, my vows, my praise, my prayer, 
My soul's oblations to thy sacred Name ! 

Which Name, my Muse, to highest heavens shall raise, 
By chaste Desire, true Love, and virtuous Praise ! 


Y Fair ! if thou wilt register my Love, 
A world of volumes shall thereof arise ! 
Preserve my Tears, and thou thyself shall prove 
A second Flood, down raining from mine eyes ! 
Note but my Sighs, and thine eyes shall behold 
The sunbeams smothered with immortal smoke ! 
And if by thee, my Prayers may be enrolled ; 
They, heaven and earth to pity shall provoke ! 

Look thou into my breast, and thou shalt see 
Chaste holy vows for my soul's sacrifice ! 
That soul, sweet Maid ! which so hath honoured thee, 
Erecting Trophies to thy sacred eyes. 

Those eyes to my heart shining ever bright, 
When darkness hath obscured each other light. 


. Drayton."] 
1 594-1619. J 




An allusion to the Eas^lets. 

Hen like an Eaglet, I first found my love, 
For that the virtue I thereof would know. 
Upon the nest I set it forth, to prove 
If it were of that kingly kind or no : 
But it no sooner saw my sun appear, 
But on her rays with open eyes it stood ; 
To shew that I had hatched it for the air, 
And rightly came from that brave-mounting brood. 

And when the plumes were sunned with sweet Desire, 
To prove the pinions, it ascends the skies 1 
Do what I could, it needsly would aspire 
To my soul's sun, those two celestial Eyes. 

Thus from my breast, where it was bred alone, 
It after thee is, like an Eaglet flown. 

Ou best discerned of my mind's inward eyes, 
And yet your graces outwardly Divine, 
Whose dear remembrance in my bosom lies, 
Too rich a relic for so poor a shrine. 
You, in whom Nature chose herself to view, 
When she, her own perfection would admire ; 
Bestowing all her excellence on you. 
At whose pure eyes, Love lights his hallowed fire ; 

Even as a man that in some trance hath seen 
More than his wondring utterance can unfold ; 
That, rapt in spirit, in better worlds hath been. 
So must your praise distractedly be told ! 

Most of all short, when I would shew you most, 
In your perfections so much am I lost. 



[M. Drayton. 

N FORMER times, such as had store of coin, 
In wars at home, or when for conquests bound, 
For fear that some their treasure should purloin, 
Gave it, to keep, to Spirits within the ground : 

And to attend it, them as strongly tied. 
Till they returned. Home when they never came, 
Such as by Art to get the same have tried. 
From the strong Spirit, by no means force the same. 

Nearer men come, that further flies away ! 
Striving to hold it strongly in the deep. 
Even as this Spirit, so you alone do play 
With those rich beauties, Heaven gives you to keep. 

Pity so left to the coldness of your blood, 

Not to avail you, nor do others good. 


To Proverbs. 

S Love and I late harboured in one inn. 
With Proverbs thus each other entertain. 
In Love there is no lack, thus I begin : 
Fair words make fools, replieth he again. 

Who spares to speak, doth spare to speed, quoth I. 
As well, saith he, too forward as too slow. 
Fortune assists the boldest, I reply. 
A hasty man, quoth he, ne'er wanted woe ! 

Labour is light, where Love, quoth I, doth pay. 
Saith he. Light burden 's heavy, if far born. 
Quoth I, The Main lost, cast the By away ! 
You have spun a fair thread, he replies in scorn. 

And having thus awhile each other thwarted, 

Fools as we met, so fools again we parted. 

M. Drayton."] 




Efine my Weal, and tell the joys of heaven ; 
Express my Woes, and ^hew the pains of hell ! 
Declare what Fate, unluck stars have given ! 
And ask a world upon my life to dwell ! 
Make known the faith that Fortune could not move ! 
Let virtue be the touchstone of my Love ! 
Compare my worth with others' base desert ! 
So may the heavens read wonders in my heart ! 

Behold the clouds which have eclipsed my sun ! 
And view the crosses which my course do let 1 
Tell me, if ever since the world begun 
So fair a rising, had so foul a set ? 
And see, if Time (if he would strive to prove) 
Can shew a Second to so pure a Love ! 


Inch there *s no help, Come, let us kiss and part ! 
Nay, I have done. You get no more of me ! 
And I am glad, yea, glad, with all my heart, 
That thus so cleanly, I my self can free. 
Shake hands for ever ! Cancel all our vows ! 
And when we meet at any time again, 
Be it not seen in either of our brows, 
That we one jot of former love retain ! 

Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath. 
When his pulse failing. Passion speechless lies ; 
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death. 
And Innocence is closing up his eyes : 

Now, if thou wouldst ! when all have given him over, 
From death to life, thou might'st him yet recover ! 
enc.gar.w. 21 



LM. Drayton. 


Hen first I ended, then I first began ; 
Then more I travelled further from my rest. 
Where most I lost, there most of all I wan ; 
Pined with hunger, rising from a feast. 
Methinks, I fly, yet want I legs to go; 
Wise in conceit, in act a very sot. 
Ravished with joy amidst a hell of woe ; 
What most I seem that surest am I not. 

I build my hopes, a world above the sky ; 
Yet with the mole I creep into the earth. 
In plenty I am starved with penury ; 
And yet I surfeit in the greatest dearth. 
I have, I want ; despair, and yet desire : 
Burned in a sea of ice, and drowned amidst a fire. 



RucE, gentle Love ! a Parley now I crave ! 
Methinks, 'tis long since first these wars begun. 
Nor thou, nor I, the better yet can have ! 
Bad is the match, where neither party won. 

I offer free Conditions of fair Peace ! 
My heart for hostage that it shall remain. 
Discharge our forces ! Here, let malice cease ! 
So for my pledge, thou give me pledge again. 

Or if no thing but death will serve thy turn, 
Still thirsting for subversion of my State, 
Do what thou canst ! raze ! massacre ! and burn 
Let the World see the utmost of thy hate ! 

I send Defiance! since if overthrown, 

Thou vanquishing, the conquest is mine own ! 


Political Arithmetic, 

O R 



The extent and value of Lands, People, 
Buildings; Husbandry, Manufacture[s], 
Commerce, Fishery, Artizans, Seamen, 
Soldiers ; Public Revenues, Interest, 
Taxes, Superlucration, Registries, Banks; 
Valuation of Men, Increasing of Seamen ; 
of Militias, harbours. Situation, Shipping, 
Power at sea, &c. : as the same relates 
to every country in general, but more 
, particularly to the territories of His 
Majesty of Great Britain, and his 
neighbours of Holland, Zealand, and 


late Fellow of the Royal Society. 

London. Printed by Robert Clavel at the Peacock^ 
and Henry Mortlock at the Phoenix in St. 
Paul's Church-yard. 1690. 


Et this book called Political Arithmetic , which was long 
since written [about 1677, seep. 351] by Sir William 
Petty deceased, be printed. 

Given at the Court at Whitehall, the yth day of November, i6go. 


Lord Siielborne's Dedication to Willlvm III. 325 

To the King's most excellent Majesty. 


HiLST every one meditates some fit offering for your 

Majesty, sucJi as may best agree loith your happy 

exaltation to this Throne ; I presume to offer what 

my father, long since, wrote to shew the Weight and 

Importance of the English Crown. 

It was by him styled Political Arithmetic, inasmuch as things 
of Government, and of no less concern and extent than the glory of 
the Prince and the happiness and greatness of the People are, by 
the ordinary rules of Arithmetic, brought into a sort of Demon- 

He was allotted by all, to be the Inventor of this method of 
instruction, where the perplexed and intricate ways of the World 
are explained by a very mean piece of Science : and had not the 
Doctrines of this Essay offended France, they had, long since, seen 
the light [i.e., the Essay would have been printed in England, 
but for the French policy of Charles II.] ; and had sound 
followers, as well as improvements, before this time, to the ad- 
vantage, perhaps, of mankind. 

But this has been reserved to the felicity of your Majesty's 
reign, and to the expectation which the Learned have therein ; 
and if, while in this I do some honour to the memory of a good 
father, I can also pay service, and some testimony of my zeal and 
reverence to so great a King, it will be the tUmost ambition of 


Your Majesty's 
Most dutiful and most obedient subject, 



7he pri7icipal Conclusions of this 
'Treatise are : 

Chap. I. That a small country and few people may, by 
their Situation, Trade, and Policy, be equiva- 
lent in wealth and strength to a far greater 
people and territory. And, particularly, that 
conveniences for shipping and water carriage, 
do most eminently and fundamentally conduce 

thereunto />. 331 

II. That some kind of taxes and public levies may 
rather increase, than diminish the wealth 
of the Kingdom p. 348 

III. That France cannot, by reason of natural andper- 
petualimpcdiments,bc more powerfid at sea than 

the English or Hollanders now are, or may be p. 356 

IV. That the People and Territories of the King of 
England are, naturally, nearly as considerable 

for wealth and strength, as those of France ...p. 362 
V. That the impediments of England's greatness 

are but contingent and renwveable p. 374 

VI. That the power and wealth of England hath 

increased, this forty years [i.e., since 1637 A. D.] p. 378 
VII. That One-Tenth part of the Whole Expense of 
the King of England's subjects is sufficient to 
maintain 100,000 Foot, 30,000 Horse, and 
40,000 seamen at sea ; and to defray all other 
charges of the Government, both ordinary and 
extraordinary, if the same iv ere regularly taxed 

and raised , p. 380 

VIII. That there are spare hands enough, among the 
King of England's subjects, to earn ^3,000,000 
per annum more than they now do; and that 
there are also employments ready, proper, and 

sufficient for that purpose p. 383 

IX. That there is Money sufficient to drive the Trade 

of the nation p. 385 

X. That the King of England's subjects have Stock 
tcapitalj competent and convenient to drive the 
Trade of the whole Commercial World p. 386 




Orasmuch as men who are in a deca}'ing condi- 
tion or who have but an ill of their own concern- 
ments, instead of being, as some think, the more 
industrious to resist the evils they apprehend, do, 
contrariwise, become the more languid or ineffectual in all 
their endeavours ; neither caring to attempt or prosecute 
even the probable means of their relief. Upon this considera- 
tion, as a member of the Common Wealth, next to knowing 
the precise truth, in what condition the common Interest 
stands, I would, in all doubtful cases, think the best ! and 
consequently not despair without strong and manifest reasons, 
carefully examining whatever tends to lessen my hopes of 
the Public Welfare. 

I have therefore thought iit to examine the following 
Persuasions ; which I find too current in the world, and 
too much to have affected the minds of some, to the prejudice 
all, viz. : 

That the rents of lands are generally fallen ; that therefore, 
and for many other reasons, the whole Kingdom The fears of 
grows every day poorer and poorer. 
it abounded with gold ; but now, there is a great 
scarcity, both of gold and silver. That there is no trade, nor 
employment for the people; and yet that the Land is under- 
peopled. That taxes have been many and great. That Ireland 

r\y\ , r 1 many concern- 

That formerly ;„. tL welfare 

of England. 

328 Prejudices & Improvements of England. [^"Y- ''"g"^; 

and the Plantations in America, and other additions to'tJie Crown, 
are a burden to England. That Scotland is of no advantage. 
That Trade, in general, doth lamentably decay. That the 
Hollanders are at our heels, in the race for naval power : the 
French grow too fast upon both ; and appear so rich and potent, 
that it is but their clemency that they do not devour their neigh- 
bours. And, finally, that the Church and State of England 
are in the same danger with the Trade of England. With many 
other dismal suggestions, which I had rather stifle than 

It is true, the expense of foreign commodities hath, of late 
The real Pre- bccn too great. Much of our plate, had it re- 

jndices of 

p:ngiaiid. mained money, would have better served trade. 
Too many matters have been regulated by Laws, which 
Nature, long custom, and general consent ought only to have 
governed. The slaughter and destruction of men by the late 
Civil Wars [1642-50], and Plague [1665], have been great. 
The Fire at London, and Disaster at Chatham have begotten 
opinions in the vulgus of the world, to our prejudice. The 
Nonconformists incj-ease [!] The people of Ireland think 
long of their Settlerqent. The English there, apprehend 
themselves to be aliens, and are forced to seek a trade with 
foreigners, which they might as well maintain with their 
own relations in England. 

But notwithstanding all this, the like whereof was always 
in all places, the buildings of London grow great and glorious. 
The Improve- The American Plantations employ 400 Sail of Ships. 

rnents of . ^ _ . 

England. Actwus [Sharcs] in the East India Company are 
nearly double the principal money [the original nominal Stock], 
Those who can give good security, may have money under 
Statute interest. Materials for building, even oak timber, are 
[but, little the dearer (some cheaper) for [allj the rebuilding 
of London. The Exchange seems as lull of merchants as 


w.petty.-i XijE Author's sianner of arguing. 329 

formerly. No more beggars in the streets, nor executed for 
thieves, than heretofore. The number of coaches and splen- 
dour of equipage exceeds former Times. The public Theatres 
are very magnificent. The King has a greater Navy, and 
stronger Guards than before our calamities. The Clergy are 
rich, and the Cathedrals in repair. Much land has been 
improved, and the price of food is so reasonable as that men 
refuse to have it cheaper by admitting of Irish cattle. 

And, in brief, no man needs to want, that will take moderate 
pains. That some are poorer than others, ever was and ever 
will be : and that many are naturally querulous and envious, 
is an evil as old as the world. 

These general observations, and that men eat, and drink, 
and laugh, as they used to'do, have encouraged me to try if 
I could also comfort others : being satisfied myself, that the 
Interest and Affairs of England are in no deplorable con- 

The method I take, to do this, is not yet very usual. For 
(instead of using only comparative and superlative xhe Author's 

,, , , \ T 1 J. 1 Method and 

words, and mtellectual arguments) 1 have taken manner uf 
the course (as a specimen of the Political Arith- '"'^'""'^■ 
metic I have long aimed at) to express myself in Terms of 
Number, Weight, or Measure; to use only arguments of 
sense, and to consider only such causes as have visible 
foundations in Nature : leaving those that depend upon the 
mutable minds, opinions, appetites, and passions of particular 
men, to the consideration of others. Really professing my- 
self as unable to speak satisfactorily upon those grounds (if 
they may be called grounds !) as to foretell the cast of a die 
[dice], to play well at tennis, billiards, or bowls (without long 
practice) by virtue of the most elaborate conceptions that ever 
have been written dc projedilibus et missilibus, or of the angles 
of incidence and reflection. 

330 Observations set forth by Number, &c. p^V'- ^';-;^;: 

Now the Observations or Positions expressed by Number, 
. Wei£:ht, and Measure, upon which I bottom the 

1 he nature ot " ' ' 

his PiopoM- ensuins: Discourses, are either true, or not ap- 

tions and Sup- n ' ' •■ 

positious. parently false. And which if they are not already 
true, certain, and evident ; yet may be made so by the 
Sovereign Power, Na})i id certuui est quod ccrtum reddi potest. 
And if they are false, not so false as to destroy the argument 
they are brought for : but, at worst, are sufficient, as Sup- 
positions, to shew the way to that Knowledge I aim at. 

And I have, withal, for the present, confined myself to the 
Ten principal Conclusions hereafter particularly handled : 
which if they shall be judged material, and worthy of a better 
discussion ; I hope all ingenious and candid persons will 
rectify the errors, defects, and imperfections, which probably 
may be found in any of the Propositions, upon which these 
ratiocinations were grounded. Nor would it misbecome 
Authority itself, to clear the truth of those matters which 
private endeavours cannot reach to. 





That a small conntvy and few people, by its Situation, Trade, 
and Policy, may be equivalent in wealth and strength to a far 
greater people and territory. A nd, particularly, that conveniences 
for shipping and water carriage, do most eminently and funda- 
mentally conduce thereunto. 

His first principal Conclusion, by reason 
of its length, I consider in three parts : 
whereof the first is 

That a small country and few people may 
be equivalent in wealth and strength to a far 
greater people and territory. 

This part of the First principal Conclu- 
sion needs little proof : foras- How one Man 

1 u by Art, and one 

much as one acre of land may bear as mucn coin Acre of land by 
and feed, as many cattle, as twenty ; by the dif- ;^,7b:"'a- 
ference of the soil. Some parcel of ground is, lent to many. 
naturally, so defensible, as that an hundred men bemg pos- 
sessed thereof, can resist the invasion of five hundred. And 
bad land may be improved and made good. Bog may, by 
draining, be made meadow. Heathland may, as in Flanders, 
be made to bear flax and clover grass ; so as to advance in 
value from one to a hundred. The same land, being built 
upon, may centuple the rent which it yielded as pasture. One 
man is more nimble or strong, and more patient of labour 
than another. One man, by Art, may do as much work as 
many without it, viz. : one man with a mill can grind as 
much corn as twenty can pound in a mortar. One printer 
can make as many copies as a hundred men can write by 


hand. One horse can carry upon wheels as much as five 
upon their backs, and, in a boat or upon ice, as twenty. So 
that I say again, this First point of this general Position 
needs little or no proof. 

But the Second and more material part of this Conclusion 
is that this difference in land and people, arises principally 
from their situation, trade, and policy. 

To clear this, I shall compare Holland and Zealand with 
A comparison the Kiugdom of Francc ; viz., Holland and Zealand 
zL^rnd'with'^ do not contain above 1,000,000 of English acres. 
France. Wlicrcas the Kingdom of France contains above 


Now the original and primitive Difference holds proportion 
as land to land : for it is hard to say that when these places 
were first planted, whether an acre in France was better 
than the like quantity in Holland and Zealand ; nor is there 
any reason to suppose but that, therefore, upon the first 
plantation, the number of planters was in proportion to the 
quantity of land. Wherefore, if the people are not in the 
same proportion as the Land, the same must be attributed 
to the situation of the Land and to the trade and policy of 
the People superstructed thereupon. 

The next thing to be shewn is that Holland and Zealand, 
at this day, is not only an eightieth part as rich and strong 
as France, but that it hath advanced to one-third or there- 
abouts ; which, I think, will appear upon the balance of 
the following particulars, viz. : 

As to the wealth of France, a certain Map of that Kingdom, 
set forth anno 1647, represents it to be ^15,000,000, whereof 
£6,000,000 did belong to the Church : the Author thereof, as 
I suppose, meaning the rents of the Lands only. 

And the Author of a most judicious Discourse of Husbandry 
(supposed to be Sir Richard Weston) doth, from reason and 
ThattheLands cxpcrience, shew that lands in the Netherlands, 
tfuhe^'Landrof t>y bearing flax, turnips, clover grass, madder, &c., 
"aiand'as's'to ^^^^^ easily yield ;^io per acre. So as the territories 

I, in value. of Hollaud and Zealand should, by his account, 
yield at least £10,000,000 per annum : yet I do not believe the 
same to be so much, nor France so little as above said : but 
rather, that one bears to the other, as about 7 or 8 to i. 

sirw.PettynyjjE e^'tire European shipping in 1677. 333 

'! 1677. J 

The people of Amsterdam [about 160,000] are One-third of 
those in Paris or London [aboiU 480,000] : which ^f'^Amsterdam 
two cities differ not in people, a twentieth part from --tuue^tf 
each other as hath appeared by the Bills of burials those at Paris. 
and christenings for each. But the value of the Buildmgs 
in Amsterdam may well be half that of those of Pans by 
reason of the foundations, grafts [7 piles] and bridges ; which m 
Amsterdam are more numerous and chargeable than at Pans. 

Moreover, the habitations of the poorest people The Housing 
in Holland and Zealand are Twice or Thrice as i"J-",?f,, 
good as those of France : but the people of the one, 'j^-j^^J^-'"- 
to the people of the other, being as 13 to i; the HoUandand 
value of the Housing must be as about 5 to i. 2^^'""''- 

The value of the Shipping of Europe, being about 2,000,000 

tons, „, „,. . 

I suppose the English have 500,000 J^I^^^IZ"^ 

the Dutch 900,000 ^^in^^'j,-;sthat 

the French ... 100,000 

the Hamburgers, and subjects of Den- 
mark, Sweden, and the town of Dantzic 250,000 

And Spain, Portugal, Italy, &c ^250,000 


So as the Shipping, in our case of France to that of Hol- 
land and Zealand, is about i to 9 ; which, reckoned at 
great and small, new and old, one with another, at £8 per 
ton, makes the worth to be as ^800,000 to £7, 200,000. 

The Hollanders' capital in the[ir] East Indian The^comj«ri-^ 
Company is worth above £3,000,000 ; where the and France in 
French, as yet, have little or nothing. '^^ ^"'^'^'- . 

The value of goods exported out of France to all parts, is 
supposed to be quadruple to what is sent to Eng- The^ Jxpo^t^a- 
land alone [£1,250,000]: and consequently m all andHoiiandis 
about £5,000,000: but what is exported out of as 5 to 31. 
Holland into England is worth £3,000,000; and what is 
exported thence into all the world besides, is sextuple to the 
same [£3,000,000 + £i8,ooo,ooo = £2i, 000,000]^ 

The monies yearly raised by the King of France, as the 
same appears by the book entituled The State of The Revenues 
France, dedicated to the King ; printed anno 1669, ° '■^""- 
and set forth several times by authority, is 82,000,000 ot 

334 The taxes of the United Provinces, p'' 7' ^rg;! 

French Livers, which is about ^^6, 500,000 sterhng. Of which 
sum, the Author says that " one-fifth part was abated for 
non-vakiers or insolvencies " so, as I suppose, not above 
£5,000,000 were effectually raised. 

But whereas, some say that the King of France raised 
-£"11,000,000 as the One-fifth of the effects of France: I 
humbly affirm that all the land and sea forces, all the build- 
ings and entertainments which we have heard by common 
fame, to have been set forth and in any of these seven last 
years [? 1671-77] needed not to have cost ;£'6,ooo,ooo sterling ; 
wherefore I suppose he hath not raised more, especially 
since that were One-Fifth insolvencies, when the tax was at 
that pitch. 

But Holland and Zealand, paying 67 parts of the 100 paid 
The taxes paid by all the United Provinces; and the city of 
andzetiaud. Amsterdam paying 27 of the said 67 parts: it 
follows that if Amsterdam hath paid 4,000 Flemish Pounds 
per diem, or about 1,400,000 Pounds per annum or ;£'8oo,ooo 
sterling ; that Holland and Zealand have paid ^^'a, 100,000 
per annum. 

Now the reasons why I think they pay so much, are these, 
viz. : 

1. The Author of the State of the Netherlands saith so. 

2. The excise of victuals at Amsterdam seems to be above 
half the original value of the same, viz. : Ground corn 
pays 20 stivers the bushel, or 63 guilders the last. 
Beer 113 stivers, the barrel. Housing, one-sixth of the 
rent. Fruit, one-eighth of what it cost. Other com- 
modities one-seventh, one-eighth, one-ninth, one-twelfth, 
&c. Salt, ad libitum. All weighed goods pay, besides 
the premises, a vast sum. 

Now if the expense of the people of Amsterdam, at a 
medium, and without excise, were £8 per annum; whereas 
in England, it is £y : then if all the several imposts 
above named raise it to ^^5 more ; there being 160,000 
souls in Amsterdam, the sum of £800,000 sterling per 
annum will thereby be raised. 

3. Though the expense of each head should be £13 
per annum : it is well known that there be few in Am- 
sterdam, who do not earn much more than the said 


4. If Holland and Zealand pay per annum ^^2, 100,000 ; 
then all the Provinces together must pay about 
■;r3, 000, 000. Less than which sum per annnm, perhaps, 
is not sufficient to have maintained the naval war with 
England, 72,000 land forces, besides all the other 
ordinary charges of their Government, whereof the 
Church is there a part. 

To conclude, it seems from the premisses, that all 
France doth not raise above thrice as much from the 
public charge as Holland and Zealand alone do. 

5. Interest of money in France is £y per cent. ; ^f'^fnfjresr"" 
but in Holland scarcely half so much. J'5'^^'^*^'? , 

- ._,, . r XT 11 1 1^1 1 Hollana and 

6. The countries of Holland and Zealand con- France. 
sisting, as it were, of islands guarded with the sea, 
shipping, and marshes, is defensible at one-fourth of the 
charge that a plain open country is, and where the seat 
of war may be, both summer and winter : whereas in the 
others, little can be done but in the summer only. 

7. But above all the particulars hitherto considered, that 
of Superlucration [the national capitalizing of ihesuper- 
wealth, by savings out of income, through thrift, betweenPrance 
industry, and economy of power] ought chiefly to ''"'^ Holland. 
be taken in. For if a Prince have ever so many subjects, 
and his country be ever so good : yet if either through 
sloth or extravagant expenses, or oppression and injustice, 
whatever is gained shall be spent as fast as gotten ; that 
State must be accounted poor. 

Wherefore let it be considered, how much, or how 

many times rather, Holland and Zealand are now above 

what they were a hundred years ago : which we must 

also do of France. Now if France hath scarce doubled 

its wealth and power, and that the other have decupled 

theirs ; I shall give the preference to the latter even 

though the nine-tenths increased by the one, should not 

exceed the one-half gained by the other: because one 

has a store for nine years, the other but for one. 

To conclude, upon the whole, it seems that though France 

be in People to Holland and Zealand as 13 to i ; and in 

quantity of good Land, as 80 to i ; yet is it not 13 times 

richer and stronger, much less 80 times: nor much above 

thrice. Which was to be proved. 

23^ Density of poruLATiox, a national gain. [^'^ 7' ^iI'?: 

Having^ thus despatched the Two first branches of the First 
The causes of pi-inclpal Conclusion : it follows to shew that this 

the (Jinerence ^ . -. ^ , t • 111 1 

between Difference of Improvement m wealth and strength 

Honand!'"^ arises from the situation, trade, and policy of the 
places respectively : and in particular from conveniences for 
shipping and water carriage. 

Many writing on this subject, do so magnify the Hollanders 
as if they were more, and all other nations less, than men, as 
to matters of trade and policy ; making them angels, and 
others fools, brutes, and sots as those particulars : whereas, 
I take the Foundation of their achievements to lie originally in 
the Situation of the country ; whereby, they do things inimitable 
by others, and have advantages whereof others are incapable. 
The reasons First. The soil of Holland and Zealand is low 

is better than land, rlch and fertile ; whereby it is able to feed 
t'hougli'of'^'the many men: and so, as that men may live near each 
samerent;and other, for their mutual assistance in trade. 

consequently ' r 1 

why Holland I Say that a 1,000 acres that can leed i,ooo 

is better than 1 t-ii^u r 

France. souls, are better than 10,000 acres 01 no more 

effect ; for the following reasons : 

1. Suppose some great fabric were in building by a 1,000 
men : shall not much more Time be spared, if they lived 
all upon 1,000 acres, than if they were forced to live 
upon ten times as large a scope of land. 

2. The charge of the Cure of their souls and the Ministry 
would be far greater in one case than in the other : as 
also of Mutual Defence, in case of invasion, and even 
of thieves and robbers. Moreover the charge of Ad- 
ministration of Justice would be much easier, where 
witnesses and parties may be easily summoned, attend- 
ance less expensive, when men's actions would be better 
known, when wrongs and injuries could not be covered 
as in thin peopled places they are. 

Lastly, those who live in solitary places, must be 
their own soldiers, divines, physicians, and lawyers ; and 
must have their houses stored with necessary provisions, 
like a ship going upon a long voyage, to the great waste 
and needless expense of such provisions. 
The value of this First convenience to the Dutch, I reckon 
or estimate to be about per annum. 

Secondly, Holland is a level country, so as, in any part 

Sir W 

'■^;^7^';] Merchandise, Manufactures, &c. 2>Z7 

thereof, a windmill may be set up ; and by its being moist 
and vaporous, there is always wind stirring; over 'i'leadvan- 

■,,■■, 1 111 p tages from the 

it : by which advantage, the labour of many levei, and 
thousand hands is saved, forasmuch as a mill, Hoiiand^° 
made by one man in half a year, will do as much labour as 
four men for five years together. 

This advantage is greater or less, where employment or 
ease of labour is so: but in Holland it is eminently great, 
and the worth of this convenience is nearly ;^i5o,ooo. 

Thirdly, there is much more to be gained by Manufacture 
than Husbandry; and by Merchandise than Manu- iheadvan- 
facture. But Holland and Zealand being seated at Hofilnd, from 
the mouths of three longgreat rivers passing through manufacture 

o o _ r o o and commerce. 

rich countries, do keep all the inhabitants upon the The situation 
sides of those rivers but as husbandmen ; whilst zeaiand"upon 
they themselves are the manufactors [jiiamifacturcrs] [hreegreat "'^ 
of their commodities : and do dispense them into "^ers. 
all parts of the world, making returns for the same, at 
what prices almost they please themselves. And, in short, 
they keep the Keys of Trade of those countries, through 
which the said rivers pass. 

The value of this Third conveniency, I suppose to be 

Fourthly, in Holland and Zealand, there is scarcely any 
place of work or business one mile distant from a Nearness to 

• 1 1 111 r i • navigable 

navigable water : and the charge 01 water carriage waters. 
is generally but one-fifteenth or one-twentieth part of land 
carriage. Wherefore, if there be as much trade there as in 
France, then the Hollanders can outsell the French fourteen- 
fifteenths of all the expense of all travelling, postage, and 
carriage whatsoever : which even in England I take to be 
£^00,000 per annum, where the very postage of letters costs 
the people perhaps ^{^50,000 per annum, though farmed at 
much less; and all other labour of horses and porters at 
least six times as much. 

The value of this conveniency, I estimate to be above 
^300,000 per annum. 

Fifthly, the defensibleness of the country by reason of its 
situation in the sea, upon islands and in the marshes, Tii^e defensible- 
impassable ground diked and trenched ; especially Holland. 
considering how that place is aimed at, for its wealth. 

Eng. Gar. VI. 22 

338 All the European trade is ^45,000,000. p'J- ^fd/;, 

I say, the charge of defending that country is easier than 
if it were a plain champion, at least £200,000 per annum. 

Sixthly, Holland is so considerable for keeping ships in 
Harbouring of harbour, with small expense of men and ground 
smau'efp'^ense. tacklc, that it savcs per annum ^£'200, 000 of what 
must be spent in France. 

Now, if all these natural advantages do amount to above 
;^r, 000,000 per annum profits : and that the Trade of all 
Europe, nay, of the Whole World with which our Europeans 
do trade, is not about ^£"45, 000, 000 per annum, and if one- 
thirtieth of the Value be one-seventh of the Profit, it is plain 
that the Hollander may command and govern the whole trade. 

Seventhly, those who have their situation thus towards the 
Advantages from sca, and abouud with fish at home; and having 
*i^'^'"s- also the command of shipping, have by con- 

sequence the fishing trade; whereof that of herring alone 
brings more yearly profit to the Hollanders, than the trade 
of the West Indies to Spain, or of the East to themselves: 
as many have affirmed: being, as the same say, viis et modis, 
of above £^,000,000 per annum profit. 

Eighthly, it is not to be doubted, but that those who have 
Advantages by the trade of shipping and fishing, will secure them- 
provisions. sclvcs of thc trade of timber for ships, boats, masts, 
and caske ; of hemp for cordage, sails, and nets ; of salt, of 
iron; as also of pitch, tar, rosin, brimstone, oil, and tallow, as 
necessary appurtenances to shipping and fishing. 

Ninthly, those who predominate in shipping and fishing, 
Fitness for havc morc occasions than others, to frequent all 
universal trade, p^fts of thc woHd, and to obscrvc what is wanting 
or redundant everywhere, and what each people can do, and 
what they desire ; and consequently to be the Factors and 
Carriers for the Whole World in Trade. Upon which ground, 
they bring all native commodities to be manufactured at 
home ; and carry the same back, even to that country in which 
they grew. 

All which we see. For do they not work the sugars of the 
West Indies ? the timber and iron of the Baltic ? the hemp 
of Russia ? the lead, tin, and wool of England ? the quicksilver 
and silk of Italy ? the yarns and dyeing stuffs of Turkey ? 

To be short. In all the ancient States and Empires, those 
who had thc shipping, had the wealth. And if 2 per cent, in 

^''T'^iir?:] SeamexN, Artisans, & Husbandmen. 339 

the price of commodities be, perhaps, 20 per cent, in the gain; 
it is manifest that they who can, in ^45,000,000, undersell 
others, by ^^i, 000, 000 [i.e., nearly 2 per cent.], upon account 
of natural and intrinsic advantages only, may easily have the 
Trade of the World, without such angelical wits and judge- 
ments as some attribute to the Hollanders. 

Having thus done with their Situation, I now come to their 

It is commonly seen that each country flourisheth in the 
manufacture of its own native commodities, viz., Artificial 
England, for woollen manufacture ; France, for of ivad?* 
paper; Luic land, for iron ware; Portugal, for confectures 
[confectionary]; Italy, for silks. Upon which principle, it 
follows that Holland and Zealand must flourish most in the 
trade of shipping, and so become Carriers and Factors of the 
Whole World of Trade. 

Now the advantages of the Shipping Trade are as followeth, 
viz. : 

Husbandmen, seamen, soldiers, artisans, and merchants 
are the very Pillars of any Commonwealth : Husbandmen 
all the other great professions do rise out of seamen, soi- ' 

.,.,, •.. J. . p,, ,, diers, artisans, 

the infirmities and miscarriages 01 these. Now and merchants 
the seaman is three of these four. For every Piiil'Jsof7 
Seaman of industry and ingenuity, is not only ^,°Xh°"anda 
a Navigator, but a Merchant, and also a Sol- Seaman is 
dier; not because he hath often occasion to ' ""^° ' ^"'• 
fight and handle arms, but because he is familiarized 
with hardship and hazards extending to life and limbs. 
For training and drilling is a small part of soldiery in 
respect of this last-mentioned qualification : the one being 
quickly and presently learned; the other, not without many 
years' most painful experience. Wherefore to have the 
occasion of abounding in Seamen is a vast conveniency. 
2. The husbandmen of England earns but about 4s. a 
week; but the seamen have as good as 12s. in ASeaman 
wages, victuals, and as it were housing, with f,'^"h^ei''"' 
other accommodations : so as a seaman is in un^bandmen. 
effect three husbandmen. 

Wherefore there is little ploughing and sowing of corn 
in Holland and Zealand, or breeding of young cattle : but 

140 A Seaman equals three Husbandmen. p'^T'^'S?: 

their land is improved by building houses, ships, engines, 
dykes, wharfs, gardens of pleasure, extraordinary flowers 
and fruits ; for dairy and feeding of cattle, for rape, flax, 
madder, &c. — the foundations of several advantageous 

3. Whereas the employment of other men is confined 
to their own country, that of seamen is free to the whole 
world ; so as where Trade may, as they call it, be dead, 
here or there, now and then, it is certain that somewhere 
or other in the world, Trade is always quick enough, and 
provisions are always plentiful. The benefit whereof, 
those who command the shipping enjoy, and they only. 

4. The great and ultimate effect of trade is not wealth 
at large ; but particularly abundance of silver, gold, and 
Silver, gold, jcwcls; which are not perishable, nor so mutable 
Unlve'vTri'' ^"^ ^s other commodities, but are wealth at all 
Wealth. times, and all places: whereas abundance of 
wine, corn, fowls, flesh, &c., are riches but hie et nunc. 
So as the raising of such commodities, and the following 
of such trade which does store the country with gold, 
silver, jewels, &c., is profitable before others. 

But the labour of seamen and freight of ships are 
always of the nature of an exported commodity : the 
overplus wdiereof, above what is imported, brings home 
money, &c. 

5. Those who have the command of the sea trade, 
Reasons why may work at easier freight with more profit 
safi for 'les"'^^'^^ than othcrs at greater. For as cloth must be 
freight. cheaper made when one cards, another spins, 
another weaves, another draws, another dresses, another 
presses and packs ; than when all the operations above 
mentioned are clumsily performed by the same hand : so 
those who command the trade of shipping, can build long 
slight ships for carrying masts, fir timber, boards, balks 
[beams or rafters], &c.; and short ones for lead, iron, 
stones, &c. ; one sort of vessels to trade at ports where 
they need never lie aground, others where they must 
jump upon the sand twice every twelve hours : one sort 
of vessels and way of manning, in time of peace and for 
cheap gross [bulky] goods, another for war and precious 
commodities ; one sort of vessels for the turbulent sea, 

^''V'^'e"/'] ^^^^ Policy of the United Provinces. 341 

another for inland waters and rivers ; one sort of vessels 
and rigging where haste is requisite for the maidenhead 
[first sales] of a market, another where one-third or one- 
fourth of the time makes no matter ; one sort of masting 
and rigging for long voyages, another for coasting; one sort 
of vessels for fishing, another for trade ; one sort for war for 
this or that country, another for burden only. Some for 
oars, some for poles, some for sails, and some for draught 
by men or horses. Some for the northern navigations 
amongst ice ; and some for the South, against worms, &c. 
And this I take to be the chief of several reasons, why 
the Hollanders can go at less freight than their neigh- 
bours, viz., because they can afford a particular sort of 
vessels for each particular trade. 
I have shewn how Situation hath given them shipping, and 
how Shipping hath given them, in effect, all other trade ; and 
how Foreign Traffic must give them as much Manufactures 
as they can manage themselves : and as for the overplus, make 
the rest of the world but as workmen to their shops. 

It now remains to shew the effects of their Policy super- 
structed upon these Natural Advantages, and not, as The Poiky of 
some think, upon the excess of their understandings. "°"^"'^- 

I have omitted to mention, the Hollanders were, one 
hundred years since, a poor and oppressed people living in a 
country naturally cold, moist, and unpleasant; and were withal 
persecuted for their heterodoxy in religion. 

From hence it necessarily followed, that this people must 
labour hard, and set all hands to work ; rich and poor, old 
and young must study the Art of Number, Weight, and 
Measure, must fare hard, provide for impotents and orphans 
out of hope to make profit by their labours ; must punish the 
lazy by labour, and not by crippling them. I'say, all these 
particulars (said to be the subtle excogitations of the 
Hollanders) seem to me but what could not almost have been 

Liberty of Conscience, Registry of Conveyances, small Customs 
[import duties]. Banks, Liunbards [pawnbrokers] and Law 
Merchant rise all from the same spring, and tend to the same 
sea. As for Loivncss of hit crest, it is also a necessary effect ot 
all the premisses, and not the fruit of their contrivance. 

342 Trade value of Liberty of Conscience. [^''' 7' ^iI??'. 

Wherefore we shall only shew in particular the efBcacy of 
each ; and first of Liberty of Conscience. 

But before I enter upon these, I shall mention a practice 
almost forgotten, whether it referreth to Trade or Policy is 
Undermasting Hot material ; which is the Hollanders' under- 
of ships. masting and sailing such of their shipping as carry 

cheap and gross [bulky] goods, and whose sale doth not depend 
much upon the season. 

It is to be noted, that of two equal and like vessels, if one 
spreads i,6oo yards of like canvas, and the other 2,500, their 
speed is but as Four to Five: so as one brings home the same 
timber in four days as the other will in five. Now if we con- 
sider that although those ships be but four or five days under 
sail, that they are perhaps thirty upon the voj^age : so as one 
is but one-thirtieth part longer upon the whole voyage than 
the other, though one-fifth longer under sail. Now if masts, 
yards, rigging, cables, and anchors do all depend upon the 
quantity and extent of the sails, and consequently hands 
also : it follows that the one vessel goes at one-third less 
Charge, losing but one-thirtieth of the Time and of what 
depends there upon. 

I now come to the first Policy of the Dutch, viz., Liberty of 
liberty of Couscicnce: which I conceive, they grant upon these 

Conscience, . ' ^ o r _ 

aiidtheKea- grounds: but keeping up always a force to maintain 

sons thereof ", r o r j 

in Holland, the common peace. 

1. They themselves broke with Spain to avoid the im- 
position of the Clergy. 

2. Dissenters of this kind are, for the most part, thinking, 
sober, and patient men ; and such as believe that 
labour and industry is their duty towards GOD ; how 
erroneous soever their opinions be. 

3. These people believing in the Justice of GOD; and 
seeing the most licentious persons to enjoy most of the 
world and its best things, will never venture to be of the 
same religion and profession with voluptuaries and men 
of extreme wealth and power, whom they think to have 
their portion in this world. 

4. They cannot but know That no man can believe what 
himself pleases : and to force men to say they believe, 

^;-^f"//J The Heterodox drive most of the Trade. 343 

what they do not, is vain, absurd, and without honour to 

5. The Hollanders knowing themselves not to be an infall- 
ible church, and that others had the same Scriptures for 
guides as themselves, and withal the same Interest to 
save their souls, do not think fit to make this matter 
their business; no more than to take bonds of the seamen 
they employ, not to cast away their own ships and lives. 

6. The Hollanders observe that, in France and Spain, 
especially the latter, the Churchmen [Clergy] are about 
100 to I to what they use or need ; the principal care of 
whom, is to preserve Uniformity : and this they take to 
be a superfluous charge. 

7. They observe where most endeavours have been used to 
keep Uniformity, there Heterodoxy hath most abounded. 

8. They believe that if one-fourth of the people were hete- 
rodox, and that if that whole quarter should (by miracle) 
be removed ; that, within a small time, one-fourth of the 
remainder would again become heterodox, some way or 
other : it being natural for men to differ in opinion in 
matters above Sense and Reason ; and for those who 
have less Wealth, to think they have the more Wit and 
Understanding, especially of the Things of GOD, which 
they think chiefly belong to the poor. 

9. They think the case of the primitive Christians, as 
it is represented in the Acts of the Apostles, looks like that 
of the present Dissenters : I mean, externally. 

Moreover, it is to be observed that Trade doth not, as 
some think, best flourish under popular Govern- The trade of 
ments : but rather that Trade is most vigour- cMefirmM- '^ 
ously carried on, in every State and Govern- aged by the 

1111 r 1 1 Heterodox 

ment, by the heterodox part 01 the same; and party. 
such as profess opinions different from what are publicly 
established. That is to say, in India, where the Maho- 
metan religion is authorized ; there the Banyans are the 
most considerable merchants. In the Turkish Empire, 
the Jews and Christians. At Venice, Naples, Leghorn, 
Genoa, and Lisbon ; Jews and non-Papist merchant- 
strangers. But to be short, in that part of Europe where 
the Roman Catholic religion now hath, or lately hath had 
establishment, there three-quarters of the whole trade is 

344 Registries OF Titles TO Lands & Houses. [^''Y-^^en, 

in the hands of such as have separated from that Church: 
that is to say, the inhabitants of England, Scotland, and 
Ireland, as also those of the United Provinces, with Den- 
mark, Sweden, and Norway, together with the subjects of 
the German Protestant Princes and the Hanse Towns, do, 
at this day, possess three-quarters of the Trade of the 
World. And even in France itself; the Huguenots are, 
proportionably, far the greatest traders. 
Nor is it to be denied, but that in Ireland, where the said 
Roman religion is not authorized : there, the professors 
thereof have a great part of the trade. 
From whence it follows, that Trade is not fixed to any 
species of Religion, as such : but rather, as before hath 
been said, to the heterodox part of the whole : the truth 
whereof appears also, in all the particular towns of 
greatest trade in England. 
Nor do I find reason to believe, that the Roman Catholic 
seamen in the whole world, are sufficient to man effectually 
All the Pap- a Flcct cqual to what the King of England now hath: 
Europe are but tlic nou-Papist seameu can do above thrice as 
deMMo ml'n much. Whcrcforc he, whom this latter party doth 
the King of affectionately own to be their head, cannot probably 

England s . < , . iii"^ 

Fleet. be wronged m his sea concernments by the other. 

From whence it follows, that for the Advancement of 
Trade, if that be a sufficient reason, indulgence must be 
granted in Matters of Opinion ; though licentious actings, as 
even in Holland, be restrained by force. 

The second Po//cj', or help to trade used by the Hollanders, 
is the securing the Titles to Lands and Houses, For although 
!•■''■'" T't'es to lands and houses may be called terra firma et res 
House^^ imuiohilis ; yet the title unto them is no more cer- 
tain than it pleases the Lawyers and Authority to make them. 
Wherefore the Hollanders do, by Registries and other ways 
of assurance, make the title as- immoveable as the lands. 
For there can be no encouragement to industry, where there 
is no assurance of what shall be gotten by it; and where, by 
fraud and corruption, one man may take away, with ease and 
by a trick, and in a moment, what another has gotten by 
many years' extreme labour and pains. 

Tlieue hath been much discourse about the introducing 

^" 7' ^re"?'.] The Dutch banking system. 345 

of Registries into England. The Lawyers, for the most 
part, object against it, alleging that titles of land in oftheintroduc- 
England are sufficiently secure already. Wherefore infu^ngfandr" 
omitting the considerations of small and oblique reasons pro 
et contra ; it were good that enquiry were made from the 
Officers of several Courts, to what sum or value, purchasers 
have been damnified [robbed], for this last ten years, by such 
fraudulent conveyances as Registries would have prevented : 
the tenth part whereof, at a medium, is the annual loss which 
the people sustain for want of them. And then, computation 
is to be made of the annual Charge of Registering such extra- 
ordinary conveyances as would secure the title of lands. 
Now by comparing these two sums, the question so much 
agitated may be determined : though some think that, 
though few are actually damnified [damaged], yet that all are 
hindered by fear, and deterred from dealing. 

Their third Policy is their Bank : the use whereof is to 
increase Money, or rather to make a small sum The Banks of 
equivalent in trade to a greater. Huiiand. 

For the effecting whereof, these things are to be con- 
sidered — 

1. How much money will drive the Trade of the nation. 

2. How much current money there is actually in the 

3. How much money will serve to make all payments of 
under ^^50 (or any other more convenient sum) 
throughout the year. 

4. For what sum, the Keepers of the Bank are unquestion- 
able security. 

If all these four particulars be well known, then it may 
also be known, how much of the ready money above men- 
tioned may be safely and profitably lodged in the Bank, and 
to how much ready current money the said deposited money 
is equivalent. 

As for example, suppose /"loOjOOO will drive the Trade of 

the nation. 

And suppose there be but ^£'60,000 of ready money in 

the same. 

Suppose also that £20,000 will drive on, and answer 

all payrnents of under £50. 

346 The Dutch avoid badly paying pursuits. P'T^iI;?'. 

In this case ^£"40,000 of the ^^60,000 being put into the Bank, 
\vill be equivalent to ^^80,000 : which ^TSOjOOO, and ;r20,ooo 
kept out of the Bank, do make up ;^ioo,ooo, that is to say, 
enough to drive the trade, as was proposed. 

Where, note, that the Bank Keepers must be responsible 
for double the sum intrusted with them ; and must have 
power to levy upon the General [the nation at large, or the body 
of shareholders] what they happen to lose unto particular men. 

Upon which grounds, the Bank may freely make use of 
the received £40,000: whereby the said sum, with the like 
sum in credit, makes £"80,000 ; and with the £20,000 reserved, 
are £100,000. 

I might here add many more particulars : but being the 
same as have already been noted by others, I shall conclude 
with adding one observation ; which I take to be of con- 
sequence, viz. : 

That the Hollanders do rid their hands of two trades 
The Holland- which arc of greatest turmoil and danger; and 
Tusblndtr yet of least profit. , 

orfoot soldiers. f hc first, whcrcof, is that of a common and private 
soldier. For such they can hire from England, Scotland, and 
Germany, to venture their lives for sixpence a day ; whilst 
they themselves safely and quietly follow such trades, where- 
by the meanest of them gain six times as much. And withal, 
by this entertainment of such strangers for soldiers, their 
country becomes more and more peopled : forasmuch as 
the children of such strangers are Hollanders, and take to 
trades ; whilst new strangers are admitted ad infinitum. 
Besides, these soldiers, at convenient intervals, do at least 
as much work as is equivalent to what they spend. 

And consequently, Idv this way of employing of strangers 
for soldiers, they people the country and save their own 
persons from danger and misery, without any real expense ; 
effecting by this method what others have in vain attempted 
by Laws for Naturalizing of strangers; as if men could be 
charmed to transplant themselves from their own native, 
into a foreign country, merely by words, and for the bare 
leave of being called by a new name. In Ireland, Laws of 
Naturalization have had little effect to bring in aliens; and 
it is no wonder, since Englishmen will not go thither, without 

^f";?:] Mankind, LIKE Land, worth 2oyears'purchase.34 7 

they may have the pay of soldiers, or some other advantage 
amounting: to maintenance. 

Having intimated the way by which the Hollanders do 
increase their people ; I shall here digress to set down the 
way of computing the value of every head, one with another: 
and that by the instance of people in England, viz. : 

Suppose the people of England be 6,000,000 in number ; 
that their expense at ^7 per head, be ^^42, 000, 000. The method of 
Suppose also that the rent of the lands be vaiurofTien' 
;^8,ooo,ooo ; and the yearly profit of all personal ^"^^ People. 
estate be 3^8,000,000 more. It must needs follow, that the 
labour of the people must have supplied the remaining 
3^26,000,000. The which multiplied by 20 (the mass of man- 
kind being worth twenty 3'ears' purchase as well as land), 
makes ^520,000,000, as the value of the whole people : 
which number divided b}' 6,000,000 makes above ^^So sterl- 
ing to be the value of each head of man, woman, and child ; 
and of adult persons, twice as much. From whence, we may 
learn to compute the loss we have sustained by the Plague, 
by the slaughter of men in war, and by the sending them 
abroad into the service of foreign Princes. 

The other trade of which the Hollanders have rid their 
hands, is the old patriarchal trade of being cow-keepers; 
and in a great measure, of that which concerns the plough- 
ing and sowing of corn : having put that employment upon 
the Danes and Polanders [Poles] ; from whom they have 
their young cattle and corn. 

Now here we may take notice, that as trades and curious 
Arts increase, so the trade of husbandry will decrease ; or 
else the wages of husbandmen must rise, and consequently 
the rents of lands must fall. 

For proof whereof, I dare affirm that, if all the husband- 
men of England, who now earn but 8^. a day [=2s. now] 
or thereabouts, could become tradesmen [mechanics] and earn 
l6d. a day [=45. now] (which is no great wages, 25. and 
2s. 6d. [=6s. and 75. 6d. now] being usually given) ; that then, 
it would be the advantage of England to throw up their 

348 Anticipation of English manufactures. P""? ,677': 

husbandry, and to make no use of their lands, but for grass, 
horses, milch cows, gardens, and orchards, &c. Which, if it 
be so, and if Trade and Manufacture have increased in Eng- 
land, that is to say, if a greater part of the people apply 
themselves to those faculties than there did heretofore ; and if 
the price of corn be no greater now than when husbandmen 
Reasons why wcre morc numerous and tradesmen fewer ; it 
rents must fall. foUows from that singlc reason, though others may 
be added, that rents of land must fall. As for example, suppose 
the price of wheat be 5s. or 6od. the bushel. Now, if the rent 
of the land whereon it grows, be the Third Sheaf: then of 
the 6od., 2od. is for the land, and 401^. for the husbandman. 
But if the husbandman's wages should rise one-eighth part, 
or from Sd. to gd. per diem, then the husbandman's share in 
the bushel of wheat rises from 40^. to 45^. ; and, conse- 
quently, the rent of the land must fall from 2od. to i^d. 
For we suppose the price of the wheat still remains the 
same, especially since we cannot raise it : for if we did 
attempt it, corn would be brought in to us, as into Holland, 
from foreign parts, where the state of husbandry was not 

And thus I have done with the First principal Conclusion, 
that a small territory and even a few people, may by Situation, 
Trade, and Policy, be made equivalent to a greater ; and that con- 
venience for shipping and water carriage do most eminently and 
fundamentally conduce thereunto. 

C H A P T E R I I .- 

That some Idnd of taxes and public levies may rather increase, 
than dintinish the wealth of the kingdom. 

F the money or other effects levied from the 
people by way of tax, were destroyed and what shifting 

I '-'•', .. ■J 01 money from 

annihilated; then it is clear that such hand (to h.-ind] 
levies would diminish the Common no^'""'' 
Wealth. Or if the same were exported out of the kingdom, 
without any return at all ; then the case would be also the 
same or worse. 


But if what is levied as aforesaid be only transferred 
from one hand to another ; then we are only to consider, 
Whether the said money or commodities are taken from 
an improving hand, and given to an ill husband , or vice 
versa ? 

As, for example, suppose that money, by way of tax, be 
taken from one who spendeth the same in superfluous eating 
and drinking, and delivered to another who employeth the 
same in improving of land, in fishing, in working of mines, 
in manufacture, &c. ; it is manifest that such tax is an 
advantage to the State whereof the said different persons 
are members. 

Nay, if money be taken from him, who spendeth the same, 
as aforesaid, upon eating and drinking, or any other perishing 
commodity ; and the same be transferred to one that 
bestoweth it on Clothes : I say, that, even in this case, the 
Common Wealth hath some little advantage ; because clothes 
do not altogether perish so soon as meat and drinks. But if 
the same be spent in Furniture of Houses, the advantage is 
yet a little more ; if in Building of Houses, yet more ; if in 
Improving of Lands, working of mines, fishing, &c., yet more : 
but, most of all, in bringing gold and silver into the country, 
because those things are not only not perishable ; but are 
esteemed for wealth at ail times and everywhere. Whereas 
other commodities which are perishable, and whose value 
depends upon the fashion, or which are contingently scarce 
and plentiful, are Wealth hut pro hie et nunc ; as shall be else- 
where said. 

In the next place, if the people of any country, who have 
not already a full employment, should be enjoined Taxing of new 
or taxed to work upon such commodities as are im- t™theCommon 
ported from abroad : I say, that such a tax also weaith. 
doth improve the Common Wealth. 

Moreover, if persons who live by begging, cheating, steal- 
ing, gaming, borrowing without intention of re- xhetaxingof 
storing ; who, by those ways, do get from the ^'"^'■^" 
credulous and careless, more than is sufficient for the sub- 
sistence of such persons ; I say, that although the State 
should have no present employment for such persons, and 
consequently should be forced to bear the whole charge of 
their livelihood : yet it were more for the public profit, to give 

350 Common Wealth rests on material things. [^^,1^?'. 

all such persons a regular and competent allowance by 
public tax, than to suffer them to spend extravagantly at the 
only charge of careless, credulous, and good-natured people ; 
and to expose the Common Wealth to the loss of so many 
able men, whose lives are taken away for the crimes which ill 
discipline doth occasion. 

On the contrary, if the stocks [capital] of laborious and in- 
genious men, who are not only beautifying the country where 
they live, by elegant diet, apparel, furniture, housing, pleasant 
gardens, orchards, and public edifices, &c. ; but are also in- 
creasing the gold, silver, and jewels of the country by trade 
and arms: I say, if the stock of these men should be 
diminished by a tax, and transferred to such as do nothing at 
all but eat and drink, sing, play, and dance ; nay, to such as 
study the metaphysics or other needless speculation, or else 
employ themselves in any other way which produces no 
material thing, or things of real use and value in the Common 
Wealth— in this case, I say the Wealth of the Public will be 
diminished ; otherwise than as such exercises are recreations 
and refreshments of the mind, and which, being moderately 
used, do gratify and dispose men to what is in itself more 

Wherefore upon the whole matter, to know whether a 
A Judgement tax will do good or harm, the state of the people 
are^'dvanta" ^"d their employments must be well known, that 
g., is to say : 

What part of the people are unfit for labour by their 
infancy or impotency ; and also what part are exempt 
from the same by reason of their wealth, function, or 
dignities, or by reason of their charge and employments 
otherwise than in governing, directing, and preserving 
those who are appointed to Labour and Arts ? 

2. In the next place, computation must be made, What 
part of those who are fit for Labour and Arts as afore- 
said, are able to perform the work of the Nation, in its 
present state and measure ? 

3. It is to be considered. Whether the remainder can make 
all, or any part of those commodities which are imported 
fromi abroad ? which of them ? and how much in par- 
ticular ? The remainder of which sort of people, if any 
be, may, safely, and without possible prejudice to the 

^''T'^.T;?-] ^^^ PRINCIPLES OF Dutch taxation. 351 

Common Wealth, be employed in Arts and exercises of 
pleasure and ornament : the greatest whereof, is the 
improvement of natural knowledge [natural science]. 

Having thus, in general, illustrated this point; which, I 
think, needs no other proof but illustration : I come next to 
intimate that no part of Europe hath paid so much, by way 
of tax and public contribution, as Holland and Zealand, for 
this last hundred years ; and yet no country hath, in the 
same time, increased its wealth comparably to them. And it 
is manifest that they have followed the general considerations 
above mentioned, for they tax meats and drinks most heavily 
of all, to restrain the excessive expense of those things which 
twenty-four hours doth, as to the use of man, wholly annihi- 
late ; and they are more favourable to commodities of greater 

Nor do they tax according to what men gain, but in extra- 
ordinary cases : but always according to what men spend ; 
and, most of all, according to what they spend needlessly, 
and without prospect of return. 

Upon which grounds, their Customs upon goods imported 
and exported are generally low ; as if they intended by them, 
only to keep an account of their Foreign Trade ; and to re- 
taliate upon their neighbouring States, the prejudices done 
them, by their prohibitions and impositions. 

It is further to be observed, that, since the year 1636, the 
taxes and public levies made in England, Scotland, and 
Ireland, have been prodigiously greater than at any itispmbabie 
time heretofore ; and yet the said kingdoms have and'Elitiand 
increased in their wealth and strength for these last ^i-e grown 

ricncr under 

forty years [163 7-1 677, therefore this Essay was taxes. 
written about 1677], as shall hereafter be shown. 

It is said, that the King of France, at present, doth levy 
the Fifth Part of his people's wealth ; and yet great The difference 
ostentation is made of the present riches and revenues, 
strength of that Kingdom. 

Now, great care must be had in distinguishing between 
the wealth of the People, and that of an Absolute Monarch, 
who taketh from the people, where, when, and in what pro- 
portion he pleaseth. 

Moreover, the subjects of two monarchs may be equally 
rich ; and yet one monarch may be double as rich as the 

352 Louis XIV. has i- of wealth of France. [^'^ T' ^iI??: 

other, viz. : if one take the tenth part of the peoples' sub- 
stance to his own dispose [disposal] ; and the other but the 

Nay, the monarch of a poorer people may appear more 
splendid and gracious than that of a richer: which, perhaps, 
may be somewhat the case of France, as shall be examined. 

As an instance and application of what has been said, I 
conceive that in Ireland, wherein are about 1,200,000 people, 
That Ireland ^^^ nearly ^00,000 smokes or hearths, it were 

may be more > i rr • 1 t t i 

advantage- morc profitable for the Kmg that each Head paid 
a"poie''in'^flax'[ 2s. [=6s. How] worth of flax, than that each Smoke 
should pay 2s. in silver. And that for the following reasons : 

Ireland being under-peopled, and land and cattle being 
very cheap ; there being everywhere store of fish and fowl ; 
the ground yield excellent roots (and particularly that bread- 
like root. Potatoes) ; and withal they being able to perform 
their husbandry with such harness and tackle as each man 
can make with his own hands ; and living in such houses as 
almost every man can build ; and every housewife being a 
spinner and dyer of wool and yarn : they can live and subsist 
after their present fashion, without the use of gold and silver 
money ; and can supply themselves with the necessaries 
above mentioned, without labouring two hoxirs per diem. 

Now, it hath been found that, by reason of insolvencies 
arising rather from the uselessness, than want, of money among 
these poor people ; that from 300,000 hearths, which should 
have yielded £2,0,000 per annum, not ^15,000 of money could 
be levied. Whereas it is easily imagined that four or five 
persons, dwelling in that cottage which hath but one smoke, 
could easily have planted a ground plot, of about forty feet 
square, with flax, or the fiftieth part of an acre : for so much 
ground will bear 8s. or los. worth of that commodity, and 
the rent of so much ground, in few places amounts to a 
penny per annum. Nor is there any skill requisite to this 
practice, wherewith the country is not already familiar. 

Now as for a market for the flax, there is imported into 
Holland itself, over and above what that country produces, 
as much flax as is there sold for between j^i6o,ooo and 
pf 200, 000; and into England and Ireland is imported [from 
Holland\ as much linen cloth made of flax, and there spent 

SirW.Petty.-j JrisH TAXES TO BE PAID IN FlAX. 353 

\7ised\ as is worth above half a million of money. As shall be 
shewn hereafter. 

Wherefore, having shewn that silver money is useless to 
the poor people of Ireland ; that half the hearth money could 
not be raised by reason thereof; that the people are not a 
hfth part employed ; that the people and land of Ireland are 
competently qualified for flax ; that one pennyworth of land 
produces 10s. worth of the same ; and that there is market 
enough, and enough for ;£'ioo,ooo worth : I conceive my 
Proposition sufficiently proved ; at least, to set forwards and 
promote a practice, which both the present Law and Interest 
of the country doth require. Especially, since if all the flax 
so produced should yield nothing, yet there is nothing lost ; 
the same time having been worse spent before. 

Upon the same grounds, the like tax of 2s. per head may 
be raised with the like advantage upon the people of Eng- 
land, which will amount to £600,000 per annum ; to be paid 
in Flax manufactured into all soits of Linens, threads, tapes, 
and laces; which we now receive from France, Flanders, 
Holland, and Germany: the value whereof doth far exceed 
the sum last mentioned, as hath appeared by the examina- 
tion of particulars. 

It is observed by clothiers and others, who employ great 
numbers of poor people, that when corn is ex- o^u^'r 
tremely plentiful, that the labour of the poor is c^~/f«^ 
proportionably dear ; and scarcely to be had at all . harmless tax. 
so licentious are they who labour only to eat, or rather to drink. 
Wherefore, when so many acres sown with corn, as do 
usually produce a sufficient store for the nation, shall pro- 
duce perhaps double to what is expected, or necessary ; it 
seems not unreasonable that this common blessing of GOD 
should be applied to the common good of all people, repre- 
sented by their Sovereign ; much rather than that the same 
should be abused by the vile and brutish part of mankind, to 
the prejudice of the Common Wealth : and consequently that 
such surplusage of corn should be sent to public storehouses ; 
from thence to bedisposed of, to the bestadvantage of thepublic. 
Now, if the corn spent in England, at 5s. [=i5s. now] per 
bushel of wheat, and 2s. 6d. of barley, be worth -^10,000,000 
comnmnihm minis ; it follows that in years of great plenty, 
when the grains are one-third part cheaper, that a vast 

£NG. GAR. VI. 23 


4 English Taxes payable in Linen. P'"" T' '^.'s'?: 

advantage might accrue to the Common Wealth, which is 
now spent in overfeeding of the people in quantity or quality, 
and so indisposing them to their usual labour. 

The like may be said of Sugar, Tobacco, and Pepper, 
which custom hath now made necessary to all sorts of 
people; and which the overplanting of them, hath made un- 
reasonably cheap. I say, it is not absurd that the Public 
should be advantaged by this extraordinary plenty. 

That an excise should be laid upon Currants also is not 
unreasonable : not only for this, but also for other reasons. 

The way of the present Militia, or Trained Bands, is a 
Of the tax by gentle tax upon the country: because it is only a 
Miiuia, and fcw days' labour in the year, of a few men in 
sOTt7o°f armL. Tespcct to the whole ; using their own goods, that 
is, their own arms. 

Now, if there be 3,000,000 of males in England, there be 
about 200,000 of them who are between the age of sixteen 
and thirty, unmarried persons, and who live by their labour 
and service : for of so many, or thereabouts, the present 
Militia consists. 

Now, if 150,000 of these were armed and trained as Foot, 
and 50,000 as Horse (Horse being of special advantage in 
islands), the said forces at land, with 30,000 men at sea, 
would, by GOD's ordinary blessing, defend this nation, 
being an island, against any force in view. 

But the Charge of arming, disciplining, and rendezvousing 
all these men, twice or thrice a year, would be a very gentle 
tax levied by the people themselves, and paid to themselves. 

Moreover, if out of the said number, one-third part were 
selected, of such as are more than ordinarily fit and disposed 
for war, to be exercised and rendezvoused fourteen or fifteen 
times per annum ; the charge thereof, being but a fortnight's 
pay, would also be a very gentle tax. 

Lastly, if out of this last-mentioned number, one-third 
again should be selected ; making about 16,000 Foot and 
nearly 6,000 Horse to be exercised and rendezvoused forty 
days in the year: I say, that the Charge of all these three 
Militias, allowing the latter six weeks' pay per aiinuiii, would 
not cost above £120,000 per annum; which I take to bean 
easy burden for so great a benefit. 

^''■y-''j'=6^^':] Scotch Taxes payable in Herrings. 355 

Forasmuch as the present Navy of Enj:^land requires 
36,000 men to man it ; and for that the Enghsh For supplying 
Trade of Shipping requires about 48,000 men to ^iv^itrdvims^'"^ 
manage it also : it follow that to perform both well, wkh seamen. 
there ought to be about 72,000 men (and not 84,000) com-' 
petently qualified for these services. For want whereof, we 
see that it is a long while before a Royal Navy can be 
manned : which till it be, it is of no effectual use, but lies at 
charge. And we see likewise, upon these occasions, that 
merchants are put to great straights and inconveniences, and 
do pay excessive rates for the carrying on their trade. 

Now if 24,000 able-bodied tradesmen [artisans] were, by 6,000 
of them per annum, brought up and fitted for sea service ; and 
for their encouragement allowed 20s. [=£^ now] per annum 
for every year they had been at sea, even when they stay at 
home, not exceeding ^6 for those who have served six years 
or upward ; it follows that about ;£'72,ooo, at the medium of 
£^ per man, would salariate the whole number of 24,000. 

And so, forasmuch as half the seamen which manage the 
merchants' trade, are supposed to be always in harbour, and 
are about 24,000 men ; the said half together with the 
Auxiliaries last mentioned, would, upon all emergencies, man 
out the whole Royal Navy with 36,000, and leave to the 
Merchants 12,000 of the abler Auxiliaries to perform their busi- 
ness in harbour till others come home from sea. And thus 
36,000, 24,000, and 12,000 make the 72,000 above mentioned. 

I say that more than this sum of ;£"72,ooo is fruitlessly 
spent and overpaid by the Merchants, whensoever a great 
fleet is to be fitted out. 

Now these, whom I call Auxiliary Seamen, are such as 
have another trade besides, wherewith to maintain themselves 
when they are not employed at sea : and the charge of main- 
taining them, though ^^72,000 per annum, I take to be little 
or nothing, for the reasons above mentioned, and conse- 
quently an easy tax to the people, because levied by, and 
paid to themselves. 

As we propounded that Ireland should be taxed with flax ; 
England, by linen and other manufactures of the a herring tax 
same; I conceive that Scotland also might be taxed "P'^" ^='^''^"'^- 
as much [i.e., £^0,000], to be paid in herrings, as Ireland in flax. 

356 Men-of-war of 300 to 1,300 tons are best. l^^l'/?. 

Now the three taxes, viz., of Flax, Linen, and Herrings; 
and the maintenance of the triple Militia, and of the 
Auxiliary Seamen above mentioned, do, all five of them 
together, amount to ;^i,ooo,ooo of money. The raising 
whereof is not a million spent, but gain unto the Common 
Wealth ; unless it can be made to appear that, by reason of 
all or any of them, the exportation of woollen manufactures, 
lead, and tin are lessened ; or of such commodities as our 
own East and West India trade do produce: forasmuch as 
I conceive that the Exportation of these last-mentioned 
commodities is the Touchstone whereby the wealth of 
England is tried, and the Pulse whereby the health of the 
Kingdom may be discerned. 


That France cannot, by reason of natural and perpetual inipcdi- 
mcnts, be more poivevful at sea than the English or Hollanders 
now are, or may be. 

OwER at sea consists chiefly of Men able to fight at 
sea ; and that, in such shipping as is most The qualities 
proper for the seas wherein they serve : "he'^'dTflncVof 
and those are, in these Northern seas, England. 
ships from between 300 to 1,300 tons; and of those, such as 
draw much water, and have a deep latch [hold] in the sea, in 
order to keep a good wind, and not fall to leeward, a matter 
of vast advantage in sea service. 

Wherefore it is to be examined. Whether the King of 
France hath ports in the Northern seas (where he hath most 
occasion for his fleets of war, in any contests with England), 
able to receive the vessels above mentioned, in all weathers, 
both in winter and summer season ? 

For if the King of France would bring to sea an equal 
number of fighting men with England and Holland, in small 
floaty leeward vessels, he would certainly be of the weaker 
side. For a vessel of 1,000 tons, manned with 500 men, 
fighting with five vessels of 200 tons, each manned with 100 
men apiece, shall, in common reason, have the better, offen- 
sively and defensively : forasmuch as the great ship can 
carry such ordnance as can reach the small ones at a far 

^fg^?'.] Few good harbours on the West of Franxe. 357 

greater distance than those can reach, or at least hurt the 
other; and can batter and sink at a distance, when small ones 
can scarce pierce. 

Moreover, it is more difficult for men, out of a small vessel 
to enter a tall ship ; than for men from a higher place to leap 
down into a lower : nor is small shot [musketry] so effectual 
upon a tall ship, as vice versa. 

And as for vessels drawing much water, and consequently 
keeping good wind ; they can take or leave leeward vessels 
at pleasure, and secure themselves from being boarded by 
them. Moreover the windward ship has a fairer mark at a 
leeward ship, than vice versa ; and can place her shot upon 
such parts of the leeward vessel, as upon the next tack will 
be under water. 

Now then, the King of France having no ports able to 
receive large windward vessels, between Dunkirk and 
Ushant : what other ships he can bring into those seas will 
not be considerable. 

As for the wide ocean, which his harbours of Brest and 
Charente do look into : it affordeth it him no advantage upon 
an enemy ; there being so great a latitude of engaging or not, 
even when the parties are in sight of each other. 

Wherefore, although the King of France were immensely 
rich, and could build what ships he pleased, both for number 
and quality : yet if he have not ports to receive and shelter 
that sort and size of shipping which is fit for his purpose, the 
said riches will, in this case, be fruitless, and a mere expense 
without any return or profit. 

Some will say that other nations cannot build so good 
ships as the English. I do indeed hope they cannot. But 
because it seems too possible that they may, sooner or later, 
by practice and experience, I shall not make use of that 
argument : having bound myself to shew that the impedi- 
ments of France, as to this purpose, are natural and perpetual. 

Ships and guns do not fight of themselves ; but by men, 
who act and manage them : wherefore it is more material to 
shew. That the King of France neither hath, nor can have 
men sufficient to man a fleet of equal strength to that of the 
King of England, viz. : 

The King of England's Navy consists of about 70,000 tons 

358 France has 150,000 tons of snirpiNC. [^'""y'^il;;: 

of shippinp^, which requires 36,000 men to man it. These 
The quaiifica- mcn being supposed to be divided into eight parts, 

tions of seamen •» "ji^ "i^^l ^ i.i_ r 

for defence. I conceivc that one-eighth part must be persons 01 
great experience and reputation in sea service : another 
eighth part must be such as have used the sea, seven years 
and upwards : half of them, or four-eighths part more, must 
be such as have used the sea above a twelvemonth, viz., 
two, three, four, five, or six years: allowing but one quarter 
of the whole complements to be such as never were at sea at 
all, or at most but one voyage, or upon one expedition. So 
that, at a medium, I reckon that the whole Fleet must be 
men of three or four years' growth [in seamanship], one with 

FouRNiER, a late judicious writer, making it his busi- 
ness to persuade the world, how considerable the King of 
France was, or might be, at sea, in the ninety-second and 
The number of ninety-third pages of his Hydrography, saith that 
FrtweV" " there was one place in Brittany which had fur- 
nished the King with 1,400 seamen, and that perhaps the 
whole sea coast of France might have furnished him with 
fifteen times as many." Now, supposing his whole allegation 
were true, yet the said number amounts but to 21,000 : all 
which, if the whole Trade of Shipping in France were quite 
and clean abandoned, would not, by above a third, man out 
a Fleet equivalent to that of the King of England. And if 
the Trade were but barely kept alive, there would not be one- 
third part of men enough to man the said Fleet, 

But if the Shipping Trade of France be not above a quarter 
as great as that of England ; and that one-third part of the 
same, namely, the fishing trade to the Banks of Newfound- 
land, is not peculiar or fixed to the French: then, I say, that 
if the King of England, having power to press men, cannot, 
under two or three months' time, man his Fleet ; then the 
King of France, with less than a quarter of the same help, 
can never do it at all. 

For in France, as shall elsewhere be shewn, there are not 
above 150,000 tons of trading vessels ; and consequently not 
above 15,000 seamen, reckoning a man to 10 tons. 

As it has been shewn, that the King of France cannot, at 
present, man such a Fleet as iy above d.escribed : we come 

^.T/yJ Dangers of our seamen serving the French. 359 , 

next to shew, That he never can ! being under natural and 
perpetual impediments, viz. : 

1. If there be but 15,000 seamen in all France, to manage 
its Trade ; it is not to be supposed that the said Trade 
should be extinguished ; nor that it should spare above 
5,000 of the said 15,000 towards manning the Fleet 
which requires 35,000. 

Now the deficient 30,000 must be supplied, one of 
these four ways. Either, first, by taking in ^^{^^J';^^ 
landsmen; of which sort there must not be French mu>\ 
above 10,000 : since the seamen will never be men!"'"''"'"' 
contented without being the major part. Nor do they 
heartily wish well to landsmen at all, or rejoice even at 
those successes of which the landsmen can ^V'l;^,;^^''''™^" 
claim any share : thinking it hard that they Landsmen, 
themselves, who are bred to miserable, painful, and 
dangerous employments, and yet profitable to the 
Common Wealth, should, at a time when booty and 
purchase is to be gotten, be clogged or hindered by any 
conjunction with landsmen, or forced to admit those to 
an equal share with themselves. 

2. The seamen, which we suppose 20,000, must be had, 
that is, hired from other nations ; which cannot be 
without tempting them with so much wages as exceeds 
what is given by merchants : and withal to counterpoise 
the danger of being hanged by their own xhedangerof 
Prince, and allowed no quarter if they are nien'.'theirserv. 
taken ; the trouble of conveying themselves "s the French. 
away, when restraints and prohibitions are upon them; 
and also the infamy of having been apostates to their 
own country and cause. I say their wages must be 
double to what their own Prince gives them ; and their 
assurance must be very great, that they shall not be, at 
[the] long run, abused or slighted by those that em- 
ployed them, as "hating the traitor, although they love 
the treason." [Sec Vol. VII . p. 435.] 

I say, moreover, that those who will be thus tempted 

away, must be the basest and lewdest sort of seamen ; 

and such as have not enough of honour and conscience 

to qualify them for any trust or gallant performance. 

3. Another way to increase seamen is to put great num- 

360 How MEN BECOME GOOD SEAMEN. [^'^ 7' ^Te/?'. 

bers of landsmen upon ships of war, in orderto their being 
seamen : but this course cannot be effectual, not only 
How men learn for thc above-mcntioned antipathy between 
seamen!" landsmcn and seamen ; but also because it is 

seen that men at sea do not apply themselves to labour 
and practice, without more necessity than happens in 
over-manned shipping. For where there are fifty men 
in a vessel that ten can sufficiently navigate, the super- 
numerary forty will improve little : but where there shall 
be of ten, but one or two supernumeraries ; there 
necessity will often call upon every man to set his hand 
to the work, which must be well done, at the peril of 
their own lives. 

Moreover, seamen shifting vessels, almost every six or 
twelve months, do sometimes sail in small barks, some- 
times in middling ships, and sometimes in great vessels 
of defence ; sometimes in lighters, sometimes in hoighs 
[hoys], sometimes in ketches, sometimes in three-masted 
ships. Sometimes they go to the Southward, some- 
times to the Northward; sometimes they coast, some- 
times they cross the ocean. By all which variety of 
service, they do in time complete themselves in every 
part and circumstance of their faculty. Whereas those 
who go out for a summer in a man-of-war, have not that 
variety of practice, nor a direct necessity of doing any- 
thing at all. 

Besides, it is three or four years, at a medium, where- 
in a seaman must be made ; neither can there be less 
than three seamen, to make a fourth of a landsman. 
Consequently the 15,000 seamen of France can increase 
but 5,000 in three or four years : and unless their Trade 
should increase with their seamen in proportion, the 
King must be forced to bear the charge of this improve- 
ment out of the public Stock [national Exchequer], which 
is intolerable. 
So as the question which now remains is. Whether the 

Whether the shipping trade of France is likely to increase ? 

shipping trade Upuu whlch account it is to be considered 

of France IS /-n ^ i> • rr • .1 1 • 1 1. 1 • t 

likely to i liut V raucc IS sumcicntly stored with all kinds 

increase? of neccssarics ; as with corn, cattle, wine, salt, 
linen cloth, paper, silk, fruits, (ic. : so as they need little 

^''7'^il77-] '^^^^ '^^^'^'-^'^^ OF THE French exports. 361 

shipping to import more commodities of weight or bulk. 
Neither is there anything of bulk exported out of France, but 
wines and salt ; the weight whereof is under 100,000 tons 
per annum, yielding not employment to above 25,000 tons 
of shipping: and these are, for the most part, Dutch and 
English ; who are not only already in possession of the said 
trade, but also are better fitted to maintain it than the French 
are, or perhaps ever can be. And that for the following 
reasons, viz. : 

1. Because the French cannot victual so cheap Reasons why 
as the English and Dutch, nor sail with so "cannot. 
few hands. 

2. The French, for want of good coasts and harbours, 
cannot keep their ships in port under double the charge 
that the English and the Hollanders can. 

3. By reason of paucity, and distance of their ports one 
from another, their seamen and tradesmen [mechanics] 
relating to shipping, cannot correspond with and assist 
one another so easily, cheaply, and advantageously as in 
other places. 

Wherefore, if their shipping trade is not likely to increase 
within themselves, and much less to increase by their beating 
out the English and Hollanders from being the Carriers of 
the World ; it follows that their seamen will not be increased 
by the increase of their said Trade. 

Wherefore, and for that they are not likely to be increased 
by any of the several ways above specified ; and for that their 
ports are not fit to receive ships of burden and quality fit for 
their purpose, and that by reason by the less fitness of their 
ports than that of their neighbours' ; I conceive that what 
was propounded hath been competently proved. 

TheaforenamedFouRNiER,in the ninety-second andninety- 
third pages of his Hydrography, hath laboured to prove the 
contrary of all this ; unto which I refer the reader : not 
thinking his arguments of any weight at all, in the present 
case. Nor, indeed, doth he make his comparisons with the 
English and Hollanders, but with the Spaniards ; who, nor 
the Grand Signior [tlie Turks] (the latter of whom hath greater 
advantages to be powerful at sea than the King of France) 
could ever attain to any illustrious greatness in Naval Power; 
having often attempted, but never succeeded in the same. 

362 The French and English territories. [^"J-'^Ten. 

Nor is it easy to believe that the King of England should, 
for so many years, have continued his Title to the Sovereignty 
of the Narrow Seas against his neighbours (ambitious enough 
to have gotten it from him), had not their impediments been 
Natural and Perpetual, and such as we say do obstruct the 
King of France. 


That the People mid Territories of the King of England are, 
naturally, nearly as considerable for wealth and strength, as those 
of France. 

He Author of The State of England, among the 
many useful truths and observations he or comparison 
hath set down, delivers the proportion bftween the 

• • TT^ii 1 lerritories of 

between the territories 01 England and Engiandand 
France to be as 30 to 82 : the which, if it be 
true, then England, Scotland, and Ireland, wath the islands 
unto them belonging, will, taken altogether, be nearly as big 
as France. 

Though I ought to take all advantages for proving the 
paradox in hand : yet I had rather grant that England, 
Scotland, and Ireland, with the islands before mentioned, 
together with the planted parts of Newfoundland, New 
England, New Netherland [New York], Virginia, Maryland, 
Carolina, Jamaica, Bermudas, Barbadoes, and all the rest of 
the Caribbee Islands, with what the King hath in Asia and 
Africa, do not contain so much territory as France and what 
planted land [Canada, S-c] the King of France hath also in 
America. And if any man will be heterodox in behalf of the 
I'rench Interest, I would be contented, against my knowledge 
and judgement, to allow the King of France's territories to be 
a Seventh, Sixth, or even a Fifth greater than those of the 
King of England : belie\ing that both Princes have more 
land than they do employ to its utmost use. 

And here, I beg leave, among the several matters which I 
intend for serious, to interpose a jocular and perhaps ridicu- 
lous digression ; and which I indeed desire men to look upon 


rather as a Dream or reverie than a rational Proposition: the 
which is, that if all the Moveables and People of Ireland and 
of the Highlands of Scotland were transported into a Proposition 
the rest of Great Britain, that then the King and i'"/^,^"'"^';^ 
his subjects would thereby become more rich and the Highlands 
strong, both offensively and defensively, than now ° '''"'"' " 
they are. 

It is true, I have heard many wise men say, when they 
were bewailing the vast losses of the English in preventing 
and suppressing rebellions in Ireland, and considering how 
little profit hath returned either to the King or subjects of 
England, for their five hundred years' doing and suffering 
in that country : I say, I have heard wise men, in such their 
melancholies, wish " that (the people of Ireland being saved) 
the island were sunk under water ! " 

Now it troubles me, that the distemper of my own mind, 
in this point, carries me to dream that the benefit of those 
wishes may practically be obtained, without sinking that 
vast mountainous island under water ; which I take to be 
somewhat difficult : for although Dutch engineers may drain 
its bogs, yet I know no artists that can sink its mountains. 
If ingenious and learned men, among whom I reckon Sir 
Thomas More and Descartes, have disputed, That we who 
think ourselves awake, are or may be really in a dream ; and 
since the greatest absurdities of dreams are but a preposter- 
ous and tumultuary contexture of realities : I will crave the 
umbrage [example] of these great men last named ; to say 
something for this wild conception, wath submission to the 
better judgement of all those that can prove themselves 

If there w^ere but One man living in England, then the 
benefit of the whole territory could be but the livelihood of 
that One man : but if another man were added, the rent or 
benefit of the same would be double ; if two, triple ; and so 
forward, until so many men were planted in it, as the whole 
territory could afford food unto. For if a man would know 
what any land is worth, the true and natural question must 
be. How many men will it feed ? How many men are there tp 
be fed ? 

But to speak more practically. Land of the same quantity 
and quality in England, is generally worth four or five times 

364 Proposed transplantation of the Gaels-^'Y' ^^l'/?'. 

as much as in Ireland, and but one-quar'Ler or one-third of 
what it is worth in Holland : because England is four or five 
times better peopled than Ireland, and but a quarter so well 
as Holland. 

And, moreover, where the rent is advanced by reason of 
the multitude of people, there, the number of years' purchase 
for which an inheritance may be sold is also advanced, 
though perhaps not in the very same proportion. For 205. 
[^=£3 now] per annum in Ireland, may be worth but ^6 
[=^£2Jf. now] ; and in England, where titles are very sure, 
above £20 [ = £^0 now] ; and in Holland, above £30 [=£yo 
7 tow]. 

I suppose that in Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland, 
there may be about 1,800,000 people, or about a Fifth part of 
what are in all the three Kingdoms [i.e., 9,000,000], 

Wherefore the First question will be. Whether England, 
Wales, and the Lowlands of Scotland cannot afford 
food (that is to say, corn, fish, flesh, and fowl) to a fifth 
part more people than are, at present, planted upon it ; 
with the same labour that the said fifth part do now take, 
where they are ? For if so, then what is propounded is 
naturally possible. 

2. It is to be inquired, What the value of the Immove- 
ables, which, upon such removal, must be left behind, 
are worth ? For if they be worth less than the advance- 
ment of the price of land in England will amount unto ; 
then the Proposal is to be considered. 

3. If the relict [relinquished] Lands and the Immoveables 
left behind upon them, may be sold for money ; or if no 
other nation shall dare meddle with them, without pay- 
ing well for them ; and if the nation who shall be 
admitted, shall be less able to prejudice and annoy the 
Transplantees into England, than before: then I con- 
ceive that the whole Proposal will be a pleasant and 
profitable Dream indeed ! 

As to the First point. Whether England and the Lowlands 
ami'tiiriow"'' ^^ Scotland can maintain a Fifth part more people 
lands of Scut- than they now do, that is to say, 0,000,000 of souls 

land will feed • 1 1 

the people IH all T 

sLoi'iand"'Ilid ^^^' answer thereunto, I first say, that the said 
•"•■laud.' territories of England and the Lowlands of 

^2 ^fe"?'] ^^^^^^-^^ Ireland FOR SALE to foreigners. 365 

Scotland contain about 36,000,000 acres, that is, 4 acres 
for every head (man, woman, and child) : but the United 
Provinces do not allow above i^ acres. And England 
itself, rescinding [excluding] Wales, hath but 3 acres to 
every head ; according to the present state of tillage and 

Now if we consider that England having but 3 acres to 
a head, as aforesaid, does so abound in victuals as that 
it maketh laws against the importation of cattle, flesh, 
and fish from abroad ; and that the draining of fens, 
improving of forests, inclosing of commons, sowing of 
St. Foyne [sainfoin] and clover-grass, be grumbled 
against by landlords, as the way to depress the price of 
victuals : then it plainly follows that less than 3 acres, 
improved as they may be, will serve the turn ; and 
consequently that 4 will suffice abundantly. 

I could here set down the very number of acres that 

would bear bread, drink, and corn, together with flesh, 

butter, and cheese sufficient to victual 9,000,000 persons, 

as they are victualled in ships and regular families : but 

I shall only say in general, that 12,000,000 acres, viz., 

one-third of 36,000,000 will do it ; supposing that roots, 

fruits, fowls, and fish, and the ordinary profit of lead, 

tin, and iron mines, and woods, would piece up any 

defect that may be feared. 

As to the Second, I say that the Land and Housing in 

Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland, That the value 

at the present market rates, are not worth ofaiithe 

Z' r /- I r quitted lands 

£ 13,000,000 [ = £39,000,000 now] Ot money: and unmove- 

nor would the actual charge of transplan- chl'^rle^of'ti-^ns'^ 
tation proposed, amount to ;£"4,ooo,ooo ^'^''"'^''^^'^1" '"'^ 
[ = £12,000,000 now] more. above 

So then the question will be. Whether the ■^'7,000,000. 
benefit expected from this Transplantation will exceed 
;£'i7,ooo,ooo [=;^5 1, 000,000 now]. 

To which I say, that the Advantage will probably be 
nearly four times the last-mentioned sum or about 
£69,300,000 [=;^207,900,ooo now]. 

For if the Rent of all England and Wales and 
the Lowlands of Scotland be about ;£'9,ooo,ooo [= 
£27,000,000 now] per annum ; and if the Fifth part 

366 Wealth in ratio to Density of Population, [^f^^^'; 

of the people be superadded unto the present in- 
habitants of those countries : then the Rent will 
amount to ;£"io, 800,000 [ = ;f 32,400, 000 novi']; and 
the number of years' purchase will rise from 17^ to 
a fifth part more, which is 21. 

So as the Land, which is now worth but ^£'9,000,000 
per annum, at lyh years' purchase, making 
^^157,500,000, will then be worth £10,800,000 at 
21 years' purchase, viz., £226,800,000 [= 
£680,400,000 now] : which is £69,300,000 
[=£207,900,000 now] more than it was before. 

And if any Prince willing to enlarge his terri- 
That those tories, will give anything more than 

who p'.ucha<ie /,, ' i ir.i ^ i r 

Ireland shall £6,500,000, or halt thc prcscut valuc, lof 

th?nisdves. the said relinquished land ; which are 

estimated to be worth £13,000.000 : then the whole 

profit will be above £75,800,000 [ = £227,400,000 

now] ; or above Four times the loss, as the same was 

above computed. 

But if any man shall object that it will be dangerous 

unto England, that Ireland should be in the hands of 

any other nation : I answer, in short, that that nation, 

(whoever shall purchase it) being divided by means of 

the said purchase, shall not be more able to annoy 

England than now, in its united condition. Nor is 

Ireland nearer England, than France and Flanders. 

Now if any man shall desire a more clear explanation, 

How, and by what means, the rents of lands shall rise by 

this closer cohabitation of people, above described ? I 

answer, that the advantage will arise in transplanting above 

1,800,000 people, from the poor and miserable trade of 

husbandr}', to more beneficial handicrafts. For, when the 

superaddition is made, a very little addition of husbandry to 

the same lands will produce a fifth part more of food, and 

consequently the additional hands, earning but 40s. [=£6 

now] per annum, as they may very well do, nay, to £8 [ = £24 

now] /le^flnn/nu at some other trade ; the superlucration will 

be above £3,600,000 [=£10,800,000 now] per annum : which 

at 20 years' purchase is £70,000,000 [=£210,000,000 now]. 

Moreover, as the inhabitants of cities and towns spend 
more commodities and make greater consumptions than those 

^""T'^^S 9,500,000 PEOPLE IN THE BrITISII IsLES. 367 

who live in wild thin-peopled countries ; so when England 
shall be thicker peopled, in the manner before described, the 
very same people shall then spend more than when they lived 
more sordidly and inurbanely ; and further asunder, and 
more out of the sight, observation, and emulation of each 
other : every man desiring to put on better apparel when he 
appears in company than when he has no occasion to be 

I further add that the charge of the Government (Civil, 
Military, and Ecclesiastical) would be more cheap, safe, and 
effectual in this condition of closer cohabitation than other- 
wise : as not only reason, but the example of the United 
Provinces doth demonstrate. 

But to let this whole digression pass for a mere Dream, I 
suppose it will serve to prove that in case the King That the diiTe- 

J I i '-' rence between 

of England's territories should be a little less than England's and 
those of the King of France, that forasmuch as t^ryTnot""" 
neither of them is overpeopled, the difference is material. 
not material to the question in hand : 

Wherefore supposing the King of France's advantages to 
be little or nothing in point of Territory; we come, next, to 
examine and compare the number of Subjects which each of 
these monarchs doth govern. 

The book called The State of France maketh that 
Kingdom to consist of 27,000 parishes. And another book, 
written by a substantial author, who professedly enquires 
into the state of the Church and Churchmen [Clergy] of 
France, sets it down as an extraordinary case, that a parish 
in France should have 600 souls ; where I suppose that the 
said Author (who hath so well examined the matter) is not of 
opinion that every parish, one with another, hath above 500. 
By which reckoning, the whole people of France are about 

Now the people of England, Scotland, and Ireland, with 
the islands adjoining, by computation from the number of 
parishes (which commonly have more people in Protestant 
Churches than in Popish countries), as also from the 
Hearth Money, Pole Money, and E.\cise, amount to about 


68 1 3, 500,000 French TO 1 0,000,000 ENGLisH.p''7-^;677." 

The King of There are in New England, about 16,000 men 
in'^enect.but mustcrcd in arms, and about 24,000 able to bear 
suw'^t'r°a°d arms : and consequently about 150,000 in all. 
the Kins' of And I see no reason why, in all this, and the 
io"L>"ooo. other Plantations [Colonies] of Asia, Africa, and 
Frlnce^Mh ""^ Amcrica, there should not be 500,000 m all. But 
270, oooch inch- ^]^js i^gf J leave to every man's conjecture. 

men, and the ' •' ,-',,. 

KingofEng. And conscqucntly, I suppose that the Kmg of 
""■ihe°i<mg of England hath about 10,000,000 of subjects ubivis 
fo^Sl^seamen; terraYuni ovbis, and the King of France about 
and the King 1^,500,000 as aforesald. 

of France, *^'*' ' 

Although it be very material to know the number of Sub- 
jects belonging to each Prince : yet when the question is 
concerring their Wealth and Strength, it is also material to 
examine, How many of them do get More than they spend ? 
and How many Less ? 

In order whereunto, it is to be considered that in the King 
of England's Dominions, there are not 20,000 Churchmen 
[Clergy] : but in France (as the aforementioned Author of 
theirs doth aver, who sets down the particular number of 
each religious Order) there are about 270,000, viz., 250,000 
more than we think necessary ; that is to say, 250,000 with- 
drawn out of the World. 

Now the said number of adult and able-bodied persons are 
equivalent to about double the same number of the promis- 
cuous mass of mankind. And the same Author says, that 
the same Religious Persons do spend, one with another, about 
i8d. per diem, which is triple even, to what a labouring man 

Wherefore the said 250,000 Churchmen, living as they do, 
make the King of France's 13,500,000 to be less than 

Now if Ten men can defend themselves as well in islands 
as Thirteen can upon the Continent ; then the said Ten 
being not concerned to increase their territory by the 
invasion of others, are as effectual as Thirteen in point of 
Strength also. 

Wherefore that there are more superlucrators in the 
English, than in the French Dommions, we say, as foUoweth: 

^''T'^il??'.]'^^^^ SEA-LINES OF ENGLAND AND FrANCE. 369 

There be in England, Scotland, Ireland, and the King's 
other territories, above 40,000 seamen: in Themuiti- 
France not above a quarter so many, But one oei^gydoes 
seaman earneth as much as two common K-'ngVf''^ 
husbandmen: wherefore this difference in sea- France's 
men, addeth to the account of the Kins: of Themuiti- 

Ei 1) ' 1 • , • 1 . ■ tvide of seaand 

ngland s subjects, is an advantage, equiva- navai men dues 

lent to 60,000 husbandmen. 'i:'^^t''t^f '!!•';„ 

There are in England, Scotland, and Ireland, land s subjects^ 
and all other the King of England's territories, 600,000 
tons of shipping, worth ;£'4.500,ooo [ = £"13.500,000 
iioiv] of money : and the Annual Charge of maintaining 
the shipping of England by new buildings and repa- 
rations is about one-third part of the same sum 
T;^!, 500, 000 =^^4,500,000 woic], which is the wages of 
150,000 husbandmen, but is not the wages of above one- 
third part [i.e., 50,000] of so many artisans as are 
employed upon shipping of all sorts, viz., shipwrights, 
caulkers, joiners, carvers, painters, block-makers, rope- 
makers, mast-makers, smiths of several sorts, hag- 
makers, compass-makers, brewers, bakers, and all other 
sorts of victuallers, all sorts of tradesmen [mechanics] 
relating to guns and gunner's stores. Wherefore there 
being four times more of these artisans in England, &c., 
than in France, they further add to the account of the 
King of England's subjects, the equivalent of 80,000 
husbandmen more. 

The sea-line of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and 
adjacent islands, is. about 3,800 miles, accord- The Kin- of 
ing to which length and the whole contents of H,'or'ieslrV^a" 
acres, the said land would be an oblong or eiiect, but 

11 1 n. r o -1 1 J 12 ""les trom 

parallelogram ngure of 3,000 miles long, and navigable 
about 24 miles broad : and consequently, every K^n^of' * 
part of England, Scotland, and Ireland is, one Frunce-ses. 
with another, but 12 miles from the sea. 

Whereas France, containing but about 1,000 miles of 
sea-line, is by the like method or computation, about 65 
miles from the sea-side ; and, considering the paucity of 
ports in comparison of what are in the King of England's 
Dominions, as good as 70 miles distant from a port. 

Upon which grounds, it is clear that England can be 

ENC. Gar. VI. 24 

370 England spends nearly as much as France. P^^^; 

supplied with all .i^ross and bulky commodities of foreign 
growth and manufacture, at far cheaper rates than France 
can be, viz., at about 4s. per cent, cheaper: the land 
carriage for the difference of the distance between 
England and France from a port being so much, or 
near thereabouts. 

Now to what advantage this conveniency amounteth, 
upon the importation or exportation of bulky commodities, 
cannot be less than the labour cf i,ooo.oco of people: 
meaning by bulky comimodities all sorts of timber, plank, 
and staves for caske : all iron, lead, stone, bricks, and 
tiles for building; all corn, salt, and drinks; all flesh 
and fish ; and indeed all other commodities wherein the 
gain and loss of 4s. per cent, is considerable : where 
note, that the like wines are sold in the inner parts of 
France for £j^ or /5 a tun, which near the ports, yield 


Moreover, upon this principle, the decay of timber in 

Thedecayof^ England is no very formidable thing, as the 

iandi,snove?y rebuilding of London [after the Fire of 1666] 

I.Tter!'"' and of the ships wasted by the Dutch War 

[1665-7] ^o clearly manifest. 

Nor can there be any want of corn, or other necessary 
provisions in England ; unless the weather hath been 
universally unseasonable for the growth of the same, 
which seldom or never happens. For the same causes 
which make dearth in one place, do often cause plenty 
in another ; wet weather being propitious to high lands, 
which drowneth the low. 

It is observed that the poor in France have generally 
less wages than in England ; and yet their victuals 
are generally dearer there ; which being so, there may 
be more superlucration in England than in France. 

Lastly, I offer to the consideration of all those who 
have travelled through England and France, Whether the 
plebians of England, for they constitute the bulk of the 
The Kin?- of nation, do not spend a sixth part more than the 
j^cfs'spen/"''' plebians of France ? And if so, it is necessary 
"rtheKir'o'f *^^^^ ^^^y must first get it: and consequently 
France's. that 10,000,000 of the King of England's sub- 
jects are equivalent to 12,000,000 of the King of France ; 

^I'e"?-] Royal Magnificence not National Wealth. 371 

and, upon the whole matter, to the 13,000,000 at which 

the French nation was estimated. 
It will here be objected that the splendour and magni- 
ficences of the King of France appearing greater than those 
of England, the wealth of France must be proportionably 
greater than that of England. But that doth not Thegreatei- 
follow, forasmuch as the apparent greatness of the'^King'^o'f 
the King doth depend upon the quota pars of the tain"arg"umTnt 
people's wealth which he levieth from them. For of the greater 

■'^. , , , ,,.,.„ J, wealth of his 

supposmg the people to be equally rich, 11 one 01 people. 
the sovereigns levy a Fifth part and the other a Fifteenth ; 
the one seems actually thrice as rich as the other : whereas, 
potentially, they are but equal. 

Having thus discoursed of the Territory, People, Super- 
lucration, and Defensibleness of both Dominions ; [-^^J^fP-^^'p"" °^ 
and in some measure of their Trade so far as we Trade of 
had occasion to mention ships, shipping, and near- France. 
ness to ports : we come, next, to enlarge a little further 
upon the Trade of each. 

Some have estimated that there are not above 
300,000,000 people in the whole world. Whether that 
be so, or not, is not very material to be known : but 
I have fair grounds to conjecture, and would be glad 
to know it more certainly, that there are not above 
80,000,000 with whom the English and Dutch have 
commerce ; no Europeans that I know of, trading 
directly or indirectly, where they do now. So that the 
Commercial World, or World of Trade, consisteth of 
about 80,000,000 souls as aforesaid. 

And I further estimate that the value of all commo- 
dities yearly exchanged amongst them doth not exceed 
the value of ^^45, 000, 000 [=1^/^135,000,000 now]. 

Now the Wealth of every nation consisting chiefly in 
the share which they have in the Foreign Trade with the 
whole Commercial World, rather than in the Domestic 
trade of ordinary meat, drink, and clothes, &c., which 
bring in little gold, silver, jewels, and other Universal 

372 The Trade OF THE World IN 1677. pT'^^l^^: 

Wealth : we are to consider, Whether the subjects of 
the King of England, head for head, have not a greater 
share [in the Foreign Trade] than those of France ? 

To which purpose it hath been considered that 
the manufactures of wool yearly exported out of 
England into several parts of the world, viz. : all 
sorts of cloth, serges, stuffs, cottons, bayes, sayes, 
frieze, perpetuanas ; as also stockings, caps, rugs, 
&c., exported out of England, Scotland, and Ireland, 
do amount unto ^^5, 000, 000 [=^£15,000,000 now]. 

The value of lead, tin, and coals, to be £500,000 
[=£1,500,000 now]. 

The value of all clothes, household stuff, &c., 
carried into America [i.e., the English Colonies there], 
£200,000 [=£600,000 noia]. 

The value of silver and gold taken [in the way of 
trade] from the Spaniards, £60,000 [=£180,000 

The value of sugar, indigo, tobacco, cotton, and 
cocoa, brought from the southward parts of America, 
£600,000 [=£1,800,000 now]. 

The value of the fish, pipe staves, masts, beaver, 
&c., brought from New England and the northern 
parts of America, £200,000 [ = £600,000 now]. 

The value of the wool, butter, hides, tallow, beef, 
herrings, pilchards, and salmon exported out of 
Ireland, £800,000 [ = £2,400,000 now]. 

The value of the coals, salt, linen, yarn, herrings, 
pilchards, salmon, linen cloth, and yarn brought out of 
Scotland and Ireland, £500,000 [=£1,500,000 noie^]. 

The value of saltpetre, pepper, calicoes, diamonds, 
drugs, and silks brought out of the East Indies 
(above what was spent in England), £800,000 
[= £2,400^000 now]. 

The value of the slaves brought out of Africa, to 
serve in our America Plantations, £20,ooo[=£6o,ooo 

Which with the Freight of English shipping trad- 
ing into foreign parts, being above £1,500,000 
L = £4»5"»>«oo now], makes in all £10,180,000 
[=£30,540.000 ^^<y^J- 

^'' 7" ^il^y.] Particulars of the English Trade. 2,7?, 

Which computation is sufficiently justified by the Customs 
of the three Kingdoms, whose intrinsic value is thought to be 
nearly ;£"!, 000,000 [ = £"3,000,000 now] per annmn, viz.: 

;£^6oo,ooo [=£ I, Soo, 000 now] payable to the King. 

;^^ioo,ooo [= ;^30o,ooo now] for the charges of col- 
lecting, &c. 

j{^200,ooo [= ;,r6oo,ooo now] smuckled [smuggled] b}' 

the merchants ; and 

;£'ioo,ooo [= ;£'300,ooo now] gained by the Farmers. 

/"i, 000, 000 

according to common opinion and men's sayings. 

And this agrees also with that proportion or part of the 
whole Trade of the World, which I have estimated the sub- 
jects of the King of England to be possessed of, viz., of about 
£10,000,000 of j^45,ooo,ooo. 

But the value of the French commodities brought into Eng- 
land, notwithstanding some current estimates, is not above 
;^i, 200,000 r=;£'3,6oo,ooo now] per annum ; and the value of 
all they export into all the world besides, not above three or 
four times as much : which computation also agreeth well 
enough with the account we have of the Customs of France. 

So as France not exporting above Half the value of what 
England doth ; and for that all the commodities of France 
— except wines, brandy, paper; and the first patterns and 
fas/iions of clothes and furniture (of which France is the 
mint) — are imitable by the English ; and having withal more 
people than England : it follows that the people of England, 
&c., have, head for head, Thrice as much Foreign Trade as 
the people of France, and about Two parts out of Nine of 
the Trade of the whole Commercial World : and about Two 
parts in Seven of all the Shipping. 

Notwithstanding all which, it is not to be denied, that the 
King and some Great Men of France appear more rich and 
splendid than those of the like Quality in England : all which 
arises rather from the nature of their Government, than 
from the intrinsic and natural causes of wealth and power. 

,74 Two Pan- English Grand Councils. [^'"'T^re"?: 


That the impediments of EnglaruVs greatness arc but contingent 
and rcmoveable. 

He first Impediment of En;;land's greatness is that 
the territories thereunto belonging, are The disunion 
too far asunder, and divided by the sea °oriesof^"'' 
into many several islands and countries; i^"p^e'drmJnr"of 
and, I may say, into so many Kingdoms and its greatness. 
several Governments, viz.: 

There be three distinct Legislative Powers in England, 
The different Scotland, Ireland; the which instead of uniting 
anothlTr'"'^''''' together, do often cross one another's Interest, put- 
impediment. ting bars and impediments upon one another's 
trades, not only as if they were foreigners to each other, but 
sometimes as enemies. 

2. The islands of Jersey and Guernsey, and the Isle of Man 
are under jurisdictions different from those, either of England, 
Scotland, or Ireland. 

3. The Government of New England, both Civil and 
TheC9ionies Ecclcsiastical, doth so differ fiom that of His 

belonging to - , . , , --^ . . , ... , 

England, a Majesty s othcr Dommions, that it is hard to say, 
^heEmpi'r"e.'° what may be the consequence of it. 

And the Government of the other Plantations doth also 
differ ver^' much from any of the rest ; although there be 
not, naturally, substantial reasons, from the situation, trade, 
and condition of the people, why there should be such 

From all which, it comes to pass that small divided 
remote Governments, being seldom able to defend themselves, 
the burden of protecting of them all, must lie upon the Chief 
Kingdom, England : and so all the smaller kingdoms and 
dominions, instead of being additions, are really diminutions. 

But the same is remedied by making Two such Grand 
Councils as may equally represent the whole Empire : one 
to be chosen by the King, the other by the People. 

The wealth of a King is threefold. One is the Wealth of 
his subjects. The second is the Quota pars of his subjects' 
wealth, given him for the public defence, honour, and orna- 

sirw. Petty.T j^Q^y I ?,! PEiyiMENTS OF Disunion work. 375 

ment of the people, and to manage such undertaking for the 
common good, as no one, or a few private men are sufficient 
for. The tlidrd sort is the Quota of the last-mentioned Quota 
pars, which the King may dispose of, as his own personal 
inclination and discretion shall direct him, without account. 

Now it is most manifest, that the afore-mentioned distances 
and differences of kingdoms and jurisdictions are great im- 
pediments to all the said several sorts of wealth, as may be 
seen in the following particulars. 

First, in case of war with foreign nations, England 
commonly beareth the whole burden and charge : where- 
by many in England are utterly undone. 
Secondly, England sometimes prohibiting the commodities 
of Ireland and Scotland (as, of late, it did the cattle, 
flesh, and fish of Ireland), did not only make food, and 
consequently labour, dearer in England : but also hath 
forced the people of Ireland to fetch those commodities 
from France, Holland, and other places, which before 
were sold them from England ; to the great prejudice of 
both nations. 
Thirdly, it occasions an unnecessary trouble and charge in 
collecting of Customs upon commodities passing between 
the several nations. 
Fourthly, it is a damage to our Barbadoes and other 
American trades, that the goods which might pass 
thence immediately to several parts of the world, and 
to be sold at moderate rates ; must first come into 
England, and there pay duties : and afterwards, if at all, 
pass into those countries, whither they might have gone 
Fifthly, the islands of Jersey and Guernsey are protected 
at the charge of England : nevertheless the labour and 
industry of that people, which is very great, redounds 
most to the profit of the French. 
Sixthly, in New England, there are vast numbers of able- 
bodied Englishmen employed chiefly in husbandry ; 
and in the meanest part of it, which is breeding of 
cattle: whereas Ireland would have contained all those 
persons, and, at worst, would have afforded them lands 
on better terms than they have them in America, if not 
some other better trade wittial than now they can have. 

376 Other kinds of National lMrEDiMENTS.[^'''7'^r67;: 

Seventhly, the inhabitants of the other Plantations althouf^^h 
they do indeed plant commodities which will not grow 
so well in England ; yet grasping at more land than will 
suffice to produce the said exotics in a sufficient quantity 
to serve the whole World, they do therein but distract 
and confound the effect of their own endeavours. 
Eighthly, there is no doubt that the same people far and 
widely dispersed, must spend more upon their Govein- 
ment and protection, than the same living compactly, 
and when they have no occasion to depend upon the 
wind, weather, and all the accidents of the sea. 
A second impediment to the greatness of England is the 
ThediiTerent different understanding of several material points, 
understand- yj^., of thc King's Prcrogativc, Privileges of Par- 
gntive, and Hamcnt, the obscure differences between Law and 
ParHament° Equity, as also betweenCivil and Ecclesiastical J uris- 
Eqm\yrctii dictions, doubts whether the Kingdom of England 
and Ecciesias- hath powcr ovcr thc Kingdom of Ireland : besides 
dictions] ; the thc wondcrful paradox, that Englishmen lawfully 
Legislature of scnt to supprcss rebellions in Ireland, should, after 
irekud,&c. having effected the same, be as it were disfran- 
chised, and lose that Interest in the Legislative Power which 
they had in England ; and pay Customs as foreigners for 
all they spend in Ireland, whither they were sent for the 
honour and benefit of England, 

The third impediment is, that Ireland being a conquered 
Want of country, and containing not the Tenth part as 

for'«^nt^o"f°"' many Irish natives as there are English in both 
mix.ureand kingdoms ; that natural and firm Union is not 

transplanta- "^ , , . 

tion. made between the two peoples by transplantations 

and proportionable mixture, so as there may be but a Tenth 
part of the Irish in Ireland, and the same proportion in 
England : whereby the necessity of maintaining an armv in 
Ireland at the expense of the quarter of all the rents of that 
kingdom may be taken away. 

The fourth impediment is, that taxes in England are not 
The unequal Icvicd upon thc Expcnse,but upon the whole Estate; 
inonveu.ent j^qj- upou Lands, Stock, and Labour, but chiefiy upon 

method of 111 11 1 1 J • IT 

taxing. land alone : and that not by any equal and mciit- 

ferent standard, but the casual predominancy of Parties and 
factions. And moreover that these taxes are not levied with 


the least trouble and charge, but are let out to Farmers; 
^vho also let them from one to another, without explicit 
knowledge of what they do : but so as in conclusion, the 
poor people pay twice as much as the King receives. 

The fifth impediment is the inequality of shires, dioceses, 
parishes, church-livings, and other precincts; as inequality of 
also [ofj the Representation of the people in Parlia- cesLtWHshes, 
ment : all which do hinder the operatioi s of Autho- fj'p^;^:^^^'^!^^! 
rity in the same manner as a wheel nregularly ^^^• 
made and excentrically hung, neither moves so easily, nor 
performs its work so truly, as if the same were duly framed 
and poised. 

Sixthly, as to whether it be an impediment that the Power 
of Making War, and Raising Money be not in the same hand ? 
much may be said. But I leave it to those who may more 
properly meddle with fundamental laws. 

None of these impediments are natural : but have arisen, 
as the irregularity of buildings do, by being built a part at 
one time and a part at another; and by the changing of the 
state of things from what they were at the respective times 
when the practices we complain of were first admitted ; and 
perhaps are but the warpings of time from the rectitude of 
the first institution. 

As these impediments are contingent, so they are also 

For may not the land of superfluous territories be sold, 
and the people, with their movables, brought away ? May 
not the English in the American Plantations, who plant 
tobacco, sugar, &c., compute what land will serve their turn, 
and then contract their habitation to that proportion, both 
for quantity and quality ? As for the people of New England, 
I can but wish they were transplanted into Old England or 
Ireland, according to Proposals of their own, made within 
these twenty years [1657-1677] ; although they were a' lowed 
more Liberty of Conscience than they allow one another. 

May not the Three Kingdoms be United into One, and 
equally represented in Parliament ? May not the several 
species [races] of the King's subjects be equally mixed in 
their habitations ? Might not the parishes and other pre- 
cincts be better equalized? Might not Jurisdictions and 

3;8 Increase of English territory i637-77.p''7'^:l77: 

other pretences [claims'] to Power be determined and ascer- 
tained ? Might not the taxes be equally applotted, and 
directly applied to their ultimate use? Might not Dissenters 
in religion be indulged ; they paying for a competent force 
to keep the public peace ? 

I humbly venture to say all these things may be done, if 
it be so thought fit by the Sovereign Power; because the like 
hath often been done already, at several places and times. 


That the pcnccr and iccalth of England hath increased this 
last forty years. 

IT IS not much to be doubted but that the Territo- 
ries under the King's dominion have in- Manytem- 
creased : forasmuch as New Engand, Vir- beeiTad'ied 
ginia, Barbadoes, and Jamaica, Tangier, to^pgi-i'id 

<^ ' . ' J . ' .o ' within aljuut 

and Bombay, have, since that time, been either forty years; 
added to His Majesty's territories, or improved fm,,rove"ments 
from a desert condition, to abound with people, "''"^''' 
buildings, shipping, and the production of many useful 

And as for the land of England, Scotland, and Ireland, as 
it is not less in quantity than it was forty years ago, so it is 
manifest that, by reason of the draining of the fens, watering 
of dry grounds, improving of forests and commons, making 
of heathy and barren grounds to bear sainfoin and clo ver 
grass, [a] meliorating and multiplying several sorts of fruit 
and garden stuff, making some rivers navigable, &c. ; I say, 
it is manifest that the land in its present condition is able to 
bear more provisions and commodities than it was forty years 

Secondly, although the People of England, Scotland, and 
Ireland, which have extraordinarily perished, by the Plague 
and Sword, within these last forty years, do amount to about 
300,000 above what [would] have died in the ordinary way : 
yet the ordinary increase by generation of 10,000,000, which 
doubles in 200 years, as hath been shewn by the Observators 
upon the Bills of Mortality, may, in forty years, which is a 

^"T'^il??:] Increase of Houses, and SiiirriNG. 379 

fifth part of the same time, have increased one-fifth part of 
the whole number, or 2,000,000. 

Where note by the way, that the accession of Negroes to 
the American Plantations, being all men of great labour and 
little expense, is not inconsiderable. Besides, it is hoped 
that New England (where few or no women are barren, and 
most have many children ; and where people live long and 
healthfully) hath produced an increase of as many people as 
were destroyed in the late tumults in Ireland. 

As for Housing, the streets of London itself speaks it. 
I conceive it is double in value in that city to what 'ii,e Housing 
it was forty years since. And for Housing in the doubied^L 
country, it has increased at Newcastle, Yarmouth, value. 
Norwich, Exeter, Portsmouth, Cowes ; Dublin, Kinsale, 
Londonderry and Coleraine in Ireland, far beyond the pro- 
portion of what I can learn has been dilapidated in other 
places. For in Ireland, where the ruin was greatest, the 
Housing, taking all together, is now more valuable than forty 
years ago. Nor is this to be doubted: since Housing is now 
more splendid than in those days; and the number of dwellers 
is increased by nearly one-fifth part ; as in the last paragraph 
is set forth. 

As for Shipping, His Majesty's Navy is now triple or 
quadruple to what it was forty years since, and i''i«= shipping 

^ P K i~, . ,.,"'•' itvery much 

before the Sovereign was built. increased ; 

The shipping trading to Newcastle, which is now Tons thereof!^" 
80,000 tons, could not be then above a quarter of that quantity. 

1. Because the City of London is doubled. 

2. Because the use of coals is also at least doubled : 
because they were heretofore seldom used in chambers 
as now they are; nor were there so many bricks burned 
[baked] with them, as of late ; nor did the country on 
both sides the Thames make use of them as now. 

Besides, there are employed in Guinea [i.e., the slave dealing] 
and American trade, above 40,000 tons of shipping per annum ; 
which trade in those days was inconsiderable. 

The quantity of wines was not nearly so much as now, and, 
to be short, the Customs upon imported and exported com- 
modities did not then yield a third part of the present value: 
which shews that not only Shipping, but Trade itself hath 
increased somewhat near that proportion. 

380 The wages of a Labourer in 1677. p'"" T ^^a 

As to Money, the interest thereof was, within these fifty 
Interest of ycars, at £io pcv cent. ; forty years ago, at £8; and 
neTrty hait.^ HOW, at £6 '. uo thanks to any laws which have 
been made to that purpose ! forasmuch as those who can give 
good security, may now have it at less. But the natural fall 
of interest is the effect of the increase of money. 

Moreover ii rented lands and houses have increased, and if 
Money and tradc hath increased also : it is certain that money, 
nue' increased, whlcli paycth thosc rcnts and driveth on trade, 
must have increased also. 

Lastly, I leave it to the consideration of all observers, 
whether the number and splendour of Coaches, Equipage, and 
Household Furniture hath not increased since that time : to 
say nothing of the Postage of Letters, which has increased 
from One to Twenty ; which argues the increase of business 
and negotiation. 

I might add that His Majesty's Revenue is nearly tripled ; 
and therefore the means to pay, and bear the same, have 
increased also. 


That One-Tenth part of the Whole Expense of the King of 
England's stibjects is sufficient to maintain 100,000 Foot, 40,000 
Horse, and 40,000 seamen at sea ; and to defray all other charges 
of the Government, botli ordinary and extraordinary, if the same 
were regularly taxed and raised. 

CLEAR this point, we are to find out, What is the 
middle expense of each head in the King's r^" '^f 'i'"""'r 

T^ . . ' , , , . , ,7 the Medium of 

Uommions, between the highest and the Expenseof 
lowest ? To which I say, it is not probably FngianT '" 
less than the expense of a Labourer, who earneth about Sd. 
[^2s.7iow] a day. For the wages of such a man is 45. [ = i2s. 
now] per week without victuals, or 2s. [ = 6s. now] with them : 
where the value of his victuals is 2s. [=6s. now] or £s ^s. 
[=^£1^ 12s. now] per annum. 

Nov/ the value of clothes cannot be less than the wages 
given to the poorest maidservant in the country ; which is 
30-^- L = ;^4 los. nozc' per annum. Nor can the charge of all 
other necessaries be less than 6s. [=185. noiv] per annnni more. 

^"T ^iljy Average English expense, per head, ^7. 38 1 

Wherefore the whole charge is £y [=-^21 now]. 

It is not likely that this Discourse will fall into the hands 
of any that live at £y per annuui : and therefore such [i.e., as 
read it] will wonder at this supposition. But if they consider 
how much the number of the poor and their children is 
greater than that of the rich ; although the personal 
expense of some rich men should be twenty times more than 
that of a labourer : yet the expense of the labourer above 
mentioned may well enough stand for the Standard of the 
expense of the whole mass of mankind. 

Now if the expense of each man, one with another, be £"7 
per anmtm, and if the number of the King's subjects be 
10,000,000 ; then the tenth part of the whole expense will be 

;;^7,000,000 [ = ;£'2I,000,000 «OZ£'j. 

But about ;^5, 000,000, or a very little more, will amount to 
one year's pay for 100,000 Foot, 40,000 Horse, and 40,000 
men at sea : winter and summer; which can rarely be 
necessary ! 

And the ordinary Charge of Government, in times of deep 
and serene peace, was not about ;£'6oo,ooo [or ;£'i,8oo,ooo 
now] per annum. 

Where a people thrive, there the Income is greater than 
the Expense ; and consequently the tenth part of the expense 
is not a tenth part of the income. Now for men to pay a 
tenth of their expense in a time of the greatest exigency 
(for such it must be, when so great forces are requisite) can 
be no hardship, much less a deplorable condition. For to 
bear a tenth part, a man need spend but a twentieth part 
less, and labour a twentieth part more (or half an howv per 
diem extraordinary) ; both of which, within common experi- 
ence, are very tolerable : there being very few in England 
who do not eat by a twentieth part more than does them 
good; and what misery were it, instead of wearing cloth of 
20S. per yard, to be contented with that of 195., few men 
having skill enough to discern the difference. 

Memorandum. That all this while I suppose that all of 
these 10,000,000 of people are obedient to their Sovereign, 
and within the reach of his power : for as things are otherwise, 
so the calculation must be varied. 

382 Capital /30.ooO'000' Labour/40,ooo,ooo.P''7' ^"eZ: 


That there are spare hands enottgh, among the King of 
England's subjects, to earn ^2,000,000 per annum more than 
they noiv do ; and that there are also employments ready, proper, 
and sufficient for that purpose. 

PROVE this point, we must inquire, How much all 
the people could earn, if they were disposed or 
necessitated to labour, and, had work where- 
upon to employ themselves ? and compare that 
sum with that of the total Expense above mentioned; deduct- 
ing the rents and profits of land and stock [capital], which, 
properly speaking, saveth so much labour. 

Now the proceeds of the said lands and stock in the 
Countries [counties] is about Three parts of Seven of the 
whole expense. So as where the expense is ^^'yo, 000, 000 the 
rent of the land, and the profit of all personal estate, interest 
of money, &c., must be about £30,000,000 [ = ;£'go, 000,000 
now] , and consequently the value of the Labour, ^£"40, 000, 000 
[ = ;^i20,ooo,ooo now] , that is £^ [ = £12 now] per head. 

But it is to be noted that about a Quarter of the mass of 
mankind are children, male and female, under seven years 
old : from whom little labour is to be expected. 

It is also to be noted that about another Tenth part of the 
whole people are such as, by reason of their great estates, 
titles, dignities, Offices and Professions, are exempt from that 
kind of labour we now speak of : their business being, or 
ought to be, to govern, regulate, and direct the labours and 
actions of others. 

So that of 10,000,000, there may be about 6,500,000 which, 
if need require, might actually labour. 

And of these, some might earn 3s. [ = 95. n-oic] a week, 
some 5s. [^155. now] , and some 7s. [=2is.] : that is, all of 
them : might earn 5s. per week, at a medium, one with 
another; or at least ;^io [=£1,0 now] per annum, allowing 
for sickness and other accidents. Whereby the whole might 
earn 5^65,000,000 [ = ;£'i95,ooo,ooo now] per annum : that is 
;^25,ooo,ooo [ = £75,000,000 noiv] more than the expense. 

The Author of The Stale of England says that the children 

Pl'>'-] Building trade after the Fire of London. 383 

1077. J 

of Norwich, between six and sixteen years old, do earn 
£12,000 [=5^36,000 now] per annum more than they spend. 
Now forasmuch as the people of Norwich are a three- 
hundredth part of all the people of England [i.e., 20,000], as 
appears by the accounts of the Hearth Money ; and about a 
five-hundredth part of all the King's subjects throughout the 
world, it follows that all his Majesty's subjects between six and 
sixteen years old, might earn £5,000,000 [ = £15,000,000 now] 
per ammm more than they spend. 

Again, forasmuch as the number of the people above 
sixteen years old, is double the number of those between six 
and sixteen ; and that each of the men can earn double to 
each of the children : it is plain that if the men and children 
everywhere, did do as they do at Norwich, they might earn 
/■25,ooo,ooo [=£75,000,000 now] per annum more than they 
sp"end. 'which Estimate grounded upon matter of fact and 
experience, agrees with the former. 

Although, as hath been proved, the people of England do 
thrive; and that it is possible they might superlucrate 
£^5 000,000 per annum ; yet it is manifest that they do not ; 
nor '£23,000,000, which is less by the £2,000,000 herein 

meant. , • u ^ 

For if they did superlucrate £23,000,000, then in about 
five or six years' time, the whole Stock and Personal Estate 
of the nation would be doubled : which I wish were true ; 
but find no manner of reason to believe. 

Wherefore if they can superlucrate £25,000,000 ; but do 
not actually superlucrate £23,000,000, nor £20,000,000, nor 
£10,000,000, nor perhaps £5,000,000 : I have proved what was 
propounded, viz., that there are spare hands among the 
King's subjects to earn £2,000,000 more than they do. 

But to speak a little more particularly concerning this 
matter. It is to be noted that since the Fire of London, 
there was earned, in four years [1666-1670] by tradesmen 
[artisans] relating to building only, the sum of £4,000,000 
[=£12,000,000 noit'], viz., £1,000,000 per annum -. without 
lessening any other sort of work, labour or manufacture, 
which was usually done in any other four years before the 
said occasion. 

But if the tradesmen relating to building only, and sucli 
of them only as wrought in and about London, could do 

384 Native production of foreign imports. pT'^ilJ?! 

pTi, 000,000 worth of work extraordinary ; I think that from 
thence, and from what hath been said before, all the rest of 
the spare hands might very well double the same : which is 
as much as was propounded. 

Now if there were spare hands to superlucrate millions 
upon millions, they signify nothing, unless there were 
employment for them ; and may as well follow their pleasures 
and speculations, as labour to no purpose. Therefore the 
more material point is to prove that there js ;£'2,ooo,ooo 
worth of work to be done ; which at present, the King's 
subjects do neglect. 

For the proof of this, there needs little more to be done, 
than to compute. 

1. How much money is paid by the King of England's 
subjects, to foreigners for freights of shipping ? 

2. How much the Hollanders gain by their lishing trade 
practised upon our seas ? 

3. What is the value of all the commodities imported into 
and spent in England : which might, by diligence, be 
produced and manufactured here. 

To make short of this matter, upon perusal of the most 
authentic accounts relating to these several particulars, 
I affirm that the same amounteth to above £5,000,000 
[=^^15, 000, 000 now] : whereas I propounded but ;^'2,ooo,ooo. 

For a further proof whereof, Mr. Samuel Fortry, in his 
ingenious Discourse of Trade [1673] exhibits the particulars 
[details] : wherein it appears that the goods imported out of 
France only, amount yearly to £2,600,000 [=£7,800,000 ncnc^]. 
And I affirm that the wine, paper, cork, rosin, capers, and a 
few other commodities which England cannot produce, do 
not amount to one-fifth part of the said sum. 

From whence it follows, that, if Mr. Fortry hath not 
erred, the £2,000,000 here mentioned, may arise from France 
alone ; and consequently £5,000,000 or £6,000,000 from all 
three heads last above specilied. 

Si>^ W. Peuy.-J(3QiNAGE AT THE RESTORATION, ^6,000,000. 385 


That there is sufficient Money to drive the Trade of the nation. 

]Ince His Majesty's happy Restoration, it was 
thought fit to call in, and new coin, the money 
which was made in the times of Usurpation 

... [Comvionwcalth]. Now it was observed, by the 

general consent of Cashiers [Goldsmiths or money changers], 
that the said money, being by frequent revolutions [circtda- 
tions] well mixed with old, was about a Seventh part 
thereof; and that the said [Commonwealth] money being 
called in, was about £800,000 ; and consequently the whole 
[coinage was about] £5,600,000. Whereby it is probable, that, 
some allowance being given for hoarded money, the whole 
Cash of England was then about £6,000,000 : which I con- 
ceive is sufficient to drive the Trade of England : not doubtmg 
but the rest of His Majesty's Dominions have the like means 
to do the same respectively. 

If there be 6,000,000 souls in England, and that each 
spendeth £7 per annum, then the whole expense is £42,000,000 
or about £800,000 per week : and consequently if every man 
did pay his expense weekly, and that the money could cnxulate 
within the compass of a week, then less than £1,000,000 
would answer the ends proposed. 

But forasmuch as the rents of the lands m England, which 
are paid half yearly, are £8,000,000 [=£24,000,000 now] per 
annum ; there must be £4,000,000 [in coin ; Bank of England 
notes and cheques not having yet been invented] to pay them. 

And forasmuch as the rents of the Housing of England, 
paid quarterly, are worth about £4,000,000 [=£12,000,000 
now] per annum ; there neecis but £1,000,000 to pay the said 


Wherefore £6,000,000 being enough to make good the 
three sorts of circulations above mentioned : I conceive what 
was proposed, is competently proved : at least, until some- 
thing better be held forth to the contrary. 

ENG. GAR. VI. 25 

386 Gentry putting younger sons to TRADE.[^'''7'^f6"7; 


That the King of England's siLbjcds have Stock [capital] 
competent and convenient to drive the Trade of the whole Com- 
mercial World. 

^Ow for the further encouragement of Trade, as we 
have shewn that there is money enough in 
England to manage the affairs thereof, so we 
shall now offer to consideration, Whether there be 
not a competent and convenient Stock to drive the Trade of 
the whole Commercial World ? 

To which purpose, it is to be remembered that all the 
Commodities yearly exported out of every part of the last- 
mentioned World, may be bought for ^^^45, 000,000 ; and that 
the Shipping employed in the same World are not worth 
above £15,000,000 more, and consequently that £60,000,000 
[ = £180,000,000 novij] at most would drive the whole Trade 
above mentioned, without any trust at all. 

But forasmuch as the growers of commodities do commonly 
trust them to such merchants or factors as are worth but 
such part of the full value of their commodities as may 
possibly be lost upon the sale of them ; whereas gain is 
rather to be expected : it follows that less than a Stock of 
£60,000,000 ; nay, less than half that sum is sufficient to 
drive the Trade above mentioned. It being well known that 
any tradesman of good reputation, worth £500, will be trusted 
with above £1,000 worth of commodities. 

Wherefore less than £30,000,000 will suffice for the said 
purpose: of which sum, the Coin, Shipping, and Stock already 
in the Trade, do at least make one-half. 

And it hath been shewn 'at p. 345] how, by the policy of a 
Bank [of which not one existed in England at the time this u>as 
written], any sum of money may be equivalent in Trade unto 
nearly double the same : by all which it seems that, even 
at present, much is not wanting to perform what is pro- 

But suppose £20,000,000 or more were wanting, it is not 
improbable that since the generality of (Gentlemen, and some 
Noblemen do put their younger sons to merchandise, they 

si>- w- Pf^^^":] Landed income, ^8,000,000 in 1677. 387 

will see it reasonable, as they increase in the number of 
merchants, so to increase the magnitude of Trade, and 
consequently to increase Stock. Which may effectually be 
done by inbanking ^^20, 000, 000 worth of land (not being 
above a Sixth or Seventh of the whole territory of England) 
that is to say, by making a Fond \fund] of such value to be 
security for all' commodities bought and sold upon the 
account of the Universal Trade here mentioned [40 years 
after this was written, the Landed Interest somewhat attempted 
this suggestion, in the foundation of the South Sea Company]. 

And thus, it having appeared that England having in it, 
as much land like Holland and Zealand, as the said two 
Provinces do themselves contain ; with abundance of other 
land, not inconvenient for trade ; and that there are spare 
hands enough, to earn many millions of money more than 
they now do ; and that there is employment to earn several 
millions, even from the consumption of England itself: it 
follows from thence, and from what hath been said in the 
last paragraph about enlarging of Stock, both of money and 
land, that it is not impossible, nay, a very feasible matter 
for the King of England's subjects to gain the Universal 
Trade of the whole Commercial World. 

Nor is it unseasonable to intimate this matter. Foras- 
much as the younger brothers of the good families of England 
cannot otherwise he provided for, so as to live according to 
their birth and breeding. 

For if the Lands of England are worth ^8,000,000 per 
annwn, there be, at a medium, about 10,000 families of 
about ;^8oo [£=2,400, now] per annum : in each of which, one 
with another, we may suppose there is a younger brother, 
whom less than ;^200 or ^^300 [=;r6oo or £900 now] per 
annum, will not maintain suitable to his relations. 

Now I say that neither the Offices at Court, nor Commands 
in our ordinary army and navy, nor Church preferments, nor 
the usual gains by the Profession of the Law or of Physic, 
nor the employments under Noblemen and Prelates, will, all 
of them put together, furnish livelihoods of above ;^300 per 
annum to 3,000 of the said 10,000 younger brothers : where- 
fore it rem.ains that Trade alone must supply the rest. 

But if the said 7,000 Gentlemen be applied to Trade, with- 

38S Unity, Industry, and Obedience. [-'■"y'^S' 

out increasin,£^ of Trade ; or if we hope to increase Trade, 
without increasing of Stock (which, for ought appears, is only 
to be done by imbanking a due proportion of Lands and 
Money) ; we must necessarily be disappointed. 

Where note, that selhng of lands to foreigners for gold and 
silver, would enlarge the Stock of the Kingdom : whereas 
doing the same between one another, doth effect nothing. 
For he that turneth all his land into money, disposes himself 
for trade ; and he that parteth with his money for land, doth 
the contrary : but to sell land to foreigners, increaseth both 
money and people, and consequently trade. 

Wherefore it is to be thought that when the laws denying 
strangers to purchase, and not permitting them to trade 
without paying extraordinary duties, were made ; that then 
the public state of things and Interest of the nation were far 
different from what they now are. 

Having handled these Ten principal Conclusions, I might 
go on with others ad infinitum. But what hath been already 
said, I look upon as sufficient, for to shew what I mean by 
Political Arithmetic : and to shew 

1. The uses of knowing the True State of the People, Land, 
Stock, Trade, &c. 

2. That the King's subjects are not in so bad a condition 
as discontented men would make them. 

3. The great effect of Unity, Industry, and Obedience in 
order to the common safety and each man's peculiar 



Lyrics^ Elegies, &c. from Madrigals, 
Ca?2Zonets, &^c, 

AnHour'?T\ecreation inJVIu^ic 

By Richard Alison, Gentleman. 

To the right worthily honoured and 

most free respecter of all virtue, his 

chiefly esteemed and singular good 

patron, Sir John Scudamore, 


0\V noble, how ancient, and how effectual the Art of 
Music is, many excellent discourses of theorists deeply 
learned in the science, have already so confirmed and 
, illustrated, that it might seem as much arrogancy in 

me to attempt the praise thereof, as it argues malice or ignorance 
in such as seek to exclude it out of divine or human society. I iviU 
only allege one testimony out of an Epistle, which that ancicni 
father, Martin Luther, did write to Senfelius the Musician, 
which is so ample in commendation of this Art, that it were super- 
fluous to add any other. 1 ■ , i 
''Music;' saith he, " /o devils wc know is hateful and mtolcr- 

590 Dedication to Sir J. Scudamore. [ 

Ed. by R. Alison. 
? 1606. 

able ; mid I plainly think, neither am I ashamed to aver it, that 
next to Thcolo<;y, there is 110 Art comparable with Music. For it 
alone, next to Theology, doth effect that which otJierwise only 
Theology can perform ; that is, a quiet and a cheerfid mind." 

Now if Music merits so high a place as this holy man hath 
given it, can we deny love and honour to tlicm tJiat, with their 
grace and bounty, raise the professors tliereof ? Or to whom shall 
we that labour in this quality, better recommend our Works than 
to our patrons and benefactors ? 

Receive therefore, most honoured Knight and my worthiest 
Patron ! the fruits of your bounties, and the effects of those quiet 
days which, by your goodness, I Iiave enjoyed. And as the glory 
of a neia-fiuished house belongs not so much to the u'orkman that 
built it, as to the Lord that owns it : so if any part of this new 
Work of mine can excite commendation, the grace is chiefly yours ; 
though the labour, mine. But because there is no man more dis- 
trustfid of his own endeavours than I am myself, by the weakness 
of my nature : I beseech you receive my labours, howsoever, into 
your protection ; whose worth can best countenance them from 
misfortune, and spirit defend them. I will only assist you with 
a poor man''s bounty, I mean my many humble prayers to the 
Highest Protector ; beseeching Him to bless yon with long life 
and prosperity, to His glory, and our comforts, that must ever owe 
you our service and love. 

Your Worship's, wholly devoted, 



Lyrics, Elegies, ^c. from Madrigals, 



By Richard Alison, Gentleman. 


An Houf('3 T^ecp^eation in JVl u p i c . 

He man upright of life, whose guiltless 
heart is free 
From all dishonest deeds or thought of 

vanity : 
That man whose silent days in harmless 
joys are spent, 
Whom hopes cannot delude, nor sorrow discontent : 
That man needs neither towers nor armour for defence, 
Nor secret vaults to fly from thunder's violence. 

He only can behold with unaffrighted eyes, 

The horrors of the deep, and terrors of the skies. 

Thus scorning all the cares, that Fate or Fortune brings, 

392 Lyrics, Elegies, &c. FROM l""'- ""J ""■ ^feZ 

He makes his heaven his book, his wisdom heavenly things ; 
Good thoughts, his only friends ; his wealth, a well-spent 

The earth, his sober inn, and quiet pilgrimage. 

Heavy heart ! whose harms are hid, 
Thy help is hurt, thy hap is hard ; 
If thou shouldst break, as God forbid ! 
Then should Desert want his reward. 
Hope well to have ! hate not sweet thought ! 
Foul cruel storms, fairer calms have brought ! 
After sharp showers, the sun shines fair 1 
Hope comes likewise after Despair ! 

In hope, a king doth go to war ! 

In hope, a lover lives full long ! 

In hope, a merchant sails full far ! 

In hope, just men do suffer wrong ! 

In hope, the ploughman sows his seed ! 

Thus Hope helps thousands at their need ! 

Then faint not, heart ! among the rest, 

Whatever chance, hope thou the best ! 

Though Wit bids Will to blow retreat, 
Will cannot work as Wit would wish : 
When that the roach doth taste the bait, 
Too late to warn the hungry fish : 
When cities burn in fiery flame, 
Great rivers scarce may quench the same ; 
If Will and Fancy be agreed, 
Too late for Wit to bid take heed. 

Ed. by R. Aiison.-i M A D R I G A L s, Canzonets, & c. 39; 

? 1 606. J 

But yet it seems a foolish drift, 
To follow Will, and leave the Wit : 
The wanton horse that runs too swift, 
May well be stayed upon the bit ; 
But check a horse amid his race, 
And, out of doubt, you mar his pace ! 
Though Wit and Reason doth men teach, 
Never to climb above their reach. 

I can no more but hope, good heart ! 
For though the worst doth chance to fall, 
I know a wile shall ease thy smart. 
And turn to sweet, thy sugared gall. 
When thy good will and painful suit 
Hath shaked the tree, and wants the fruit: 
Then keep thou patience well in store, 
That sovereign salve shall heal thy sore 1 

Ho LOVES his life, from love his love doth err ; 
And choosing dross, rich treasure doth deny ; 
Leaving the pearl, Christ's counsel, to prefer, 
With selling all we have, the same to buy. 
O happy soul, that doth disburse a sum 
To gain a Kingdom in the life to come ! 


Lyrics, Elegies, & c. f t; o m IJ-'^- ''f ^ 

. Alison. 

Y PRIME of youth is but a frost of cares ! 
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain ! 
My crop of corn is but a field of tares ! 
And all my good is but vain hope of gain ! 
My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun ! 
And now I live, and now my life is done ! 

The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung ! 
The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green ! 
My youth is gone, and yet I am but young ! 
I saw the World, and yet I was not seen ! 
My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun ! 
And now I live, and now my life is done. 

Est with yourselves, you vain and idle brains ! 
Which Youth and Age in lewdest Lust bestow, 
And find out frauds, and use ten thousand trains 
To win the soil, where nought but sin doth grow : 
And live with me, you chaste and honest minds ! 
Which do your lives in lawful Love employ, 
And know no sleights, but friends for virtue finds, 
And loath the lust, which doth the soul destroy. 

For Lust is frail, where Love is ever sound ; 
Lust, outward sweet ; but inward, bitter gall : 
A Shop of Shews, where no good ware is found ; 
Not like to Love, where honest faith is all. 
So that is Lust, where Fancy ebbs and flows, 
And hates and loves, as Beauty dies and grows ; 
And this is Love, where Friendship firmly stands 
On Virtue's rock, and not on sinful sands. 

Ed. by R. Aiison.-i M A D R I G A L s, Canzonets, «&: c. 395 

Hall I abide this jesting ? 
I weep, and she's a feasting ! 
O cruel Fancy ! that so doth blind me 
To love one, that doth not mind me. 

Can I abide this prancing? 
I weep, and she 's a dancing ! 
O cruel Fancy ! so to betray me; 
Thou goest about to slay me ! 

He sturdy rock, for all his strength, 
By raging seas, is rent in twain ; 
The marble stone is pierced at length, 
With little drops of drizzling rain ; 
The ox doth yield unto the yoke, 
The steel obeyeth the hammer's stroke ; 

The stately stag that seems so stout 
By yelping hounds at bay is set ; 
The swiftest bird that flies about, 
At length is caught in fowler's net ; 
The greatest fish, in deepest brook, 
Is soon deceived with subtle hook. 


Lyrics, Elegies, &c. [ 

Ed. bv R. Alison. 

Hat if a day, or a month, or a year 
Crown thy delights with a thousand sweet con- 
tentings ! 

Cannot a chance of a night or an hour 
Cross thy desires with as many sad tormentings? 
Fortune, Honour, Beauty, Youth, are but blossoms dying! 
Wanton Pleasure, doating Love are but shadows flying ! 
All our joys are but toys ! idle thoughts deceiving : 
None have power, of an hour, in their lives bereaving. 

Earth 's but a point to the world, and a Man 
Is but a point to the world's compared centre ! 
Shall then a point of a point be so vain 
As to triumph in a silly point's adventure ? 
All is hazard that we have ! there is nothing biding ! 
Days of pleasure are like streams through fair meadows 
gliding ! 

Weal and woe, time doth go ! time is never turning ! 

Secret fates guide our states, both in mirth and mourning ! 

[Thomas Campion, M.D.] 







French Protestants 

endure aboard the 


By John B i o n , heretofore Priest and Curate of the 
parish of Ursy, in the Province of Burgundy; and 
Chaplain to the Superbe Galley, in the French 


Printed for John Morphew, near 
Stationers' Hall. 1708. 




May it please your Majesty i 
N gratitude to those wretches, whose heroic 
constancy raised in me that admiration which 
was the first cause of my happy conversion ; 
I humbly lay at your Majesty's feet, an 
Account of their Sufferings. 

Their only hopes, under GOD, are in your Majesty ! 
the glorious defender and ornament of their faith. 
The charity by which you support such numbers of 
their brethren in your dominions, the concern you have 
expressed for the pressures the French churches labour 
under, and the zeal for their restoration to their ancient 
splendour, leave no room to doubt of your Majesty's 
generous intentions. And that Providence, which 
watches over your sacred person, and distinguishes 
your reign by so many exploits, both at home and 
abroad, from those of your most glorious ancestors, 
will, no doubt, reward your piety, and enable your 

400 The Dedication to Queen Anne. [^"'''- -^- l^Jos! 

Majesty to ease them of their chains, after having 
broken those of Europe. 

They would not thus presume to make their way 
through the crowd of your admirers, and disturb the 
acclamation that surrounds your august Person, with 
the doleful rehearsal of their misery, did not your 
Majesty's known goodness facilitate their access, and 
your love of justice, and proneness to redress griev- 
ances encourage their presumption. 

I am, in particular, happy in being so far instru- 
mental in their future deliverance, as to make their 
Case known to the best and greatest of Queens ; and I 
am proud that it furnishes me with an opportunity of 
letting the World know, that I am, 
May it please your Majesty ! 

Your Majesty's most faithful subject, 

and obedient humble servant, 

John B i o n , 

heretofore Chaplain to the Sitpcrbe Galley, in the 
French Kino's service. 


The Preface. 

is I PURPOSED in this Work, only to make the sufferings 
of the Protestants condemned to the galleys for the sake 
of Religion, known to the World ; people will he apt to 
_____ think that when I speak in general of the different sorts 
of forgats or slaves which are on them, I go beside the ndes I 
prescribed to myself. But if it be considered that it is no little tor- 
ment to the Protestants to be amongst malefactors and lewd and 
profligate villains, whose continual blasphemies and cursings have 
no parallel but among the damned in hell ; it will not be thought 
beside my purpose, to have given to the World, aparticidar account 
of the various sorts of those men who live in the galleys. 

There is, besides, a block, those who never saw the galleys but in 
the port at Marseilles, will infallibly stumble at; if not removed. 
Which is, that whereas the galley slaves are not, during that time, 
in that wretched condition they are in whilst at sea, and tugging 
at the oar. Being allowed to keep shop about the Port, and there 
to work and sell all manner of commodities. And sometimes 
having leave to walk in the town : giving only one penny to the 
Algousin, as much to the Turk with whom each of them must then 
heloupled, and five pence to the Pertuisenier or Partizan Bearer 
who guards them. There being some besides, that even have their 
wives at Marseilles. And all being permitted to hear from their 
friends, and receive money from their relations. All such com- 
forts and favours, as well as all manner of correspondence 
with friends, are utterly denied the Protestants ! 

/ have not descended to partictdars, in what relateth to the 
usefidness of galleys in sea fights, for the keeping of the coasts or 
convoying of merchant sloops when there is [any] danger of their 
being taken or set upon by the brigantines the Duke of Savoy 
keeps commonly for that purpose, during the war, in Villa 
Franca, St. Hospitio, and Oneglia. 
ENG. Gar. VI. 26 

402 The armament of a French galley. [^''''" ^" ^^'os! 

Nor did I take notice in this Work, how the galleys, in an 
engagement wherein there are Men-of-war, serve to keep off, and sink 
with their cannon shot out of the Coursier, a gnn so called, the 
fire-ships the enemy sendeth to set the ship on fire ; and to tow 
away such as are disabled in the fight. 

I might also have observed how in every galley, there are five 
guns upon the for edeck, viz., four six or eight pounders, and a fifth 
called the Coursier, which carrieth a ^6lb. ball. 

And herewith, when an enemy^s ship is becalmed, a galley , 
which ivith her oars can do what she pleaseth, may attack that ship 
fore and aft, to avoid her broadsides; and ply her with the 
Coursier: so that sometimes, if she happeneth to let [give] her a 
shot, which cometh between wind and water, she forceth her to 
surrender. Which however happeneth seldom enough : for a ship 
needs but a little wind to make nothing of overthrowing five or 
six galleys. 

I did not think fit either to give here, an account of the number 
of galleys in France ; which are twenty-four at Marseilles, and six 
upon the ocean. Not to speak of the six small rooms in every 
galley, under the deck, wherein ammunition and provisions are 
kept ; and which they call the Gavon, the Scandclat, the 
Campaign, the Paillot, the Tavern, and the Fore-room. 

A II these particulars would have carried me too far out of my 
way, and beside my purpose : which is only to give a plain and 
faithful Account, without amplifying, of the Sufferings of the 
Protestant galley slaves. 

If there be anything omitted in this Relation, it will not be 
found as to any material point. And as my sole aim in it, hath 

been to work a following feeling in other men's hearts, I shall not 
find myself at all disappointed, although their curiosity should not 

be fully satisfied. 

The LORD, in his mercy, pour out his blessings upon this 

Work ! and favourably hear our prayers and supplications, which 

we shall never cease to make unto his Divine Majesty, for the 

deliverance of our poor distressed brethren. 




Sufferings of the Protestants 

IN the 


He dismal accounts handed down to us by 
historians, of the- torments afflicted on 
Christians by the heathen Emperors, in 
the first Ages of the Church, might justly 
be suspected, if the woful experience of our 
own, did not put the truth of them out of 
dispute. For though it be not easy to con- 
ceive how men can put off all that is tender 
and generous in their natures, and degenerate into the ferity 
[ferocity] of brutes ; yet it is but looking on the World around 
us, and being convinced that they can even outdo their fellow 
animals in cruelty to one another. Nay, we may see many 
professing Christianity, under the specious pretence of zeal 
for its Interest, commit such barbarities as exceed, tor] at least 
equal, the rage of the persecutors of the primitive Christians. 
History abounds in instances that shew the nature of a 
spirit of persecution, and how boundless its rage and fury ! 
but the sad effects it hath, of late years, produced in France, 
as they are still fresh and but too obvious, are scarcely to be 
parallel in any Age or nation. 

All the World knows the Protestants there, lived under 
the protection of the Edict of Nantes ; a treaty as full and 
solemn as any ever was ! It was at first religiously observed ; 
but in time, several breaches were made in it. Many of its 


branches were by degrees lopt off, till at last, under the 
present King \L0UIS XIV.], at the continual teasing and 
solicitation of the Jesuits, those restless and busy insects ! it 
was perfidiously broken, or, as they please to term it, 

But Religion and its propagation must be the cloak under 
which those crafty silversmiths intend to play their game. 
And therefore having first confidently taught that the King 
hath a Despotic Power over the Consciences as well as 
Estates ; and consequently his Will to be the Rule of their 
Religion : they, by several arts and methods, but chiefiy by 
dreadful punishments, force weak people to play the hypo- 
crites, and embrace a Religion which in their hearts they 
detest. Such as were too good Christians to prostitute their 
consciences to vile worldly interests, are denied the benefit 
of retiring into foreign countries; and punished, if discovered, 
often with death : or reserved for more cruel usage, and 
condemned to spin out their wretched lives in the galleys. 

Of these last, I design to give the public an Account, as 
being of all men the most miserable : the barbarities com- 
mitted in those horrid machines exceeding all that can 
possibly be imagined. The ingenuity of the famous Sicilian 
Tyrants in inventing torments deserves no longer to be 
proverbial : being far excelled in this pernicious art, by the 
modern enemies of Religion and Liberty. 

I shall endeavour to satisfy the curiosity of those who 
desire to be informed of the treatment, the slaves, and parti- 
cularly the Protestants, in the galleys meet with ; and to 
convince such, as are loth to harbour any hard thoughts of 
the French Court ; that justifies its proceedings, by pre- 
tending that what they suffer, is not on the account of 
Religion, but a just and lawful punishment for Rebellion and 

My being several campaigns \crinzes], Chaplain aboard 
one of the galleys, called La Supcrbe, gave me a sufficient 
opportunity of informing myself of the truth of the following 
Relation. And 1 hope my integrity will not be called in 
question by anybody that hears, that during my stay in that 
Service, I never received the least disgust or met with any 
disobligation. The certificates I have from Monsieur de 



MoNTOLiEU, Chief Flag Officer of the French galleys ; and 
Monsieur D'Autigny, Captain of the aforesaid galley, whose 
Chaplain I was ; a reward for my services conferred on me 
by the French King in the year 1704, at the recommenda- 
tion of Monsieur de Portchartrin ; several good offices 
done me by the General, and other officers who knew me : 
will I hope screen me from the suspicions or calumny of 
such, who, through malice, or perhaps Interest, might be 
inclined to misrepresent me. . 

Neither shall a blind zeal for the Protestant Religion, 
which I have lately embraced, hurry me beyond the strict 
bounds of truth, or make me represent things in any colours 
but their own. I should be an unworthy prolessor ol that 
holy Religion, if, on any consideration, I should m the least 
deviate from the strictest truth ; to which end. I shall relate 
nothing by hearsay, but, like the Apostle, confine myselt to 
those things, my " eyes have seen." 

But before I proceed to shew the sufferings and misery, 
the wretches in the galleys, labour under, I shall give a short 
description of that vessel. , -. 1 ,u 

A Galley is a long flat one-decked vessel, though it hath 
two masts. Yet they generally make use of oars, because 
they are built so as not to be able to endure a rough sea : 
and therefore their sails for the most part are useless unless 
in cruising, when they are out of sight of land ; for then, lor 
fear of being surprised by ill weather, they make the best ot 

their way. ^ , 

There are five slaves to every oar ; one of them, a 1 urk ; 
who being generally stronger than Christians, is set at the 
upper end, to work it with more strength. 

There are in all 300 slaves; and 150 men, either Officers, 
soldiers, seamen, or servants. , , 1 j 

There is at the stern of the galley, a chamber, shaped on 
the outside like a cradle, belonging to the _ Captain : and 
solely his, at night or in foul weather; but in the daytime, 
common to the Officers and Chaplain. All the rest of the 
crew (the Under Officers excepted, who retire to other con- 
venient places) are exposed above deck, to the scorching heat 
of the sun by day, and the damps and inclemencies of the 

4o6 Fearful hardships of the slaves. P'"'- ■'• ^Jos.' 

night. There is indeed a kind of a tent suspended by a cable 
from head to stern, that affords some little shelter : but the 
misfortune is, that this is only when they can best be without 
it, that is, in fair weather. For in the least wind or storm, 
it is taken down ; the galley not being able to endure it for 
fear of oversetting. 

The two winters (in a7ino 1703, and in 1704) we kept the 
coasts of Monaco, Nice, and Antibes ; those poor creatures, 
after hard rowing, could not enjoy the usual benefit of the 
night, which puts an end to the fatigues and labours of the 
day : but were exposed to the winds, snow, hail, and all other 
inconveniences of that season. The only comforf they wished 
for, was the liberty of smoking : but that, on pain of the 
bastinado, the usual punishment of the place, is forbidden. 

The vessel being but small for the number, the men con- 
sequently crowded, the continual sweat that streams down 
from their bodies whilst rowing, and the scanty allowance 
of linen ; one may easily imagine, breed abundance of vermin. 
So that, in spite of all the care that can be taken, the galleys 
swarm with lice, &c.; which nestling in the plaits and laps of 
their clothes, relieve by night, the executioners who beat and 
torment them by day. 

Their whole yearly allowance for clothes is two shirts 
made of the coarsest canvas ; and a little jerkin of red serge, 
slit on each side, up to their arm holes ; the sleeves are also 
open, and come not down so low as their elbows. And every 
three years, a kind of a coarse frock ; and a little cap to 
cover their heads, which they are obliged to keep close 
shaved, as a mark of infamy. 

Instead of a bed, they are allowed, sick or well, only a 
board a foot and a half broad. And those who have the 
unfortunate honour of lying near the Officers, dare not pre- 
sume, though tormented with vermin, to stir so much as a 
hand for their ease : for fear' their chains should rattle, and 
awake any of them ; which would draw on them a punish- 
ment more severe than the biting of those insects. 

It is hard to give an exact description of the pains and 
labours the slaves undergo at sea, especially during a long 
campaign [crui-^e]. The fatigue of tugging at the oar is 
extraordinary. They must rise to draw their stroke, and 
fall back again almost on their backs : insomuch that, in all 

^'''' ^' ^'Jos:] The merciless strokes of the Comites. 407 

seasons, through the continual and violent motion of their 
bodies, the sweat trickles down their harassed limbs. 

And for fear they should fail, as they often do through 
faintness, there is a gang board, which runs through the 
middle of the ship, on which are constantly posted three 
Comites, an Officer somewhat like a Boatswain in Her 
Majesty's ships, who whenever they find or think that an 
oar does not keep touch with the rest, without ever examin- 
ing whether it proceeds from weakness or laziness, they 
unmercifully exercise a tough wand on the man they sus- 
pect : which being long is often felt by two or three of 
his innocent neighbours, who being naked when they row, 
each blow imprints evident marks of the inhumanity of the 

And that which adds to their misery, is that they are not 
allowed the least sign of discontent or complaint, that small 
and last comfort of the miserable ! but must, on the contrary, 
endeavour with all their might, to exert the little vigour that 
remains, and try by their submission, to pacify the rage of 
those relentless tigers ; whose strokes are commonly ushered 
in, and followed by a volley of oaths and horrid imprecations. 

No sooner are they arrived in any port, but their work, 
instead of being at an end, is increased ; several laborious 
things previous to casting anchor, being expected from them; 
which in a galley is harder than a ship. And as the Coniitc's 
chief skill is seen in dexterously casting anchor, and that 
they think Blows are the life and soul of Work ; nothing is 
heard for some time, but cries and lamentation : and as the 
poor slaves' arms are busy in the execution of his commands, 
his are as briskly exercised in lashing them. 

To support their strength under all these hardships ; 
during the campaign, every morning, at eight of the clock, 
they give each man, his proportion of biscuit ; of which 
indeed, they have enough, and pretty good. At ten, a 
porringer made of oil, with peas or beans often rotten, and 
commonly musty. I call it soup, according to their use ; 
although it be nothing but a little hot water with about a 
dozen peas or beans floating on the top. And when on duty, 
a Pichone of wine, a measure containing about two-thirds of 
an English pint, morning and evening. 

When at anchor in any port, all who have any money are 

4o8 Employments of the slaves in port. [^'''- -'• ^;°8: 

allowed to buy meat ; and the Turk that commands the oar, 
and is not chained, is commonly the person employed for this 
purpose, as also to see it dressed in the Cook Room. But I 
have often seen the Captain's Cook, a brutal passionate man, 
take the poor men's pot, under pretence that it troubled him, 
and either break or throw it overboard : whilst the poor 
wretches were fainting for want of that little refreshment, 
without daring so much as to murmur or complain. This 
indeed is not usual, but where the Cook happens to be a 
villain : of which sort of men there are plenty in the galleys. 

The Officer's table is well furnished both for plenty and 
delicacy : but this gives slaves only a more exquisite sense 
of their misery, and seems to brave their poverty and 

We spent the Carnival of 1704, in the port of Monaco. 
Our Officers frequently treated the Prince of that place 
aboard the galley. Their entertainments were splendid. 
Music and all things that could promote Mirth were procured. 
But who can express the affliction of those poor creatures, 
who had only a prospect of pleasure, and whilst others 
revelled at their ease, were sinking under a load of chains, 
pinched with hunger in their stomachs, and nothing to 
support their dejected spirits. 

Nay, and what is worse, they are forced to add to the pomp 
and honour done to Great Men, who visit their Officers : but 
in such a manner as moves the compassion of all who are 
not used to such dismal solemnities. When a Person of 
Quality comes on board, the Comite gives twice notice with 
his whistle. The first time they are all attentive; and the 
second, the slaves are obliged to salute, as they call it, three 
times : not with a cheerful Huzza, as in an English Man-of- 
war ; but by howling in a piteous tone, making a lamentable 
complaining outcry. 

When the badness of the weather hinder the galleys from 
putting to sea; such as have trades work in the galley. 
Such as have none learn to knit coarse stockings ; the Comite, 
for whose profit they work, gives them yarn, and pays them 
about half the usual price ; and this not in money, but some 
little victuals, or wine which they are obliged to take out of 
the Ship's Cellar (of which the Comite is the keeper), though 
it be generally bad, and dashed with water. For though 

Rev.j.p.ion.-! Walking IN THE Shades of Death. 409 


thev had as much gold as they could carry, they durst not, 

""J„rmay1-agr/'^t such ill treatment, diet and i„ 
fec?i^„ S 3s occasion frequent sickness. In that case, 

"^Therf ilVn'^the hold, a close dark room. The air is ad- 

miferorb^ the scuttle two^^^^^^^ 

only passage f°'\-.,t}Tl2ron\-<hich the sick are laid 

^'tTh"; horrid place, alj kind of v r i„ ,e .vith^^an 
arbitrary sway ; gnawmg the poor sicK creatui 
'■ Wh'n" the duties of my function called -e in amongst 
them, to confess, advise or admm.s ter ---°™ta„Ver d all 


'^"Z Th.'^^WcTi stTl^t off L^I came ou^nd hy that 
mSans'rid Myself of them, ^y P""!"" °"J,Lt n a literal 
""f in th^ ShaTs o?bTat:1 was ohU 'ed'notwithstand- 
■:r^ Sake c^^dLahle stays m tH. gloomy mans,or>^o 
confess such who were ready to expire Ana i 

loathsome hospital. 


There is a chirurgeon to take care of the sick. At the 
first setting out of the galley, the King lays in drugs for the 
use of the crew ; which are always very good : and therefore 
the chirurgeons make money of them, in the several places we 
arrive at ; so that the persons they are intended for, have the 
least benefit of them. 

During the sickness, the King orders each man in the room 
we have described, i lb. of fresh bread, and the same quantity 
of fresh meat, and 2 oz. of rice a day. This is the Steward's 
province : and he discharges his office in such a manner, that 
five or six campaigns make his fortune. We have frequently 
had in our galley, threescore and ten sick men ; and the 
quantity of flesh allowed for that number, never exceeded 
20 lbs. weight, and that bad meat too : though, as I have ob- 
served, the King's allowance is i lb. for every man ; the rest 
going into his own pocket. 

Once, out of curiosity, I tasted it ; and found it little better 
than hot water. I complained to the Chirurgeon and Steward : 
but being great [thick] and commcnsales, they connived at one 

I complained to the Officers also : but for what reason (I 
only guess !) they did not regard me. And I have too much 
respect for the Captain, to say that he had any reason or 
Interest to wink at so great a piece of injustice, though he 
could, by his own authority, do these wretches justice : who 
often refused that water, made only more loathsome by the 
little quantity of meat put into it, and the little care used 
about it. 

I enquired of other Chaplains, whether the same was 
practised aboard their galleys ? They frankly confessed it 
was ; but durst own no more. 

After the campaign of 1704, I, having occasion to go to 
Versailles, thought myself obliged, when there, to give an 
account to Monsieur de Pontchartrin, one of the King's 
Ministers, whose particular province, the Sea Affairs are. 

I offered him a short Memorial, and some Advices which 
I thought most proper to prevent the like abuses for the 

He was pleased to be so well satisfied, and found them so 
agreeable to some intimations given him before ; that he 
regarded my advice, and offered me his Interest. The King 

^^''■■'■^iogl The five classes of galley slaves. 411 

1 708. J 

*ua ^L^ 

was pleased to order me a gratuity. I left the Warrant with 
Monsieur Thome, Treasurer General of the Galleys, living 
at the Marias du Temple ; to serve as an acquittance for the 
several payments he has made me. 

This is a brief account of the Galley ; and the government 

Now proceed to shew what sort of people are con" 
demned there. 

There are in a galley, five several sorts of people, 
under the notion of slaves ; besides seamen and 
soldiers : viz., Turks, such as are called Faus- 
sioners, deserters, criminals, and Protestants. 

The King buys the Turks to manage the stroke of the oar, 
as I have already shewn, and they are called Vogneavants ; and 
they together with such as are on the seats called banc die 
quartier, de la Conille, and les espalliers, have the same allow- 
ance with the soldiers. They are generally lusty strong men, 
and the least unfortunate of the whole crew. They are not 
chained ; but only wear a ring on their foot, as a badge of 

When they arrive at any port, they have liberty to trade. 
Some of them are worth £"300 or £"400 [ = £750 or ;£'i,ooo 
now]. They frequently send money to their wives and fami- 
lies : and, to the shame of Christians be it spoken ! there is 
a great deal more charity amongst them, than is to be 
found amongst us. 

I had taken one, called Tripoli, for my servant. He was 
a most religious observer of his law. During the Ramadan, 
a. feast kept by them, the first Moon of the year ; he never 
eat, nor drank, from sun rising to sun setting ; in spite of all 
the toil and fatigue of the oar; he never seemed uneasy, 
though ready to faint through weakness. 

I could never so much as persuade him, to take a little 
wine ; though I have often urged him, merely out of com- 

The Officers make use of no other servants ; and they are 
so trusty, that they are never found out in any theft or 

412 Monsieur Bion tries lo convert a Turk. ['^^''- ■'• !'7;"; 

If any, by chance, commit a fault ; all the Turks importune 
their respective masters, to intercede for him with the Cap- 
tain. If any be sick ; they are all busy about him, to do him 
all the kind offices in their power. They club to buy him 
meat, or to purchase anything that may refresh him, or do 
him good. In short, in the galleys, one would think that the 
Turks and the Christians had made an exchange of prin- 
ciples : and that the latter had abjured the Precepts of their 
Saviour, and that the others had taken them up. And ac- 
cordingly, preach up Christ to a Turk, in a galley ; and his 
answer presently is, that " he had rather be transformed to a 
dog, than be of a religion that countenances so much barbarity, 
and suffer so many crimes." 

I cannot omit one remarkable instance of their constancy, 
and firm adherence to their religion. One of them who spoke 
French, fell sick. I found him stretched on the cable, in the 
place I have already described. I had done him some services : 
and seeing me do the duties of my function to some of his 
neighbours, he called me to him, and bade me farewell ; telling 
me that he found he could not possibly live four hours longer. 

I ventured to talk to him, of GOD, our Saviour Christ, and 
the principles of his religion ; and told him that " through him 
alone, he was to expect salvation." 

I found what I said made some impression. 

Whereupon I embraced him, and told him " I would answer 
for his soul, if he would renounce Mahomet, who was but an 
imposter; and believe in Jesus Christ, the only Redeemer 
and Saviour of Mankind, whose holy and excellent doctrine, 
he had heard me so often preach." 

He told me, he would do what I thought fit. 

I answered that all I desired was his consent to receive 
baptism : " without which," I told him, " he could expect no 
salvation." I explained in a few words, the nature and design 
of it : and having induced him to consent, I went for some 
water ; and secretly told the Captain what had happened. 

But unluckily, another Turk, a friend of his (who also 
understood French, and had heard all that had past), whilst 
I was away, said something to my proselyte in his own lan- 
guage : so that, by the time I came back, he had quite 
altered his resolution, in such wise that I could, by no means, 
persuade him to perform the promise he made me. 

Rcv.j.r.ion.-i The hunger after S a l t . 413 

1708. J 

Nav his friend threw himself over him, and exhorted him 
. \!lLlrue to the prophet Mahomet; m spite of the 

siu fiom deathfl should have hid a multitude of my own 
s?ns The reader. I hope, wil excuse my former e.ror 

-rsnncrl, a, annears from what hath been said, the 1 urks 

on?h I'lie'^lTue^ted somewhat better than the Chris 
?ians • and though they be in no wise molested on the score 
of ?elieion or whilst Mass is a saying, they are put into the 
ot religion, lor wi themselves by smoking 

S UlkLg^Vt" toe rnot oL of them, but would give all 

ana talking • ^^ Hhertv For the very name of a Galley 

s'teTrTwe to 'Lm.teatefnotwithstanding their treatme^ 

is ore tvea°yy?t they are slaves during life: ™l!=^%«'^,'; ' 
hev are vei yo d and unserviceable, they meet with friends who 
areVilhn Tay out a large sum of money for their ransom 
Whi^shtws h'^w little tliose P"-- -.f^^^^? 1n"be 


galleys, nien w ^^ talking of a battle 

reronf'elV'srviunless'yf great distance; or Knows 
nothing of but by hearsay. 

o^hose who are called Fcmssoniers [deceivers] are generally 
noir peaslnts who are found to buy salt in such provinces 
LhereiUs cheap such as the country of Burgundy, or the 
Country of Domfe. In France, what they call a pint of salt, 

"^it'?e'Irs'or';;:rrea?ants-and their whole families 
who for want of sSt, eat no soup sometimes ^ a who e 
week- though it be their common nourishment. ^ J^^"}'^ 
S case, g?ieved to see his wife and children m a starving. 

414 The Criminal Classes in a galley. P'^J-rS: 

languishing condition, ventures to go abroad, to buy salt in 
the Provinces where it is three parts in four cheaper. If 
discovered, he is certainly sent to the galleys. It is a very 
melancholy sight, to see a wife and children lament their 
father, whom they see ladened with chains and irrevocably 
lost ; and that for no other crime but endeavouring to pro- 
cure subsistence for those to whom he gave birth. 

These, indeed, are condemned only for a time ; perhaps 
five, six, or eight years : but the misfortune is, that having 
served out their time, if they outlive it, they are still unjustly 
detained. For Penance or Masses avail nothing in this 
Purgatory, Indulgences are excluded, especially if the man 
be unfortunately strong and robust, let his sentence be what 
it will. The King's orders are that when the time of the 
sentence is expired, they should be set at liberty, and sent 
home. But in this, as in many other cases, his orders are 
not duly put in execution : which indeed does not excuse 
him ! since a good Prince is obliged to have an eye on the 
administration of his Ministers and servants. 

As for Deserters, their sentence runs during life. Formerly, 
they used to cut off their nose and ears : but because they 
stank, and commonly infected the whole crew, they only 
now give them a little slit. 

Though these are inexcusable, because desertion is, upon 
several accounts, dangerous and base : yet it moves one's pity 
to see young men, who often happen to descend from good 
families, condemned to so wretched and so miserable a life. 

Such as are condemned for Crimes, are generally, filous 
[pickpockets], sharpers, rooks [cheats], or highwaymen. The 
most notorious villains are least daunted, and take heart 
soonest. They presently strike up a friendship with those of 
their own gang. They tell over their old rogueries, and 
boast of their crimes; and the greatest villain passes for the 
greatest hero. 

The misery they have reduced themselves to, is so far from 
working any amendment, that it makes them more desperate 
and wicked : insomuch that if any stranger chances to come 


aboard, though it were but a handkerchief or some such 
trifle, they will certainly steal it, if they can. Their common 
employment is to forge titles, to engrave false seals, and to 
counterfeit handwriting ; and these they sell to others as bad 
as themselves, that often come in, some time after, to bear 
them company. But though they feel no remorse, yet they 
feel the Comite ; who, with a rope's end, often visits _ their 
shoulders : but then, instead of complaining, they vomit out 
oaths and blasphemies enough to make a man's hair stand 
on end. 

There was one, who, shewing me the mark the rope had 
made about his neck, bragged that though he had escaped 
the gallows, he was not thereby grown a coward : but that, 
as soon as ever he had been at liberty, he had robbed 
the first person he met with. And that having been taken, 
and brought before a judge who knew him not; he had 
been only condemned to the galleys ; where, he thanked 
GOD ! he was sure of bread and good company, the remain- 
der of his days. 

It is certain, that how terrible and hard soever the usage 
of such may be in the galleys ; yet it is too mild for them ! 
for in spite of all the misery they endure, they are guilty of 
crimes too abominable to be here related. 

Over which, we shall draw a veil ; and go on to the Pro- 
testants : who are there purely because they chose rather 
to obey GOD than man; and were not willing to exchange 
their souls for the gain of the World. It is not the least 
aggravating circumstance of their misery, to be condemned 
to such helhsh company. They who have so great a value 
for the truth of religion as to prefer it to their worldly 
interest, must be supposed to be indued with too much 
virtue, not to be in pain and under concern, for the open 
breach of its rules, and the unworthiness of its professors. 

He Protestants, now on the galleys, have been 
condemned thither, at several times. 

The first were put in, after the Revocation of 
the Edict of Nantes [October 22, 1685]. The term 
prefixed for the fatal choice of either abjuring 
their religion, or leaving the Kingdom was a fortnight : and 

41 6 Great injustice of the French system. [^^'''- J- ^j,"": 

that upon pain of being condemned to the galleys. But this 
liberty, by many base artifices and unjust methods was 
rendered useless, and of none effect. There were often 
secret orders, by the contrivance of the Clergy, to prevent 
their embarking, and to hinder the selling of their substance. 
Their debtors were absolved by their Confessors, when they 
denied [the payment of] a debt. Children were forced from 
their fathers' and mothers' arms, in hopes that the tender- 
ness of the Parent might prevail over the zeal of the Christian. 
They indeed were not massacred, as in Herod's time, but 
the blood of the Fathers was mingled with their tears. For 
many Ministers, who had zeal and constancy enough to 
brave the severest punishments, were broken alive upon 
wheels, without mercy, whenever surprised discharging the 
duties of their function. The Registers and Courts of Justice 
where the sentences were pronounced against them are re- 
corded, and the executioners of them are lasting monuments 
of the bloody temper and fury of Popery. 

The laity were forbidden, on pain of the galleys, leaving 
the kingdom, on any pretence whatsoever. But what 
posterity will scarcely believe! the Protestants of all sexes, 
ages, and conditions used to fly through deserts and wild 
impracticable ways, they committed their lives to the mercy 
of the seas, and ran innumerable hazards, to avoid either 
idolatry or martyrdom. Some escaped very happily [for- 
tunatcly] in spite of the vigilance of the dragoons and bailiffs : 
but a great many fell into their hands. The prisons were 
filled with Confessors. But the saddest spectacle of all, was 
to see 200 men at a time, chained together, going to the 
galleys ; and above loo of that number Protestants. And 
what was barbarous and unjust to the last degree, was that 
they were obliged, when there, on pain of bastinado, to bow 
before the Host, and to hear Mass : and yet that was the only 
crime for which they had been condemned thither. 

P"or suppose they were in the wrong, in obstinately refusing 
to change their religion ; the galleys were the punishment ! 
Why then were they required to do that, which had been the 
cause of their condemnation ? Especially since there is a 
law in France, that positively forbids a double punishment 
for one and the same fault, viz., Non bis punitur in idem. 
But in PVance, properly speaking, there is no Law where the 

170b. J 

King's commands are absolute and peremptory. I have seen 
a General Bastinado, on that account ; which I shall describe 
in its proper place [see p. 421]. 

It is certain, that though there were, at first, a very great 
number of Protestants condemned to the galleys, the bastinado 
and other torments hath destroyed [between 1685 and 1708] 
above three parts of four ; and the most of those who are still 
alive are in dungeons, as Monsieurs Bansillion, De Serres., 
and Sabattier, who are confined to a dungeon, at Chateau 
d'lf, a fort built upon a rock in the sea, three miles from 

But the generous constancy of this last, about eight or ten 
months ago [or rather in 1689], deserves a place in this History, 
and challenges the admiration of all true Protestants. 

Monsieur [Francois] Sabattier, whose charity and zeal 
equal those of the primitive Christians, having a little rnoney, 
distributed it to his brethren and fellow sufferers in the 
galleys. But the Protestants being watched more narrowly 
than the rest; he could not do it so secretly but he was 
discovered, and brought before Monsieur DE Monmort, 
Intendant of the Galleys at Marseilles. 

Being asked, he did not deny the fact. 

Monsieur Monmort not only promised him his Pardon, but 
a reward if he would declare who it was that had given him 
that money? 

Monsieur Sabattier modestly answered that, " he should 
be guilty of ingratitude before GOD and man, if, by any con- 
fession, he should bring them into trouble who had been so 
charitable to him": that "his person was at his disposal, 
but he desired to be excused, as to the secret expected from 

The Intendant replied he " had a way to make him tell, 
and that immediately." 

Whereupon, he sent for some Turks, who at his command 
stripped Sabattier stark naked; and beat him, at several 
times, with rope ends and cudgels, during three days. And 
seeing this did not prevail over this generous Confessor, he 
himself, which never happened to an Intendant before, turned 
Executioner ! striking him with his cane ; and telling the by- 
standers, " See, what a devil of a religion this is ! " These 

£AG. GAK. VI. 27 

41 8 The ferocity of the Abbi^ du Chelas. p'^-J-^^^s! 

were his own expressions, as is credibly reported by persons 
that were present. The Gazettes and Public Letters gave us 
an account of the same. 

At last, seeing he was ready to expire ; he commanded 
him into a dungeon : where, maugre all torments. Providence 
hath preserved him to this day [He was released in 1713]. 

But though most of the Protestants of the first date are 
destroyed : yet the Wars in the Cevennes [1702-1705] have 
furnished them with more than enough to fill the vacant 
places. These Wars may be properly called a Second Persecu- 
tion, because the cruelty and inveterate malice of a Popish 
priest was the occasion and first cause of them. 

One of the most bitter and passionate enemies of the Pro- 
testants was the Abbot du Chelas, whose benefice was in 
the Cevennes. He kept an exact account of the Protestants 
in his district. Whenever he missed them at Mass, he used 
to send for them, under some pretence or other, to his house ; 
and used to make his servants tie them (whether men, women, 
or maidens) to a tree, stripped down to their waist : and then, 
with horsewhips, scourged them till the blood gushed out. 

This the Papists themselves do not deny, who own that this 
Du Chelas was an ill [bad] man : and yet this his proceeding 
against the Protestants, being meritorious at Court, he had 
encouragement to hope for a reward. 

But at last, his Protestant neighbours perceiving there 
were no hopes of pacifying this monster by submission and 
fair means, grew desperate : and one night invested his 
house. He leaped out of his window into his garden ; but 
not being able to get out, he begged Quarter : but as he had 
never granted any, they served him in his kind, by killing 

And because they were sure of being pursued, they kept 
the country : and by degrees their numbers increased. All 
that were tormented for not going to Mass, made a body and 
joined them. GOD blessed their arms with success for some 
time : but (for good reasons, no doubt, though unknown to 
us) he gave them up into the hands of their enemies ; and 
not only them, but the inhabitants of the neighbouring 
countries, as the Viverrois and Langucdoc. And [onj the bare 
suspicion of being in their Interest, those with whom any 

Rcv.j.pion.j Monsieur and Madame Salgas. 419 

arms were found, those who refused to frequent the Mass, 
were either hanged, or broken on the wheel. 

That pretended RebelHon was made use of, as a pretence to 
send to the galleys, several rich Protestant merchants. 

There is, since that time, a Gentleman, Monsieur Salgas 
by name, who before the Repealing of the Edict of Nantes, 
enjoyed a plentiful estate in the Cevennes. In order to keep 
it, he abjured his religion, and promised to go to Mass. His 
spouse, a worthy Lady (with whom I have often conversed 
at Geneva where she lives) refused ; and generously rejected 
all proposals on that subject. 

Seeing they threatened her, with a Cloister, she endeavoured 
to gain time : but, at last, her husband told her that there 
was a positive order from Court, to confine her, if she did not 
comply and go to Mass. 

This courageous Lady, who deserves to be a pattern of 
piety and zeal to posterity, having, by prayer and other acts 
of devotion, implored the Divine assistance, resolved to quit 
her country, her husband children and estate, and all that is 
dear and precious here below. 

She took her opportunity, one day, when her husband was 
gone a hunting ; without communicating anything of her 
design to anybody but to such as were instrumental in her 
escape. She retired to Geneva, where she might have liberty 
to make an open profession of her religion, and bemoan the 
misfortune of her family. 

Some time after, the Wars of the Cevennes broke out. 
Monsieur de Salgas was accused of assisting the Camisards 
with provisions : and, in spite of his hypocrisy and pretended 
zeal for his new religion, he was sent to the galleys. 

But here we must admire the wisdom of Providence, very 
remarkable in this dispensation. For this has proved the 
means to open his own eyes, and to let him see his error : as 
appears from the penitential letters he writes to his friends, 
his Christianlike behaviour under his sufferings, his exhorta- 
tions to his fellow sufferers, and the noble and pious example 
he shews them. 

He hath had frequent offers made him, of being restored 
to his estate, on the same conditions he had preserved it 
before : but he hath hitherto been proof against all their 

420 A DESCRirXION OF A GENERAL BasTINADO. [^''''' ^- ';;o8: 

He was, some 3'ears ago, put into the Hospital General 
for the Galleys, at Marseilles. This is a kind of manufactory, 
where their treatment is somewhat easier than in the galleys. 
But at the siege of Toulon [1707J, he and all his brethren 
were taken out of that hospital, and reduced to their old 
station and former miserable condition ; besides losing 12 or 
14 Louis d'Or [about ;£"i2 ov £^\\ which he had procured, to 
purchase such necessaries as might keep up and support his 
spirits, under the hardships he endured. This account came 
to his Lady, while I was there [therefore BiON was at 
Geneva in 1707] ; who is, as one may easily imagine, under 
an inexpressible concern for the miseries her husband groans 

But it is time to bring this sad Relation to a conclusion. 
In order whereunto, I shall according to my promise, give 
an account of the General Bastinado, at which I was present : 
and it was not the least means of my conversion ! GOD 
grant it may be effectual to my salvation ! 

In the year 1703, several Protestants out of Languedoc 
and the Cevennes, were put on board our galley. 

They were narrowly watched and observed. I was mightily 
surprised, one Sunday morning, after saying Mass on the 
Bancasse (a table so placed that all in the galley may see the 
priest when he elevates the Host), to hear the Comite say he 
was " going to give the Huguenots the bastinado because they 
did not kneel, nor shew any respect to the mysteries of the 
Mass," and that he was a going to acquaint the Captain 

The very name of Bastinado terrified me, and though I had 
never seen this fearful execution, I begged the Comite to for- 
bear till the next Sunday ; and that, in the mean time, I 
would endeavour to convince them of what I (then) thought 
their duty, and mine own. 

Accordingly I used all the means I could possibly think of, 
to that effect ; sometimes making use of fair means, giving 
them victuals and doing them other good offices ; sometimes 
using threats, and representing the torments that were 
designed them ; and often urging the King's command ; and 
quoting the passage of St. Paul, that he who resists the Higher 
Powers, resists GOD ! 

Rev.j. nbn.-j jg Protestants bastinadoed at once. 421 

I had not, at that time, any design to oblige them to do 
anything against their consciences. I must confess that 
what I did at that time, chiefly proceeded from a motive of 
pity and tenderness. This was the cause of my zeal ; 
which had been more fatal to them, had not GOD endued 
them with resolution and virtue sufficient to bear up against 
my arguments and the terrible execution they had in view. 

I could not but admire, at once both the modesty of their 
answers and greatness of their courage. " The King," said 
they, " is indeed master over our bodies, but not of our 

At last, the dreadful day being come, the Comite narrow>y 
observed them, to see the fruit of my labours. There were 
only two out of the twenty, that bowed their knee to Baal. 

The rest generously refused it, and were accordingly, by 
the Captain's command, served in the manner following : 

Here, like another ^Eneas (with regret, calling to mind 
the miseries and ruin of his own country ; the very memory 
whereof struck his soul with horror) ; I may truly say, 

Infandum Regina jubes renovare dolorem ! 

In order to the execution, every man's chains were taken 
off; and they were put into the hands of four Turks, who 
stripped them stark naked, and stretched them upon the 
Coursier, that great gun we have described in the Preface. 
There they are so held that they cannot so much as stir. 
During that time, there is a horrid silence throughout the 
whole galley. It is so cruel a scene that the most profligate 
obdurate wretches cannot bear the sight ; but are forced to 
turn away their eyes. 

The victim thus prepared, the Turk pitched upon to be 
the executioner, with a tough cudgel or knotty rope's end, 
unmercifully beats the poor wretch ; and that too the more 
willingly, because he thinks that it is acceptable to his 
prophet Mahomet. 

But the most barbarous thing of all is, that after the skin 
is flayed off their bones ; the only balsam they apply to their 
wounds is a mixture of vinegar and salt. 

After this, they are thrown into the hospital already 
described [p. 409]. 

I went thither, after the execution ; and could not refrain 


422 Punishment of Protestants for Religion. p^J"! 

from tears at the sight of so much barbarity. They quickly 
perceived it, and though scarce able to speak, through pain 
and weakness ; they thanked me for the compassion I 
expressed, and the kindness I had always shewn them. 

I went with a design to administer some comfort ; but I 
was glad to find them less moved than I was myself. It was 
wonderful to see with what true Christian patience and 
constancy, they bore their torments : in the extremity of 
their pain, never expressing anything like rage ; but calling 
upon Almighty GOD, and imploring his assistance. 

I visited them, day by day; and as often as I did, my 
conscience upbraided me for persisting so long in a religion, 
whose capital errors I had long before perceived, and above 
all, that inspired so much cruelty ; a temper directly opposite 
to the spirit of Christianity. At last, their wounds, like so 
many mouths, preached to me, made me sensible of my 
error, and experimentally taught me the excellency of the 
Protestant Religion. 

But it is high time to conclude, and draw a curtain over 
this horrid scene ; which presents us with none but ghastly 
sights, and transactions full of barbarity and injustice : but 
which all shew how false what they pretend in France, is, 
for detaining the Protestants in the galleys, viz., that they 
do not suffer there upon a religious, but a civil account :' 
being condemned for rebellion and disobedience. The punish- 
ments inflicted on them, when they refuse to adore the Host; 
the rewards and advantages offered them on their compliance 
in that particular; area sufficient argument against them: 
there being no such offers made to such, who are condemned 
for crimes. It shews the World also, the almost incredible 
barbarity used against the French Protestants ; and, at the 
same time, sets off in a most glorious manner, their virtue, 
constancy, and zeal for their holy Religion. 



ftegtnnett) a 

little seste of Jaobtn 

i^ooU anU l)ts meinp : anD of tl)e 

prouD S)t)eriff of J15otttnsl)am. 

Ithe and listen, Gentlemen 
That be of free-born blood ! 
I shall you tell of a good yeoman ; 
His name was Robin Hood. 
Robin was a proud outlaw, 
Whiles he walked on ground, 
So courteous an outlaw as he was one, 
Was never none yfound. 
Robin stood in Bernysdale, 
And leaned him to a tree ; 
And by him stood Little John, 
A good yeoman was he : 
And also did good Scathelock, 
And Much the miller's son, 
There was no inch of his body 
But it was worth a groom. 
Then bespake him Little John, 
All unto Robin Hood, 

" Master, if ye would dine betime, 
It would do you much good ! " 

Then bespake good Robin, 
" To dine I have no lust, 
Till I have some bold Baron, 
Or some unketh guest, 
That may pay for the best. 

424 First vKmi-E-D Robin Hood ballad, [wwerabout^^sxt 

Or some Knight or some Squire 
That dwelleth here by West." 

A good manner then had Robin, 
In land where that he were, 
Every day or he would dine, 
Three Masses would he hear. 
The one in the worship of the Father, 
The other of the HOLY GHOST, 
The third was of our dear Lady 
That he loved, all others most. 
Robin loved our dear Lady; 
For doubt of deadly sin, 
Would he never do company harm 
That any woman was in. 

" Master! " then said Little John, 
" And we our board shall spread, 
Tell us. Whether we shall gone. 
And what life we shall lead ? 
Where shall we take ? where we shall leave? 
Where we shall abide behind ? 
Where shall we rob ? where shall we 'reave ? 
Where we shall beat and bind ? " 

" Thereof, no force ! " said Robin, 
" We shall do well enough ! 
But look, ye do no husband harm, 
That tilleth with his plough ! 
No more ye shall no good yeoman 
That walketh by green-wood shaw ! 
Ne no Knight, ne no Squire 
That would be a good fellow ! 
These Bishops and these Archbishops, 
Ye shall them beat and bind ! 
The High Sheriff of Nottingham, 
Him hold in your mind ! " 

" This word shall be held," saith Little John, 
" And this lesson shall we lere ! 
It is far day, God send us a guest. 
That we were at our dinner ! " 

" Take thy good bow in thy hand," said Robin, 
" Let Much wend with thee ! 
And so shall William Scatiielock! 

wordSoutTsio!! First PRINTED j^c^/iV //co/? ballad. 425 

And no man abide with me. 
And walk up to the sayles, 
And so to Watling street, 
And wait after some unketh guest, 
Upchance, ye may them meet : 
Be he Earl or any Baron, 
Abbot or any Knight, 
Bring him to lodge to me ! 
His dinner shall be dight ! " 

They went unto the sayles, 
These yeomen all three ; 
They looked East, they looked West, 
They might no man see. 

But as they looked in Bernysdale, 
By a derne street, 
Then came there, a Knight riding : 
Full soon they 'gan him meet. 
All dreary then was all his semblante, 
And little was his pride. 
His one foot in the stirrup stood, 
That other waved beside. 
His hood hanging over his eyen two. 
He rode in simple array ; 
A sorrier man than he was one. 
Rode never in summer's day. 

Little John was courteous, 
And set him on his knee, 
" Welcome be ye, gentle Knight ! 
Welcome are you to me ! 
Welcome be thou to green wood, 
Hende Knight and free ! 
My master hath abiden you fasting. 
Sir ! all these hours three ! " 

" Who is your master ? " said the Knight. 

John said, '' Robin Hood ! " 

" He is a good yeoman," said the Knight ; 
" Of him I have heard much good ! 
I grant," he said, " with you to wend, 
My brethren all three : 
My purpose was to have dined to-day 
At Blyth or Doncaster." 

426 First VB.mi:-ET) Robin Hood ballad, [wwderaboutTsit! 

Forth then went that gentle Knight, 
With a careful cheer ; 
The tears out of his eyen ran, 
And fell down by his leer. 

They brought him unto the lodge door: 
When Robin 'gan him see, 
Full courteously did off his hood. 
And set him on his knee. 

" Welcome, Sir Knight ! " then said Robin, 
" Welcome thou art to me ; 
I have abide you fasting. Sir, 
All these hours three ! " 

Then answered the gentle Knight 
With words fair and free, 
" God thee save, good Robin ! 
And all thy fair meiny ! " 

They washed together, and wiped both; 
And set till * their dinner : *to. 

Bread and wine they had enough, 
And nombles of the deer; 
Swans and pheasants they had full good, 
And fowls of the river. 
There failed never so little a bird 
That ever was bred on breret. t briar. 

" Do gladly, Sir Knight ! " said Robin. 

" Grammercy, Sir ! " said he, 
" Such a dinner had I not 
Of all the weeks three : 
If I come again, Robin, 
Here by this country, 
As good a dinner, I shall thee make 
As thou hast made to me ! " 

*' Grammercy, Knight ! " said Robin, 
" My dinner when I have 
I was never so greedy, by dear worthy God ! 
My dinner for to crave : 
But pay ere ye wend ! " said Robin ; 
" Methinketh it is good right, 
It was never the manner, by dear worthy God ! 
A yeoman [to] pay for a Knight ! " 

" I have nought in my coffers," said the Knight, 

^''''"^''bK5i''o^] Fii^sT PRINTED Robin Hood ballad. 427 

WortJe, about 

" That I may proffer, for shame ! " 

" Little John ! go look ! " said Robin Hood, 
" Ne let not, for no blame, 
Tell me truth ! " said Robin, 
" So God have part of thee ! " 

" I have no more but ten shillings," said the Knight, 
" So God have part of me ! " 

" If thou have no more," said Robin, 
" I will not one penny ! 
And if thou have need of any more ; 
More shall I lenTd] thee ! 
Go now forth, Little John, 
The truth, tell thou me ! 
If there be no more but ten shillings. 
Not one penny that I see ! " 

Little John spread down his mantle 
Full fair upon the ground ; 
And there he found, in the Knight's coffer, 
But even half a pound. 
Little John let it lie full still. 
And went to his master full low. 

" What tidings, John ? " said Robin. 

" Sir, the Knight is true enough ! " 
" Fill of the best wine ! " said Robin, 
" The Knight shall begin ! 
Much wonder thinketh me 
Thy clothing is so thin ! 
Tell me one word," said Robin, 
*' And counsel shall it be : 
I trow thou wert made a Knight, of force, 
Or else of yeomanry 1 
Or else thou hast been a sorry husband 
And leaved in stroke and strife. 
And okerer or else a lecher," said Robin, 
" With wrong hast thou led thy life ! " 

" I am none of them," said the Knight, 
" By God that made me ! 
A hundred winters herebefore, 
My ancestors, Knights have been. 
But oft it hath befallen, Robin ! 
A man hath been disgraced, 

428 First printed Robin Hood ballad. [w^derfboutTsi'L! 

But GOD that sitteth in heaven above, 

May amend his state ! 

Within two or three years, Robin ! " he said, 

" (My neighbours well it know !) 

Four hundred pounds of good money 

Full well then might I spend. 

Now, have I no goods," said the Knight ; 

" But my children and my wife ! 

GOD hath shapen such an end, 

Till GOD it may amend ! " 

" In what manner," said Robin, 
" Hast thou lost thy riches ? " 

*' For my great folly," he said, 
*' And for my kindness ! 
I had a son, forsooth, Robin ! 
That should have been my heir : 
When he was twenty winters old. 
In field would joust full fair. 
He slew a Knight of Lancashire 
And a Squire bold. 
For to save him in his right 
My goods be set and sold, 
My lands be set to wed, Robin ! 
Until a certain day 
To a rich Abbot here besides. 
Of Saint Mary's Abbey." 

" What is the sum ? " said Robin ; 
" Truth then tell thou me ! " 

" Sir," he said, " four hundred pounds, 
The Abbot told it to me ! " 

" Now, and thou lose thy land ! " said Robin, 
" What shall 'fall of thee ? " 

" Hastily I will me busk," said the Knight, 
" Over the salt sea, 

And see where Christ was quick and dead 
On the Mount of Calvary ! 
Farewell, friend ! and have good day ! 
It may not better be ! " 
Tears fell out of his eyen two, 
He would have gone his way. 
" Farewell, friends, and have good day! 

Printed by w. (le-1 Pij^sT VKINTED KcW^iV HoOD BALLAD. 429 

'orde, about 1510.J 


I ne have more to pay ! " 

'' Where be thy friends ? " said Robin. 
" Sir ! never one will know me ! 
While I was rich enough at home 
Great boast then would they blow ; 
And now they run away from me 
As beasts in a row, 
They take no more heed of me 
Than they me never saw ! " 

For ruth then wept Little John, 
ScATHELOCK and Much also. 

" Fill of the best wine ! " said Robin, 
"For here is a simple cheer. 
Hast thou any friends," said Robin, 
" The borrows that will be ? " 

" I have none ! " then said the Knight, 
" But God that died on the tree ! " 

" Do way thy japes ! " said Robin, 
" Thereof will I right none ! 
Weenest thou, I will have GOD to borrow, 
Peter, Paul, or John ? 
Nay, by Him that me made. 
And shaped both sun and moon ! 
Find a better borrow," said Robin, 
" Or money gettest thou none ! " 

" I have none other ! " said the Knight^ 
*' The sooth for to say, 
But if it be Our dear Lady 
She failed me never or this day ! " 

" By dear worthy God ! " said Robin, 
" To seek all England through, 
Yet found I never to my pay 
A much better borrow ! 
Come now forth. Little John ! 
And go to my treasure ! 
And bring me four hundred pound, 
And look that it well told be ! " 
Forth then went Little John 
And ScATHELOCK went before, 
He told out four hundred pound 
By eighteen [ ? eight and twenty] score. 

430 First printed Robin Hood ballad. [woru'rabout^Isit! 

" Is this well told ? " say Little Much. 

John said, " What grieveth thee ? 
It is alms to help a gentle Knight 
That is fallen in poverty! " 

" Master ! " then said Little John, 
" His clothing is full thin ! 
Ye must give the Knight a livery 
To help his body therein : 
For ye have scarlet and green, Master ! 
And many a rich array ; 
There is no merchant in merry England 
So rich, I dare well say." 

" Take him three yards of every colour, 
And look it well meeted be ! " 

Little John took none other measure 
But his bow tree ; 
And of every handful that he met 
He leaped over feet three. 

" What devilkins draper ! " said Little Much, 
" Thinkst thou to be ? " 

Scathelock stood full still, and laughed, 
And said " By God Almighty ! 
John may give him the better measure ; 
By God ! it cost him but light ! " 

" Master ! " said Little John, 
All unto Robin Hood, 
" Ye must give the Knight an horse 
To lead home all these goods." 

" Take him a grey courser ! " said Robin, 
"And a saddle new! 
He is Our Lady's Messenger ; 
God leve that he be true ! " 

"And a good palfrey," said Little Much, 
" To maintain him in his right ! " 

"And a pair of boots," said Scathelock, 
" For he is a gentle Knight ! " 

"What shalt thou give him, Little John ? " said Robin, 

" Sir ; a pair of gilt spurs clear. 
To pray for all this company ; 
God bring him out of teen ! " 

" When shall my day be," said the Knight, 

Printed by w.dc-1 T^ iy>q,t VRINTED jRoB/N HoOD V,ALl.Al). 43 I 

orde, about 1510.J 


" Sir ! and your will be ? " 

" This day twelvemonth ! " said Robin, 
" Under this green-wood tree. 
It were great shame," said Robin, 
*' A Knight alone to ride ; 
Without Squire, yeoman, or page, 
To walk by his side ! 
I shall thee lend, Little John, my man; 
For he shall be thy knave ! 
In a yeoman's stead, he may thee stand, 
If thou great need have ! " 

C Cl)e seconD fptte* 

i^Ow is the Knight went on his way, 
This game he thought full good. 
When he looked on Bernysdale, 
He blessed Robin Hood': 
And when he bethought on Bernysdale, 
On ScATHELOCK, MucH, and John ; 
He blessed them for the best company 
That ever he in come. 

Then spake that gentle Knight, 
To Little John 'gan he say, 
'' To-morrow, I must to York town, 
To Saint Mary's Abbey, 
And to the Abbot of that place 
Four hundred pound I must pay : 
And but I be there upon this night 
My land is lost for aye ! " 

The Abbot said to his Convent, 
There he stood on ground: , 

"This day twelve months came there a Knight, 
And borrowed four hundred pound 
Upon all his land free ; 
But he come this ilk day 
Disherited shall he be ! " 

" It is full early ! " said the Prior, 

;2 First PRINTED 7v(977/yV //'C(9Z> BALLAD, [wordeffbout^sfo! 

" The day is not yet far gone ! 

I had lever to pay an hundred pound 

And lay [it] down anon. 

The Knight is far beyond the sea 

In England he is right, 

And suffereth hunger and cold 

And many a sorry night : 

It were great pity," said the Prior, 

** So to have his land : 

And ye be so light of your conscience 

Ye do to him much wrong ! " 

" Thou art ever in my beard," said the Abbot ; 
" By God and Saint Richard ! " 
With that came in, a fat-headed monk, 
The High Cellarer. 

*' He is dead or hanged ! " said the Monk, 
" By God that bought me dear ! 
And we shall have to spend in this place. 
Four hundred pounds by year ! " 

The Abbot and High Cellarer 
Start forth full bold : 
The Justice of England, 
The Abbot there did hold. 
The High Justice, and many mo, 
Had taken into their hand 
Wholly all the Knight's debt, 
To put that Knight to wrong. 
They deemed the Knight wonder sore 
The Abbot and his meiny, 
But he come this ilk day 
Disherited shall he be. 

" He will not come yet," said the Justice, 
" I dare well undertake ! " 

But in sorrow time for them all, 
The Knight came to the gate. 

Then bespake that gentle Knight 
Until his meiny, 

" Now, put on your simple weeds 
That ye brought from the sea ! " 

They came to the gates anon, 
The Porter was ready himself, 

Prmted^byW.d^e-| "p ^^^j PRINTED RoBIN HoOD BALLAD. 433 

Worde, about : 

And welcomed them every each one. 

"Welcome, Sir Knight ! " said the Porter; 
•' My Lord, to meat is he ; 
And so is many a gentleman 
For the love of thee ! " 

The Porter swore a full great oath 
" By God that made me ! 
Here be the best coresed horse 
That ever yet saw I me ! 
Lead them into the stable ! " he said, 
*' That eased might they be ! " 

" They shall not come therein ! " said the Knight, 
" By God that died on a tree 1 " 

Lords were to meat yset 
In that Abbot's hall : 

The Knight went forth, and kneeled down. 
And salued them, great and small. 

" Do gladly, Sir Abbot! " said the Knight, 
** I am come to hold my day !" 

The first word the Abbot spake, 
** Hast thou brought my pay ? " 

" Not one penny !" said the Knight, 
" By God that maked me !" 

" Thou art a shrewd debtor ! " said the Abbot ; 
" Sir Justice, drink to me ! 
What doest thou here," said the Abbot, 
*' But thou hadst brought thy pay ? " 

" For GOD !" then said the Knight, 
" To pray of a longer day ! " 

" Thy day is broke !" said the Justice ; 
** Land gettest thou none ! " 

" Now, good Sir Justice ! be my friend ! 
And fend me of my fone !" 

" I am hold with the Abbot !" said the Justice, 
" Both with cloth and fee ! " 

" Now, good Sir Sheriff! be my friend ! " 
"Nay, for God!" said he. 
" Now, good Sir Abbot ! be my friend 1 
For thy courtesy ; 
And hold my lands in thy hand 
Till I have made thee gree : 
Eng.Gar.VI. 28 

434 TlRST PRINTED RoBLY HoOD BALLAD. [wortrabuutT^x' 

And I will be thy true servant 
And truly serve thee 
Till 3^e have four hundred pounds 
Of money good and free." 

The Abbot sware a full great oath, 
*' By God that died on a tree ! 
Get thee land where thou mayest ; 
For thou gettest none of me ! " 

" By dear worthy God," then said the Knight, 
** That all this world wrought ! 
But I have my land again. 
Full dear it shall be bought ! 
God that was of Maiden born, 
Leave us well to speed ! 
For it is good to assay a friend 
Or that a man have need ! " 

The Abbot loathly on him 'gan look, 
And villainously him 'gan look : 
" Out," he said, " thou false Knight ! 
Speed thee out of my hall !" 

"Thou liest !" then said the gentle Knight, -> 
" Abbot in thy hall I 
False Knight was I never. 
By God that made us all ! " 
Up then stood that gentle Knight: 
To the Abbot, said he, 
" To suffer a Knight to kneel so long. 
Thou canst no courtesy I 
In jousts and in tournament 
Full far then have I be ; 
And put myself as far in press 
As any that ever I see." 

" What will ye give more," said the Justice, 
" And the Knight shall make a release ? 
And else I dare safely swear 
Ye hold never your land in peace !" 

" An hundred pounds ! " said the Abbot. 

The Justice said, '* Give him two !" 

" Nay, by God ! " said the Knight, 
** Yet grete ye it not so ! 
Though ye would give a thousand more, 


wort',loLT;:t:] Fii^sT PRINTED Robin Hood ballad. 435 

Yet wert thou never the near ! 

Shalt there never be mine heir, 

Abbot! Justice! ne Friar!" 

He started him to a board anon, 

Till a table round, 

And there he shook out of a bag 

Even four hundred pound. 

" Have here thy gold, Sir Abbot !" said the Knight, 

" Which that thou lentest me ! 

Hadst thou been courteous at my coming, 

Rewarded shouldst thou have be ! " 

The Abbot sat still, and eat no more, 
For all his royal cheer : 
He cast his head on his shoulder, 
And fast began to stare. 

"Take me, my gold again !" said the Abbot, 
" Sir Justice, that I took thee ! " 

" Not a penny !" said the Justice, 
*' By God that died on the tree !" 

*' Sir Abbot, and ye Men of Law I 
Now have I held my day ! 
Now shall I have my land again 
For ought that you can say ! " 

The Knight started out of the door. 
Away was all his care ! 
And on he put his good clothing, 
The other he left there. 
He went him forth full merry singing 
As men have told in tale. 
His Lady met him at the gate 
And home in Verysdale. 

"Welcome, my Lord!" said his Lady, 
" Sir, lost is all your good ?" 

" Be merry. Dame !" said the Knight, 
" And pray for Robin Hood ! 
That ever his soul be in bliss ; 
He helped me out of my teen. 
Ne had not been his kindness, 
Beggars had we been ! 
The Abbot and I accorded be ; 

436 First rruNTED Robin Hood ballad. [wurS^ 

He is served of his pay ! 
The good yeoman lent it me. 
As I came by the way." 

This Knight then dwelled fair at home, 
The sooth for to say, 
Till he had got four hundred pounds 
All ready for to pay. 
He purveyed him an hundred bows, 
The strings well dight ; 
An hundred sheafs of arrows good, 
The heads burnished full bright : 
And every arrow an ell long 
With peacock well ydight ; 
Ynocked all with white silver. 
It was a seemly sight. 
He purveyed him an hundred men. 
Well harnessed in that stead. 
And himself in that same set 
And clothed in white and red. 

He bare a lance gay in his hand, 

And a man led his mail, 

And riding with a light song 

Unto Bernysdale. 

But as he went, at a bridge there was a wrestling, 

And there tarried was he : 

And there was all the best yeomen 

Of all the West country. 

A full fair game there was up set ; 

A white bull, ay, up-pitched ; 

A great courser, with saddle and bridle 

With gold burnished full bright ; 

A pair of gloves, a red gold ring, 

A pipe of wine, in good fay : 

What man beareth him best, Iwis 

The prize shall bear away. 

There was a yeoman in that place, 

And best worthy was he. 

And for he was far ioff] and friend bestead 

Yslain he should have be. 

by W. de 
mt 1510. 

Primed by W. del Ftrst VVkI^TZV) RoBIN HoOD ballad. 4; 

Worde, ;ibout 1510. J 

The Knight had ruth of his yeoman 
In place where that he stood : 
He said, " The yeoman should have no harm, 
For love of Robin Hood ! " 

The Knight pressed into the place, 
An hundred followed him fair, 
With bows bent and arrows sharp 
For to shend that company. 
They shouldered all and made him room 
To wdt what he would say ; 

He took the yeoman by the hand 

And gave him all the play ; 

He gave him five marks for his wme, 

There it laid on the mould : 

And bade it should be set abroach, 

Drink who so would ! 

Thus long tarried this gentle Knight 

Till that play was done : _ 

So long abode Robin fasting, 

Three hours after the noon. 

Cl)e tl)(rD fptte 

ITHE and listen, Gentlemen 1 
All that now be here, , ,. . . ,. ^^„ 

Of Little John, that was the Knight s man, 
Good mirth ye shall hear. 

It was upon a merry day 
That young men would go shoot, 
Little John fetched his bow anon 
And said he " would them meet." 

Three times. Little John shot about. 
And always he sleste [slit] the wand : 
The proud Sheriff of Nottingham 
By the Marks 'gan stand. 

The Sheriff swore a full great oath, 
" By Him that died on the tree 1 
This man is the best archer 
That yet saw I me ! 

438 First printed Robin Hood ballad. [vvvdrabouiT;i!r 

Say me now, white young man ! 
What is now thy name ? 
In what country wert thou horn ? 
And where is thy wonning wan ? " 

" In Holderness, I was born, 
I wis, all of my dame : 
Men call me Reynold Greenleaf, 
When I am at home." 

" Say me, Reynold Greenleaf 1 
Wilt thou dwell with me ? 
And every year, I will thee give 
Twenty marks to thy fee ! " 

" I have a Master," said Little John, 
" A courteous Knight is he ; 
May ye get leave of him, the better may it be ! " 

The Sheriff got Little John 
Twelve months of the Knight ; 
Therefore he gave him right anon 
A good horse and a wight. 
Now is Little John a Sheriff's man, 
God give us well to speed ! 
But always thought Little John 
To quite him well his meed. 

" Now, so God me help ! " said Little John, 
*' And be my true lewte ! 
I shall be the worst servant to him 
That ever yet had he ! " 

It befel upon a Wednesday, 
The Sheriff on hunting was gone, 

And Little John lay in his bed, and was forgot at home, 
Therefore he was fasting till it was past the noon. 

" Good Sir Steward, I pray thee. 
Give me to dine ! " said Little John. 
*' It is long for Greenleaf, fasting so long to be. 
Therefore I pray thee, Steward, my dinner give thou me ! " 

" Shalt thou never eat nor drink," said the Steward, 
*' Till my lord be come to town ! " 

" I make my avow to God," said Little John 
*' I had lever to crack thy crown ! " 

The Butler was full uncourteous, 
There he stood on lloor ; 

wrrde!lo^t'!;xt'] F"«T PRINTED ROBLV HoOD EALLAD. 439 

He started to the buttery, and shut fast the door. 

Little John gave the Butler such a rap 

His back went nigh in two 

Though he lived an hundred winters, the worse he should go. 

He spurned the door with his foot, it went up well and tine ! 

And there he made a large 'livery 

Both of ale and wine. 

" Sir, if ye will not dine," said Little John, 
** I shall give you to drink ! 
And though ye live an hundred winters, 
On Little John ye shall think ! " 
Little John eat and little drank, the while he would. 

The Sheriff had in his kitchen a Cook, 
A stout man and a bold, 

" I make mine avow to God ! " said the Cook, 
" Thou art a shrewd hind. 

In a household to dwell ! for to ask thus to dine ! " 
And there he lent Little John 
Good strokes three. 

" I make mine avow," said Little John, 
" These strokes liketh well. 
Thou art a bold man and a hardy, 
And so thinketh rae ! 
And ere I pass from this place 
Assayed better shalt thou be !" 

Little John drew a good sword, 
The Cook took another in hand ; 
They thought nothing for to flee, 
But stiffly for to stand. 
There they fought sore together. 
Two mile away and more ; 
Might neither other harm do 
The maintenance of an hour. 

" I make mine avow to God," said Little John, 
" And be my true lewte ! 
Thou art one of the best swordsmen 
That ever yet saw I me, 
Couldst thou shoot as well in a bow. 
To green wood, thou shouldst with me ! 
And two times in the year, thy clothing 
Ychanged should be ! 

440 First printed RobiN Hood ballad. [wStbKit 

And every year of Robin Hood, 
Twenty marks to thy fee ! " 

" Put up thy sword," said the Cook, 
** And fellows will we be !" 

Then he fetch to Little John, 
The nombles of a doe. 
Good bread, and full good wine. 
They eat and drank thereto. 
And when they had drunken well, 
Their troths together they plighted, 
That they would be with Robin 
That ilk same day. 
They did them to the treasure house 
As fast as they might go ; 
The locks that were good steel. 
They brake them every each one. 
They took away the silver vessels, 
And all that they might get ; 
Piece, mazers, and spoons, 
Would they none forget ? 
Also they took the good pence, 
Three hundred pounds and more : 
And did them strait to Robin Hood 
Under the green-wood tree. 

" God thee save, my dear master ! 
And Christ thee save and see !" 

And then said Robin to Little John, 
" Welcome might thou be ! 
And also that fair yeoman, 
Thou bringest there with thee ! 
What tidings from Nottingham, 
Little John ? tell thou me ! " 

" Well thee greeteth the proud Sheriff! 
And send thee here by me, 
His Cook and his silver vessels, 
And three hundred pounds and three !" 

" I make mine avow to God !" said Robin, 
" And to the Trinity ! 
It was never by his good-will 
This good is come to me !" 

Little John him there bethought 


ord"''abmu^sm] FiRST PRINTED Robin Hood ballad. 441 

On a shrewd wile. Five miles in the forest he ran. 

Him happed at his will ! 

Then he met the proud Sheriff 

Hunting with hounds and horn. 

Little John could {kne.w\ his courtesy, 

And kneeled him beforne. 

" God thee save, my dear Master ! 
And Christ thee save and see 1" 

" Reynold Greenleaf ! " said the Sheriff, 
*• Where hast thou now be ? " 
" I have been in this forest ; 
A fair sight can I see ; 
It was one of the fairest sights 
That ever yet saw I me ! 
Yonder I see a right fair hart, 
His colour is of green ! 
Seven score of deer upon a herd. 
Be with him all bedeen, 
His tynde are so sharp, Master, 
Of sixty and well mo, 
That I durst not shoot for dread. 
Lest they would me slay! " 

" I make mine avow to God! " said the Sheriff, 
" That sight would I fain see ! " 

" Busk you thitherward, my dear Master 
Anon, and wend with me ! " 

The Sheriff rode, and Little John, 
Of foot he was full smart ; 
And when they came afore Robin, 
*' Lo, here is the master Hart ! " 

Still stood the proud Sheriff : 
A sorry man was he ! 
" Woe the worth, Reynold Greenleaf, 
Thou hast betrayed me ! " 

"T make mine avow to God," said Little John, 
" Master, ye be to blame ! 
I was mis-served of my dinner. 
When I was with you at home ! " 

Soon he was to supper set. 
And served with silver white : 
And when the Sheriff see his vessel, 

442 First trinted Robin Hood ballad. [worT! about is.o! 

For sorrow, he might not eat ! 

" Make good cheer," said Robin Hood, 
"Sheriff! for charity ! 
And for the love of Little John 
Thy life is granted to thee ! " 

When they had supped well, 
The day was all agone, 
Robin commanded Little John 
To draw off his hosen and his shoon, 
His kirtle and his coat apie, 
That was furred well fine ; 
And took him a green mantle, 
To lap his body therein. 
Robin commanded his wight young men. 
Under the green-wood tree, 
They shall lay in that same suit, 
That the Sheriff might them see. 

All night lay that proud Sheriff, 
In his breech and in his shirt : 
No wonder it was in green wood 
Though his sides do smart. 

" Make glad cheer," said Robin Hood, 
*' Sheriff, for chanty ! 
For this is our order, I wis, 
Under the green-wood tree! " 

" This is harder order," said the Sheriff, 
" Than any Anchor or Friar I 
For all the gold in merry England, 
I would not long dwell here ! " 

" All these twelve months," said Robin, 
*' Thou shalt dwell with me ! 
I shall thee teach, proud Sheriff, 
An outlaw for to be ! " 

" Ere I here another night," said the Sheriff, 
" Robin, now I pray thee! 
Smite off my head, rather to-morne. 
And I forgive it thee ! 
Let me go then," said the Sheriff, 
" For saint charity I 
And I will be thy best friend, 
That yet had thee! " 

wordTaboutTiio':] FiRST PRINTED Robin Hood ballad. 443 

" Thou shalt swear me an oath ! " said Robin, 
" On my bright brand, 
Thou shalt never await me scathe ! 
By water ne by land ! 
And if thou find any of my men, 
By night, or by day, 
Upon thine oath, thou shalt swear 
To help them that thou may ! " 

Now has the Sht riff ysworn this oath, 
And home he began to go ; 
He was as full of green wood, 
As ever was heap of stone. 

C Cfte fourtt) fptte. 


He Sheriff dwelled in Nottingham, 
He was fain that he was gone. 
And Robin and his meny men 
Went to wood anon. 

" Go we to dinner? " said Little John. 
Robin Hood said, " Nay ! 
For I dread our Lady be wroth with me ; 
For she [has] sent me not my pay ! " 

" Have no doubt. Master ! " said Little John. 
"Yet is not the sun not at rest: 
For I dare say and safely swear 
The Knight is. true and trusty ! " 

"Take thy bow in thy hand ! " said Robin. 
"Let Much wend with thee ! 
And so shall William Scathelock ; 
And no man abide with me ! 
And walk up under the sayles, 
And to Watling street ; 
And wait after such unketh guest, 
Upchance ye may them meet. 
Whether he be messenger, 
Or a man that mirths can ; 
Or if he be a poor man, 
Of my good, he shall have some !" 

Forth then started Little John, 

444 First printed Robin Hood ballad. [worilL'Tsit 

Half in tray or teen, 

And girded him with a full good sword 

Under a mantle of green. 

They went up to the sayles, 

These yeomen all three, 

They looked East, they looked West, 

They might no man see. 

But as they looked in Bernysdale, 

By the highway 

Then were they 'ware of two hlack monks, 

Each on a good palfrey. 

Then bespake Little John, 
To Much he 'gan say : 
" I dare lay my life to wed 
These monks have brought our pay ! " 

" Make glad cheer," said Little John, 
** And frese our bows of yew ! 
And look your hearts be sicker and sad, 
Your strings trusty and true ! " 

The monk had fifty and two [men] 
And seven somers full strong, 
There rideth no Bishop in this land 
So royally I understand. 

" Brethren," said Little John, 
" Here are no more but we three ; 
But we bring them to dinner. 
Our Master, dare we not see I " 

" Bend your bows ! " said Little John, 
"Make all yon press to stand ! 
The foremost monk, his life and his death. 
Are closed in my hand. 
Abide, churl Monk! " said Little John, 
*' No further that thou go. 
If thou dost, by dear worthy God ! 
Thy death is in my hand ! 

And evil thrift on thy head ! " said Little John, 
*' Right under thy hat's band : 
For thou hast made our Master wroth, 
He is fasting so long ! " 

" Who is your Master ? " said the Monk. 
Little John said, " Rodin Hood! " 

Printed by| Ptrcj TRINTED RoBIN HoOD BALLAD. 445 
Worde, about 1510.J 

*' He is a strong thief ! " said the Monk : 
" Of him heard I never good ! " 

" Thou hest then ! " said Little John, 
" And that shall rue thee ! 
He is a yeoman of the forest ; 
To dine, he hath bidden thee!" 
Much was ready with a bolt, 
Readily and anon, 
He set the Monk tofore the breast 
To the ground that he can gone. 
Of hfty-two wight young yeomen 
There abode not one ; 
Save a little page and a groom 
To lead the somers with Little John. 

They brought the Monk to the lodge door, 
Whether he were loth or lief, 
For to speak with Robin Hood, 
Maugre in their teeth. 

Robin did adown his hood. 
The Monk when that he see, 
The Monk who was not so courteous 
His hood then let he be. 

" He is a churl, Master! by dear worthy God ! " 
Then said Little John. 
' *' Thereof, no force ! " said Robin, 
*' For courtesy can he none ! 
How many men," said Robin, 
" Had this Monk, John ? " 

" Fifty and two when that we met ; 
But many of them be gone." 

" Let blow a horn ! " said Robin, 
" That fellowship may us know ! " 

Seven score of wight yeomen 
Came pricking on a row. 
And every each of them a good mantle 
Of scarlet and of 'ray, 
All they came to good Robin 
To wit what he would say. 
They made the Monk to wash and wipe, 
And sit at his dinner, 
Robin Hood and Little John 

446 First printed Robin Hood rallad. [wr.tfi'^Jit'y;,^ 

They served them both in fere. 

" Do gladly, Monk ! " said Robin. 

" Grammercy, Sir ! " said he. 

" Where is your Abbey, when ye are at home ; 
And who is your avow ? " 

" St. Mary's Abbey," said the Monk, 
"Though I be simple here." 

" In what office ? " said Robin. 

•' Sir ! the High Cellarer." 

" Ye be the more welcome," said Robin. 

" So ever might I thee." 

" Fill of the best wine ! " said Robin, 
" This Monk shall drink to me ! 
But I have great marvel," said Robin, 
" Of all this long day, 
I dread our Lady be wroth with me, 
She sent me not my pay ! " 

" Have no doubt, Master! " said Little John, 
** Ye have no need, I say : 

This Monk, it hath brought, I dare well swear ! 
For he is of her Abbey." 

" And She was a borrow," said Robin, 
" Between a Knight and me, 
Of a little money that I him lent 
Under the green-wood tree ; 
And if thou hast that silver ybrought, 
I pray thee let me see. 
And I shall help thee eftsoons 
If thou have need to me ! " 

The Monk swore a full great oath, 
With a sorry cheer, 

*' Of the borrowhood thou speakest to me 
Heard I never ere ! " 

" I make mine avow to God ! " said Robin, 
" Monk, thou art to blame ! 
For GOD is held a righteous man. 
And so is his name. 
Thou toldest with thine own tongue 
Thou mayst not say ' Nay ! ' 
How thou art her servant, 
And servest her every day : prr-cT PRINTED RoDLV HoOD BALLAD. 447 

'orde, about i5io._| -^ ^ '-" 

And thou art made her messenger, 

My money for to pay. 

Therefore I can the more thanks, 

Thou art come to thy day ! 

What is in your coffers ? " said Robin ; 

"True, then, tell thou me?" 

" Sir ! " he said, " twenty marks ! 
Also might I thee ! " 

*' If there be no more," said Robin, 
**I will not one penny. 
If thou hast myster of any more, 
Sir, more I shall lend to thee ! 
And if I find more," said Robin, 
" Iwis, thou shalt it forgo ; 
For of thy spending silver, Monk ! 
Thereof will I right none." 

" Go now forth, Little John, 
And the truth, tell thou me ! 
If there be no more but twenty marks 
No penny [of] that I see ! " 

Little John spread his mantle down, 
As he had done before, 
And he told out of the Monk's mail 
Eight hundred pound and more. 
Little John let it lie full still. 
And went to his Master in haste ; 

" Sir ! " he said, " the Monk is true enough ; 
Our Lady hath doubled you cast ! " 

" I make mine avow to God ! " said Robin, 
*' Monk, what told I thee ! 
Our Lady is the truest woman 
That ever yet found I me ! 
By dear worthy God ! " said Robin, 
** To seek all England through ; 
Yet found I never to my pay, 
A much better borrow. 

Fill of the best wine, and do him drink ! " said Robin; 
" And greet well thy Lady bend ; 
And if She have need to Robin Hood, 
A friend She shall him find : 
And if She needeth any more silver, 

448 First printed Robin Hood eallad. [worderaboutTsil! 

Come thou again to me ! 

And, by this token she hath me sent, 

She shall have such three ! " 

The Monk was going to London ward, 
There to hold great Mote, 
The Knight that rode so high on horse 
To bring him under foot. 

" Whither be ye away ? " said Robin. 

" Sir, to manors in this land, 
To reckon with our Reeves 
That have done much wrong." 

" Come now forth, Little John ! 
And hearken to my tale ! 
A better yeoman, I know none 
To seek a Monk's mail. 

How much is in yonder other corser? " said Robin, 
" The sooth must we see ! " 

" By our Lady ! " then said the Monk, 
" That were no courtesy ; 
To bid a man to dinner. 
And sith him beat and bind ! " 

" It is our old manner ! " said Robin, 
" To leave but little behind." 

The Monk took the horse with spur, 
No longer would he abide ! 

" Ask to drink ! " then said Robin, 
** Or that ye further ride ? " 

" Nay, for God ! " said the Monk, 
" Me rueth I came so near ! 
For better cheap, I might have dined 
In Blyth or in Doncaster ! " 

" Greet well, your Abbot ! " said Robin, 
" And your Prior, I you pray ! 
And bid him send me such a Monk 
To dinner every day ! " 

Now let we that Monk be still ; 
And speak we of the Knight ! 
Yet he came to hold his day 
While that it was light. 
He did him strait to Bernysdale, 

wo^eraboutT5i'i':] FiRST TRiNTED Robin Hood ballad. 449 

Under the green-wood tree. 

And he found there Robin Hood 

A-nd all his merry meiny. 

The Knight light [ed] down off his good palfrey. 

Robin when he 'gan see ; 

So courteously he did adown his hood 

And set him on his knee. 

"God thee save, Robin Hood, 
And all this company ! " 

" Welcome, be thou, gentle Knight ! 
And right welcome to me ! " 
Then bespake him Robin Hood, 
To that Knight so free, 
" What need driveth thee to green wood ? 
I pray thee, Sir Knight, tell me ! 
And welcome be, thou gentle Knight ! 
Why hast thou been so long ? " 

" For the Abbot and high Justice 
Would have had my land ? " 

" Hast thou thy land again ? " said Robin, 
" Truth then tell thou me ! " 

" Yea, for God ! " said the Knight, 
*' And that I thank GOD and thee ! 
But take not a grief," said the Knight, 
" That I have been so long, 
I came by a wrestling. 
And there I helped a poor yeoman, 
Who with wrong was put behind." 

" Nay, for God ! " said Robin, 
" Sir Knight, that thank I thee ! 
What man that helpeth a good yeoman, 
His friend then will I be." 

" Have here four hundred pounds ! " then said the Knight, 
" The which ye lent me, 
And here is also twenty marks for your courtesy ! " 

" Nay, for God ! " then said Robin, 
" Thou brook it well for aye ; 
For our Lady, by her Cellarer, 
Hath sent to me my pay ! 
And if I took it twice, 
A shame it were to me ! 

Eng. Gar. VI. 2Q 

450 First printed Robin Hood eallad. [woXraboutT^fo! 

But truly, gentle Knight, 
Welcome art thou to me ! " 

When Robin had told his tale, 
He laughed and had good cheer, 

" By my troth ! " then said the Knight, 
*' Your money is ready here ! " 

" Brook it well ! " said Robin, 
" Thou gentle Knight so free ! 
And welcome be thou, gentle Knight, 
Under my trystel tree ! 

But what shall these bows do ? " said Robin, 
*' And these arrows yfeathered free ? " 

" By God ! " then said the Knight, 
" A poor present to thee ! " 

"Come now forth, Little John, 
And go to my treasure, 
And bring me there four hundred pounds 
The Monk overtold it me. 
Have here four hundred pounds. 
Thou gentle Knight and true ! 
And buy horse and harness good. 
And gilt thy spurs all new 1 
And if thou fail any spending, 
Come to Robin Hood ! 
And, by my troth, thou shalt none fail 
The whiles I have any good ; 
And brook well thy four hundred pounds 
Which I lent to thee ! 
And make thyself no more so bare ; 
By the counsel of me." 

Thus then helped him, good Robin, 
The Knight all of his care : 
GOD that sits in heaven high 
Grant us well to fare ! 

wrSlb'outTsi'l!] First printed Robin Hood ballad. 45 1 

V(^z fifti) fptte. 

Ow hath the Knight his leave ytake, 
And went him on his way. 
Robin Hood and his merry men 
Dwelled still full many a day. 
Lithe and listen, Gentlemen ! 
And hearken what I shall say, 
How the proud Sheriff of Nottingham 
Did cry a full fair Play, 
That all the best archers of the North 
Should come upon a day; 
And that shooteth all their best, 
The game shall bear away ! 
He that shooteth all their best, 
Furthest, fair, and low, 
At a pair of finely butts, 
Under the green-wood shaw, 
A right good arrow he shall have, 
The shaft of silver white, 
The head and feathers of rich red gold, 
In England is none like. 

This then heard good Robin, 
Under his trystel tree. 
*' Make you ready, ye wight young men. 
That shooting will I see ! 
Busk you, my merry young men, 
Ye shall go with me ! 
And I will wit the Sheriff's faith; 
True and if be he ! " 

When they had their bows ybent, 
Their tackles feathered free, 
Seven score of wight young men 
Stood by Robin's knee. 

When they came to Nottingham, 
The butts were fair and long, 
Many were the bold archers 
That shooted with bowes strong. 
" There shall but six shoot with me, 

452 First VRmTEB ROBJN I/OOD BALLAD. [wordeffboutTsio! 

The others shall keep my heed, 
And stand with good bows bent 
That I be not deceived." 

The fourth outlaw, his bow 'gan bend, 
And that was Robin Hood : 

And that beheld the proud Sheriff, ^ 

All by the butt he stood. 
Thrice Robin shot about, 
And always sliced the wand; 
And so did good " Gilbert 
With the white hand." 
Little John and good Scathelock 
Were archers good and free : 
Little Much and good Reynold 
The worst would they not be ! 

When they had shot about. 
These archers fair and good : 
Ever more was the best, 
Forsooth, Robin Hood. 
Him was delivered the good arrow, 
For best worthy was he : 
He took the gift so courteously ; 
To green wood would he ! 
They cried out on Robin Hood, 
And great horns 'gan they blow ! 

"Woe worth the treason ! " said Robin ; 
** Full evil thou art to know ! 
And woe be thou, thou proud Sheriff! 
Thus gladding thy guest. 
Otherwise thou behote me 
In yonder wild forest. 
But had I thee in green wood, 
Under my trystel tree. 
Thou shouldst leave me a better wed. 
Than thy true lewte." 

Full many a bow there was bent, 
And arrows let they glide ! 
Many a kirtle there was rent. 
And hurt many a side ! 
The outlaws' shot was so strong 
That no man might them drive. 

Printed by -pr-nQY VRll^TEB RoBIJV HoOB BAhLAB. 45, 
Worde, about isio.J 

And the proud Sheriff's men 

They fled away full blyve. 

Robin saw the [am]bushment to broke, 

In green wood he would have been; 

Many an arrow there was shot 

Among that company. 

Little John was hurt full sore, 

With an arrow in his knee, 

That he might neither go nor ride : 

It was full great pity ! 

" Master! " then said Little John, 
•* If ever thou lovest me ; 
And for that ilk Lord's love 
That died upon a tree ! 

And for the meeds of my service. 

That I have served thee : 

Let never the proud Sheriff 

Alive now find me ! 

But take out thy brown sword 

And smite all off my head ! 

And give me wounds dead and wide, 

No life on me be left ! " 

" I would not that," said Robin, 

"John ! that thou be slain, 

For all the gold in merry England, 

Though it lay now on a row ! " 
" God forbid ! " said Little Much, 

" That died on a tree ! 

That thou shouldst. Little John 1 

'Part our company ! " 

Up he took him on his back. 

And bare him well nigh a mile : 

Many a time, he laid him down. 

And shot another while. 

Then was there a fair Castle 

A little within the wood ; 

Double ditched it was about. 

And walled by the road : 

And there dwelt that gentle Knight, 

Sir Richard at the Lee, 

That Robin had lent his good 

454 First printed Robin Hood ballad. [worde!\bout i-^il 

Under the green-wood tree. 

In he took good Robin 
And all his company. 

" Welcome be thou, Robin Hood ! 
Welcome art thou, to me ! 
And much thank thee of thy comfort 
And of thy courtesy, 
And of thy great kindness 
Under the green-wood tree ! 
I love no man, in all this world 
So much as I do thee ! 
For all the proud Sheriff of Nottingham ; 
Right here shalt thou be ! 
Shut the gates, and draw the bridge ; 
And let no man come in ! 
And arm you well, and make you ready ! 
And to the wall ye win ! 
For one thing, Robin ! I thee behote 
I swear by St. Quintin ! 
These twelve days thou wonest with me, 
To sup, eat, and dine ! " 

Boards were laid and cloths spread 
Readily and anon : 
Robin Hood and his merry men 
To meat 'gan they gone. 

C C!)e sijctl) fptte. 

Ithe and listen, Gentlemen! 
And hearken unto your song ! 
How the proud Sheriff of Nottingham 
And men of armes strong 
Full fast came to the High Sheriff 
The country up to rout. 
And they beset the Knight's Castle, 
The walls all about. 

The proud Sheriff loud 'gan cry 
And said, " Thou traitor Knight ! 
Thou keepest here the King's enemy ! 
Against the laws and right ! " 

wordeffboutTsit!] FiRST PRINTED Robin Hood ballad. 455 

" Sir, I will avow that I have done 
The deeds thou here be dight, 
Up on all the lands that I have, 
As I am a true Knight, 
Wend forth. Sirs, on your way ; 
And do no more to me, 
Till ye wit our King's will 
What he will say to thee !" 

The Sheriff thus, had his answer 
Without any leasing. 
Forth he yode to London town, 
All for to tell the King. 
There he told them of that Knight, 
And eke of Robin Hood ; 
And also of the bold archers, 
That noble were and good. 
He would avow that he had done 
To maintain the outlaws strong ; 
He would be Lord, and set you at nought 
In all the North land. 

" I will be at Nottingham," said the King, 
" Within this fortnight ! 
And take I will, Robin Hood ; 
And so I will that Knight ! 
Go home, thou proud Sheriff! 
And do as I thee bid. 
And ordain good archers ynow 
Of all the wide country ! " 

The Sheriff had his leave y take ; 
And went him on his way. 
And Robin Hood to green wood. 
Upon a certain day. 

And Little John was whole of the arrow 
That shot was in his knee ; 
And did him straight to Robin Hood 
Under the green-wood tree. 

Robin Hood walked in the forest 
Under the leaves green, 
The proud Sheriff of Nottingham, 
Therefore, he had great teen. 
The Sheriff there failed of Robin Hood 

456 First printed Robin Hood ballad. [wrrr.'^aboutTsit: 

He might not have his prey. 

Then he awaited this gentle Knight, 

Both by night and by day. 

Ever he awaited that gentle Knight, 

Sir Richard at the Lee, 

As he went on hawking by the river side 

And let his hawks flee ; 

Took he there, this gentle Knight, 

With men of armes strong, 

And led him home to Nottingham ward 

Ybound both hand and foot. 

The Sheriff swore a full great oath, 

By Him that died on a tree. 

He had lever than a hundred pound 

That he had Robin Hood. 

This Lady, the Knight's wife, 
A fair Lady and free, 
She set her on a good palfrey ; 
To green wood anon rode she. 
When she came to the forest. 
Under the green-wood tree, 
Found she there Robin Hood 
And all his fair meiny. 

" God [save] thee, good Robin ! 
And all thy company, 
For our dear Lady's love 
A boon, grant thou me ! 
Let thou never my wedded Lord 
Shamely yslain be ! 

He is fast ybound to Nottingham ward, 
For the love of thee ! " 

Anon then said good Robin, 
To that Lady free : 
" What man hath your Lord ytake ? " 

*' For sooth, as I thee say, 
He is not yet three miles 
Passed on your way." 

Up then started good Robin, 
As a man that had been wood ; 
" Busk you, my merry young men, 
For Him that died on a rood ! 

word"e?about^5x^o!] FiRST PRINTED RoBiN Hood ballad. 457 

And he that this sorrow forsaketh, 
By Him that died on a tree ! 
Shall he never in green wood be, 
Nor longer dwell with me ! " 

Soon there were good bows ybent, 
Mo [re] than seven score; 
Hedge ne ditch spare they none 
That were them before. 

" I make mine avow to God," said Robin, 
" The Knight would I fain see ; 
And if I may him take, 
Yquit then shall it be ! " 

And when they came to Nottingham 
They walked in the street, 
And with the proud Sheriff y wis 
Soon gan they meet. 

*' Abide, thou proud Sheriff! " he said, 
** Abide, and speak with me ! 
Of some tidings of our King 
I would fain hear of thee ! 
This seven year, by dear worthy God ! 
Ne yede I so fast on foot ; 

I make mine avow to God, thou proud Sheriff ! 
That it is not for thy good." 

Robin bent a good bow, 
An arrow he drew at his will ; 
He hit so the proud Sheriff, 
Upon the ground he lay full still : 
And or he might up arise, 
On his feet to stand ; 
He smote off the Sheriff's head, 
With his bright brand. 

" Lie thou there, thou proud Sheriff! 
Evil might thou thrive ! 
There might no man to thee trust. 
The whiles thou wert alive ! " 

His men drew out their bright swords, 
That were so sharp and keen. 
And laid on the Sheriff's men 
And drived them down by dene. 

Robin started to that Knight, 

458 First printed Robin Hood ballad. [wortfaboutTsit 

And cut a two his hood ; 

And took him in his hand a bow, 

And bade him by him stand. 

" Leave thy horse thee behind, 
And learn for to run ! 
Thou shalt with me to green wood 
Through mire, moss, and fen ! 
Thou shalt with me to green wood 
"Without any leasing. 
Till that I have got us grace 
Of Edward, our comely King." 

C!)e setoenti) fptte. 

He King came to Nottingham 
With Knights in great array 
For to take that gentle Knight 
And Robin Hood, if he may. 

He asked men of that country 
After Robin Hood, 
And after that gentle Knight 
That was so bold and stout. 
When they had told him the case, 
Our King understood their tale 
And seized in his hand 
The Knight's land all. 
All the passe of Lancashire 
He went both far and near ; 
Till he came to Plom[p]ton Park 
He failed many of his deer. 
There our King was wont to see 
Herdes many a one, 
He could unneath find one deer 
That bare any good horn. 

The King was wondrous wroth withal, 
And swore, " By the Trinity ! 
I would I had Robin Hood ! 
With eyen I might him see ! 

wordTaboutTixt!] First printed Robin Hood ballad. 459 

And he that would smite off the Knight's head, 

And bring it to me ; 

He shall have the Knight's lands 

Sir Richard at the Lee. 

I give it him with my charter, 

And seal it [with] my hand, 

To have and hold for evermore 

In all merry England." 

Then bespake a fair old Knight, 
That was true in his fay, 
" O my liege Lord the King, 
One word I shall you say ! 
There is no man in this country 
May have the Knight's lands 
While Robin Hood may ride or gone 
And bear a bow in his hands, 
That he ne shall lose his head, 
That is the best ball in his hood : 
Give it to no man, my Lord the King ! 
That ye will any good ! " 

Half a year dwelled our comely King 
In Nottingham, and well more, 
Could he not hear of Robin Hood, 
In what country that he were : 
But always went good Robin 
By halke and eke by hill. 
And always slew the King's deer 
And welt them at his will. 

Then bespake a proud for'ster 
That stood by our King's knee, 
" If ye will see good Robin 
Ye must do after me ! 
Take five of the best Knights 
That be in your lead. 
And walk down by your Abbey, 
And get you monks' weed ! 
And I will be your leadsman 
And lead you the way ! 
And or ye com.e to Nottingham, 
Mine head then dare I lay ! 
That ye shall meet with good Robin, 

46o First printed Robin Hood ballad. [wordSboutT5:a 

In life if that he be : 

Or ye come to Nottingham 

With eyen ye shall him see ! " 

Full hastily our King was dight, 
So were his Knightes five, 
Every each of them in monks' weed, 
And hasted them thither blithe. 
Our King was grete above his cowl, 
A broad hat on his crown. 
Right as he were Abbot like, 
They rode up into the town. 
Stiff boots our King had on, 
For sooth as I you say, 
He rode singing to green wood. 
The convent was clothed in grey. 
His mail horse and his great somers 
Followed our King behind. 
Till they came to green wood 
A mile under the lynde. 

There they met with good Rodin 
Standing on the way. 
And so did many a bold archer, 
For sooth as I you say. 

Robin took the King's horse. 
Hastily in that stead : 
And said, " Sir Abbot ! by your leave ; 
A while ye must abide ! 
We be yeoman of this forest, 
Under the green-wood tree, 
We live by our King's deer, 
Under the green-wood tree ; 
And ye have churches and rents both, 
And gold full great plenty : 
Give us some of your spending, 
For saint charity ! " 

Then bespake our comely King, 
Anon then said he, 
" I brought no more to green wood, 
But forty pounds with me. 
I have lain at Nottingham, 
This iortnight with our King ; 

Printed by W.dc-l Pipc-p PRINTED RoElN HoOD BALLAD. 46 I 

Vorcle, about 1510.J 

And spent I have full much good 
On many a great Lording : 
And I have but forty pounds, 
No more than have I me. 
But if I had a hundred pounds, 
I vouch it half on thee ! " 

Robin took the forty pounds, 
And departed it in two parts : 
Half endell he gave his merry men, 
And bade them merry to be. 
Full courteously Robin 'gan say, 

" Sir, have this for your spending ! 
We shall meet another day." 

" Grammercy ! " then said our King. 
" But well thee greeteth Edward our King, 
And sent to thee his seal ; 
And biddeth thee come to^Nottmgham, 
Both to meat and meal ! " 

He took out the broad tarpe 
And soon he let him see. 
Robin could his courtesy, 
And set him on his knee. 

" I love no man in all the world 
So well as I do my King ! 
Welcome is my Lord's seal ! 
And monk for thy tiding. 
Sir Abbot, for thy tidings. 
To-day, thou shalt dine with me ! 
For the love of my King, 
Under my trystel tree." 

Forth he led our comely King 
Full fair by the hand ; 
Many a deer there was slain. 
And full fust dightand. 
Robin took a full great horn, 
And loud he 'gan blow. 
Seven score of wight young men 
Came ready on a row. 
All they kneeled on their knee 
Full fair before Robin. 
The King said, himself until, 

462 First printed Robin Hood ballad. [worderaboutTsxt! 

And swore, " By Saint Austin ! 
Here is a wondrous seemly sight ! 
Methinketh, by God's pine! 
His men are more at his bidding 
Than my men be at mine." 

Full hastily was their dinner ydight, 
And thereto 'gan they gone ; 
They served our King with all their might, 
Both Robin and Little John. 
Anon before our King was set 
The fat venison, 

The good white bread, the good red wine, 
And thereto the fine ale brown. 

" Make good cheer ! " said Robin, 
** Abbot, for charity ! 
And for this ilk tiding 
Blessed might thou be ! 
Now shalt thou see what life we lead, 
Or thou hence wend, 
That thou may inform our King 
When ye together lend." 

Up they start all in haste, 
Their bows were smartly bent : 
Our King was never so sore aghast ; 
• He wended to have been shent ! 
Two yards there were up set 
Thereto 'gan they gang. 

'* By fifty paces," our King said, 
** The marks were too long ! " 

On every side a rose garland. 
They shot under the line. 

" Whoso faileth of the rose garland," saith Robin, 
" His tackle he shall tine, 
And yield it to his Master, 
Be it never so fine ! 
(For no man will I spare, 
So drink I ale or wine ! ) 
And bear a buffet on his head 
Awis right all bear." 
And all that fell in Robin's lot. 
He smote them wondrous sore. 

Printed by| PiRgT PRINTED RoBIN HoOD BALLAD. 463 

Vorde, about 1510.J ^ 

Twice Robin shot a bout, 
And ever he cleaved the wand ; 
And so did good " Gilbert, 
With the good white hand." 
Little John and good Scathelock, 
For nothing would they spare. 
When they failed of the garland 
Robin smote them full sore. 

At the last shot, that Robin shot 
For all his friends' fare ; 
Yet he failed of the garland 
Three fingers and more. 
Then bespake good Gilbert, 
And thus he 'gan say, _ 

" Master," he said, " your tackle is lost, 
Stand forth and take your pay ! " 

" If it be so," said Robin, 
" That may no better be ; 
Sir Abbot, I deliver thee mine arrow ! 
I pray thee, Sir, serve thou me ! " 

" It falleth not for mine order," said our Kmg, 
*' Robin, by thy leave. 
For to smite no good yeoman, ^ 
For doubt I should him grieve." 

** Smite on boldly," said Robin, 
" I give thee large leave ! " 

Anon our King, with that word. 
He folded up his sleeve, 
And such a buffet he gave Robin, 
To ground he yede full near. 

" I make mine avow to God," said Robin, 
*' Thou art a stalwart frere ! 
There is pith in thine arm," said Robin, 
** I trow thou canst well shoot." 

Thus our King and Robin Hood, 
Together then they met. 
Robin beheld our comely King, 
Wistly in the face : 
So did Sir Richard at the Lee, 
And kneeled down in that place. 

464 First printed Robin Hood ballad. [wr^elloutTsT^ 

And so did all the wild outlaws, 
When they see them kneel. 

" My Lord, the King of England, 
Now I know you well." 

" Mercy then," Robin said, "our King, 
Under your trystel tree. 
Of thy goodness and thy grace. 
For my men and me ! 

" Yes, for God ! " said Robin, 
" and also God me save ! 
I ask mercy, my Lord the King, 
And for my men I crave ! " 

" Yes, for God !" then said our King, 
"And thereto 'sent I me ; 
With that thou leave the green wood, 
And all thy company ; 
And come home, Sir, to my Court, 
And there dwell with me." 

" I make mine avow to God ! " said Robin, 
** And right so shall it be, 
I will come to your Court, 
Your service for to see ! 
And bring with me, of my men, 
Seven score and three. 
But me like well your service, 
I come again full soon ; 
And shoot at the dun deer 
As I wont to done." 

C V^t ei0l)tl) fptte. 

AsT thou any green cloth," said our King, 
" That thou wilt sell now to me ? " 

" Yea, for God ! " said Robin, 
"Thirty yards and three." 
" Robin," said our King, 
" Now pray I thee ! 
Sell me some of that cloth 
To me and my meiny." 

worde^'^aboutT'S FiRST PRINTED RoDiN Hood ballad. 465 

"Yes, for God !" then said Robin, 
" Or else I were a fool ! 
Another day ye will me clothe, 
I trow against the yule." 

The King cast off his cowl then, 
A green garment he did on, 
And every knight had so I wis, 
Another had full soon. 
When they were clothed in Lincoln green, 
They cast away their gray. 

" Now we shall to Nottingham ! 
All thus," our King 'gan say. 

Their bows bent, and forth they went, 
Shooting all in fere, 
Toward the town of Nottingham, 
Outlaws as they were. 

Our King and Robin rode together, 
For sooth as I you say. 
And they shot Pluck-buffet, 
As they went by the way. 
And many a buffet our King won 
Of Robin Hood that day ; 
And nothing spared good Robin 
Our King in his pay. 

** So God me help ! " said our King, 
*' Thy game is nought to lere ; 
I should not get a shot of thee. 
Though I shoot all this year ! " 

All the people of Nottingham, 
They stood and beheld. 
They saw nothing but mantles of green 
That covered all the field : 
Then every man to other 'gan say, 

" I dread our King be slain ; 
Come Robin Hood to the town, ywis 
In life he left never one ! " 

Full hastily they began to flee. 
Both yeomen and knaves. 
And old wives that might evil go 
They hipped on their staves. 

ENG. GAR. VI. 30 

466 First printed Robin Hood ballad. [woSaboutTsil,! 

The King laughed full fast, 
And commanded them again : 
When they see our comely King 
I wis they were full fain. 
They eat and drank and made them glad, 
And sang with notes high. 
Then bespake our comely King 
To Sir Richard at the Lee : 
He gave him there his land again ; 
A good man he bade him be. 
Robin thanked our comely King 
And set him on his knee. 

Had Robin dwelled in the King's Court, 
But twelve months and three ; 
That spent an hundred pound, 
And all his men's fee. 
In every place where Robin came, 
Evermore he laid down, 
Both for Knights and for Squires 
To get him great renown. 
By then the year was all agone 
He had no man but twain, 
Little John and good Scathelock 
"With him all for to gone. 
Robin saw young men shoot 
Full far upon a day. 

" Alas," then said good Robin, 
** My wealth is went away ! 
Sometime I was an archer good, 
A stiff, and eke a strong, 
I was committed the best archer 
That was in merry England. 
Alas," then said good Robin, 
" Alas, and well a woo ! 
If I dwell longer with the King, 
Sorrow will me sloo ! " 
Forth then went Robin Hood, 
Till he came to our King : 
" My Lord the Kin? of England, 
Grant me mine asking ! 

worderaboutTsii!] FiRST PRINTED Robin Hood ballad. 467 

I made a chapel in Bernysdale, 

That seemly is to see : 

It is of Mary Magdalene ; 

And thereto would I be ! 

I might never in this seven night 

No time to sleep ne wink ; 

Neither all these seven days 

Neither eat ne drink : 

Me longeth sore to Bernysdale. 

I may not be therefrom, 

Barefoot and woolward I have hight 

Thither for to go." 

" If it be so," then said our King, 
" It may no better be ! 
Seven nights I give thee leave, 
No longer to dwell from me." 

" Grammercy, Lord ! " then said Robin, 
And set him on his knee. 
He took his leave full courteously 
To green wood then went he. 

"When he came to green wood 
In a merry morning, 
There he heard the notes small 
Of birds, merry singing. 

" It is far gone," said Robin, 
" That I was last here. 
Me list a little for to shoot 
At the dun deer." 

Robin slew a full great hart. 
His horn then 'gan he blow, 
That all the outlaws of that forest, 
That horn could they know. 
And gathered them together 
In a little throw, 
Seven score of wight young men 
Came ready on a row, 
And fair did off their hoods 
And set them on their knee. 

" Welcome ! " they said, " our Master ! 
Under this green-wood tree ! " 

468 First printed Robin Hood ballad, [worderabom 1510! 

Robin dwelled in green wood 
Twenty years and two ; 
For all dread of Edward our King 
Again would he not go. 
Yet was he beguiled I wis 
Through a wicked woman, 
The Prioress of Kirkesley. 
That nigh was of his kin, 
For the love of a Knight, 
Sir Roger of Donkesley. 
That was her own special 
(Full evil might they be ! ) 
They took together their counsel 
Robin Hood for to slay, 
And how they might best do that deed 
His banes for to be. 

Then bespake good Robin, 
In place where as he stood, 
** To-morrow, I must to Kirkesley 
Craftily to be let blood ! " 
Sir Roger of Doncaster, 
By the Prioress he lay : 
And there they betrayed good Robin Hood 
Through their false play. 

Christ have mercy on his soul ! 
(That died on the rood) 
For he was a good outlaw, 
And did poor men much good. 

tl (ZBrpUcit Eing aBHUiarn anti IRobitt ©oon ann 
Little 3of)n. 3lmprmtcti at Lontion in jFleet street 
at tbc sign of tbe ^un. T5p Wc^vlmi De 2Bortie. 



YEAR 1708. 

Wherein the Month and Day of 
the Month are set down, the 
Persons named, and the great 
Actions and Events of next Year 
particularly related, as they will 
come to pass. 

Written to prevent the People of England 
from being further imposed on by vulgar 
Almanack Makers, 


Sold by John Morphew, near Stationers' Hall. 


[For over thirty years, John Partridge, a Protestant astrological Quack 
of great renown, of considerable ability, and apparently a deluded 
believer in his own Astrology, had been issuing his annual Almanacks^ 
from his house of the sign of the Blue Bull in Salisbury street, Strand. 

In his Almanack, Merlinus Libcratus for 1707 [British Museum press 
mark, 2465/9], there occurs the following notice, which shews that he 
was already in trouble from his enemies. 

If there is anything added to this Ahnanack by B. 
Harris, either in the middle or end of it, besides these 
Three Sheets ; it is a piece of knavery, and not mine. 

Likewise if there is anything in my name, called a Prophecy 
or Predictions, it is done by a pack of rascals, contrary to my 
will and knowledge. 

I am also informed that there is in the country an Al- 
manack sold, said to be done by Dorothy Partridge as my 
wife. There was never such a thing pretended to by her, 
nor is it her name ; and he is a Villain that writes it : and 
it is a Cheat put on the country, and this I do to prevent it, 
and to advise you not to buy it. 

John Partridge. 

Whether or not this caught the eye of Swift, and so fired his invention 
with the idea to expose PARTRIDGE, cannot now be proved : but when 
Almanack time came round again, there appeared Partridge's Alcr- 
linus Libc7-atus for 1708 [P.P. 2465/10], as usual ; without any such 
special notice as the one just quoted : and also Swift's Isaac Bicker- 
staff's Predictions for ike year 1708, in 4to [8610. c.]. 

George Faulkner, the Dublin printer and publisher of Swift's 
Works, 1762, 8vo, states : 

" The author, when he had written the following Paper, being at a loss 
what name to prefix to it, passing through Long Acre, observed a sign 
over a house where a locksmith dwelt, and found the name Bickerstaff 
written under it : which being a name somewhat uncommon, he chose 
to call himself Isaac Bickerstaff. This name was afterwards made 
use of by Sir Richard Steele and Mr. Addison, in the Tatlers : in 
which Papers as well as many of the Spectators, our author had a con- 
siderable share." i. p. 105, 

John Partridge, shoemaker, astrologer, and Doctor of Medicine [ot 
Leyden], was born at East Sheen in Surrey, January 8, 1644, and died at 
London June 24, 171 5, and was buried at East Sheen. 

The intentional mispelling of his name, as Partrige, or Patridge, is 
to be noticed, as it was part of the plan of attack on him. If he com- 
plained, he might then be asked if that was his name. If he said " No ! " 
he would then have no case. This is what the astrologer, at/. 502, calls 
shamming his name with the want of a letter.] 



for the Year 1708, &^c. 

Have lonj; considered the gross abuse of Astro- 
logy in this Kingdom ; and upon debating 
the matter with myself, I could not possibly 
lay the fault upon the Art, but upon those 
gross Impostors who set up to be the ArLists. 
I know several Learned Men have contended 
that the whole is a cheat ; that it is absurd and 

', ridiculous to imagine the stars can have any 

influence at all on human actions, thoughts, or incHnations: 
and whoever has not bent his studies that way, may be 
excused for thinking so, when he sees m how wretched a man- 
ner this noble Art is treated by a few mean illiterate traders 
between us and the stars ; who import a yearly stock of non- 
sense, lies, folly, and impertinence, which they offer to the 
world as genuine from the planets, although they descend 
from no greater height than their own brains. _ 

I intend, in a short time, to publish a large and rational 
Defence of this Art ; and therefore shall say no more in its 
iustification at present than that it hath been, in all Ages de- 
fended by many Learned Men ; and, among the rest, by Soc- 
rates himself, whom I look upon as undoubtedly the vyisest ot 
uninspired mortals. To which if we add, that those who have 
condemned this Art, although otherwise learned, having been 
such as either did not apply their studies this way, or at least 
did not succeed in their applications ; their testimonies will 
not be of much weight to its disadvantage, since they are 
liable to the common objection of condemning what they did 

not understand. ... • • ^ -t 

Nor am I at all offended, or think it an injury to the 
Art, when I see the common dealers in it, the Students in 

472 Influence of Almanacks in the country. L^FJuTyos; 

Astronomy, the Philomaths, and the rest of that tribe, treated 
by wise men with the utmost scorn and contempt : but I 
rather wonder, when I observe Gentlemen in the country, 
rich enough to serve the nation in Parliament, poring in 
Partridge's Almanack to find out the events of the year, at 
home and abroad ; not daring to propose a hunting match, 
unless Gadbury or he have fixed the weather. 

I will allow either of the two I have mentioned, or any 
others of the fraternity, to be not only Astrologers, but Con- 
jurers too, if I do not produce a hundred instances in all 
their Almanacks, to convince any reasonable man that they do 
not so much as understand Grammar and Syntax ; that they are 
not able to spell any word out of the usual road, nor even, in 
their Prefaces, to write common sense, or intelligible English. 

Then as their Observations or Predictions, they are such as 
will suit any Age or country in the world. 

This month, a certain great Person will be threatened with death 
or sickness. This the News Paper will tell them. For there 
we find at the end of the year, that no month passeth without 
the death of some Person of Note : and it would be hard if it 
should be otherwise, where there are at least two thousand 
Persons of Note in this kingdom, many of them old ; and the 
Almanack maker has the liberty of choosing the sickliest 
season of the year, where he may fix his prediction. 

Again, This month, an eminent Clergyman will be preferred. 
Of which, there may be some hundreds, half of them with one 
foot in the grave. 

Then, Such a Planet in such a House shews great machina- 
tions, plots, and conspiracies, that may, in time, be brought to 
light. After which, if we hear of any discovery, the Astrologer 
gets the honour : if not, his prediction still stands good. 

And, at last, God preserve King William from all his open 
and secret enemies. Amen. When, if the King should happen 
to have died, the Astrologer plainly foretold it ! otherwise it 
passeth but forthe pious ejaculation of a loyal subject: although 
it unluckily happened in some of their Almanacks, that poor 
King William was prayed for, many months after he was 
dead ; because it fell out, that he died about the beginning 
of the year. 

To mention no more of their impertinent Predictions, What 
have we to do with their advertisements about pills, or their 

I. Bicker 


mutual quarrels in verse and prose of Whig and Tory ? where- 
with the stars have little to do. 

Having long observed and lamented these, and a hundred 
other abuses of this Art too tedious to repeat ; I resolved to 
proceed in a New Way ; which, I doubt not, will be to the 
general satisfaction of the Kingdom. I can, this year, pro- 
duce but a specimen of what I design for the future : having 
employed the most part of my time in adjusting and correct- 
ing the calculations I made for some years past ; because 
I would offer nothing to the World, of which I am not as fully 
satisfied as that I am now alive. 

For these last two years, I have not failed in above one or two 
particulars, and those of no very great moment. I exactly 
foretold the miscarriage at Toulon [fruitlessly besieged by Prince 
Eugene, between 26th July, and 21st August, 1707] with all its 
particulars : and the loss of Admiral [Sir Cloudesly] Shovel 
[at the Scilly isles, on 22nd October, 1707] ; although I was 
mistaken as to the day, placing that accident about thirty-six 
hours sooner than it happened ; but upon reviewing my 
Schemes, I quickly found the cause of that error. I likewise 
foretold the battle of Almanza [2^th April, 1707] to the very 
day and hour, with the loss on both sides, and the consequences 
thereof. All which I shewed to some friends many months 
before they happened : that is, I gave them papers sealed up, 
to open in such a time, after which they were at liberty to 
read them ; and there they found my Predictions true in every 
Article, except one or two very minute. 

As for the few following Predictions I now offer the World, 
I forbore to publish them until I had perused the seveial 
A Inianacks iov the year we are now entered upon. I found 
them all in the usual strain ; and I beg the reader will com- 
pare their manner with mine. 

And here I make bold to tell the World that I lay the whole 
credit of my Art upon the truth of these Predictions ; and I will 
be content that Partridge and the rest of his clan may hcot 
me for a cheat and impostor, if I fail in any single particular of 
moment. I believe any man who reads this Paper [pamphlet], 
will look upon me to be at least a person of as much honesty 
and understanding as the common maker of Almanacks. I do 
not lurk in the dark. I am not whollv unknown to the World. 

474 I HAVE SET MY NaME AT LENGTH ! ['• ^j^'.T;! 

I have set my name at length, to be a mark of infamy to 
mankind, if they shall find I deceive them. 

In one thing, I must desire to be forgiven : that I talk more 
sparingly of home affairs. As it would be imprudence to dis- 
cover Secrets of State, so it would be dangerous to my person : 
but in smaller matters, and that as are not of public conse- 
quence, I shall be very free : and the truth of my conjectures 
will as much appear from these, as the other. 

As for the most signal events abroad, in France, Flanders, 
Italy, and Spain : I shall make no scruple to predict them in 
plain terms. Some of them are of importance ; and I hope I 
shall seldom mistake the day they will happen. Therefore I 
think good to inform the reader, that I, all along, make use 
of the Old Style observed in England; which I desire he will 
compare with that of the News Papers at the time they relate 
the actions I mention. 

I must add one word more. I know it hath been the 
opinion of several Learned [Persons], who think well enough 
of the true Art of Astrology, that the stars do only incline and 
r\oi force the actions or wills of men : and therefore, however 
I may proceed by right rules; yet I cannot, in prudence, so 
confidently assure that the events will follow exactly as I 
predict them. 

I hope I have maturely considered this objection, which, in 
some cases, is of no little weight. For example, a man may, 
by the influence of an overruling planet, be disposed or in- 
clined to lust, rage, or avarice ; and yet, by the force of 
reason, overcome that evil influence. And this was the case 
of Socrates. But the great events of the World usually de- 
pending upon numbers of men ; it cannot be expected they 
should all unite to cross their inclinations, from pursuing a 
general design wherein they unanimously agree. Besides, 
the influence of the stars reacheth to many actions and 
events which are not, in any way, in the power of Reason, as 
sickness, death, and what we commonly call accidents ; with 
many more, needless to repeat. 

But now it is time to proceed to my Predictions : which I 
have begun to calculate from the time that the sun entereth 
into Aries [April] ; and this I take to be properly the beginning 
of the natural year. I pursue them to the time that he 

BicUerstaff.-l pARTraDGE WILL DIE ON THE 29TII OF M ARCH. 475 

Feb. 1708. J 

Ihirfbrkspecm nofwhatldesign.insucceedingyears to 

tre^t more at Lrge ; it I may have liberty and encouragement. 

M„ first Prediction is but a trifle ; yet I will mention it to 

"on^h^:th'':ilUr; the cardinal PE Nomlles, Archbishop 
"'onthe nth. the young Prince of the AsTURiAS, son to the 
""on' tL^i4?h:a great Peer ct this realm will die at his 
'°On7he wth an old Layman of great fame and learning ; 

'''f:^ Public Aff!^.^'"'On the yth of this month, there will 

ea^t coast of F^nce ; which will destroy many of their ships, 

^l^h^o/h 4ill TeTamot fo?-the revolt of a whole Province 
orli^gdl, excepting one city : by which tha^^^ of a 
certain'Prince in the Alliance wi ake ^b^^^^;^^^^^; ^usy 
May, against common conjectures will be no y y 
month in Europe ; but very ^ ^l^^.J^^t Men on 
Dauphm [Note, how SwiFTts ''' "'f%.^^^^^ 
the French side, one after another: ^^^^ ^ "^/ Th kh will happen 
inclination of the nation just at the moment] , whicli win napi 

476 Isaac Bickerstaff's P /?££>/ c ti oats. [^- ^i'^^T'^a. 

on the 7th, after a short fit of sickness, and grievous torments 
with the stranguary. He dies less lamented by the Court 
than the Kingdom. 

On the gth, a Marshal of France will break his leg by a 
fall from his horse. I have not been able to discover whether 
he will then die or not. 

On the nth, will begin a most important siege, which the 
eyes of all Europe will be upon. I cannot be more particular; 
for in relating affairs that so nearly concern the Confederates, 
and consequently this Kingdom ; I am forced to confine myself, 
for several reasons very obvious to the reader. 

On the 15th, news will arrive of a very surprising event ; 
than which, nothing could be more unexpected. 

On the 19th, three noble Ladies of this Kingdom, will, 
against all expectation, prove with child ; to the great joy of 
their husbands. 

On the 23rd, a famous buffoon of the Play House will die 
a ridiculous death, suitable to his vocation. 

June. This month will be distinguished at home by the 
utter dispersing of those ridiculous deluded enthusiasts, 
commonly called Prophets [Scotch and English Jesuits affecting 
inspiration, iinder the name of the French Prophets], occasioned 
chiefly by seeing the time come when many of their prophecies 
were to be fulfilled ; and then finding themselves deceived by 
the contrary events. It is indeed to be admired [astonished 
at] how any deceiver can be so weak to foretell things near 
at hand ; when a very few months must, of necessity, discover 
the imposture to all the world : in this point, less prudent than 
common Almanack makers, who are so wise [as] to wander 
in generals, talk dubiously, and leave to the reader the business 
of interpreting. 

On the ist of this month, a French General will be killed 
by a random shot of a cannon ball. 

On the Gth, a fire will break out in all the suburbs of Paris, 
which will destroy above a thousand houses ; and seems to be 
the foreboding of what will happen, to the surprise of all 
Europe, about the end of the following month. 

On the loth, a great battle will be fought, which will begin 
at four of the clock in the afternoon, and last until nine at 
night, with great obstinacy, but no very decisive event. I 
shall not name the place, fur the reasons aforesaid ; but the 

^•^ifj;''*/!] Isaac Bickerstaff's PREDrcno.vs. ^yj 

Commanders of each left wing will be killed. ... I see 
bonfires, and hear the noise of guns for a victory. 

On the 14th, there will be a false report of the French 
King's death. 

On the 20th, Cardinal Portocarrero will die of a dysentery, 
with great suspicion of poison : but the report of his intentions 
to revolt to King Charles will prove false, 

July. The 6th of this month, a certain General will, 
by a glorious action, recover the reputation he lost by former 

On the 12th, a great Commander will die a prisoner in the 
hands of his enemies. 

On the 14th, a shameful discovery will be made of a French 
Jesuit giving poison to a great foreign General ; and, when 
he is put to the torture, [he] will make wonderful discoveries. 

In short, this will prove a month of great action, if I might 
have liberty to relate the particulars. 

At home, the death of an old famous Senator will happen on 
the 15th, at his country house, worn [out] with age and diseases. 

But that which will make this month memorable to all 
posterity, is the death of the French King Lewis XIV., after 
a week's sickness at Marli ; which will happen on the 2gth, 
about six o'clock in the evening. It seemeth to be an effect 
of the gout in his stomach followed by a flux. And in three 
days after, IMonsieur Chamillard will follow his master ; 
dying suddenly of an apoplexy. 

In this month likewise, an Ambassador will die in London; 
but I cannot assign the day. 

August. The affairs of France will seem to suffer 
no change for a while, under the Duke of Burgundy's 
administration. But the Genius that animated the whole 
machine being gone, will be the cause of mighty turns and 
revolutions in the following year. The new King maketh 
yet little change, either in the army or the Ministry ; but the 
libels against his [grand]father that fly about his very Court, 
give him uneasiness. 

I see an Express in mighty haste, with joy and wonder in 
his looks, arriving by the break of day on the 26th of this 
month, having travelled, in three days, a prodigious journey 
by land and sea. In the evening, I hear bells and guns, and 
see the blazing of a thousand bonfires. 

478 Isaac Bickerstaff's Predictions. \^■^^^^Cl^^i 

A young Admiral, of noble birth, doth likewise, tl is month, 
gain immortal honour by a great achievement. 

The affairs of Poland are, this month, entirely settled. 
Augustus resigns his pretensions, which he had again 
taken up for some time. Stanislaus is peaceably possessed 
of the throne : and the King of Sweden declares for the 

I cannot omit one particular accident here at home : that, 
near the end of this month, much mischief will be done at 
Bartholomew Fair \}idd on August 2^ih], by the fall of a booth. 

September. This month begins with a very sur- 
prisingfitof frosty weather, which will last near [ly] twelve days. 

The Pope having long languished last month, the swell- 
ings in his legs breaking, and the flesh mortifying ; he will 
die on the nth instant. And, in three weeks' time, after a 
mighty contest, he will be succeeded by a Cardinal of the 
Imperial faction, but a native of Tuscany, who is now about 
6i years old. 

The French army acts now wholly on the defensive, 
strongly fortified in their trenches : and the young French 
King sendeth overtures for a treaty of peace, by the Duke of 
Mantua ; which, because it is a matter of State that con- 
cerneth us here at home, I shall speak no further of. 

I shall add but one Prediction more, and that in mystical 
terms, which shall be included in a verse out of Virgil. 

Alter eritjam Tethys, et altera qucB vehat Argo 
Dilcctos Hero as. 

Upon the 25th day of this month, the fulfilling of this 
Prediction will be manifest to everybody. 

This is the furthest I have proceeded in my calculations 
for the present year. I do not pretend that these are all the 
great events which will happen in this period ; but that 
those I have set down will infallibly come to pass. 

It may perhaps, still be objected, why I have not spoken 
more particularly of affairs at home, or of the success of 
our armies abroad ; which I might, and could very largely 
have done. But those in Power have wisely discouraged 
men from meddling in public concerns : and I was resolved, 
by no means, to give the least offence. This I will venture 
to say, that it will be a glorious campaign for the Allies, 

'■ '^Feb.'fzosJ Common Astrologers & their pothooks. 479 

wherein the English forces, both by sea and land, will have 
their full share of honour; that Her Majesty Queen Anne 
will continue in health and prosperity; and that no ill accident 
will arrive to any in the chief Ministry. 

As to the particular events I have mentioned, the readers 
may judge by the fulfilling of them, whether I am of the 
level with common Astrologers, who, with an old paltr}'- 
cant, and a few Pothooks for Planets to amuse the vulgar, 
have, in my opinion, too long been suffered to abuse the 
World. But an honest Physician ought not to be despised 
because there are such things as mountebanks. 

I hope I have some share of reputation ; which I would 
not willingly forfeit for a frolic, or humour : and I believe no 
Gentleman, who reads this Paper, will look upon it to be of 
the same last and mould with the common scribbles that 
are every day hawked about. My fortune hath placed me 
above the little regard of writing for a few pence, which I 
neither value nor want. Therefore, let not any wise man 
too hastily condemn this Essay, intended for a good design, 
to cultivate and improve an ancient Art, long in disgrace by 
having fallen into mean unskilful hands. A little time will 
determine whether I have deceived others, or myself : and I 
think it is no very unreasonable request, that men would 
please to suspend their judgements till then. 

I was once of the opinion with those who despise all 
Predictions from the stars, till, in the year 1686, a Man 
of Quality shewed me written in his album, that the most 
learned astronomer. Captain H [alley], assured him he would 
never believe anything of the stars' influence, if there were 
not a great Revolution in England in the year 1688. Since 
that time, I began to have other thoughts [SwiFT does not 
say on what subject] ; and, after eighteen years' [1690-1708J 
diligent study and application [in what?], I think I have no 
reason to repent of my pains. 

I shall detain the reader no longer than to let him know, 
that the account I design to give of next year's events shall 
take in the principal affairs that happen in Europe. And if 
I be denied the liberty of offering it to my own country ; I 
shall appeal to the Learned World, by publishing it in Latin, 
and giving order to have it printed in Holland. 



A Revenue Officer 
^Jonathan Swift.'] 

A Letter to a Lord. 

[30 March 1708.] 

]\I Y Lord 

N OBEDIENCE to your Lordship's commands, 

as well as to satisfy my own curiosity ; I 

have, for some days past, inquired constantly 

after Partrige the Almanack maker: of 

whom, it was foretold in Mr. Bickerstaff's 

Predictions, published about a month ago, 

that he should die, the 29th instant, about 

eleven at night, of a raging fever. 

I had some sort of knowledge of him, when I was employed 

in the Revenue ; because he used, every year, to present me 

with his Almanack, as he did other Gentlemen, upon the 

score of some little gratuity we gave him. 

I saw him accidentally once or twice, about ten days 
before he died : and observed he began very much to droop 
and languish ; although I hear his friends did not seem to 
apprehend him in any danger. 

About two or three days ago, he grew ill ; was confined 
first to his chamber, and in a few hours after, to his bed : 
where Dr. Case and Mrs. Kirleus [two London quacks] 
were sent for, to visit, and to prescribe to him. 

Upon this intelligence, I sent thrice every day a servant 
or other, to inquire after his health : and yesterday, about 
four in the afternoon, word was brought me, that he was 
past hopes. 

Upon which, I prevailed with myself to go and see him : 
partly, out of commiseration : and, I confess, partly out of 
curiosity. He knew me very well, seemed surprised at my 
condescension, and made me compliments upon it, as well 

^ ^3o MarchTyoS.'] SlIAM ACCOUNT OF PaRTRIDGE's death. 48 I 

as he could in the condition he was. The people about him, 
said he had been delirious : but, when I saw him, he had 
his understanding as well as ever I knew, and spoke strong 
and hearty, without any seeming uneasiness or constraint. 

After I had told him, I was sorry to see him in those 
melancholy circumstances, and said some other civilities 
suitable to the occasion ; I desired him to tell me freely and 
ingenuously, whether the Predictions, Mr. Bickerstaff had 
published relating to his death, had not too much affected 
and worked on his imagination ? 

He confessed he often had it in his head, but never with 
much apprehension till about a fortnight before : since 
which time, it had the perpetual possession of his mind and 
thoughts, and he did verily believe was the true natural 
cause of his present distemper. " For," said he, " I am 
thoroughly persuaded, and I think I have very good reasons, 
that Mr, Bickerstaff spoke altogether by guess, and knew 
no more what will happen this year than I did myself." 

I told him, "His discourse surprised me, and I would be 
glad he were in a state of health to be able to tell me, what 
reason he had, to be convinced of Mr. Bickerstaff's 

He replied, " I am a poor ignorant fellow, bred to a mean 
trade ; yet I have sense enough to know that all pretences 
of foretelling by Astrology are deceits : for this manifest 
reason, because the wise and learned (who can only judge 
whether there be any truth in this science), do all unani- 
mously agree to laugh at and despise it ; and none but the 
poor ignorant vulgar give it any credit, and that only upon 
the word of such silly wretches as I and my fellows, who 
can hardly write or read." I then asked him, " Why he had 
not calculated his own nativity, to see whether it agreed 
with Bickerstaff's Predictions ? " 

At which, he shook his head, and said, " O, Sir ! this is 
no time for jesting, but for repenting those fooleries, as I do 
now from the very bottom of my heart." 

" By what I can gather from you," said I, " the Observa- 
tions and Predictions you printed with your Almanacks, were 
mere impositions upon the people." 

He replied, " If it were otherwise, I should have the less to 
answer for. We have a common form for all those things. 

Eng.Gar.VI. 31 

A Revenue Oftirer. 

482 BlCKERSTx\FF OUT BY ALMOST 4 HOURS. [^ ^^3oTiarchT7' 

As to foretelling the weather, we never meddle with that ! 
but leave it to the printer, who taketh it out of any old 
Almanack, as he thinketh fit. The rest was my own inven- 
tion, to make my Almanack sell ; having a wife to maintain, 
and no other way to get my bread : for mending old shoes is 
a poor livelihood ! And," added he, sighing, " I wish I may 
not have done more mischief by my physic than by astro- 
logy 1 although I had some good receipts from my grand- 
mother, and my own compositions were such as I thought 
could, at least, do no hurt." 

I had some other discourse withhim, which now I cannot call 
to mind : and I fear I have already tired your Lordship. I 
shall only add one circumstance. That on his deathbed, he 
declared himself a Nonconformist, and had a Fanatic [the 
political designation of Dissenters] preacher to be his spiritual 

After half an hour's conversation, I took my leave ; being 
almost stifled by the closeness of the room. 

I imagined he could not hold out long ; and therefore 
withdrew to a little coffee-house hard by, leaving a servant 
at the house, with orders to come immediately, and tell me 
as near as he could the minute when Partrige should 
expire : which was not above two hours after, when, looking 
upon my watch, I found it to be above Five minutes after 
Seven. By which it is clear that Mr. Bickerstaff was 
mistaken almost four hours in his calculation [see p. 501]. 
In the other circumstances he was exact enough. 

But whether he hath not been the cause of this poor man's 
death as well as the Predictor may be very reasonably dis- 
puted. However, it must be confessed the matter is odd 
enough, whether we should endeavour to account for it by 
chance or the effect of imagination. 

For my own part, although I believe no man has less faith 
in these matters, yet I shall wait with some impatience, and 
not without expectation, the fulfilling of Mr. Bickerstaff's 
second prediction, that the Cardinal de Noailles is to die 
upon the 4th of April [1708] ; and if that should be verified 
as exactly as this of poor Partrige, I must own I shall be 
wholly surprised, and at a loss, and infallibly expect the 
accomplishment of all the rest. 


[In the original broadside, there are Deaths with darts, winged hour- 
glasses, crossed marrow-bones, &c.] 

[Jonathan Swift.] 

An Elegy on Mr, Patrice, ^T/^^ Almanack 

maker ^ who died on the 2()th of this 

instant March^ 1708. 

[Original broadside in the British Museum, C. 39. k./74.1 

Ell, 'tis as Bickerstaff has guest ; 
Though we all took it for a jest ; 
Patrige is dead ! nay more, he died 
Ere he could prove the good Squire lied ! 
Strange, an Astrologer should die 
Without one wonder in the sky 
Not one of all his crony stars 

To pay their duty at his hearse ! 

No meteor, no eclipse appeared, 

No comet with a flaming beard ! 

The sun has rose and gone to bed 

Just as if Patrige were not dead; 

Nor hid himself behind the moon 

To make a dreadful night at noon. 

He at fit periods walks through Aries, 

Howe'er our earthly motion varies ; 

And twice a year he'll cut th'Equator, 

As if there had been no such matter. 

Some Wits have wondered what analogy 

There is 'twixt* Cobbling and Astrology? '^rs^'Jcobbfer. 

How Patrige made his optics rise 

From a shoe-sole, to reach the skies ? 

A list, the cobblers' temples ties, 













484 Connection between Cobbling & Astrology. [^llf^[ 

To keep the hair out of their eyes ; 
From whence, 'tis plain, the diadem 
That Princes wear, derives from them : 
And therefore crowns are now-a-days 
Adorned with golden stars and rays ; 
Which plainly shews the near alliance 
'Twixt Cobbling and the Planet science. 

Besides, that slow-paced sign Bo-otes 
As 'tis miscalled; we know not who 'tis ? 
But Patrice ended all disputes ; 
He knew his trade ! and called it Boots \ * 
The Horned Moon which heretofore ^/wa«IU. 

Upon their shoes, the Romans wore, 
Whose wideness kept their toes from corns, 
And whence we claim our Shoeing Horns, 
Shews how the art of Cobbling bears 
A near resemblance to the Spheres. 

A scrap of parchment hung by Geometry, 
A great refinement in Barometry, 
Can, like the stars, foretell the weather : 
And what is parchment else, but leather ? 
Which an Astrologer might use 
Either for A Imanacks or shoes. 

Thus Patrice, by his Wit and parts, 
At once, did practise both these Arts ; 
And as the boding owl (or rather 
The bat, because her wings are leather) 
Steals from her private cell by night, 
And flies about the candle light : 
So learned Patrice could as well 
Creep in the dark, from leathern cell ; 
And in his fancy, fly as far, 
To peep upon a twinkling star! 
Besides, he could confound the Spheres 
And set the Planets by the ears. 
To shew his skill, he, Mars would join 

j.swiftj Partridge, 

^o Mar. 170S 


To Venus, in aspect malign, 

Then call in Mercury for aid, 

And cure the wounds that Venus made. 

Great scholars have in Lucian read 
VV^hen Philip, King of Greece was dead, 
His soul and spirit did divide, 
And each part took a different side : 
One rose a Star ; the other fell 
Beneath, and mended shoes in hell. 

Thus Patrige still shines in each Art, 
The Cobbling, and Star-gazing Part ; 
And is installed as good a star 
As any of the Caesars are. 

Thou, high exalted in thy sphere, 
May'st follow still thy calling there ! 
To thee, the Bull will lend his hide, 
By Phabus newly tanned and dried ! 
For thee, they Argo's hulk will tax, 
And scrape her pitchy sides for wax ! 
Then Ariadne kindly lends 
Her braided hair, to make thee ends! 
The point of Sagittarius' dart 
Turns to an awl, by heavenly art ! 
And Vulcan, wheedled by his wife, 
Will forge for thee, a paring-knife ! 

Triumphant Star 1 some pity shew 
On Cobblers militant below ! 
* But do not shed thy influence down 
Upon St. James's end o' the Town 1 
Consider where the moon and stars 
Have their devoutest worshippers! 
Astrologers and lunatics 
Have in Moorfields their stations fixt : 
Hither, thy gentle aspect bend, 
t Nor look asquint on an old friend ! 

* Seii nee in 
A rctoo sedcia 
tilii legeris 
Qrbe, ife. 

t Ne7>e ttiam 
■vnitus obliquo 
tdere Romani. 


J. Swift. 

_30 Mar. 1708. 


Ere five foot deep, lies on his back, 
A Cobbler, Starmonger, and Quack ; 
Who to the stars, in pure good will. 
Does to his best, look upward still. 
Weep all you customers, that use 
His Pills, his Almanacks, or Shoes ! 
A nd you that did your fortunes seek. 
Step to this grave, but once a week ! 
This earth which bears his body's print 
YouHlfind has so mucli virtue in it; 
That I durst pawjt my ears, 'twill tell 
Whatever concerns you, full as well 
{In physic, stolen goods, or love) 
As he himself could, when above ! 

LONDON: Printed in the Year 1708. 


Squire Bickerstaff detected , 


Astrological Impostor convicted, 



Student in Physic and Astrology. 

[This was written for PARTRIDGE, either by Nicholas Rowe or Dr. 
Yaldkn, and put forth by him, in good faith, in proof ot his continued 

T IS hard, my dear countrymen of these United 
Nations ! it is very hard, that a Britain born, 
a Protestant Astrologer, a man of Revolu- 
tion Principles, an assertor of the Liberty and 
Property of the people, should cry out in vain, 
for justice against a Frenchman, a Papist, 
and an illiterate pretender to Science, that 
would blast my reputation, most inhumanly 
bury me alive, and defraud my native country of those 
services which, in my double capacity [Physician and Astro- 
logcr], I daily offer the public. 

What great provocations I have received, let the impar- 
tial reader judge ! and how unwillingly, even in my ovvn 
defence, I now enter the lists against Falsehood, Ignorance, 
and Envy 1 But I am exasperated at length, to drag out 
this Cacus from the den of obscurity, where he lurketh, to 
detect him by the light of those stars he hath so impudently 
traduced, and to shew there is not a Monster m the skies so 
pernicious and malevolent to mankind as an ignorant preten- 
der to Physic and Astrology. 

I shall not directly fall on the many gross errors, nor 
expose the notorious absurdities of this prostituted libeller, 

488 G R E A T M E N AND P U B L I C S P IR I TS ! [ ' ^- ^^J; 

until I have let the Learned World fairly into the controversy 
depending; and then leave the unprejudiced to judge of the 
merits and justice of my cause. 

It was towards the conclusion of the year 1707 [according 
to the old way of reckoning the year from March 2^th. The 
precise date is Fehrnary, 1708, see p. 469], when an impudent 
Pamphlet crept into the world, intituled Predictions &c. by 
Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire. Among the many arrogant 
assertions laid down by that lying Spirit of Divination ; he 
was pleased to pitch on the Cardinal de Noailles and my- 
self, among many other eminent and illustrious persons that 
were to die within the confines of the ensuing year, and 
peremptorily fixed the month, day, and hours of our deaths. 

This, I think, is sporting with Great Men, and Public 
Spirits, to the scandal of Religion, and reproach of Power : 
and if Sovereign Princes and Astrologers must make diver- 
sion for the vulgar, why then, Farewell, say I, to all 
Governments, Ecclesiastical and Civil ! But, I thank my 
better stars ! I am alive to confront this false and audacious 
Predictor, and to make him rue the hour he ever affronted a 
Man of Science and Resentment. 

The Cardinal may take what measures he pleases, with 
him : as His Excellency is a foreigner and a Papist, he hath 
no reason to rely on me for his justification. I shall only 
assure the World that he is alive ! but as he was bred to 
Letters, and is master of a pen, let him use it in his own 
defence ! 

In the meantime, I shall present the Public with a faithful 
Narrative of the ungenerous treatment and hard usage I have 
received from the virulent Papers and malicious practices of 
this pretended Astrologer. 

A true and impartial 





Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., 

against Me. 

He 29th of March, Anno Dom., 1708, being 
the night this Sham Prophet had so im- 
pudently fixed for my last ; which made 
little impression on myself, but I cannot 
answer for my whole family. For my wife, 
with a concern more than usual, prevailed 
on me to take somewhat to sweat for a 
cold ; and betv^een the hours of 8 and 9, to 

go to bed. 

The maid as she was warming my bed, with the curiosity 
natural to young women, runs to the window, and asks of one 
passing the street, " Who the bell tolled for ? " 

" Dr. Partridge," says he, " the famous Almanack maker, 
who died suddenly this evening." 

The poor girl provoked, told him, *' He lied like a rascal ! " 

The other very sedately replied, "The sexton had so 
informed him ; and if false, he was to blame for imposing on 
a stranger." 

She asked a second, and a third as they passed ; and every 
one was in the same tone. 

Now I don't say these were accomplices to a certain astro- 
logical Squire, and that one Bickerstaff might be sauntering 
thereabouts ; because I will assert nothing here but what I 
dare attest, and plain matter of fact. 


? N. Rowe. 

My wife, at this, fell into a violent disorder; and I must 
own I was a little discomposed at the oddness of the accident. 

In the meantime, one knocks at the door. Betty runneth 
down and opening, finds a sober grave person, who modestly 
inquires " If this was Dr. Partridge's ? " 

vShe, taking him for some cautious City patient, that came 
at that time for privacy, shews him into the dining-room. 

As soon as I could compose myself, I went to him ; and was 
surprised to find my gentleman mounted on a table with a 
two-foot rule in his hand, measuring my walls, and taking the 
dimensions of the room. 

" Pray, Sir," says I, " not to interrupt you, have you any 
business with me ? " 

" Only, Sir," replies he, " to order the girl to bring me a 
better light : for this is but a dim one." 

"Sir," sayeth I, " my name is Partridge! " 

" Oh ! the Doctor's brother, belike," cries he. " The stair- 
case, I believe, and these two apartments hung in close 
mourning will be sufficient ; and only a strip of Bays [cloth | 
round the other rooms. The Doctor must needs die rich. 
He had great dealings in his way, for many years. If he had 
no family Coat [of arms], you had as good use the scutcheons 
of the Company. They are as showish and will look as 
magnificent as if he were descended from the Blood-Royal." 

With that, I assumed a greater air of authority, and de- 
manded, " Who employed him ? and how he came there? " 

" Why, I was sent. Sir, by the Company of Undertakers," 
saith he, " and they were employed by the honest gentleman 
who is the executor to the good Doctor departed : and our 
rascally porter, I believe is fallen fast asleep with the black 
cloth and sconces or he had been here ; and we might have 
been tacking up by this time." 

" Sir," says I, '' pray be advised by a friend, and make the 
best of your speed out of my doors ; for I hear my wife's 
voice," which, by the way, is pretty distinguishable! "and in 
that corner of the room stands a good cudgel which somebody 
[i.e., himself] has felt ere now. If that light in her hands, and 
she knew the business you came about ; without consulting 
the stars, I can assure you it will be employed very much 
to the detriment of your person." 

" Sir," cries he, bowing with great civility, " I perceive 

? N. Rowe 

fy'^s;] All the Town knows you are dead ! 491 

extreme grief for the loss of the Doctor disorders you a 
little at present : but early in the morning, I'll wait on 
you, with all necessary materials." 

Now I mention no Mr. Bickerstaff, nor do I say that a 
certain star-gazing Squire has been a playing my executor 
before his time : but I leave the World to judge, and if it puts 
things to things fairly together, it won't be much wide of the mark. 
Well, once more I get my doors closed, and prepare for 
bed, in hopes of a little repose, after so many ruffling adven- 
tures. Just as I was putting out my light in order to it, 
anothei bounceth as hard as he can knock. 

I open the window and ask, " Who is there, and what he 
wants ? " 

" I am Ned the Sexton," replies he, " and come to know 
whether the Doctor left any orders for a Funeral Sermon ? 
pnd where he is to be laid? and whether his grave is to be 
plain or bricked ? " 

*' Why, Sirrah ! " says I, " you know me well enough. 
You know I am not dead ; and how dare you affront me after 
this manner ! " 

"Alack a day, Sir," replies the fellow, " why it is in print, 
and the whole Town knows you are dead. Why, there's Mr. 
White the joiner is but fitting screws to your coffin ! He'll 
be here with it in an instant. He was afraid you would have 
wanted it before this time." 

"Sirrah! sirrah!" saith I, "you shall know to-morrow 
to your cost that I am alive ! and alive like to be ! " 

" Why, 'tis strange. Sir," says he, "you should make such 
a secret of your death to us that are your neighbours. It 
looks as if you had a design to defraud the Church of its dues : 
and let me tell you, for one who has lived so long by the 
heavens, that is unhandsomely done ! " 

" Hist ! hist ! " says another rogue that stood by him, 
" away, Doctor ! into your flannel gear as fast as you can ! for 
here is a whole pack of dismals coming to you with their 
black equipage ; how indecent will it look for you to stand 
frightening folks at your window, when you should have been 
in your coffin this three hours ! " 

In short, what with Undertakers, Embalmers, Joiners, 
Sextons, and your Elegy hawkers iipon a late practitioner in 
Physic and Astrology ; I got not one wink of sleep that night, 
nor scarce a moment's rest ever since. 

492 Remo n s t r a n c e s in the streets. [ • ^- ^^°;^: 

Now, I doubt not but tbis villanous Squire has the impu- 
dence to assert that these are entirely strangers to him ; he, 
good man ! knoweth nothing of the matter ! and honest 
Isaac Bickerstaff, I warrant you ! is more a man of honour 
than to be an accomplice with a pack of rascals that walk the 
streets on nights, and disturb good people in their beds. But 
he is out, if he thinks the whole World is blind ! for there is 
one John Partridge can smell a knave as far as Grub street, 
although he lies in the most exalted garret, and writeth 
himself " Squire " ! But I will keep my temper ! and proceed 
in the Narration. 

I could not stir out of doors for the space of three months 
after this ; but presently one comes up to me in the street : 
" Mr. Partridge, that coffin you were last buried in, I have 
not yet been paid for." 

" Doctor ! " cries another dog, " How do you think people 
can live by making graves for nothing ? Next time you die, 
you may even toll out the bell yourself, for Ned ! " 

A third rogue tips me by the elbow, and wonders " how I 
have the conscience to sneak abroad, without paying my 
funeral expenses." 

"Lord!" says one, "I durst have sworn that was honest 
Dr. Partridge, my old friend; but, poor man, he is gone ! " 

" I beg your pardon," says another, " you look so like my 
old acquaintance that I used to consult on some private 
occasions : but, alack, he is gone the way of all flesh." 

" Look, look ! " cries a third, after a competent space of star- 
ing at me; " would not one think our neighbour the Almanack 
maker was crept out of his grave, to take another peep at 
the stars in this world, and shew how much he is improved 
in fortune telling by having taken a journey to the other." 

Nay, the very Reader of our parish (a good sober discreet 
person) has sent two or three times for me to come and be 
iDuried decently, or send him sufficient reasons to the con- 
trary : or if I have been interred in any other parish, to 
produce my certificate as the Act requires. 

My poor wife is almost run distracted with being called 
Widow Partridge, when she knows it's false : and once a 
Term, she is cited into the Court, to take out Letters of 

? N. Rowe. 


But the greatest grievance is a paltry Quack that takes up 
my calHng just under my nose ; and in his printed directions 
with a, A'^. B.tS^, says : He lives in the house of the late ingenious 
Mr. John Partridge^ an eminent Practitioner in Leather^ 
Physic, and Astrology. 

But to shew how far the wicked spirit of envy, malice, and 
resentment can hurry some men, my nameless old persecutor 
had provided a monument at the stone-cutter's, and would 
have it erected in the parish church : and this piece of noto- 
rious and expensive villany had actually succeeded, if I had 
not used my utmost interest with the Vestry ; where it was 
carried at last but by two voices, that I am alive. 

That stratagem failing, out cometh a long sable Elegy 
bedecked with hour-glasses, mattocks, skulls, spades, and 
skeletons, with an Epitaph [seep. 486] as confidently written 
to abuse me and my profession, as if I had been under 
ground these twenty years. 

And, after such barbarous treatment as this, can the 
World blame me, when I ask. What is become of the freedom 
of an Englishman ? and. Where is the Liberty and Property 
that my old glorious Friend [William III.] came over to 
assert ? We have driven Popery out of the nation ! and 
sent Slavery to foreign climes ! The Arts only remain in 
bondage, when a Man of Science and Character shall be 
openly insulted ! in the midst of the many useful services he 
is daily paying the public. Was it ever heard, even in 
Turkey or Algiers, that a State Astrologer was bantered out 
of his life, by an ignorant impostor ? or bawled out of the 
world, by a pack of villanous deep-mouthed hawkers ? 

Though I print Almanacks, and publish Advertisements ; 
although I produce certificates under the Minister's and 
Churchwardens' hands, that I am alive : and attest the same, 
on oath, at Quarter Sessions : out comes A full and true 
Relation of the death and interment of John Partridge. 
Truth is borne down ; Attestations, neglected ; the testimony 
of sober persons, despised : and a man is looked upon by his 
neighbours as if he had been seven years dead, and is buried 
alive in the midst of his friends and acquaintance. 

Now can any man of common sense think it consistent 
with the honour of my profession, and not much beneath the 
dignity of a philosopher, to stand bawling, before his own 

494 Partridge's genuine idea of Bickerstaff. [ • ^°;^^: 

door, " Alive ! Alive ! Ho ! the famous Doctor Partridge ! 
no counterfeit, but all alive ! " as if I had the twelve celestial 
Monsters of the Zodiac to shew within, or was forced for a 
livelihood, to turn retailer to May and Bartholomew Fairs. 

Therefore, if Her Majesty would but graciously be pleased 
to think a hardship of this nature worthy her royal considera- 
tion ; and the next Parl[ia]m[en]t, in their great wisdom, cast 
but an eye towards the deplorable case of their old Philomath 
that annually bestoweth his poetical good wishes on them : 
I am sure there is one Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire, would 
soon be trussed up ! for his bloody persecution, and putting 
good subjects in terror of their lives. And that henceforward, 
to murder a man by way of Prophecy, and bury him in a 
printed Letter, either to a Lord or Commoner, shall as legally 
entitle him to the present possession of Tyburn, as if he 
robbed on the highway, or cut your throat in bed. 

Advert'ise?nent . 

N.B.'SS' There is now in the Press, my Appeal to the Learned; 
Or my general Invitation to all Astrologers, Divines, Physicians, 
Lawyers, Mathematicians, Philologers, and to the Literati of the 
whole World, to come and take their Places in the Common Court 
of Knowledge, and receive the Charge given in by me, against 
Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., that most notorious Impostor in 
Science and illiterate Pretender to the Stars ; where I shall openly 
convict him of ignorance in his profession, impudence and false- 
hood in every assertion, to the great detriment and scandal of 
Astrology. I shall further demonstrate to the Judicious, that 
France and Rome are at the bottom of this horrid conspiracy 
against me ; and that the Cidprit aforesaid is a Popish emissary, 
has paid his visits to St. Germains, and is now in the Measures of 
Lewis XIV. ; that in attempting my reputation, there is a 
general Massacre of Learning designed in these realms ; and, 
through my sides, there is a wound given to all the Protestant 
Almanack makers in the universe. 

Vivat Regina ! 



•] "It was a cold touch! 


Not satisfied with this Impartial Account, when next Almanack time 
came (in the following November, 1708), PARTRIDGE'S ^/;//^wrt67<r for 1709 
P.P. 2465/8] contained the following : 

You may remember that there was a Paper pubHshed 
predicting my death upon the 29th March at night, 1708, 
and after the day was past, the same villain told the World I 
was dead, and how I died, and that he was with me at the 
time of my death. 

I thank GOD, by whose mercy I have my Being, that I 
am still alive, and (excepting my age) as well as ever I was 
in my life: as I was also at that 29th of March. And that 
Paper was said to be done by one Bickerstaff, Esq. But that 
was a sham name, it was done by an impudent lying fellow. 

But his Prediction did not prove true ! What will he say 
to that? For the fool had considered the "Star of my 
Nativity" as he said. Why the truth is, he will be hard put 
to it to find a salvo for his Honour. It was a bold touch ! 
and he did not know but it might prove true. 

One hardly knows whether to wonder most at the self-delusion or 
credulity of this last paragraph by the old quack. 

This called forth from Swift : 




f R. Partridge hath been lately pleased to 

treat me after a very rough manner, in 

that which is called his Almanack for the 

present year. Such usage is very undecent 

from one Gentleman to another, and does 

not at all contribute to the discovery of 

Truth, which ought to be the great End in 

all disputes of the Learned. To call a 

man, foul, and villain, and impudent fellow, only for differing 

from him in a point merely speculative, is, in my humble 

opinion, a very improper style for a person of his Education. 

I appeal to the Learned World, whether, in my last year's 


Predictions, I gave him the least provocation for such un- 
worthy treatment. Philosophers have differed in all Ages ; 
but the discreetest among them, have always differed as 
became Philosophers. Scurrility and Passion in a Controversy 
among Scholars, is just so much of nothing to the purpose ; 
and, at best, a tacit confession of a weak cause. 

My concern is not so much for my own reputation, as that 
of the Republic of Letters; which Mr. Partridge hath 
endeavoured to wound through my sides. If men of public 
spirit must be superciliously treated for their ingenious 
attempts ; how will true useful knowledge be ever advanced? 
I wish Mr. Partridge knew the thoughts which foreign 
Universities have conceived of his ungenerous proceeding 
with me : but I am too tender of his reputation to publish 
them to the World, That spirit of envy and pride, which 
blasts so many rising Geniuses in our nation, is yet unknown 
among Professors abroad. The necessity of justifying myself 
will excuse my vanity, when I tell the reader that I have re- 
ceived nearly a hundred Honorary Letters from several part 
of Europe, some as far as Muscovey, in praise of my per- 
formance : besides several others, which (as I have been credibly 
informed) were opened in the P[ost] Office, and never sent me. 
It is true, the Inquisition in P[ortuga]l was pleased to burn 
my Predictions [A fact, as Sir Paul METHUEN,the English 
Ambassador there, informed SwiFT], and condemned the 
Author and the readers of them : but, I hope at the same 
time, it will be considered in how deplorable a state Learn- 
ing lieth at present in that Kingdom. And, with the pro- 
foundest reverence for crowned heads, I will presume to add, 
that it a little concerned His Majesty of Portugal to interpose 
his authority in behalf of a Scholar and a Gentleman, the sub- 
ject of a nation with which he is now in so strict an alliance. 
But the other Kingdoms and States of Europe have treated 
me with more candour and generosity. If I had leave to 
print the Latin letters transmitted to me from foreign parts, 
they would fill a Volume ! and be a full defence against all 
that Mr. Partridge, or his accomplices of the Pfortugajl 
Inquisition, will be ever able to object : who, by the way, 
are the only enemies my Predictions have ever met with, at 
home or abroad. But I hope I know better what is due to 
the honour of a Learned Correspondence in so tender a point. 

^'^itoG Mock Quotations from Learned Letters. 497 

Yet some of those illustrious Persons will, perhaps, excuse 
me for transcribing a passage or two, in my own vindication. 

* The most learned Monsieur Leibnitz thus addresseth 
to me his third Letter, Illustrissimo Bickerstaffio Astrologico 
Instaitratori, &c. Monsieur le Clerc, quoting my Predic- 
tions in a treatise he published last year, is pleased to say, 
Ita nuperrime BICKERSTAFFIUS, magnum illiid AnglicB sidus. 
Another great Professor writing of me, has these words, 
BICKERSTAFFIUS nobilis Angliis, Astrologanim htijusce secidi 
facile Princeps. Signior Magliabecchi, the Great Duke's 
famous Library Keeper, spendeth almost his whole Letter in 
compliments and praises. It is true the renowned Professor 
of Astronomy at Utrecht seemeth to differ from me in one 
article ; but it is after the modest manner that becometh a 
Philosopher, as Pace tanti viri dixerim : and, page 55, he 
seemeth to lay the error upon the printer, as, indeed it ought, 
and sayeth, vel forsan error typographic cum alioqiun BICKER- 
STAFFIUS vir doctissimus, &c. 

If Mr. Partridge had followed these examples in the con- 
troversy between us, he might have spared me the trouble of 
justifying myself in so public a manner. I believe few men 
are readier to own their error than I, or more thankful to 
those who will please to inform him of them. But it seems 
this Gentleman, instead of encouraging the progress of his 
own Art, is pleased to look upon all Attempts of this kind as 
an invasion of his Province. 

He has been indeed so wise, as to make no objection 
against the truth of my Predictions, except in one siTigle point, 
relating to himself. And to demonstrate how much men are 
blinded by their own partiality, I do solemnly assure the 
reader, that he is the only person from whom I ever heard 
that objection offered ! which consideration alone, I think, 
will take off its weight. 

With my utmost endeavours, I have not been able to trace 
above two Objections ever made against the truth of my last 
year's Prophecies. 

The first was of a Frenchman, who was pleased to publish 
to the World, that the Cardinal DE NOAILLES was still alive, 
notwithstanding the pretended Prophecy of Monsieur Biquer- 

* The quotations here, are said to be a parody of those of Bentlev 
in his controversy with BOYLE. 

Eng. Car. VI. 32 

49S Proofs that Partridge is not alive. p-^;;'i'j; 

STAFFE. But how far a Frenchman, a Papist, and an enemy 
is to be believed, in his own cause, against an English 
Protestant, who is true to the Government, I shall leave to 
the candid and impartial reader ! 

The other objection isthe unhappy occasion of this Discourse, 
and relateth to an article in my Predictions, which foretold the 
death of Mr. Partridge to happen on March 29, 1708. This, 
he is pleased to contradict absolutely, in the Almanack he has 
published for the present year ; and in that ungentlemanly 
manner (pardon the expression !) as I have above related. 

In that Work, he very roundly asserts that he is not only 
now alive, hit was likewise alive upon that very 2gth of March, 
when I had foretold he shotdd die. 

This is the subject of the present Controversy between us, 
which I design to handle with all brevity, perspicuity, and 
calmness. In this dispute, I am sensible the eyes, not only 
of England, but of all Europe will be upon us: and the 
Learned in every country will, I doubt not, take part on that 
side where they find most appearance of Reason and Truth. 

Without entering into criticisms of Chronology about the 
hour of his death, I shall only prove that Mr. Partridge is not 

And my first argument is thus. Above a thousand 
Gentlemen having bought his Almanack for this year, merely 
to find what he said against me : at every line they read, 
they would lift up their eyes, and cry out, between rage and 
laughter. They uDere sure, no man alive ever wrote such stuff as 
this ! Neither did I ever hear that opinion disputed. So 
that Mr. Partridge lieth under a dilemma, either of disown- 
ing his Almanack, or allowing himself to be no man alive. 

Death is defined by all Philosophers [as] a separation of 
the soul and body. Now it is certain that the poor woman 
[Mrs. Partridge] who has best reason to know, has gone 
about, for some time, to every alley in the neighbourhood, and 
swore to her gossips that her husband had neither life nor soul 
in him. Therefore, if an uninformed Carcass walks still about, 
and is pleased to call itself Partridge; Mr. Bickerstaff doth 
not think himself any way answerable for that ! Neither had 
the said Carcass any right to beat the poor boy, who 
happened to pass by it in the street, crying A fidl and tru& 
Account of Dr. Partridge's death, S-c. 

■^■^1709-] Proofs that Partridge is not alive. 499 

Secondly. Mr. Partridge pretendeth to tell fortunes 
and recover stolen goods, which all the parish says, he 
must do bj^ conversing with the Devil and other evil spirits : 
and no wise man will ever allow, he could converse 
personally with either, until after he was dead. 

Thirdly. I will plainly prove him to be dead out of his 
own Almanack for this year; and from the very passage 
which he produceth to make us think him alive. He there 
sayeth, He is not only now alive, but was also alive upon that 
very 2gth of March, which I foretold he should die on. By this, 
he declareth his opinion that a man may be alive now, who 
was not alive a twelve month ago. And, indeed, here lies 
the sophistry of his argument. He dareth not assert he was 
alive ever since the 2gth of March ! but that he is now alive, 
and was so on that day. I grant the latter, for he did not die 
until night, as appeareth in a printed account of his death, 
in 3i Letter to a Lord; and whether he be since revived, I 
leave the World to judge ! This indeed is perfect cavilling ; 
and I am ashamed to dwell any longer upon it. 

Fourthly. I will appeal to Mr. Partridge himself, 
whether it be probable I could have been so indiscreet as to 
begin my Predictions with the only falsehood that ever was 
pretended to be in them ! and this in an affair at home, 
where I had so many opportunities to be exact, and must 
have given such advantages against me, to a person of Mr. 
Partridge's Wit and Learning: who, if he could possibly 
have raised one single objection more against the truth of my 
Prophecies, would hardly have spared me ! 

And here I must take occasion to reprove the above- 
mentioned Writer [i.e., SwiFT himself, sec p. 482] of the 
Relation of Mr. Partridge's death, in a Letter to a Lord, who 
was pleased to tax me with a mistake of fottr whole hours in 
my calculation of that event. I must confess, this censure, 
pronounced with an air of certainty, in a matter that so 
nearly concerned me, and by a grave judicious author, moved 
me not a little. But though I was at that time out of Town, 
yet several of my friends, whose curiosity had led them to be 
exactly informed (as for my own part ; having no doubt at 
all of the matter, I never once thought of it ! ) assured me, I 
computed to something under half an hour: which (I speak 
my private opinion ! ) is an error of no very great magnitude, 
that men should raise clamour about it ! 

500 Dead men still issuing Almanacks. ['-^".Lg: 

I shall only say, it would not be amiss, if that Author 
would henceforth be more tender of other men's reputation, 
as well as of his own ! It is well there were no more 
mistakes of that kind : if there had been, I presume he 
would have told me of them, with as little ceremony. 

There is one objection against Mr. Partridge's death, which 
I have sometimes met with, although indeed very slightly 
offered. That he still continueth to write Almanacks. But 
this is no more than what is common to all of that Profes- 
sion. Gadbury, Poor Robin, Dove, Wing, and several 
others, do yearly publish their Almanacks, though several of 
them have been dead since before the Revolution. Now the 
natural reason of this I take to be, that vvhereas it is the 
privilege of other Authors, to live after their deaths ; 
Almanack makers are only excluded, because their Disserta- 
tions, treating only upon the Minutes as they pass, become 
useless as those go off: in consideration of which. Time, 
whose Registers they are, gives them a lease in reversion, 
to continue their Works after their death. Or, perhaps, a 
Name can make an Almanack as well as sell one. And to 
strengthen this conjecture, I have heard the booksellers 
affirm, that they have desired Mr. Partridge to spare him- 
self further trouble, and only to lend his Name; which could 
make Almanacks much better than himself. 

I should not have given the Public or myself, the trouble 
of this Vindication, if my name had not been made use of by 
several persons, to whom I never lent it : one of which, a 
few days ago, was pleased to father on me, a new set of 
Predictions. But I think these are things too serious to be 
trifled with. It grieved me to the heart, when I saw my 
Labours, which had cost me so much thought and watching, 
bawled about by the common hawkers of Grub street ; which I 
only intended for the weighty consideration of the gravest per- 
sons. This prejudiced the World so much at first, that several 
of my friends had the assurance to ask me, " Whether I were 
in jest ? " To which I only answered coldly, that " the event 
will shew ! " But it is the talent of our Age and nation to 
turn things of the greatest importance into ridicule. When 
the end of the year had verified all my Predictions ; out 
cometh Mr. Partridge's /I /;;z^7/'m67e/ disputing the point of 
his death. So that I am employed, like the General who 


was forced to kill his enemies twice over, whom a 
necromancer had raised to life. If Mr. Partridge has 
practised the same experiment upon himself, and be again 
alive; long may he continue sol But that doth not, in the 
least, contradict my veracity ! For I think I have clearly 
proved, hy invincible demonstration, that he died, at farthest, 
within half an hour of the time I foretold [; and not four 
hours sooner, as the above-mentioned Author, in his Letter 
to a Lord hath maliciously suggested, with a design to blast 
my credit, by charging me with so gross a mistake] . 


Under the combined assault of the Wits, Partridge ceased to pubhsh 
his Almanack for a while ; but afterwards took heart again, publishing 
his '■'■ Mcrlinus Redivivus, being an Almanack for the year 17 14, by John 
Partridge, a Lover of Truth [P.P. 2465/6] ; " at p. 2 of which is the 
following epistle. 

To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq. 


There seems to be a kind of fantastical propriety in 
a dead man's addressing himself to a person not in Bei>ng. 
Isaac Bickerstaff {i.e., Richard Steele] is no more [the 
T atler havi^ig come to an end], and I have now nothing to 
dispute with on the subject of his fictions concerning me, sed 
inagni noniinis umbra, " a shadow only, and a mighty name." 

I have indeed been for some years silent, or, in the lan- 
guage of Mr. Bickerstaff, " dead " ; yet like many an old 
man that is reported so by his heirs, I have lived long enough 
to bury my successor [f/z^Tatler having been discontinued]. In 
short, I am returned to Being after you have left it ; and since 
you were once pleased to call yourself my brother-astrologer, 
the world may be apt to compare our story to that of the twin- 
stars CASTORand Pollux, and say it was our destiny, not to ap- 
pear together, but according to the fable, to live and die by turns. 

Now, Sir, my intention in this Epistle is to let you know 
that I shall behave myself in my new Being with as much 
moderation as possible, and that I have no longer any 
quarrel with you [i.e., STEELE], for the accounts you inserted 
in your writings [the joke was continued in the Tatler] con- 
cerning my death, being sensible that you were no less 
abused in that particular than myself. 

502 Partridge comes back from the dead, p- 

1714 5- 

The person from whom you took up that report, I know, 
was your namesake, the author of Bickerstaff's Predictions^ 
* Vide Dr. a notorious cheat.* And if you had been indeed as 
s[wi]FT. much an Astrologer as you pretended, you might 

have known that his word was no more to be taken than that 
of an Irish evidence [SwiFT was now Dean of St. Patrick's] : 
that not being the only Tale of a Tub he had vented. The only 
satisfaction therefore, I expect is, that your bookseller in the 
next edition of your Works [The Tatlcr], do strike out my name 
and insert his in the room of it. I have some thoughts of 
obliging the World with his nativity, but shall defer that 
till another opportunity. 

I have nothing to add further, but only that when you 
think fit to return to life again in whatever shape, of Censor 
[the designation of the supposed Writer of the Tatler], a Guardian, 
an Englishman, or any other figure, I shall hope you will 
do justice to Your revived friend and servant, 

John Partridge. 

On the last leaf of this Abnannck is the following notice : — 
This is to give notice to all people, that all those Prophecies, 
Predictions, Almanacks, and other pamphlets, that had my 
name either true, or shammed with the want of a Letter 
[i.e., spelling his name Partrige instead of PARTRIDGE] : I 
say, they are all impudent forgeries, by a breed of villains, and 
wholly without my knowledge or consent. And I doubt not 
but those beggarly villains that have scarce bread to eat 
without being rogues, two or three poor printers and a book- 
binder, with honest Ben, will be at their old Trade again of 
Prophesying in my name. This is therefore to give notice, 
that if there is anything in print in my name beside this 
Almanack, you may depend on it that it is a lie, and he is a 
villain that writes and prints it. 

In his Almanack for 1715 [P.P. 2465/7], PARTRIDGE says — 

It is very probable, that the beggarly knavish Crew will be 
this year also printing Prophecies and Predictions in my name, 
to cheat the country as they used to do. This is therefoi e 
to give notice, that if there is anything of that kind done in 
my name besides this Almanack printed by the Company of 
Stationers, you may be certain it is not mine, but a cheat, 
and therefore refuse it. 


^xt^tnt S)tate 


W I T 



Friend in the Country. 


Printed in the Year, M D C C X I. 

(Price 2d.) 



present ^tate 

O F 

WIT, &c. 

S I R 


Ou acquaint me in your last, that you are 

still so busy building at , that your 

friends must not hope to see you in Town 
this year : at the same time, you desire 
me, that you may not be quite at a loss 
in conversation among the beau mondc 
next winter, to send you an account of 
the present State of Wit in Town : which, 
without further preface, I shall endeavour 
to perform ; and give you the histories and characters of all 
our Periodical Papers, whether monthly, weekly, or diurnal, 
with the same freedom I used to send you our other Town 

I shall only premise, that, as you know, I never cared one 
farthing, either for Whig or Tory : so I shall consider our 
Writers purely as they are such, without any respect to 
which Party they belong. 

Dr. King has, for some time, lain down his monthly 
Philosophical Transactions, which the title-page informed us at 
first, were only to be continued as they sold ; and though 
that gentleman has a world of Wit, yet as it lies in one par- 
ticular way of raillery, the Town soon grew weary of his 
Writings : though I cannot but think that their author deserves 
a much better fate than to languish out the small remainder 
of his life in the Fleet prison. 

5o6 Gay's opinion of Daniel Defoe. QMayl;^!: 

About the same time that- the Doctor left off writing, one 
Mr, OzELL put out his Monthly Amusement; which is still 
continued : and as it is generally some French novel or play 
indifferently translated, it is more or less taken notice of, as 
the original piece is more or less agreeable. 

As to our Weekly Papers, the poor Review [by Daniel 
Defoe] is quite exhausted, and grown so very contemptible, 
that though he has provoked all his Brothers of the Quill 
round, none of them will enter into a controversy with him. 
This fellow, who had excellent natural parts, but wanted a 
small foundation of learning, is a lively instance of those Wits 
who, as an ingenious author says, " will endure but one 
skimming " [!j. 

The Observator was almost in the same condition ; but since 
our party struggles have run so high, he is much mended for 
the better : which is imputed to the charitable assistance of 
some outlying friends. 

These two authors might however have flourished some 
time longer, had not the controversy been taken up by abler 

The Examiner is a paper which all men, who speak with- 
out prejudice, allow to be well written. Though his subject 
will admit of no great variety ; he is continually placing it 
in so many different lights, and endeavouring to inculcate 
the same thing by so many beautiful changes of expression, 
that men who are concerned in no Party, may read him 
with pleasure. His way of assuming the Question in debate 
is extremely artful ; and his Letter to Crassus is, I think, a 
masterpiece. As these Papers are supposed to have been 
written by several hands, the critics will tell you that they 
can discern a difference in their styles and beauties ; and 
pretend to observe that the first Examiners abound chiefly in 
Wit, the last in Humour. 

Soon after their first appearance, came out a Paper from 
the other side, called the Whig Examiner, written with so 
much fire, and in so excellent a style, as put the Tories in 
no small pain for their favourite hero. Every one cried, 
" BiCKERSTAFF must be the author ! " and people were the 
more confirmed in this opinion, upon its being so soon laid 
down ; which seemed to shew that it was only written to 

3Mal'p7".] The Writers in the Examiner. 507 

bind the Examiners to their good behaviour, and was never 
desis^ned to be a Weekly Paper. 

The Examiners, therefore, have no one to combat with, 
at present, but their friend the Medley : the author of which 
Paper, though he seems to be a man of good sense, and 
expresses it luckily now and then, is, I think, for the most 
part, perfectly a stranger to fine writing. 

I presume I need not tell you that the Examiner carries 
much the more sail, as it is supposed to be written by the 
direction, and under the eye of- some Great Persons who sit 
at the helm of affairs, and is consequently looked on as a 
sort of Public Notice which way they are steering us. 

The reputed author is Dr. S[wifJt, with the assistance, 
sometimes, of Dr. Att[erbur]y and Mr. P[rio]r. 

The Medley is said to be written by Mr. OldlMIXoJn ; and 
supervised by Mr. Mayn[warin]g, who perhaps might 
entirely write those few Papers which are so much better 
than the rest. 

Before I proceed further in the account of our Weekly 
Papers, it will be necessary to inform you that at the begin- 
ning of the winter [on Jan. 2, 171 1] , to the infinite surprise 
of all men, Mr. Steele flang up his Tatler; and instead 
oi Isaac BiCKERSTAFF,Esquire,^VLh^cr\htdi himself Richard 
Steele to the last of those Papers, after a handsome 
compliment to the Town for their kind acceptance of his 
endeavours to divert them. 

The chief reason he thought fit to give for his leaving off 
writing was, that having been so long looked on in all public 
places and companies as the Author of those papers, he found 
that his most intimate friends and acquaintance were in pain 
to speak or act before him. 

The Town was very far from being satisfied with this 
reason, and most people judged the true cause to be, either 

That he was quite spent, and wanted matter to continue 

his undertaking any longer ; or 

That he laid it down as a sort of submission to, and 

composition with, the Government, for some past offences; 

or, lastly. 

That he had a mind to vary his Shape, and appear again 

in some new light. 

5oS Immense social influence of the Tatler. \_^ly^^!^^l 

However that were, his disappearance seemed to be bewailed 
as some general calamity. Every one wanted so agreeable 
an amusement, and the Coffee-houses began to be sensible 
that the Esquire's Liicuhratioiis alone had brought them more 
customers, than all their other News Papers put together. 

It must indeed be confessed that never man threw up his 
pen, under stronger temptations to have employed it longer. 
His reputation was at a greater height, than I believe ever 
any living author's was before him. It is reasonable to 
suppose that his gains were proportionably considerable. 
Every one read him with pleasure and good-will ; and the 
Tories, in respect to his other good qualities, had almost 
forgiven his unaccountable imprudence in declaring against 

Lastly, it was highly improbable that, if he threw off 
a Character the ideas of which were so strongly impressed in 
every one's mind, however finely he might write in any new 
form, that he should meet with the same reception. 

To give you my own thoughts of this Gentleman's Writings, 
I shall, in the first place, observe, that there is a noble 
difference between him and all the rest of our Polite and 
Gallant Authors. The latter have endeavoured to please 
the Age by falling in with them, and encouraging them 
in their fashionable vices and false notions of things. It 
would have been a jest, some time since, for a man to 
have asserted that anything witty could be said in praise 
of a married state, or that Devotion and Virtue were any 
way necessary to the character of a Fine Gentleman. 
BiCKERSTAFF ventured to tell the Town that they were 
a parcel of fops, fools, and coquettes ; but in such a manner 
as even pleased them, and made them more than half 
inclined to believe that he spoke truth. 

Instead of complying with the false sentiments or vicious 
tastes of the Age — either in morality, criticism, or good breed- 
ing — he has boldly assured them, that they were altogether 
in the wrong; and commanded them, with an authority which 
perfectly well became him, to surrender themselves to his 
arguments for Virtue and Good Sense. 

It is incredible to conceive the effect his writings have had 
on the Town ; how many thousand follies they have either 

3Mayp7"-] ^^ ^^'^^ ^^^ ^^ ^ ^^^^ ^^"^^ ^^ TlIINKING. 5O9 

quite banished or given a very great check to ! how much 
countenance, they have added to Virtue and ReHgion ! how 
many people they have rendered happy, by shewing them it 
was their own fault if they were not so ! and, lastly, how 
entirely they have convinced our young fops and young 
fellows of the value and advantages of Learning ! 

He has indeed rescued it out of the hands of pedants and 
fools, and discovered the true method of making it amiable 
and lovely to all mankind. In the dress he gives it, it is a 
most welcome guest at tea-tables and assembhes, and is 
relished and caressed by the merchants on the Change. 
Accordingly there is not a Lady at Court, nor a Banker in 
Lombard Street, who is not verily persuaded that Captain 
Steele is the greatest Scholar and best Casuist of any man 
in England. 

Lastly, his writings have set all our Wits and Men of Letters 
on a new way of Thinking, of which they had little or no 
notion before : and, although we cannot say that any of them 
have come up to the beauties of the original, I think we may 
venture to affirm, that every one of them writes and thinks 
much more justly than they did some time since. 

The vast variety of subjects which Mr. Steele has treated 
of, in so different manners, and yet All so perfectly well, 
made the World believe that it was impossible they should 
all come from the same hand. This set every one upon 
guessing who was the Esquire's friend ? and most people at 
first fancied it must be Doctor Swift; but it is now no 
longer a secret, that his only great and constant assistant 
was Mr. Addison. 

This is that excellent friend to whom Mr. Steele owes so 
much ; and who refuses to have his name set before those 
Pieces which the greatest pens in England would be proud 
to own. Indeed, they could hardly add to this Gentleman's 
reputation : whose works in Latin and English Poetry long 
since convinced the World, that he was the greatest Master 
in Europe of those two languages. 

I am assured, from good hands, that all the visions, and 
other tracts of that way of writing, with a very great 
number of the most exquisite pieces of wit and raillery 
throughout the Lucubrations are entirely of this Gentleman's 
composing : which may, in some measure, account for that 

5IO The suppositious Continuations of Tatler. \^;^^;, 

different Genius, which appears in the winter papers, from 
those of the summer ; at which time, as the Examiner often 
hinted, this friend of Mr. Steele was in Ireland. 

Mr. Steele confesses in his last Volume of the Tatlers 
that he is obliged to Dr. Swift for his Town Shower, and the 
Description of the Morn, with some other hints received from 
him in private conversation. 

I have also heard that several of those Letters, which came 
as from unknown hands, were written by Mr. Henley: 
which is an answer to your query, " Who those friends are, 
whom Mr. Steele speaks of in his last Tatler }" 

But to proceed with my account of our other papers. 
The expiration of Bickerstaff's L:icuhrations was attended 
with much the same consequences as the death ofMELiBCEUS's 
Ox in Virgil: as the latter engendered swarms of bees, the 
former immediately produced whole swarms of little satirical 

One of these authors called himself the Growler, and 
assured us that, to make amends for Mr. Steele's silence, 
he was resolved to growl at us weekly, as long as we should 
think fit to give him any encouragement. Another Gentle- 
man, with more modesty, called his paper, the Whisperer; 
and a third, to please the Ladies, christened his, the Tell 

At the same time came out several Tatlers; each of which, 
with equal truth and wit, assured us that he was the genuine 
Isaac Bickerstaff. 

It may be observed that when the Esquire laid down his 
pen ; though he could not but foresee that several scribblers 
would soon snatch it up, which he might (one would think) 
easily have prevented : he scorned to take any further care 
about it, but left the field fairly open to any worthy successor. 
Immediately, some of our Wits were for forming themselves 
into a Club, headed by one Mr. Harrison, and trying how 
they could shoot in this Bow of Ulysses ; but soon found 
that this sort of writing requires so fine and particular a 
manner of Thinking, with so exact a Knowledge of the World, 
as must make them utterly despair of success. 

They seemed indeed at first to think, that what was only 
the garnish of the former Tatlers, was that which recom- 


mended them ; and not those Substantial Entertainments 
which they everywhere abound in. According they were 
continually talking of their Maid, Night Cap, Spectacles, and 
Charles Lillie. However there were, now and then, some 
faint endeavours at Humour and sparks of Wit : which the 
Town, for want of better entertainment, was content to hunt 
after, through a heap of impertinences ; but even those are, 
at present, become wholly invisible and quite swallowed up 
in the blaze of the Spectator. 

You may remember, I told you before, that one cause 
assigned for the laying down the Tatler was, Want of 
Matter; and, indeed, this was the prevailing opinion in 
Town : when we were surprised all at once by a paper 
called the Spectator, which was promised to be continued 
every day ; and was written in so excellent a. style, with so 
nice a judgment, and such a noble profusion of Wit and 
Humour, that it was not difficult to determine it could 
come from no other hands but those which had penned the 

This immediately alarmed these gentlemen, who, as it is 
said Mr. Steele phrases it, had " the Censorship in Com- 
mission." They found the new Spectator came on like a 
torrent, and swept away all before him. They despaired 
ever to equal him in Wit, Humour, or Learning ; which had 
been their true and certain way of opposing him: and there- 
fore rather chose to fall on the Author ; and to call out for 
help to all good Christians, by assuring them again and 
again that they were the First, Original, True, and Undis- 
puted Isaac Bickerstaff. 

Meanwhile, the Spectator, whom we regard as our Shelter 
from that flood of false wit and impertinence which was break- 
ing in upon us, is in every one's hands ; and a constant topic 
for our morning conversation at tea-tables and coffee-houses. 
We had at first, indeed, no manner of notion how a diurnal 
paper could be continued in the spirit and style of our present 
Spectators : but, to our no small surprise, we find them still 
rising upon us, and can only wonder from whence so pro- 
digious a run of Wit and Learning can proceed ; since sonie 
of our best judges seem to think that they have hitherto, in 
general, outshone even the Esquire's first Tatlcrs. 

Most people fancy, from their frequency, that they must be 

5 1 2 Addison behind the curtain, Steele in front. [J- f^^^; 

composed by a Society : I withal assign the first places to 
Mr. Steele and his Friend. 

I have often thought that the conjunction of those two 
great Geniuses, who seem to stand in a class by themselves, 
so high above all our other Wits, resembled that of two 
statesmen in a late reign, whose characters are very well 
expressed in their two mottoes, viz., Prodesse quain conspici 
[ ? ], and Otium awn dignitatc [Edward 

Montagu, Earl of Halifax]. Accordingly the first [Addi- 
son] was continually at work behind the curtain, drew up 
and prepared all those schemes, which the latter still drove 
on, and stood out exposed to the World, to receive its praises 
or censures. 

Meantime, all our unbiassed well-wishers to Learning are 
in hopes that the known Temper and prudence of one of these 
Gentlemen will hinder the other from ever lashing out into 
Party, and rendering that Wit, which is at present a common 
good, odious and ungrateful to the better part of the Nation 
[by which, of course, Gay meant the Tories]. 

If this piece of imprudence does not spoil so excellent a 
Paper, I propose to myself the highest satisfaction in reading 
it with you, over a dish of tea, every morning next winter. 

As we have yet had nothing new since the Spectator^ it 
only remains for me to assure you, that I am 

Yours, &c., 

JLo H n]. G[a y]. 
Westminster f May 3, 1711. 


Upon a review of my letter, I find I have quite forgotten 
the British Apollo ; which might possibly have happened, 
from its having, of late, retreated out of this end of the 
Town into the country : where, I am informed however, that 
it still recommends itself b)' deciding wagers at cards, and 
giving good advice to shopkeepers and their apprentices. 



Thomas Tickell. 
Life of y osEPH Addison, 

[Preface to first edition of Addison's IVorks 1721.] 

OsEPH Addison, the son of Lancelot Addison, 
D.D., and of Jane, the daughter of Nathaniel 
Gulston, D.D., and sister of Dr. William 
Gulston, Bishop of Bristol, was born at 
Milston, near Ambrosebury, in the county of 
Wilts, in the year 1671. 

His father, who was of the county of West- 
moreland, and educated at Queen's College in 
Oxford, passed many years in his travels through Europe 
and Africa; where he joined to the uncommon and excellent 
talents of Nature, a great knowledge of Letters and Things: 
of which, several books published by him, are ample testi- 
monies. He was Rector of Milston, above mentioned, when 
Mr. Addison, his eldest son, was born : and afterwards 
became Archdeacon of Coventry, and Dean of Lichfield. 

Mr. Addison received his first education at the Chartreuse 
[Cliarterhoiisc School in London] ; from whence he was removed 
very early to Queen's College, in Oxford. He had been there 
about two years, when the accidental sight of a Paper of his 
verses, in the hands of Dr. Lancaster, then Dean of that 
House, occasioned his being elected into Magdalen College. 

He employed his first years in the study of the old Greek 
and Roman Writers ; whose language and manner he caught, 
at that time of life, as strongly as other young people gain a 
French accent, or a genteel air. 

An early acquaintance with the Classics is what may be 
called the Good Breeding of Poetry, as it gives a certain 
gracefulness which never forsakes a mind that contracted it 
in youth ; but is seldom, or never, hit by those who would 
learn it too late. 

£a'g. Gar. VI. 23 


He first distinguished himself by his Latin compositions, 
pubhshed in the Musa; Anglicance : and was admired as one 
of the best Authors since the Augustan Age, in the two 
universities and the greatest part of Europe, before he was 
talked of as a Poet in Town. 

There is not, perhaps, any harder task than to tame the 
natural wildness of Wit, and to civilize the Fancy. The 
generality of our old English Poets abound in forced conceits 
and affected phrases ; and even those who are said to come 
the nearest to exactness, are but too often fond of unnatural 
beauties, and aim at something better than perfection. If 
Mr. Addison's example and precepts be the occasion that 
there now begins to be a great demand for Correctness, we 
may justly attribute it to his being first fashioned by the 
ancient Models, and familiarized to Propriety of Thought and 
Chastity of Style. 

Our country owes it to him, that the famous Monsieur 
BoiLEAU first conceived an opinion of the English Genius for 
Poetry, by perusing the present he made him of the Mnsce 
Anglicancv. It has been currently reported, that this famous 
French poet, among the civilities he shewed Mr. Addison on 
that occasion, affirmed that he would not have written against 
Perrault, had he before seen such excellent Pieces by a 
modern hand. Such a saying would have been impertinent, 
and unworthy [of j Boileau ! whose dispute with Perrault 
turned chiefly upon some passages in the Ancients, which he 
rescued from the misinterpretations of his adversary. The 
true and natural compliment made by him, was that those 
books had given him a very new Idea of the English Polite- 
ness, and that he did not question but there were excellent 
compositions in the native language of a country, that pro- 
fessed the Roman Genius in so eminent a degree. 

The first English performance made public by him, is a 
short copy of verses To Mr. Dryden, with a view particu- 
larly to his Translations. 

This was soon followed by a Version of the fourth Georgic 
of Virgil; of which Mr. Dryden makes very honourable 
mention in the Postscript to his own Translation of Virgil's 
Works : wherein, I have often wondered that he did not, at 
the same time, acknowledge his obligation to Mr. Addison, 
for giving the Essay upon the Gcorgics, prefixed to Mr. Dryden 's 

T. TIckell 

I'^ya.':] Public monev ruRciiAsiNG Politeness. 515 

Translation. Lest the honour of so exquisite a piece of 
criticism should hereafter be transferred to a wrong Author, 
I have taken care to insert it in this Collection of his Works. 
Of some other copies of Verses, printed in the Miscellanies 
while he was young, the largest is An Account of the greatest 
English Poets ; in the close of which, he insinuates a design 
he then had of going into Holy Orders, to which he 
was strongly importuned by his father. His remarkable 
seriousness and modesty, which might have been urged as 
powerful reasons for his choosing that life, proved the chief 
obstacles to it. These qualities, by which the Priesthood is 
so much adorned, represented the duties of it as too weighty 
for him, and rendered him still the more worthy of that 
honour, which they made him decline. It is happy that this 
very circumstance has since turned so much to the advantage 
of Virtue and Religion ; in the cause of which, he has be- 
stowed his labours the more successfully, as they were his 
voluntary, not his necessary employment. The World be- 
came insensibly reconciled to Wisdom and Goodness, when 
they saw them recommended by him, with at least as much 
Spirit and Elegance as they had been ridiculed [with] for 
half a century. 

He was in his twenty-eighth year [1699], when his inclina- 
tion to see France and Italy was encouraged by the great 
Lord Chancellor Somers, one of that kind of patriots who 
think it no waste of the Public Treasure, to purchase Polite- 
ness to their country. His Poem upon one of King William's 
Campaigns, addressed to his Lordship, was received with 
great humanity ; and occasioned a message from him to the 
Author, to desire his acquaintance. 

He soon after obtained, by his Interest, a yearly pension 
of three hundred pounds from the Crown, to support him in 
his travels. If the uncommonness of a favour, and the dis- 
tinction of the person who confers it, enhance its value ; 
nothing could be more honourable to a young Man of Learning, 
than such a bounty from so eminent a Patron. 

How well Mr. Addison answered the expectations of my 
Lord Somers, cannot appear better than from the book of 
Travels, he dedicated to his Lordship at his return. It is not 
hard to conceive why that performance was at first but in- 
differently relished by the bulk of readers ; who expected an 

5r6 Addison's T r a v e l s i.v I t a l y. \^- 


Account, in a common way, of the customs and policies of the 
several Governments in Italy, reflections upon the Genius of 
the people, a Map [description] of the Provinces, or a measure 
of their buildings. How were they disappointed ! when, 
instead of such particulars, they were presented only with a 
Journal of Poetical Travels, with Remarks on the present 
picture of the country compared with the landskips [land- 
scapes] drawn by Classic Authors, and others the like uncon- 
cerning parts of knowledge ! One may easily imagine a 
reader of plain sense but without a fine taste, turning over 
these parts of the Volume which make more than half of it, 
and wondering how an Author who seems to have so solid an 
understanding when he treats of more weighty subjects in the 
other pages, should dwell upon such trifles, and give up so 
much room to matters of mere amusement. There are indeed 
but few men so fond of the Ancients, as to be transported 
with every little accident which introduces to their intimate 
acquaintance. Persons of that cast may here have the 
satisfaction of seeing Annotations upon an old Roman Poem, 
gathered from the hills and valleys where it was written. 
The Tiber and the Po serve to explain the verses which were 
made upon their banks; and the Alps and Apennines are 
made Commentators on those Authors, to whom they were 
subjects, so many centuries ago. 

Next to personal conversation with the Writers themselves, 
this is the surest wa}' of coming at their sense; a compen- 
dious and engaging kind of Criticism which convinces at first 
sight, and shews the vanity of conjectures made by Anti- 
quaries at a distance. If the knowledge of Polite Literature 
has its use, there is certainly a merit in illustrating the Per- 
fect Models of it ; and the Learned World will think some 
years of a man's life not misspent in so elegant an employ- 
ment. I shall conclude what I had to say on this Perform- 
ance, by observing that the fame of it increased from year 
to year; and the demand for copies was so urgent, that their 
price rose to four or five times the original value, before it 
came out in a second edition. 

The Letter from Italy to my Lord Halifax may be con- 
sidered as the Text, upon which the book of Travels is a large 
Comment ; and has been esteemed by those who have a 
relish for Antiquity, as the most exquisite of his poetical per- 

T. T 

';'^^J|:] He ^Y r I t e s the Campaign. 517 

formances. A Translation of it, by Signer Salvini, Professor 
of the Greek tongue, at Florence, is inserted in this edition ; 
not only on account of its merit, but because it is the 
language of the country, which is the subject of the Poem. 

The materials for the Dialogues iipon Medals, now first 
printed from a manuscript of the Author, were collected in 
the native country of those coins. The book itself was 
begun to be cast in form, at Vienna ; as appears from a letter 
to Mr. Stepney, then Minister at that Court, dated in 
November, 1702. 

Some time before the date of this letter, Mr. Addison had 
designed to return to England; when he received advice from 
his friends that he was pitched upon to attend the army 
under Prince Eugene, who had just begun the war in Italy, 
as Secretary from His Majesty. But an account of the death 
of King William, which he met with at Geneva, put an end 
to that thought : and, as his hopes of advancement in his own 
country, were fallen with the credit of his friends, who were 
out of power at the beginning of her late Majest}/'s reign, 
he had leisure to make the tour of Germany, in his way home. 

He remained, for some time after his return to England, 
without any public employment : which he did not obtain till 
the year 1704, when the Duke of Marlborough arrived at 
the highest pitch of glory, by delivering all Europe from 
slavery ; and furnished Mr. Addison with a subject worthy 
of that Genius which appears in his Poem, called The Cam- 

The Lord Treasurer Godolphin, who was a fine judge of 
poetry, had a sight of this Work when it was only carried on 
as far as the applauded simile of the Angel ; and approved of 
the Poem, by bestowing on the Author, in a few days after, 
the place of Commissioner of Appeals, vacant by the removal 
of the famous Mr. [John] Locke to the Council of Trade. 

His next advancement was to the place of Under Sec- 
retar}., which he held under Sir Charles Hedges, and the 
present Earl of Sunderland. The opera of Rosamond was 
written while he possessed that employment. What doubts 
soever have been raised about the merit of the Music, which, 
as the Italian taste at that time began wholly to prevail, was 
thought sufficient inexcusable, because it was the com- 
position of an Englishman ; the Poetry of this Piece has given 

5i8 Tickell's innuendo against Steele. ['^•'^'^';'J,': 

as much pleasure in the closet, as others have afforded from 
the Stage, with all the assistance of voices and instruments. 
The Comedy called The Tender Husband appeared much 
about the same time ; to which Mr. Addison wrote the Pro- 
logue. Sir Richard Steele surprised him with a very 
handsome Dedication of his Play ; and has since acquainted 
the Public, that he owed some of the most taking scenes of 
it, to Mr. Addison. 

His next step in his fortune, was to the post of Secretary 
under the late Marquis of Wharton, who was appointed 
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, in the year 1709. As I have 
proposed to touch but very lightly on those parts of his life, 
which do not regard him as an Author ; I shall not enlarge 
upon the great reputation he acquired, by his turn for busi- 
ness, and his unblemished integrity, in this and other employ- 

It must not be omitted here, that the salary of Keeper 
of the Records in Ireland was considerably raised, and that 
post bestowed upon him at this time, as a mark of the 
Queen's favour. 

He was in that Kingdom, v^^hen he first discovered Sir 
Richard Steele to be the Author of the Tatler, by an 
observation upon ViRGiL, which had been by him com- 
municated to his friend. The assistance he occasionally 
gave him afterwards, in the course of the Paper, did not a 
little contribute to advance its reputation ; and, upon the 
Change of the Ministry, he found leisure to engage more 
constantl)^ in that Work : which, however, was dropped at 
last, as it had been taken up, without his participation. 

In the last Paper, which closed those celebrated Perform- 
ances, and in the Preface to the last Volume, Sir Richard 
Steele has given to Mr. Addison, the honour of the most 
applauded Pieces in that Collection. But as that ac- 
knowledgement was delivered only in general terms, without 
directing the Public to the several Papers; Mr. Addison 
(who was content with the praise arising from his own Works, 
and too delicate to take any part of that which belonged to 
others), afterwards, thought fit to distinguish his Writings in 
the Spectators and Guardians, by such marks as might remove 
the least possibility of mistake in the most undiscerning 


It was necessary that his share in the Tatlers should be 
adjusted in a complete Collection of his Works: for which 
reason, Sir Richard Steele, in compliance with the request 
of his deceased friend, delivered to him by the Editor, was 
pleased to mark with his own hand, those Tatlers, which are 
inserted in this edition ; and even to point out several, in the 
writing of which, they were both concerned. 

The Plan of the Spectator, as far as regards the feigned 
Person of the Author, and of the several Characters that 
compose his Club, was projected in concert with Sir Richard 
Steele. And because many passages in the course of the 
Work would otherwise be obscure, I have taken leave to insert 
one single Paper written by Sir Richard Steele, wherein 
those Characters are drawn ; which may serve as a Dramatis 
PersoncB, or as so many pictures for an ornament and 
explication of the whole. 

As for the distinct Papers, they were never or seldom 
shewn to each other, by their respective Authors ; who fully 
answered the Promise they had made, and far outwent the 
Expectation they had raised, of pursuing their Labour in the 
same Spirit and Strength with which it was begun. 

It would have been impossible for Mr. Addison (who made 
little or no use of letters sent in, by the numerous correspon- 
dents of the Spectator) to have executed his large share of his 
task in so exquisite a manner ; if he had not engrafted into 
it many Pieces that had lain by him, in little hints and 
minutes, which he from time to time collected and ranged in 
order, and moulded into the form in which they now appear. 
Such are the Essays upon Wit, the Pleasures of the Imagi- 
nation, the Critique ttpon MiLTON, and some others : which I 
thought to have connected in a continued Series in this 
Edition, though they were at first published with the inter- 
ruption of writings on different subjects. But as such a 
scheme would have obliged me to cut off several graceful 
introductions and circumstances peculiarly adapted to the 
time and occasion of printing then ; I durst not pursue that 

The Tragedy of Cato appeared in public in the year 1713 ; 
when the greatest part of the last Act was added by the 
Author, to the foregoing which he had kept by him for many 
years. He took up a design of writing a play upon this sub- 

520 Why Cato had "^o D e d ic a tio n.\^ 

. Tlctell. 

ject, when he was very young at the University ; and even 
attempted something in it there, though not a Hne as it now 
stands. The work was performed by him in his travels, and 
retouched in England, without any formed resolution of 
bringing it upon the Stage, until his friends of the first Quality 
and Distinction prevailed on him, to put the last finishing to 
it, at a time when they thought the Doctrine of Liberty very 

It is in everybody's memory, with what applause it was 
received by the Public ; that the first run of it lasted for a 
month, and then stopped only because one of the performers 
became incapable of acting a principal part. 

The Author received a message that the Queen would be 
pleased to have it dedicated to her : but as he had designed 
that compliment elsewhere, he found himself obliged, by his 
duty on the one side, and his honour on the other, to send it 
into the World without any Dedication. 

The fame of this tragedy soon spread through Europe ; and 
it has not only been translated, but acted in most of the lan- 
guages of Christendom. The Translation of it into Italian 
by Signor Salvini is very well known : but I have not been 
able to learn, whether that of Signor Valetta, a young 
Neapolitan Nobleman, has ever been made public. 

If he had found time for the writing of another tragedy, the 
Death of Socrate3 would have been the story. And, how- 
ever unpromising that subject may appear ; it would be pre- 
sumptuous to censure his choice, who was so famous for 
raising the noblest plants from the most barren soil. It serves 
to shew that he thought the whole labour of such a Perform- 
ance unworthy to be thrown away upon those Intrigues and 
Adventures, to which the romantic taste has confined Modern 
Tragedy: and, after the example of his predecessors in 
Greece, would have employed the Drama to wear out of our 
minds everything that is mean or little, to cherish and cultivate that 
Humanity which is the ornament of our nature, to soften Insolence, 
tu soothe Affliction, and to subdue our minds to the dispensations 
of Providence. {Spectator. No. 39.) 

Upon the death of the late Queen, the Lords Justices, 
in whom the Administration was lodged, appointed him their 

Soon after His Majesty's arrival in Great Britain, the 

T. Tickell 

',';] A D D I s o n's r o s t II u m o u s Works. 521 

Earl of Sunderland, being constituted Lord Lieutenant of 
Ireland; Mr. Addison became, a second time, Secretary for 
the Affairs of that Kingdom : and was made one of the Lords 
Commissioners of Trade, a little after his Lordship resigned 
the post of Lord Lieutenant. 

The Paper called the Freeholder, was undertaken at the time 
when the Rebellion broke out in Scotland. 

The only Works he left behind for the Public, are the Dia- 
lo^uesupon medals, and the Treatise upon the Christian Religion. 
Some account has been already given of the former: to which 
nothing is now to be added, except that a great part of the 
Latin quotations were rendered into English in a very hasty 
manner by the Editor and one of his friends who had the good 
nature to assist him, during his avocations of business. It 
was thought better to add these translations, such as they 
are ; than to let the Work come out unintelligible to those 
who do not possess the learned languages. 

The Scheme for the Treatise upon the Christian Religion 
was formed by the Author, about the end of the late Queen's 
reign ; at which time, he carefully perused the ancient 
Writings, which furnish the materials for it. His continual 
employment in business prevented him from executing it, until 
he resigned his office of Secretary of State ; and his death put 
a period to it, when he had imperfectly performed only one 
half of the design : he having proposed, as appears from the 
Introduction, to add the Jewish to the Heathen testimonies 
for the truth of the Christian History. He was more as- 
siduous than his health would well allow, in the pursuit of 
this Work : and had long determined to dedicate his Poetry 
also, for the future, wholly to religious subjects. 

Soon after, he was, from being one of the Lords Commis- 
sioners of Trade, advanced to the post of Secretary of State ; 
he found his health impaired by the return of that asthmatic 
indisposition; which continued often, to afflict him durmg his 
exercise of that employment : and, at last, obliged him to beg 
His Majesty's leave to resign. 

His freedom from the anxiety of business so far re-estab- 
lished his health, that his friends began to hope he might 
last for many years : but (whether it were from a life too 

522 Add I son's Letter to J. C ra ggs. [ 

T. Ticlcll. 

sedentary; or from his natural constitution, in which was one 
circumstance very remarkable, that, from his cradle, he never 
had a regular pulse) a long and painful relapse into an asthma 
and dropsy deprived the World of this great man, on the 17th 
of June, 1719. 

He left behind him only one daughter, by the Countess 
of Warwick ; to whom he was married in the year 1716. 

Not many days before his death, he gave me directions to 
collect his Writmgs, and at the same time committed to my 
care the Letter addressed to My. Craggs, his successor as 
Secretary of State, wherein he bequeaths them to him, as a 
token of friendship. 

Such a testimony, from the First Man of our Age, in such 
a point of time, will be perhaps as great and lasting an honour 
to that Gentleman as any even he could acquire to himself; 
and yet it is no more than was due from an affection that 
justly increased towards him, through the intimacy of several 
years. I cannot, save with the utmost tenderness, reflect on 
the kind concern with which Mr. Addison left Me as a sort of 
incumbrance upon this valuable legacy. Nor must I deny 
myself the honour to acknowlege that the goodness of that 
Great Man to me, like many other of his amiable qualities, 
seemed not so much to be renewed, as continued in his 
successor ; who made me an example, that nothing could 
be indifferent to him which came recommended to Mr. 

Could any circumstance be more severe to me, while I was 
executing these Last Commands of the Author, than to see 
the Person to whom his Works were presented, cut off in the 
flower of his age, and carried from the high Office wherein he 
had succeeded Mr. Addison, to be laid next him, in the same 
grave ? I might dwell upon such thoughts as naturally rise 
from these minute resemblances in the fortune of two persons, 
whose names probably will be seldom mentioned asunder 
while either our Language or Story subsist ; were I not afraid 
of making this Preface too tedious : especially since I shall 
want all the patience of the reader, for having enlarged it 
with the following verses. 

[Tickell's Poem on Addison, or " Prose in rhyme," as it is called at 
p. 536, is omitted as not relating to the Controversy between him and 

Sir Richard Steele. 
Dedicatory Epistle to William 

C O N G R E V E' 

[This Dedication is prefixed to the Second"! 
Edition of Addison's Z)^»w/«tr, 1722. J 

To Mr. Congreve: 
occasioned by Mr. T i c k e l l ' s Preface to the four 
volumes of Mr. Addison's "'""'-" 


S T R 

His is the second time that I have, without 
your leave, taken the liberty to make a 
public address to you. 

However uneasy you may be, for your 
own sake, in receiving compliments of 
this nature, I depend upon your known 
humanity for pardon; when I acknowledge 
that you have this present trouble, for mine. 
When I take myself to be ill treated with regard to my 
behaviour to the merit of other men ; my conduct towards 
you is an argument of my candour that way, as well as that 
your name and authority will be my protection in it. You 
will give me leave therefore, in a matter that concerns us in 
the Poetical World, to make you my judge whether I am not 
injured in the highest manner ! for with men of your taste 
and delicacy, it is a high crime and misdemeanour to be 
guilty of anything that is disingenuous. But I will go into 
my matter. 

Upon my return from Scotland, I visited Mr. Tonson's 
shop, and thanked him for his care in sending to my 
house, the Volumes of my dear and honoured friend Mr. 
Addison ; which are, at last, published by his Secretary, 
Mr. TiCKELL : but took occasion to observe, that I had not 
seen the Work before it came out ; which he did not think fit 
to excuse any otherwise than by a recrimination, that I had 
put into his hands, at a high price, a Comedy called The 

524 The Drummer left out of Addison's Works.]^^^''^^;^ 

Dnnnmcr', which, by my zeal for it, he took to be written b}^ 
Mr. Addison, and of which, after his [Addison's] death, he 
said, I directly acknovvleged he was the author. 

To urge this hardship still more home, he produced a 
receipt under my hand, in these words — 

March 12, I7i5[-i6]. 

Received then, the sum of Fifty Guineas for the Copy [copy 
right] of the Comedy called, The Drummer or the Haunted 
House. / say, received by order of the Author of the said 

and added, at the same time, that since Mr. Tickell had 
not thought fit to make that play a part of Mr. Addison's 
Works ; he would sell the Copy to any bookseller that would 
give most for it [i.e., ToNSON threw the onus of the authen- 
ticity of the Drummer on Steele]. 

This is represented thus circumstantially, to shew how in- 
cumbent it is upon me, as well in justice to the bookseller, 
as for many other considerations, to produce this Comedy a 
second time [It was first printed in 1716J ; and take this 
occasion to vindicate myself against certain insinuations 
thrown out by the Publisher [Thomas Tickell] of Mr. 
Addison's Writings, concerning my behaviour in the nicest 
circumstance — that of doing justice to the Merit of my Friend. 

I shall take the liberty, before I have ended this Letter, 
to say why I believe the Drummer a performance of Mr. 
Addison : and after I have declared this, any surviving 
writer may be at ease ; if there be any one who has hitherto 
been vain enough to hope, or silly enough to fear, it may be 
given to himself. 

Before I go any further, I must make my Public Appeal to 
you and all the Learned World, and humbly demand, Whether 
it was a decent and reasonable thing, that Works written, 
as a great part of Mr. Addison's were, in correspondence 
[coadjutor ship] with me, ought to have been published with- 
out my review of the Catalogue of them ; or if there were 
any exception to be made against any circumstance in my 
conduct, Whether an opportunity to explain myself should 
not have been allowed me, before any Reflections were made 
on me in print. 

Wlicn I had perused Mr. Tickbll's Preface^ I had soon 

Sir R. Steele 

^;] Tickell's rabid jealousy of Steele. 525 

so many objections, besides his omission to say anytliing of 
the Dvuuuucr, against his long-expected performance : the 
chief intention of which (and which it concerns me first to 
examine) seems to aim at doing the deceased Author justice, 
against me ! whom he insinuates to have assumed to myseh, 
part of the merit of my friend. 

He is pleased, Sir, to express himself concerning the 
present Writer, in the following manner — 

The Comedy called The Tender Husband, appeared much 
about the same time; to which Mr. Addison wrote the Prologue: 
Sir Richard Steele surprised him with a very handsome 
Dedication of this Play ; and has since acquainted the PiMic, 
that he owed some of the most taking scenes of it, to Mr, Addison. 
Mr. Tickell's Preface. Pag. 11 \see p. 518]. 

He was in that Kingdom [Ireland] , when he first discovered 
Sir Richard Steele to be the Author of the Tatler, by an 
observation upon Virgil, which had been by him communicated 
to his friend. The assistance he occasionally gave him afterwards, 
in the course of the Paper, did not a little contribute to advance its 
reputation ; and, upon the Change of the Ministry [in the autumn 
of 1710] , he found leisure to engage more constantly in that 
Work : which, however, was dropped at last, as it had been taken 
lip, without his participation. 

In the last Paper which closed those celebrated Performances, 
and in the Preface to the last Volume, Sir Richard Steele 
has given to Mr. Addison, the honour of the most applauded 
Pieces in that Collection. But as that acknowledgement was 
delivered only in general terms, without directing the Public to 
the several Papers ; Mr. A DDISON {who was content with the 
praise arising from his own Works, and too delicate to take any 
part of that which belonged to others), afterwards thought fit to 
distinguish his Writings in the Spectators and Guardians by 
such marks as might remove the least possibility of mistake in the 
most undiscerning readers. It was necessary that his share in the 
Tatlers should be adjusted in a complete Collection of his Works : 
for which reason. Sir RiCHARD Steele, in compliance with the 
request of his deceased friend, delivered to him by the Editor, was 
pleased to mark with his own hand, those Tatlers which are 
inserted in this edition ; and even to point out several, in the 
writing of which, they both were concerned, f'ag. i2\see p. 518, 519]. 

526 Steele's acknowledgements of Addlson. [^''''''• 


The Plan of the Spectator, as far as it related to the feii^iicd 
Person of the Author, and of the several Characters that compose 
his Club, was projected in concert with Sir RiCHARD STEELE: 
and because many passages in the course of the Work would other- 
wise be obscure, I have taken leave to insert one Paper written 
by Sir Richard Steele, wherein those Characters are drawn ; 
which may serve as a Dramatis Personae, or as so many pictures 
for an ornament and explication of the whole. As for the distinct 
Papers, they were never or seldom slieivn to each other, by their 
respective Authors ; who fully answered the Promise they made, 
and far outwent the Expectation. tJiey had raised, of pursuing their 
Labour in the same Spirit and Strength withwhich it was begun. 
Page 13 [Sir p. 519]. 

It need not be explained that it is here intimated, that I 
had not sufficiently acknowledged what was due to Mr. 
Addison in these Writings. I shall make a full Answer to 
what seems intended by the words, He was too delicate to take 
any part of that which belonged to others; if I can recite out of 
my own Papers, anything that may make it appear groundless. 

The subsequent [folloiving] encomiums bestowed by me 
on Mr. Addison will, I hope, be of service to me in this 

But I have only one Gentleman, who will be nameless, to 
thank for any frequent assistance to me : which indeed it would 
have been barbarous in him, to have denied to one with whom he 
has lived in an intimacy from childhood; considering the great 
Ease with which he is able to despatch the most entertaining Pieces 
of this nature. This good office he performed with such force of 
Genius, Humour, Wit, and Learning, that I fared like a distressed 
Prince who calls in a powerful neighbour to his aid ; I was undone 
by my auxiliary ! When I had once called him in, I could not 
subsist without dependence on Jiim. 

The same Hand wrote the distinguishing Characters of Men 
and Women under the names of Musical Instruments, the 
Distress of the News-Writers, the Inventory of the Play 
House, and the Description of the Thermometer; which I 
cannot but look upon, as the greatest embellishments of this Work. 
Pre/, to the 4th VoL of the Taihrs. 

As to the Work itself, the acceptance it has met with is the best 
proof of its value : but I shoidd err against that candour ichich 
an honest man should always carry about him, if I did not own 


that the most approved Pieces in it were written by others ; and 
those, which have been most excepted against by myself. The 
Hand that has assisted me in those noble Discourses npon the 
Immortality of the Soul, the Glorious Prospects of another Life, and 
the most sublime ideas of Religion and Virtue, is a person, who is 
too fondly Iny friend ever to own them : but I shotdd little deserve 
to be his, if I usurped the glory of them. I must acknowledge, at 
the same time, that I think the finest strokes of Wit and Humour 
in all Mr. Bickerstaff's Lucubrations, are those for which he 
is also beholden to him. Tatler, No. 271. 

/ hope the Apology I have made as to the license allowable to a 
feigned Character may excuse anything which has been said in 
these Discourses of the Spectator and his Works. But the imputation 
of the grossest vanity would still dwell upon me, if I did not give 
some account by what means I was enabled to keep up the Spirit 
of so long and approved a performance. All the Papers marked 
with a 0,1^,1, or 0—that is to say, all the Papers which I have 
distinguished by any letter in the name of the Muse C L I — 
were given me by the Gentleman, of whose assistance I formerly 
boasted in the Preface and concluding Leaf of theTsiilev. I am 
indeed much more proud of his long-contimied friendship, than I 
shotdd be of the fame of being thought the Author of any Writings 
which he himself is capable of producing. 

I remember, when I finished the Tender Husband ; I told him, 
there was nothing I so ardently wished as that we might, some 
time or other, publish a Work written by tis both ; which should 
bear the name of the Monument, in memory of otir friendship. I 
heartily wish what I have done here, were as honorary to that 
sacred name, as Learning, Wit, and Htcmanity render those Pieces, 
which I have taught the reader how to distinguish for his. 

When the Play above mentioned was last acted, there were so 
many applauded strokes in it which I had from the same hand, 
that I thought very meanly of myself that I had never ptiblicly 
acknowledged them. 

After I have put other friends upon importuning him to publish 
Dramatic as well as other Writings, he has by him ; I shall end 
what I think I am obliged to say on this head, by giving the reader 
this hint for the better judgement of my productions : that the best 
Comment upon them woidd be, an Account when the Patron [i.e., 
Addison] to the Tender Husband was in England or abroad 
[i.e., Ireland]. Spectator, No 555. 


'|_ 1722. 

My purpose in this Application is only to shew the esteem I have 
for yon, and that I look tipon my intimacy with yon as one of the 
most valnable enjoyments of my life. DaiUation before the Tender 

I am sure, you have read my quotations with indignation 
against the little [petty] zeal which prompted the Editor (who 
by the way, has himself done nothing in applause of the Works 
which he prefaces) to the mean endeavour of adding to Mr. 
Addison, by disparaging a man who had (for the greatest part 
of his life) been his known bosom friend, and shielded him 
from all the resentments which many of his own Works would 
have brought upon him, at the time they were written. It is 
really a good office to Society, to expose the indiscretion of 
Intermedlers int he friendship and correspondence [coadjutor- 
ship] of men, whose sentiments, passions, and resentments are 
too great for their proportion of soul ! 

Could the Editor's indiscretion provoke me, even so far as 
(within the rules of strictest honour) I could go ; and I were 
not restrained by supererogatory affection to dear Mr. Addison, 
I would ask this unskilful Creature, What he means, when 
he speaks in an air of a reproach, that the Tatler was laid 
down as it was taken up, without Jiis participation ? Let him speak 
out and say, why without his knowledge would not serve his 
purpose as well ! 

If, as he says, he restrains himself to " Mr. Addison's 
character as a Writer; " while he attempts to lessen me, he 
exalts me ! for he has declared to all the World what I never 
have so explicitly done, that I am, to all intents and pur- 
poses, the Author of the Tatler! He very justly says, the 
occasional assistance Mr. Addison gave me, in the course of 
that Paper, " did not a little contribute to advance its reputa- 
tion, especially when, upon the Change of Ministry [August, 
1710], he found leisure to engage more constantly in it." It 
was advanced indeed ! for it was raised to a greater thing 
than I intended it ! For the elegance, purity, and correctness 
which appeared in his Writings were not so much my pur- 
pose ; as (in any intelligible manner, as I could) to rally all 
those Singularities of human life, through the different Pro- 
fessions and Characters in it, which obstruct anything that 
was truly good and great. 


After this Acknowledgement, you will see ; that is, such 
a man as you will see, that I rejoiced in being excelled ! 
and made those little talents (whatever they are) which I 
have, give way and be subservient to the superior qualities of 
a Friend, whom I loved ! and whose modesty would never 
have admitted them to come into daylight, but under such a 

So that all which the Editor has said (either out of design, 
or incapacity), Mr. Congreve ! must end in this: that 
Steele has been so candid and upright, that he owes 
nothing to Mr. Addison as a Writer ; but whether he do, or 
does not, whatever Steele owes to Mr. Addison, the Public 
owe Addison to Steele ! 

But the Editor has such a fantastical and ignorant zeal 
for his Patron, that he will not allow his correspondents 
[coadjutors] to conceal anything of his ; though in obedience 
to his commands ! 

What I never did declare was Mr. Addison's, I had his 
direct injunctions to hide ; against the natural warmth and 
passion of my own temper towards my friends. 

Many of the Writings now published as his, I have been 
very patiently traduced and culminated for ; as they were 
pleasantries and oblique strokes upon certain of the wittiest 
men of the Age : who will now restore me to their goodwill, 
in proportion to the abatement of [the] Wit which they 
thought I employed against them. 

But I was saying, that the Editor won't allow us to obey 
his Patron's commands in anything which he thinks would 
redound to his credit, if discovered. And because I would 
shew a little Wit in my anger, I shall have the discretion to 
shew you that he has been guilty, in this particular, towards 
a much greater man than your humble servant, and one 
whom you are much more obliged to vindicate. 

Mr. Dryden, in his ViRGiL, after having acknowledged 
that a "certain excellent young man" [i.e., W. Congreve 
himself] had shewed him many faults in his translation of 
Virgil, which he had endeavoured to correct, goes on to 
say, " Two other worthy friends of mine, who desire to have 
their names concealed, seeing me straightened in my time, 
took pity on me, and gave me the Life of Virgil, the two Pre- 
faces to the Pastorals and the Georgics, and all the Arguments 

£JVG. Gar, VI. 34 

530 Tickell's earnestness to disparage Steele.^- ^\7'^; 

in prose to the whole Translation." If Mr. Addison is one of 
the two friends, and the Preface to the Georgics be what the 
Editor calls the Essay upon the Georgics as one may adventure 
to say they are, from their being word for word the same, he 
has cast an inhuman reflection upon Mr. Dryden : who, 
though tied down not to name Mr. Addison, pointed at him 
so as all Mankind conservant in these matters knew him, 
with an eulogium equal to the highest merit, considering 
who it was that bestowed it. I could not avoid remarking 
upon this circumstance, out of justice to Mr. Dryden : but 
confess, at the same time, I took a great pleasure in doing it ; 
because I knew, in exposing this outrage, I made my court 
to Mr. Congreve. 

I have observed that the Editor will not let me or any one 
else obey Mr. Addison's commands, in hiding anything he 
desired to be concealed. 

I cannot but take further notice, that the circumstance of 
marking his Spectators [with the letters C, L, /, 0,], which I 
did not know till I had done with the Work ; I made my own 
act ! because I thought it too great a sensibility in my friend ; 
and thought it (since it was done) better to be supposed 
marked by me than the Author himself. The real state of 
which, this 2ealot rashly and injudiciously exposes! I ask 
the reader. Whether anything but an earnestness to disparage 
me could provoke the Editor, in behalf of Mr. Addison, to 
say that he marked it out of caution against me : when I had 
taken upon me to say, it was I that did it ! out of tenderness 
to him. 

As the imputation of any the Least Attempt of arrogating 
to myself, or detracting from Mr. Addison, is without any 
Colour of Truth : you will give me leave to go on in the same 
ardour towards him, and resent the cold, unaffectionate, dr}^, 
and barren manner, in which this Gentleman gives an Account 
of as great a Benefactor as any one Learned Man ever had of 
another. Would any man, who had been produced from a 
College life, and pushed into one of the most considerable 
Employments of the Kingdom as to its weight and trust, and 
greatly lucrative with respect to a Fellowship [i.e., of a 
College] : and who had been daily and hourly with one of the 
greatest men of the Age, be satisfied with himself, in saying 
nothing of such a Person besides what all the World knew ! 

Sir R. Steele 


except a particularity (and that to his disadvantage !) which 
I, his friend from a boy, don't know to be true, to wit, that 

he never had a regular pulse " ! 

As for the facts, and considerable periods of his life he 
either knew nothing of them, or injudiciously places them in 
a worse light than that in which they really stood. 

When he speaks of Mr. Addison's declining to go into 
Orders, his way of doing it is to lament his seriousness and 
modesty which might have recommended him, proved the 
chief obstacles to it, tt seems these qualities, by which the Priesthood 
ts so much adorned, represented the duties of it as too weighty for him 
and rendered him still more worthy of that honour which they 
made him decline. These, you know very well ! were not the 
Reasons which made Mr. Addison turn his thoughts to the 
civil World ; and, as you were the instrument of his becom- 
ing acquainted with my Lord Halifax, I doubt not but you 
remember the warm instances that noble Lord made to the 
Head of the College, not to insist upon Mr. Addison's going 
into Orders. His arguments were founded on the general 
pravity [depravity] and corruption of men of business [public 
men] who wanted liberal education. And I remember, as if 
I read the letter yesterday, that my Lord ended with a 
compliment, that "however he might be represented as no 
friend to the Church, he would never do it any other injury 
than keeping Mr. Addison out of it ! " 

The contention for this man in his early youth, among the 
people of greatest power; Mr. Secretary Tickell, the 
Lxecutor for his Fame, is pleased to ascribe to " a serious 
visage and modesty of behaviour." 

^ When a Writer is grossly and essentially faulty, it were a 
jest to take notice of a false expression or a phrase, othenvise 
Priesthood in that place, might be observed upon ; as a term 
not used by the real well-wishers to Clergymen, except when 
they would express some solemn act, and not when that 
Order is spoken of as a Profession among Gentlemen. I will 
not therefore busy myself about the " unconcerning parts of 
knowledge, but be content like a reader of plain sense without 
politeness." And since Mr. Secretary will give us no account 
ot this Gentleman, I admit "the Alps and Apennines" instead 
ot the Editor, to be " Commentators of his Works," which, 
as the Editor says, " have raised a demand for correctness.'' 

532 Affection of the Addison family forSteele.P"'^; 

This " demand," by the way, ought to be more strong upon 
those who were mcst about him, and had the greatest ad- 
vantage of his example. But as our Editor says, " that 
those who come nearest to exactness are but too often fond 
of unnatural beauties, and aim at something better than 

Believe me. Sir, Mr. Addison's example will carry no man 
further than that height for which Nature capacitated him : 
and the affectation of following great men in works above the 
genius of their imitators, will never rise farther than the pro- 
duction of uncommon and unsuitable ornaments in a barren 
discourse, like flowers upon a heath, such as the Author's 
phrase of " something better than perfection." 

But in his Preface, if ever anything was, is that " some- 
thing better : " for it is so extraordinary, that we cannot say, 
it is too long or too short, or deny but that it is both. I 
think I abstract myself from all manner of prejudice when I 
aver that no man, though without any obligation to Mr. 
Addison, would have represented him in his family and in 
his friendships, or his personal character, so disadvantageously 
as his Secretary (in preference of whom, he incurred the 
warmest resentments of other Gentlemen) has been pleased 
to describe him in those particulars. 

Mr. Dean Addison, father of this memorable Man, left 
behind him four children, each of whom, for excellent talents 
and singular preferments, was as much above the ordinary 
World as their brother Joseph was above them. Were 
things of this nature to be exposed to public view, I could 
shew under the Dean's own hand, in the warmest terms, his 
blessing on the friendship between his son and me ; nor had 
he a child who did not prefer me in the first place of kindness 
and esteem, as their father loved me like one of them : and I 
can with pleasure say, I never omitted any opportunit}' of 
shewing that zeal for their persons and Interests as became 
a Gentleman and a Friend. 

Were I now to indulge myself, I could talk a great deal to 
you, which I am sure would be entertaining : but as I am 
speaking at the same time to all the World, I consider it 
would be impertinent. 

sirR.steeie.-j Steele's SPLENDID Sketch of Addison. 533 

Let me then confine myself awhile to the following Play 
[The Drinnmer], which I at first recommended to the Stage, 
and carried to the Press. 

No one who reads the Preface which I published with it, 
will imagine I could be induced to say so much, as I then 
did, had I not known the man I best loved had had a part in 
it ; or had I believed that any other concerned had much 
more to do than as an amanuensis. 

But, indeed, had I not known at the time of the transac- 
tion concerning the acting on the Stage and the sale of the 
Copy; I should, I think, have seen Mr. Addison in every 
page of it ! For he was above all men in that talent we call 
Humour; and enjoyed it in such perfection, that I have often 
reflected, after a night spent with him apart from the World, 
that I had had the pleasure of conversing with an intimate 
acquaintance of Terence and Catullus, who had all their 
Wit and Nature heightened with Humour more exquisite 
and delightful than any other man ever possessed. 

They who shall read this Play, after being let into the secret 
that it was written by Mr. Addison or under his direction, 
will probably be attentive to those excellencies which they 
before overlooked, and wonder they did not till now observe 
that there is not an expression in the whole Piece which has 
not in it the most nice propriety and aptitude to the Character 
which utters it. Here is that smiling Mirth, that delicate 
Satire and genteel Raillery, which appeared in Mr. Addison 
when he was free among intimates ; I say, when he was free 
from his remarkable bashfulness, which is a cloak that hides 
and muffles merit : and his abilities were covered only by 
modesty, which doubles the beauties which are seen, and gives 
credit and esteem to all that are concealed. 

The Drummer miade no great figure on the Stage, though 
exquisitely well acted: but when I observe this, I say a much 
harder thing of the Stage, than of the Comedy. 

When I say the Stage in this place, I am understood to 
mean, in general, the present Taste of theatrical representa- 
tions : where nothing that is not violent, and as I may say, 
grossly delightful, can come on, without hazard of bemg 
condemned or slighted. 

It is here republished, and recommended as a closet piece 
[i.e.,for private reading], to recreate an intelligent mind in a 

534 Steele, an Aide-de-Camp to Addison. [^''^-^',7':: 

vacant hour: for vacant the reader must be, froni every 
strong prepossession, in order to relish an entertainment, 
quod ncqiieo monstrare etsentio tantum, which cannot be enjoyed 
to the degree it deserves, but by those of the most polite 
Taste among Scholars, the best Breeding among Gentlemen, 
and the least acquainted with sensual Pleasure among the 

The Editor [Thomas Tickell] is pleased to relate con- 
cerning Cato, that a Play under that design was projected by 
the Author very early, and wholly laid aside ; in advanced 
years, he reassumed the same design ; and many years after 
Four acts were finished, he wrote the Fifth ; and brought it 
upon the Stage. 

All the Town knows, how officious I was in bringing it on, 
and you (that know the Town, the Theatre, and Mankind 
very well) can judge how necessary it was, to take measures 
for making a performance of that sort, excellent as it is, run 
into popular applause. 

I promised before it was acted (and performed my duty ac- 
cordingly to the Author), that I would bring together so just 
an audience on the First Days of it, it should be impossible for 
the vulgar to put its success or due applause at any hazard : 
but I don't mention this, only to shew how good an Aide-de- 
Camp I was to Mr. Addison ; but to shew also that the Editor 
does as much to cloud the merit of this Work, as I did to 
set it forth. 

Mr. Tickell's account of its being taken up, laid down, 
and at last perfected, after such long intervals and pauses, 
would make any one believe, who did not know Mr. Addison, 
that it was accomplished with the greatest pain and labour ; 
and the issue rather of Learning and Industry than Capacity 
and Genius : but I do assure you, that never Play which could 
bring the author any reputation for Wit and Conduct, not- 
withstanding it was so long before it was finished, employed 
the Author so little a time in writing. 

If I remember right, the Fifth Act was written in less than 
a week's time I For this was particular in this Writer, that 
when he had taken his resolution, or made his Plan for what 
he designed to write ; he would walk about the room and 
dictate it into Language, with as much freedom and ease as 

Si. R. Stede.-j g^j. j^LE OFTEN AN AMANUENSIS TO AdDISON. 535 

any one could write it down : and attend to the Coherence 
and Grammar of what he dictated. 

I have been often thus employed by him; and never took 
it into my head, though he only spoke it and I took all the 
pains of throwing it upon paper, that I ought to call myself 
the Writer of it. 

I will put all my credit among men of Wit for the truth of 
my averment, when I presume to say that no one but Mr. 
Addison was, in any other way, the Writer of the Drummer. 

At the same time, I will allow, that he sent for me (which 
he could always do, from his natural power over me, as much 
as he could send for any of his clerks when he was Secretary 
of State), and told me that a Gentleman then in the room 
had written a play that he was sure I would like ; but it was 
to be a secret : and he knew I would take as much pains, 
since he recommended it, as I would for him. 

I hope nobody will be wronged or think himself aggrieved, 
that I give this rejected Work [the Comedy o/The Drummer not 
included by TiCKELL in his collected edition of Addison's Works] 
where I do : and if a certain Gentleman [T/cxfiLL] is injured 
by it, I will allow I have wronged him upon this issue ; that 
if the reputed translator [Tickell] of the First Book of 
Homer shall please to give us another Book, there shall 
appear another good Judge in poetry, besides Mr. Alexander 
Pope, who shall like it ! 

But I detain you too long upon things that a^e too personal 
to myself, and will defer giving the World a true Notion of 
the Character and Talents of Mr. Addison, till I can speak 
of that amiable Gentlemen on an occasion void of con- 

I shall then perhaps say many things of him which will be 
new even to you, with regard to him in all parts of his 
Character: for which I was so zealous, that I could not 
be contented with praising and adorning him as much as lay 
in my own power ; but was ever soliciting and putting my 
friends upon the same office. 

And since the Editor [TiCKELL] has adorned his heavy 

536Tickell's attempt on Steele's reputation. p,t;. 

Discourse with Prose in rhyme at the end of it, upon Mr. 
Addison's death : give me leave to atone for this long and 
tedious Epistle, by giving after it, what I dare say you will 
esteem, an excellent Poem on his marriage [by Mr. Wel- 


I must conclude without satisfying as strong a desire, as 
every man had, of saying something remarkably handsome to 
the Person to whom I am writing : for you are so good a 
judge, that you would find out the Endeavourer to be witty ! 
and therefore, as I have tired you and myself, I will be con- 
tented with assuring you, which I do very honestly, I would 
rather have you satisfied with me on this subject, than any 
other man living. 

You will please pardon me, that I have, thus, laid this nice 
affair before a person who has the acknowledged superiority to 
all others ; not only in the most excellent talents ; but possess- 
ing them with an equanimity, candour,and benevolence which 
render those advantages a pleasure as great to the rest of the 
World as they can be to the owner of them. And since Fame 
consists in the Opinion of wise and good men : you must not 
blame me for taking the readiest way to baffle any Attempt 
upon my Reputation, by an Address to one, whom every wise 
and good man looks upon, with the greatest affection and 
I am, Sir, 

Your most obliged, 

most obedient, and 

most humble servant, 

Richard Steele. 



jSottcimle00 ^it 

Exemplified in the CASE of 

The Lord Strutt, John Bull, 

Nicholas Frog, and Lewis Baboon : 
Who spent all they had in a Lawsuit. 

Frinted from a Manuscript found in the Cabinet 
of the famous Sir Humphry Polesworth, 

L ND O N: 

Printed for John Morphew, near Stationers' 
Hall, I 7 I 2. Price 3d. 


[The precise date of the publication of this First Part, is fixed by an 
advertisement in No. 14 of Volume II. of [Swift's] Examiner^ to be the 
28th February, 1712.] 



Chap. I. The Occasion of the Lawsuit p. 541 

II. How Bull and Frog grew jealous, that the 
Lord Strutt intended to give all his custom 
to his grandfather LEWIS BABOON p. 543 

III. A copy of Bull and Frog's letter to Lord 
Strutt p. 543 

IV. How Bull and Frog went to law with 
Lord Strutt about the premisses, and were 
joined by the rest of the Tradesmen p. 544 

V. The true characters of John Bull, Nic. 

Frog, and Hocus p. 545 

VI. Of the various success of the Lawsuit p. 546 

VII. How John Bull was so mightily pleased 
with his success, that he was going to leave off 
his trade, and turn lawyer p' 547 


The Contents. 

r J. Arbuthnot, M D. 
Lfart I. 28 Feb. 1712. 

Chap. VIII. How John discovered that Hocus had an 
intrigue with his wife, and what followed 
thereupon p. 548 

IX. How Signior Cavallo, an Italian Quack, 

undertook to cure Mrs. Bull of her ulcer ...p. 550 

X. Of John Bull's second wife, and the good 

advice that she gave him p. 552 

XI. How John looked over his Attorney's 

^ill P' 553 

XII. How John grew angry, resolved to accept 
a Composition; and what methods were 
practised by the lawyers for keeping him 
f^omit /,. 554 

XIII. How the lawyers agreed to send Don DiEGO 
DiSMALLO the Conjuror, to John Bull, 
to dissuade him from making an end of his 
Lawsuit; and what pa^ed between them ...p. 556 


Law is a Bottomless Pit. 


The Occasion of the Lawsuit, 

Need not tell you the great quarrels that 
have happened in our neighbourhood, since the 
death of the late Lord Strutt [the late King of 
Spain, Charles 11. , who died in 1700J, how the 
Parson [Cardinal Portocarrero] and a cun- 
ning Attorney got him to settle his estate upon his 
cousin Philip Baboon [the Duke of ANyou, 
afterwards PHILIP V.], to the great disappoint- 
ment of his cousin, Esquire South [the Archduke Charles], 
Some stick not to say, that the Parson and the Attorney forged 
a Will, for which they were well paid by the Family of the 
Baboons [the House of Bourbon], Let that be as it will, it 
is matter of fact, that the honour and estate have continued 
ever since in the person of Philip Baboon. 

You know that the Lord Strutts have, for many years, been 
possessed of a very great landed estate, well conditioned, 
wooded, watered; with coal, salt, tin, copper, iron, &c., all 
within themselves : that it has been the misfortune of the 
Family, to be the property of their stewards, tradesmen, and 
inferior servants, which has brought great incumbrances 
upon them ; and, at the same time, the not abating of their 
expensive way of living has forced them to mortage their best 
manors. It is credibly reported, that the butcher's and 
baker's bills of a Lord Strutt that lived two hundred years 
ago, are not yet paid. 

542 France bullying all Europe. [paiit^^teT;,^.* 

When Philip Baboon came first to the possession of the 
Lord Strutt's estate, his Tradesmen [the Allies], as is usual 
upon such occasions, waited upon him, to wish him joy, and 
to bespeak his custom. The two chief were John Bull 
[the English] the clothier, and Nic. Frog [the Dutch] the linen 
draper. They told him, that " the Bulls and the Frogs had 
served the Lord Strutts with drapery ware for many years, 
that they were honest and fair dealers, that their bills had 
never been questioned, that the Lord Strutts lived gene- 
rously and never used to dirty their fingers with pen, ink, 
and counters, that his Lordship might depend upon their 
honesty, and they would use him as kindly as they had done 
his predecessors." 

The young Lord seemed to take all in good part, and dis- 
missed with a deal of seeming content ; assuring them that 
he did not intend to change any of the honourable maxims of 
his predecessors. 


How Bull and Frog grew jealous, that the Lord Strutt 
intended to give all his custom to his grandfather LEWIS 

T HAPPENED, unfortunately for the peace of our 
neighbourhood, that this young Lord had an old 
cunning rogue, or, as the Scots call it, a "false loon " 
-^ of a grandfather, that one might justly call a "Jack 
of all trades." Sometimes you would see him behind his 
counter selling broadcloth ; sometimes, measuring linen ; 
next day he would be dealing in mercery ware. High heads, 
ribbons, gloves, fans, and lace, he understood to a nicety ; 
Charles Mather could not bubble a young beau better 
with a toy ! nay, he would descend even to the selling of 
tape, garters, and shoebuckles. When shop was shut up, 
he would go about the neighbourhood, and earn half a crown 
by teaching the young men and maids to dance. By these 
methods he had acquired immense riches, which he used to 
squander away at back-sword, quarter-staff, and cudgel-play, 
in which he took great pleasure ; and challenged all the 

Pa{'tl'^"!!'F°eb.^/7i^.] Parody OF THE /".^i^j/Tyo.v Treaties. 543 

You will say it is no wonder if Bull and Frog should be 
jealous of this fellow. 

" It is not impossible," says Frog to Bull, "but this old 
rogue will take the management of the young Lord's busi- 
ness into his hands ; besides, the rascal has good ware, and 
will serve him as cheap as anybody, in that case. I leave 
you to judge, what must become of us and our families ! we 
must starve, or turn journeymen to old Lewis Baboon ! 
therefore, neighbour, I hold it advisable that we write to 
young Lord Strutt, to know the bottom of this matter. 


A copy of Bull and Frog's letter to Lord Strutt, 


Suppose your Lordship knows that the Bulls and 
the Frogs have served the Lord Strutts with all 
sorts of drapery ware, time out of mind; and whereas 
we are jealous, not without reason, that your Lordship 
intends henceforth to buy of your grandsire, old Lewis Baboon : 
this is to inform your Lordship, that this proceeding does not suit 
with the circumstances of our families, who have lived and made a 
good figure in the World by the generosity of the Lord Strutts. 
Therefore we think fit to acquaint your Lordship, that you must find 
sufficient security to us, our heirs and assigns, that you will not 
employ LEWIS BABOON, or else we will take our remedy at law, clap 
an action upon you of ^20,000 for old debts, seize and destrain your 
goods and chattels; which, considering your Lordship's circum- 
stances, will plunge you into difficulties from which it will not be 
easy to extricate yourself : therefore we hope when your Lordship 
has better considered on it, you will comply with the desire of 
Your loving friends, 

John Bull, 
N I c. Frog. 

Some of Bull's friends advised him to take gentler methods 

with the young Lord ; but John naturally loved rough play. 

It is impossible to express the surprise of the Lord Strutt, 

upon the receipt of this letter. He was not flush in " ready " 

544 The Allies join England & Holland. [^■an''L"%Tl' 

[money], either to go to law or to clear old debts ; neither 
could he find good bail. 

He offered to bring matters to a friendly accommodation ; 
and promised, upon his word of honour, that he would not 
change his drapers : but all to no purpose, for Bull and 
Frog saw clearly that old Lewis would have the cheating of 
him 1 


How Bull and Frog went to law with Lord Strutt about 
the premisses, and were joined by the rest of the Tradesmen. 

Ll endeavours of accommodation between Lord 

Strutt and his drapers proved vain. Jealousies 

increased, and indeed it was rumoured abroad, that 

the Lord Strutt had bespoke his new liveries of 

old Lewis Baboon. 

This coming to Mrs. Bull's ears, when John Bull came 
home, he found all his family in an uproar. Mrs. Bull [the 
late Ministry of Lord GoDOLPHiN and the Duke of Marl- 
borough], you must know, was very apt to be choleric. 

"You sot!" says she, "you loiter about alehouses and 
taverns ! spend your time at billiards, nine-pins or puppet- 
shows ! or flaunt about the streets in your new gilt chariot ! 
never minding me, nor your numerous family. Don't you 
hear how Lord Strutt has bespoke his liveries at Lewis 
Baboon's shop ! Don't you see how that old fox steals 
away your customers, and turns you out of your business 
every day; and you sit, like an idle drone, with your hands in 
your pockets! Fie upon it ! Up man ! rouse thyself! I'll 
sell to my shift, before I'll be so used by that knave ! " 

You must think Mrs. Bull had been pretty well tuned 
up by Frog ; who chimed in with her learned harangue. 

No further delay, now ! but to Counsel learned in the Law 
they go! who unaminously assured them of the justice and 
infallible success of their Lawsuit. 

I told you before, that old Lewis Baboon was a sort of a 
"Jack of all trades " ; which made the Tradesmen jealous, as 
well as Bull and Frog. They hearing of the quarrel, were 
glad of an opportunity of joining against old Lewis Baboon, 

Paft'i!"!""':] The original portrait of John Bull. 545 

provided that Bull and Frog would bear the charges of the 
suit; even lying Ned the Chimney-sweeper [the Duke of 
Savoy], and Tom the Dustman [the King of Portugal] put 
in their claims ; and the Cause [war] was put into the hands 
of Humphry Hocus [the Duke of Marlborough] the 
Attorney [the General]. 

A Declaration was drawn up to sheu', that BuLL and Frog 
had nndoubted right by prescription to be drapers to the Lord 
Strutts ; that there were several old contracts to that purpose ; 
that Lewis Baboon had taken up the 'trade of Clothier and 
Draper, without serving his time or purchasing his Freedom ; that 
he sold goods, that were not marketable without the stamp ; that 
he himself was more fit for a bully than a tradesman, and went 
about through all the country fairs, challenging people to fight 
prizes, wrestlings and cudgel-play. And abundance more to 
this purpose. 


The true characters of John Bull, Nic. Frog, and Hocus. 

|0r the better understanding of the following History, 
the reader ought to know, that Bull, in the main, 
was an honest, plain-dealing fellow, choleric, bold, 
and of a very unconstant temper. He dreaded not 
old Lewis either at back-sword, single falchion, or cudgel- 
play; but then he was very apt to quarrel with his best 
friends, especially if they pretended to govern him. If you 
flattered him, you might lead him like a child ! John's 
temper depended very much upon the air ; his spirits rose 
and fell with the weather-glass. John was quick, and under- 
stood his business very well : but no man alive was more 
careless in looking into his accounts ; or more cheated by 
partners, apprentices, and servants. This was occasioned 
by his being a boon companion, loving his bottle and his 
diversion : for, to say truth, no man kept a better house 
than John, or spent his money more generously. By plain 
and fair dealing, John had acquired some "plumbs" ; and 
might have kept them, had it not been for this unhappy 

Nic. Frog was a cunning sly whoreson, quite the reverse 

£a'g. Gar. VI. otf 

546 Character of Duke of Marlrorougii. [kn^L'"^^"': 

of John in many particulars : covetous, frugal, minded do- 
mestic affairs: would pine his belly to save his pocket; never 
lost a farthing by careless servants or bad debtors. He did 
not care much for any sort of diversions, except tricks of 
High German artistes and legerdemain. No man exceeded 
Nic. in these. Yet it must be owned, that Nic. was a fair 
dealer ; and, in that way, had acquired immense riches. 

Hocus [the Diikc of Marlborough] was an old cunning 
Attorney. What he wanted of skill in law, was made by a 
Clerk which he kept [?], that was the prettiest fellow in the 
world. He loved mone}', was smooth-tongued, gave good 
words, and seldom lost his temper. He was not " worse 
than an Infidel " ; for he provided plentifully for his family : 
but he loved himself better than them all. He had a terma- 
gant wife [the Duchess of Marlborough], and, as the neigh- 
bours said, "was plaguy henpecked!" He was seldom 
observed, as some Attorneys will practise, to give his own 
personal evidence in causes: he rather chose to do it per test, 
conduct. In a word, the man was very well for an Attorney 


Of the various siicccss of the Lawsuit. 

|Aw is a bottomless pit ! It is a cormorant, a harpy 

that devours everything ! " 

John Bull was flattered by his lawyers that 

his suit would not last above a year or two, at 
most ; that before that time he would be in quiet possession 
of his business; yet ten long years did Hocus steer his Cause 
[the war] through all the meanders of the Law, and all the 
Courts: no skill, no address was wanting. And, to say 
truth, John did not starve the cause. There wanted not 
" yellow boys " to fee Counsel, hire witnesses, and bribe 
juries. Lord Strutt was generally cast, never had one 
verdict [victory] in his favour : and John was promised, that 
the Next, and the Next, would be the final Determination. But, 
alas, that final Determination and happy conclusion were 
like an enchanted island : the nearer John came to it, the 
further it went from him. New trials upon new points still 
arose! new doubts, new matters to be cleared! In short, 

ptnL^^fJ EnCxLisii victories & French prostration. 547 

lawyers seldom part with so good a cause, till they have got 
the oyster, and their clients the shell. 

John's ready money, book debts, bonds, mortgages, all 
went into the lawyers' pockets. Then John began to borrow 
money on Bank Stock, East India Bonds: and now and then a 
farm went to pot. 

At last, it was thought a good expedient to set up Squire 
South's [Archduke Charles'] title, to prove the Will forged, 
and dispossess Philip, Lord Strutt, at once. Here again 
was a new field for the lawyers ! and the Cause grew more 
intricate than ever. John grew madder and madder. Wher- 
ever he met any of Lord Strutt's servants, he tore off their 
clothes. Now and then, you would see them come home 
naked, without shoes, stockings, and linen. 

As for old Lewis Baboon, he was reduced to his last shift, 
though he had as many as any other. His children were 
reduced from rich silks to doily stuffs. His servants were in 
rags and barefooted : instead of good victuals, they now lived 
upon neck beef and bullock's liver. In short, nobody got 
much by the matter, but the men of law. 


How John Bull was so mightily pleased with his success, 
that he was going to leave off his trade, and tnrn lawyer. 

T IS wisely observed by a great philosopher, that 
" habit is a second nature." This was verified in the 
case of John Bull, who, from an honest and plain 
tradesman, had got such a haunt about the Courts 
of Justice, and such a jargon of law words, that he concluded 
himself as able a lawyer as any that pleaded at the bar, or 
sat on the bench. 

He was overheard, one day, talking to himself after this 
manner. " How capriciously does Fate or Chance dispose 
of mankind ! How seldom is that business allotted to a man 
for which he is fitted by Nature ! It is plain I was intended 
for a man of law ! How did my guardians mistake my genius, 
in placing me, like a mean slave, behind a counter ! Bless 
me ! what immense estates these fellows raise by the Law ! 
besides, it is the profession of a Gentleman. What a pleasure 

548 The Dutch more prudent ix the war. [l;^^,'\ 


it is to be victorious in a cause ! to swagger at the bar ! 
What a fool am I to drudge any more in this woollen trade ! 
for a lawyer I was born, and a lawyer I will be ! One is 
never too old to learn ! " 

All this while, John had conned over such a catalogue of 
hard words, as were enough to conjure up the Devil. These 
he used to l3ubble indifferently in all companies, especially at 
coffeehouses; so that his neighbour tradesmen began to shun 
his company, as a man that was cracked. Instead of the 
affairs of Blackwall Hall, and price of broad cloth, wool, 
bayes ; he talked of nothing but "Actions upon the Case, 
Returns, Capias, Alias capias, Demurrers, Venire facias. 
Replevins, Supersedeas, Certioraris, Writs of Error, Actions 
of Trover and Conversion, Trespasses, Precipes et Dedimus.'* 

This was matter of jest to the learned in law. However, 
Hocus and the rest of the tribe, encouraged John in his 
fancy : assuring him, that he had a great genius for law ; that 
they questioned not but, in time, he might raise money enough 
by it, to reimburse him of all his charges; that if he studied, 
he would undoubtedly arrive to the dignity of a Lord Chief 
Justice. As for the advice of honest friends and neighbours, 
John despised it. He looked upon them as fellows of a low 
genius; poor grovelling mechanics! John reckoned it more 
honour to have got one favourable verdict, than to have sold 
a bale of broad cloth. 

As for Nic. Frog, to say the truth, he was more prudent : 
for though he followed his Lawsuit closely, he neglected not 
his ordinary business ; but was both in Court and in his shop 
at the proper hours. 


How John discovered that Hocus had an intrigue with his 
wife, and what followed thereupon. 

JJOhn had not run on a madding so long, had it not 
been for an extravagant wife [tlie Administration of 
Lord GoDOLPHiN], whom Hocus perceiving John 
to be fond of, was resolved to win over to his side. 
It was observed by all the neighbourhood, that Hocus had 

J. Arbuthnot. 


dealings with John's wife, that were not so much for his 
honour : but this was perceived by John a little too late. 

She was a luxurious jade, loved splendid equipages, plays, 
treats, and balls ; differing very much from the sober manners 
of her ancestors, and by no means fit for a tradesman's wife. 
Hocus fed her extravagancy, and, what was still more 
shameful, with John's own money ! It is matter of fact, 
that upon all occasions, she ran out extravagantly on the 
praise of Hocus. When John used to be finding fault with 
his bills, she used to reproach him as ungrateful to his 
greatest benefactor ! one that had taken so much pains in his 
Lawsuit, and retrieved his Family from the oppression of old 
Lewis Baboon. 

A good swinging sum of John's readiest cash went towards 
building of Hocus's country-house \tlic Vote for the buildin<^ of 
Blenheiui]. This affair between Hocus and Mrs. Bull was 
so open, that all the world were scandalized at it. John was 
not so clodpated, but at last he took the hint. 

The Parson of the parish [Doctor Sacheverel] preaching 
one day, a little sharply against adultery [Resistance to Kiiis^s], 
Mrs. Bull told her husband, that " he was a very uncivil 
fellow to use such coarse language before People of Condi- 
tion ; " that " Hocus was of the same mind, and that they 
would join, to have him turned out of his living, for using 
personal reflections." 

" How do you mean,"' says John, " by personal reflec- 
tions ? I hope in God, wife, he did not reflect on you ! " 

" No, thank God ! my reputation is too well established 
in the world, to receive any hurt from such a foul-mouthed 
scoundrel as he ! His doctrine tends only to m.ake husbands 
[Sovereigns], tyrants; and wives [Nations], slaves. Must we 
be shut up, and husbands left to their liberty ? Very pretty, 
indeed ! A wife must never go abroad with a Platonic to see 
a play or a ball ! she must never stir without her husband, nor 
walk in Spring Gardens with a cousin! I do say, husband ! 
and I will stand by it, that without the innocent freedoms of 
life, matrimony would be a most intolerable state ! and that 
a wife's virtue ought to be the result of her own reason, and 
not of her husband's government. For my part, I would 
scorn a husband that would be jealous ! " 

All this while, John's blood boiled in his veins. He was 

550 Shrewsbury tries to s.-we the Whigs, [kft'l^'ijxt 

now confirmed in his suspicions. Jade was the best word 
that John gave her. 

Things went from better to worse, until Mrs. Bull aimed 
a knife at John ; though John threw a bottle at her head very 
brutally indeed. After this, there was nothing but confusion. 
Bottles, glasses, spoons, plates, knives, forks, and dishes f^evv 
about like dust. The result of which was, that Mrs. Bull 
received a bruise in her right side, of which she died half a 
year after [the fall of Lord Godolphin's Administration, aboitt 
six months after the trial of Doctor Sacheverel in March, 

The bruise imposthumated, and afterwards turned into 
an ulcer, which made everybody shy to come near her, she 
smelt so ; yet she wanted not the help of many able 
physicians, who attended very diligently, and did what men 
of skill could do : but all to no purpose, for her condition 
was now quite desperate ; all regular physicians and her 
nearest relations having given her over. 


How Si'^nior Cavallo, an Italian Quack, undertook to cure 
Mrs. Bull of her ulcer. 

H liRE is nothing so impossible in Nature, but mounte- 
banks will undertake ; nothing so incredible, but 
they will affirm. Mrs. Bull's condition was looked 
upon as desperate by all Men of Art. Then Signior 
Cavallo [the Duke of Shrewsbury] judged it was high 
time for him to interpose. He bragged that he had an 
infallible ointment and plaster, which, being applied to the 
sore, would cure it in a few days ; at the same time, he would 
give her a pill that would purge off all her bad humours, 
sweeten her blood, and rectify her disturbed imagination. 

In spite of all Signior Cavallo's applications, the patient 
grew worse. Every day she stank so, that nobody durst 
come witbin a stone's throw of her; except Signior Cavallo 
and his wife, whom he sent every day to dress her, she having 
a very gentle, soft hand. x\.ll this while, Signior apprehended 
no danger. 

Paft''i!"i7"2:] Whig legacies: War, Discord, I interest. 551 

If one asked him, " How Mrs. Bull did ? " 

" Better and better ! " says Signior Cavallo ; the ** parts 
heal and her constitution mends. If she submits to my 
Government, she will be abroad in a little time." 

Nay, it is reported that he wrote to his friends in the 
country that " she should dance a jig [meet the Parliament] 
next October, in Westminster Hall ! that her illness had 
been chiefly owing to bad physicians." 

At last, Signior, one day, was sent for in great haste, his 
patient growing worse and worse. 

When he came, he affirmed that " it was a gross mistake, 
that she was never in a fairer way. Bring hither the salve," 
says he, " and give her a plentiful draught of my cordial ! " 

As he was applying his ointments, and administering the 
cordial, the patient gave up the ghost : to the confusion of 
Signior Cavallo, and the great joy of Bull and his friends. 
Signior flang away out of the house in great disorder, and 
swore there was foul play, for he was sure that his medicines 
were infallible. 

Mrs. Bull having died without any signs of repentance or 
devotion, the Clergy would hardly allow her Christian burial. 

The Relations had once resolved to sue John for murder: 
but considering better of it, and that such a trial would rip 
up old sores, and discover things not so much to the reputa- 
tion of the deceased ; they dropped their design. 

She left no Will : only there was found in her strong box 
the following words written on a scrip of paper. " My curse 
on John Bull and all my posterity, if ever they come to any 
Composition with my Lord Strutt ! " 

There were many epitaphs written upon her. One was as 
follows ; 

Here lies John's ivifc, 
Plague of his life ! 
She spent his ivealth ! 
She wronged his health ! 
And left him datightcrs three 
As bad as She ! 

The daughters' names were Polemia [War], Discordia 
[Discord], and UsUKiA [High rate of Interest]. 

;52 A COMPLIMENT TO OuEEN AnNE. [pi;t L^'^^sTcb 

Arbiithnot, ftl.D. 



Of John Bull's second wife, and the f^ood advice thai she 


|OnN quickly got the better of his grief, and it being 
that neither his constitution, nor the affairs of his 
Family could permit him to live in an unmarried 
state : he resolved to get him another wife. 
A cousin of his last wife was proposed ; but he would 
have no more of that breed ! In short, he wedded a sober 
Country Gentlewoman, of a good family, and plentiful fortune 
[Qnccii Anne]: the reverse of the other in her temper. Not 
but that she loved money, for she was of a saving temper ; and 
applied her fortune to pay John's clamorous debts, that the 
unfrugal methods of his last wife, and this ruinous Lawsuit 
had brought him into. 

One day, as she had got her husband into a good humour, 
she talked to him after the following manner: "My Dear! 
since I have been your wife, I have observed great abuses and 
disorders in your Family. Your servants are mutinous and 
quarrelsome, and cheat you most abominably. Your cook- 
maid is in a combination with your butcher, poulterer, and 
fishmonger. Your butler purloins your liquor, and your 
brewer sells you hogwash. Your baker cheats, both in weight 
and tale [niujibcr]. Even your milk-woman and your nursery- 
maid have a fellow feeling. Your tailor, instead of shreds, 
cabbages [steals] whole yards of cloth. Besides, having such 
long scores, and not going to market for ready money, forces 
us to take bad ware of the Tradesmen, at their own price. 
You have not posted your books these ten years. [Lord 
(tODULPHIN carrying War Credits over from year to year, during 
the period of his Administration.] How is it possible for a 
man of business to keep his affairs even in the World, at this 
rate? Pray God, this Hocus be honest! Would to God, 
you would look over his bills, and see how matters stand 
l)etween Frog and you ! Prodigious sums are spent in this 
Lawsuit, and more must be borrowed of scriveners and 
usurers, at heavy interest. Besides, my Dear! let me beg of 
you to lay aside that wild project, of leaving your business to 
turn lawyer : for which, let me tell you, Nature never 

j.Arbuthnot, M.D.-i TOTALLING UP THE War Credits. 553 

Part I. 28 Feb. 1712 J ' 

desi-ned you. Believe me, these rogues do but flatter, that 

"^flThetd ^aU-thirwhilelwith paHence, tiH she pricUed 

his ma--ot, and touched him m the tender pomt. Then, he 
b okTSSfinto a violent passion, "What. I not fit for a 
iavvyer' Let me tell you, my dodpated relations spoilt the 
T^liest genius in the World, when they bijd me a mechanic ! 
S Strutt and his old rogue of a grandsire have found to 
their cost that I can manage a Lawsuit as well as any othei . 

'! I do not deny what yoSsay," says Mrs. Bull, " nor do I 
call n question /our parts ; but I say it does not suit with your 
drcum?tances. You and your predecessors have lived in good 

put" ion among your neighbours by this -me c o h. 
trade- and it were madness to leave it off 1 Besides, there 
are few that know all the tricks and cheats of these lawyers. 
Does no your own experience teach you, how they have 
drawn vou on from one Term to another ; and how you have 
dan ed the round of all the Courts, still flattering you with 
a final issue: and. for aught I can see, your Cause is not a 
hit clearer than it was seven years ago. 

" rU be hanged," says John, "if I accept of any Com- 
nosition ivom S?rutt, or his Grandfather ! I'll rather whee 
^bou t^ie streets an engine to grind knives and scissors ! 
However, I will take your advice, and look over my accounts. 


How John looked over his Attorney's hill. 
Hfn Tohn first brought out the bills [the War 
Credit, the surprise of all the Family was unex- 

pressible. at the prodigious di"^^,"^^°,?,%°f;t\T bale 
. short, they would have measured with the best bale 

of cloth n JoHN's%hop. Fees to Judges, putsue Judges 
Clerks, Protolotaries. Philizers, Chirographers Under Cl^ 
Proclamators, Counsel, Witnesses, J^^^men Marshals ip 
staffs, Cryers, Porters ; for enrollings exempl ficat.ons, bads 
vou-hers returns, caveats, examinations, filings ot woias, 
InU-ies decla^-ations, replications, recordats, nolle proseqms, 
^^ar^mUtrurus, demurrers, special verdicts, ^formations 
scire i!tc^as, supersedeas, Habeas Corpus, coach hire, treating of 
witnesses, &c. 

554 The Queen calls in Lord Oxford. [pJit'^'s'^l'/;?^: 

" Verily," says John, " there are a prodigious number of 
learned words in this Law ; what a pretty science it is ! " 

"Ay, but husband! you have paid for every syllable and 
letter of these fine words ! Bless me ! what immense sums 
are at the bottom of the account ! " 

John spent several weeks in looking over his bills, and by 
comparing and stating his accounts, he discovered that, 
besides the extravagance of every article, he had been 
egregiously cheated ; that he had paid for Counsel that were 
never fee-ed, for Writs that were never drawn, for dinners 
that were never dressed, and journeys that were never made. 

In short, that Hocus and Frog had agreed to throw the 
burden of the Lawsuit upon his shoulders. 


How John grew angry, resolved to accept a Composition ; and 
what methods were practised by the lawyers for keeping him from it. 

Ell might the learned Daniel Burgess say, that 
*' a Lawsuit is a suit for life ! " He that sows his 
grain upon marble, will have many a hungry belly 
before harvest. This John felt, by woful experience. 
John's Cause was a good milch cow ; and many a man 
subsisted his family out of it. 

However John began to think it high time to look about 
him. He had a cousin in the country, one Sir Roger Bold 
[Robert Harley, Earl of Oxford]; whose predecessors 
had been bred up to the law, and knew as much of it as 
anybody ; but having left off the profession for some time, 
they took great pleasure in compounding lawsuits amongst 
their neighbours : for which, they were the aversion of the 
Gentlemen of the Long Robe, and at perpetual war with all 
the country attorneys. 

John put his Case in Sir